About Me
Subscribe To
Posts
All Comments
Favorite Pasttime
One can't describe the feeling of catching a wild West Virginia Trout with a rod you built and a fly you tied.
My Favorite Blogs
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
New Years Eve 2008
5:04 PM | Posted by
David |
I have often pondered the words to such a famous song that we all hear this time of the year. Especially tonight. This history of Auld Lang Syne is an old one. It's an old Scottish tune penned in the 1700's . The lyrics to me are very confusing for I hold dearly to acquaintances of old and cherish each one for different reasons. For some I have lost contact with. Others are simply by this electronic marvel we all use. But each one so valuable to me. They span this country from east to west. From a fly fishing guide in Montana, to those that still live in Beckley and have chosen to include me on their list of friends. There are those that began as total strangers I happen to meet on a trout stream somewhere. Some I have worked with and some that have passed on to another life or world. Yet, each I hold dearly and on this night each year I make a point to think of them. I wonder, who will enter my life in the coming year and what all it may hold.
To each who have taken the time to read this blog and leave me a comment, and to all who walk along this pathway of life with me, I sincerely wish each and every one of you a very Happy New Year. May 2009 hold for you good health, wealth and smiles. Let's all share a cup of kindness and cheer. Happy New Year...
To each who have taken the time to read this blog and leave me a comment, and to all who walk along this pathway of life with me, I sincerely wish each and every one of you a very Happy New Year. May 2009 hold for you good health, wealth and smiles. Let's all share a cup of kindness and cheer. Happy New Year...
Saturday, December 20, 2008
A Christmas Memory
6:49 PM | Posted by
David |
Our minds, at times, are very selective in what they choose to readily retain. I have forgotten most of the algebra I knew or faces I have met along life's journey. So when certain things tend to remain strong year after year, I often wonder why. It's at this time of the year one such memory comes to visit. It's triggered often by a snow fall at dusk. Especially if there are street lights around. It was Christmas Eve, and my father was in the VA hospital in Richmond, Virginia. My mother and brother were making their way across the mountain in a terrible snow storm and were late. I thought, at 17, I'd spend Christmas Eve alone. I worked till close at the store that evening. Close to dusk, it started to snow. I can remember Henry coming to me and telling me to make a feed run to Grandview before it got too bad . He said there were snow flakes as big as a silver dollar. I went down stairs and loaded the feed on the truck, only for Henry to send down word that it was already too bad.
That night as I walked home from work, I made the only tracks down the highway. The tire tracks of the car that just drove by had already filled in. I stopped for a moment in the middle of the road, thinking how warm it was and watching the snow in the light of the street lamp. There have been 59 Christmases...each special in its own way, but this memory is always here this time of the year. I was asked just recently where I'd like to spend Christmas if I could spend it anywhere I wished. Oh, how I'd love to have one more Beaver Christmas to build memories on.
That night as I walked home from work, I made the only tracks down the highway. The tire tracks of the car that just drove by had already filled in. I stopped for a moment in the middle of the road, thinking how warm it was and watching the snow in the light of the street lamp. There have been 59 Christmases...each special in its own way, but this memory is always here this time of the year. I was asked just recently where I'd like to spend Christmas if I could spend it anywhere I wished. Oh, how I'd love to have one more Beaver Christmas to build memories on.
Two Journeys
6:28 PM | Posted by
David |
This is suppose to be the most traveled weekend of the year. People will be traveling to the four corners of the States and other countries, to be with their loved ones this time of the year. I can remember tonight the first Christmas I was back in the states after my tour in South East Asia.
I was stationed in Cheyenne, Wyoming . I had saved up my leave and was going to take the last two weeks of December off and drive across country to be home for Christmas. My wife was looking forward to the trip and was so very excited to see her family again. I had just bought my first new car. It was a 1970 Dodge Challenger. The trip should be easy and enjoyable. I had offered to give a friend of mine from the photo squadron I was in a ride as far as Columbus, Ohio. He was heading to Baltimore. Any little bit helped as far as air fare was concerned. Plus, it would be nice to have the company. We headed out in a snow storm. Not what I had planned. But once I was in Nebraska, the stars were out, the land flat and the speed limit was up to me. You could plot your direction and progress by what radio stations you could pick up clear, or how near empty the thermos was. I think I wore out an Anne Murray Christmas tape on the way home. Before we knew it, the night had passed and we were well into the Midwest and closing fast on Ohio. My friend's flight was at 8 that evening and we'd make it in plenty of time. My wife was in the back and managed to sleep most of the trip.
Soon I could make out the outline of the West Virginia hills across the river and was so close to home. How wonderful that trip was. I had a purpose, I had comfort, I had conversation and friends. I could stop and rest or eat when ever I needed to. I could even close my eyes and nap while my wife drove. I managed to drive clear across the country from the Rocky Mountains to the Ohio Valley in just under 24 hours. I had a reason. After all, it was Christmas.
Yet long ago, there was another journey home. One far more important than mine. It's over 90 miles from Galilee to Bethlehem. It's a rough, difficult journey on any given day. Add to that, the lay of the land, the hardships along the way and the fact a young woman is about to give birth to her first child. Others traveled as well for the census and taxation. There was no room for rest or sleep. Much less to give birth. There was no way to sleep while someone else guided the donkey. There was little to no way to find comfort in her condition, and the worry and concern had to be so much a part of her journey. Yet she too had a reason. It was about to be the first Christmas. Those to come this special night were never forgotten. Especially the birth of our Savior. We complain about sitting in traffic and waiting in line at a crowed store. We travel, and we get antsy and irritable. How soon we forget the beginning of Christmas.
