Happy Veteran's Day

In lieu of flying a flag for my patriotism I thought I could "talk" about it.

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In 1967, America was involved in the Vietnam Conflict. At that time in my life I was in my last year of high school and my patriotism was based upon war movies. I knew that by watching the nightly news coverage on Vietnam that I had to go "fight the gooks." I was naive and young. I had a lot to learn.

My time in the Army began at the US Army Induction Center in downtown Los Angeles, CA. After a bus ride to LA from Vegas I checked in and was given vouchers for dinner and a hotel. I stayed overnight in an old hotel that looks similar to this one below, one that my new room mates and I were too afraid of fire, to sleep that night.

Do you know how loud a glass coke bottle is when it hits a street three floors below you in downtown L.A. at 3:00 AM? I do. It's a wonder LAPD didn't alter our army plans that night. It was also my first time downtown L.A. seeing "bums" (homeless wasn't used then) sleeping in closed storefronts, picking cigarette butts up and saving them for later use and then me not seeing the sun through the thick smog until about 9AM the next morning.

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After being sworn in while standing with a room full of other young American males, I was officially a Private in the US Army. Ironically, all my privacy went out the window. I stood in endless lines, wearing only my underwear & t-shirt, (everyone isn't created equal) getting shots with new-fangled 'guns' and being seen by various doctors as a car on an assembly line in Detroit gets put together. Automated actions, no-personality-employees of this center.

All my new friends and I were then put on buses for a trip to the airport. We weren't told our destination, several guessing we were off to Ft. Ord in northern CA. We sat on those buses for hours finally boarding, buckling in for our new adventure, being told only after we were in the air, we were off to Ft. Lewis, Washington. "Cool" I thought. Enlist and see the world. I don't remember the exact times, but I remember the hour we were marched into our new barracks and told "lights out, reveille is at 0500 hours." (it was 1:30 AM now!) The bathroom had a row of white toilets, urinals and sinks, showers in adjoining room, all in old, faded, white porcelain tiles. I passed on using the bathroom, brushing my teeth or showering before bed. What had I done? By 5:30 AM I was eating powdered eggs, cold toast and drinking lousy coffee but loved it having not eaten for 12 hours, and that was airplane food. We were all very cold as we had dressed for So Cal and hadn't been issued uniforms yet.

Above is an actual barracks in Ft. Lewis, built during the 1940's. They hadn't changed since then to when I arrived. I felt like I was in a Jerry Lewis movie although, I hated it. I was in a new world, in awe at all the tall pine trees surrounding us and wondering why and who painted all the little rocks bordering everything, white. So, I survived basic training 12 or 13 weeks, I can't remember to be honest, it was a blur. But these guys where my family and best friends in the world, and I, theirs. We deepened on each other through it all.

Then as quickly as we had bonded we all separated being sent off to our individual training bases. (I have no idea what happened to these guys and I can't remember their names.) I was sent to Ft. Eustis, VA, arriving in November 1968. The picture below was taken soon after arrival, sent home to mom & dad showing them my new home. I was beginning to think the Army only had old, wooden, pre-WWII barracks. This one had a coal furnace and we had to take turns with "fire-watch." More freedom than in Basic, but I didn't like the Virginia weather, smell of coal in the air, the pig farms in the country side, the night-time training or Army life in general.

So, after three months of AIT (Advanced Individual Training) I was sent to Vietnam, and more fine living conditions. And, I was developing some patriotism.

So, another picture sent home to mom & dad, these were the newest barracks I'd slept in yet, in my seven months in the Army. Plieku, Vietnam. April 1968 to April 1969. Then I was sent to finish my three-year enlistment in Ft Rucker, Alabama. I remained in helicopters as a flight engineer as new pilots learned how to fly them before they went off to Vietnam. I flew half days, these young pilots rotating from class room to flight training. I told the war stories then.

This is my last home-away-from-home, courtesy of Uncle Sam in Ft Rucker, Alabama, for almost 18 months. The tan car closest to the barracks on the right, was my 1963 Ford Fairlane and the first car I'd ever owned. My bunk was the first one on the left as you go through the lower floor screen door. The same screen door that everyone let slam as they came and went. These barracks were also pre WWII era construction, and although I'd been housed in newer, brick barracks when I first arrived here, for some unknown reason, my company was moved to these old ones. It was a fitting end to my career. I'd gained a knowledge of true patriotism, if not by what I went through, but by the ghosts and my imagining the thousands of soldiers before me, some who never came back home, in those old barracks I'd lived in at three different Army forts. Happy Veteran's Day to all. I'm glad my name isn't on "the wall."

