A different look at being "in harm's way"...

Bullets, bombs, IEDs, and just plain accidents claimed most of the lives of American Soldiers in the war in Iraq. However, there is another lesser known killer which is just now manifesting itself in Soldiers who first served in the early days of the war, around 2004.

It seems that there was a lot of just plain hazardous stuff being burned every day all over the countryside. Most of the time, these burnings started out as simply destroying the day's trash and military papers and such. Then, as a lot of the war damage began to be cleared and cleaned out, something had to be done with all the rubble. That is when land fills popped up all over the place. After a while, true to the old Army saying, if it wasn't nailed down, it got burned. Unfortunately, the military wasn't the only one putting things in these burn pits, and it seemed that the things in there just burned forever. A lot of times, newer rubble would just be dumped on top of the old stuff, and this would prevent proper burning, resulting in smoldering, resulting in lots and lots of smoke. Ironically, the Iraqis would sometimes use this smoke to sight in their mortar fire and further add to the fires and burning. The smoke from these burn pits was very toxic, but no one really paid much attention to it because there were lots of more pressing issues at that time, like getting electricity going, and securing the roads so food and ammunition could get in to the bases. It shouldn't be that big of a deal, right. Well, the problem was that it seemed the winds always blew from the same direction, and troops were, in some cases, pretty stationary. Guards in towers, at gates and intersections, in their tents and mess halls -- all of these were pretty much stationary and pretty much had this stuff pumped into their lungs 24/7 for their whole tour.

The health issues caused by this smoke are just now getting looked at by VA personnel. I'm sure this was the case in Vietnam, and the I know it was an issue in the first Gulf War. I have seen articles in the Army Times talking about this issue and telling how Vets are presenting their issues to the VA and Congress. I hope this doesn't get pushed to the background. While not as up front, immediate or tragic as deaths from violent means, Soldiers are still going to die from this, only in a slower but just as painful certainty. Perhaps our newly-revised and consciously-awakened Veterans' Administration will look at this just as it will for other kinds of battle losses and take the appropriate action. They treat wounds, counsel for suicide issues, screen for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder issues, and try to work thru the family support, legal and divorce issues when the Soldiers come back from tours. Maybe they will start looking at this issue too.

Health is a state of complete physical, mental and social well-being, and not merely the absence of disease or infirmity. (World Health Organization, 1948)

Hooah

T.L.C...Army style...

In a sense you might think you know what this article is about, but, no, it's not necessarily the kind of T.L.C. your Grandma used to give you. This is the kind your Command Sergeant Major gives you!

It seems that back in the late 80's and early 90's, the Army was losing a lot of mid-grade NCOs and promoting the lower-grade NCOs, putting them in platoon sergeant assignments. They were then taking Specialists and moving them up the ladder to Buck Sergeant. This is good for them, well for most of them. However, we were noticing that an unsettling number of these young Soldiers really didn't have the training, savy or Soldier skills to do the job. They might have had their "ticket punched" (i.e. they went to some development schools, or took some admin. courses), but those of us at the top saw that they just didn't have "it." Those of you who have been in the Army for more than just a whistle stop know what "it" is. Promotion boards were pretty much just paper shuffles, and if someone put up a big stink about someone getting promoted, the Board would just promote and move the soldier to another unit, hoping a change of scenery would fix things. We lost some good Soldiers that way and occasionally got some real dirt bags in exchange.

Well, in order to fix this, we put together a NCO development course of our own. The Brigade Commander didn't know about it, and probably wouldn't have approved if he had. We figured this was one of those "Better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission" deals. We just hoped no one got seriously hurt, because the Army at that time frowned on this kind of creativity and imagination.

Our CSM kicked this program off, bringing the candidates from all of our units to our BN HQ for the first two quarter's drills. During this time, we worked with them on such things as understanding commander's intent and OPORDS, writing patrol orders, conducting squad drills as well as inspections and maintenance, and briefing techniques. Then during the third quarter, the troops worked on marksmanship, and improving (or starting to learn) their fieldcraft. Remarkably, this was a glaring shortcoming in a lot of our MPs. Most of these young recruits came from less-than-rural areas like Columbus, Toledo, Cincinnati, Cleveland and Dayton. They were city kids and never had an introduction to field life until they went thru basic training. That was just survival, not really learning how to live as a soldier in the field. Even worse, they didn't know how to take care of troops in the field. Well, guess what -- the CSM and other senior NCOs "learned them a thing or two!" The last quarter was conducted at Ft. McCoy, WI and really challenged their ability to put everything they had learned during the past year into practice. When they successfully completed the last phase (and got a whole day's sleep), we held a pinning ceremony. All of these Soldiers had already been boarded and "technically" were already promoted. However, they didn't get their stripes until they went thru the ceremony. Those of you old Soldiers who remember getting your stripes know that we had a pretty big box of band-aids on hand. This was our way of preparing Soldiers to become real NCOs.

