Mimi and Grampa

My Thoughts on Pepper Spray

2011-11-21T19:47:00.002-06:00

How you feel about the Occupy movement is not important, because my comment here is not about the pros or cons of the movement nor whether or not they have a clear and coherent message like the 60s antiwar movement. My thoughts are centered around the recent pepper spray incident and the use of video and You Tube, without conclusion on the event itself.

If you have children, you can relate to this: Your child is exhibiting a behavior you want stopped. You tell the child to stop and he doesn’t. So you tell the child that if he doesn’t stop, you will swat his butt. He keeps it up, and you swat his butt. Simple, and honestly, most parents can relate – and most of us, when we were kids, had our butts swatted.

Now, add the new technology of cell phone or web cam videos, coupled with You Tube. If you recorded the entire incident leading up to the swat, that is one thing. Again, not drawing any conclusions, but putting facts out there. You can edit out whatever you want in a video when you post it to You Tube. And all you see is what is posted. If all that is posted is the child getting a swat, a conclusion by the video watcher may be very different than if the entire video was posted.

What the You Tube video and the television news is reporting of the pepper spray incident at UC Davis, graphically shows a line of “peaceful” students sitting on the ground, arms locked, being pepper sprayed by the campus police. Very disturbing video. Here is what isn’t shown, but video is available that does show it, but the media has chosen not to. Prior to the pepper spray incident, video shows the police telling (not yelling nor confronting) the students they had to move or they would be pepper sprayed. They were blocking the public from entrance to whatever building the protesters felt compelled to block. The protesters obviously didn’t move. So now, we are where the parent is when the child doesn’t stop misbehaving – the promised swat. In this case, the promised pepper spray.

Part of my job is to review police videos for an attorney. I can see firsthand how easy it would be to edit those videos to show whatever point of view someone would want to show. I am not a professional video editor, but I could easily edit any video.

Lastly, are these protesters really peaceful? If you had some people decide to camp out on your front yard to protest your lifestyle, and refused to move, yet were not violent, but blocking your access to your yard, what would you do? You would call the police and the occupiers would be arrested for trespass and DISTURBING THE PEACE! Are they being “peaceful” in their demonstration – just non-violent? There is a difference. But that’s me, and I was just thinking.

There I Was Again

2011-06-26T09:26:00.001-05:00

THERE I WAS AGAIN

THE CONTINUING SAGA OF THE KILLEEN HILLBILLIES

“Grandpa,” excitedly shouted young Junior Jethro (Jared), as he came running into the parlor, “we got our tractor back and it’s in the trailer on the back of my momma’s truck!” So Grandpa Jedidiah (Frank) got up out of his chair with the dog, Ol’ Buff, jumping down to follow, and went to the door with Junior Jethro to admire the shiny green tractor with the yellow seat, in the trailer. “Mighty fine tractor, Grandson, are you going to drive it with your Daddy?” Grandpa Jedidiah asked.

“I am going to drive it, Grandpa. And when we’re done, we park it in the shed me and my daddy built in the backyard today” He was so proud.

“Pops”, Jethro (Scott) asked, “want to go with me to take the mower over to the other house?” I think I may need to mow there and also take that fridge out of the house and move it over to the big house and put it in the garage”.

“Son”, Grandpa Jedidiah, responded, “I will go with you. I went to the dump without you today, by the way. I had a truck load to get rid of”.

“Pops”, you could take a truck load to the dump every Saturday. I just don’t know where you get the stuff to take. Anyway, I’ll have a load next Saturday, so if you have anything, you can put it in my truck”. “I’m sure that by next Saturday I will have stuff to add to your load. I know I have that big tree branch that fell out of the pecan tree last week”, Grandpa replied.

We loaded up the truck with the young’ens and headed over to the other house to drop off the mower and load up the fridge. Everything went well, until we tried to load the fridge. We were using the hand dolly to load the fridge and as we pulled back on the dolly, the fridge tilted to the right and the doors flew open. The tire on the dolly was flat and needed to be aired up (what is it with me and flat tires) – and the fridge needed to be loaded from the opposite side so the doors would stay closed. About that time, the 4 young’ens came in and announced that they had to use the bathroom. Jethro explained that the water was still off and that they needed to wait until we got back to Mimi’s house… or the boys could go pee in the back yard. Junior Jethro was all for that until the other young’ens said they could wait. So back to Mimi’s house we went.

Meanwhile, back at Mimi’s house, Grandpa got the air compressor and we headed back over to the other house, this time with no young’ens. Jethro and I got the tires aired up on the dolly – the first dolly we had ever seen that weren’t hard rubber and actually needed airing up. But we got the fridge onto the dolly, with the doors staying shut, and we went out the door and to the trailer. The neighbors watched us loading the fridge and then after a few minutes called us over. Seems Gertrude, Gigi’s old friend (now at least 114 years old) was out watering her lawn and noticed two men stealing the fridge from nice Lil’ Valerie’s house, so she got together with the other neighbor and called Lil’ Val and told her some men were taking the fridge from her house. Lil’ Val assured them that it was Jethro and Jedidiah and all was okay. So the four of us stood on the neighbors porch laughing a bit while Gertrude told the story.

Fridge loaded, we headed back over to the big house to put the fridge in the garage. Jedidiah told Jethro he was now officially a growed up Pritchard because he now had a fridge in his garage, too. Jethro wondered why it had taken us over an hour just to move the fridge from one house to the other, and mused that we still had to load the mower back onto the trailer and take to back over to the big house and park it in the shed. So back over to the other house we went.

We parked the truck in the street by the curb and put the ramps down for the mower and Jethro was ready to load. This is a maneuver he has done countless times. Just before he started to move to the trailer, I saw in my mind’s eye the pending disaster that was about to take place. It all played out in slow motion. About three fourths the way up the ramp, front wheels on the trailer, the left ramp fell from its perch and Jethro was sitting on the mower, eyes as big as half dollars. Jedidiah was right behind the mower and was trying to keep the momentum going so the mower would get up onto the trailer. But the mower deck caught on the trailer and the mower stopped, and Jethro stood up and the motor stopped. The mower started tilting to the left and the other ramp then fell out from under the mower and there was only one place for it to go – DOWN – with Jethro riding in the saddle. There was nothing Jedidiah could do but jump back out of the way. BAM! The mower somehow landed on all four wheels and then a loud banging pop as the engine backfired as it shut down. Poor Gertrude – she watched the whole thing, mouth gaping open and eyes wide. “I’m good”, Jethro assured everyone. After a few “WHEW’s” we decided this time we were going to push the mower up the ramp and onto the trailer. And without further incident, we were on our way to the big house, by the way of Mimi’s. Jethro had to use the bathroom. Jedidiah was surprised that he still had to!

When we left for the big house, Junior Jethro wanted to go with us, so the three of us rode over. We unloaded the mower the same way we loaded it, pushing. Then Jethro and Junior Jethro took the mower to the backyard and parked it in the shed. Then Junior Jethro said, “Grandpa, you need to get a green tractor like mine.” I said that I did need one, but maybe I would get an orange one. He thought a minute, and then said “Yeh, you can get an orange one and I will have a green one”.

There I was again!

But That's Me, And I Was Just Thinking

2011-05-06T20:51:00.002-05:00

Many years ago while on active duty we were deployed on a month long field exercise in Alaska called Brim Frost. I heard a term for the first, and only time actually – tightly disbursed. It was during those days that I came to understand George Carlin’s rants about the oxymoron. Is it a huge shrimp or a small jumbo? How about others like “original copy” , “partial cease-fire”, or the one I hated until one day when I heard the Major describe tightly disbursed, and “military intelligence” all of a sudden became my favorite oxymoron.

Over the years since then I have come to appreciate how right old George really was. I have seen some really stupid decisions made in the Army. But I digress … I am not talking about having everyone in a field exercise all located on the airfield instead of in the woods in the wilds of Alaska. I am thinking of some things I have seen more recently – even today.

In July 2005, four “home grown terrorists” set off a series of 4 bombs in the subways and in a double-decker bus in London. However, the “threat level” in The United States was not elevated following that attack. The airport security was not increased, nor was the color code changed. There was, however, a tightening of security on the Army fort just up the road that we all know and love. You didn’t notice any difference getting thru the instillation gates, but there was an immediate response …. Barricades went up in the commissary parking lot, blocking a third of the available parking, and you had to show your ID card to get into the store itself. Funny thing is that you could still drive right up to the front door of any of the schools on post where defenseless children were frolicking and learning, but you had to park way away from the front entrance of the commissary. (What does that say about what the Army brass thinks of the gate security? (I’m just saying.)

After a few years, the barricades went away and parking was restored to those areas blocked and for several years now things were back to normal. Then Seals Team 6 killed Osama Bin Laden.

I had heard that security had been tightened since May 1^st , when Bin Laden was killed, but I hadn’t been on post until today. I breezed right thru the front gate with my Express Pass, the guards not even giving me much of a glance. But when I got to the commissary, the barricades were back and the parking lot was once again restricted. As I went into the commissary I had to show my ID card and I started laughing, thinking of that Major in Alaska and George Carlin – military intelligence. I could zip right thru the main gate, but had to show an ID card to get to the tomatoes. I don’t know, were they warned to protect the produce section? But that’s me, and I was just thinking

But That's Me, and I Was Just Thinking

2011-05-05T21:26:00.000-05:00

Political pundits use words like “gutsy” to describe the President’s authorizing the raid on Bin Laden’s compound by Seals Team 6. As a soldier, I see things a little differently. I would expect no less from my Commander-in-Chief. The President, when presented with the over whelming evidence that Bin Laden was holed up in the compound, had the Constitutional responsibility and duty to act upon the intel.

There are a couple of things, though, that are troubling to me that are taking place. We have American war -fighters who are daily putting their lives on the line to protect ours, and we owe them no less than insuring that we provide them with the equipment and wherewithal to do their jobs. So, when I hear things being said and events being politicized, it upsets me.

You may remember the Jessica Lynch fiasco of a few years ago. The story was that she had been captured when the convoy she was in became lost and was attacked by Iraqi troops. Most of her team was killed during the attack and that she grabbed a weapon and fought to the bitter end and was captured. She was in a hospital in Baghdad and was rescued by an elite special ops team. However, as it turns out, some genius in the publicity department of the military decided that they needed a “feel good” event to bolster the American pride. And someone concocted the rescue of Specialist Jessica Lynch. Then brought in a crack team to bring her out. We all felt great, and the politicos began patting themselves on their backs. But like all ruses, the story began to unravel the truth came out. Had I been part of that Special Ops team, I would have been looking for that publicity mogul.

Now with OBL assuming room temperature, I see the politicos once again taking credit, and I also see things that are troubling to me.

First, the story keeps changing. First we had the feel good 40 minute firefight, a stealth Black Hawk helicopter going down and being blown in place on the way out. Then we learn, welllllllll – maybe it wasn’t a firefight after all. In fact, OBL was really unarmed, but the others in the compound were armed and part of the firefight. OBL’s wife was used as a shield and was killed – oops, it was his daughter and she was there to watch her father killed. No, it was his wife, after all, and she was shot in the leg and survived. Then it was, wellllll, actually, no one was armed, but there was a secret room with weapons ----- and the last one I heard today was that an AK-47 and a handgun were within the reach of OBL. I would rather not hear the details on how he was killed than to have a Hollywood production with alternate endings.

This was a special ops “kill” mission, as special ops missions are. You don’t send in the Seals to Mirandize the enemy.

Next, I hear that several computers and hard drives were captured and we cultivated a treasure-trove of intel. Why do I need to know that? Why alert all the other bad guys that we know a ton of stuff? That’s like announcing a surprise party for someone on Facebook.

And what about the picture? I would like to see it, but it isn’t necessary. Why did it take so long to decide not to show it and why agonize over a reason? He didn’t need a reason – he is the President. Then why was the CIA Chief, Leon Panetta, marched out to the press to announce that the photos would be released by 2 PM the next day, only to have an administration spokesman announce later that Pinetta never said that …. It isn’t like the video isn’t all over You Tube. This isn’t the 80s or 90s, you know. If I was Panetta and was being thrown under the bus like that, I tell the President to take his SecDef job and shove it. Then I would go work on Hillary’s primary campaign.

And now I hear that the CIC is going to meet with members of Seals Team 6 tomorrow. Why? These guys are stealth and their identities should never be known to anyone outside their immediate command. I only hope and pray that there are no cameras present because the minute these guy’s pictures go up on the internet, a huge target is painted on them and their families. No, this is a mistake and this is a precedent that should not be set.

There are many good things to be taken out of the operation last Sunday, so why do the politicos have to jump in once again and screw it all up. But that’s me, and I was just thinking.

But That's Me, And I Was Just Thinking

2011-05-03T21:00:00.002-05:00

“Good morning, Mr. Hunt. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, involves the recovery of a stolen item designated "Chimera." You may select any two team members, but it is essential that the third member of your team be Nyah Nordoff-Hall. She is a civilian, and a highly capable professional thief. You have forty-eight hours to recruit Miss Hall and meet me in Seville to receive your assignment. As always, should any member of your team be caught or killed, the Secretary will disavow all knowledge of your actions.” (Mission Impossible II, 2000)I am not writing this to disparage President Obama or our courageous special operations teams that took out Osama Bin Laden. I want that said because I have heard over the course of the last few days so much that is just so much bunk that I can no longer keep quiet.In the President’s address Sunday night he stated that he “assembled a team” to take out OBL. I just do not understand this statement from the Commander-In-Chief. He made sound like he was giving instructions to Ethan Hunt in Mission Impossible. Special Operations teams have been around as long as there has been a United States Military. I met a man recently who belonged to a special ops team. He told me that his team was assigned to bring out a “high value target”. Without going into detail of why he was telling this story, he said that his team had been together for 10 years. They knew each other better than they knew themselves. The rest of his story isn’t important. What is important is that his team had been together for 10 years. Unlike the IMF team in the movies, you don’t just assemble a team at the last minute. These Special Ops guys are a highly trained unit and work together very closely. I expect they have been together for a number of years. I proudly salute these guys – professionals in every way. Now, something I need to say to those who have never found a conspiracy they didn’t like. As a soldier I am offended when I hear someone doubt that this team took out OBL. First, it would take a huge conspiracy and lots of conspirators to pull off a hoax like some are saying took place. I will tell you this, American soldiers are not mind numbed robots that blindly follow orders. First, there is no way a hoax could be perpetrated upon the American people without the truth being leaked; and second, no American Soldier would be a part of such a hoax. What I hear described is what Hollywood puts in the script of a B movie. This piece will not self destruct in 10 seconds, but, that’s me and I was just thinking.

That's Me and I Was Just Thinking

2011-04-30T18:17:00.001-05:00

I got to thinking about a couple of stories I have heard on the various news shows lately discussing the “epidemic” of overweight adults and kids we have in our country. In response to this problem, the “do gooder” Nannies who have taken it upon themselves to try to negatively influence the freedoms we have by telling us we can’t eat popcorn at the theaters, our children cannot have a toy in their Happy Meal because toys apparently are fattening; Chinese food has WAY to much sodium; we can’t have salt shakers on the tables in restaurants in New York City; we can’t give our kids KinderEggs because our dumb American children will choke to death on the toy; we must have twigs and stems in the school lunch programs because good stuff isn’t good for our kids (one Illinois school district has banned lunches brought from home because the district can’t make sure all Mom’s care enough for their kids to send only twigs and stems); and on and on.

Recently an “if you agree, repost” status has been going around on Facebook that says “If you were raised on home cooking, rode a bike with no helmet on gravel roads, your parents had no child proof lids or seat belts in cars, got spanked when you misbehaved, had 3 TV channels you got up to change, school started w/the Pledge of Allegiance, drank water out of the water hose or the Soquel Creek (Capitola River) , rode in the back of a pickup truck, and YOU STILL TURNED OUT OK re-post.”

I heard on one of those shows how our Nannies are worried because our fatso kids got fat from eating all that fast food and the Twinkies the horrid mothers are sending in their tubby kid’s lunches. And, of course Walt Disney for making movies which kids have to watch in a theater where they are eating that super fattening theater popcorn, popped in coconut oil. This made me reflect back to my own childhood and what we did as kids. In a recent post on this blog I wrote about my memories as a 10 year old. I told of riding bikes up and down the hills at the construction site of the new mall. We won’t discuss what a bad mother I had for letting me do that, and without a helmet (they hadn’t invented bike helmets yet). The thing is, we were outside riding our bikes at breakneck speeds we attained by pedaling with our legs. Our curfew in the summer was when mom and dad were ready to go to bed. We played tag and hide and seek OUTSIDE AND IN THE DARK! We climbed trees and jumped rope. When we came in at night, we smelled “like puppy dogs” and had to take a bath before we went to bed.

In school we had recess at 10 AM and 2 PM. We had an hour for lunch, and when we finished eating we spent the remainder of the hour playing tetherball, 4 Square, softball, football, tag, or just running and chasing each other. I rode my bike to school every day until I was in high school – then I walked the 2 miles each way from my house to the high school (we couldn’t afford for Frankie to have a car to drive to school – the day I graduated from high school was the only day I got to drive to school). When I was in Junior High and in High School, PE was a regular subject. I had 4^th period PE, or 1^st period PE, or whenever it was. Even after I graduated and started college, we had to take PE for three hours a week until age 21. The thing is, we had PE every single day in high school, and those 3 hours per week in college.

Compare that to today. I know that my own kids have been fighting the elementary schools in Texas and Arkansas to get daily recess back into the schools. Our kids sit in the classroom all day – go to lunch and right back to class, with very little free time. PE happens occasionally in elementary school, but in middle and high school, kids take band or choir, and that counts as PE. Singing or playing an instrument, while extremely important in the over-all development of our kids, is not running and getting exercise. We did “warm ups” every day in gym – I am not sure that kids today even understand the concept of “warm up” – unless it involves food in the microwave.

If your kids’ after school games involve a game console or a smart phone, perhaps we need to take a look at what is making our kids fat. I don’t think it is toys in the Happy Meal and I doubt kids are getting fat eating theater popcorn once or twice a month, or having a Coke at lunch. Perhaps, just maybe, it is our parents and our schools not having our kids outside running, riding bikes, climbing trees, playing tag, jumping rope – just moving around every day. I’m not saying to toss the Wii or the Nintendo 64, just turn it off an hour or so a day and run the kids out doors. You might like the results. But, that’s me and I was just thinking.

Memories of a 10 Year Old Boy

2011-04-17T11:41:00.003-05:00

When I was about 10 years old, construction on a new shopping center began, just a half block from our home in San Jose. The orchard at the end of our street was about to become the first major retail center not located downtown. Macy’s was moving in….along with 39 other retail stores and eateries. This would begin a boom in west San Jose and mark the decline of the downtown shopping that took place during the 60s and 70s, although downtown revitalization starting the 80s revamped the downtown area.

But this piece isn’t about the economic booms and busts of my home town. This is about boys, bikes and mounds of dirt!

When the prune orchard at the end of Monroe Street began to disappear, we boys of the neighborhood were fascinated. Every day we would ride our bikes up to the end of the street and watch the progress. The huge piles of trees parts gave way to huge fires burning the trees to ash, and we were captivated. That hasn’t changed with boys and burning brush – I notice my own grandchildren and the Fire in the Pasture at Aunt Heidi’s years later. But after a few weeks, the fires were gone and the big earth movers arrived on site. They pushed dirt from one place to another. One of the features of the center and Macy’s was the underground delivery areas and the basement shopping that was part of the center. This required huge ‘holes’ to be dug and large piles of dirt. It was those piles of dirt that became the focal point of the existence of the neighborhood boys.

Work was pretty much over for the day by the time we all were finished with our dinner. The evenings were warm and long in the summer of 1955 in San Jose. And no construction was taking place on Sunday. So we had the place to ourselves. To a 10 year old boy, the piles of dirt were huge and were captivating. One thing we noticed very quickly was the bulldozers always had a trail to the top of the mound, or hill, as we always called it. We would ride our bikes up as far as we could, then would push our bikes up to the top. Then we would ride back down to the bottom, as fast as we could. At first it was a straight shot up and back down. But everyday was different, and sometimes there were turns … a challenge in soft dirt! We had a ball! I think the biggest challenge to that point was for our mom’s to wash those dirty Levi’s we always came home in!

Soon, however, it became boring just riding up and down the hill on the trail. So we “invented” cross country downhill’s. (BMX – what’s that?) The trail up was no longer the way down. We would get to one side of the top of the hill and get going as fast as we could and ride down wherever we hit the side. This was great and the danger made it all the more fun. Sometimes we made it all the way down riding, and sometimes we wiped out. Once we were at the bottom and had our bike back in hand, back up the hill to do it again!

Today, when I see those construction sites with fences around them and security guards on their patrols, I can’t help but wonder if perhaps we boys in 1955 had something to do with tighter security on those sites. We didn’t have fancy safety equipment of the new generation of BMX bikes – no we were just boys without helmets or pads on Schwinn Cruisers and 3 speed “racers” racing up and down hills of dirt in the evenings and Sunday afternoons – memories this boy still carries with him.

There I Was, Revisited, or There We Were!

2011-03-26T21:20:00.003-05:00

There we were – once again! So today, Holly (Ellie May) and I, Frankie Boy (Jed Clampet), took a trailerfull of trash to the dump. Now many of you have taken full trailers to the dump. But not like this trailer. Years ago I got a trailer for our pool business and it served our purpose well, until it fell apart. So, I decided to rebuild the trailer from the base up. When I got done, it had been converted to a utility trailer in which I could haul things to the dump. I put a new floor and new sides – however, for several years the trailer was used only a few times, and sat down at Holly’s behind the fence. Still not bad. Then today happened.

The trailer was full of stuff that needed to go to the dump. Holly had asked me if I could pull the trailer to the dump with my truck. Frankie Boy was ready. First I had to get the 2011 tag for the license plate… the last one put on was dated 2009. When I got down to Holly’s, I noticed that a couple of the side boards had fallen off, as had the entire tail gate. Oh well, that’s what ratchet straps are for, right? I got everything into the trailer and put the tarp over the trash and strapped it all down. Then I took the piece of the tailgate that had the license plate and put it into the back of the trailer and wedged it under the ratchet strap…. It should easily travel the 5 miles to the dump. (Remember, I’m the one who had just posted the “There I Was” series). The next hurdle was hooking the trailer to the truck … which went fine until I tried to secure the hitch on the ball…. good thing I had a hammer! Done. So, off we merrily went to the dump. About as soon as we turned onto Highway 195, heading South, a pickup truck passed us tooting his horn and pointing. Now this isn’t anything new, you see, because whenever I go to the dump, I lose a bag or a box and have to stop and retrieve it. We stopped and got out to look what we had dropped… I was sure hoping that it wasn’t the license plate. It was. Ellie May asked if we should continue on to the dump and find the plate on the way back. I thought we would be wiser to go back and get it now. At the next intersection, we turned around and drove back. We thought we saw what could have been the remains of the tail gate remains that I had loaded into the truck. So we turned back around and sure enough, the 4 foot long 4 x 6 was now a bunch of toothpicks. The license plate had come completely unattached from the board and was laying by itself, embarrassed, I’m sure … not of being detached, but that the Killeen Hillbillies were back to get her. Ellie May picked up the big pieces of wood and put them in the back of the truck, put the license plate up front with us, and off we went. And, without further incident, we arrive at the dump.

Not only that, but I actually backed up the trailer into the dump area without running into the fancy-dan truck parked next to us. We unloaded our load in good time – but I noticed that in the back of the trailer was the left wheel fender that I forgot had fallen off some time back. So our trip to the dump was hauling an illegal trailer – one that had no wheel cover. Remember the side boards that had fallen down? I felt it prudent that we reattach those before we left. So I got a wrench out and began tightening the bolts that held the boards in place, right there in the dump, while people were outside waiting for me to vacate my spot. Of course, none of my good wrenches would fit the bolts, so I got our the crescent wrench, which worked fine, except and every other turn, it slipped off the bolt and out of my hand, and onto the ground. But, I kept on keepin’ on and soon the trailer was ship shape, and the guy waiting for us to move was relieved we got done. Except we still had no wheel cover, but I decided that would need to wait for another day or time. So off we go, headed back to the house. Did I mention that we plugged in the lights on the trailer, but they had stopped working long ago? Anyway, we got all the way home and as we were backing the trailer to its parking spot, the right side tire blew…. Just went flat very fast. So we unhitched the trailer and had to leave it where it was until Jethro (Leslie) got home to muscle it back into its parking place. Yes, Frankie Boy and Ellie May had quite a day.

The Journey Begins

2010-07-08T16:49:00.001-05:00

My nickname was Tubby. I was in elementary school, but not everyone called me that, just my best friend. But I always remember being called “Tubby”. I do remember a time, about the 5th or 6th grade that my mother bought me husky jeans, but that was okay because my cousin wore 6X clothes. My mother put me on a diet, once, for a couple of weeks. I guess I lost enough weight because I don’t remember it lasting that long. She fed me steak and other proteins… a real Dr. Atkins forerunner! But, in all that, I never considered myself fat. I didn’t run like the wind, even with my PF Flyers, but I could run. I could play softball, but was always the last one chosen. But when I look at pictures of myself from back then, with the exception of when I was on a diet, I didn’t look fat.

