Christmas

Last night Carol and I put up our Christmas tree and decorated it. She is very familiar with my bah humbug attitude toward Christmas. She asked why I hated Christmas. I thought about how to answer that as I was walking Rose and Lily this morning. You can do a lot of thinking when you are on a long walk.

I don't hate Christmas it is more that I am disappointed in what Christmas has become. It seems to be the one holiday where the fullness of our excess is on display. When I was young we spent Thanksgiving as a family. The only people who had to work were folks like police, firemen, prison guards and hospital workers. All the stores were closed so that everyone could spend the day with their family and reflect on how thankful they were for what they had. Now it seems that we spend less time being thankful for what we have and more time trying to figure out what else we want. I'm not talking about things like a more inclusive society or peace with others. It's about how much more crap we can stuff into our homes. Maybe we have so much we need a storage unit for the excess. We rush through our Thanksgiving meal so we can go out shopping or get on line and buy stuff. Can't miss out on those deals. Can't we take a day and be thankful for what and who we have in our lives?

It seems to me that modern Christians want to celebrate the birth, death and resurrection of Jesus while they ignore everything he tried to teach them about how to live. Pastors stand behind the pulpit and preach that if you give more money to them you will be rewarded with more money for yourself. The so called prosperity doctrine. The first part is true. If you give them more money they will have more. Then they claim to need things like expensive jet planes so they can reach more sinners. It seems the logic they use has seeped into our politics. If you don't have money, a nice house and car it must be your fault. You are doing something God doesn't like. It couldn't possibly be anything else. So many in politics believe you are poor because you are a sinner, or of poor character, or just plain lazy. None of those may have any basis in reality. Many Christians wear those wrist bands that say WWJD. What Would Jesus Do. It appears for many the answer is that Jesus wouldn't give a shit about you. They got theirs because of their faith and you didn't get anything because you don't have enough faith. It is like those who claim to heal by faith. They lay hands on you and pray for your healing. At the end of the prayer they say that your faith has made you whole. You die a week later from that cancer that was eating you up just like the doctor said would happen. The faith healer says that you died because you didn't have enough faith to claim the healing God had for you.

So simply put my Christmas problem is twofold. We lack thankfulness for what we have while we shamelessly pursue more stuff. We celebrate the birth of Jesus while we spend our time ignoring all the deeds we should be doing that would make us true followers of Christ. Christmas has his name but it has lost his spirit.

Mystery of History

The picture above is one of hundreds I'm working through in totes of family history. I know her name. The back of the picture says she is Margarette Morton of Fairbury, Illinois. A search on Ancestry indicates she was born in Ireland on January 18, 1855 and died on September 25, 1929 in Fairbury, Illinois. She was the daughter of Kathryn Lytle and Edward Morton. There begins my questions. My great great grandfather John Sutor was married to Martha Lytle and emigrated to the United States from Ireland. Was Kathryn Lytle related to Martha Lytle? I can think of no other reason for this picture to be included with all the other family pictures. Why have a picture saved of someone you don't know? She will, for now, remain a mystery.

The two little girls pictured above are even more of a mystery to me. Genevieve Lucy McKenzie was born on July 3, 1896 and died on April 25, 1978. Her sister Gail McKenzie was born on November 12, 1897 and died on April 23, 1976.  It appears from records in 1900 they lived on North Prairie Street in Galesburg. My great grandparents John and Emma were married in 1900. John would have been living on the family farm near Wataga and to the best of my knowledge Emma would have lived on her family's farm near Henderson. In this case I can find no possible common relative. Was Emma a friend of their mother from the time she attended Knox College in the 1880's? It is now and perhaps forever a mystery how this picture ended up in one of the totes. In checking on Ancestry the same picture is available and ensures I am accurate with the birth and death dates of both individuals.

I have in the past advocated for everyone to take a few moments to identify individuals in the pictures they have. It is clear that more than that is actually required. If possible some context for the picture. How do you know them? Why was the picture taken? Why do you have a copy? As you can see, sometimes these pictures survive and we are left with mystery.