I think back to that every once in a while and get a smile when I think about one particular session. It seems that the way the CSM was going to work on their fieldcraft was to conduct a mini-FTX for them. It began on a very cold, rainy night at the Center in Zanesville. One thing you can always count on in the field is it always rains on soldiers. Rainstorms will travel thousands of miles, against prevailing winds for the opportunity to rain on a Soldier in the field (remember the old saying "If it ain't raining, you ain't training.") The troops had to march out to the field site (about 10 miles) in full gear. Once they got to the site, they had to set up their base camp and get ready for their first assignment. There were several night land navigation exercises, patrol orders to be written and briefed, and weapons to be cleaned and inspected. After a very short couple of hours of sleep, they got started on their next task -- getting ready for their first field meal. At just about that time, the OP SGM pulled up in his mother-in-law's car, popped the trunk and threw out a dozen live chickens. Yep, that was dinner, or at least the main course. The idea was to teach them how to field dress a chicken, put some potatoes and carrots with it and make a kind of chicken dinner for one. Well, I'm not sure most of these young Soldiers had ever seen a live chicken, let alone grasp the idea that they would have to kill it in order to eat it. The CSM asked if any of them knew how to kill a chicken and dress it out. One young Soldier (they called him "Boat") said he knew, and proceeded to draw a line on the ground and grabed his chicken and stuck its head near the line. Well, the chicken then gave him that "what am I supposed to do now, bub" look and everyone broke out laughing. "Boat" then tried to snap the chicken's neck, and learned a little about chicken necks. That didn't work either, so with the chicken looking like it was on a five hour drug high, "Boat" stepped on it's neck thinking he would suffocate it. Somehow, he forgot it had been raining since last night and the ground was pretty muddy and that chicken's neck just kept going deeper into the mud. "Boat" grabbed the neck on either side of his boot and started pulling. Maybe he thought he would stretch the neck until the thing died. At this point, the chicken was going spastic, troops were rolling on the ground laughing, others were beginning to think this was going to turn into a cult thing. Thinking that he had better get things under control, the CSM took charge and showed them how to get this done. Next came the cleaning and taking the feathers off. The CSM told them to get some water in a pot and get it boiling hot. Well they did this, but didn't get the water much above luke warm, because when they tried to dunk the chickens to work on the feathers, it didn't work very well. The CSM told me they had soaked chickens and tried to pull things off in every direction, resulting in feathers flying everywhere -- all over themselves, in their equipment and stuck to their helmets and weapons. It was the most hilarious thing any of those troops had ever seen.

In true Army tradition, they eventually got things finished, policed the area and prepared their evening meal. They were then instructed to hit the sack. They could, if they wanted, build a little camp fire by their individual tents, but remember it had been raining most of the weekend. Oh yeah, and how is it that one careless match can start a forest fire, but it takes a whole box to start a wet campfire? Well, they gave it a good try and as the CSM, the other NCOs and I stood on the hill top overlooking their little bivouac area, there were little tents, little camp fires, lots of smoke and very tired troops down there in the holler -- kind of looked like what some of the Civil War bivouac sites must have looked like.

You know what -- some of those young troops are now the senior leaders in the NCO ranks in the Brigade. I don't think we permanently scared any of them, and they sure turned out to be fine Soldiers and leaders.

Things like this are what I miss most about not being in the Army any more.

Bivouac: The art of getting closer to becoming a SOLDIER while getting farther away from the nearest cold beverage, hot shower and flush toilet.

Hooah

Were you born in a barn...

I don't know how many times my mom would say that when I would come in and forget to shut the door completely. I think that's a standard admonishment all mothers used when we were growing up.

So what does that have to do with this column? Well, Pam and I rented a "barn" in Buck's county, PA about a month ago for a weekend get-away for us and Doug, Danika and Quinn. It seems Doug found this place on line and we thought, what the heck. It looked good in the pictures, and the area is such a beautiful place. The leaves here were turning bright shades of red and orange, and the outlook was pretty good in terms of weather -- well, except for that tiny, little group of clouds way down in Georgia. We were all set for a beautiful fall weekend. Yeah, yeah -- you guessed it -- it rained most of the weekend, but we had a great time none-the-less. The rains stopped long enough each day for us to get out and take walks along the Delaware River canal, and out in the 80 acres of woods and fields. Generally the temperatures were cool except for the last day we were there, the day after Doug, Danika and Quinn left to go back to the city. Go figure.

The place lived up to its billing. It was one of the coolest places I have seen for a while. The old barn, built in the 1800s actually has a house inside it, complete with glass ceilings. The first floor is all kitchen and the living area is upstairs. The floors are original wood planks, and the place is heated by three wood-burning stoves, and a supplemental furnace system. The owners have taken care of the place, and it really is quite nice. They also have two donkeys, two sheep and a potbellied pig. Quinn got his first taste of farm animals up close and personal.