Lucky Two Times ~ 24yrs ago

I will never forget seeing the car continue towards me and wondered why she wasn't hitting her brakes! (Yup, I could see it was a woman driver.) I had a split second thought of, "Why is this happening to me?" and then the mental image of movie stunt-men jumping over moving cars and another split second decision to jump as high as I could. It all happened quickly but at the time it was like slow motion. A few minutes earlier I had parked my patrol car nearby and was out on foot at the fence of a trailer park, waiting and watching for one or all three suspects to jump over this fence. They were trying to lose another officer who had followed them in the park, but had quickly parked and abandoned their car and were on foot in the trailer park. That officer was only seconds behind, not yet in pursuit, not wanting them to run, awaiting the return on the license plate. As we all heard dispatch announce it was a reported stolen vehicle, I was already nearby, having heard him say on the radio, that he was following a 425A (suspicious vehicle) "occupied three times." I was to be his back up officer when he made the car stop. But, as it sometimes happens in police work, the bad guys didn't agree with our plan. So I took up the position where I was, the standard, police method of containment, locate and arrest - only we had just one side of the perimeter so far - me. Holding my portable radio next to my ear to listen as other arriving units searched the trailer park, I heard possible suspects were seen going over the block wall a few blocks east of me. I turned to run to my car that I had backed up under a large cottonwood tree, shading it from the nearby street light. I was hoping they wouldn't see it and go over the wall where I was. They had a different plan and now they were too far for me to run and catch up to.
I had been talking to young man who lived in this park, Derek Swatling, also a member of my ward then, and when I took off to run, he'd yelled at me "Watch out." He'd seen the car but I hadn't; the portable radio still held up to my left ear, the on-coming car blocked from my view. After dodging left then right only to have the car do the same thing, and still wonder why this car wasn't stopping, I jumped; stunt-man-imitation-like. I remember seeing the night sky as I flipped over the car. I don't remember actually hitting the car, but I know I did. The next thing I was aware of, I was coming down with my hands in front of me, sliding down the car, landing on my butt. I thought it was the front and was readying myself to become as flat as I could get as the car would pass over me. An instantaneous thought, "will I live through this?" came to mind. I was relieved when I saw the car going away from me. I had come down at the rear of the car and I was not being run over. Derek was now next to me and had picked up my radio. He was yelling into it, "Officer down! Officer down!" I reached up, took the radio, and as calmly as I could, reported what had happened. (Real "manly-cops" remain calm on the radio.) Dispatch said, "Medical is en route." (Dispatchers do a great job, a tough job sometimes and don't get credit for it.) I tried to get up and felt sharp pains in my legs, sitting back down then laying on my back, remembering how odd it was that the pavement could feel so good. It was still warm from the day's sun. I soon had other cops around me, helping me out of my gun belt, offering to take my patrol car back to the station, etc, while I was being loaded into the ambulance. It was a surreal experience as I’ve always watched others going through this, it wasn’t suppose to be me. Derek , said he thought I was dead, having flown so high in the air. No, I was alive because he had warned me. I realized that "small still voices" can come in varying ways.

Ten days later as I recovered, I witnessed the birth of Lindsay. I assured everyone I was well enough to drive and I went to the hospital as another ward member and good friend Julie Jenkins, had filled in for me as birthing coach to Carol. They had gone earlier when she went into labor. Driving home from the hospital I realized how close I came to have not been alive to seen this, to be her dad. I am so thankful I am. I will be eternally grateful to those who came to my aid during my recovery period. (and Carol who was a great nurse!) Jerry Page comes to mind, who sadly, has passed away. Also, Ron Mecham and his sons took over my lawn mowing accounts until Carol and Marlene W. did them while I recovered. I was lucky twice, 24 years ago.....

Not Politically Correct

It's official. We now have an Obamination. (I love puns!)

Saturday ride @ Hurricane & Sand Hollow

I rode around Sand Hollow this morning, only I went the opposite direction, similar route from a few weeks ago. This time, I attacked that long hill from the other side, coming in from Hurricane. I still had to climb some, just not as pronounced. As I rode down, met a few riders going up, panting and struggling as I had done. I encouraged them, "you're almost there!" This is a facsimile of what I may have looked like today, not having a photographer there.

I rode past a heard of cows. Being friendly I "moo'ed" them. I got some strange looks, as you can see. You know how aggressive cows can be, I didn't want to take any chances.