Apologize

Recently four United States soldiers were killed in Niger. President Trump made a big deal out of saying he personally calls family members of those killed in action. Okay, that is probably a good thing to do. Difficult, to be sure, but an empathetic effort by our current President. The call to one family went awry somehow. The widow of the fallen soldier was offended by what the President said and how he expressed his sorrow at her husband's untimely passing. I listened to the President's Chief of Staff, John Kelly explain what the President was trying to say. I think the way it was stated by Mr. Kelly most likely would have been acceptable to this soldier's widow. Is that how it was communicated by the President? I am skeptical. He is not known for being empathetic and in my opinion has trouble communicating emotional messages in an acceptable manner. I have never had to do what the President did. I have not had to talk to a grieving pregnant widow about the ultimate sacrifice made by her husband. My experience I think is similar enough to allow some criticism of what the President did. Part of my job working in a prison was to verify the death of someone in an inmate's immediate family. Once that verification had been accomplished it was my responsibility to notify the inmate. I was going out to the housing unit and calling a man down to the office to tell him that his son, mother, father, daughter, or wife had died. No matter how bad my day had been I was acutely aware that his was going to be worse. He often was locked up hundreds of miles away from someone close to him. Someone he thought would be there when he was released. Someone he may have been depending on to help him transition from prison to the free world. Now, that support is gone. How do you tell someone that the woman who raised them was dead? Or their child had perished. I always tried to be brief. "I'm sorry to have to tell you that your mother passed away earlier today." It isn't just the words. It is the tone of voice. The sincerity of the delivery. Many times it was an inmate I did not know. I had almost no background information that would clue me as to how he might react. It was like putting on a blindfold and running into a mine field. You hoped that nothing went horribly wrong. Sometimes, even with your best effort, the result was not what you had hoped. Something in the way it was said or in what they heard didn't sit well. What do you do?

Apologize. It is what the President should have done. Don't try to claim you were right. Don't say the person on the other side is attacking you and trying to make you look bad. The only thing the President should have said was something along these lines. "I called the widow of .... to express my personal sorrow at the loss of her husband in combat and express the gratitude of the nation at the sacrifice her family has made for our safety and freedom. It was not my intent to in any way add to her pain in this time of loss. I was clearly unable to express my sorrow in an appropriate manner and for that I am truly sorry." In cases like this one it doesn't matter what you said or how you said it in your mind. What matters is how the widow heard it. How it made her feel. Attempting to defend what happened only increases her pain and makes you sound like an inconsiderate asshole. Some arguments you can win. Arguments with widows of fallen soldiers is not a winnable argument. Best just to sincerely apologize and perhaps vow to do better the next time. 

Who Killed It?

What is "it"? The it I'm referring to is empathy. When did the situation of our fellow human beings stop being a concern for too many of us? How did it become an us versus them world? I suppose part of getting older is looking back on a past that perhaps never existed in reality. As an older man I look back with fondness on how I think the world used to be. Were we kinder back then? Is the stark and shameful truth something different?

My first thought is that the world has gotten more cruel. Why? How? In my youth if you wanted to call someone out about their conduct, their alleged character flaws, or anything else it was done in person. You had to look them in the eye and say what you thought they needed to hear. You would get feedback in their body language. If you went to far maybe that body language included a well placed punch where those words exited your body. You could see the harm your words were doing. The pain they caused. The anger, tears, frustration were apparent. Now it is different. We communicate on line. We go to Facebook and someone states an opinion we don't see as valid or accurate. We, in many cases, don't know who they are or where they are from. So, emboldened by the fact they are most likely in some distant location, we determine there is no risk to being an asshole. We call them names. We question their intelligence. We make reference to the legitimacy of their birth. We suggest things they should do to themselves with their sex organs. That they should learn to read, or think or that they are just too stupid to live. It may be the only time we ever interact with that person. What do we care if it hurts their feelings? They mean nothing to us. They are just a name or a avatar on a computer screen.

