Maggie's drawers...

Just when you think you've seen everything, up pops a surprise that takes you back to an earlier time in your life and brings back a whole flood of memories.  Such was the case when Pam and I were walking thru the Tawawa Park here in Sidney a couple of weeks ago.  Aside from the beautiful trees and scenery, we came across an old firing range right in the middle of the park.

It is really amazing to have found this old range right in our back yard.  It is also special that the city has preserved it and provided documentation to let people know what something like this is and what it had to do with the war effort back in the 1940s.

I recalled a time in my early military career when I was assigned to the 342d MP Co. and we would go to the rafle range at the Blue Rock State Park, just below a little town called Duncan Falls in southern Ohio.  It was carved out of the forest and was a no-frills range used by the Army and the Ohio National Guard.  We would go there for the weekend and would fire our rifles (M-14s at that time) and our pistols (.45 cal.).  Everyone had their own assigned rifle, but we were not allocated enough pistols so we would all use the same dozen that we had in the company.  By the end of the day, they were caked with gun powder residue and it seemed like the barrels were wobbling around and ready to fall out at the next firing order.  But that was the way it was after Vietnam -- the Army was being drawn down and absolutely no money was being spent on weapons, ammo, updating equipment or maintenance.  It was not a very happy time to be in the military and those who stuck it out were generally treated with scorn and disdain.

But anyway, back to the range.  Part of the duties we all had at that time were range guards (the two guys who were assigned to sit out at the entrance to the range and make sure no unauthorized personnel came into the area), ammo detail guys (filling the magazines and delivering them to the firers on the firing line), range safety NCOs (those NCOs who would stand behind the firers observing their rounds, hits, misses, and coaching the firer), range safety officer (he didn't do much, but his butt was on the line if anything went wrong or anyone got hurt), the tower crew (called out the firing commands and firing orders),  and the real grunts of the weekend -- the pit crew.  In these old days of ranges, there were no computerized firing lanes, pop-up plastic targets, and computer generated score cards.  Everything was done by hand, and scores were kept with pencil by the firers coach on a paper score sheet.  This led to a lot of jawing about hits and misses and even something known as "pencil whipping" the course.  In fact, it was well-known that a pencil was about the same diameter as a .45 cal. round so if someone needed a few more hits to qualify, it was not uncommon for a coach to "pencil fire" a few holes into the silhouette and help his buddy.

It was also the responsibility of the pit crew to indicate the number of hits and misses after each event.  Since the lanes were so long and it would eat up too much time to walk from the firing point to the targets in order to count scores, the pit crew member would hold up a long red paddle and raise and lower it each time for the hit total.  After all the hits were recorded, he would waive the paddle right and left to indicate that there were no more hits.  This was called the "Maggie's drawers" part of the firing order.  There were many rude and crude legends as to how this term came about, but the most common was that at this point, "the firer couldn't hit a bull in the ass with a bass fiddle." 

Most soldiers hated their assignment in the pit crew.  Even though you were safe behind the firing berm, you were always getting dirt and rocks over the top from rounds that came up short.  There were always splinters from the wooden frame that held the targets as real the good firers would simultaneously try to score enough points to qualify all the while trying to shoot out the sides of the frame and watch it fall down into the pit. This was a great source of laughter and humor for the firers, but invoked the wrath of the First Sergeant and the range safety officer, and there was usually hell to pay for that.  And then there was always the heavy, thick grease that continually had to be applied to the target apparatus to get them to go up and down.

This was the view toward the targets from the firer's perspective.  Obviously there were no trees in the way back then.

This shows where the pit crew would sit while the firers had at it.  The dirt mound in front and the cement wall were there to keep them safe, but not necessarily clean.

This was the view from the pit crew out toward the firers.

Even though these were long, dirty weekends, they were some of my fondest memories.  I was really a pretty good shot and really enjoyed outshooting most of the others in our company.  I have to admit I couldn't outshoot our OPNS SGT (Barney) with the pistol, but I got even when it came to the rifle.  I also liked being in the field, and this was pretty much the start of my passion for always taking my troops to the field when I was a company and battalion commander. 