I think it was because I never could see myself as fat that I got fat. During my career as a soldier, I had to take an annual flight physical. In twenty years I never failed one, although a time or two I had to lose a few pounds. I was never put on what we called the fat boy program. If I had to lose a few pounds, I always did. Back in those days I was young and in my prime. I ran PT every day (despite what my children will tell you). I could outrun most of the young soldiers in my unit when I was 40. Once in Korea, when I was on the mountain at Evenreach for 4 months, I did pack on some weight. We were a self contained air traffic control outpost and we had our own chef. There were 5 of us assigned there, and whenever we would sit down to watch television, the chef brought us a hamburger or a piece of cake. While on shift, he would bring us food. Whenever I had to drive down to the base camp, I always had a huge packed lunch, usually a couple of steak sandwichs, chips, potato salad and dessert. Before long, I had ballooned up to 250 pounds. When I was reassigned back to Seoul, I went on a diet and lost 80 pounds and was 170 when I went home.

It was after I retired that I started gaining weight. There were times when I could keep it off really well, but those times started coming fewer and further between. I was doing no PT and running ice cream and cookie restaurants. Later I was always in jobs that required me to sit at a computer or desk and got very little exercise. I knew I was fat, but I never saw myself as fat, if that makes sense. One of the things that allowed me to keep deceiving myself was that my blood pressure and blood levels were those of a skinny dude! My cholesterol level never exceeded 150 at my heaviest, and was 105 at my retirement physical. So, I kept fooling myself. And yet, all the time I knew I was fat and needed to do something. In Korea I lost 80 pounds on the Dr. Atkins Diet, so over my life I would always try to pattern what I ate based on Atkins, but I was never able to do it. I have a weakness for fast food and never thought twice about having a burger or fries, if the opportunity was there to have them. In fact, I considered Whataburger as “fine dining”. Whenever I went TDY, I usually managed to lose a few pounds because I could stock my quarters with only those things I should eat. But even then, if a hamburger called my name, I was there. And despite what Jared says, you can “eat fresh” at Subway and still gain weight.

The final blow came a couple of years ago when I was going TDY to Hawaii. I had gone to the Oncologist for my semi-annual checkup and the blood pressure machine was on the fritz. The nurse told me I needed to go to my primary care doctor and have them take my blood pressure. Since I had never had high blood pressure in my life, and because I was flying to Hawaii in two days, I decided it could wait until I got back in two months. And off I flew to paradise. About a week or so later I got a call from my primary care doctor wanting me to come in and follow up on having my blood pressure checked. I explained I was TDY in Hawaii and would come in when I got home. So when I got home, I made an appointment and went in. For the first time in my life, my blood pressure was off the charts. The doctor immediately ordered an EKG and found that I was in atrial fibrillation. He ordered an immediate consultation with the Cardiologist. Jannie and I were planning a trip just before Thanksgiving to drive out to Fort Knox to see Hilary, Paul and the kids, and then stop in Arkansas for Thanksgiving with the family. The doctor said absolutely not! He finally said I could to Arkansas for Thanksgiving, but not Kentucky. Later, the Cardiologist determined that my A-Fib was being caused by hyperthyroidism and that I had to have my thyroid removed. In the meantime, I was put on some heavy drugs to lower my blood pressure and keep my blood from clotting to prevent a stroke. I had my thyroid removed and with some additional treatment, my heart was shocked back into rhythm.
With no thyroid, I gained more weight. I ballooned up to a size 50 pants. I can remember not too many years earlier when Todd and I were in Hacks Western Wear in Killeen, seeing a pair of size 50 Levis, and thinking that no one could really be that big. At the end, though, I wore size 50, and mostly because I couldn’t find a 52! I finally admitted to myself that I was now fat. I wondered if I could get the doctor to refer me for a gastric bypass. I was determined to ask him when I went in for my physical in a few weeks. At the doctor visit he told me that my last physical had all my blood numbers way elevated, although my blood pressure was being controlled by medication. He asked me if I had ever considered having a gastric bypass. I said “sign me up”.

The process from that day to the 29th of June, the day of my surgery, took about 7 months. But I did follow thru and had the surgery. I am now just a little more than a week past the procedure, and I am losing weight, learning to eat again, and changing my whole life style, at least as to how I see food in my life. My goal is to get back down to that 170 pounds I weighed when I got home from Korea those many years ago. Don’t know that I can get that far, but I will sure try. Today I am down 25 pounds from my official start weight, and I am down to wearing size 48 pants again. I feel good and am healing well. So the adventure begins. This is just the beginning of my weight loss story.

My Beaches

2010-06-19T22:20:00.002-05:00

This is an open letter to my family and friends on the west coast, the gulf coast and the east coast. These are my thoughts and your comments are welcome; and you are welcome to pass them on, if you so desire.

I was raised on the west coast of central California. My entire life revolved around going to the beach. I love the beach. I love the sand and the salt air. I love the Monterey Bay and the Pacific Ocean. The sound of the surf breaking on the shore has been, at times, to me, very therapeutic. As a child I built sand castles and sand angles. I swam in the cold pacific and loved every minute of it. We went to the beach and always laid our towels and blankets as close to the ocean as we could get without the water running up to us and drowning out our “spot”. When the tide began to role in, we moved just a little further back. As kids, we spent entire days at the beach. On family trips to Capitola, we craned our necks to be the first one to see the ocean as we topped Depot Hill and descended down into the Village and the beach. And I knew that I would always live near the Pacific Ocean, for it captivated me.

Then life got in the way. At 19 I began serving my mission for our church and was called to serve in New England and on Long Island. I came to love another ocean – the Atlantic. Its waters were as cold as my beloved Pacific, but that didn’t matter because as a missionary, we couldn’t swim. But we could watch the boats – and even played football one P-Day on the beach at Patchogue --- in March, and had to hike over the snow to get to the sand. Later in the spring, several of us went out early on P-Day and strolled the beach. It was beautiful. And the white sand beaches rivaled the golden beaches of California. In Maine I marveled at the fishing boats and I knew that one day I would have a hide-a-way cabin on the New England Coast.

My introduction to the Gulf Coast came in the height of the Vietnam War. I was drafted and had to leave my bride in California to attend Army training ---- at an Air Force Base in Biloxi, Mississippi. I quickly learned that Biloxi was known as the Gold Coast of Mississippi. It was really quite pretty. The white sandy beaches were not quite the caliber of what I had become accustomed on the East and West coasts, but they were nice. Biloxi sat on the shore of Biloxi Bay and the water was sheltered by barrier islands from the Gulf of Mexico. An afternoon boat trip to Ship Island and I was immediately hooked on the Gulf of Mexico. In the bay, the water was calm, much like a lake. But on the Gulf side of Ship Island, we had surf, and wind and beautiful white beaches! I knew someday I would spend many years on the beaches of The Gulf of Mexico.

About halfway thru my tour in Vietnam, my bride and baby daughter found ourselves on R and R in Hawaii. I remember Jannie and Heidi coming from the West Coast Jannie melting in the humidity. I, on the other hand, coming from the jungles of Southeast Asia, was so grateful for the dry climate of the Islands. Dying of humidity and reveling in the comfortable weather, we fell in love with Hawaii. Upon my completion of duty in Vietnam, I was stationed at Fort Rucker, Alabama. After a month or so, I reenlisted and got my choice of duty stations, and we were headed to the Island of Oahu! While this turned out to be our least favorite assignment in the Army, I did fall in love with Hawaiian beaches and the warm waters of the Hawaiian Pacific. And we had a chance to buy a condo right on the beach and at a price a young Sergeant could afford, and I knew that I would be spending much of my life on the beaches of Hawaii! All I will say is that it didn’t work out. And we headed back home to the home of Army Aviation.

We arrived at Fort Rucker in April 1973. Our first Christmas there, we had family come and visit. My mother came down and on New Year’s Day we drove down to be beach at Panama City. Heidi, Brett and Todd were all the kids we had then, and it was a beautiful day. I realized there and then that if I could go to the beach on New Year’s Day that I loved the Deep South! Over the next nearly 10 years we ventured often to the beach. The early years we found the Fort Rucker Recreation Area at Niceville, FL. It wasn’t directly on the Gulf, but on the bay. The beach was small and the water was flat and you could walk out in the water forever and the water was never deeper than your waist. With small children, it was the perfect beach. But the children didn’t stay small, and as the years flew by, so did the ages of the older kids. So it was time to move to a different beach – one with more stuff to interest the kids. So we began going to Fort Walton Beach and Panama City Beach. Some day trips; and some trips when we rented a house for the week. We had fun, and Panama City Beach became our favorite. And having been in Alabama for so long, we had come to think that we would retire from the Army there, and I was excited to think that I would be able to spend many years at the beaches in Florida.

The reality of life is that we retired in Central Texas, many, many miles from the beach. Our pool has replaced the lake and the ocean, and we have fun here. But deep in the recesses of my heart, I love the beach and when I have a chance, I go. Since we have been here, I have had the chance to go back to some of my favorite beaches. I have been to the fishing villages of New England, been TDY to Southern California for almost 3 months, living in Huntington Beach and walking in the sand almost daily. I have been to Capitola several times, and less than two years ago was able to go TDY to Oahu and stayed in a condo in Turtle Bay, on the North Shore. I spent many evenings sitting on Hawaii’s Sunset Beach, and others. To me, the beach will always be my special place and I long to visit them again in my life.

But today, many of those beaches are threatened. The habitats for many fish, oysters and water fowl have been wiped out. The beautiful marshlands are coated with oil. Wildlife is under siege. The beaches of the Louisiana Gulf Coast are being fouled. Livelihoods are threatened and the fishing industry will be destroyed for generations. Today marks the 60th day of the gulf oil disaster, and there is no fix in site. To date, nothing has worked, and the oil keeps gushing. I watch and listen to the news; I see fingers being pointed and the blame game in full force, but what I do not see is much progress, (in the words of President Obama) plugging the “damn hole”. Instead, this is what I see.

I see a speech of empty rhetoric from the Oval Office that just fixed blame, called for a new energy policy and assured us the he is on top of the situation, but I don’t see the oil flow easing.

I see the Congress, the ENTIRE Congress incensed with righteous indignation, and grilling the BP Oil execs for hours in front of the television cameras, seeking a photo op and perhaps 10 seconds of footage that can be used in a reelection commercial, but I do not see much going on to clean up the mess.

I see the executives of BP promising to make the Gulf of Mexico and its people whole, but I don’t see much money flowing into the economy and the bank accounts of the families.

What I do see is very disturbing. I hope I can make this clear and understandable. First, BP is in great trouble. We have yet to know the full scope of how much of this accident was caused by poor safety practices, etc. We may never know, but this much I do know, BP has some explaining to do.

As does the Government of the United States and its leaders, starting at the top. Why did it take over 10 days before the oil disaster was ever addressed by the President? Oh, I have heard him and many others say that he has been on top of it since day one, but that statement is not borne out by the facts. Why was it weeks before he ever bothered to leave the golf course and head to the Gulf? It was only after he was taking a beating from his own party and watching his poll numbers head south that he packed up and headed south, blaming BP and sending scores of lawyers to sue BP and whoever else they find, was the response of the government.

I find it very amusing, if amusement can be pulled from this crisis, that the President and Congress demonize BP on the one hand, and on the other say that only BP has the ability and technology to stop the leak and clean up the mess. So BP is the bad guy and the good guy, all at once.

At about the 30 day mark we heard disturbing news. The day of the explosion and the detection of the massive leak 5000 feet below the surface, several foreign governments, including Netherlands, Great Britain, and several others, offered assistance and technology to clean up the spill. The ability to skim off the oil before it reached shore. After all, it was far enough out in the gulf to allow the positioning of the equipment and operations to begin before the first drop of oil came within miles of a grain of white sand or a bed or oysters. But the administration turned down all the offers of help, in writing. Why? The reason was a 1920’s law called the Jones Act. This law requires that only members of trade unions be authorized to participate in disaster clean up. The provision of that law also allows for the President to suspend its use. Every President from the time the law was enacted to now has suspended the use of the provision when disasters have occurred, for disaster cleanup. This included the clean ups of major hurricanes like Camille and Katrina, as well as during the cleanup of the Exxon Valdez oil spill. Why now, does a President refuse help when it is available? In the Army we referred to that as the 4-Ps – Piss Poor Prior Planning. Sixty days later, we quietly go back to those governments with our hands out asking for help…. But the oil is no longer miles out to sea…it is on the shore.

Several private companies in the United States offered help with technology that could clean up the mess. They were told no. Actor Kevin Costner had developed a process that sucks oil from the sea and separates the oil from the water, and demonstrated how it worked. Through the process he developed, the oil is funneled into a container and clean salt water is sent back into the sea. He was told no. And why are there miles of protective boom sitting in warehouses throughout the country, idle? Why has the Governor of Louisiana not been given the authority by the Feds to build sand barriers to keep the oil off the beaches and out of prime fishing and oyster areas? Last week the Louisiana Governor authorized oil skimming barges to go out into the Gulf and start skimming oil – a process that was working. Why did the Coast Guard, under orders from the Department of Homeland Security shut down the operation, require all the boats return to harbor to be inspected for fire extinguishers and live vests? And why has the EPA, in the excuse of preventing an environmental disaster, stopped the use of chemicals that disbursed the oil and broke it down so that the microbes in the sea can eat the oil and the atmosphere can evaporate it? Isn’t the oil coming ashore a worse environmental disaster? I am not making this up. Check the stories in the press. They have reported all of this.

I could go on and on for pages and pages to show how the Administration, like the gang that couldn’t shoot straight, has bungled this entire operation – from the day one they claimed to be on top of it. But I am too upset. I cannot think of anything recently that has upset me more. Why? I saw on the news tonight that today the oil has started washing up on Panama City Beach!

Mr. President, you are on the golf course today at Andrews Air Force Base with the Vice President and several of the leaders of your Administration. Why don’t you put down your golf clubs and your incompetence, stop playing the blame game and looking for “someone’s ass to kick”, order and authorize the procedures that will allow the cleanup to begin and to “PLUG THE DAMN HOLE!”

Mariela Abigail Pritchard

2010-05-02T17:09:00.000-05:00

In the April 2010 Home Teaching message, President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, spoke of listening to promptings and acting upon those promptings. He told the story of Solomon Chamberlain who, in 1816, had a dream in which he was told that he would live to see the restoration of the Lord’s gospel upon the earth. In 1830, Solomon was traveling by boat down the Erie Cannel to Canada on business. When the boat stopped at Palmyra, NY, he was prompted to get off the boat. He did. While visiting with the townsfolk, he learned of a man named Joseph Smith and his gold bible. Solomon says that when he heard the words “gold bible”, the words sent “a power like electricity [that] went from the top of my head to the end of my toes.” He met Joseph Smith and left Palmyra with 96 unbound pages of The Book of Mormon. He traveled to Canada, using the manuscript to teach of the restored Gospel. Solomon was present on that day when the Church was organized on April 6, 1830. Solomon had a prompting and acted upon it and received great blessings in his life.

I am thankful for promptings. This week has been a very special one for me as a father and grandfather because my son followed promptings given to him. Eighteen months ago a story ran in the local newspapers of a 2 month old baby girl who had been admitted to a local hospital with 9 broken bones. Her parents were in jail because of the abuse of her father. My son, Brett, an attorney heard of this case and was prompted to talk to his wife, Cindy, and see if they could get this baby. They have 5 of their own children, the youngest just one day younger than the foster baby. He spoke to the judge, and they were awarded temporary custody of this baby. This was unusual since they had not been to the certification training for foster parents. After a few days in the hospital, Mariela was released and came into their home. This baby was not an easy baby because she was not only abused and broken; she was also a “special needs” child, having a severe form of mental retardation. Following several months of having the baby in their home, Brett was prompted again that the baby should go to her family – not her parents, but an aunt and uncle. I remember the day she left their home and how Brett sobbed and sobbed. As I recall, so did we. But it was the right thing.

After just a few weeks it became obvious that the aunt and uncle could not care for the baby, and the judge ordered the baby to be placed back in the full time care of Brett and Cindy. Now they not only had her, they now wanted to adopt her. But a battle was about to ensue. Though the father had already given up his parental rights, the mother had not and the possibility loomed that when she was released from jail, she would be deported back to Mexico because she was here illegally, and take Mariela with her. Brett asked the family to fast for Mariela and his family. A few days later, we heard that the mother might give up her rights. And a sometime later, she did.

On Friday, April 30, 2010, in the District Court building in Bell County, Texas, Mariela Ruby Arismendez was adopted by Brett and Cindy. Along with her adoption came her new name, Mariela Abigail Pritchard. In the eighteen months that this baby has been in the family, she has taught us a very important life lesson – to love unconditionally. Though this baby will never walk or run, never talk or do things normal children do, she had given us a great and lasting gift. My congratulations to Brett, Cindy, Brandon, Rebekah, Rachel, Austin and Eathyn… and especially to Mariela. We love you all and the Lord has blessed you beyond your greatest dreams. Thankfully, you followed the prompting.

Random Thoughts from Me

2010-04-27T21:49:00.000-05:00

Some random thoughts from me. Meant to provoke thought, not emotional outbursts. I offer them up and for what it costs you to read, that is what they are worth.
First, I watched the debacle today in the formerly august body of The United States Senate. I was not surprised at the line of questioning by the elite committee holding the hearings on Goldman Sachs. I thought it was a fascinating show on the part of the Democrats considering that almost all of President Obama’s cabinet members are former employees of Goldman Sachs. I am also amused that the Chairman of Goldman Sachs is not only a liberal Democrat, but a personal friend of the Obama’s. No wonder the press has had a heyday with the timing of this committee and its investigation (right when the President wants the Congress to reform and regulate Wall Street). Goldman takes a hit, pays a fine of a few million dollars and is then, somehow, exempted from the new regulations, and makes billions. The old Democrat play book is to divide and conquer and right on cue they try to pit Main Street against Wall Street.

One thing I found interesting was the insistence of the Committee for Goldman Sachs to make public all the internal emails from the company. The courts long ago have determined that emails are protected by free speech and are private. Taking emails and making public only portions of them – taking them out of context – is an old trick used by the Congress politicos of both parties, and the press. I wonder, if the Congress can force Goldman Sachs, a private company, to make public its emails; if we could make all 100 members of the Senate, who are public servants and whose emails belong to We, the People, make public their emails. I would venture they would not because they contain the very same embarrassing type content that is in the Goldman emails.

Secondly, and much shorter. I am aghast at the county I have called home, where I was born and raised; Santa Clara County, California. It seems that the all knowing SCC Commissioners have deemed McDonald’s Happy Meal toys to be fattening and dangerous to our young children. I wasn’t aware that toys contained calories or fat. Now certain meals containing more than a specified number of fat grams and calories cannot be served with toys (fries yes, plastic, no). The Nanny Statists feel that children are eating the fatty meals to get the toys, and that by eliminating the toys; children would not eat those meals and get fat.

May I suggest something else? As little as a generation ago, when my children were young, they were outside playing football, basketball, tag, or any number of activities that involved lots of running and jumping. We didn’t have the obesity problems in children then as much as we do today. Now if I ask my grandchildren if they want to play football, they do --- on X-Box or PS3. If we want to get our kids back in good health, banning a cheap toy from a Happy Meal won’t do it. How about parents being parents and turning off the X-Boxes, hand held games, and texting telephones, and doing what my mother did –running them outside and having them play hard. Turn off the games and soon they would be tossing the football. Would it really work? I say, why not give it a try.

A Fire in the Pature 2009

2009-11-16T16:47:00.002-06:00

It started earlier this year than in other years. In fact, it has been going on since last year’s fire in the pasture was drowned in the rain. The excitement of the Thanksgiving holiday over the years has grown, until this year’s fire is more of a “fire in the belly” than a “fire in the pasture”. For sure, there will be a fire burning in the pasture for the kids to poke and stoke, but I am talking about the fire in the boys and some girls to be out on the hunt. The closer we get to our annual trek to the small farm in Arkansas, the more the talk and the bigger the stories. Since last year’s bust in the woods, a lot of hunts have taken place. Deer stands have been built and put on Texas deer leases. Hunts have taken place on private lands that have not been hunted in many years. And visits to the small farm in Arkansas have been extended in order to help Shawn put more deer stands up for this year’s hunt. This year there is not a deer within all of southwest Arkansas that is safe! Boys with guns --- thru the centuries, nothing has changed.

It doesn’t seem that long ago when Thanksgiving was about the dinner; and the dinners were served on plates with roses on them and sterling silver utensils to eat with. Pink stemmed goblets, and later, rose covered glasses held the water. The hamburger bun dressing was done to perfection and the pies were baked and ready to eat. The bell was rung and kids and grandparents sat around the Capitola table and we gave thanks and ate till we were thankful for Rolaids. And that was before the dessert! There was roasted turkey and dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy and a colorful array of wiggly, jiggly molded salads. Those Thanksgivings will always have a special place in the hearts of those of us who sat at that table and loved those dinners.

Our annual family reunion Thanksgivings reminds me of the Thanksgivings of my childhood. As a child, we had our Thanksgivings at the beach, in the Capitola house, sitting around that same Capitola table, or the two or three kids tables sitting in the living room. We didn’t have a fire in the pasture, but we had a river on the beach and a wharf in the ocean. It was November and the weather was not unlike what we have now in Arkansas; some years we had warm sunny days, and some were chilly and rainy. We took them all and loved every minute. We ran in the sand and “sailed” our ships from the end of the wharf. And those dinners – oh my gosh…. Such delights as dry turkey and two kinds of dressing – wet and dry! Mom’s getting up and putting the turkey in the oven at 2 AM for a noon dinner…turkey cooking right up to putting it on the table. Mom’s apple and pumpkin pies and Aunt Dee’s pecan pies topped off the dinner. And the slice of apple pie swiped after dinner and put under the bed for later. I would be willing to bet that many pieces of pie were found when the mom’s cleaned the house before closing it up when we all went home. And the memories that have lasted a lifetime to those of us who were the children of the Capitola Thanksgivings.

The key to those Capitola Thanksgivings is the same as the key to our Arkansas Thanksgivings – kids. All we do is for them – to make memories that will last into adulthood and will become the stories of the Thanksgivings of their youth. For some, it will be their first buck, and for others, the first time they drove a 4 wheeler. As I look forward to our trek to Arkansas in just a few days, I am excited to watch the older boys playing with the fire or their DS’s; to watch the girls talk moms and aunts into taking them to the mall, or to give the boys pointers on tending the fire. I am anxious to put on my boots and pick up my walking stick, and take the hands of 2 and 3 year olds and take them for walks with Mimi to see the horses, cows and chickens. This is turning into a GREAT Thanksgiving….a wonderful Fire in the Pasture that will give us a warm glow for the rest of our lives. And like our lives continue, so will this post!

Henry James, a Re-Post

2009-11-10T08:33:00.002-06:00

I really don’t know how to write about Henry James. His is such a sad story and it breaks my heart when I think of his short, pain filled life. I don’t have a lot of stories to tell because there were not a lot of happy incidents that come to mind. He was born on November 10, 1955 in San Jose, California. He was loved greatly and I remember he had huge eyes and a captivating smile. He was born a few months before his cousin; Lisa Susan Magnon Scherer was born on April 30, 1957.

He was not quite a year old when we moved to Dallas in the fall of 1956. We lived in the house my parents rented before they purchased the home two doors down. At about 3 PM on April 2, 1957, a Category 3 tornado hit Dallas. My mother was in the kitchen and had told me to watch Henry as I watched TV in the den. Evelyn was also in the den watching TV. An announcement on TV warned of the tornado. I ran and told Mom and she tuned in the radio to KLIF and listened to the Tornado Warning. We were told to go to a shelter or into the smallest room in the center of the house. That was the hallway. Sitting in the hall, Mom held Henry and Evelyn and I huddled together. Mom couldn’t hear the radio very well, but was afraid to go to her bedroom to turn it up. Finally she broke to the radio and turned it up.

It was about that time when Evelyn and Henry came down with the Chicken Pox. Evelyn was covered with spots, but Henry had only a couple of pock marks. He hardly was sick during that bout. Between then and our moving back to California after my Dad lost his job with Slick Airways, I have almost no memories of Henry James.

We moved back to San Jose in the spring of 1958. We stayed with Aunt June for a few days. I remember waking up with my Mother screaming “MY BABY”. Aunt June wouldn’t let us come out of the bedroom. An ambulance arrived and left. It was the next morning I would learn that Henry James was taken to the hospital. He had gone into convulsions when my Mother started screaming. He stayed in the hospital for a few days and was diagnosed with Juvenile Diabetes. He stayed in the hospital while the doctors regulated his insulin levels. He came home after a few days and apparently didn’t have many more problems at that time.

We went to Clear Lake, CA on vacation some time later. Aunt Bell had a place there and they let us go up there for a few days. I had been there with Aunt June and Uncle Lee sometime earlier. I must have been 15 because Evelyn was 12, and that is a whole other story. Evelyn and I had a lot of fun. We went out in Uncle Jim’s boat and there was a dance almost every night in the park where we were staying. We had planned on staying longer than we did, but Henry got sick. He was in pain and she took him to a local doctor. When they got back, we packed up and headed back home. He was admitted to the hospital again. He was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis.
This disease would take its toll on his frail body. He was in and out of the hospital several times, then seemed to settle down and he came home and went back to school. He was 6 and in the First Grade.

One of my favorite memories of Henry, perhaps the only one, happened one summer day when we were at home. Our house was not air conditioned, like most homes in Central California then, so we had a screen door on the front, back and patio doors. I was sitting on the front porch steps doing something. Henry was in the living room on the other side of the screen, and we were talking. As we were talking, a girl about 16 walks by the house on the sidewalk. At the top of his lungs he yells, “HELLO THERE CUTIE!” She looked up and kept walking. She could not see through the screen door, so all she saw was me. Had no idea who she was, never saw her again, as far as I know, but I could have crawled under a rock and just died. She never said a word, He thought that was the funniest thing he ever did.