What does that have to do with anything? It seems to me that since it has become so easy to do in the virtual world of our computers it has bled over into our everyday lives. It is and always has been my belief that the world around me is not real to anyone but me. No one else has my experiences. Has my eyes. Has my brain. Hears sounds with my ears. Perception is reality. So your perception is going to be different from mine and therefore your reality is different than the one I experience. When we determine cruelty is acceptable in the virtual world of Facebook or Snapchat or any of a hundred other social media programs it will bleed over into our lives outside those programs. Thoughts become actions, actions become a pattern or conduct, then a habit. We don't realize that slowly over a period of months or years we have killed empathy. I can only see your point of view if you agree with me. Anything that clashes with my reality must be wrong. Since I have lost empathy in the virtual world I cannot summon it in the real world.

What can we do? Maybe it is time to leave social media on the scrapheap of history. Since we are unlikely to do so perhaps this is a better answer. Before you post something snarky or cruel ask yourself a question or two. First question. Would I say this if this person were standing in front of me right now? Second question. How would I feel if they said to me what I am about to say to them? The answer is to bring empathy back to life. Perhaps I'm a dreamer. I want to perceive the world has a kinder and more gentle place. Manners and courtesy. Are they too much to ask for?

Hookers

It may come as a shock to many, especially my Mom who reads this blog, that I am a pimp. I have several hookers and they are proud to work with me. The whole experience started about 2011 on a website called RantsfromMommyland.com. The two ladies who still run the site looked around and saw other mothers who could not afford Christmas gifts for themselves and their children. You know moms always think about their kids first. These two ladies decided to be the go betweens for the mothers who needed help providing Christmas for their children and mothers who had some extra and wanted to help. A mom in need would send in her information and it would be provided to a mother who wanted to help. It was referred to as the hooker project. They were hooking these two groups of mothers up to fill a need. It was a big success and the next year even more moms wanted to participate as givers. As with any project things can get out of hand. The ladies trying to run the project were just overwhelmed with the numbers of moms who wanted to be involved.

One of the ladies I worked with and I participated in the project during these early years. I don't normally talk about charity work because it is best done quietly. When these ladies stopped doing the project the lady I worked with and I decided to continue and do our own thing. Over the ensuing years other women have wanted to get involved and the number of hookers has grown. We do a project or two a year depending on our finances and the need of the person we are helping. While the group isn't large I have not met all the hookers. I remain the sole pimp involved. The only reason I am writing about this today is to encourage anyone who reads to get involved in some way. Everyone knows someone who has a need. Who is desperate for something as small as a kind word or encouragement. Who could use a few groceries to get them through a tough spot. A gas card so they can get to work or a doctor appointment. If the need is big try to get a group together. Sometimes we give to someone that no one in the group knows on a personal level. The recipient almost never knows who provided the gifts other than a pimp and some hookers. We don't do it for acknowledgement from them we do it because it needs to be done. The world is harsh, sometimes even cruel. Somewhere along the line we seem to have forgotten that each of us has a responsibility to reach out to our fellow human beings. To pick them up, brush the dust off and let them know that there is kindness and good in this world. I hope each of you will look out in your corner of the world and find someone you can help.

FIRM

What a difference a year makes. Last year it was hurricane Matthew. The majority of damage done by Matthew was vegetative. This year it was hurricane Irma and most of the damage was residential due to rain and storm surge.

This picture is the north beach parking lot which was filled with debris from Matthew. The light brown pile just past the buildings is trees that have been mulched. The two piles to the right are tree debris that still needed to be mulched.

The picture above is from next door to the fire station. It is household debris from Irma. This picture does not do the pile any justice. We went by there today and the pile is at least twice as large as this picture. Higher and extends out into the gravel driveway.