I know this method of firing was not very efficient, but it really taught a number of troops how to fire their assigned weapons. It taught us how to make each round count, and not to just "spray" rounds downrange hoping to hit something. 

But even more than that, it built unit cohesion and team work.  In those days, after a weekend at the range or in the field, you felt like you had accomplished something, you felt more like a unit, more like a team.  You got to know each other better and knew each others strengths and weaknesses and knew how to get things done --  both by the book and by the common sense method.  This was where many a soldier came to know his craft.

George Patton once said “...It is a proud privilege to be a soldier – a good soldier … [with] discipline, self-respect, pride in his unit and his country, a high sense of duty and obligation to comrades and to his superiors, and a self confidence born of demonstrated ability.”

If you've been there, you kinda know what this means.

Hooah

Charleston, #1...

One of the main reasons why I think people go to Charleston is to look at the gardens, the homes, the old churches and the cemeteries, and to take in the charm and "sense of the South" about all of it.  Sure, there are beaches and golf courses, and all sorts of displays and museums, but I'm of the opinion that without all the Southern Charm of it all, the rest could just as well be in Iowa somewhere.

We began our exploration of tghe area in probably the most typical way -- the narrated carriage ride.  This way, we get an overall feel of the area and get a feeling for where the best gardens, churches and other such places are.  We also picked out a couple of eating places we would visit and made note of the Market and added it to the list of intended stops.  So off we went.

OK.  So now that we have taken the carriage ride, which, by the way, was very informative, we know where we want to go to see the things on our list.

First, let's look at the churches and graveyards.  There were several really old churches in Charleston (by the way, it was originally called Charlestown but that was changed after the Revolution because the residents didn't want to have anything else to do with the crown) and it was really neat to go inside them.  The one in particular had individually owned pews which were sectioned off with wooden sides and fronts.  They were purchased when the church was built and passed down through the families for centuries. I think they said any new families or guests to the church would sit in the balcony area until one became available to purchase or they stopped coming to the church.  All the little pews had brass plates on them with the family name on it and some had several generations of family names listed.  I'm not sure how I felt about this, but it sure gave me the sense of history and sure would have been of benefit to anyone doing a family genealogy.

Of course all these churches had grand old cemeteries  on the grounds.
One church said they didn't discriminate against new and "old" Charlestonians when it came to burials.  However, they did point out that all the "old family" Charlestonians were buried in the grave yard by the church, and anyone new to town (I assume any family who came since the Civil War) was buried on the other side of the street in the "new" cemetery.

In any event, on both sides of the street there were headstones dating back to the late 1600s and a whole bunch (obviously) dated around the time of the Civil War.  It was really interesting seeing tombstones of  signers of the Declaration of Independence, and the articles of cessation from the US.  What a trip back thru history.  We were there somewhat toward the end of the day and at 5:00 the bells would ring in the church towers -- what a sombre sound.  We also were in the area after dark as we took one of the local "ghost tours" which had to include a walk-thru of a cemetery.  After all, where else would the ghosts of Old Charleston hang out.


The second big thing on our list was the canvasing of the city's houses and gardens.  This was not only very educational, but also informative of the style of life some in this town lived in the late 1800s before the War.  Many of these houses are for sale today because, I imagine, they are so expensive to maintain and there are so many regulations ranging from how to cut the grass, trim the bushes, and what colors and type of paint can be used, inside or out.  But one of the things we learned on the carriage ride was that the homes of the VERY wealthy (or wanna-be wealthy) all had a big granite slab in front of the house which would allow the ladies to get out of the carriage without getting their nice shoes in the clay of the road or the horse poop which was such a problem back then.  After all, as was pointed out by the tour guide, no self-respecting lady of wealth in the south would be able to attract a gentleman suitor with horse poop on her shoes and the bottom of her dress!

Here are some of the nicer gardens.  The pictures don't do them justice and you don't get a real good look because of the gates, but these will give you the idea.