It's not that times have changed. It's that reasons have changed. I, for one, am glad another made that long hard trip to Bethlehem. After all, it was the beginning of such a wonderful celebration. It has always been my favorite I guess. As a youngster, I'd hike to the high ridge behind Raleigh #7 mine where the holly and mistletoe grew wild. I'd cut hemlock pine with it's thick boughs and cones for garland. When I got older, I started a tradition with a friend of mine. We'd drive to the ridge and both take old duffel bags and fill them full of Laurel and holly. We'd find ropes of ground pine and coil it up to bring back. We'd then go to her home and decorate . Year after year, till we both graduated from High School, we'd make our journey to the ridge...walk the old stone fence along the Richmond farm and fill our sacks full. Her home was so beautiful at Christmas. It often looked as though a artist has drawn it all. After almost 40 years of separation, we made contact a few years back. We kept in touch and caught up on news and trips back in time. She passed away shortly after we made contact. Yet as memories of Christmas past hold so strong with me, so do the memories of her.
I was once told I was a dreamer, that I tend to live in a Currier and Ives state of mind...perhaps with a little Norman Rockwell added in for good measure. Perhaps they were right. For I do tend to see Christmas through those lenses. I guess that's why I love Marietta so much this time of the year. The small College town has that air of dreams of the past and desires of the future. I wonder tonight as the fire cracks in my fireplace and I see the snow blow by the French doors, what Mary thought on that journey. What plans perhaps she had or what concerns Joesph had for his wife and son. I watch my grandchildren and their excitement this time of the year. I see others complain and become bitter over the holiday. I then wonder, if with each generation, do they grow one step farther from that Journey long, long ago? I hope not. I can not stop time or generations. Yet, I can remember the snow covered stone fences on the ridge. Our breath as fog and frost preceded us...the red holly berries accented in the snow and the Orange Firethorn. I can still smell the coal fires through out Beaver. I can remember part of my job at Henry's was boxing up treat boxes of oranges and apples and candies of all sorts. He was a kind and generous man. Just before Christmas of each year, I'd make my rounds delivering groceries along with the gift boxes. He knew which families had young ones and their needs. These things, along with a journey long ago, is what I think of at Christmas. I wish I could set this tradition once again with my own. Sad to say that power is not mine. It has to come from the heart, not a suggestion, or a dream set by artists long ago. There is, in fact, a true Christmas spirit, it's in one's heart, not the conception of an artist or a vision in one's mind......Merry Christmas, each and every reader.
For today, in the city of David, there has been born for you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. Luke 2:11
I was stationed in Cheyenne, Wyoming . I had saved up my leave and was going to take the last two weeks of December off and drive across country to be home for Christmas. My wife was looking forward to the trip and was so very excited to see her family again. I had just bought my first new car. It was a 1970 Dodge Challenger. The trip should be easy and enjoyable. I had offered to give a friend of mine from the photo squadron I was in a ride as far as Columbus, Ohio. He was heading to Baltimore. Any little bit helped as far as air fare was concerned. Plus, it would be nice to have the company. We headed out in a snow storm. Not what I had planned. But once I was in Nebraska, the stars were out, the land flat and the speed limit was up to me. You could plot your direction and progress by what radio stations you could pick up clear, or how near empty the thermos was. I think I wore out an Anne Murray Christmas tape on the way home. Before we knew it, the night had passed and we were well into the Midwest and closing fast on Ohio. My friend's flight was at 8 that evening and we'd make it in plenty of time. My wife was in the back and managed to sleep most of the trip.
Soon I could make out the outline of the West Virginia hills across the river and was so close to home. How wonderful that trip was. I had a purpose, I had comfort, I had conversation and friends. I could stop and rest or eat when ever I needed to. I could even close my eyes and nap while my wife drove. I managed to drive clear across the country from the Rocky Mountains to the Ohio Valley in just under 24 hours. I had a reason. After all, it was Christmas.
Yet long ago, there was another journey home. One far more important than mine. It's over 90 miles from Galilee to Bethlehem. It's a rough, difficult journey on any given day. Add to that, the lay of the land, the hardships along the way and the fact a young woman is about to give birth to her first child. Others traveled as well for the census and taxation. There was no room for rest or sleep. Much less to give birth. There was no way to sleep while someone else guided the donkey. There was little to no way to find comfort in her condition, and the worry and concern had to be so much a part of her journey. Yet she too had a reason. It was about to be the first Christmas. Those to come this special night were never forgotten. Especially the birth of our Savior. We complain about sitting in traffic and waiting in line at a crowed store. We travel, and we get antsy and irritable. How soon we forget the beginning of Christmas.