You might be wondering what the title FIRM has to do with this post. FIRM means Flood Insurance Risk Map. Houses in a flood zone are either pre-FIRM or post-FIRM. Pre-FIRM houses were built or substantially remodeled prior to December 31, 1974.  Post-FIRM houses were built or substantially remodeled after that date. So what the hell does that mean? We will use our house as an example. It sits three feet above sea level. Mean flood level for us is 11 feet. My understanding is that represents our house has a 1% risk of flooding in any year. More simply stated it would take a 100 year flood event to cause flood damage to our house. So at three free above sea level our first occupied floor must be a minimum of 8 feet above that. Many of the older homes on the island are on ground level. They are the beach cottages that give this place much of its charm. Last year many of them flooded due to the storm surge from Matthew. The storm surge from Irma was lower but the rain total was higher. The rain that fell couldn't move out into the ocean so it backed up into the marshes that surround the island. So more homes flooded this year. Strangely enough we got some minor flooding under the house last year. It was about 8 inches of water. This year we had no flooding. Don't ask me why. I don't understand what happened. Many of those who flooded when Matthew came through were just getting finished with repairs and getting back into their homes. Irma destroyed all that progress and set them back where they were a year ago. What does that mean?

If you noticed above post-FIRM homes were built or substantially remodeled after December 31, 1974. If your house was pre-FIRM you have rules. What does substantially remodeled mean? If the structure of your house is valued at $200,000 then during a 12 month period you are allowed to make repairs or improvements with a value of no more than 50% of the house value. In this example $100,000. If you exceed that value your home must comply with the post-FIRM requirements. That means your house that was on ground level must be raised above the 100 year flood level. So, many of those folks who houses were damaged last year and required extensive repairs are going to have to repair them again. They are going to run into this 50% rule. They will have two choices. Delay repairs past the 12 month period or raise their house to comply with post-FIRM requirements.

So when you sit back and look at this think about the human suffering. There had not been this kind of damage here since sometime in the 1990's. No one here remembers it happening two years in a row. When you look at the debris pile from this year it is beds, sofas, chairs, dishwashers, mattresses, drywall, hardwood flooring, rugs, and a variety of other household goods. The toll in human suffering is so much greater. I see what happened here and cannot imagine the level of suffering in Puerto Rico. They need more than our thoughts and prayers. So, if you can, donate.

Trickle Down or Trickle On

I'm not done with gun control quite yet but I need more time to get my thoughts in order. This time I want to move on to taxes. We all in some form or another pay taxes. Income taxes on the money we make at our job or in our business. Sales taxes when we buy goods. Excise taxes, road use taxes, property taxes, it really is amazing how many different ways the government has managed to reach into our pockets and grab some money. It is surprising at times that there is anything left in our pockets aside from the lint that seems to gather in the corner. I'm sure if the government determined it had value they would find some way to tax it as well.

Congress is currently looking at ways to overhaul the tax code. I will agree the current federal income tax system has gotten far to complicated. I have gone to the mailbox a few times to find a letter from the Internal Revenue Service telling me I have made a mistake on my tax forms. The good news for me is that those letters have never resulted in me having to send more money. I had reported the correct amount of income and paid the proper amount of tax. My error was reporting said income on the wrong form. So, from where I sit, a less complicated tax code would be a welcome change. I don't mind paying my fair share. Life has been pretty kind to me and it is my duty as a citizen to pay taxes. There are children to educate, roads to build and maintain, food and shelter for the less fortunate, medical care for the aged and infirm. My concern is the ongoing bullshit story called trickle down economics. Basically the argument is that if we give rich folks and corporations more money they will invest and hire more of us less fortunate to work. While it is an interesting idea, it doesn't work that way. Here is why.

Jeff Bezos is the big cheese with Amazon. In August 2016 Forbes reported his net worth was 66.2 billion dollars. In August 2017 they reported he was worth 81.7 billion dollars. So in a year his net worth had increased 15.5 billion dollars. In more manageable terms each day for that year his net worth increased by $42,465,753. If you would prefer monthly, every month his wealth increased by almost 1.3 billion dollars. For the purposes of my argument I will treat his income as though it were wages from a job. It isn't and realistically will not be taxed the way I am going to show. He will pay less tax. Most likely much less. If that 1.3 billion dollars a month was taxed at the current maximum rate of 39.6% he would have a monthly tax bill of 511 million dollars. This would leave him a net income of about 780 million dollars. If the tax rate is dropped to the proposed 35% his tax bill would drop to 452 million dollars a month and his net income would rise to 839 million dollars. Our economy is built on consumption. People buy goods and services and industry buys more raw materials and machines to provide those consumer goods. So, is Jeff Bezos going to spend 839 million dollars every month on goods and services or raw materials and equipment for his businesses? I think not. He will invest the money or perhaps hide a substantial portion off shore to avoid taxes.