One other area I really enjoyed was the Battery Park area.  Unfortunately I do not have a picture of this huge Southern Oak which took up most of the whole end of the park.  I had to borrow this from the internet so you would have an idea of the size of these trees and how they spread out a canopy over this whole park area.  This really looked like "Old South."

So those were the main things on our tour of Charleston.  There were the multicolored houses and some of the historical buildings of the Old Charleston area (dating back to the times after the Revolution), but I will have to put them in another entry as this one is getting to the limit of my fingers to type and your seat to sit and read.

Being Southern isn't talking with an accent...or rocking on a porch while drinking sweet tea, or knowing how to tell a good story. It's how you're brought up -- with Southerners, family (blood kin or not) is sacred; you respect others and are polite nearly to a fault; you always know your place but are fierce about your beliefs. And food along with college football -- is darn near a religion. (Jan Norris)

Hooah

Charleston, #2...

Our motel while at Charleston was the Marriott Courtyard Charleston Waterfront located on the river.  It was your typical Courtyard, but the location was pretty nice.

One other convenience about this place was its proximity to the Historic Center area.  We were only about 5 min. driving to get down to the center of the town and it was basically only one street to get there.

If looking at expensive boats is your thing, then this place was a must stay on your list.  The marina which can be seen in the pictures above was quite nice.  I think I have only seen one such place before that would top this and that was the Washington boat yard (not sure that is the name of it).  But then again, as I have said many times before, nothing in Washington is real and certainly the size and cost of some of those boats is totally unreal.  I bet they don't get as good of gas mileage as Miss Pam, my little fishing boat we "cruise" around in on Lake Loramie.

Of course, Lake Loramie isn't as big as these waters.  While we were out on the beach, the tide was coming in.  We were standing out on a sand bar and very shortly after getting out there and staying pretty dry, I mentioned to Pam that we should begin to work our way back to the beach or we would soon be surrounded by water and probably real wet.

We made it back and took the time to send Quinn a happy birthday sand card as well as greetings to the whole family.

We also found a little path that led from the beach over the dunes to some "cottages."  It is hard to call a 4-bedroom, two story house a cottage, but that is what they called them.  A couple of the locals were also walking by and we talked to them for a while.  They were the ones who took this picture.

So that was our afternoon at the beach -- very relaxing, very scenic. 

While I was standing out there on the sand bar, one thing I couldn't help but wonder was what the kids who were here around the 1600s did and thought of when they were standing out here.  I suppose they were too busy to so this, and maybe they were just too wary of pirates or Indians, but I wondered if they scratched names in the sand, or just relaxed and walked around, looking out over the ocean toward their former home country. 

And maybe more interesting is the idea that whatever it was that they were thinking is probably the same thing others over the centuries have thought, maybe the same as what I think today.  When we go to the beach with Quinn, I wonder if he too thinks the same things and is beginning to marvel at the vastness of it all, and begins to understand his place in it.

For whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
it's always ourselves we find in the sea.( e.e. cummings)

Hooah

What a beautiful day for a walk in the park...

Well, actually it was two days, this past Sunday and Monday, because they were both such beautiful days and the park was really very colorful.  The temperatures were in the low 70s and the sun and blue sky were what we called in the flying business "severe clear."

Arriving at the park, we were greeted by a long lane with explodingly colorful trees on one side and a lake on the other. Even with an HD chip in the camera, these pictures don't do justice to the colors.

We used to bring our old lab, Bailey, over here and walk her.  She absolutely loved the place, with all its smells and things that dogs pay attention to -- squirrels, scents, creeks, frogs and the like.  There were also lots of people taking pictures.  Some were professional photographers taking family pictures, some were taking senior pictures and some taking pictures of young couples that might be used in a wedding slide show.  In fact, I ran into a gentleman who said he recognized me.  He said he was on one of our Vet's trips with his mom and dad.  He said they still talk about that trip.


 I think even mother nature knew there would be days like this and she knew that people would be "standing or parking."  Kinda took matters into her own hands, and the local authorities were smart enough to know that this was the way it should be.