As we explored the various parts of the "barn," we came across a copy of Better Homes and Gardens from 1980 which featured this place on the cover, complete with a big spread inside. Funny, the kitchen looked exactly the same -- same appliances, table, lots of the same things hanging on the walls. the upstairs looked pretty much the same except the furniture had been replaced and modernized a bit. We also found out that the the man of the house was a former Olympic Champion in the 1964 8-man rowing at the Tokyo Olympics. We saw his pictures and the oar he used in the race. I have to say, that was pretty cool.

Pam and I really got to know our grandson. He intently stared at the TV when we watched a DVD about farm animals -- his favorite for now. He is like a sponge, taking everything in. As much as he liked the video, he was fascinated by the real animals, and enjoyed walking in the fields (although he fell down a few times because he's not used to the unevenness of the ground and grasses). He woke up in the mornings and would crawl around on our bed, looking at things, taking in all the strange sounds and smells. He also really liked the whirlpool tub at bath time. No whirlpool, just a great place to splash and get everyone wet. What a treat this time was for the two of us.

We did experience a tale of two seasons on the way there and home. It snowed as we got into the mountains on the way there. In fact, they had a reported 9" of the white stuff up in Happy Valley, ruining the tailgating for the Penn State game that weekend. But then, as I said, it was absolutely beautiful on the last day we were there and the next day as we drove back to Ohio.

Those of you who have done these types of road trips will understand this. The drive over is filled with anticipation, kind of like that proverbial box of chocolates. And the drive home is a quiet blur for the first three or four hours, sometimes longer if the co-pilot gets out the camera to review pictures. Everything in the middle is like having a bowling alley in your brain.

What greater thing is there for human beings than to feel that they are joined with each other for life - if in no other way than silent, unspeakable memories.

Hooah

A Most Rewarding Trip...

Well, I am just about finished with the close-out details of our most recent "World War II Veterans to Washington DC" which took place Sept. 25-27. I must say, this was one of the most rewarding non-family things I have been involved with in a while.

I know, if you've been reading this blog, you're probably wondering if I got the dates mixed up. No, I didn't. I did not actually go on the "trip." With the death of Wink's son, the viewing and the funeral all happening then, I did not go. But, I suppose if you do a good job with all your tasks, the trip will go on without you. Guess what -- it did.

I became involved with this group in early August and hit the ground running. There really is a lot of work in getting twenty-six 80+ year-old WWII Vets to DC and back over a 3-day weekend so they can see their memorial. Kinda reminds me of moving troops to some distant post. There is still a lot of interaction with people: raising funds, securing meals/transportation/medical assistance, taking care of personnel matters, and so forth. Everyone involved is a volunteer but they really function like staff officers, you know S-1, S-2, S-3, S-4, etc.

Let me tell you some of the highlights. We spent lots of time raising funds and passing out literature at Wal-Mart, Krogers, the Farmer's Market, and the Applefest. I have a whole new respect for Salvation Army bell ringers. I also introduced a sponsorship program that ended up getting 14 of the Vets sponsored thru a Memorial Donor. We also coordinated with the local schools to get students to write letters to the Vets for "Mail Call." Part of this also included having letters from relatives, the people on the committee, and friends. These letters were packaged up and given to the Vets on the bus.

Oh, yeah, we took a bus. There are other groups that do this and they fly, but they do it in one long, long, long day which is pretty hard on these old folks. Our bus trip over three days is quite a bit easier on them. It does add to our logistic issues, however. We take a wheel chair for each Vet and most of their travel companions. Some of them think they can walk everywhere, and then after about 10 minutes at the monuments in DC, they are pretty happy to have a ride.

We have several dinners for them. One is the pre-departure meal where they get their "mobilization orders." We also have two dinners for them in the DC area, after which they get to sit around and talk about the day, and their experiences (if they want to -- which most do).

We have a committee that organizes a special send-off and one that receives them when they get back. When they leave, school kids from the Sidney Middle School come out and line the road (which is also lined to the interstate with US flags) to waive good-bye to the group. The buses are escorted by a motorcycle group from Sidney to Troy.

So, this trip is now over, and guess what -- it's time to start planning for the next one. The first piece of action the group took was to appoint me their chairman, so now, I'm spending a lot of my retirement time working on this. And you know what --this is cutting in to my golfing time!! Sheesh!! Ah, what the heck, I like this kind of stuff, and the old Vets really do deserve it. Never lose sight of the fact that old age needs so little but needs that little so much (Margaret Willour).

"I do not love the bright sword for it's sharpness, nor the arrow for it's swiftness, but rather the warrior for his glory and that which they defend."

Hooah

A little Charlie Brown tree...

Today, four of us old timers put down a final marker for a fallen Soldier. Barney, Bob, Wink and I placed a flag and a plaque at the base of an Autumn Sunset maple tree that we had planted in memory of Wink's son, SPC Damon Winkleman who was killed in Afghanistan in September (See article below).