I was brought back into reality when a large bug hit me in my mouth. I'm guessing grasshopper. I spit and spit, drank and rinsed and spit as I pedaled.

Fortunately, I wasn't in a pack of other riders or it could've been worse.

So, I ignored this sign and completed the ride, again beating that long hill up to Telegraph Rd and over the top to Coral Canyon. Total distance: 31 miles.

Life is good ~ sometimes.

"Cohenism"

Yesterday morning, Cohen was asleep next to me (on grandma's pillow - she was in UT) and Sandler came in. He walked in, "Grandma . . .Grandma . . ." He scrambled up the dog steps, over Cohen and cuddled in next to me. We just sat and had a little conversation until he sneezed twice, those cute little-boy sneezes, in succession. I said "bless you" both times. Cohen, who I thought was still asleep, said, "Doodah, when someone awchews two times you don't have to say bless you both times. I'm trying to sleep here." Such cute little guys. (Maybe Cohen inherited his great-grandma Erma's gift of words?)

Baby Sitting on Tuesday night

Go downstairs for Grapes; cut the big ones in half for Sandler, take them upstairs. Go back downstairs and make popcorn. Forgot the juice cups, back downstairs. Wipe off the spilled popcorn from the sheets, search for the remote control to rewind the Tevo. "I’m hungry, Doo dah." "Watch the movie!" Clean my glasses again from Sandler reaching over and whopping me in the face as he then gets this evil little grin, knowing he’s so cute. (he's a little tuffy and loves to wrestle.) He snuggles in close again, saying "funny." Watching Scary Godmother Halloween Spooktakular back-to-back because "It was good." Both boys dancing on the bed like in the movie. I have a headache. Lindsay is out partying; really, she went to a party of some sort with her old mutual/high school girlfriends and Lewis is at Mutual. At least the movie is entertaining. I'm NOT complaining, I volunteered for this, I realize that these little boys won't be little boys forever. Enjoy it while I can.

Just another Saturday morning in Utah

I will NOT get off and walk. I will NOT get off and walk. DON’T look up ahead, just concentrate on the immediate road ahead. DON’T look up ahead. Just keep pedaling. Doooh! I looked! The top of the hill is still a long ways off. Concentrate. Pull up, push down, pull up, push down. I’m going 4 mph, but I’m still pedaling. Good grief, I shoulda done more conditioning rides before this. Such were some of my thoughts as I rode the hills around Sand Hollow Reservoir. Nice scenery, cool air, very little vehicle traffic. (This picture is at the top of that hill, that’s me in the back. . . or a rendition of what it was like - picture from last year.) Quick chit-chat’s with those I pass and those who pass me. I met one guy, as I stopped at the top of this long hill with others taking advantage to rest their legs, who had a stroke 6 yrs ago when he was 42 yrs old. Riding, he said, is saving his life.

This morning I "took part" in the Tour de St George. As I viewed the course on line, I noted that it started in St. George with the 30 mile turn around here in Coral Canyon. (I didn't want to pay for that.) The remainder of the ride went on around Sand Hollow, (where I'd been wanting to ride anyway) through Hurricane, out to Tourquerville, past Quail Creek Reservoir and back by Coral Canyon again, then back to St. George, for those ready, willing, young and able to do 65 miles or more. So, about an hour earlier I had joined the riders at Telegraph and the highway to Hurricane, heading east to Sand Hollow. I passed a few, I was passed by a few. My left knee began to hurt and I wondered if I could ride up that hill from Hurricane. I knew if I called Carol to come get me in the truck the hill will still be there. It had concerned me for three years, wondering how I'd do riding it. It’s several miles long and looks steep. The traffic speeds by a few feet away. The knee pain lessened and I went for it.

So, I got the monkey off my back. I pedaled up that hill, joining other riders who entered the highway coming from Quail Creek Reservoir. (I’d opted to cut off about 7 or 8 miles since I wasn’t even sure about riding this far, riding alone from Hurricane for about 5 miles.) The hill was a challenge, no one going more than 8 or 9 mph. Not as bad as I'd thought. Going up, I was passed by only one rider; a lady on a pink bike. (Hey, she was about 25 yrs old!) Maybe Brian C. can relate. . .maybe.


For the record, I didn't partake of any rest stop refreshments since I hadn't paid to ride. I rode 32 miles that seemed more due to the hills. Below is the elevation chart of the total ride. My portion was in the left-center. I need to live on the beach where it's flatter. (here we come, Alli.) I'm getting to old for this.

And to think I was going to lounge around and just read this morning. :-)