It's not that times have changed. It's that reasons have changed. I, for one, am glad another made that long hard trip to Bethlehem. After all, it was the beginning of such a wonderful celebration. It has always been my favorite I guess. As a youngster, I'd hike to the high ridge behind Raleigh #7 mine where the holly and mistletoe grew wild. I'd cut hemlock pine with it's thick boughs and cones for garland. When I got older, I started a tradition with a friend of mine. We'd drive to the ridge and both take old duffel bags and fill them full of Laurel and holly. We'd find ropes of ground pine and coil it up to bring back. We'd then go to her home and decorate . Year after year, till we both graduated from High School, we'd make our journey to the ridge...walk the old stone fence along the Richmond farm and fill our sacks full. Her home was so beautiful at Christmas. It often looked as though a artist has drawn it all. After almost 40 years of separation, we made contact a few years back. We kept in touch and caught up on news and trips back in time. She passed away shortly after we made contact. Yet as memories of Christmas past hold so strong with me, so do the memories of her.
I was once told I was a dreamer, that I tend to live in a Currier and Ives state of mind...perhaps with a little Norman Rockwell added in for good measure. Perhaps they were right. For I do tend to see Christmas through those lenses. I guess that's why I love Marietta so much this time of the year. The small College town has that air of dreams of the past and desires of the future. I wonder tonight as the fire cracks in my fireplace and I see the snow blow by the French doors, what Mary thought on that journey. What plans perhaps she had or what concerns Joesph had for his wife and son. I watch my grandchildren and their excitement this time of the year. I see others complain and become bitter over the holiday. I then wonder, if with each generation, do they grow one step farther from that Journey long, long ago? I hope not. I can not stop time or generations. Yet, I can remember the snow covered stone fences on the ridge. Our breath as fog and frost preceded us...the red holly berries accented in the snow and the Orange Firethorn. I can still smell the coal fires through out Beaver. I can remember part of my job at Henry's was boxing up treat boxes of oranges and apples and candies of all sorts. He was a kind and generous man. Just before Christmas of each year, I'd make my rounds delivering groceries along with the gift boxes. He knew which families had young ones and their needs. These things, along with a journey long ago, is what I think of at Christmas. I wish I could set this tradition once again with my own. Sad to say that power is not mine. It has to come from the heart, not a suggestion, or a dream set by artists long ago. There is, in fact, a true Christmas spirit, it's in one's heart, not the conception of an artist or a vision in one's mind......Merry Christmas, each and every reader.
For today, in the city of David, there has been born for you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. Luke 2:11
Sunday, November 9, 2008
KLUV Radio and the Pirate DJ is on the air...
9:19 PM | Posted by
David |
Hey, fellow readers. How about we take a walk. Just take my hand and the hand of others, and let's go for a stroll. ( Remember that dance). Lets take a walk to Raleigh County on a mid 60's Saturday night. Now...I want everyone to gather in close and close your eyes really tight. Drift back with me to AM radio and those sounds that have never left our hearts. I know it might give away our age, but so be it. For tonight we are going to walk down memory lane. Music wise. The Capris are setting the mood by telling us "There's A Moon Out Tonight". One of my favorites of all time.
There's a moon out tonight, whoa-oh-oh ooh Let's go strollin' through the park...
There's a girl by my side ,who's heart I have stolen...
The 50's set the stage with Elvis and Buddy Holly. The Platters were telling us about a "Twilight Time and a Great Pretender." Little Richard was screaming out the words to "Good Golly Miss Molly". Pat Boone was crooning about "Love Letters in the Sand " and the Big Bopper was talking to his lady on the phone. All of this came to us in the "Still of The Night" with help of the Five Satins. From them, it came to us, through WWNR, Beckley's finest .
The 60's introduced us to MOTOWN and what a sound it was. It was so easy to find some fitting message from these sounds to dedicate to a special someone. I wonder how many ladies were told "you're my sunshine on a cloudy day, and when it's cold outside, you're my month of May". So many of these tunes were listened to with "Tears On my Pillow" while you dreamed about your "Earth Angel". The Temptations, and that never forgotten voice of David Ruffin on "My Girl", could melt even the coldest heart.
Everyone was doing the "Mash Potato" or the "Swim" and then that magical invention that made us all a Fred Astaire - "The Twist" by Chubby Checker. We could slow dance to "Unchained Melody" and wonder how in the world Frankie Valli ever was able to sing that high without hurting himself. Local groups imitated the sounds and the Little Beaver Lake sock hops were crowded each and every night. Summer time meant tuning in late at night to WLS in Chicago and listening to the neat drag race advertisements: SUNDAY!!...SUNDAY!!...SUNDAY!! FIRE BREATHING FUEL DRAGSTERS IN HEAD TO HEAD GRUDGE MATCH...
How could you not love it.
The beach boys came on the scene and turned so many into surfers that had never seen the ocean yet. With sun tanned "California Girls "who wouldn't. England invaded America's jukeboxes with the Beatles and the hair cut so many wanted. Guru jackets replaced Car coats and penny loafers with no sox were the rage. Not to mention brand new blue jeans pegged so tight you couldn't get them over your foot most of the time.
The music began an extension of troubled times and the turmoil going on in the world. Artists used the media as a means of protest and soon came a gathering of thousands on a farm in Woodstock, NY. WAR ! Good God Y'all what is it good for "...sent the sentiments of so many. Songs of free love , mistrust,and anti-establishment could be found across the dial. The girl groups dressed in clothes that had to be painted on had us all memorizing the lyrics. The Supremes reminded us there "Ain't No Mountain High Enough", and Marvin Gaye wanted us to "Get it On".