My wife, Pam, and I thought it would be nice to plant a tree for Damon rather than get flowers. So, we shared our idea with some of our Army buddies and 13 of them responded favorably. I'm sure we could have had more, but this worked out fine and got the ball rolling. We had the tree planted at Damon's high school in Loudenville because we thought that would be a place the students, faculty and citizens of this beautiful little town would visit almost daily, a place they would see this reminder that our freedom is not without a price, and sometimes it's borne by the sons and daughters of people from small towns like this. We are hoping they respect this site for what it is -- not a political statement, not a pro or con on anything -- just a remembrance of SPC Winkleman and what he did for us.

I want to thank the Superintendent of the Loudenville Schools, Mr. John Miller. I have known John for a long time and appreciate his assistance.

It was good that Barney (a retired CSM), Bob (a retired 1SG) and his wife, Polly, Jim (still serving as a 1SG), Wink (still serving as an OPNS SGM), and my wife Pam and I were able to get together to do this. Afterward, we all sat around a table at the local diner, had lunch and told old stories (some we've told before I'm sure) and just maybe brought some laughs to what was otherwise a dreary but proud day.

The way I figure it, this tree will last about 45-50 years or so, telling its story to those who will listen. What better place than a school to put this reminder of this Damon's life and this testament to his courage and compassion. I hope the tree grows strong and turns that brilliant shade of redish-orange in the fall that Damon liked. If you look at it right now, shivering in its new home, complete with its remaining 3 leaves, it looks like it has a ways to go. But I'm sure it will do just fine.

Let no vandalism of avarice or neglect, no ravages of time, testify to the present or to the coming generations, that we have forgotten, as a people, the cost of a free and undivided Republic. (John A. Logan)

Hooah

This was a tough one...

I have been putting off writing this because it's still close.

When I got home from the golf tournament, Pam told me I had to call Wink... he had just called to tell us that his youngest son, Damon, had been killed in Afghanistan. My God, I know how this hit me -- I can't even begin to know how he and his wife, Pat, were taking it. How is one supposed to feel when he loses a son. I have known this family for a very long time and served with Wink (SGM Winkleman) for probably 20 some years. I know military families have faced this for centuries, but it always rips you up when it's this close. All Soldiers think they're Superman, 7-ft. tall and bullet proof, and old Soldiers, especially, think if anything ever does happen, it will happen to them and not the younger guys.

SPC Winkleman was a medic with a unit of the 82d ABN and was responding to a call for help from a unit that was under fire. The vehicle he was riding in turned over, killing him and another Soldier and seriously injuring the other two in the vehicle. According to reports from those who were there, this roll-over stopped the rest of the convoy and they subsequently came under fire. When they were able to get back to their vehicles, they discovered the rest of the road in front of them was mined. If their vehicle had not overturned, perhaps the entire convoy would have been lost.

When the military got the body back to Ohio that Tuesday, the route the motorcade took to their hometown was lined with people with flags, cars pulled over and people standing beside the road. When they got back to the town, I was told everyone in the town came out to line the streets, including all the young people in the schools. The funny thing is, I think aside from paying their respects, every one of those people really knew Damon. He was a good kid, a normal kid, the kind of young man small-town America grows and is proud of -- the kind who answers the call and says "Send Me."

I've been sitting here for a while with my fingers on the keyboard, not knowing what else to say...what else I can say. I know... I believe... Damon is in a much better place right now, but I also know Wink and Pat, his brothers Jason and Nathan, their families, and the people of their community are all still hurting. They say time will heal this, and their faith will get them through it, but I don't know if I would be as strong.

SPC Damon G. Winkleman

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight. (Kahlil Gibran)

Hooah

Neighborhood Golf Outing #2...

Last week saw the second annual McCartyville area golf outing, a.k.a. "The Southenders vs. the Northenders vs. the Village People vs. the Featherfolks I, II, and III vs. the Eastringers."

If you remember last year's outing, there were only 3 teams, but word spread and since everyone had so much fun, things expanded greatly. This year, we added the Featherfolks teams and this worked out because all these guys are really on the west end of the village and not many of them were really very well known to the rest of us. The Eastringer team kinda stretched the idea of local residence, but all of those players are in the Rumley league and originally lived in McCartyville, so what the heck. The idea was to have fun.

My team, the Southenders, was defending its championship, but could only manage a 6-under par 66. That was four strokes better than last year, and seemed to be a response to the challenge of the Eastringers -- a team made up of one scratch player and three other pretty good golfers. But, alas, it was not enough. The Eastringers won on their first effort, shooting an 8-under 64.

The Village People managed to pull themselves out of the cellar (I think they were helped by a rule change for this year which allowed the seniors to hit from the senior tees). The "trophy" was taken home for the year by the Northenders who struggled to a +3 score of 75.

Final scores:
Eastringers (64).
Southenders (66).
Featherfolks #2 (69).
Featherfolks #3 (68).
Village People and Featherfolks #1 (71)
Northenders (75).