It is sad, but that is about the only thing I remember about Henry without him being in the hospital. Evelyn and I could never go see him while he was in the hospital in San Jose because of the rules about kids going into the hospital. A few months after the incident at the screen door, he had another health crisis and was back in the hospital. It seems that the treatment for the diabetes and the RA conflicted. Every time the doctor’s got one disease under control, the other flared up. His little body was showing signs of the RA. His joints were huge. He spent several weeks in the hospital, then came home. He went back to school again, but only for a short time. Then he was admitted again. This time the doctor made arrangements for him to be transferred to the Stanford Children’s Hospital at Stanford University. He would never come home.

The doctors at SCH tried to regulate the two diseases, but made very little headway. He seemed, in fact, to be worsening. At some point, because of the intense affect on his body, his immune system began to shut down. He was diagnosed with Relapsing Polychondritis a disease that causes inflammation of the joints, particularly the cartilage. As I have read some about this disease, it is rare and the symptoms could easily be mistaken for RA. I wonder if he wasn’t misdiagnosed from the beginning.

My mother would drive to SCH every day to spend time with Henry. Evelyn and I were teenagers and spent a lot of time home alone. On Saturdays we went up to the hospital with Mom, We also went on some Sundays, but usually we stayed home. I remember how frail he was. He laid in bed all day and had developed bedsores. Mom had gotten him a sheep skin to lie on, but it only helped somewhat. If he wanted to sit up in a chair, I would carry him. He could no longer walk. On some visits we could actually take him on an outing for an hour or so. We would load him up in the car and put his wheel chair in the trunk. Then we would go to the mall and walk around and buy him some ice cream. Once we took him to Crystal Springs Reservoir so he could be out doors for a little while. I remember picking him up so he could see something and could feel his heart just racing. I thought how it was not right for his heart to be racing that fast.

At the hospital I would play cars with him. He had lots of Hot Wheels. He was in great pain and I would hold his arm or leg and softly tickle his foot or arm. It relieved the pain to have his foot tickled. When I came in he always wanted me to tickle his foot.

It was about 10 PM one evening after Mom had come home from the hospital. The phone rang and Mom answered it in the kitchen. I heard her call out and collapse on the floor. I took the phone and it was the doctor. He told me that Henry “had expired” a few minutes earlier. Then he told me we needed to make arrangements to have him picked up before the morning. I remember how impersonal he seemed, and how incredulous I was. First, I called the mortuary and made arrangements to have him picked up. Then I called my Dad. He had been talking to Mom earlier that evening and thought it was the operator calling him back. He said he would fly out the next day.

His funeral was three days later at the San Jose Stake Center. I remember the chapel was about half full with family and friends. Henry had an open casket and at the end of the service those present passed by him, paying their last respects. As the family lingered, I stood by his casket and thought how peaceful he looked. As I began to leave, I laid his favorite toy in the casket with him – a little brown monkey with a yellow t-shirt with red letters across the front spelling the monkey’s name – Zip. He was buried at the Santa Clara County Cemetery, next to his Great Grandmother.

I remember how upset I was over his passing. I remember his frail body and the pain he was in. I would hear people say he was in a better place, that he was no longer in pain. I wanted to believe those things I professed to be true, but he was the first person I was close to who died. The night of the funeral I went to bed and Henry appeared to me in a dream. I remember is as vividly now as I did when it happened when I was 18. He stood at the foot of my bed and said that I shouldn’t be sad, that he was okay now. He moved his arms and legs to show me he was without pain. I woke and had a peaceful feeling come over me. I have never doubted since. Years later I would have that same peaceful feeling again, in the Dallas Temple, when I was diagnosed with cancer…but this is not about me.

Dr. Ludwig Von Stitches

2009-09-21T20:17:00.006-05:00

I have always been one who thought that laughter is the best medicine. Ever notice when you aren’t feeling well that a dose of laughter will make you feel better much faster than a dose of cod liver oil? Have you ever told a pouting child or a mad adult not to laugh? “Now don’t you laugh; don’t you dare laugh,” and in a matter of seconds the frown disappears and is replaced by a smile or a giggle?

I would much rather laugh. To quote Uncle Albert in the Walt Disney classic movie, Mary Poppins,

“I love to laugh

Loud and long and clear

I love to laugh

It's getting worse ev'ry year”

The more I laugh

The more I fill with glee

And the more the glee

The more I'm a merrier me

It's embarrassing!

The more I'm a merrier me!”

When my children were young, I took this to heart. One day, one of my children came in crying because he or she had hurt a toe. I have no clue where the idea came from, but I said, in my best German (?) accent, “Come over here and let Dr. Von Stitches look at it.”. I had whoever it was lay down on the floor and give me the hurt toe. Then I started doing “this little piggie went to market”, with a slight variation.

“This little piggie went to market.
This little piggie stayed home.
This little piggie had a pizza,
And this little piggie had ---wait,
Piggys don’t eat pizza.

So then I said I would have to “adjust” the piggys. After all, out of whack piggys just wouldn’t do. The adjustment button was on the bottom of their little foot. The more I “adjusted” the piggys, the more they laughed. And the more they laughed, the less they hurt. Soon the tears were gone; replaced by smiles.

Over the years since, Dr. Von Stitches has built quite a practice and has fixed everything from hurt toes to hurt hearts. He still has his original 8 patients, but also has their spouses. And now he has at least 27 more little patients. “Grandpa, will you do my piggys?” “Grandpa, my sister is hurt, will Dr. Von Stitches look at her?” Not only do the kids bring their siblings or cousins, but the parents drag crying kids with boo boos to Dr. Von Stitches or his magic way of turning tears into giggles.

I have noticed that my kids all do “piggys ” on their children. All the piggys eat pizza or peanut butter sandwiches and have to have an adjustment on that special adjustment button. But if grandpa is near by, it’s “go see Dr. Von Stitches. And Ludwig Von Stitches always has available appointments and has his miracle piggy repair bag ready to adjust piggys and make laughs.

The Peace Symbol

2009-08-20T11:55:00.001-05:00

The pharmacy tech was, maybe, 25 years old. She was working in the pharmacy this morning at the base hospital clinic I was at and she was helping to fill my prescriptions. To me, her age was important because she was wearing a pair of orange earrings that were the hippie “peace symbols.” The fact that she was just 25 puts her into that group of innocence, of not knowing. At 25, she was probably older than her mother was when her mother first saw the “peace symbol.” The fact that she was working in the pharmacy of a military medical clinic during a time when soldiers were deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan really has nothing to do with my observation. If I had asked her, I would have probably gotten the same reaction from her as I get from my 15 year old grandson who wears a t-shirt with the symbol. It really means nothing … it is a symbol of peace.

The iconic peace symbol is not the upside down broken cross inside a circle, as we have come to accept. The symbol of peace has always been the dove with an olive branch in its claws, or just the olive branch. This symbol dates back to the time of Noah when he released a dove from the ark that returned with an olive branch, telling Noah that the waters were receding off the face of the earth. The symbol we see today has not been the symbol of peaceful times … in fact quite the opposite.

The symbol started out in the ‘50s as the symbol of nuclear disarmament in England and Europe. It came to the United States about 1960 and was picked up by the anti-Vietnam War movement, beginning at the University of Chicago. A couple of years later, it was everywhere and was used to rally the anti-war crowd – mostly college students at the more liberal schools in the country. I remember walking down the street near San Jose State College and seeing the symbol painted on just about everything…graffiti. It was present when student “peace” demonstrations turned violent at The University of California at Berkley, and at Kent State University, resulting in the deaths of students participating in the demonstrations. The National Guard’s shooting of students, while tragic, was a direct result of students assaulting the inexperienced troops called out to protect University property. It was present when anti-war protestors rallied on the National Mall in 1969. And it was present during the infamous visit to North Vietnam by activist Jane Fonda in 1972. Google “1960s peace symbol ”or“ anti-Vietnam War movement and you will find pages of articles about how the peace movement, with its symbols, was responsible for the ending of the Vietnam. In actuality, if you search hard, you will find that it was more responsible for prolonging the war, resulting in the deaths of additional American servicemen.

During the early 1960s, Vietnam was an obscure little country “somewhere near Japan,” and as a 10th grade student in 1960, I wasn’t really sure where Japan was. I had no idea where Vietnam was and the term Indo-China was never used. The US had some military advisors there, but that was about all I knew, if I even knew that much. All through high school, the only foreign news stories I was aware of had more to do with the outrageous hairstyles of The Beatles and whether they would ever be more popular than The Beach Boys. After I graduated from high school, I had to register for the draft. My fear of being drafted didn’t involve going to war, but whether or not I was going to be able to go on my Mission before I was drafted. All of that changed in August 1964 when the Gulf of Tonkin Incident occurred. In the resulting resolution, the Congress gave President Johnson the authority to use military force in Southeast Asia without a formal Congressional declaration of war. The build-up of American forces in Vietnam was rapid, and I began to wonder if I would stay out of the draft long enough to even go on a Mission.

I entered the Mission Home in Salt Lake City in September 1965 and was told that Elder Gordon B. Hinckley, an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve, was the Church’s representative working to get Missionaries their ministerial draft deferments, but that it was not a done deal until the deferments were secured. Two days later, I got the word that my 2Y Ministerial deferment had been approved and I was going to be a missionary. As I came to the end of my mission, the escalation of the war was in full force and we were beginning to hear about the war in our homes on the evening news. I was afraid that I wouldn’t get my student deferment, but I did. Attending school in San Jose was an eye opener for me. Everywhere you saw the peace symbol, and every day, a demonstration. More than once my fiancée had to be evacuated from her office because of the tear gas from the police. After that year in school, I transferred to school in Southern California as I obtained a good job and was getting married. Upon my transfer, I couldn’t get the minimum required units and I lost my deferment. A month after my deferment expired, I was in the Army.

On April 30, 1975 the fall of Saigon was complete. The Americans had withdrawn and the country of South Vietnam ceased to exist. Since the end of what became known as the Indo-China War nearly 35 years ago, many books have been written by principals in the leadership of both sides in the conflict. From Rush Limbaugh: “How many of you remember the name General Giap from the North Vietnamese army? … He was a very famous, knowledgeable general in the North Vietnamese army. He's published his memoirs and here's a pull quote: "What we still don't understand is why you Americans stopped the bombing of Hanoi. You had us on the ropes. If you had pressed us a little harder, just for another day or two, we were ready to surrender. It was the same at the battle of Tet. You defeated us. We knew it. We thought you knew it. But we were elated to notice that your media was definitely helping us. They were causing more disruption in America than we could in the battlefield. We were ready to surrender. You had won." He makes the point the Vietnam War was not lost in Vietnam; it was lost [at home].”

For those of us who were there, the Hippies’ peace symbol will always generate hostile feelings towards those who extended our war. The Lord tells us to forgive, and I have forgiven those who participated in the anti-war movement; however, it is their cause and tactics I still remember, as do most soldiers who were there. I have looked at the names on the Vietnam Memorial Wall and wonder how many fellow soldiers whose names are on that wall would be alive today but for the “Peace symbol” and the movement it represented.

GRUMPY OLD MAN

2009-08-18T19:50:00.001-05:00

After today I have decided that I will never be old. Therefore, you cannot call me “old and grumpy” anymore, just “grumpy”. This morning I went to the gym to do my bike ride and I noticed all the old people in the parking area. The gym I go to is the city facility and the senior center is located right across the parking lot. A few months ago, when I decided to join the gym, someone told me that I could get a senior discount if I belonged to the senior center. So I went over to take the 50 cent tour of the place. Now, years ago, when my mother was alive and living here, she belonged to the senior center. I had no problem with that because, to me, she had been old my entire life. So she would go to the senior center and square dance (right Holly?), have lunch, do ceramics, and get free bread. So I figured that if I had to join to get the discount at the gym, I could use a free loaf of bread every now and then. I took the tour just before lunchtime the day I went. The gentleman giving me the tour was just a year or two younger than General Eisenhower….and I am sure he knew him personally. He told me the senior center had its own gym, which should have sent up a red flag right there. He took me in and told me that I could use the equipment at no charge, (there were several pieces, but only 1 of each) but that I had to first take a 4 week training course on the equipment before I could use it. He then took me to the “library”. There were about 50 books….but it also was equipped with two computers and their instructor would teach me how to use them. After the library we went to the lunch room. They serve lunch every day at 11:30 and dinner at 4:30. This gave me pause because the center is closed on the weekends, so I wondered where the old folks ate on Saturday and Sunday; but I digress. He told me I was there just in time for lunch …. and only $2.00. I looked into the dining area and I was reminded of the countless nursing homes I have visited over my life. It looked and smelled just like them all. By now I was so depressed I thanked the tour guide and told him I would get back with him if my wife and I decided we wanted to join. Then I decided to go to the gym facility and check it out. As a senior (over 55 – seniors get younger every year, it seems), I could join for only $10 a month. A quick tour and I knew this was okay. No classes, no ceramics, and no lunch. Before I left I was a full-fledged member of the Tommy Harris Fitness Center.

This morning, after my workout, I was sitting outside on a bench in front of the gym, cooling down; enjoying my music and the breeze, as I do every morning. I noticed that the parking lot was especially full because of some type of training for police officers taking place in the gym facility. Cars were moving up and down the parking aisles, drivers looking for places to park. It became obvious that the drivers were members of the senior center because they only looked for places near the center …. Up and down the aisles looking for a parking space to magically appear. Across the lot, away from the center, there was plenty of parking….but not near enough I guess. Reluctantly, some finally took spaces further away and took the long trek to the center. I could tell by the body language and hand gestures being displayed in conversations with others, that they were not happy that someone had the audacity to park in the senior side of the lot! (It sort of reminded me of the parking lot at my high school with underclassmen parking in the sacred senior side).

Then today I had to go to the PX to check on moving my prescriptions from Walgreens to the Darnell Pharmacy. I was also looking for a couple of items I needed to buy since I was there anyway. I became aware of an announcement being made over the PA system….it was the second or third time I heard it, but now I was listening to it…mostly because the sound of the voice was annoying. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a special showing today of a product not normally available in the Exchange”, the announcement said. We are giving away a free sample of the product today only, in just a few minutes, to all adults in the Exchange who would like to have one. This product will be available here at Fort Hood and at no other Exchange in Texas. You have seen this product on QVC and the Home Shopping Network”. Now, I never watch either one, but that made me realize that I wasn’t interested in anything they were giving away. And never at anytime were we actually told what the product was. The demonstration and giveaway was taking place in the center of the store, where the toy department and garden department intersect. Now, I had to weave my way right thru that part of the store to get to the exit. My first reaction was “what is going on that there is such a bottleneck here? Then I realized that I was in the midst of the giveaway area. I also noticed that all the people clamoring around for a free sample were old. I wondered if the Senior Center knew all these people had escaped! Old gray haired women in sneakers and old potbellied men with khaki shorts, black loafers and long white socks that went halfway up between their calf and knee, milling around waiting for the coveted free thingamajig. It was more than I could stand and decided right then and there I would never be old and grumpy – just grumpy!

2009-05-26T18:24:00.002-05:00

Letter to Senator Cornyn and Congressman Carter

2009-04-17T07:42:00.003-05:00

This is a copy of the letter I sent to Senator John Cornyn (R-TX) and Congressman John Carter (R-TX) in reference to troop reduction levels at Fort Hood.

The Honorable Senator John Cornyn and the Honorable Representative John Carter;

Fort Hood has been a major part of the defense of the United States for many years. Most of the weapons systems in uses by today’s Army, as well as other Services, were tested and fielded at Fort Hood. The M1 Abrams Tank and the Apache helicopter are two of the major weapons systems that came from this process. The current modernization of the Army has come from the Force XXI development and testing at Fort Hood.

With III Corps, 1st Cavalry Division and 4th Infantry Division all headquartered at Fort Hood, a major portion of the defense forces of the United States are located within the Central Texas area and is has a major impact on the economy and standard of living of the residents of Bell and Coryell Counties, as well as areas in all directions on the compass from Fort Hood.
In an article in the Killeen Daily Herald (15April2009), LTG Rick Lynch, Commander III Corps and Fort Hood, announced the troop levels would decline from the 2009 level of 53,146 to 45,872 by 2013. This reduction of 7,200 plus troops, plus families and civilian support components, will have a huge negative impact on the communities that surround the post. This includes everything from schools to retail and housing.

Countless millions of dollars have been spent on the infrastructure of Fort Hood, primarily since the involvement of Fort Hood in Operation Desert Shield and Operation Desert Storm in the early 1990s. Moving 7200 soldiers to other installations would conceivably require many tax dollars to upgrade those installations. During the current economic climate, how wise is the expenditure of the American people’s tax dollars to build elsewhere what is already available at Fort Hood?

While the move of the 4th Infantry Division to Fort Carson seems to be a done deal, the realignment of the force could easily allow for another Division size unit to headquarter at Fort Hood. The pending arrival of the First Army Division West's headquarters is a start. I urge you to work hard to insure the troop, family, and support population at Fort Hood remain at least at the 2009 levels.

Sincerely,

Raymond F. Pritchard
SFC, Retired
United States Army

Sheets in the Wind

2009-04-14T14:08:00.002-05:00

SHEETS IN THE WIND
By
Frank Pritchard

Sheets swayed back and forth in the wind as my Mom hung bed sheets on the line to dry. When I think of the home of my youth, I can see that old clothesline with its sheets. And later, my own wife would carry wet sheets out to the clothesline to dry in the sun so we could have the aroma of air dried sheets as we lay down at night.

The gymnasium was full. The bleachers were covered with bottoms. Excitement was building by the minute. The noise was deafening. The walls were covered with banners made from sheets, and homemade signs abounded in the bleachers. This wasn’t the big game at the high school. No basketballs were bouncing on the floor or rebounding off the backboards. The floor was covered with kids of all ages running around and playing. The scene was that of a big party – a celebration. The banners weren’t there to encourage the home team on to victory. The signs were not held by fans encouraging the varsity squad. And this wasn’t the local high school. This gym was on Fort Hood.

The banners screamed out “JOB WELL DONE” and “WELCOME HOME 3RD ACR” or a myriad of other unit names. The signs were held up by waiting families: “WE MISSED YOU DADDY”; “MY HUSBAND, MY SOLDIER, MY HERO” or “MY MOM IS A HERO”. The excitement this day was soldiers coming home from Iraq. The kids on the floor and the families in the bleachers were waiting for the words they had waited for 15 months to hear – “The aircraft has landed!” Later, “The busses are on the way”. Then soldiers running thru the doors and forming up…. Line after line, row after row as these soldiers – officers and enlisted – respond to the “FALL IN” command given by their Commanding General.

The Chaplain thanked God for their safe return and prayed for the safety of those soldiers still in Iraq. The General thanked the soldiers for their fine performance as they represented their unit, the United States Army and the American people. Finally, the much awaited command, “DISMISSED”.

Soldiers began searching as families were climbing off the bleachers. Eyes met, tears flowed and the slow trickle of wives, husbands, children, and parents quickened. In a matter of just seconds, the scene changed and where there was once military order on the floor, families were embracing, sweethearts kissing and children lifted up into daddy or mommy’s waiting arms. Teenage girls were crying, hugging dad and texting all at the same time.

The gymnasium started to empty as soldiers, who just moments before, had entered as warriors, were leaving as husbands and wives with their children in tow … families reunited.

This scene is not unusual in Army communities. Drive around the city and see magnets on the backs of cars - a torn heart saying “Half my heart is in Iraq”. Yellow ribbon magnets saying, “Support our soldiers.” And sheets hanging on fences. Soldiers, willing to sacrifice their very lives, sacrifice much every day. Children don’t save first steps or first words for daddy to come home. Daddy – Daughter dinners at school or church go on; and the Pinewood Derby at Cub Scouts takes place with Mom rooting her Cub Scout on to victory – her hands still covered with the paint she used to help prepare his car … the one he dedicated to his dad. And, that special anniversary passes with sweethearts half a world apart. Life goes on.

I have been privileged to watch several homecomings on Fort Hood, in gymnasiums, and on the parade field at the 1st Cavalry Division, where soldiers, lined up at attention, are greeted with a charge of the 1st Cavalry Horse Detachment. It is amazing to see 400 soldiers at attention with the horses and wagons charging across the field the bright Texas sun. It is just as amazing at midnight under a full moon. It will absolutely take your breath away when you see just one soldier, who has returned alone, standing at attention, with the full horse detachment making its charge.

I never gave much thought to sheets until recently. When going to work and then coming home, I see the sheets tied to fences, flapping in the Central Texas wind, and one says “WELCOME HOME MOMMY!”

LOOK INTO MY EYE

2009-01-28T18:28:00.010-06:00

“LOOK IN MY EYE! LOOK IN MY EYE!” shouted Elder Smith as he pinned me down and his face right in mine, and his glass eye in his hand. “NO, I DON’T WANT TO LOOK!” I yelled. "YOU'RE NOT GETTING UP TILL YOU LOOK!" he yelled back. Then I pushed him back, and it started all over again. We were laughing so hard we could barely breath!

Elder Smith lost his right eye in a farming accident when he was a little boy, and now as a 20 year old missionary, he had his 5th prosthetic eye, and now was trying to get me to look into the empty socket – and I didn’t want to look! I remember well that day, and how hard he tried to get me to look. But, I never looked at any time during the months we were together.

Now it is today, nearly a half century later, and it is me with the prosthetic eye. In the year 2000 I was diagnosed with a Choroidal Melanoma in my right eye. In layman's terms, I had skin cancer in my right eye. Unusual, indeed! The choroid layer of the eye has the same tissue as the epidermis or skin, therefore, it is possible to literally get skin cancer in the eye, although very rarely. And I am a rare breed and I got it! After the initial treatment of radiation, my tumor began to shrink and the prognosis seemed to be pretty good. The doctor said that I had to get to 10 years to have the procedure be considered a success and me to be officially “cancer free”. Then in 2005, the tumor began to grow again. The treatment was then considered to be a failure, and the only recourse was to have my right eye surgically removed.

This was not an easy thing for me to accept. I was losing a part of me, not like tonsils or a diseased appendix. I was losing an eye that still worked and of which I had no symptoms of being sick. In 2000, the choice was to remove the eye or have the radiation treatment. My daughter, Hilary’s suggestion was to have the eye removed and then have it replaced with a glass eye – so the kids would have something to dive after.

Now it is me with the glass eye. Actually, it isn’t glass, but acrylic. I posed for the eye as it was hand painted to match the left one. Upon close inspection, one can see some slight flaws, but all in all, it is an exact duplicate of my good eye. I have had doctors who have been amazed at how good it looks.

The kids don’t dive after it in the pool, but the first request I get whenever the kids are together is “Grandpa, take your eye out”. And little Jared is the funniest of all. He isn’t satisfied for me to just take my eye out. He likes to touch it and to wear it. I think I will always picture him with my eye on his forehead or in his eye. I wonder if he will be scarred for life?

May We Have More Pie, Please!

2009-01-16T09:09:00.005-06:00

It is kind of funny when you think of the level of understanding our children have. I would love to delve into the mind’s of these little ones and try to figure out how they think. Which of life’s little experiences have helped form their thoughts and understanding? What meanings do they give the words they hear?

On Sunday evening when the family was gathered together for dinner, the little ones were playing quietly. When the kids found out that no special dessert had been made for after dinner because all the adults figured that their figures could do without, these little ones started discussing desserts. The discussion ended up centering around pie. “I like pecan pie” declared 7 year old cousin, Rachael. “My favorite is pumpkin pie” replied her 7 year old cousin, Colby. Now, here is where I wish I could be in on all the conversations of these little ones. The third cousin in this little group was 5 year old Maddie. Since her daddy owns a pizza restaurant, her understanding of this word is somewhat different. Her daddy always refers to his pizzas as “pies”, so it really is no surprise that when she said her favorite was pepperoni pie.

Her cousins told her that pepperoni was not pie, but to her it was – and I am sure that it will always will be. PEPPERONI pizza PIE!

Missionaries All

2009-01-05T10:52:00.003-06:00

I want to let everyone know that Mom and I have put in our papers to serve a mission. We are applying for a local mission, serving as Military Relations Missionaries. When we are called, we will receive training here. We will not have to go to the MTC. Don't know what the time table is for receiving the call, but we are looking forward to it. We have been wanting to serve a Military Relations Mission, but are not yet able to leave home. There is a great need here in the Fort Hood area as the full time MRM's left and no one is scheduled to take their place. We are excited.

A FIRE IN THE PASTURE 2008

2008-12-09T20:35:00.013-06:00

The smoke could be seen from the road. Gently it billowed up into the blue sky. As we turned off the road onto the dirt driveway we could easily see the source of the smoke. It was Thanksgiving weekend and Mimi’s birthday, and the smoke was from the fire in the pasture. As I looked to the place in the pasture where the brush was piled and burning, I could see little boys stoking the fire with their sticks as in years past. Little girls were there being properly ignored, but taking in the aroma and building the memories that will last all their lives. No matter what happens in the future, these memories are etched permanently in that place in the brain where the memories of pleasurable events are stored.

We honked the horn. Mimi and Grandpa were here and the kids bolted from the fire to the car. Hugs and kisses were had by all. Then the kids started grabbing luggage and tugging on the handles to pull suitcases up the gravel walk to the house. In the house more hugs and kisses. You would have thought we never see each other. With the exception of Heidi, our homes are only a few miles apart. Hilary wouldn’t arrive until late that evening, having gotten a late start from Fort Knox. The weather was cooperating and all would travel and arrive under blue or starry skies.