Dick Clark was in the living rooms of thousands each afternoon and even in Charleston at the Civic Center. That was my first concert, and one I'll never forget. Can you imagine driving the turnpike back to Beckley after it had just been paved and in a fog? It was opened by a group from Huntington called The Collegiates, singing about rain and all that goes with it when a heart is broken. The Shirelles and the Dixie Cups singing about their "Soldier Boy" were there along with The Rip Cords telling us about a hot rod called "Little Cobra". Little did I know then how much that rare package of pure horsepower would be an important part of my life. But that's for another post .
Viet Nam found soldiers getting homesick to songs they had danced to only a few weeks before. At the same time telling them about the unrest going on back home. Weekend nights at Town and Country or King Tuts Drive-Ins were full of tunes like these coming from car radios. They have never left me. I still listen to them and own a very good collection of Doo Wop and 60's tunes. I can connect with them far easier than the music of today. So many of these original artists are gone. But their music will live for ever.
If you happen to remember a pirate radio station broadcasting on Friday and Saturday nights from Beaver,warning others when the constable was heading out airport road,to the parking spots, it was me... KLUV Radio and the Pirate DJ is on the air...Sending out this dedication to Cool Ridge from someone who is sorry they broke your heart. You know who I'm talking about. To that Cheerleader from Shady who has been crying her eyes out, this is for you. It's Gene Pitney and "Only Love Can Break A Heart".
I hope you have enjoyed our walk tonight. I know I have.
There's a moon out tonight, whoa-oh-oh ooh Let's go strollin' through the park...
There's a girl by my side ,who's heart I have stolen...
The 50's set the stage with Elvis and Buddy Holly. The Platters were telling us about a "Twilight Time and a Great Pretender." Little Richard was screaming out the words to "Good Golly Miss Molly". Pat Boone was crooning about "Love Letters in the Sand " and the Big Bopper was talking to his lady on the phone. All of this came to us in the "Still of The Night" with help of the Five Satins. From them, it came to us, through WWNR, Beckley's finest .
The 60's introduced us to MOTOWN and what a sound it was. It was so easy to find some fitting message from these sounds to dedicate to a special someone. I wonder how many ladies were told "you're my sunshine on a cloudy day, and when it's cold outside, you're my month of May". So many of these tunes were listened to with "Tears On my Pillow" while you dreamed about your "Earth Angel". The Temptations, and that never forgotten voice of David Ruffin on "My Girl", could melt even the coldest heart.
Everyone was doing the "Mash Potato" or the "Swim" and then that magical invention that made us all a Fred Astaire - "The Twist" by Chubby Checker. We could slow dance to "Unchained Melody" and wonder how in the world Frankie Valli ever was able to sing that high without hurting himself. Local groups imitated the sounds and the Little Beaver Lake sock hops were crowded each and every night. Summer time meant tuning in late at night to WLS in Chicago and listening to the neat drag race advertisements: SUNDAY!!...SUNDAY!!...SUNDAY!! FIRE BREATHING FUEL DRAGSTERS IN HEAD TO HEAD GRUDGE MATCH...
How could you not love it.
The beach boys came on the scene and turned so many into surfers that had never seen the ocean yet. With sun tanned "California Girls "who wouldn't. England invaded America's jukeboxes with the Beatles and the hair cut so many wanted. Guru jackets replaced Car coats and penny loafers with no sox were the rage. Not to mention brand new blue jeans pegged so tight you couldn't get them over your foot most of the time.
The music began an extension of troubled times and the turmoil going on in the world. Artists used the media as a means of protest and soon came a gathering of thousands on a farm in Woodstock, NY. WAR ! Good God Y'all what is it good for "...sent the sentiments of so many. Songs of free love , mistrust,and anti-establishment could be found across the dial. The girl groups dressed in clothes that had to be painted on had us all memorizing the lyrics. The Supremes reminded us there "Ain't No Mountain High Enough", and Marvin Gaye wanted us to "Get it On".
Dick Clark was in the living rooms of thousands each afternoon and even in Charleston at the Civic Center. That was my first concert, and one I'll never forget. Can you imagine driving the turnpike back to Beckley after it had just been paved and in a fog? It was opened by a group from Huntington called The Collegiates, singing about rain and all that goes with it when a heart is broken. The Shirelles and the Dixie Cups singing about their "Soldier Boy" were there along with The Rip Cords telling us about a hot rod called "Little Cobra". Little did I know then how much that rare package of pure horsepower would be an important part of my life. But that's for another post .
Viet Nam found soldiers getting homesick to songs they had danced to only a few weeks before. At the same time telling them about the unrest going on back home. Weekend nights at Town and Country or King Tuts Drive-Ins were full of tunes like these coming from car radios. They have never left me. I still listen to them and own a very good collection of Doo Wop and 60's tunes. I can connect with them far easier than the music of today. So many of these original artists are gone. But their music will live for ever.
If you happen to remember a pirate radio station broadcasting on Friday and Saturday nights from Beaver,warning others when the constable was heading out airport road,to the parking spots, it was me... KLUV Radio and the Pirate DJ is on the air...Sending out this dedication to Cool Ridge from someone who is sorry they broke your heart. You know who I'm talking about. To that Cheerleader from Shady who has been crying her eyes out, this is for you. It's Gene Pitney and "Only Love Can Break A Heart".