I guess the scores are not really important (unless yours is the bottom team). What is important is 28 neighborhood guys managed to get together for a fun afternoon of golf and fellowship. We also got to know each other a bit better. I expect we'll have at least two more teams next year and I think we'll also have some of the women teeing it up for an inaugural powder-puff outing.

Eighteen holes of match or medal play will teach you more about your neighbor than will 18 years of dealing with him across the back yard fence.

Hooah

Updating the landscape...

One of the things you learn quite early about living in the country is farmers grow crops and they almost always spray the fields with insecticides. Guess what -- the bugs figured that out too. So shortly after the fields are sprayed, like within a few hours or so, all those bugs leave and move in over at our house on the flowers, trees and the grass.

This year, they pretty much got our purple plum and the burning bushes out front. The guy at the nursery said the purple plum is susceptible to disease and will usually only last about 10 years or so. Hmmm ... let's see, we moved in in 1997 and planted in 1998 so it looks like we got to the "or so" part of its life. It really looks bare on that corner of the house right now. We planted a red bush that is supposed to get to a pretty decent size, and we'll do some other things there in the spring. But for now it looks quite different.

We decided to replace some things. In the process, we took out some things and discovered some local residents in the process. The little bunnies had been driving Pam crazy all spring eating the stems of the geraniums. We used a number of home-brew remedies to try to stop them (red pepper finally worked). Guess it got them to mating as opposed to eating. Anyway, there were three nests -- one in the lamb's ear, one in the sea grass and the one above. The first two took off when the guys started working. This guy must have thought he was safe since no one messed with the plant he chose to call home.

The burning bushes got the yank and were replaced by boxwoods. I really like them, they remind me of my time in D.C. Pam and I would visit the gardens at the National Cathedral on the weekends and they had real nice ones and they really smelled good.

You can see the new burning bushes over behind the birch trees. I think that will add a nice touch of color on that end of the house. We may also plant some ground flowers over there in the spring.

One of the things I have really come to enjoy in this thing called "retirement" is rocking in the chair on the porch, reading a good book, having Bailey lying at my feet, watching the birds (especially the hummingbirds) come and go, and seeing the butterflies battle the winds to get to the butterfly bushes. I like the deep red of the geraniums, the cool dark green of the grass, and the light leaves of the birches doing their dance in the breezes. I know those little bugs are still lurking, but it will be winter soon, and they'll get theirs...at least until next year when the cycle will start all over again.

The planting of things is the least self-centered thing we can do. It is a pure act of faith. We can't really control the outcome, and can only marginally influence the process ... kinda like raising a family. We can only plant and hope. I like this quote below..........

Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy. Cares will drop off like autumn leaves. (John Muir)

Hooah

Celebrating our 40th...

I can't believe I'm writing this article -- not that I'm actually writing it, but that it's time to write it. Pam and I celebrated our 40th anniversary recently and I can't believe we have been together that long. I can honestly say time has flown. We first met in 1964 on the sand at Northside Beach in Zanesville. This was in high school. She was a hot chick from the big city school and I was a skinny, big-eared kid from the small Catholic school.

I can still remember our wedding, the reception and then leaving town for our honeymoon. We decided to go to a place my parents told us about -- a horse racing track in West "By God" Virginia.

Six hours after we started on what should have been a 2-3 hour trip, we got there. What a great start. Of course the dining room was closed (can't believe they close dining rooms at these places before 11:30 -- this is supposed to be a resort). The next day, we actually played golf there. Well, I played golf and Pam rode in the cart. Bet you can't guess what we did on our 40th ??? Yep, I played golf and Pam rode in the cart. Least this time, she didn't get hit with a ball while sitting in the cart.

In planning this trip, we took the advice of some friends of ours (Dave and Barb) and went to the Petoskey, Michigan area and booked rooms at the Bayview Inn. Online, it kinda looked like Bob Newhart's place, and I always liked that show, so what the heck. Besides, they had a great big lake (Lake Michigan) just outside the front door and Pam really likes water.

This turned out much better than our first trip. This place was supposed to be about 6 hours away, and I made it in 6 hours. See, I told you it was better. The first night there was a bit disappointing as the weather was pretty bad -- temps. in the 50s, big winds, and the front desk seemed to have forgotten the wine and roses I ordered ahead of time. Oh well, maybe they didn't remember what time I said we would be there and didn't want them to be wilted. The next morning, the weather improved, and the gal at the front desk assured me that the flowers and wine would be taken care of today. It was wine from their own winery and flowers from their own gardens, so I figured this was a easy fix...even if it was Saturday.

We spent the first day sightseeing, starting with an hour cruise on the Inn's boat. Actually, it was a small yacht-- a Chris-Craft, I think, that looked like it was built in the 20s and just got in from taking socialites on an outing. We toured Traverse Bay and got a little glimpse of how the very rich of the Chicago area live. They had boats that had more square feet in them than my house. Most of them never leave the pier, according to the yacht driver, who said about all they're used for is cocktail parties. When we finished that, we walked around Harbor Side for a while. One thing I learned while we were there was the difference between a sweatshirt and Beach Attire -- about $90.