There were new babies this year and a new requirement for cribs. The cribs required bedrooms so the babies would not keep others awake in the event they had a hard time sleeping. So Mimi and Grandpa all of a sudden were out of a room. Actually, other accommodations could have been made, but it was just easier on all for us to go to town and stay in the motel. As it turned out, the motel was being renovated by the new owners and it was nice, clean and cheap! We were afraid that perhaps the train, which passes just yards from the motel, would awaken us often as the trains rumbled through town. But, we heard not a click nor a clack and we slept well. We stayed at the house late in the evenings and arrived in time for breakfast every morning….usually via the way of Wal-Mart! After our experience, others are now thinking that they may volunteer to stay at the motel in the future.

As the weekend got into full swing, I noticed that the fire in the pasture was often going unattended. Where were the boys? What happened to the girls and their directing the efforts of the boys to make the fire burn better? Nintendo. The boys had graduated to the electronic age and were engaged in whatever little boys play on a DS. The little girls wondered around and played what little girls play when boys are not attending the fire. The older boys were gearing up for the hunt. There was target practice and the sighting in of the sights on the rifles. Learning safety tips from their Dads and making sure the cammo was properly worn. And the older girls were just being older girls…trying to figure out how they could get someone to take them shopping. They settled for the movies with Aunt Cindy, to see a vampire and to eat at Olive Garden.

The family was ready to eat! Thanksgiving had arrived. This year dinner would be at 6’ish so the great hunters could take as many deer that they could that day. Turkeys were roasted and deep fried. Potatoes were mashed and gravyied. Sweet potatoes were casseroled and candied. Dressing was wonderful! Cranberries were ---- well, cranberries. And the pies! Is there ever enough pie! We ate and ate, talked and talked, and laughed and laughed. It was a Thanksgiving that fit in with all our past Thanksgivings, yet so different. And we all are already looking to 2009!

On Friday the rains came….and came. Kids stayed in the house. Some of the adults ventured out to Wal-Mart and Black Friday. And unlike New York, everyone was friendly and helpful…and no clerks were trampled to death. The fire in the pasture endured the day. And, even though we were crowded in the house and often had to talk above the noise, not a cross word was spoken. Movies and football were the order of the day. Scrabble and Trivial Pursuit occupied many of the adults. And food! And at the end of the day, the rain continued.

By the weekend the rain had stopped and the kids were outside. I noticed that no one was at the fire. Then I noticed that the fire in the pasture had drowned. All during the rain, the fire continued to smoke, but in the end, it was no match for the rain and humidity. Not so for the enthusiasm of the kids and the parents. And next year our 5 year olds will be 6 year olds; a whole new crop of boys at the age to stoke the fire and a bunch of girls to tell them how to do it. And the hunter’s? Well, there is always next year!

With the words, “Color guards, post colors”, the Eagle Scout Court of Honor was under way. Joshua was receiving the Eagle Scout rank he had earned during his youth as a Boy Scout. The Weblos Den from Ashdown that Jacob belongs to was the color guard. These younger Scouts proudly carried the American and Troop flags to the front and upon command from the Senior Patrol Leader (and Eagle Scout Candidate), the boys placed the colors in the flag holder on each side of the rostrum. In the front, facing the audience was the Eagles Nest, the area where all those holding the rank of Eagle Scout sat. The program progressed and then it was time for comments of encouragement to the new Eagle Scout. “We call him “Pooter” “, stated Uncle Chad. Aunt Heather then explained how he got that name and the integrity that the name “Pooter” represented.

Following the Court of Honor, the family moved to the baptismal font. With Grandpa presiding and Uncle Scott conducting, Jannie entered the waters of baptism and was baptized by her Daddy, Paul. A few minutes later, with her Grandpa, Uncles and Cousin assisting, Jannie was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, again by her Daddy. What a neat experience to have a room filled only with family, all enjoying the moment of joy for Jannie.

Then Brandon came forward, and with all the Priesthood still in the front, Brandon took a seat and his Dad, Brett, ordained him to the office of Teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood. What a special time for all three that Saturday of Thanksgiving weekend.

On Saturday afternoon, Gunner, Hilary’s dog, was loving life on the farm. He was out renewing friendships with the family dogs and checking out the wildlife. Flower wasn’t as gentle and sweet as he was in Bambi. Flower left his calling card all over Gunner. Gunner then got a firsthand experience with tomato juice and Summer’s Eve. But Flower’s aroma prevailed and Gunner was relegated to his kennel for the remainder of his visit to Arkansas. Poor Gunner.

The fire in the pasture went out early in the rain. But the rain didn’t dampen the fire in our hearts. We all had fun, and a lifetime of memories were made. We now look forward to the Christmas holidays and the New Year, but it is the Thanksgiving adventures on a little farm in rural Arkansas where a fire in the pasture continues to burn in the recesses of our minds and rekindles the feelings of the eternal nature of families and our lives.

My Hawaii

2008-10-05T23:04:00.001-05:00

I have been blessed to be have an assignment as beautiful as this. I hate TDY's, but this sure beats the heck out of Dugway Proving Ground! Enjoy the pics.

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Sunset Beach Hawaii Sunset

2008-10-01T00:15:00.002-05:00

I finally got to see my first Hawaiian Sunset this evening. Thanks to my children who gave me a neat digital camera for a gift last year, I got to take some fantastic pictures. Enjoy them.

In Hawaii ****

2008-09-30T00:33:00.004-05:00

“In Hawaii there’s a place known as Waimea Bay, where the best surfers in the world come to stay. And ride the wild surf, they come to try to conquer those waves some thrity feet high” (Ride the Wild Surf by Jan and Dean)

Well, Waimea Bay is just a hop, skip and jump from where I am, but here I am in the land of splendid sunsets, so I decided to see one tonight. Where should I go to see a Hawaiian sunset? Not Waimea Bay, but Hawaii’s Sunset Beach, naturally. So after dinner I drove over to Sunset Beach … my condo is about 3 miles from there. When I got to Sunset Beach, I found me a good place to sit and watch the sunset. The sky was partly cloudy, so I figured it would be spectacular! There would be shards of sunlight streaming from the sun and clouds right up until the sun sizzles as it dips into the ocean. The sun would set in about an hour – but the clouds kept rolling in … an in … and in! Then there was no sun and the rain began. So I set the calendar on my watch to remind me to try it again tomorrow. But I did get some good photos of Sunset Beach. Enjoy.

SQUIRRELS

2008-09-16T16:39:00.007-05:00

Click on the Squirrel!

This morning I got a text message from Heather: “So I have BBQ’d squirrel in my backyard & no power.” It reminded me of the dead squirrel the power crew found in my yard while restoring my power when a squirrel got fried in the transformer.

This got me to thinking about squirrels and wondering how such a cute little animal could be such a pain in the rear. First and foremost, we have to forget the Walt Disney images of this little critter. He is a rodent! A rat is a rodent! So these little Chip and Dales are just rats with furry tails.

But they are so cute, and they don’t eat much – JUST ALL THE PECANS OFF MY TREES! I haven’t had a decent harvest of pecans in years. I remember as a boy my Uncle Lee had walnut trees in his backyard and had the same problem – darn squirrels ate all the walnuts. So he got a little terrier dog, Daisy June, and gave her the run of the backyard. She would bark at anything that had 4 legs and moved, especially in trees. The result was his neighbors complaining they had no walnuts and that Uncle Lee always had a bumper crop. So I figured that if Daisy June could scare the squirrels away, then my dogs could too. There must be something scarier about a Terrier because the wiener dog and the Schnauzers did nothing to get rid of the little nut thieves. So here was my dilemma, how do I get rid of the squirrels?

One afternoon I was sitting on the swing in the backyard with a couple of my grandchildren watching birds eat from the bird feeder. Squirrels are infamous for stealing the feed from the bird feeders. So I figured I would place my bird feeders where the squirrels couldn't get to them. Worked like a charm. Whenever the little birdies came to eat from the feeders, they always had plenty of food because the little thieving critters couldn't get to the seed. But that didn’t mean that I had outsmarted them, not one bit. When I went to get bird feed from the BBQ cart where I stored the feed, it was gone. They had figured how to get in and take the seed from the source. I know one little squirrel was sitting on a branch of the pecan tree, eating a pecan and laughing at me.

One summer we had a squirrel that had no tail. This seemed to fascinate the kids. We don’t know why the varmint had no tail, but I could imagine it losing it in a fight with a cat, or a trap, or some other means of torture. One thing, it made it easy to watch the squirrel that summer because we always could tell “our squirrel”.

Now, the little darlings stealing my pecans was bad enough, but then we began to hear what we thought were mice in the attic. You see, here in Central Texas, we have a complete array of critters that can take up residence above your residence. I once heard someone complain that they could hear animals in their attic. I just said, “Welcome to Texas. Well, one afternoon while in the backyard I saw a squirrel jump from the tree to the roof, then in thru the vent below the eaves of the house. Great! I checked the vent and where there was once screen, there was nothing but air.

One day I asked Val’s dad, an exterminator, the best way to get rid of squirrels. He told me tomatoes and poison. Squirrels love tomatoes and if I mix a little poison that I could get from the local feed store, I could wipe out an entire colony in a few days. He gave me some instructions on how to do this without killing off other animals. You know, I thought, this might just work. But I never got passed the thinking part.

One day I got some wire mesh and when I figured the little demons had left for the day, I had Scott go up into the attic and seal off the vents. It worked! Didn’t hear a single squirrel – for at least 2 days. Then they were BACK! We could sit in the living room and listen to them doing what ever it was they do. Just have to do something before they destroy my wiring (they love to eat the insulation on wires).

Now this is where I can say, “Meanwhile, back at the ranch”. Holly was complaining that she had squirrels up in her attic, too. So we called the exterminator to come and clear them out. They used traps, etc and a couple of visits to get them. But not without bodily injury, and not to the rat, but to me! The exterminator had gotten rid of all but one – RAMBO! I went out into the garage to get something and “there I was”, face-to-face with Rambo. He jumped and I jumped. He wanted to get back to the attic, only I was between him and the opening. So he jumped up onto the window sill and made a leap to freedom….onto a PVC pole sticking up into the attic opening. Why it was there, I have no idea. Rambo leaped and grabbed the pole and his little legs and feet were going like mad climbing that pole. Only problem – it was PVC. There was nothing for his little feet to grab. The faster he climbed, the faster he slid down the pole. Now I figured the best way out of this mess was to open the garage door, so I made a dash to the door before Rambo made it to the floor. The door went up and he saw FREEDOM – and away he went. Last time I saw him he was skirting out the garage door.

Now this all occurred in just less than a minute. Then the exterminator guy comes out into the garage and sees a large shelf unit that reached right up to the opening into the attic. He asked me to help him move it over so Rambo couldn't get back in. BIG MISTAKE! This is where the “bodily injury” part comes into play. I pushed and my knee tore. Surgery and 6 months of recovery - which is another chapter in some future post.

“Meanwhile, back at the other ranch”, we still had squirrels. I asked Scott to look around the eaves of the house to see if he could see where they were getting in. He first checked his handiwork with the mesh wire, and it was all good. Then every nook and cranny, and then he found it. Right above my bedroom window the squirrels had chewed an opening – we had found the back door. So Scott rolled the mesh wire and shoved it into the opening. The next morning I am awakened by the pattering of little feet above my head. Papa Squirrel was heading out to work, He stopped, and then I hear him run back. Then the whole herd passes over, I can hear them hitting at the mesh for several minutes. It was actually fascinating to hear…too bad I didn’t have a video camera up there. Then success and away they all scurried. I could hear them jump on to the eaves, then quiet. I went out and secured the opening. The saga of the squirrels was over. Almost.

I still wanted to get rid of the little buggers. In the mean time, Heather and Shawn moved in their new house, right behind us. Shawn, along with Brett, Paul and Shawn, had taken up deer hunting. Shawn also took up bow hunting and practicing for the Thanksgiving Smack Down, he took to target practice. Hitting the bull’s-eye on a target affixed to a hay bale was easy. He needed moving targets. Squirrels. He began stalking the little critters and got pretty darn good. And except for a missed aim that took down a swimming pool filter, he got pretty good. And our squirrel population seems to have either expired or moved on. Now I have to figure out where to get all these pecans shelled!

We Must Never Forget!

2008-09-11T09:32:00.003-05:00

DeDespite all the rhetoric from the politicos and the conspiracy theorists, this was a second day of infamy and a day we must never forget.

Target Target

2008-08-10T20:22:00.006-05:00

The joke around here is that if you want to save money, shop at Target – they never have what you what. Actually, there is more truth than fiction in that statement, as far as I am concerned. The other night is the classic example; but before I get to that story, let me tell you why I make this bold statement.

I have purchased very little over the years in Target, mainly because they never have what I want. I have gone into the store with Mom to get this or that and end up buying a package of napkins or a Snickers candy bar, but not what we came in to buy. I first began to notice this when I went to buy a plastic tub and they were out. Later I went to buy something they had on sale that I wanted for Christmas decorations, and they were out.

We were in Bryan one Christmas time for a cousins party at Bug’s when we decided to go pick up something at the store. Cindy was with us and wanted to stop at Target to get a gift she needed for her kids. I said that I could save her a lot of time because they wouldn’t have it. She said surely they would because it was advertised on sale in the paper. She trudged into the store and some time later became a believer – they were out of stock!

In 2006 I was in Utah working and was getting ready to head home at the end of the job. One Saturday afternoon I was to meet my cousins, Dovey and Judy for lunch so we could say our goodbyes. The restaurant we chose was in the same center as a Target. I needed something and forgetting the curse on the store, I ventured in to make my purchase. The shelf was completely empty! I started to laugh out loud and said “of course”. Until the other night, that was the last time I ever ventured into a Target.

Now here in Killeen; Harker Heights actually, there is a new shopping center. Very nice and very large – Market Heights. This outdoor mall contains many shopping, eating and viewing opportunities, one of which is the new Target. On the way home the other night, Mom decided we needed to go in to see the store. It was larger than the old Killeen store, so she wanted to see what they had. I must admit, the facility was very nice, modern and clean. The shopping carts were something at which to marvel. All plastic and very quiet. While we were there, Mom mentioned she had forgot to stop at Walgreen’s to pick up some aftershave lotion for me and thought she could just pick some up here. I made my flippant remark about them not having any and we proceeded to the isle where the shaving things were. We found lots of brands of shaving cream, lot of different razors, tons of deodorant, BUT NOT A SINGLE BOTTLE OF AFTERSHAVE! I couldn’t believe it! We looked and looked, up one isle and down another. When we decided we wouldn’t find any, we looked for a clerk. We found one in the front of the store and she said that all they had was out on the selves. I started laughing out loud. I was amazing to me that I apparently have the ability to put this curse on Target.

Now, in all fairness to Target, Mom went back and climbing to the top shelf, and way in the back of the shelf, she found 3 bottles of Aqua Velva – but only 3 and all of one size. But to the average shopper, there would have been none. I would not have climbed to the top shelf! BUT, now that this is brought to light, next time I venture into Target to buy some non-existent sale item, I am checking the top shelf first!

Memorial Day Swim

2008-05-27T21:37:00.004-05:00

Yesterday was Memorial Day and, even though it is a day late, thank you
to all the veterans who happen to read this! On Memorial Day we
usually have a BBQ and swim in the pool. At the end of last week it was
"iffy" as to whether or not the pool would be ready. But, thanks to KFD, it
was.

I went down to the Killeen Water Department on Friday and picked up a
hydrant water meter ($650 deposit, which I get back today when I return
the meter, less the charge for the water). I went to the fire
department to see if I could borrow some 1 ½ inch fire hose to fill my pool.
The Lieutenant I spoke with told me that the only person who could
authorize the loaning of the hose was on leave, so I was out of luck. BUT, he
said he could send a fire truck over to fill the pool. GREAT! So when
I got home from work, Holly and I (mostly Holly) finished pressure
washing the pool and pumping out the old water. We got most of it out, but
there was a little we could not get because of the time factor. When
the fire truck arrived (lots of looks from the neighbors), the fire crew
used a 2 ½ inch hose, and had the pool filled in an hour and thirty
five minutes! Only problem, the water was brown! No problem I assured
everyone, who looked at me skeptically. I tested the water before I
treated it and found the PH level to be extremely high. No problem, when I
shocked the pool I would add a half gallon of muriatic acid, which
brings down the PH. But, when I went to get a gallon of acid, I couldn't
find it. So I just shocked the pool. The next morning the brown water had
turned to green. Now the skeptics were out in full force. I tested the
water and the shock had brought the PH level way down, so I actually
had to add PH increaser. A few hours later, I added some flock to clear
the water. On Sunday morning the water was crystal clear and BLUE! I am
so good! Then on Memorial Day I vacuumed the pool and now it is blue,
clear and swimmable.

We had been invited to Brett and Cindy's for a Memorial Day BBQ, but
Mom had worked and was very tired. I was doing the yard and was beat
myself. So we begged off going. Then at the last minute, Heather changers
her plans and had a BBQ. so we walked over and had dinner. Earlier in
the late afternoon, I was in the house cooling off and resting a bit when
Tyler came in and asked if they could swim in the pool and use the
diving board. I told them sure, and then went out and joined them. Later,
Maddie came and I swam with her. After an hour, older kids decided to
go back over to McCourt's Pool. A few minutes later, Kimber and Maddie
went to Heather's too. I got dressed and Mom and I went over then, for
dinner. So we had a BBQ and went swimming on Memorial Day...tradition
unbroken.

Next big thing is when Hilary and her kiddos come down for a couple of
weeks. The pool will be ready!

SWIMMING POOL

2008-05-21T13:45:00.000-05:00

Definition: Swimming Pool – a hole in the ground into which you continually throw money.

I have heard of pants wearing out; and I have heard of shoes wearing out; I have even been worn out myself. But who ever heard of water wearing out. Does it feel dry when it is worn out? I don’t know. Actually, I did know water could wear out. When I was in the pool business we warned people about their water getting to the point where you couldn't’t control it. This happened more in hot tubs with the constant heating, but it also happens to pools. There is a test that can be run to test for chlorine demand, but in the end it us usually cheaper to drain the pool and refill it than it is to bring it back up with chemicals.

I was unable to properly care for the pool this year because I was laid up with my knee. So the pool got out of hand. The water looked like it came from Belton Lake, and smelled that way too. Scott and I shocked it and got it looking good. Before I could clean the pool, here came the rains. Nothing will use up available chlorine in the water faster than a good rain dumping all those contaminants into the water. So after the rain, we shocked it again. Then came round two of the rain. Last Wednesday evening I super shocked the pool. Then on Saturday I shocked it again and added PH increase and flock. When I tested the water on Monday I got a negative reading. The reading should have been off the chart with the amount of chemical I put it, but it was not showing any chlorine and the PH was still extremely low. I decided that it was enough and I got out the old pump and drained the pool. Last night Shawn Mc and I used our pressure washers and pressure washed the pool. We have just a little to finish up tonight. Then I will go to the city and get a hydrant meter and hook it up to the fire hydrant and, using 200 feet of 1 ¾ hose, I will fill the pool. It takes 4 hours this way, compared to 5 days with a hose. And bulk water from a hydrant is much cheaper than coming thru the hose. The meter I get from the city attaches to the hydrant and measures the water we use. With any luck, the pool will be ready for swimming by Saturday.

Mother's Day Talk

2008-05-12T15:00:00.002-05:00

This is Mother’s Day, the day we honor our Mothers and the Mothers of our Children.

Brother Lower must be having a “pay back” day for something I must have done because I know he knows that there is no way I will get thru this talk without tears.

The Mothers role in life is one of the most important. President Harold B. Lee said, “The most important part of the Lord’s work that you will do, is the work that you do within the walls of your own home”. You mothers struggle each day to balance your lives between children and everything else, and it is not an easy task. I know because I have had to pinch-hit for my wife on more than one occasion. One time was when my oldest daughter was twelve; it was a Saturday evening and time for baths and hair. Now, I had watched Jannie put curlers in the girl’s hair for years, so I figured I could do it. Heidi still has nightmares of the results. If you were to ask her today about it, she will have flashbacks, “And he made me go to Church”. I am reminded of what I was once told; The Lord never promised life would be easy, only that it would be worth it. Elder Ballard gave a beautiful talk at the last General conference titled “Daughters of God. Among the wonderful points he made, he said, “There is no one perfect way to be a good mother. Each situation is unique. Each mother has different challenges, different skills and abilities, and certainly different children. The choice is different and unique for each mother and each family”.

One of the best examples to me of the results of motherhood is the story of Helaman’s Stripling Warriors. Now, my wife is nervous about now because I have a joke I tell about them, and she asked me not to use it, so I will refrain today. Helaman was asked to lead this band of 2000 young warriors…The Army of Helaman. These young men had great testimonies of the Lord and knew their cause was just. When Helamen asked these young men about their faith, they responded that their mothers had taught them.
In Alma 56:47 we read, “Now they never had fought, yet they did not fear death; and they did think more upon the liberty of their fathers than they did upon their lives; yea, they had been taught by their mothers, that if they did not doubt, God would deliver them.”
And in 57:21, “Yea, and they did obey and observe to perform every word of command with exactness; yea, and even according to their faith it was done unto them; and I did remember the words which they said unto me that their mothers had taught them.”

When Brother Lower asked me to speak today he told me that he knew I had a wonderful relationship with my own mother and thought I could share a few stories about her. Right off, I can say without a doubt that she was probably the gentlest person I’ve known.

I am the oldest of my Mothers three children, and the only one still living. My brother, Henry died when he was 8 years old; and my sister, Evelyn when she was 32. In 2000 when I was diagnosed with cancer in my right eye, she bemoaned her fate saying that she wasn’t supposed to outlive her children. Obviously, I survived my bout with cancer. When she was 80, in 1998, she moved into our home where we could help care for her. What a blessing it was to have her with us, and what a close relationship my younger children were able to develop with their Grandmother. She was with us until December 2000, when she passed away in her room. I have many, many stories I could tell about her, but I have picked just three, to show the influence she had, not only in my life, but in the lives of my children.

Who would ever think that their Mother was a pool shark? We were vacationing at the beach in Capitola when I was about fourteen. There was a penny arcade in Capitola where we kids spent some time. This was before video games, but we could play pool. It cost a dime a game. I would play a few games everyday and I thought I was pretty good. One afternoon I was at the arcade when my mother came in looking for me. She watched me play pool and listened to me tell her how great I was at the game. So she challenged me to a game. This would be great, I thought, and immediately accepted her challenge. After all, what fourteen year old boy doesn’t look for the chance to crush and adult in anything? I even let her break. She then almost cleared the table. I think I got one turn before she finished me off. Stunned, I asked her where she learned to play pool. When my Dad with was in the Army, she used to play pool a lot at the Officers club with the other wives. I was schooled. I don’t think I was so braggadocios after that. With a game of pool, she had taught me humility.

My oldest daughter, Heidi, told me the other day of her story with her Grandmother. When we lived in Alaska, Heidi was 13. Gramma had come to spend a few weeks with us, as she did often when we were up there. Gramma loved movies and she and Heidi were going to go one afternoon. There was a movie playing that Heidi wanted to see, but Gramma said that she was afraid that Heidi wouldn’t understand the movie. So they saw something else. Heidi told me that now she is 38 and has never seen that movie. She said that it comes on television quite often and she is always going to watch it. But, when she sits down to watch, she remembers her grandmother telling her that she wouldn’t understand it. So she turns the TV off.

My mother was very conservative and a proud Republican. I tell you this to set up the following story. She also enjoyed playing the devil’s advocate. A few months before she died, and during the 2000 election season between then Governor Bush and Vice President Gore, she and my son, Brett, were having some discussion at the dinner table, in which Brett seemed to be gaining the point. She looked right at him and said “Why, you’re no better than Al Gore! Brett was stunned and we all laughed. Brett told me a story recently when I was sitting with him at his new office. He had told this story to me before, but felt to share it again that evening. Gramma visited Brett shortly after she died. He will not say he had a vision, but he had a dream in which his Grandmother came to him and told him that she loved him. She was smiling. She was afraid that he might have thought that she was mad at him. After they talked for a minute or two, Brett asked her if she had seen Evelyn and Henry. He said that she looked forlorn and then said that she had and that they were well. Brett learned that she regretted that she had spent most of her adult life mourning their deaths; that she had missed out on so much happiness in this life because she was always so sad. And all along, they were well.

To me, one of the greatest examples of Motherhood comes from my wife, Jannie. We had 8 children, and it was not easy. I was in the Army, and was enlisted, and though I was fortunate in that I didn’t have many long deployments, I did have a couple, and a few TDYs along the way. Elder Ballard said, “We need to remember that the full commitment of motherhood and of putting children first can be difficult”. Jannie made her full time job being a full time Mom. This was her commitment to her family. As the Priesthood holder, husband and father, I presided in the home. But, as wife and mother, she conducted. She was the organizer and kept our home and our children immaculate. She took time to teach her children. We always had music in our home, although the only musical instrument either one of us played was the Stereo. She used music to teach. She had all of the Janine Brady cassettes and my kids knew all the words of all the songs. “I’m a Mormon, yes I am”, Be a Friend, The Words You Speak, and Maybe You Laughed. We sang songs about telling the truth and not being afraid. Today, some of my children are teaching their children these same lessons and using the same songs. And for the most part, my daughters and daughters – in – law, learning from Jannie, have chosen to be stay at home moms, or to work from the home. When I was deployed to Korea for a year, she took the time to record Family Home Evenings, and then send me the cassettes. I would get cassette tapes of weekly Family Home Evenings, and listen to my children talk to me. I think the first words I heard Hilary utter was on one of those cassettes. Without a lot of money to work with, Jannie made sure our children were always neatly dressed and pressed and well fed. And she could stretch a dollar better than anyone I ever knew.