I hope you have enjoyed our walk tonight. I know I have.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
To my brothers in arms...literally
11:40 PM | Posted by
David |
Soon our nation will be celebrating Veterans Day. It's a day set aside to remember those that have fought to preserve our freedom and to protect those that could not protect themselves.
June 1969 will be a time segment of my life that I will never forget. I was not in support of the Viet Nam conflict. I had just lost my best friend, Allen Moore, in the war; and to be honest, I had other plans. Plans I had made since a young pup and I very much wanted to see them through. Yet the war was in high gear and I too got that dreaded letter from Uncle Sam. The best laid plans of mice,men and boys from Beaver are often spoiled. So were mine. I thought possibly joining the Air Force was my best bet to avoid the war and perhaps continue on with my education plans.
I took several specialty tests on photography during basic training and was selected to attend the world famous photography school at Lowry Air Force Base, in Denver. I honestly thought it was a very wise decision. It was one of the longest schools in the Air Force education system. I should have known my first day of class when I entered the highly classified photo center and saw the sign above the door: "Air Combat Photo School" "Alone, Unarmed and Unafraid".
By my third week of school, we were told that 90 percent of us would go to south east Asia upon graduation. Surely I would be in that 10 percent that wouldn't. The training was extremely difficult yet very interesting. Each spare moment was spent studying. Soon graduation was close and assignments were passed out. I can remember that day as if it were yesterday. They called each student's name out and where he was going. I didn't make the 10 percent. I was being assigned the 600 Combat Photo Squadron, Cam Rahn Bay, South Viet Nam. I can't begin to express my feelings that day.
I graduated in May and was so looking forward to going home on leave. The Rocky Mountains are beautiful. But they are not Appalachia and Denver is definitely not Beaver. The next 30 days passed far more quickly than I wanted them to. I had to deal each day with my mother's concern which only added to my own. I thought the sun rose and set on my dad. To me, he was the kind of man I wanted to be like. But his emotions, he kept to himself. Yet, as I walked out on that run way at Raleigh County Airport, he hugged me and told me he loved me for the first time.
The next 24 hours were a blur. Processing was done in Seattle, Washington. I spent the night alone in a billet room with a burned out light bulb. I knew no one there and very little as to what was going on. I was homesick before I even left the United States. I boarded a plane that next afternoon and was soon on my way to the war. I had no idea what to expect. The flight was almost 20 hours long. That's a long time to sit in an airplane, wondering with each hour that passed what would lie ahead.
When the plane landed in Cam Rahn, the stewardess came to me and took me to the front of the plane. At first I thought we were debarking by alphabetical order. She opened the door and the blast of heat took my breath away and the bright sun blinded me. I noticed two men standing at the foot of the stairs. It took me a moment to adjust to the light and notice they had the same last name that I did. It was my two older brothers there to greet me. Thus began one of the most interesting years of my life. My oldest brother was stationed at Da Nang. The other was stationed at Cam Rahn with me. Little did I know at that time the mess we were creating.
I can't remember when I had visited with them last. They were both career military and had not been home for the longest time. In the next few days I was to witness my brothers re-enlistment . A story that made the Air Force Times, Stars and Stripes and even a write up in Comstock's Hillbilly.
Have you ever been driving down the street, and your mind is occupied on matters other than the road? Have you ever all of a sudden run a red light or a stop sign? You know all too well then that feeling of anxiety and fear that rushes into your chest when you do. That is how I spent the next 12 months. My duties were to document different operations and special interest matters for the Air Force. I worked out of a photo station with 12 other men each trained in some discipline of photography. In early September I was assigned to a Forward Air Control Unit. (FAC). Their mission was to fly small single engine air craft, much like the Piper Cubs you see flying in and out of the airports. They were unarmed except for smoke rockets attached to each wing. Enemy locations and speciality targets were flown over at low altitude and the rockets were fired to mark the locations. The pilot would then call in fighter aircraft and we'd fly off a few miles.
It was my job to then photograph the damage for assessments. My first flight I was scared. My last flight I was terrified. Matters didn't change the rest of my tour. I was taken off flight status once I had less than 30 days left in country. My last missions were flying in the back of a C130 that was carrying a 10,000 pound bomb. It was housed on a pallet. The pallet was on wheels. The load master would release the restraints and then cut a small parachute loose. This in turn pulled the bomb out the back and it drifted to earth with the aid of another chute. It was my job to photograph the whole operation and then the damage. These are now called Bunker Busters.
My oldest brother went home at Christmas. My other brother went to another base outside of Viet Nam. I saw matters that I don't ever wish to see again or even hear about. I saw boys become men and men become broken. I saw hearts broken and dreams shattered. I was fortunate. I simply came home. I would dream at night of Town and Country Drive-In hamburgers and Pizza from the Capri. I would so often simply close my eyes and make the circle from Town and Country to King Tut 1 and 2. I had visited another part of the world. But it couldn't compare to Raleigh County and home.
When my plane landed in SEATAC Washington, we were rushed behind covered chain fence to protect us from the protesters. We changed out of our uniforms so as to not attract attention.