We walked a lot of the trails, ones we never even knew were there.  They have paved walking and bike riding paths as well as nature trails.  All in all, there are 35 acres there, land that was donated and began as a girl scout camp.  In fact, some of the old buildings of the camp are still there and one could only guess at how much fun they all had there in those days.

Well just about everywhere we walked we were treated to marvelous colors.  But even for all that, it was remarkable how well maintained the park was.  There were many, many new shelters built, with new picnic tables under them.  The paths were well maintained and free from debris and fallen trees or limbs.  It is very impressive. 

I believe that there is a subtle magnetism in Nature, which, if we unconsciously yield to it, will direct us aright.  (Henry David Thoreau)

God reveals His glory not in the Bible alone, but on trees and flowers and clouds and stars.

I also ran into this beautiful young lady who just happened to be sitting on a bench on one of the trails.  Sure was my lucky day.  And then I saw her sitting by this big rock.  Lucky twice in one day!

So all in all, it was a really great two days. I thought you might like to see more of the pictures from those two days, so I included them in a slide show and they are playing on the right-hand column, down near the bottom.  Enjoy.

I love to think of nature as an unlimited broadcasting station, through which God speaks to us every hour, if we will only tune in.  (George Washington Carver)


Hooah

A good weekend with friends...

Last weekend we had a reunion of my old MP battalion.  What a great time to see some old friends and catch up on what has been happening with them since we were last in uniform together.

On Friday night we were hosted by the Gahanna Ohio VFW  for a social.  There were 12 people in attendance we had a real laid-back gathering.  Most of the guys looked pretty good albeit a bit older.  Some looked pretty much like they did in the old days, but some looked a bit different -- lost hair, gray hair, maybe a pound or five too much.  But it was a good time and kicked off the weekend.

A couple of "off duty" MPs dropped by Friday evening.

Saturday's golfing outing was held at The Bent Tree Golf Course.  It was a pretty nice track and in pretty good shape.  Despite the off and on rain which covered us throughout the day, we played pretty well.  There were 7 of us and we had a real good time.

The dinner was held at the 94th Aero Squadron located on the grounds of the Columbus airport.  It is a really nice place -- an old French chateau that is made to look like it is back in the WWI era.  They have the whole inside decorated with antique pictures, and "things" from that time.  The 94th Aero Squadron was Eddie Rickenbacker's squadron, and the Rickenbacker name lives on in this area at the Rickenbacker Air National Guard Base.  I kidded people that it takes about a half an hour to go to the bathroom because you spend that much time just looking at all the pictures and displays.

The food was great and we had 33 people attending.

Bart served as the emcee for the evening.  He says he could still fit in his Blues!

There were a couple of guys who missed the dinner, but we raised one to their health.  The agenda called for drinks at 6:30 and dinner from 7-10.  The evening didn't break up until after 11:00 and that was only because the restaurant wanted to get the place cleaned.  Otherwise, we would probably have gone on for a while longer.  I am sure it would have if the patio had been open and it had stopped raining.

As I looked around the room that night and thought of all the things I/we had done together throughout our military careers, it struck me that we had seen and made history all the while.  Not the same kind of history as they did in World Wars I and II, and not the kind that was done in Korea or Vietnam.  But ours was also something to think about, reflect on, grieve about in some cases, and laugh about in others.  While some of our history was made as Reservists, and some on active duty, it was the story of our nation over the past 40-some years.  Our fingerprints, especially in the MP Corps, were on everything from the Cuban refugee crisis to the cold war, to the horrors of 9/11 and two wars that came from that day.  So what a treat it was to sit down with those who actually did it.  None of these guys and gals was bragging, or pounding their chests.  Rather, they were just happy to be in the company of others who understood what they did, appreciated it and now live with their memories and nightmares.  I suspect that our fathers had times like this after their wars -- times they thought they weren't special or heroes, but just glad to have been through it and able to spend time with their "buddies."

We plan to do this again in two years.  We'll open it up to more members of the battalion and hope to see more of our friends.  Until then...