Elder Ballard said, “I am impressed by countless mothers who have learned how important it is to focus on the things that can only be done in a particular season of life,” What a joy it is for me to see the growth in my Grandchildren every day. I am in awe with the time my daughters and daughters-in-law take to teach their children. Jared is 15 months old and Valerie has taught him how to sign. When we were tending him the other night, we were impressed that he could communicate in sign language when he wanted a drink, or that he has had enough. At the football game last evening, Jared spent most of the evening with Mimi and Grandpa. When we gave him back to Val, he signed “thank you”. I wish we had known that we could have taught our own kids to sign when they were babies. Maddie seems to me to be far beyond her years (maybe I am just a proud Grandpa), and this comes from the things Kimber takes time to teach her. I can’t help but chuckle when I think of the stories all my children to tell me about the things their kids have done. And these stories are not just limited to my children and Grandchildren. Kids today are growing up far ahead of where children were just a generation ago. And this because you Mothers are recognizing the seasons of life that your children are in.

When Gramma lived with us, Scott was her driver. She wasn’t supposed to drive anymore, so if she needed to go somewhere she had Scott take her. Boy, where the older kids jealous. Scott was sixteen and driving her Lincoln! The night before she died, it snowed here in Killeen. Scott helped her outside so she could see the big snow flakes. The next morning, after we found that she had passed away, we notified the authorities. During the time before the ambulance took her, Scott sat by her bed and held her hand. What a great influence she had on our children. Now, each year, on the anniversary of her death, the family gathers at her grave and remembers Gramma.

Elder Ballard asked this question: What can you do, as a young mother, to reduce the pressure and enjoy your family more?

Recognize that the joy of motherhood comes in moments. There will be hard times and frustrating times. But amid the challenges, there are shining moments of joy and satisfaction.

Author Anna Quindlen reminds us not to rush past the fleeting moments. She said: “The biggest mistake I made [as a parent] is the one that most of us make. . . . I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of [my three children] sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages six, four, and one. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night. I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less”(Loud and Clear [2004], 10–11).
Mothers make things. School projects, lunches, snacks, desserts, arrangements, and even clothes. One thing I challenge you mothers (and fathers) to do is make memories for your children. On Sunday evenings after dinner, the smaller children like to go in the front yard and play. So Mimi and Grandpa will sit out on the front porch so the little ones can romp and play in the front yard. You see, we want the memories our grandchildren have to be the happy times they had at Mimi’s house. The older ones like to swim and on days they are over to use the pool, we get in with them. Ask any of my grandchildren what all the steps are in doing an Olympic class cannonball, and their faces will brighten up as they remember and tell you all the steps, of which there are not a few. There are times my own children, now all adults will sit at the dinner table, or wherever we may be and someone will say “do you remember when, or do you remember this or that?” In many cases, I don’t. But the important thing is that they do. Make memories with your children.

If my mother were alive to give you some advice, I can’t help but think it would be this: Mothers, love your children. Teach your children. Help build their faith. Be a part of their lives. Don’t spend half your life bemoaning things you’ve missed. Mourn the tragedies, then let yourself heal and then live your life and don’t miss out on the fun times with your family. Then, when your children are grown and face obstacles in their lives, like those young men in The Army of Helaman, they will remember that they, too, were taught by their mothers.

May this be a joyous day for all the Mothers here today, and everywhere. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen

My Night at the Pizzeria

2008-03-01T20:53:00.002-06:00

I wasn’t going to the Pizzeria today until 5 pm when I was to deliver an Italian Cream Cake. I have been at the Pizzeria every day for over two months, ever since I injured my knee. Most days I worked the register because that was all I could do. We sat a high bar-type stool at the register and I would sit there and ring in the patrons orders. We started out with a cash register and order tickets I had to write out. Then the POS (point of sale) system came on line and life got easier at the register. A touch screen allowed me to just touch the entrée, or pizza. I could touch Spaghetti and Meat Balls or a Primo Pizza. Add two sodas and the total was displayed. Very nice. BUT, I wasn’t going to be there today!

I had plans. I was going to fix a leaky water faucet. I was going to fix my ovens in the kitchen. I was going to make that Italian Cream Cake and a dessert for the social at the Church tonight. And I was going to the social at the Church this evening with some of my grandchildren. So, the Pizzeria was the furthest thing from my mind. I was working on the oven when the phone rang. It was Chad. “Can you come out and deliver an order for me at One Killeen Center?” Reluctantly I agreed. Mostly because I needed to go to the Pizzeria and pick up some lard for the cake, and the delivery was near the house, and I could use the tip for spending money. So, off to the Pizzeria I went.

I arrived and loaded the order into the car, along with a tub of lard (I always thought that was my nick name growing up.) But, as I was leaving, Chad asked me to come back because there was another order to be delivered to Sears at the Mall. I said okay. I delivered the lunch to the office in the One Killeen Center building and got stiffed on the tip. Returning to the Pizzeria, I was willing to just cover the register if Chad made the delivery to Sears. Getting stiffed once in a day is once too often. BUT, I acquiesced and took the delivery to Sears. I got a good tip this time. I took the payment back out and put it in the register and headed for home.

At home I jumped right in and made that Italian Cream Cake and the dessert for the social. Because I had grandchildren at the house, I called Chad and ordered a couple of pizzas for dinner. I told him that I was on a tight schedule and would pick up the pizzas at 5 when I delivered the cake. And I did. And all went well. We had pizza for dinner and I was about to go change my clothers for the social. Then the phone rang.

“Dad, I really need you out here. I have 10 tickets hanging and a line”. So Jannie went to the social, and I went to the Pizzeria. Now, I am not complaining, mind you. I was only there for an hour or so and still made it to the social before it was over. But my experience there tonight is the subject of this writing. I was in awe tonight at what I saw. I have worked there for months, but tonight was pure poetry in motion. It was a symphony being conducted by a master conductor. Chad was in his element.

He had the line working, and was even short staffed. But he directed like a master. “Three eggplant parms all day,” he shouted as the order was coming up from the printer. “How is that Bruschetta coming?” or “Bread coming out of the oven”. Then he announces to the “audience” (dining room), “Spaghetti and meatballs, Chicken Parmigiana for Richard”. This went on for the entire time I was there. For me, it was worth the time I was there to see this production.

I don’t mean to make it sound like this is the exception to the rule, because this goes on every night at the Pizzeria. Just that tonight it just struck me as something beautiful to behold. As I said, Poetry in Motion.

Henry James

2008-02-04T15:05:00.002-06:00

Evelyn

2007-11-28T13:12:00.001-06:00

I don’t actually remember her being born. In fact, I don’t even remember my mother being pregnant; but at age three I was too young to even understand that. But as I watched my 4 year old granddaughter, Madelyn, anxiously awaiting the birth of her little sister, I probably was as aware as she was, but I just don’t remember. The earliest recollection I have of Evelyn was when she came home from the hospital. I remember people looking at her and all were wearing masks. I gazed into the bassinet thru the curtain like cover and saw this little baby.

We lived in an Oakland apartment when she was born, but must have moved to San Francisco shortly after that. My next vivid memory of Evelyn was when we lived behind the grocery store. I had climbed into Evelyn’s crib and she was crying. I was trying to comfort her when my mother came in and lifted me out of the crib. I don’t recall her being mad, but I do remember being told I couldn’t get in the crib again.

We moved from the grocery store to the chicken ranch when I was 4 or 5, and Evelyn was three years younger than me. I have good memories for the chicken ranch days and my adventures with my older cousin, Kathy, but I cannot remember anything about Evelyn or Christine. Christine was my cousin, Kathy’s sister, and was about the same age as Evelyn. I guess I don’t remember much about them because at that point they were still babies and I didn’t have much interaction with them – we didn’t run around the chicken ranch together.

Evelyn became a part of my life when we moved to Monroe Street. I turned 6 on the day we moved in, and Evelyn was 3. Her birthday was August 22nd and mine was the 27th, so we were almost exactly 3 years apart. My dad and the other dad’s in the neighborhood helped each other pour patios and build fences. I remember “helping” with ours. Our house faced west, so our backyard was on the east side. Between our house and the Lemus’ house on the south of ours, my Dad built a little play house for us. Evelyn and I would play in that house on and off over the years we lived there. It was our home or our hideout, depending on if I was the father or the Sheriff.

I remember once when Evelyn was in bed asleep that my Mom couldn’t find her among the dolls. She had more dolls that Toy-R-Us. (Except there was no Toys-R-Us in those days.) Her favorite doll was one almost as big as she was and her name was Judy Carol. She dragged that doll everywhere. If we were playing house or going to Capitola, along came Judy Carol. And it wasn’t just Judy, and certainly not only Carol – the name was Judy Carol. She had lots of dolls, but I only remember her playing with her favorite. I am sure when Christine was over they played with them all.

When Henry was born we were at school. Dad came and told us about Henry being born. We didn’t get to go home because Mom’s stayed in the hospital for a few days. And kids certainly couldn’t go into the hospital to see the baby and Mom. The best we could do was go with my Dad to the hospital and he pointed out Mom’s room and we waved at the window. Don’t know if she was really at the window, but we sure thought she was.

Henry was born on November 10, 1955. By the end of 1956 or early in 1957, we were on our way to Dallas. When we first moved in to the house, Evelyn and I had our own rooms. Henry was still small enough to be in Mom and Dad’s room. But a few weeks later, Henry and Evelyn were sharing a room. When the tornado hit, I was with Evelyn in the TV room. Mom grabbed Henry and gathered up Evelyn and me and we sat in the hall until we got the all clear. Evelyn and I thought it was a great adventure.

The summer we spent in Capitola was fun for all of us. Evelyn especially enjoyed being back with her cousin and best friend, Christine. At some time during that summer, Joyce Slider came for a few days from San Jose. We all would go to the beach and the old train station. I noticed that my mother shed a lot of tears that summer as she and Dad were having troubles, but Evelyn seemed to not notice She had fun thru the summer. When summer was over we went back home to Dallas. By the end of the school year we were moving to Southern California. One evening my dad came into my room where Evelyn and I were and told us he was leaving, that he would always love us, but that he and Mom couldn’t live together any more. We cried and cried all night. Then in frustration, Mom ran out the door and took off in her car. No explanation. And we cried more. We had just lost our father and now we seemed to have lost our Mother. We were frightened. We held little Henry, and clinging to each other we cried more. After what seemed a long time, Mom came home. We all cried together. Then, when Evelyn and I were alone we decided that Dad left because she and I fought too much and that he was tired of it. So we pledged that we wouldn’t fight any more. When our Dad came back for some of his things, we told him that he could come home because we weren’t going to fight anymore. He still left and we cried again. It took several days before the tears finally stopped.

We moved back to San Jose and eventually back to the Monroe Street house. Henry had become very sick and began spending much of his time in hospitals. He had been admitted to the Stanford Children’s Hospital at Stanford University. At the same time, Mom had gone to work for Uncle Henry as a waitress in his new restaurant, The Hi-Life. Evelyn and I began spending a lot of time at home alone. We were both a little older at that time. I was 15 and Evelyn 12. One night we were watching television and she kept having to go to the bathroom. So she decided to test her urine with Henry’s test kit. She came up with a high positive reading for sugar in her urine. Mom took her to the doctor and she was diagnosed with juvenile diabetes. She would spend the rest of her life taking insulin shots.

As a teenager she loved life. Our city was growing and new places of business were coming in. One was just down the street - Baskin-Robbins Ice Cream. Evelyn would get and ice cream and then adjust her insulin. She wanted to be a normal teenager and not let her illness slow her down. It may have taken a toll that she would pay later with her life.

Evelyn was a talented pianist. She had taken piano for years and years. I took piano lessons for a while and all I could ever play was a simplified version of Suwannee River, but she could play the Bumble Boogie – by memory! The only other pianist I have ever known with that much talent is my daughter, Holly. Once at a Saturday Night Dance, Evelyn found a piano in one of the rooms of the Stake Center. She started playing Bumble Boogie and soon had a crowd cheering her on. She really got into the music and put out a lot of energy. When she was done, she looked at me and put out her hand. I always carried a candy bar in my coat pocket for her in case her sugar levels were low – and The Bumble Boogie took it all out of her.

When I received my Mission Call, Evelyn was my biggest fan. She followed me around like a puppy. I was leaving home and perhaps she was having difficulty with that given our history of family leaving. She followed me around like a puppy. I started calling her Arf and when she sent letters to me on my mission she put “Arf” in the return address. She was faithful in writing me. One letter she told me she was engaged to Tom Patterson, but wouldn’t be getting married until I got home. When I got home, so did Scott Smith and now she had a dilemma – she was engaged to Tom, but Scott had been the love of her life and her childhood sweetheart. She came to me for advice. I told her that it was the rest of her life and eternity she was facing and that she needed to face that with the one she really loved. In the end, she broke up with Tom and married Scott.

Evelyn and Scott were married in 1969, while I was in Vietnam. Scott was going to be going to dental school and was accepted to school in Saint Louis. After I was stationed in Hawaii we were assigned to Fort Rucker in May 1973. We rented a mobile home until we could move into quarters. Evelyn and Scott came down for Thanksgiving. Now, I need to tell a story here for the reader to understand what happened here.

After I returned home from my Mission, Mom, Evelyn and I spent a few days in Capitola. While there, Evelyn injured her left foot. When we got home, classes were starting at San Jose State, where she went to school. Evelyn had bought a car, a 1950 Pontiac – and it was a boat! It was a big and heavy car that had a standard transmission. I was using Mom’s car, which was an automatic. Evelyn asked if we could trade cars for the day because it hurt her foot to use the clutch. So we traded. I was going to go to Aunt Jean’s for lunch, so I drove off. I got three blocks from and I see the flashing lights in my rear view mirror. The Officer asks for my driver’s license. I reached for my wallet, and nothing. I had left my wallet in the other car. The officer tells me the reason he stopped me was for excessive smoke and out of date registration. He also informed me that since I had no identification he could take me in if I matched the description of anyone wanted by the police. I told him that I had just returned from my mission and that this was my sister’s car, that she had mine because of her foot. He issued me two warnings: one for the excessive smoke and out of date registration, and one for no driver license. I could show any officer my license and get them to sign the back of the ticket and then turn the ticket in and that would be okay. I had 15 days to get the repairs done or show proof that the car had been disposed of.

It is now a year or so later and I am married and living in Southern California. I had to fly up to San Jose to take care of some business and I borrowed Evelyn’s car again. This time she had a later model Mercury Meteor. I am about 6 blocks from home and I get stopped again. This time it is for safety violations on the car. I had to start laughing and told the officer I had driven my sister’s cars only twice and both times I have been stopped to problems with the car. She had driven both cars forever, had gotten parking tickets at college, and never was ticketed for safety violations or out of date registration.

Now, we are in Alabama. Evelyn and Scott came down for Thanksgiving driving their little Volkswagen Bug. Scott and I were sent to the store by Jannie and Evelyn. Since I had never in my life driven a Bug, I asked Scott if I could drive. He tossed me the keys and off we went. During the drive to the store I mentioned to Scott that I noticed that they had California plates on the VW, and I thought they had bought the car in Missouri. He said they did, but they couldn’t afford to renew the license plates, so he took the plates off their old car because they were still valid in California. I stopped the car and made Scott drive. Three for three. I never drove another of my sister’s cars again.

We visited Evelyn and Scott once while they were in St. Louis with Scott in dental school. We were on our way to Fort Rucker and stopped to visit for a few days. They lived in a mobile home, but were house sitting for a family in their Ward. We visited them at that house. One evening Evelyn wanted Scott to bar-be-que some steaks on the grill. He measured the stakes and figured out exactly how many briquettes he would need to cover the area of the steaks. The fire never got hot, so she had me take over and teach him to bar-be-que. One Christmas they came to visit us at Fort Rucker. The trip was planned around my Mother’s arrival. They had only little Benjamin and we had a good visit. Benjamin was born after Brett, but before Todd. The boys were very young. Brett was 3. That would be the last time I would spend time with my sister while she was alive.

In June 1981 I had just returned home from a TDY trip to Oklahoma City. The night I got home I received a call from my mother telling me that Evelyn was not expected to live more than a couple of days. She had suffered complete kidney failure some months earlier and was on dialysis. The dialysis was taking its toll on her ability to recover from anything. Then one day she cut her foot. She was so run down that her foot did not heal and she had to be admitted to the hospital. I learned later that she had been in and out of the hospital often in those final days. I flew out to Sacramento and was met by Mom and Aunt June. We drove straight to the hospital in Chico. Between the time of the frantic phone call and my arrival in Sacramento a mere 24 hours later, she had had three amputations…part of her foot, then her entire foot, then just below the knee. Gangrene had set in and was nearly impossible to stop. Three amputations in just a few hours would be difficult for a healthy person to under go. When I arrived she was in a coma. She came out of it briefly. She knew I was there. Then she drifted back. She passed away a few hours later.

She was buried in the cemetery in Chico. The funeral service was attended by many, many people, including both Mom and Dad. Difficult as it was, I spoke at her funeral. Her father-in-law quoted from a play, My Turn on Earth. He said that Evelyn had had her turn on Earth. I recalled the younger years of the Fish Club and that she was Starfish. She was a “star” in all she did. I miss my sister and hardly a day goes by that I don’t at least briefly think of her. One day we will meet again and Arf and her big brother, together again.

A FIRE IN THE PASTURE 2007

2007-11-27T10:04:00.001-06:00

A Fire in the Pasture 2007

Traditions in our family die hard, but even more, we develop traditions very quickly. Cornish game hens will always be served on Christmas Eve, but our Thanksgiving tradition is new and will last a long time. As a kid, my Thanksgiving was at the Capitola House. That tradition lasted until all the kids were gone. Our tradition is now going to Heidi and Shawn’s farm in Arkansas. Hopefully each of these trips in the future will give me things to write about – more fires in the pastures of our lives.

Shots rang out from the woods. Cell phones began sending texts. “Was that you?” “Did you shoot a deer?” No deer. Not yet. The boys are out hunting, spurred on by Shawn’s 8 point buck shot on opening day. Then just two days later, 12 year old Lauren shot a three point and “buck fever” had its grip on the boys. Thanksgiving was just too far away, but soon it was here and the family’s third annual migration from the south and the east begins. Once again Mom and Dad, 6 kids, 5 spouses and 13 grandchildren descend upon the farm in Arkansas. Add that to Heidi and Shawn and their 7 kids, and you have more than a houseful. Oh, and did I mention the dogs?

How do you keep 8 boys entertained for hours on end without electronics? Build a fire in the pasture. Pap-paw Miller did just that the morning we all arrived. And from then on, from the early frosty mornings to well after dark in the chilly evenings, the fire is stoked, stirred and fed by the boys, and an occasional girl cousin. As I look out the glass door as I write, I can see two boys adding wood and stirring the embers. As an adult I fondly remember playing in the sand and the waves in Capitola; these boys will always have a fire burning in their memories, the fire in the pasture on the Thanksgivings of their youth.

The girls do all the things little girls do. Dressing up as cheerleaders and gymnasts, they rehearse most of the day for their evening performance. . In the evening they put on a show in the living room, showing off the routines they choreographed and practiced all through the day. Much like the shows my cousins put on every year, requiring me to sing a rendition of Sixteen Tons. And the babies – they spend hours toting babies and playing with them, freeing up their mothers to do more important things, like baking pies! Of course, the girls are attracted by the fire as well and every so often you look out the window and see them watching the boys and giving advice on how the make the fire better, which the boys naturally, and promptly, ignore.

Of course, there are the games of Scrabble, Up Words and Trivial Pursuit that are ever present and seemingly always in progress. “I AM THE CHAMPION, MY FRIEND,” the winner sings out at the top of her lungs, or arms fly up in the touchdown symbol as a winner of Trivial Pursuit rubs it in to the loser. Memories we will have forever.

And the food! Turkey, turkey and more turkey! Fried turkey, smoked turkey and roasted turkey. And ham! Homemade rolls, Mimi’s dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy, green bean casserole, sweet potato something with pecans on top, ambrosia salads, and olives! And much more food than I can remember, and more than I could eat! And desserts! The pies – apple, cherry, pumpkin and pecan – and the pumpkin cake! And tons of whipped cream to put on all of it. What a feast! With lots of people to eat it! All of us and all of Shawn’s family! I lost count at 30, but in the end, a lot of food was eaten and lots of stories told. Then, round 2: the evening meal. And we ate more turkey! Turkey sandwiches were the fare of the evening! And of course, the pie! And then breakfast in the morning – and more pie! And then all the pies were gone and everyone well filled. And we survived Thanksgiving once again … and already looking forward to next year!

Once again it is early morning and the boys head to the woods to hunt deer. “We need to shoot a deer.” “Heck, we just need to see a deer!” “I’d even settle for a squirrel!” Brett settled for a squirrel and shot it with his cannon, not a trace of that squirrel was left! Then Chad comes into the house, too early to be home from hunting. “Why are you home?” he is asked. “I GOT A DEER!” He is almost too excited for words. He shot a large doe and he and the boys went out and retrieved it. With the deer hung in the tree, Chad began the task of skinning and quartering his prize. A task he had never before done. He had help and “got ‘er done”. His, the only deer shot the entire weekend. All the hunters in their new cammos; and Chad in blue sweat pants and a brown jacket…got the only deer. His first deer – priceless.

Miller’s Pond doesn’t exactly bring images of Huck Finn or Pirates of the Caribbean, but to the imaginations of 9 and 11 year old boys, it is high adventure! A farm pond out the back door of Heidi’s house with a row boat and it doesn’t get any better than that! The boys pulled the boat off the shore, climbed in; they paddled all around the pond. I remember the row boats in the Capitola River and have the same fond memories of my adventures that these three boys will have with theirs. I was fortunate enough to be -outside when the boat was launched and went down to the waters edge and took pictures and gave words of encouragement to the boys as they crossed the pond. What a memory!

As kids, we dreamed of the go-carts we would never ride. What adventures we had on our imaginary motorized wheels. This year it was go-carts in the pasture. During the summer, Heidi acquired a go-cart and it was a nice one. The older boys and girls tore around the pasture at “break-neck” speeds. “Grandpa, I can’t wait until Nathan gets here so I can take him on the go-cart” Tyler said to me as he was taking a pit stop. And the little kids all got rides, too; the older ones driving them all over. Then the dare-devil took over and down to Miller’s Pond! What fun darting around the pond. Then they hit the soft mud and, “STUCK!” someone cried. The boys and Rebekah pushed and pulled, being cheered on by a couple of the little girls. Finally, free at last and the adventure could continue….all they had to do was start the motor. “Try and try again” seemed to be the tactic, but it just wouldn’t start. I had seen their predicament and wandered down by the pond to see what assistance I could provide. “Grandpa, it just won’t start. I have the choke on full, but it just sputters”, Tyler told me, his eyes knowing that Grandpa would have the remedy. “Close the choke”, I said. I then gave a good pull on the rope and the engine jumped to life. “Thanks, Grandpa,” Rebekah and Tyler shouted as they jumped into the cart. They accelerated, but they were still stuck. Pulling and pushing a little more and they were soon free of the mire. As I walked back to the yard, I looked back to see them at full speed on the levee of the pond. Then back up into the pasture; and the rest of the afternoon I could hear the tell tale hum of the Briggs and Stratton and laughter in the air.

Laughter. What a joy it is to hear it. Especially the laughter of children. Whether it was in the house or in the yard, there were lots of young laughs filling the air. The house isn’t that big and you could easily tell when there are 15 adults and 20 children under one roof. Conversation went on, games were being played, tales of deer shot, missed, and unseen filled the air. But above it all – laughter. Kids having the time of their lives. I believe that there was not a cross word spoken the entire weekend between cousins and siblings, or between anyone for that matter. Just fun and laughter! And nothing is sweeter than the sound of laughing children.

It’s Friday; it’s the last day for some of us. Tomorrow some will be going home and back to the grind of daily living….BUT today; we have today! And tonight is the bon fire! All weekend the fire in the pasture has been stoked and stirred by the boys. Now another fire. The fire pit is in the yard and Uncle Shawn has been preparing for it. Logs are stacked and kindling is placed so it will ignite the logs. Benches surround the fire pit. All is ready. Inside preparations are made for the weenie roast. Packages of hot dogs are opened and dogs put in a big bowl. Chips of every kind abound. Chili is heated and cheese grated. And mounds of olives! We sure do love the olives! Weenie forks are ready and now it is time. We ask for a blessing on the food and for safety in our activities of the evening. Kids grab the forks and skewer the weenies and head to the fire. Everyone else follows. Weenies of every degree of doneness are brought in for buns, ketchup and mustard. And many are topped with chili. In a manner of a few minutes, the dogs are gone, the buns are gone and everyone is stuffed. Then S’mores! Chocolate covered graham crackers with a toasted marshmallow smashed between. Mothers worry about the nutritional value – but this is a weenie roast! We can eat greens tomorrow. We made dinner and made memories … memories that will well up in the minds of these little ones many years down the road.

Saturday it rained. And it rained. And it rained. The fires went out, except in conversation and memories. The burning of buck fever also was doused by the rain. Brett felt like he was coming down with a cold and they quickly packed and left for home. Heather and Shawn planned to leave at about one o’clock … as soon as her car got out of the shop. The kids were quickly gathering their things and getting ready to pack cars. Then, it was time. Hugs and kisses and then the kids and dogs were gone. But not all the kids. Still, there would be plenty for fun. The kids had to entertain themselves in the house. The moms, along with Lauren, all went to lunch in Texarkana. So the dads and grandpa were here. I was apprehensive about all these kids with no place to let out their energy, but they were great. Laughing and playing with each other all afternoon. Dinner was tacos and the house was alive with kids talking and eating. Then pajamas and the house quieted down for the night.