During my brother's funeral there was a framed photo sitting on the table outside the viewing room. A gentleman came up to me and asked if I was one of the men in the photo. I said yes and he asked who the other two were. I told him they were my brothers in arms and my heroes.
It's a shame we only take one day to thank those that served for us. It doesn't compare to the days being under siege on some remote jungle air strip or not knowing if you would live to see the next minute. I spent time in a ditch with my one brother. Mortars falling all around us. Small arms fire just a few feet away. He looked over at me and said..."if something happens to you, mom will kill me". Funny how, even captured in fear, you can laugh. If you know a Veteran, don't hesitate to tell him thank you. When you hear of the talk of war, remember - the list of thousands of names will be added to.
To all my brothers in arms, I salute you. To my brother in Beckley, I remind him he's my hero. My granddaughter recently wrote a report about me being a Veteran. She asked me for some photos she could use. I'm not the same man I was in those photos. But I'm the man I am because of them. While flying over the delta and dense moutain ranges, grandchildren were the farthest thing from my mind. Yet I thank each and every Veteran, from the beginning of our nation and forward, for making their life free. For it's the future we served.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Are we forgetful or is it apathy...or lack of observation
7:56 AM | Posted by
David |
The election for 2008 is only a few days away. This is perhaps one of the most important elections of our time. I know it is for me. I have watched and followed this one probably closer than any I can remember. I find matters so disturbing and confusing, it actually bothers me very deeply. I doubt if little research is done prior to casting one's vote. We go to the polling place, stand in line and hurry through . Some vote as their parents direct them or husbands or even wives. Some recognize a name and select, or simply allow one to stay in office regardless of the record.
What I am finding wrong and so disturbing is the movement to pull the election by forces other than the American vote. I watched with amazement the anger from past when the media was so dead set on calling an election before it was even over. Perhaps it was a ratings race or some sort of journalist victory for them. They were wrong and consequently angered. Perhaps what we are seeing is a means of revenge. A personal vendetta against the current administration. I don't care what party you support or one's opinion on the past 8 years. It's simply wrong. I read last winter a lot about the Irish movement for freedom and how the media and press tried so hard to sway the elections. One was quoted as saying that the average voter didn't have the intelligence to vote correctly or would allow emotions to mark their "X". What we are seeing now is no different.
I see spin replace the truth. Half truths replace facts, and blindness to the process follow too many to the polls. I have watched freedom of speech walk such a fine line of false statements and lies on both sides. I have watched a band wagon formed just after the last election that is so scary. Much like I watched with the Kennedy campaign. I have seen it spilled over from the pulpit, and issues so important forgotten because of some unknown fact dug up by one party or the other. It saddens me. It really does to think that the job, which is possibly one of the most important in the world, comes down to something such as this. True statesmen are a thing of the past in my opinion. Those in office become almost impossible to remove due to special interest and big money. I am seeing our country trampled and the true basis shoved aside for the quest of power and status. I try to convince myself I'm not seeing the fall of America. But it's becoming more and more difficult to do.
I have watched this state raped by outsiders and greed. I have personally watched the good old boy process at work and it sickens me. I chose to work in manufacturing. Others chose to be a politician and never a true public servant. I became involved the past two years with a matter of clean water in this state. Along with disappointment, I received a tremendous education on how the process works. I watched the lawyers and big money come out of the woodwork in secret and silence to sway a vote or legislation. I watched those that begged for our votes turn a blind eye to the public. I know all too well the importance of jobs and the need for a marriage between them and the environment. But what I see is that once they are in office, we no longer matter. Each vote seems to be some means of insuring re-election. I offered to personally take our law makers on a trip to the mountains to show them what so many of us were fighting for. They turned me down. When a newcomer comes along and stands up for what is right, he's labeled as a trouble maker and not having the state as his best interest. That his stance will cost jobs and development. Little do they know how tender we are. Little do so many know that, as they stand in that booth, they are helping paint the landscape of our state and my grandchildren's future.
Will there come a time when we stand to sing the national anthem that no longer will a chill come over our hearts? Will the pride so many have fade to apathy? I recently talked to a lady who told me she didn't vote and at 56 years old had never voted. The reason being is that all politicians were liars. You don't know what is true and what is not. This is so sad. If one could travel back in time and in a vapor drift over Valley Forge or Bunker Hill. If they could see the aftermath of Gettysburg or Bull Run. If they could walk the trenches of France and see the sacrifice so many have given for the right of freedom. If they could visit the jail cells of women fighting for the right to vote, or blacks beaten in their attempt. Perhaps they would see things differently and know it was a right - not given as much as it was earned. Recently I sat back and listened to my children discuss current matters in this country. I was amazed at the research and education they had. I was so proud of the thrust they had for the truth. I wish this were true with all of us. But it's not.