How would the system work better for everyone even Mr. Bezos? Would I raise his taxes? Maybe. Would I lower taxes on middle and lower income folks? Yes. This is why. Look at rent, utilities, groceries, fuel, clothing and all the other expenses it takes to raise a family. If you provide a raise in the minimum wage to $15 per hour you allow those folks some more money. It is not money like Mr. Bezos has. It is money that will go back into the economy. They will buy cars, furniture, clothes, household goods. Those dollars spent will result in more jobs. More folks working and paying taxes. Less folks working and still qualifying for food stamps and medical cards from the government. I can hear folks complaining now. Those kids flipping burgers at McDonalds don't deserve more money than that EMT working in an ambulance, or that soldier fighting in some far off land. They should see a raise as well. The economy is not built from the top down. It is built from the bottom up. The poor spend what they get and it moves the economy forward. Let's jump back to Mr. Bezos again for just a minute. If he took his monthly net income and bought houses valued at $250,000 , every month he could buy 3,120 houses. He isn't going to do that. If folks at the lower end of the income scale were given the opportunity they would buy homes. They would build homes. So, the rich like Jeff can afford to pay the taxes they are paying now. The minimum wage should be raised and taxes at the lower end should be reduced to flow more money into the economy. It will work and the economy will grow.

Here is the problem. It won't happen. The guys with the money get to talk to the guys who set the tax rates and determine the minimum wage. They don't want to share the pie. It reminds me of this story. There were 10 cookies on a table. Seated at the table was a businessman, a laborer and an immigrant. The businessman grabbed 9 of the cookies and turned to the laborer and said, "You better watch out that guy is going to take your cookie." That my friend is trickle down economics. We sit on the floor and fight over the crumbs that fall from their table. Like George Carlin said, "It's a big club and you're not in it."

Thoughts and Prayers

Once again I am going to hop on my gun control soap box. Las Vegas, so far our worst modern mass killing. Don't worry folks someone out there is planning a bigger and better killing spree. What do our representatives in Congress offer as a solution? Their thoughts and prayers are with those wounded and with the families of the slain. How about this? Fuck you and your thoughts and prayers. While we are on the subject of your ineffective response to these mass killings, maybe you could take your moment of silence and stick that up your ass. Something must be done and the answer is not more guns. The answer also is not found in you folks in Congress crawling back to the NRA and begging for more money and supportive campaign ads so you can be reelected to do nothing. You all seem to claim to be people of faith. That got me thinking. In the Bible, you know that book you set your hand on to take the oath of office and ignore the rest of the time. Well, in the book of James, chapter two verses 14 through 18 read like this.

      "What good is it, my brothers, if someone says he has faith but does not have works? Can
      faith save him? If a brother or sister is poorly clothed and lacking in daily food, and one of you
      says to them.'Go in peace, be warmed and filled.' without giving them the things needed for the
      body, what good is that? So also faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead. But someone
     will say, "You have faith and I have works." Show me your faith apart from your works, and I
     will show you my faith by my works."

So your thoughts and prayers have no impact if you don't follow them up with works. The question becomes this. What should those works be?

President Ronald Reagan, hardly a liberal, stated the following. "I do not believe in taking away the right of the citizen for sporting, for hunting, and so forth, or for home defense. But I do believe that an AK-47, a machine gun, is not a sporting weapon or needed for the defense of a home." There was an assault weapon ban in effect in the United States from 1994 to 2004. It was challenged repeatedly in the courts but all challenges were rejected. The question is not the legality of such a ban but the political will to pass one into law again. It appears at this time there is no stomach for such bold action in Congress. After Columbine, Aurora, Newtown and Orlando we were told "now is not the time" to debate gun laws. I suspect that the same thing will happen in response to Las Vegas. When is the time? The day of the Las Vegas mass murder was the 275th day of 2017. We have had 273 mass shootings this year. That is defined as a shooting with at least 4 persons wounded or killed in a single incident. If we are waiting for a lull in the shooting we are never going to do anything.