If there ever was an ideal family gathering, this was it. We don’t know what the future will bring, but we will always have the memories of this Thanksgiving on a small farm in Southwestern Arkansas. We will always remember the fire in the pasture.

CALLED TO SERVE, Part 6

2007-07-27T14:50:00.002-05:00

This blog entry is part 6 of the entry of my Mission experiences.

In March I got my notice that I was to be transferred out to Patchogue, Long Island, New York. I arrived at the Mission Home ready for my new assignment. President Eldridge called me into his office for an interview. He said he was calling me to be the District Leader of the Patchogue District. He told me that the area I was going into was a very difficult area. He said that the Church has put so much emphasis on the Worlds Fair that a lot of areas in the Mission had not had many Missionaries for a long time. To make things interesting, Patchogue was a resort town on the Long Island Atlantic coast, and I was a resort kind of guy! A boy from California, raised on the beach was now being sent to the beach. Talk about sending a dog into the butcher shop! I accepted the call and met up with my companion, Elder Stock, and we headed east to Long Island.

Our apartment was a second story walk-up in a private residence in Patchogue. The family downstairs owned the building, and as such were our landlords. They loved us. The lady was 25 years younger than her husband, who was in very poor health. He was a former major league baseball player who had played for the Yankees. I cannot remember his name now, but he was quite famous in his day. Their 17 year old son, Jack, was our permanent investigator, and wanted to join the Church. Because his dad would not give his permission, he had to wait until he was 18. Whenever we needed an investigator to justify something we were doing, we took Jack with us.

One of the first people I met in Patchogue were Brother and Sister Hoyman. She had been a member for 14 years. Their children had been baptized at age 8. Brother Hoyman told me that he was the longest investigator in the Church; he had been investigating the Church for 14 years. When I got there he had been a member for a little over a year. He told me the story of his long process of joining the Church. They had come in contact with the Church many years before and had the discussions. They both loved what they heard and were ready to embrace the restored gospel. Then the Missionaries gave the 6th and final discussion on tithing. Dirk made a good living and earned a lot of money. His response was, “What ever Dirk Hoyman makes, Dirk Hoyman keeps”. Two weeks later he lost his job. Coincidence? You be the judge. He doesn’t think so. But it took him another 14 years to come around. He always attended Church though. And when he traveled with his new job, he found the local Ward and attended. Once he could only find The Church of Christ and thought that must be the place. He introduced himself as Brother Hoyman. They thought he was a CofC preacher and invited him to come up an preach. He declined.

One evening Dirk asked his wife what plans she had on Saturday evening. She said she had none. He said good because he wanted her to be at his baptism Saturday evening. She just stared at him a minute then burst out crying. A short time before I came to Patchogue, they had been sealed as a family in the Salt Lake Temple.

Lake Ronkonkoma, LI, NY was a little town on the banks of Lake Ronkonkoma, a pretty, picturesque lake not far from Patchogue. We had an appointment there one afternoon and we headed out. I was driving and must have been going at a pretty good clip because the police pulled me over. The officer asked for my driver license and registration. I kept my license in the packet I had for my Ministerial Certificate. The car was registered to The Corporation of the Presiding Bishop of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I handed him the documents and he looked them over. He asked if we were ministers, and I told him we were and were on our way to visit with a family in Lake Ronkonkoma. He then handed me back my documents and asked me to slow down and stay within the speed limit. Then he apologized for pulling us over. Maybe he figured that if he gave us a ticket he would offend the Man Upstairs. I never again had a police officer apologize for pulling me over, although I did have one stop me once for doing a wobble, which is another story for another time.

When I arrived in Patchogue, there were several members who knew about a supposed prophesy predicting Long Island would break off and fall into the depths of the sea. (I had always heard that same prediction about California. I keep hoping!) There were families who actually left Long Island for Utah to be safe. One sister took her children and moved to Utah alone because her husband didn’t believe in the pending disaster. He ended up going out the Utah and bringing his family back. The source of this false doctrine was the book by Duane Crowther called “Prophecy, Key to the Future”, a book referred to by President Packer as “Prophecy, the Key to Crowther”. I actually heard Mr. Crowther speak a couple of years later at the Institute at San Jose State where he said everything he wrote was his interpretation and not any way doctrinal. In this book, the author predicted the catastrophe for Long Island. This hysteria migrated into all parts of Long Island and to parts of Manhattan. This would have a direct influence on the future of the New York Stake.

The Patchogue Branch met in the Seventh Day Adventist Church. It worked out great because they didn’t use the building on Sunday. And the building was similar to most small LDS buildings and had all the facilities needed. We also had the building on Tuesdays for the auxiliary meetings. The Branch President had his hands full trying to convince the members that it was okay to stay on Long Island!

At Stake Conference, Elder Harold B. Lee came to divide the New York Stake and create the New York East Stake. Instead of taking care of that business, his address was a call to repentance. He addressed the problem caused by the book. He told the members to quit reading that book and spend more time in the scriptures.. He then asked if the members thought the Brethren (First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve) were a bunch of ignoramuses. If Long Island was to fall into the ocean, why would the Church spend millions of dollars on the new chapels now under construction? The meeting concluded without dividing the Stake. Six months later, two weeks before my Mission was finished, the entire attitude of the members of the Stake had changed and you could feel it in the spirit of the Conference when Elder Lee came back and divided the New York Stake and created the New York East Stake.

One of the sets of Elders in our district told me that they had to move out of their apartment for a few days because it was being fumigated. So the Elders moved in with us temporarily. One Elder was new and was a Utah sheep farmer. He was sleeping on the floor in the living room and had an old wind up alarm clock that he put on the stove in the kitchen. At 5:15 AM on P-Day his alarm went off. I shot up out of bed and was in the kitchen turning the alarm off before the new Elder finally stirred. Very loudly, I asked him what he was doing setting his alarm so early for, and especially on P-Day. He said he wanted to get up early and study. (Greenies) I looked at him right in the face and said, “Elder, it’s P-Day and we don’t have to get up early. On any other day we don’t get up until 6:30. If that alarm ever goes off again in this apartment I am going to throw it out the window!” I slammed the alarm down on the kitchen table and went back to bed. That poor Elder didn’t know what to do.

That young Elder has lost an eye in a farm accident when he was a little boy. He had a prosthesis in his right eye. He showed me all the eyes he had collected over the years, different sizes for different ages. He said he wanted to have them made into cufflinks. He would take is eye out and try to get me to look. I wouldn’t look. I don’t know what I thought I would see … some farm kid’s brain, I guess. The story seems much funnier to me now because of my having had my right eye removed and now wear a prosthesis. I think of all the pranks I have pulled with my eye, and I guess no one wants to see my brain either.

One day, following a trip into the Mission Home to drop off Elder Stock, who was going to Pittsfield; and to pick up my new companion, Elder Hill, we made a stop on the way back to Long Island. We stopped in Flushing Meadows at a place called SHEA STADIUM! The Giants were coming to play the Mets. These were the Willie Mays, Willie McCovey, Orlando Cepeda Giants. They were playing on P-Day and the stadium was only 30 miles or so from Patchogue. And it would be a fellowshipping opportunity because Jack was coming with us! Poor Elder Hill. He didn’t know what to think. I hope we didn’t corrupt him too badly. Anyway, we went and the Giants won. And we didn’t get caught. Need I say more?

Elder Hill, and I went to the Hoyman’s for dinner one Sunday after Church. Sister Hoyman was a good cook and that night made a meatloaf. Her meatloaf was much like the one Jannie makes and was covered with a sauce. Elder Hill’s experience with meatloaf must have been much like mine with my Mother…. all meat and no juice, and covered with ketchup to make it edible. As Elder Hill took a piece of meatloaf from the platter as it was passed around the table, he innocently asked if they had any ketchup. The 13 year old Hoyman daughter was devastated. She stopped what she was doing and, looking hurt, asked my companion, “What’s the matter, Elder Hill, don’t you like it?” We all had a good laugh.

It had been two years since I left on my mission and it was time to go home. I had grown a lot during those two years. I had gone from a green Elder who hoped the Church was true to a servant of the Lord with a strong testimony. I had seen growth in my family at home. My mother had gone from skeptic to believer. She would still have times in her life when she doubted, but at that time she had her own testimony.

On Wednesday, September 20, 1967 I left Patchogue for the last time. We left early because of the time it took to drive into mid-town Manhattan on the Long Island Expressway. I arrived and was interviewed by President Eldridge. He released me to return home, but said my formal release would come from my Stake President when I next met with him. He thanked me and then it was over. Like so many Missionaries who were going home every time we had transfers in Manhattan, we stood around on the steps of the Mission Home glad handing each other as we promised to keep in touch when we got to BYU. The APs took us to JFK and I caught a non stop flight to San Francisco International Airport. I had gone from a nervous Missionary giving the second conclusion of the first discussion in the living room of a row house with no air conditioning to a confident missionary and leader. As I looked back, the change was astonishing.

My family met me at the airport. I came down the ramp wearing my suit and the summer straw business hat I had purchased so many months ago in Hartford. I just knew they wouldn’t recognize me, but Evelyn came running up the ramp and thru her arms around me. We stood and hugged, Evelyn, Mom, Aunt June, Aunt Jean and me. Then we went to baggage claim, picked up my bags and headed down the Bayshore Freeway to San Jose.

When we arrived at the house I went into my bedroom. Mom had gone all out. She had purchased all new furniture for my bedroom and had washed and pressed all my clothes. I remember I was alone in my room, the first time I had been alone in two years. As I stood in front of my dresser, taking off my tie, I felt alone. Uncomfortably alone. I don’t know if I was missing my companion or having the feeling that somehow the Spirit had withdrawn when I no longer had the mantle of a Missionary. The feeling passed in a few minutes. Mom and Evelyn had planned a big Welcome Home party for that evening and were fluttering around getting it ready. I laid down and took a nap.

CALLED TO SERVE, Part 5

2007-07-24T15:04:00.001-05:00

This blog entry is part 5 of the entry of my Mission experiences.

I remember well a lesson taught to us at the Mission Home in Salt Lake City all those many months earlier. “Don’t expect that you can sit around your apartment everyday and have the phone ring with a convert baptism on the other end”. Well, that is exactly what happened. Elder Frear and I drove back to Yonkers and he immediately went to bed. He had been sick for quite a while, and at one point had spent a couple of days in the hospital. But as soon as he could get up, he was back out doing missionary work. He apparently did too much too soon and was back in bed. The Mission President told him to stay in bed for a few days, and he stayed for over a week. The DLs came over to visit us often, and to take me to the store to get groceries. But other than that I was in the apartment all day, every day for over a week. I read a lot and slept a lot. I couldn’t even telephone contact because we were on message units and each call cost a nickel per unit. Towards the end of my companion’s confinement to bed, we got a phone call. It was the Bishop of the Westchester Ward, the Ward we served in. He had received a phone call from a man in New Rochelle, NY who wanted to be baptized, so the Bishop called us. I took down all the contact information and we called to make an appointment. Nothing helps a sick missionary recover faster than someone calling on the phone asking for baptism!

When the appointed day and time arrived, we drove to New Rochelle and met Brother and Sister Cohen. Brother Cohen was Jewish and his new bride was an inactive member of the Church. The Cohen’s were in their late 40s or early 50s and both had been married and widowed. Sister Cohen was from Boise, but had lived all of her adult life in New York. She has stopped going to Church before she left Idaho. On their first Christmas together, they went to her parent’s home in Boise. There Brother Cohen picked up a copy of The Book of Mormon. Not having any previous contact with, or knowledge of, the Church, he had no negative opinion of The Book of Mormon. He picked it up and began reading. The spirit of the book touched him and after long conversations with his father-in-law, he knew he needed to join himself to this Church. His father-in-law suggested he contact the Bishop when he got home. He did. And the Bishop contacted us…just sitting around the apartment waiting for the phone to ring with a convert baptism on the other end!

Over the next several weeks we taught the Cohen’s the gospel. On the evening of the sixth discussion, they invited us to dinner before the discussion. The sixth discussion is on tithing and the word of wisdom. At dinner Sister Cohen offered us wine with our meal. Elder Frear and I looked at each other, then I explained briefly the word of wisdom and declined the wine. Sister Cohen, somewhat embarrassed, said she thought the Church had done away with the Word of Wisdom.

Brother Cohen was ready to be baptized, so we baptized him. Sister Cohen was already a member, but was much slower to coming around. Brother Cohen accepted the gospel enthusiastically and told the Bishop to put him to work. And he was put to work. Brother Cohen told us that his goal was to get his wife strong enough in the Church that when he was sick and couldn’t attend that she would want to attend without him. We hadn’t even taught them about the Temple! I am sure that as soon as she was ready, they went.

There was one family in the ward who decided to invite the Westchester Elders over for dinner. There were 4 of us serving in the boundaries of the Ward. The couple was Italian and was famous in the Ward for their homemade spaghetti. They had a quite the system. She made the spaghetti noodles from scratch and he made the sauce from scratch. We looked forward to the dinner. The evening of the dinner we rode together to the appointment. When we sat down they served baked chicken, a veggie and potatoes and gravy. We figured that they decided against the spaghetti. We finished and they took our plates. A few minutes later they came out with plates of spaghetti. So we ate some more. After the spaghetti they brought out dessert. She had made a lemon meringue pie and cut it in fourths and gave us each a piece. I have never been so sick in my life. It turned out that they had never fed the missionaries before and heard that missionaries ate a lot of food. They didn’t want us to go away hungry. We went back to our apartment and just lay on our beds.

Westchester County, New York is an interesting place. Located in the county is the town of Briarcliff Manor. Near the town is the Sleepy Hollow Bridge, made famous by Washington Irving in his story, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. We knew the story of Sleepy Hollow from Walt Disney feature called The Headless Horseman. Our DL’s lived about a half mile from the bridge. I never saw any horsemen there, headless or other wise. Just north of Westchester County is the location of West Point, although I never got up there. The Westchester Ward was a cross section of the area. There were blue collar types who attended the ward, as well as white collar, professionals, and even members of the entertainment industry. One fellow in the ward was a producer or director for CBS Television in New York. He was in charge of many of the soap operas of the day. In those days it was all broadcast live. Another fellow was a chiropractor and the missionaries had a standing appointment with him every P-day. He had a good testimony, although he didn’t attend regularly. There were several medical doctors in the ward and they would give him a hard time because they thought his medicine was quackery.

One lady who stands out was Melva Niles Barborka. She was a Broadway performer and was in many plays in the 1940s and 1950s. She was a soprano and sang beautifully. To a 20 year old, she was old, but as I think back, she was in her early 60s. Brother Barborka was a movie producer and I have seen his name in the credits of some church movies over the years. Melva loved the MOTAB and she loved hymns. She made an album of hymns she recorded with Robert Peterson, another Broadway singer and member. They sold the albums as a building fund project, but gave one to me, autographed. See the following website.

http://www.heartrisemusic.com/Artists/PetersonR/ThingsLovely/index.html

We baptized a lady, and for the life of me, I cannot think of her name. She was an older lady and was French, although she was from Belgium and not France. She was a widow and really quite well to do, but she was working as a housekeeper for a family in Scarsdale. After her husband died she went back to Belgium for a visit. While there she got very sick and had to be hospitalized. In the hospital she was treated with morphine for pain and became addicted to it. So they had to leave her in the hospital to get her off the meds. She was in the hospital for several months. While there she ran thru all her available cash as she was there nearly a year longer than she had planned. She had a lot of real estate holdings and other investments in Illinois, her home. Communications being what they were in the 60s, and being an older lady, she was not up on technology, such as it was. She had no idea how to access her money. Wanting to return to the United States, she met a couple form Scarsdale who happened to need a housekeeper. They agreed to pay her passage back to the United States if she would work for them for a year. And since she had worked hard all her young life in Europe, she took the offer. Upon returning to the US, she went to Illinois and got her affairs in order and returned to Scarsdale to work out her contract. The Elders met her and taught her the discussions. I got there in time to baptize her. She loved the Church and the Missionaries and took the Elders to dinner every Thursday night. We always went to a fancy restaurant. Elder Frear and I felt bad that she always paid so much for dinner. So one night we suggested that we go to a Chinese restaurant. We walked in; she walked out and took us to an expensive French restaurant.

After dinner we took her to a new members fireside that was held in a member’s home every Thursday night. After the fireside she took us to Nathan’s World Famous Hot Dogs for a late snack. Usually I had a roast beef sandwich or one of Nathan’s famous hot dogs. She loved Nathan’s hot dogs. It was the only place she would eat that didn’t cost a fortune.

The Stake Mission President was in the Ward and held an investigators fireside at his home every Sunday evening. He had developed a 12 lesson cycle for investigators and new members to be involved in. You could come in anytime and never be behind. There was no starting point, no ending point. It was a pretty effective tool. He wrote it all up and submitted it to the Presiding Bishopric, suggesting that they think of coming up with something like that for the whole Church. Don’t really know if it had anything to do with his proposal, but a couple of years later the Church came out with the new member lessons. The original new member lessons were twelve in number.

Shortly after my arrival in Yonkers there was a blizzard of major proportions. It literally shut New York down for the day. It was also transfer day, but we had been told the day before that we had no new Missionaries coming to our area. A new bunch of Missionaries had arrived and normally would have headed out to their areas of assignment later that day. Our Zone had no transfers, and since we couldn’t do any Missionary work we decided we would go see a movie. We wanted to see “Is Paris Burning”. (We rationalized that it was appropriate because it was about a true event and contained actual news real footage.) In the end, though, only Elder Frear, Elder Riding (DL) and I wanted to go. A phone call told us the theater was open and the start time of the movie. The DL’s junior companion, Elder Webb, didn’t want to go. The other Elders in the district were going over to the Church to play basketball, and he wanted to do that. So the other Elders were going to stop by and pick him up. We waited and waited, but they never came. We finally got a hold of them and they were going to come and pick up Elder Webb, but they had been delayed because they had to dig their car out of the snow before they could go to do their laundry. If we were going to make the start of the movie, we needed to go. So we coordinated with the other Elders to be sure to pick up Elder Webb; and then left Elder Webb at our apartment, waiting for his ride, and went to the movie. When we returned later in the afternoon, Elder Webb was at the apartment waiting for us. What he told us made our blood chill. Right after we left, the Mission President called. He asked for Elder Frear. When Elder Webb told him he wasn’t there, he asked for Elder Pritchard. Not here. Elder Riding. Not here either. Then who is with you Elder? Elder Webb then told the story of our going to the movie. The President praised Elder Webb for upholding his principles and not going to the movie. Then Elder Webb told him he was waiting for the other Elders to go play basket ball. The Mission President had wanted us to come into the Mission Home and pick up some of the new Elders to put them up for the night.

The next day was transfer day and we ended up having to go into the Mission Home and face the music. We got there expecting the worse, but nothing was ever said to us. As it turned out, other Elders had committed a greater infraction of the rules. These Elders, including a former AP, decided to tour the mission and visit members they knew, before they headed home. All were short timers. These Elders were in Connecticut and had left the previous Sunday right after Church. One of the Junior Companions refused to go, so they left him alone, with instructions not to answer the phone. When the phone rang he answered it. It was President Eldridge. He had called to inform the ZL that transfers had been postponed and not to come into the City. The lone Elder spilled his soul to the President. The traveling elders made it to the Mission Home, braving the elements of the blizzard. The former AP told me that when they entered the Mission Home that the staff avoided eye contact with the Elders. He then turned to his fellow travelers and announced, “Brethren, we’ve been found out”. All the missionaries were transferred to New Jersey.

By the time we made it into the Mission Home, our infractions must have seemed minor to what the President was dealing with the preceding day, plus trying to get all these new Missionaries out to the field. I figured I would never be a DL, but time heals all wounds and I was later called to be a District Leader.

CALLED TO SERVE, Part 4

2007-07-20T13:24:00.001-05:00

This blog entry is part 4 of the entry of my Mission experiences.

Our transfers came in the mail, usually on Wednesday. Transfer day was Friday or Saturday. That gave us a couple of days to pack, put in a change of address, write our folks and say good-bye to the members. My transfer said I was going to Norway. Norway, Maine that is. I was to catch a bus from Hartford to Boston. Then change busses in Boston for Lewiston-Auburn, Maine. There I would be picked up by my companion and go on to Norway. The District Leaders were in Lewiston-Auburn. I was no stranger to riding the bus as I had ridden the bus from San Jose to San Francisco a few times when I worked for Uncle Lee. I even took a date to San Francisco on the bus once. Real romantic. I only did it once! Anyway, I packed everything I owned in my suit cases and headed for northern New England. It was March and Spring was in the air, but there was still snow on the ground.

My trip to Maine was uneventful, as was my layover in the Boston Bus Terminal. I knew that lots of missionaries were being transferred that day and was surprised that I didn’t see any. I had to go to the restroom and not wanting to leave my bags unattended nor wanting to drag them downstairs to the restroom, I needed an ally. I sat next to a group of Nuns and struck up a conversation. We didn’t wear name tags in those days and I wasn’t about to tip my hand as to whom I was until after I used the restroom. I asked if they would mind watching my stuff. I figured that if I couldn’t trust them, then who could I trust? They graciously said they would watch my things. When I got back, the Nun’s and my things were still there. I thanked them and we exchanged pleasantries, then they got up and went to their bus.

Arriving in Lewiston-Auburn, I was met by the DLs and my companion, Elder Buchanan. I was coming as the newly assigned Senior Companion. I soon found out that Elder Buchanan wasn’t thrilled at the idea of his Senior Companion being out barely 5 months when he had been out almost a year. Our time together went downhill from there. In Maine he was like a fish out of water. He was a city boy and he hated the country…and Norway, Maine was out in the country. The town of Norway and its neighboring town, South Paris, were not quite as large as the Boston Bus Terminal! Well, okay, larger, but not by much. He had come up to Maine from Boston and had loved tracting in the apartment buildings. You could spend an entire day going from door to door until you got kicked out. If you couldn’t tract, you could sit in your apartment and telephone contact…boy that was effective! But in Maine, we had no apartment buildings of any size, and each phone call cost a nickel. I loved the outdoors, so we tracted. The towns of Norway and South Paris had been tracted out entirely several times in the preceding months, so I suggested we go into the country an visit some folks on the farms. We would drive out to the country, park and then walk back to the farms we had passed. Then we walked back to the car. The area was breathtaking, full of white birch trees and pines. The snow was melting, the temperature was mild, and it was like being in a picture postcard.

We stopped at a farm wanting to visit with the people who lived there and teach them the gospel. Elder Buchanan was deathly afraid of dogs. We entered the gate of the farm and were just inside the gate when we were met by a large black dog. My guess is that it was either a Rottweiler or a Lab. The dog came bounding up barking. My companion froze and the dog squared off with him. I told him to ignore the dog and keep walking, but he wasn’t moving. He was frozen with fear…and I think the dog sensed his fear. Then a woman came to the door and asked what we wanted. I told her, and she said she was the babysitter and the family would be home that evening. I asked her about the dog and she said she didn’t know if the dog was vicious or not. I thanked her and looked at my companion, who was still face to face with that dog, about 4 feet apart. Then both the dog and Elder Buchanan flinched at the same time. Elder Buchanan did a 180 degree turn precisely at the moment the dog did the same and the both headed in opposite directions as fast as they could go. The woman on the porch and I laughed so hard my side hurt. That, of course, ended tracting in the country.

The Branch President suggested we might want to try doing work in a neighboring town, Bridgton, as there were some members there. So we went and met the Mayor and a few other people, and decided we could do a lot of work there. We called President Packer and got permission to move to Bridgton. So the next day we went back and found an apartment. We stopped by the newspaper and had our pictures and a story about the missionary efforts run, and then we moved. After moving our stuff in, I figured the best thing to do would be to stop at the local diner, have lunch and ask for directions to somewhere, just to start a conversation. We ended up talking with a couple of folks and then left. When the next edition of the weekly newspaper came out, we were in it. Downtown we were stopped by a shop owner whose shop we had visited the day we moved to Bridgton. . She came out to apologize to us because she had thought we were the con men she had read about in the Boston paper. She had told others to watch out for the two young guys in suits because they were con men. When she read the article in the paper, she was embarrassed. But she became our friend, although she wasn’t interested in hearing the discussions. And nobody else ever mentioned our being con men.

The local branch was in Norway and met in the Grange Hall. The only Priesthood in the Branch was the Branch Presidency and some Aaronic Priesthood holders. One Sunday the Branch Presidency had an early morning meeting in Bangor, Maine with the District President and the Mission President. They expected to be back in time for Church, which started at 10, but didn’t make it. Elder Buchanan and I were the only Melchezidek Priesthood holders, so we decided to go ahead and conduct the meeting. The program was already set, so we went ahead and started. About the end of the meeting the Branch President came in. They thanked us for taking charge.

Maniacs (what people from Maine call themselves), speak with a distinct accent, almost their own dialect. They really emphasize and extend out the “ah” sound in the letter “a”. Father becomes Faaaahhhhhther. The Branch President’s son was a student at BYU and was home for a few days over spring break. He had totally lost his Maine/New England accent and sounded like a westerner. Being a Priest, he was one who administered the Sacrament that Sunday. When he began the blessing on the bread he did fine until he came to father. Then that old Maniac Faaahhhhther came out. I jerked my head up and it was all I could do to keep from laughing. It was the only time I ever heard the faintest accent from him.