The purpose of life is not to be happy - but to matter, to be productive, to be useful, to have it make some difference that you have lived at all.  (Leo Rosten)

Hooah

But then the team lost...

Well, it was that time of year again, time to make the drive to Athens for Homecoming.  It was forecasted to be a beautiful weekend and since the trees here were starting to turn, it was a pretty good bet that they were also taking on their fall colors all along Route 33. So off we went. 

The drive isn't that bad, and the traffic was pretty light at that time of the morning.  Of course, there was always the highly anticipated question -- was the by-pass around Nelsonville going to be open yet.  I had been driving this route off and on since 1968, spending way too much time in Nelsonville, Logan and Lancaster.  It seems the town councils of these three towns were quite content with having the snarled traffic messes in exchange for the possibility of additional revenue from food and gas sales and traffic violations.  Well the Logan by-pass came first, then, many years later, Lancaster fell by the wayside.  That was a huge improvement and left only the Nelsonville snag to be overcome.  This was a very big undertaking because it had to be carved out of the Wayne National Forest and I'm sure there were all kinds of natural and environmental challenges.  But lo, and behold, when we got to the usual turn off which took all of the anxious travelers back thru the home of Rockey Boots, we just kept on going -- it was now completed and open !!

This is no exaggeration -- it took almost 20 minutes off the trip each way.  Congratulations to those who were involved in this highway project.  What an improvement.  Now, those who wish to stop off in Nelsonville can do so without all the aggravation of OU travelers.  What a beautiful drive in southern Ohio.

Now, back to the trees.  They were not as far along as their northwest Ohio cousins.  There were spots of color, but nothing like what I expected.  Pam and I are planning to drive back down in a few weeks to ride the Nelsonville train so maybe they will be much prettier then.

We made it to Athens and were in for a treat.  There is quite a bit of construction going on -- building new dorms, taking down old buildings (the Natatorium,  the old Baker Center building, and many others are all gone) and putting up new ones like the new all-weather practice facility being built right next to Pedan stadium, and many others on the West and South Greens.  Of course, traffic was a mess, but we were still able to get a parking place down by the golf course. 

We walked up town and visited the book stores, and purchased our yearly supply of OU stuff.  Prices are about the same.  And the places were all real crowded.  One refreshing thing, however, was that as you couldn't help but bump into people, the you younger people were very quick with an "excuse me," or "pardon me."  On several occasions, this was accompanied with a "sir."  I didn't think it was that obvious that I was 3 or 4 times older than they were.  Gray hair must have given me away.  I certainly don't think of myself that way.  Anyway, that was refreshing.

 So on to the game.  The alumni band played and the sun came out.  Both were hot.  Unfortunately the team wasn't.  But the Bobcats had fought back and had control of the game.  They were leading and the defense had found a way to stop the Central Michigan running backs -- finally.  It was just under 3 minutes to go, the Bobcats had forced the CMU team to two plays of no consequence.  I thought this was our day.  At this point I really had to go to the bathroom, so I got up and went to the men's room.  I heard a big roar and figured they stopped their opponent's again and were going to get a put that would signal the end of the game.  

All of a sudden, my mind flashed back to a Cincinnati Reds game this past summer when I heard one of the radio broadcasters, Chris Welch, say that when it comes to a tight place in a game, one needs to continue doing whatever you were doing and don't change anything or do anything different until the game or the tight spot is over.  Otherwise, you will jinx it and bad things will happen.  I should not have gone to the bathroom!  The Bobcat who was back to receive the punt, dropped it and the CMU players recovered it.  Of course they took the ball in and scored the winning touchdown with only 22 seconds left in the game.  My fault. 

Here we are -- standing here trying out this camera on the phone.  Everyone else is pretty much gone, the alumni band is playing, and the team lost. I hope the rest of the people don't know it was my fault!

The drive home was uneventful, but it sure was nice to drive once more over the new section of Rt. 33 around Nelsonville.  Don't know if I would have been very patient sitting in another traffic jam next to the Rocky Boot outlet store.

Homecoming is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose. 

Hooah