Do we have the right to complain if we don't vote. Some say yes. I say no. Our system is so set up to make sure each and everyone of us can exercise the right to vote. There is no excuse. Be wise. Read between the lines. Don't allow the small stuff to over shadow the important issues. That is what they want us to do. If someone claims to change. Know what the change is. If someone claims a matter they will fight for. Know what it is and that ONE can not achieve that in office. Know as they shake your hand - that same hand can so easily be swayed with money and power.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Autumn in West Virginia
8:33 PM | Posted by
David |
As long as I can remember, fall has always been my favorite time of the year. As a kid I enjoyed summer and all that came with it just like most kids. As the change of the season brought a chill to the air and color to the leaves, so came a different attitude. Fall really shows off it's splendor in the southern mountains. Hardwoods and bright underbrush often can take your breath away. One doesn't need to go to New England for the colors. They are here. Just above my home was a worked out strip mine that ran the rim of the canyon from Piney all the way to New River. There was nothing I enjoyed more than to go to Table Rock and walk the fields of brown grass to the wood patches at the edge. Walking out of the fallen leaves always allowed me to sneak up on the squirrels working the Hickory and Beech trees. Back then landowners didn't mind you hunting and often would wave from the barn or house. I have given a lot of squirrels and rabbits away to them to insure that relationship. Conversations often went in the direction of how my parents were or where my brothers, that also hunted these lands, were stationed at the time. I knew with the onset of fall came all the festivities that went with it. Homecoming football games. The parade, and soon to follow was Thanksgiving which was always the earmark date to gather Pine and Holly for friends.
I drove over into Ohio this week to an Amish craftsman to make me a set of counter tops. The Ohio river is a geographical separation that's easy to notice. To the west is flat rolling farm lands and to the east the mountains start. Even the color is different. It's easy to see why it's called Almost Heaven. I have stood in the cold waste deep water of the Upper Shavers River and missed way too many hits on a drifting fly because I was distracted by the scenery. There are times I can close my eyes and smell the hot dogs from the concession stand at a Shady football game. I can smell the smoke from burning leaves coming across Beaver Creek and to my side of town. All it takes is a cool crisp morningwith a fog coming off the river, and I start that mental trip down the interstate and home. I'm always anxious for the first fire in the fireplace and those cold gray afternoons in the swing with a cup of coffee. I simply close my eyes and drift to Little Beaver lake or Grandview Park. I can find myself in an instant, sitting in the old hog lot on my mother's home place. A single shot shot gun, loaned to me by my Uncle Lacy, across my lap waiting for that streak of gray fur to show itself or hear the drum of a Ruffled Grouse. Fall will give way to bare trees and ice along the edges of the streams. Pumpkins will be harvested and all the corn stalks gone. But all I have to do is close my eyes and I smell those concession stand hot dogs and see that bright orange and yellow hog lot.
We have so often heard the saying .."take time to smell the roses". I hope my children take the time to stop and smell "A West Virginia Autumn" in the air. I have lived in places where they don't have the change we do. There is no color or air that can sting your nose it's so cool. I never want to be in a place such as that again. I know all too well what it's like to miss it. Even at my age, I see my grandchildren dressed for Halloween and I find myself walking the streets of Beaver, knocking on doors and making a point to walk in the leaves even if a sidewalk is there. We had no worry of tainted treats or violence. Maybe a toilet tipped over or a window soaped. But that was it. Pumpkins carved and lit. No plastic or foam ones done in China. You prayed for a moon and a chill. You were scared the moment you walked out the door. I loved it then and I love it now. For one night I'd love to go back in time with my granddaughters in tow, along with my children, and show them a coal camp Halloween.
The rain and wind today brought the leaves down. A dark sky announced what was soon to be a normal sight. Again I sat in the swing, watched the wind bring the leaves down to the river and create an artist pallet in midstream. The boat is covered. Firewood gathered and menus changed from summer to fall. My kitchen today smelled of chili and homemade bread. The coffee pot replaces the ice tea and I mentally plan projects I wish to do . Another year is almost passed. Another Autumn to spur my thoughts and memories of another day.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Memories of Another Day...
10:49 PM | Posted by
David |
Memories Of Another Day is the title of one of my favorite books by Harold Robbins. If one has not read it, I highly recommend it.
I was born and raised in the southern mountains of West Virginia in a small community just out side of Beckley by the name of Beaver. Beaver held a mixed culture of timber workers and Miners.
My mother was born and raised on Pinch Creek in a spot called Pluto. My grandfather on her side was a well known Postmaster as well as a store keeper. My father's family came from the Odd and Dunns area. My grandfather was a well known cabinet maker and carpenter. I can't even begin to guess how many saws he sharpened. He built some of the most beautiful church furniture in the Raleigh, Mercer and Summers county area. My father was a well known carpenter in and around Beckley. Some of the older beautiful homes were his craftsmanship.
I graduated from Shady Springs High School in 1967. A lot has happened since that summer. A war, marriage, jobs and children soon can slip into the distance between then and now. But the memories and the culture are still deep seated in my mind and heart.
For those that know me, and will soon know me, know of the love affair I have with this beautiful state of West "By God" Virginia. Each scene I take in never loses it's wonder. Each foggy morning on Cheat Mountain and the Upper Shavers still tugs at my heart and reminds me this is Almost Heaven. My heart still fills with emotion, and my mind begins to run once I start down the turnpike or I77. I was homesick the day I left. I still am after 40 years. It has changed ,just as most places do. Yet there is a magic about this state that will continue on. The first time I heard "Country Roads ", I was on temporary duty in Detroit, Michigan. I was on my to my billet from the base. It was a Friday night and half way through the song, I started grabbing gears in my new Dodge Challenger and headed right to West Virginia. I still get tears in my eyes each time I hear that song or hear my granddaughter sing it. God Bless the Blue and Gold. I was born a mountaineer and will die a mountaineer. I don't care what their record might be.