Our apartment in Bridgton was right on Long Lake. Bridgton had a population of about 1500 to 2000 in the winter, and nearly 10,000 in the summer. It was an ideal vacation spot. We could go to the backyard of our apartment building and walk right down to the waters edge. I would highly doubt that if we were to go there today that we would find those apartments any more. More likely we would find expensive vacation homes with boat docks. Southern New Englanders spend a lot of summer months in Maine, and Bridgton was a popular spot. But before the influx of summer people came, my transfer notice arrived, and I was on my way to Pittsfield, MA.

What a joyous day it was to leave Maine, or at least my companion. Funny thing, while we came close to fisticuffs one evening, after we parted ways, we became good friends. I left Maine and arrived in Pittsfield on a beautiful spring afternoon one day in May. My companion was Elder Thurman and we would be together for four months. While Pittsfield was a good sized small town, we had lots of opportunities to tract in the country. There were two sets of Elders in Pittsfield and the other Elders, Elders Monson and Orton, had the town in their area. We lived in an apartment on West Houstatonic Street, a couple of doors up form the A and W Root Beer stand. We would drink a lot of root beer in those few months. Lots of empty calories that packed on some weight!

Elder Thurman had a girlfriend, and she wrote to him every day. The mail came at 11 and all he could think or talk about was going to get the mail. Mission rules were 1 letter per week. I told him to write his girlfriend and tell her to only write once a week. He refused at first. So when we would get back to the apartment each afternoon I grabbed the mail and would not give him the letters from his girlfriend. I told him he could have them on P-Day. After a few threats of physical violence, he finally began to settle down. Once he quit worrying about the letters and his girlfriend, he started to enjoy his mission. After a couple of weeks he wrote her and told her to only write once a week. She did and he became an outstanding Missionary. Before he got off his Mission, she sent him a “Dear John”.

One afternoon Elder Thurman and I were tracting in the country and were about a mile from our car. In the distance we heard the rumble of thunder. We looked at the mountains and saw the first white puffs of clouds coming over the range, and we headed hurriedly for our car. It usually took about ten minutes from the first rumble to a full blown afternoon thunderstorm. On that day we barely made it back before the rains came. We remembered we had left the windows in the apartment open, so we headed home. By the time we got there we were engulfed in rain. We ran upstairs to our apartment and the curtains were blowing horizontally to the floor; and the floors were soaking wet. We closed the windows and waited out the storm. Then we opened the windows again and began mopping up the water. All of the water was limited to the kitchen and dining area, so our bedrooms were dry.

The Pittsfield Branch met downtown on the 2nd floor of the YMCA. The Branch President was a professor at one of the colleges in Adams or North Adams, MA. On some Saturday evenings the Y sponsored a dog show. When we got to the Y on Sunday mornings, we would help the Branch Presidency clean up the place for church. Mostly we had to rearrange chairs, put away tables and floor mats. The Branch rented the building, but the Y did nothing to make our use of it easy.

Brother Boland was one of those perennial investigators. He loved discussions with the Missionaries, but never had any intention of joining the Church. He was the drama professor at Berkshire Community College and was a well educated and pleasant man. He was a widower of several years. He invited us to the dress rehearsal of The Fantasticks, which we thoroughly enjoyed. The music was fantastic! However, Brother Boland, as educated as he was, was a UFO freak! He believed in them and knew they were out there. The east coast blackout the previous November was a direct result of UFO’s sucking up power off one of the New England power grids just outside of Pittsfield. We would listen as he would tell us of the UFO sightings that night. One included a farmer’s field right outside of Pittsfield that had a perfect circle burned in the middle of the pasture. By the time he got there the Sheriff’s office had people bulldozing the area. They said they found a body there. No body finding was ever reported in the local paper. Brother Boland was a hoot, very creditable and we loved him and his theories as much as he loved the Missionaries.

Transfers came and I was to get a new companion. Elders Thurman and Monson were going to new areas. One companion of each set of Elders was going and leaving me and Elder Orton as companions. Pittsfield would have only one set of Missionaries. I was not thrilled because he was an extreme introvert and never talked much at all.

I had been in Pittsfield for 4 months and it was time for District Conference. This was a special conference because the Hartford Stake was to be organized. Elder Herald B. Lee of the Quorum of the Twelve was presiding with President Packer assisting. When we got to Hartford for the meeting, the Branch President told me that I was in for a big surprise. I asked him if I was being transferred. When the business portion of the conference was conducted, President Packer, in his role as a General Authority, transacted the business. He announced that the area of the New England Mission comprised of all of Connecticut and Western Massachusetts, including all 40 missionaries serving in those areas, was being transferred from the jurisdiction of the New England Mission to that of the Eastern States Mission. The Branch President leaned over to me and said, “You’ve been transferred.”

The Sunday afternoon meeting Missionaries were to have with Elder Lee was postponed until the next morning so that the business of organizing the Stake could take place. Missionaries were farmed out to families to spend the night, although Elder Orton and I went with the West Hartford Elders and stayed in the place I lived on my mission. The next morning at 9 we were in the Hartford Ward building. During this meeting, each missionary had the opportunity to meet personally with an Apostle of the Lord. Elder Lee interviewed each Missionary individually. When it was my turn, I went into the Bishops office and sat across the desk from Elder Lee. He was a very pleasant man and had a warm demeanor about him. He had pictures of me and of my companion. He told me that I had learned a lot from President Packer and would now be able to learn a lot from President Eldridge. He said that most missionaries don’t serve under two different presidents, and it was very rare to serve in two different Missions, and I was doing both. Then the looked at my companion’s picture and told me all about him. He described him to a tee. Then he gave me some ideas on how to help him come out of his shell. Then the interview was over. I don’t remember all that was said, but I can still feel the spirit when I reflect on that meeting.

Elder Orton and I were together in Pittsfield for 4 months. We taught a lot of discussions, but we didn’t baptize. It was a tough area – blue caller mostly, an area highly concentrated with Eastern European immigrants, and very Catholic. The only family baptized while I was there went inactive pretty quickly. We visited with them after they quit coming to Church and they had never taken down symbols of their former religion, including holders for holy water. Thirty years later I visited Pittsfield and the Pittsfield Ward met in a modern building just outside Pittsfield. I didn’t know anyone, but several younger adults told me they were in primary in the days when the branch met in the YMCA.
Transfers were conducted differently in the Eastern States Mission. My transfer notice came by telephone and I was being transferred to Yonkers, NY. I was to be a Zone Leader. In the Eastern States Mission, when the President called Zone Leaders, he called one former District Leader and one who had been a Senior Companion, to gain more leadership experience. That Zone Leader would generally then become a District Leader. In stead of catching a bus, my District Leader, Elder Bunting, came to Pittsfield from Greenfield, MA and drove me to the Mission Home in Manhattan. There we had a short meeting with the Mission President, met the Mission staff, including the APs, and then had a short interview with the Mission President. He told me I was going to Yonkers with Elder Frear. After meeting Elder Frear, we loaded up and we were off to Westchester County.

TO BE CONTINUED

CALLED TO SERVE, Part 3

2007-07-18T10:32:00.001-05:00

This blog entry is part 3 of the entry of my Mission experiences.

We arrived in Boston later that afternoon where we were met by the Assistants to the Mission President (APs). We got our bags and trudged to the subway. It was hot and humid. I had never before felt humidity. I was melting. The subway tunnel was cool and I could have served my whole Mission right there! We boarded the subway train and rode to Cambridge and then walked the couple of blocks to the Mission Home. We were greeted by our Mission President and his wife, President and Sister Boyd K. Packer. After a short welcome talk and then an interview with the President, some were assigned rooms for the night in the Mission Home, and others of us were taken to a hotel close by. The next morning we had breakfast at the Mission Home and then we were given our assignments. Mine was Hartford, Connecticut. Bag and baggage we once again boarded the MTA (subway) and rode to the Boston Greyhound Terminal. I purchased a ticket to Hartford and then I was on my way to my first area…as green a missionary as there ever was.

I arrived in Hartford late in the afternoon and was met by the Zone Leaders. My companion, Elder Moon, the District Leader, was with other Elders at an appointment. They would take me to meet my companion later. In the mean time, we had an appointment to teach the first discussion to some investigators. It was my first experience with “row houses” and “walk ups”. The family was probably a nice family, although I have no recollection of them at all. I do very well remember the evening. The house was hot and the air still. This was before everyone had air conditioning. I wanted to rip my suit coat off and run out of the room screaming for cool air! Elder Stiles gave the first conclusion of the discussion. I had been told I would give the second conclusion. PANIC! I couldn’t remember one word that I had learned in the Salt Lake Mission Home. Elder Stiles explained to the family that I was a new missionary and this was my first discussion. After what seemed like forever, but was, in reality, only a moment or two, I recovered enough to stumble thru the conclusion. Thankfully, they didn’t make me give another, although I was asked to bear my testimony.

After the discussion we stopped at Friendly Ice Cream and got some ice cream cones. Then we went to the ZL’s apartment and waited for my companion. Soon he arrived. He was Elder Richard Moon from Vernal, UT. I don’t think he was really happy to see me because he was under 30 days and the last thing he needed was a greenie. But he had me, and to his credit, he began to train me to be a missionary.

We had several discussions those first few days. Brother Giovanni stands out because he had been investigating for a few weeks, and he was my first appointment with my companion. He was a faithful listener to Music and the Spoken Word on the radio. He was really exited about the Church, and even went on Saturdays to help build the building in East Hartford. His wife would not meet with us and in the end his wife and brother prevailed and he broke off the discussions. Our last hurrah with him came on a Sunday evening. We were at Church for Sacrament Meeting and got a call on the phone. It was Brother Giovanni’s brother. They were members of Boulevard Baptist Church and they wanted us to attend their meeting. They wanted us to come right over, or they would come and get us and “escort” us over. We mentioned the phone call to the Branch President and he really didn’t want us to go; but Elder Moon and I felt that we should, if not just for the challenge. So we arrived in time for the meeting to start. The preacher’s sermon was on the anti-Christ. The entire sermon was preached at us. When the offering plate came around, we dropped in our Articles of Faith business cards. Finally the meeting was over and we were immediately surrounded by quite a few members of their church. They successfully separated us and were all talking at once, condemning us and the Church. One lady asked me if I had a copy of The Book of Mormon. I showed it to her and she grabbed it out of my hand. She leafed thru the book quickly and informed me she hadn’t seen the name Jesus Christ once in the book. I assured her it was there and offered to share some passages with her. She wasn’t listening. When I explained about the name of the church, she said we had to change the name to try to look like we were Christians. In the end, the crowd began to leave and we were left alone. It was an experience we would never forget. We didn’t convince anyone, and Brother Giovanni ended up telling us not to come back.

My first baptism came the following weekend. We were teaching a 12 year old girl named Louise Tollifson. Her family had visited the Mormon Pavilion at the New York Worlds Fair and they wanted to know more. The family ended up not joining, but he young daughter did. They lived in a row house and, like the first house I visited, no air and it was hot and humid. We had to wear suit coats and hats. As I was sitting there melting, Louise’s father took compassion on me and turned the box fan directly on me. In a minute I was comfortable. The discussion we gave was the last and we filled out the baptismal recommend and the following Saturday Elder Moon baptized her. On Sunday I confirmed her as a member of the Church. She was active for the remainder of the time I was in Hartford.

Missionaries were known for wearing hats and suits. The first purchase I made after arriving in Hartford was a hat. Elder Moon took me downtown to a department store and I found a hat. It wasn’t particularly stylish, but it was within my budget. I looked more like Elliot Ness of The Untouchables than one of the Lord’s servants. I wore my hat all winter and then when Spring came, we went to buy our Spring hats. They were made of straw and much cooler than the wool hats we wore in the winter. And I even got one that was very stylish. A few days later we got a letter from President Packer advising us that he had ended the requirement for New England Missionaries to wear hats. He figured that he hated wearing them, and didn’t want us having to wear them either. YAHOO!

Twenty eight days after I arrive in Hartford, I took Elder Moon to the bus stop and sent him on his way to Cambridge and Vernal. Then I drove back to the apartment and waited alone for the bus to arrive with my new companion. He was Elder Richard Egan from Washington State. Years later his son would serve in the same district as Brett in the Georgia Macon Mission. I met Elder Egan later that afternoon and we got to know each other pretty well. It was shortly after Elder Egan’s arrival that we got the no hats ruling. Elder Egan probably taught me more about being a missionary than any other companion. I had not learned all the discussions by the time he got there, so he made that our primary goal. Learn the discussions. You cannot be an effective missionary unless you know the discussions. With the concentration on learning the discussions, it took only a short while and I had learned them. Then we practiced discussions every morning … we closed our eyes and then gave our conclusions as fast as we could talk. Theoretically we were not thinking, but speaking out of some inward knowledge of the discussion. That may have been true because I never had trouble with discussions again.

At 5:J5 on the night of November 9, 1965 I was in the basement of a small department store in West Harford with Elder Egan looking for some jeans that were on sale to wear on P-Day. I had just completed the purchase when the lights blinked out and we were in the dark. After a few minutes waiting for the lights to come back on, the owner of the store asked everyone to leave so they could close the doors. I took my jeans and we went upstairs and departed. It was starting to snow when we got to the car. We quickly learned that the entire east coast was blacked out. We drove over to our house to make sure our land lady was okay, and then we went to a member’s home. They had a transistor radio and we listened to the reports of the blackout. Speculations of conspiracies were on the airwaves. Everything from the Russians to spacemen were reported to be the cause. I don’t remember how long the lights were out, but it was for many hours. It would be a topic that would come up time and time again, especially after I was transferred to Pittsfield, MA, a few months later.

Zone Conferences were generally held quarterly. My first was at the Hartford Chapel. President Packer’s background was as an educator and the emphasis of his training was how to teach the gospel, not present a discussion. He taught us how to effectively use the flannel board and how to put the pictures on without looking at them. Pretty neat stuff. . Later I attended a Zone Conference in Bangor, Maine. A few days later I was transferred to Massachusetts. A week after I arrive there we had a Zone Conference in Hartford. President Packer opened the conference; then asked me to stand up. He said that Elder Pritchard had attended Zone Conference a couple of weeks ago in Bangor, “but I had to send him here because he didn’t believe a word I said”.

Over the three months we were together we spent a lot of time looking up referrals from the Worlds Fair and just going out to meet people. We didn’t like to tract, so we found alternative ways to meet people. Some of the tracting we did actually involve just finding people at stores, in their yards, or where ever we could and then engaged them in conversation about the gospel. I remember one family we baptized was a young couple we met from a Worlds Fair referral. We taught them the discussions and they were quick to respond. After 6 weeks they were baptized. Elder Egan got the bright idea of fixing dinner and having them over. This family was easy to talk to and it was easy to forget they had been baptized earlier that day. During dinner, Elder Egan launched into discussion on “as man is, God once was; and as God is, man may become.” They stopped eating and just stared at my companion and me. Dinner was over. They recovered from it, and stayed active in the Church. But the lesson we learned was that we were feeding these new converts strained peaches, and they were not yet ready to T-Bone steaks.

We looked up a Fair referral from a minister. We went to his house an met his wife. She knew her husband would love to meet us, so we went over to the Church. He was very pleasant and after a brief conversation, he invited us to come speak at their weekly prayer breakfast. We accepted. The appointed morning we went to the Church and had breakfast. We were treated courteously and we told about Joseph Smith, The Book of Mormon, and the restoration. We got several invites by people to visit them in their homes, but nothing ever came of it for us. Hopefully the seeds we planted were later harvested.

One Saturday morning the ZLs were at our house and we were finished with whatever it was we were doing and were ready to go work the plan .Just then the doorbell rang. We answered the door and two lovely young ladies were standing there – with Watch Tower magazines in their hands. They had seen the four of us thru the window and thought we must be students from the local theological seminary. We invited them in and explained who we were and that we were just going out. We invited them to come back the following Saturday to have a discussion of the difference of ours and their ideas. We picked a religious subject and we each would have a few minutes to present our views. They were to have the opportunity to choose the first topic. I don’t remember the topic, but the following Saturday they showed up precisely at 9 AM and we spent the next hour sharing our views with each other. Now it was our turn to pick the subject and we would again meet next Saturday to discuss it. We picked First Corinthians, chapter 15, verse 29; the scripture on baptism for the dead. The following Saturday morning at 9 they were at the door, but they couldn’t come in as they had another pressing appointment. We fain expressed sorrow, but told them that if they ever wanted to know what Paul meant that we would be happy to teach them. I have used that same set up on other Jehovah’s Witnesses over the years, with similar results.

One lady we visited was a local radio personality and she wanted to interview us on the radio. We were a little skeptical but asked permission from President Packer. He said to do it. We had to provide her some background information so she would know what to ask. We gave her a copy of The Mormon Story, a table book about the history of the Church, and a copy of the Book of Mormon. We went to the studio about a half hour or so before air time. She showed us the questions she was going to ask. As the saying goes, “prepare for the worse, hope for the best”. The worse never came. She was a nice lady and allowed us to give full answers to her questions. We were on the air for 30 minutes. She gave us a copy of the tape, but it is long gone.

Another family joined the Church after having visited the Worlds Fair. The newly weds felt they needed a Church. He was a Christian, but of no affiliation. She was agnostic. They felt they wanted to have some sort of religion in their lives because if they were to have children, they wanted to make sure they had a religious background. At least that was his point of view. I am not so sure it was hers, but she did attend the discussions we held in their home. The Spirit was there and before long, she was coming around. We asked her to offer the prayer after the first discussion, but she refused. We sensed a lack of knowledge on her part, so we taught them how to pray. She still refused, so we asked her husband and he prayed. Then we got her to commit to pray on her own about what she had learned. A few days later we taught them the 2nd discussion, The Book of Mormon. They received it gladly it and committed to read the first 50 pages before we returned. We noticed as we visited with them time after time, that she warmed up to the gospel and he cooled down. Then one evening following the discussion she said she wanted to offer the prayer. Her prayer was simple and included the words, “Heavenly Father, if you are there …” She received an answer right then and there. Tears flowed and she had found joy. She was a timid lady and still would not commit to baptism. They attended Church regularly, but felt they were not accepted. Then the miracle happened. The Young Marrieds had a social the following Saturday evening and invited them to come. They accepted. They felt welcome and fit right in. This was the last obstacle in her joining the Church. The next day she couldn’t wait to find us at Church. We could see it in her face. “Elder Egan, Elder Pritchard, I want to be baptized.” The following Saturday morning we baptized her with her husband watching. Her husband, at first wanting to have a common religion in their home, seemed now to be the agnostic. I left the area a short time later and never knew if he ever joined the Church.

Kathy was a joy to teach and just visit with. She was from Scotland, in her 20s and a little overweight. She was a nurse at a local hospital and was anxious to become a US citizen. She had visited the Mormon Pavilion with LDS friends and wanted to learn about the Church. The discussion on The Book of Mormon was the second discussion. When we gave Kathy the second discussion we gave her a copy of The Book of Mormon, for which she paid 50 cents, to cover the cost of the book. We challenged her to read the first 50 pages before our next discussion the following week. She accepted. When we next met with her she proudly told us that she had read the 50 pages. But she thought something must be wrong with the book. Every other page was upside down. She would read a page, turn the book over and read the next page. Then she had to do it again. We were amazed that she had persevered thru the ordeal and finished the assignment. After a good laugh, we gave her another copy of the book and wanted to take her copy. She accepted the new book, but refused to give up her copy. It was her first Book of Mormon and she would treasure it her whole life. A couple of weeks later she was baptized and beamed with joy.

Elder Egan was a straight razor man. Somewhere along the line in his mission he had been converted to using a strait razor to shave. So naturally I had to have one. We went to a cutlery shop in Hartford and I purchased a strait razor, leather strop, a shaving mug and brush and shaving soap. The whole deal cost me about $10 or $15. Elder Egan said I would need a good aftershave, and I used Aqua Velva, so I had one. The first time I shaved I knew what he meant. Elder Egan showed me how to use the strop, and I shaved with a strait razor. Closest shave I ever had. Then I splashed on the aftershave, and ZOWIE, it burned like nothing ever burned before. I soon had the worse rash I ever had. You don’t just start shaving with a strait razor and get away without pain. I learned I had to shave before I took a shower; that way the hot water of the shower cut off the blood flow on my face. It took a good week or so before I no longer bled or burned when I shaved. One morning I guess I was a little too cocky and dropped the razor on the ring finger of my right hand. It took 5 stitches to close it up. I probably would have just put a band – aid on it, but Elder Egan was an Army medic and thought I needed stitches.

CALLED TO SERVE, Part 2

2007-07-16T10:02:00.002-05:00

This blog entry is part 2 of the entry of my Mission experiences.

One of the first orders of business after I entered the Salt Lake Mission Home was to apply for my Ministerial Deferment from the draft. Those of us who were 1A could not be promised that the deferments could be obtained and that the possibility existed that we could still be drafted. However, the Chairman of the Military Relations Committee of the Church, Elder Gordon B. Hinckley, had a good relationship with Selective Service and the chance was pretty good we would get our 2Y deferments. He handled all the paperwork for everyone. I got mine.

The Salt Lake Mission Home was just west of Temple Square. The location of the Salt Lake Mission Home is now somewhere in the Conference Center. I was met at the airport by the girl in Salt Lake City I had been dating for a couple of summers, whenever she came to California to stay with her Aunt and Uncle. She drove me to the Mission Home and we made a date for her to pick me up on the day we finished as we could visit with family, friends, and yes, even girl friends… although we were expected to maintain Missionary Standards.

I was assigned a room with 3 other New England Mission Missionaries. I found out that there were 28 of us going to New England, the largest group of Missionaries ever sent to New England at one time. Our daily routine involved eating and classes. We had individual classes as well larger classes, and devotionals; being treated to talks by General Authorities and our Mission Home President and his wife. I remember one lesson we had on how to iron a shirt and how to cook a healthy breakfast. I cannot remember who the General Authorities were who spoke to us, but I would imagine that they are all gone now as they were old then. After dinner we had more classes, usually in small groups, working on memorizing the first discussion. Learning the first discussion was our goal while we were in the Salt Lake Mission Home.

In those days we were not set apart as missionaries by our Stake Presidents, but by a General Authority. Because there were only 15 operating Temples worldwide, many young missionaries came to the Mission Home without having been to the Temple. On one of the first days, we went to the Salt Lake Temple. Following the Temple session, we went to the room in the Temple where the General Authorities meet every Thursday and a member of the First Presidency spoke to us. It wasn’t President McKay, so it was either President Hugh B. Brown or President N. Eldon Tanner. Then we went to the Church Office Building where we were set apart as Missionaries by a General Authority. I was set apart by Elder Alma Sonne, an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.

One afternoon we went shopping to pick up some of the last minute items we might need. We went to ZCMI downtown. These were the days before the big malls sprung up across from Temple Square. ZCMI was an old store with wooden floors and a musty odor. I didn’t have much money, but I did purchase a camera. I got a Kodak Instamatic for a few dollars. That was all I bought. Over the next two years I took lots of pictures with that little camera. It would later go with me to Vietnam.

Looking out of the window in our room, we had a beautiful view of the Salt Lake Temple and the Angle Moroni. I expect that as a group of 19 and 20 year olds staying together in a room, we were involved in the antics of young men. We all got along well, and we were assigned in companionships. I cannot remember the name of my companion, and I would never see him again during my Mission. I did learn, though, that he spent most of his mission in the maritime provinces of Canada. As we got ready to check out of our rooms, we had to make the beds with clean linins for the next group coming in. We short sheeted all the beds.

At the end of our time we were released to visit with family and friends for a few hours before we had to be back to the Salt Lake Mission Home for transportation to the Union Pacific Depot. My young lady friend picked me up and she took me to the “This Is the Place” Monument. The next time I would go to that historic monument was with Scott, when Jannie and I took him to Missionary Training Center for his Mission.

Back at the Mission Home we gathered our bags and were bussed to the Union Pacific Depot. It was a bustling place, filled with Missionaries in dark suits, waiting for trains to take them to their fields of labor. Our train was called and we boarded the train to Chicago. We didn’t have sleeping cars like in the movies, but had seats not unlike busses or airplanes. We had to eat in the dining car, and that was not inexpensive. As I remember, when we stopped at train depots along the way we got off the train and made a dash to a store and got goodies to take on the train. The train pulled out and late the next day we were getting off at a crossing in a rural area outside Chicago. A few minutes later some vans from the Mission in Chicago pulled up and transported us to Chicago O’Hare where we caught a flight to Boston. I remember we flew out on Delta Airlines. The seat I had was broken and would not stay in the upright position. I had to lean a little forward during take-off and landing. (A few years later I would fly Delta again and I swear it was the same airplane because the seat I was assigned had the same defect.) We were 28 Elders going to New England and were told that we were the first group of state-side Missionaries to be flown to our Missions. A pretty historic group, we were.

TO BE CONTINUED

CALLED TO SERVE, Part 1

2007-07-13T10:32:00.001-05:00

I didn’t grow up singing I Hope They Call Me on a Mission because it probably hadn’t been written when I was growing up; but if it had, it was a Primary song and I didn’t go to Primary. I really don’t know when I started thinking I wanted to go on a mission. My activity in the Church was sporadic as I grew up. My mother was almost totally in active; we didn’t even go to Church on Easter and Christmas. But we went to Church every so often, and did go to a lot of the Ward Dinners. When we moved to Dallas Mom decided it was time for her to get back to Church, so we went to the Dallas Ward almost every week. I turned 12 and was ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood. When we moved to Los Angeles I don’t remember ever going to Church. We only lived in the Los Angeles area a short time when my parents divorced and we moved back to San Jose. We began going to Church again, and at age 14, I was ordained a Teacher. At 16 I became a Priest. I still didn’t know much about Missionaries.