I go back in my mind when these mass shootings take place and think about the 20 children and 6 adults murdered at Sandy Hook School in Newtown. Twenty children. No child was older than seven years of age. Our representatives in Congress managed of offer thoughts and prayers. What the hell, let's throw in a moment of silence just to extend the charade that we actually care what happens. Twenty children dead. We did nothing. Sorry Las Vegas 59 dead and over 500 injured. You will get thoughts and prayers from Washington. A visit from the President. The news will die down in a week or two. Congress will move on to what is really important to them- cutting taxes on the corporations and rich folks who get them elected. The only time they pretend to care about you is when they need you to vote. Their corporate overlords and donors are buying your vote with misleading ads. So sit back and watch while they take away your health care, your ability to join a union and fight for better wages and benefits. But by God you get to keep your guns and those fellas in the NFL are going to stand for the anthem. So who cares about that other stuff?

As for me, fuck your thoughts and prayers. I don't want or need them. If that is all you have to offer me as my representative in Congress, state or local government you should just shut your stupid fucking mouth.

Off to School

Born in the 1950's I head off to first grade in September 1960. No kindergarten for me. It is your first real experience being away from your family for a hours. You are under the supervision of an adult you do not know. Growing up in the country on a farm you don't have neighbor kids to play with so your experiences with other children is limited. Now you sit in a classroom with 20 to 30 other boys and girls. Wataga Grade School was divided into two locations. First, Second and Third grades were in the building on the north end of town near the little league baseball field. Fourth, Fifth and Sixth grades were located in the old Wataga High School on the south end.

Mom, being a saver, had my first grade report card and all the others through grade 6.

I learned one thing rather quickly, Florence Rewald was a wonderful lady and a great teacher. I would learn later in my academic career that you never ever never wanted to go to see Principal Charlotte Olson.

I find it interesting that Miss Rewald felt I need improvement in the following areas:
"Appreciate rights and opinions of others"
"Listen carefully"

She appears to feel she has had some success in getting me to listen since the beginning of the school year. The need to listen and behave well in school would be reinforced by some parental intervention.

Second quarter would show a trend that would continue even to present day. "Complete work on time" has always needed improvement. Procrastination is strong in this one.

Along with procrastination is my early love of books. I have always enjoyed reading. I don't understand people who graduate from high school and never read another book.

Off to second grade I go.

Our granddaughter Audrey wants to be a teacher. She had the following conversation with her father on Saturday.
"I'm going to live at home when I go to college. I don't want to stay in a stupid dorm, I'm too cheap to get an apartment and I have lived here all my life. Seriously what is there to learn to be a teacher? I have been in school all my life. Like seriously. I hope I don't have to take like high math. Like I'm really going to teach first grade. I don't need high math. But seriously what is there for me to learn?  I am going to take the same thing for like 4 years. Can I talk to like the President about this? Who even runs this thing?!?"

Audrey, I hope you are a great a first grade teacher as the one I had way back when,

Time for Surgery

We stopped yesterday with the revelation that I had a hernia that required surgery. Here is what the doctor said at my next visit.

I have nasal congestion and my eyes don't look completely normal so surgery is postponed a week. My Mom's handwritten notes below show I will go to the hospital on Sunday and have surgery on Monday. I am three and a half years old so I have little memory of any of this experience. I remember coming home from the hospital and Dad telling my older brother not to punch me in the stomach or jump on me. We were boys and that is the kind of things brothers do to each other. While I can't remember if we actually followed his direction I suspect we did. Dad didn't often demand much but when he did you most assuredly listened and complied.

The next doctor note is from June 1959. I imagine that I had doctor appointments between 1957 and 1959 but I don't have those notes.