It was now about 3:00 P.M. so we headed back to the Inn. You're right -- no wine or flowers. I now gave the desk girl my best angry Colonel scowls and was assured she would deliver tomorrow, even if she had to "sternly remind" the manager. Boy, I could hardly wait to see these results -- perhaps a roomful of flowers. We headed into town and did some window shopping, ate dinner at a really cool bar that had the best pizza and views of the bay (in fact, we ate there twice). Later, we walked along the beach and looked at some of the very nice beachfront houses. Everyone had an American flag flying from the porches and a flag from whatever college they went to or now supported.

The breakfasts were very good. I particularly liked the French toast with syrup and Michigan cherries. The Sunday buffet was very nice, and appeared to be the social event of the weekend. I told Pam that no town should be allowed to have more than 20 Jaguars in one place at one time. Earlier that morning, we went to a church that Pam had looked up on line before we left. She said it was a young church and it would be fun to see how others do their services. This was a good experience. It's neat to see how people can improvise, get the Word out and get the job done when no one cares what the surroundings might be.

I was positively giddy with anticipation after church and brunch because I couldn't wait to see what a whole room full of roses and wine looked like. Aw, you're too good, you're way ahead of me...yep, very underwhelming. The wine was a 12 oz. bottle that looked like a pop bottle, and the tray of sweets came from the buffet line, and the roses -- oh, wait there were no roses!!!!

Oh, well, it was time to head out to the golf course. 40 years ago, that race track course cost $6.00 and was a 9-hole, par-3 course jammed into a space about as big as two football fields. The course we were going to play (Little Traverse Bay) cost $75 and was worth every penny. It was one of the most beautiful courses I have ever played. The fairway-to-green elevation changes could be 200-300 ft. and proved to be a nice, fair challenge. On just about every hole, you had breathtaking views of the lake and the bay. I think I shot 100, but wasn't upset a bit. It was such a nice course and, besides, I had my bride of 40 years with me. Life is good!!

We went back to the Inn each evening and read quite a bit. No televisions in the rooms, and no phones. Pam and I actually got a couple of books finished. We played another course on Monday at Boyne Mountain. This one was very nice and a bit difficult too, but not as nice as Little Travers Bay. I played better the second day, so it was all good.

We hauled our bikes up there, because we thought it would be fun to just ride and explore the neighborhoods. This was one of the highlights of the trip. The houses were a beautiful Victorian- style architecture, and the gardens were beautiful. The bike paths took us to town and the harbor area where we watched people come and go, launching their boats. It seems the salmon were running and the lake fishing was getting hot.

So, all in all, it was an absolutely fantastic trip. Never did get the roses, but everything else at the Inn was beautiful and Dave and Barb's advice was spot on.

There's an old saying that goes something like this: Strike an average between what a couple thinks of each other a month before they're married and what they think of each other 40 or 50 years afterward, and you'll probably be pretty near knowing the truth about their marriage. We still have a few years to go, but I'd say we've had a pretty darn good one.

Our wedding was many years ago. The celebration continues to this day. (Gene Perret)

Hooah

So long, Danny...

Last week, I got word that another friend of mine, Sergeant-Major Danny Whitcomb, died after a long battle with cancer. I would be absolutely surprised if anyone who reads this, except for maybe a small handful of my Army friends, would have known him.

Danny was one of my Operations Sergeants-Major when I was the Executive Officer and later the Commander of the 391st MP Battalion. The OPNS SGM position is an extremely difficult one as this section is the hot spot of a tactical unit. I say difficult because the OPNS SGM is the second most senior Non-Commissioned Officer in the battalion, and often has to represent the commander in the field. He has to be organized, he has to be the second most absolute expert on MP doctrine, operations, and tactics in the unit, and he has to have the political savvy to exercise control even though he is not an officer and not the Command Sergeant Major. In his own unorthodox style, Danny was one of the absolute best at handling all of these duties that I have ever seen. He took the pressure head-on and diffused tense, combative situations with a sheepish smile and calming "aw- shucks" mannerism. The first time you would see him in action, you'd say to yourself - "who is this rube." Then when you watched him do his thing, you would wonder how the heck did he do that.

Oh, by the way, did I mention that Danny was also a qualified special forces Soldier. That had a lot to do with his effectiveness and professionalism.

Strange as it may sound, Soldiers sometimes get jobs for which they are not qualified. I've had lots of Sergeants-Majors work for me over the years -- some have been just outstanding tactical leaders, some have made their mark in how they handled personnel matters, and some (two in particular) have been absolutely terrible at all aspects of their job. SGM Whitcomb was one of those guys who had the complete package in all operational aspects, got Soldiers to do their job to the best of their ability, and made a mark on the officers (experienced and not-so-much-so) he served under.