I was the oldest Priest in our Ward. All my friends were a year younger than me, and we began talking about missions; we began having lessons in Priesthood Meeting that were designed to prepare us for Missionary service. Soon I graduated high school and started college. I began attending M-Men and Gleaners, although I still attended Priest Quorum as I was still a Priest. In those days you generally remained a Priest until you went on your Mission, or turned 20 (at least in my Ward – but then again, I was the oldest Priest and the first one I knew who actually turned 18). My friends at Church were still in high school and in the Priest Quorum. I continued attending Priest Quorum.

Shortly after I graduated in June 1963, I was approached by my Bishop, Murray Gardner, and asked to visit with him. He offered me a job. Our Ward building was still under construction and the Church used member labor to build the buildings. Part of that effort was calling young men to serve “Building Missions”. It was a way to get young men on missions and Church service who didn’t show interest in going on normal full-time missions. Building Missions usually lasted 18 months. Like full-time Missionaries, Building Missionaries had companions. The Building Missionary assigned to our ward, Elder Richard DeWolf, did not have a companion. I was hired by the Church to be his labor companion, working with him during the day.

I was working at the church building laying floor tile on November 22, 1963. I had the radio on and the music was interrupted with a news bulletin. President Kennedy had been shot while in a motorcade in Dallas. A few minutes later we all went home. I listened to the coverage on TV.
In my first semester of college I didn’t do very well. Spent too much time at the beach! I was put on academic probation and had one semester to bring my grade point average (GPA) back up to 2.0. The next semester I still kept going to the beach and earned a whopping 1.8 GPA, and then had to sit out a semester before I could re-enroll. The summer term did not count as my semester out. So I had the summer and the entire fall semester to do something. I worked at the Church for the end of 1963, and then Elder DeWolf got a companion. I got a job with the Parks and Recreation Department for the City of San Jose.

It was during that time I committed to the Lord, the Bishop, and to me that I was going to go on a Mission, how or when I was not sure. As I look back on my life, I hope that decision came out of a true commitment to serve the Lord and not to avoid the draft! The military draft was in full swing in those days, although Vietnam was some place very few people ever heard of and a story still buried deep in the newspaper. All young men age 18 were eligible to be drafted for two years of active duty service. However, the draft board didn’t usually draft in my area until age 20. I was 19 and easily received a student deferment from the draft. I lost the deferment later that year when the deferment expired. I couldn’t get a renewal because I was not in school. At that point, my draft status became 1A and I was available. If I was going to go on a Mission, I needed to act or the window of opportunity would close. I am going to give myself the benefit of the doubt that I went on a mission to serve the Lord and not to evade the draft.

I now had to convince my Mother that I needed to go because she had not been really supportive of the idea of my leaving home. Divorced and having recently lost 8 year-old Henry James in death after a life long struggle with diabetes and related problems, she seemed to want to keep her other children by her side. But to my surprise, she didn’t object, but did want to talk to Aunt Dee and Uncle Tom. Everyone in the family looked to Uncle Tom as the “Great Sage” in our family. It was Easter time and we were all in Capitola. One evening my mother broached the subject. Aunt Dee thought it a wonderful idea for me to serve a mission, but that I should finish my schooling first. But, I wasn’t in school, and I was draft eligible. Uncle Tom shocked everyone at the table. He thought about it then said he thought it would be a great learning experience for me and that I should go; it was just too bad I was going for the wrong Church. Then he roared with laughter because he said it took a Catholic to get a Mormon on his Mission. And I was going on a Mission!

The very next Sunday after I got home, I met with Bishop Gardner and he gave me the papers and I began the process of filling out the application, getting my physical and my dental work done. A few weeks later, all completed, I turned in the papers to the Bishop. Then I had to have my interview with the Stake President. The night of my interview the Stake President had been called out of town on business, so I had my interview with President Abraham, the First Counselor, and the father of my girlfriend. Talk about a probing interview. But things were in order and he signed the papers and sent them on to Salt Lake City. Then the waiting game began.

It was hard to find a full time job for the unskilled, right out of school, so I got a second part time job. I went to work at the new McDonald’s Hamburgers – “Over 3 Billion Served” – on Highway 9 in the spring of 65. Since the beginning of 64 I had worked for the San Jose Parks and Recreation Department as a playground supervisor. After I was off work at McD’s, I went straight to the playground. I can’t remember what date I put my papers in, but in July of 65 my sister brought an envelope to me at the swimming pool where I was working that day. It was my Mission Call and I was called to the New England Mission, and I had to be in the Salt Lake Mission Home September 22nd.

At my Missionary Farewell the member of the Bishopric conducting the Sacrament Meeting said that Elder Pritchard was “going to Boston and the New England Mission; the only English speaking Mission where one must first attend the Language Training Mission before going”. Of course that brought a good chuckle, but after arriving in Boston I understood what he was talking about. He was a good authority on the subject as he was from Boston.

Two of my best friends in the Priest Quorum Scott Smith and Jamie Ballentine, also received their calls and had to be in the Salt Lake Mission Home the same day. We flew out together, although we didn’t see each other once we were there. They were going on foreign missions (Uruguay and Germany), and I was on a stateside mission. After a couple of days in the Salt Lake Mission Home, they were sent to Provo and the Language Training Mission. These two missionary training facilities would shortly become the Missionary Training Center in Provo. At one point on my Mission there were 5 of us from our Priest Quorum all on missions at the same time. We started a “round-robin” letter so that we could all keep up with each other. We kept it up faithfully until we started going home, then it died out.

TO BE CONTINUED

Fifteen Cent Hamburgers

2007-06-26T13:48:00.001-05:00

I was born with a bug – the Entrepreneur bug. My whole life I dreamed of owning my own business, and over the years I have had the opportunity to have several. My earliest recollection of being a businessman was when Eddie Cutshall and I had a Kool-Aid stand in my front yard. We purchased our supplies from my mother; she charged 5 cents for the package of Kool-Aid and 2 cents for the sugar. We served in little 4 ounce paper cups. At 2 cents, we grossed 16 cents per 2 quart package. We had almost a 47% food cost. Looking back, we should have charged 3 cents.

Most kids dreamed of being a fireman or a policeman, I dreamed of business. I gave it a lot of thought, as I remember. Guess that is why I wanted to major in business in college. I dreamed about making money and I figured out that I could make money on peoples desire to have fun. I dreamed about opening a movie theater, a sports complex, etc. Good ideas, but I was only 9.

Pro Cameras. My dad’s entrepreneurial spirit had him involved in different businesses during his home time from flying. He sold Jeeps, milk and cameras. The one I remember most was Pro Cameras. The Pro Camera cost a dollar and was ahead of its time. These were 12 exposure disposable cameras. When the pictures were taken, you mailed in the camera with another buck and got your pictures and a new camera by return mail. My dad was a good artist and was able to design and build a stand that looked like a Pro Camera, and sold Pro Cameras at the Santa Clara County Fair. Dad ended up with cases of cameras.

My new entrepreneurial endeavor was to sell Pro-Cameras. I would set up the camera stand in my front yard and hock cameras to passing traffic. I sold them for 50 cents. Dad just gave them to me to get rid of. I also went door-to-door and took them to school to sell to my school mates. I sold quite a few of them, but not nearly all he had. These cameras actually took pretty good pictures, but they were black and white and color pictures were really surging in popularity. When we moved to Dallas, I remember my dad loading cases of Pro-Cameras into a pick-up truck. Hind site would have had me save a bunch of them .. they might have had some value as collectables.

One of my earlier efforts was being a paperboy. I started out in Dallas where I was a substitute carrier for my friend, Steve Solomon. We carried the afternoon Dallas Times Herald. I would have had my own route, but we moved back to California. My next opportunity for a paper route was after we moved back to San Jose. We were living in Willow Glen and I got a San Jose Mercury route. I had a small route of 34 papers. The paper had a contest to increase circulation so I went out and worked hard, knocking on doors in the evenings, to get new subscribers. I kept adding customers and soon I had my route up to 55 customers. Then one day I got a notice that my route was being split. There was a maximum number of papers a carrier could have, which was 50. So I was back down to fewer papers than I started with!

All the carriers on my corner were 7th and 8th graders, with one 10th grader, whom I will call John, a real nerd. To gain the favor of the cool 7th and 8th graders, John always told us that when he turned 16 his Mom was going to let him drive her car to pick up his papers. On the morning of his 16th birthday I arrived at the corner (a shopping center corner) to get my papers. John was sitting in a new Chevrolet. He said it was his mother’s car and invited us to get in to warm up (it was chilly outside). Several of us got in and were getting warm and listening to the radio, engine running. Then all of a sudden the doors flew open and someone was pulling people out of the car and cussing. The guy pulling kids out was on the driver’s side, so we piled out the passenger side, grabbed our bikes and took off. Apparently it wasn’t John’s mother’s car. Deciding things had quieted down, another carrier and I went back and picked up our papers and went to the all-night Laundromat to fold them. As we sat on a table folding papers, in came a policeman. He told us to get into the squad car and drove us to Juvenile Hall, or Juvie. We were arrested and charged with tampering with an auto. I was processed in and assigned a bunk. I got there in time for first formation. Role was called and we went to breakfast. To say I was scared was an understatement, but I toughed it out and didn’t cry, although I wanted to!

Shortly after breakfast, I was called to see the Juvenile officer. My mother was there. The investigator was releasing me to my mother. He questioned me about the incident and I squealed like a stuck pig! Turned John right in. I didn’t know his full name, but he was a sophomore at Willow Glen High School. My mother said she got a phone call at about 6:30 telling her that her little boy had been arrested. She left Henry with Evelyn and came to get me. I didn’t lose my route because charges were not filed and my mother talked to the route manager.

Back at Monroe Street I got another paper route. This time with the San Jose Evening News and I delivered papers after school. I needed a new bike for my route. I wanted a red Schwinn American. I had saved my money and had the $45 to buy my new bike. The Schwinn American was the latest deal - three speed, middle weight bike. For another five bucks I could get a heavy duty paper carrier rack. It was great. I could put all my papers in the bag and then put the bag on the rack. The first thing my Mom had me do was to go down to the Police Station and register my bike and I got a license tag for my bike. I had that bike a couple of years, then one day Mom sent me to Valley Fair Market to get a few things. I rode my bike to the store and parked it in the rack, but didn’t lock it….we never locked our bikes. While I was in the store, someone took my bike. Never saw it again. Years later, after I returned home from my mission, I got a call from the police telling me they had found the frame to my bike at a pawn shop. I told them to keep it.

I kept that paper route until I started 9th grade. Couldn’t be delivering papers while in high school. Wasn’t cool. Now I had no income, but HEY, I WAS COOL!

Over the next couple of years, I did some odd jobs for Uncle Henry and Uncle Lee and was able to earn some spending money. Between my junior and senior years in high school, I got the job taking care of the school farm. Minimum wage in 1962 was $1.25 per hour but I was being paid $1.92 per hour. BIG BUCKS. During my senior year I was able to get a job with the San Jose Parks and Recreation Department. My cousin Linda was dating one of the recreation supervisors and he hired me. I was making well above minimum wage, but was working only part time, 3 hours after school and 5 hours on Saturday. It was during that time a new phenomenon occurred in our culture; 15 cent hamburgers arrived in San Jose.

The summer after I graduated high school, I was given a new playground in San Jose. I worked 40 hours a week at the largest playground in the system. I had two Recreational Aides who worked at the school as well. It was a good job and we did a lot with the kids, including trips to Candlestick Park to watch Willie Mays, Willie McCovey and the San Francisco Giants. But this was a full time job only in the summer and soon I was back to 20 hours per week. I hated to give up my rec job because I had seniority and was at a prestigious playground, and I was dating one of the Aides. So I went to the McDonald’s near the playground and got a job right off. I worked from 10 until 2. Then I went to my playground job at 2:30. Worked out great. I must have done a pretty good job at McDonald’s because when I got home off my Mission, they hired me right back. When I got into school I applied to McDonald’s near the school. I got that job because of the recommendation I got from my old boss. He gave me a good recommendation and soon I ended up as the night manager and got to wear the red Manager hat. I was then offered a full time manager position.

I was struggling with the decision to take the manager job. To take it I would have to quit school. The owner wanted to retire and she was leaving the store in the charge of her daughter. She wanted to send me to Chicago and McDonald’s training school, HAMBURGER UNIVERSITY. I’d have a degree! She was planning to open several stores and wanted me as her General Manager. Then I could easily move up the corporate ladder. But I was getting married and sure I wanted to be a hamburger slinger the rest of my life.

So I left McDonald’s and the now 17 cent hamburger and went to work selling ladies shoes at Leed’s. It was at this time I got a call form my dad telling me that if I wanted to come to work for the Airlines. He told me to call Vic at Aero Commuter in Burbank. I called and I was hired over the phone. and I moved to North Hollywood and went to work for the airlines. It was here that I was employed when I got married, and worked until I was drafted into the Army.

I had some pretty fun jobs, even mowed a few lawns. I could tell stories about each job, and maybe I will get to that point someday.

AND THE BOTTOM FELL OUT

2007-06-21T12:27:00.002-05:00

Let me tell you about my day yesterday. This was a true Murphy’s Law day. I have been trying to get the pool repaired and cleaned since April. I finally got the pool repaired, crystal clear and blue. So on Monday I turned the pump on and it started right up and then it shut down. I waited a few minutes and started it again. Again it started right up and then shut down. I remember that the pump did this once before, before I went to Utah last year. Scott said he had the same problem last summer, but eventually it would start up. As I played with it again on Tuesday, I realized that I was hearing a “click”, which meant the start capacitor was out. So yesterday I decided to take a couple of hours in off in the morning while it was cooler and change out the capacitor. When I got up, it was pouring rain! The weather report didn’t call for rain, just a 20% chance of late afternoon showers … it was 7 AM and it was pouring rain! So I went on into work and figured I could get it done later in the day.

Later in the day! Right! Chad and I took a capacitor off another pump and put it on the offending pump. It worked perfectly, for about 10 seconds and then the capacitor started smoking. Wrong size. So we went to Killeen Propane (an old fashioned hardware store) and got another one. (I have learned over the years that if you want a repair part, go to Killeen Propane first – saves time) Brought it home and installed it. The pump turned right on, then off, like it was doing before. Deciding that it was not the capacitor, we opted to change out pumps and put on the Hayward (Lincoln Town Car of swimming pool pumps). We got it all installed, but needed a jar of pool glue to cement the pipes in place. Since it was dinner time, we went to Wal-Mart to get the glue, and stopped at McDonald’s in Wal-Mart to grab a quick bite. We ordered the dinner and I went to pay for it with an old Wal-Mart merchandise card I had. McDonald’s doesn’t take Wal-Mart merchandise cards (of course). And to top it off, Wal-Mart was out of the glue. I felt like I was at Target.

Then Tyler called me and wanted to know if he and his brothers could come over and go swimming. I felt so bad because all spring and summer I have had to tell kids no. And I hate telling my grandchildren they can’t swim. This pool will be done and kids swimming by this weekend.

As Chad and I were getting ready to go to Wal-Mart on the above trip, when I closed the garage door; it kept going back up. Then we noticed the garage door was askew. I looked closely at the door and a guide wheel was off the track. I put it back in the track and it did the same thing – again and again. So I had to leave the garage door half up and half down. Can’t get it repaired until after work Thursday (of course).

We got the glue at Lowe’s, naturally. Then we went home and glued the pipes in place and turned it on. It sounded great! So we sat back to wait for the pump to start pulling water and waited for the tell tale bubbles in the pool to know we were in business. They never came. So we looked at the pump and realized that the impeller was broken. It was now 7:05 and the pool store closed at 7. So Thursday morning I will attempt to get the part and Chad will put it together. This is not an uncommon repair; it just came at an inoportune time!

To top the day off, when I was going to bed, I poured me a glass of water and the bottom of the glass fell out. I gave up and went to bed! Murphy 5, Frank 0.

Just a note at the end of this entry. I went to Leslie’s Pool Supplies this morning (Thursday) to get the parts I needed. Now, Leslie’s touts itself as being the largest Hayward dealer and parts supplier in Texas. The Hayward Super Pump II is the best and most commonly used pump in the marketplace, and I have the Super Pump II. The parts I needed, an impeller and pump shaft seal, are the most common repair parts needed with this pump. Leslie’s does not have these parts in stock, AND would take 10 working days to get them in … at the earliest. So I called Ocean Quest Pools in Belton and they are trying hard to get me the part, but as of this writing, I have not heard back. If it isn’t available, then we will change out pumps again tonight. One way or the other Chad and I are getting this blanketty blank pump fixed and the pool ready by this weekend. Or I may just fill it in and plant tomatoes and corn and more potatoes.

Our First Night Involved Fleas

2007-06-19T09:43:00.001-05:00

We entered the Oakland Temple the morning of August 31, 1968 and when we came out we were husband and wife, married for time and all eternity by the proper authority in one of the many Sealing Rooms in the Temple. It was a beautiful day and it was all we had dreamed it would be. It would be the only August 31st we would spend together for the next three years.

Almost six months later, to the day, February 26, 1969, I entered active duty in the Untied States Army. Jannie took me to the induction station early in the morning where I boarded a bus, bag and baggage, for Fort Ord, California and basic training. By the end of April I was at Fort Rucker waiting for my Advanced Individual Training to begin. I was scheduled to go into Aviation Maintenance, but because I had a high enough GT (General Technical) score on the battery of tests we took in basic, I qualified for Air Traffic Control operator and I was selected to change to that MOS. . Before I entered the Army I worked at the Hollywood – Burbank Airport in Burbank and had become friends with a couple of the controllers working in the airport control tower. Being former military controllers, they told me that I should get into the ATC School, but when I asked about that option when I enlisted, I was told that I had to have a secret clearance to be in ATC, which could take 6 months, and I had to be on active duty by the 27th of the month. So when I was offered ATC, I jumped at it. Training would be at Keesler Air Force Base at Biloxi, Mississippi.

I was supposed to graduate the end of August and would be home just in time for our first anniversary. Then we were visited by a lady named Camille. The hurricane came ashore at Gulfport, just a few miles west of Biloxi on August 17, 1969. This was a category 5 hurricane, the second of only three Cat 5’s to make landfall in the United States in the 20th Century. Camille was the only Atlantic hurricane with official winds reported to reach 190 mph until Allen in 1980.
As you can imagine, the damage was devastating. Base housing was heavily damaged, off base housing was even worse, especially those in the path of the storm surge. The first priority of the base officials was the safety and housing of military members and their families. A few days after the hurricane the military began to organize work parties to help with the clean-up of the local community. We were assigned to assist in the Gulfport area. The clean-up took nearly three weeks, and was another week after that before training resumed. Accordingly, our graduation date was moved to the end of September. August 31st came and went. We were able to talk on the phone for a few minutes.

Following graduation I was headed to Vietnam. But before I was to head off to war, I had six weeks of GCA training at Fort Rucker. We graduated on Wednesday and were scheduled to leave KAFB Sunday. Our report date at Rucker was the following Wednesday. I asked to speak to the Commander and explained that I would like to fly to California and pick-up my wife and then drive directly to Rucker. He told me to get an airline ticket and a ride to the airport, and I could go. So I arranged for a ride, picked up a ticket from the post travel agency, and I flew to San Jose and picked up Jannie.

We drove to Fort Rucker and arrived Tuesday evening. We found a place to live and I reported for duty. I in-processed and spent the next three days in POR (Process for Overseas Replacement) training. Then I was assigned to a GCA shift and we had to complete 50 GCA runs before we could move on to our assignment in Vietnam. POR training involved training us in the use of our weapon and then we ended with a “patrol” through the “jungle” of Fort Rucker. We tromped thru the under brush and then into bodies of water up to our chest. Had to keep our weapons out of the water. We were issued several magazines of blank ammo rounds (each held 30 rounds), and when we were ambushed we had to defend ourselves with our ammo. I remember one of the Cadre Sergeants and I had become pretty good friends for the few days we were together and he told me that instead of doing a lot of shooting, dump the rounds because blanks really dirtied up the rifle, and we had to clean them. I remembered cleaning rifles after expending lots of blank rounds in basic training, and the carbon from the round did leave the rifle very dirty. So as we tromped thru the swamps of Fort Rucker, I was pushing rounds out of my magazines and letting them fall into the water. When we were ambushed, I “dry fired” a lot. I knew I was going to get caught and have to do it all over again, after I received an Article 15, but I didn’t. At the end of training we had to clean our weapons. Mine was easy and my friend was inspecting the rifles, and he passed me right off. Jannie was waiting for me in the car and I left, POR completed.

The next few weeks involved radar training at sites that I would, in future years, work at and be in charge of. I was assigned to a shift and we worked the final approach position for the next 4 or 5 weeks and eventually I logged 50 approaches. At the end of the training I took 30 days leave prior to departing for Vietnam.

During our time together Jannie and I became very close and really got to know each other again. We had rented a small trailer, one that could have easily been towed by a pick-up truck. Our first night Involved lots of fleas! Our bed was infested with fleas! The next morning we complained to the landlord and he brought us a new bed, at least a different bed, and it had no fleas. That was not the end of our infestations, although now it was a different critter, or critters. Cockroaches! We didn’t have cockroaches in California, but I had become acquainted with them at Keesler. We used to say that Cockroaches were protected by law in Alabama because they were the State Bird! Sort of like mosquitoes in Alaska. We had roaches everywhere. We would carefully lift the toilet seat to make sure we didn’t have roaches on our fannies! They were in the kitchen, mostly. All we could do was kill them when we could. I felt bad leaving Jannie in that trailer every day when I went into training.

That was a time we were also very poor. Jannie has quit her job in San Jose to come to Alabama with me. She had $700 in her retirement fund and she cashed it out and we were going to live on that for the six weeks we were in Alabama. That was plenty of money in 1968 dollars. But it hadn’t arrived yet. We had just enough money to get into the trailer, but none for food. I told my sergeant and he sent us to The Red Cross, where we received a $50 grant. It held us over until we got the other money. One weekend I had KP (Kitchen Police). This was a payday weekend and not a lot of soldiers were eating in the dining facility. At the end of the day we had pans of fried chicken and uncooked hamburger patties that I was supposed to throw in the “edible garbage” bins. I told the mess sergeant that my wife and I had very little money and if it were possible, we could sure use the food more than the garbage could. He told me to wrap it all up and to take to home, but if I got caught I was on my own because it was against regulations to do that. So at the end of my shift I put the food in my car and went home. What a blessing that food was!

As I said, we got to know each other well over those few weeks. We had no money to spare, so we spent our time doing things together. One night we wanted to go to the Post Theater and see Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid; admission was 50 cents each and we didn’t have a dollar between us to go to the movies. We did purchase a television from Sears on credit, but ended up returning it a couple of weeks later because we only got one channel; cable did not run to our area. So we played a lot of games and spent a lot of time just talking. I honestly think that experience strengthened our love and friendship. After nearly 40 years of marriage, Jannie is still my best friend and I would rather do something with her than with anyone.

But we still had not celebrated an anniversary together. Our six weeks came to an end and we left Alabama for California and Idaho on leave. After arriving in San Jose we spent a few days there, and then drove up to Boise. We spent a week or so there, then drove back to San Jose. Don’t remember much of what we did, but soon it was time. During our time together in Alabama, Jannie became pregnant with our first baby, and I think she was beginning to feel the early effects of pregnancy. We celebrated Christmas early on Monroe Street, and then Jannie took me to the Airport in San Francisco where I boarded a flight to Seattle and my deployment to Vietnam. I arrived in-country early in December of 1969.

Before our 2nd Anniversary, July 18th arrived and so did our first baby, Heidi. I received a telegram from the Red Cross telling me of the arrival of my daughter. The telegram told me wife and daughter doing fine, but didn’t mention her name. My sergeant asked me if I knew the baby’s name, and I said I did. What I didn’t learn until much later was how close Jannie came to dying. Her doctor was out of the country when she delivered and the doctor who was on duty butchered her pretty badly. Later when he was on his rounds he walked into her room and when he looked at her he immediately ordered two units of blood. She was so pale that the lines in her hands were not visible.

August 31st found me with my unit in Chu Lai and not with my honey. So now we had been married for two years and had yet to spend an anniversary together. In fact, the six months between the time we got married and my induction into the Army, was the longest period of time we had been together since we had been married. When Heidi was six weeks old, Jannie brought her to Hawaii and our R & R. I cannot remember the date, but it was close to our Anniversary, but we missed the date. R & R was a week, then back to Vietnam. I departed first, and then Jannie and Heidi flew back to California.

My tour in Vietnam eventually ended and I returned home. We spent our 30 day leave visiting family and then we headed to Fort Rucker and our next assignment. I was there only a few weeks and we decided to reenlist and take the bonus and an assignment in Hawaii. We had fallen in love with Hawaii when we were an R & R and jumped at the chance to go back. So in April 1971 we left for our first assignment where we could actually be a family. Our first anniversary together was our third and on August 31, 1971 we celebrated in Hawaii. Not much, though, because Jannie had just delivered our oldest son, Brett, just a few weeks earlier, on August 2nd.

Since that third anniversary, we have been spent every anniversary together but one. In 1976 I was deployed to Korea and we were apart for that one. In 2006 I was TDY in Utah and it looked as if we might be apart one more time, but then Jannie was able to come to Utah in late August and we spent our 38th Anniversary in Park City, Utah. We cannot tell what the future will bring, but I don’t plan on spending a third anniversary apart from my bride.