As a teenager, I worked at a grocery store in Beaver. Making deliveries to Flat Top, Raleigh, Table Rock, Redden Ridge, Cool Ridge, Ghent and the surrounding hollows, gave me an education that no price can be attached. I have sat in the kitchens of miners and farmers. I have drunk cold spring water with what some would label true Hillbillies...and I'm proud of it. I have watched the good Ol' boy politicians come in the store on Saturday morning and promise the sun, chewing on cigars that cost as much as most would make in a day. I fished Glade and Pinch Creek as well as Camp Creek. I was one of the few that could sit and talk to the local hermit and he always asked me to come back. The fact I shared a cut off my plug of Ol'Mule didn't hurt. I've hiked the ridges to New River Canyon and watched a fall of splendor come in a hickory grove. Each step much like a bookmark, each scene a burned in memory, that I so wish I could share with children and others.
My father didn't hunt or fish. He never had the time. But two gentlemen from Beaver took me under their wings when I was just a lad and taught me the art and skill of fly fishing. Just as those misty mornings and cool summer evenings never left me, neither has fly fishing and love of it all. Trout live in such beautiful places.
I hope over time to share some of these memories and events in my life. Mainly for my children and friends. But hopefully they will spur the same with those that might happen upon this blog and collection of thoughts.
I want to add to this introduction my appreciation for a dear friend in Oregon who has encouraged me to do this. One can not find a more beautiful and special southern lass. Dianne Campbell, I thank you so very much for all the help and instruction. I suggest anyone that wants to see such a wonderful talent and skill from such a beautiful woman visit her web site at http://www.patacakebabies.com/wordpress/. Her creations of newborn dolls are unbelievable.
To each of you who visit my blog, thank you and I do hope you enjoy it as much as I do sharing it with you.
I was born and raised in the southern mountains of West Virginia in a small community just out side of Beckley by the name of Beaver. Beaver held a mixed culture of timber workers and Miners.
My mother was born and raised on Pinch Creek in a spot called Pluto. My grandfather on her side was a well known Postmaster as well as a store keeper. My father's family came from the Odd and Dunns area. My grandfather was a well known cabinet maker and carpenter. I can't even begin to guess how many saws he sharpened. He built some of the most beautiful church furniture in the Raleigh, Mercer and Summers county area. My father was a well known carpenter in and around Beckley. Some of the older beautiful homes were his craftsmanship.
I graduated from Shady Springs High School in 1967. A lot has happened since that summer. A war, marriage, jobs and children soon can slip into the distance between then and now. But the memories and the culture are still deep seated in my mind and heart.
For those that know me, and will soon know me, know of the love affair I have with this beautiful state of West "By God" Virginia. Each scene I take in never loses it's wonder. Each foggy morning on Cheat Mountain and the Upper Shavers still tugs at my heart and reminds me this is Almost Heaven. My heart still fills with emotion, and my mind begins to run once I start down the turnpike or I77. I was homesick the day I left. I still am after 40 years. It has changed ,just as most places do. Yet there is a magic about this state that will continue on. The first time I heard "Country Roads ", I was on temporary duty in Detroit, Michigan. I was on my to my billet from the base. It was a Friday night and half way through the song, I started grabbing gears in my new Dodge Challenger and headed right to West Virginia. I still get tears in my eyes each time I hear that song or hear my granddaughter sing it. God Bless the Blue and Gold. I was born a mountaineer and will die a mountaineer. I don't care what their record might be.
As a teenager, I worked at a grocery store in Beaver. Making deliveries to Flat Top, Raleigh, Table Rock, Redden Ridge, Cool Ridge, Ghent and the surrounding hollows, gave me an education that no price can be attached. I have sat in the kitchens of miners and farmers. I have drunk cold spring water with what some would label true Hillbillies...and I'm proud of it. I have watched the good Ol' boy politicians come in the store on Saturday morning and promise the sun, chewing on cigars that cost as much as most would make in a day. I fished Glade and Pinch Creek as well as Camp Creek. I was one of the few that could sit and talk to the local hermit and he always asked me to come back. The fact I shared a cut off my plug of Ol'Mule didn't hurt. I've hiked the ridges to New River Canyon and watched a fall of splendor come in a hickory grove. Each step much like a bookmark, each scene a burned in memory, that I so wish I could share with children and others.
My father didn't hunt or fish. He never had the time. But two gentlemen from Beaver took me under their wings when I was just a lad and taught me the art and skill of fly fishing. Just as those misty mornings and cool summer evenings never left me, neither has fly fishing and love of it all. Trout live in such beautiful places.
I hope over time to share some of these memories and events in my life. Mainly for my children and friends. But hopefully they will spur the same with those that might happen upon this blog and collection of thoughts.
I want to add to this introduction my appreciation for a dear friend in Oregon who has encouraged me to do this. One can not find a more beautiful and special southern lass. Dianne Campbell, I thank you so very much for all the help and instruction. I suggest anyone that wants to see such a wonderful talent and skill from such a beautiful woman visit her web site at http://www.patacakebabies.com/wordpress/. Her creations of newborn dolls are unbelievable.
To each of you who visit my blog, thank you and I do hope you enjoy it as much as I do sharing it with you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