I had lots of Danny Whitcomb stories and memories, but one that really stood out was the time he and I went to Ft. Bragg to represent our battalion at a retirement ceremony for the Brigade Commander of the 16th MP BDE (ABN). We were wartraced to them at that time and this retirement ceremony was a big deal because this was the first time a Reserve MP unit was directly linked to an active duty brigade, especially one so high-powered as the 16th. The Brigade was going to do a brigade jump (yep, from perfectly good airplanes) as part of the weekend's festivities. I told SGM Whitcomb that I was going to jump with them. Well, Danny gave me that sometimes goofy look he had when he heard something that bordered on being the absolutely dumbest thing he had heard a commissioned officer say, and then in a gentle voice said, "Uh, Sir, you haven't jumped from an airplane before have you?" I replied, "Well, no SGM, but it can't be that hard." That was the closest I have ever seen Danny come to doing a full-fledged imitation of SGM Plumley in the movie "We were Soldiers once, and young." He just looked at me and said "You ain't going, Sir" I knew that was the end of that, and even if I ever thought being a Major (at that time) and a battalion commander meant anything or had any pull, I quickly remembered how much clout and wisdom a Sergeant Major had. The rest of the weekend went just fine, thank you.

Danny and his wonderful wife, Judy, came to all of our battalion dinings-out (military dress-up parties) even when he was no longer a member of the unit. It was always a great time having them there. I'm sure she knew a lot about the man she married, but each time we had one of these get-togethers, I'm sure she learned a little more.

There is an old Irish proverb that goes something like this: "Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, and love leaves a memory no one can steal." Sergeant Major, Danny, my friend, you will be missed.

On thy grave the rain shall fall from the eyes of a grateful nation!

Hooah

Birthday Roadtrip ...

This article marks the end of one of the fastest years I have known -- it was Quinn's 1st birthday. I know it seems like I just wrote my first article about him, and I know I have chronicled many of our visits and his exploits, but that certainly was one fast year.

Randy and Margaret (Danika's parents) joined Pam and me in helping Doug and Danika celebrate this monumental event. What a weekend it was -- we all walked to the park and watched Quinn play with other little children on the swings and the other park equipment, we had a beautiful (but quite warm) birthday party on their back patio, and we also had some very nice family cook-outs.

Pam and I got to meet some of their friends at the party and got to know some of them a little better. This was good because when D&D talk about so-and-so, we now know who that is.

It was pretty funny at the party when Quinn had his birthday cake in front of him. We weren't sure what he would do with it -- would he flip it off the chair onto the ground, would he tear into it and get it all over the place, or what? Well, it seems he played with it a bit, tasted the icing and got it all over his face and shirt. I'm not sure he really knew what to do with it otherwise. He might have been overwhelmed by all of us sitting around waiting for him to dive in. Then again, the sugar might have been a bit too much for him -- something new. In any event, he certainly seemed fascinated by it all.


Randy and Margaret had to leave Sunday morning, but Pam and I stayed over till Monday afternoon. So, on Sunday afternoon, we went to the New York Aquarium at Coney Island. That was a very nice place and had some very interesting exhibits. Quinn really liked the fish and the walrus/seal tanks. He was mesmerized by the big fish, the sharks and the seals as they would fly by the window in front of him. He just pointed and laughed.

Since Doug has Mondays off, we went to another park and got to spend time with him and Quinn. It was fun watching Quinn play on the artificial grass surface on the playground. Pam took some bubbles and Quinn crawled after them as the wind blew them around. He came very close to getting up and walking by himself when he and Doug went after his ball which had rolled away from where we were sitting. I'm sure, after watching how easily he got up, held on to Doug's hand, and took off after the ball, that he'll be walking before long. He looks like he's got pretty good balance.

Quinn got lots of pretty neat toys, some really cool new books, and some spiffy new clothes (as we all know, it wouldn't be a birthday without some new clothes from grandma[s] -- would it). All in all, it was an absolutely great birthday celebration. There were some serious issues with the apartment we had reserved for the weekend, but that's another story.

Sadly, the weekend came to an end, and we weren't even through the Holland Tunnel when Pam started saying how she's looking forward to our next get together. In the meantime, she and I are planning our get-away trip to celebrate our 40th anniversary. Being together this long reminds me of a quote from Antoine de Saint-Exupery who wrote Vol De Nuit (Night Flight -- the only book written in French that I ever read. It dealt with flying which is why I read it...that and the fact that it was required reading in the French class I was taking in college at the time.) -- "Love does not consist of gazing at each other, but in looking together in the same direction."

Oh, yeah ... Pam said she might go golfing with me when we take our trip -- which I think means I will golf and she might ride in the cart and work on her putting when I get to the green -- maybe. But wherever we go, it will probably involve water and mountains.

In childhood, we yearn to be grown-ups. In old age, we yearn to be kids. It just seems that all would be wonderful if we didn't have to celebrate our birthdays in chronological order. (Robert Brault)

Hooah

Hammies help the Horsemen with "Relay for Life"...

Last weekend, the American Cancer Society sponsored an event called the Relay for Life. This is a gigantic fund raiser which, from what I can tell, takes place everywhere and comes in many forms -- creativity and imagination being the key. This particular event was sponsored by a group of equestrians (maybe that's too fancy of a name, maybe "cowboys and cowgirls" and "wannabes" more fits the bill) from Shelby County and took the form of what is called a "Poker Ride."

Our amateur radio club, Shelby County Amateur Radio, Emergency Services (SCARES), has provided communication assistance for this for a few years now. Our role is to provide communication at the various checkpoints along the route the riders must travel. We give a pretty quick response to emergency situations, and help with traffic control at the rally points and the road crossings. Each year, different challenges come up and the group has come to rely on our ability to communicate quickly with emergency services providers. This year was no different. It seems a horse either threw a rider or just decided to get out of there, because it was off and running by itself down a pretty busy highway. Our guys were able to track the horse and direct the club members to its location, in a corn field maybe a mile down the road.

My particular station for the past two years had been a crossing which has the riders coming out of a woods, along a trail which this year is flanked by corn, which is about 6' tall. At the end of this little trail, they have to cross a somewhat busy two-lane highway. I get them across when the lanes are clear and stop traffic if I have to. Horses don't really move that fast on these roads, and sometimes they will stop right in the middle. Most of the people in the cars and trucks are cooperative, partly because they want to stop and check out this site of about 20 horses at a time crossing the road. It really does look pretty cool if you are not used to seeing this many horses every day.

The riders each paid a $15 entry fee. When the ride began, they would get a poker card (from a regular deck of playing cards), and would draw one at each of the rally points. At the end of the ride, the people with the best poker hands won the door prizes. The weekend featured a camp out, a cowboy-style dinner, and musical entertainment in the evening. From what I could tell, this was a pretty good, if not occasionally rowdy, fund raiser. I was told that they had over 160 riders!

In my early flying days, we used to do this at our flying club and would set it up at small airports all around the state. It was good flying and lots of fun.

In any event, I know they raised a good bit of money to help fight a pretty insidious illness, and it was our pleasure to assist.

We have two options, medically and emotionally: give up, or fight like hell. I choose the latter and that is why we volunteer to help in this way. If we feed our faith, our fears will starve to death.

Hooah

Road Trip Down the Muddy Muskingum...

One of the nice things about being retired and having friends who are also there and share the same interests and background is that you can get together, tell some of the same old stories and no one seems to care that much. They are still funny, and they still bring back memories of times when those things were a bit more important, or so they seemed.

That was the case last week as Dave, Dave, Bob and I got together for our annual golf outing. We went to Zanesville again this year to play Eaglesticks Golf Course, and try to get in our dinner cruise on the Lorena (an old wooden sternwheeler, which is located on the Muskingum River) which was cancelled last year due to insufficient bookings. This year, though, we included our wives in the trip. We had planned to get them together and have them tour the Longaberger Basket plant and the Dresden Village area. However, we found out those things were closed on Wednesdays during the summer -- an impact of the economic downturn, I guess. So, they decided to have lunch at the historic Tom's Ice Cream Bowl in Zanesville, and then go to the Heartstone Pottery plant. They took a tour and then went to the work area where they were able to paint a piece of pottery, which the Heartstone people would then fire and ship to them.

Following a pretty bad round of golf we headed to the boat. The golf was terribly slow -- at times, there were 4 groups on the same hole, and it must have been a holiday I didn't know about because absolutely no one was in any hurry. That kind of play really throws my game off, and after a little over 5 hours and being on only the 14th tee, I figured that was enough!! I picked up and took Dave in so he would be able to get to the boat in time to get it ready for the cruise.

We were on the front deck and had a real nice location when the boat went down the "Muddy Muskingum." It was a very calm ride, with just a little breeze. I may have told you that when I was a kid, we used to live in Zanesville and my dad owned a ski boat which we used to take up and down the river on the weekends. This cruise brought back memories. One of the neat things was that Dave and Bill (the Captain-in-Charge) let Pam drive the boat. She had a great time, ringing the bell and blowing the big horn a few times as she piloted it down the river. The meal they served was very good and really topped off the trip.










The next day, Pam and I drove around to look at all the places where we lived as kids and the apartment we lived in as newlyweds. Everything looked really different. Can't imagine how that happened over the past 40 years. We were also able to get together for lunch with one of Pam's brothers -- Lee. It was good to get together with him. We don't get to spend time with our brothers and sisters often enough...we talk to them, but it's not the same.

One good thing coming out of this trip is that the group plans to get together to play golf in August at Wright Patterson. This should be fun. We'll probably get another round in later this fall.

Yesterday brought the beginning, tomorrow brings the end, and somewhere in the middle we became the best of friends. (Author Unknown)

Hooah