In the world of doctor talk I have moved from sturdy to husky to chunky. The doctor notes my tonsils are moderately enlarged and not real healthy. In the 58 years since that visit I have been to other doctors about my tonsils. The doctor in 1959 said they were not real healthy. Well maybe not but I still have them. I still wear special shoes and I hope even today, all these years later, I have a little spring in my gait. My next visit things take a turn. Remember I grew up on a farm and apparently viewed dirt as a food group.

We have again moved from chunky to "above average in height and weight". Dear Doctor Dayton just can't use the word fat. My general physical condition is good aside from the worms. Time for enemas and medication. I don't remember any of this and quite frankly I am glad. When my Mom gave me this note a couple of weeks ago she said I might not want to include this one in the blog. Those of you who know me are confident it would be included. You get my truth even when it is less than flattering. This is the last note I have prior to beginning school in September 1960. We will get into that on my next post.

This is the final doctor note. I have completed first grade and I'm back at the doctor with a mild skin infection.

The only other incident I remember did not involve an injury while waiting for the school bus one morning when I was in grade school. Kids are clumsy and I was certainly no exception. I fell and dislocated my thumb. It was an ugly injury. Dad called the doctor and asked what to do. He was instructed to have someone pull my thumb outward while the other person shoved it back in joint. Grandpa was called over and assisted while I screamed bloody murder. A Popsicle stick was taped on both sides of my thumb and the entire process was completed before the school bus arrived. Yes, back in those days a dislocated thumb was no reason to miss a day of school.

In the Beginning- Doctor Visits

My story resumes about where we left off yesterday. It is just past my first birthday and it is time to see Dr. Dayton.

There are a couple of things to note here. It starts with "Jeff has made another big gain in weight and although he has not gained very much in height he is still tall." We will see other terms used by the good Doctor in future visits. The second thing of note is the fact that polio vaccine will be available soon. It had to be such a relief to parents that a vaccine had been developed to protect their children from this crippling disease. By the time Carol and I had our children it wasn't anything you even thought about. My baby book notes that I took my first step in February 1955, I was walking well in April that year and by May I was all over the yard. My first haircut happened in Oneida on May 2, 1955.

The next doctor note I have is September 26,1955. I have gained in weight and height but I check out well so the good doctor does not seemed too concerned.

In December 1956 I'm back at the doctor. I'm no longer the younger brother of Jay. I am the middle child caught between older brother Jay and younger brother David. I'm also flat footed and need leather arch supports in my shoes. I don't remember having special shoes but then again I remember very little of my early years. I apparently was too busy playing and eating dirt.

Here the doctor gets a little more realistic about me. "Jeff is a big, husky youngster." Even back then they were hesitant to call you fat. I have a hernia that requires surgery and I need special shoes. I have become a doctors dream. This kid needs stuff and the doctor has bills to pay. We will pick up the story tomorrow.

In the Beginning- Pictures

I'm going to start with my name. Jeffrey- I don't know why perhaps just a desire to stay with names that begin with the letter J. My middle name is from a Navy buddy of my Dad's. Charles A. Owens. They left off the s on the end of his name so my middle name is just Owen. Here is the Western Union telegram he sent in response.

He was apparently pleased.

Mom and I arriving home from the hospital in March 1954.

This is me in July 1954.

Again in July 1954. Remember this is around the doctor referred to me as "sturdy".  The next picture will show why I look sturdy.

My baby book says my older brother Jay liked to feed me. At seven weeks he was trying to feed me graham crackers and cheese.

Babies have only three things to do. Eat, sleep and poop. I have nailed at least two of the three jobs in this picture.

My first birthday. My baby book says the cake had orange frosting. My favorite color- orange. Is there a connection????

Spring 1955.

Spring 1955. I'm not sure which dog that is in the background. It is something I remember from my childhood. Dogs. There were always dogs on the farm. Sometimes lots of dogs. Lots like 20.

I'm really happy in this picture. Why not? Outside playing in the yard with your brother and your Mom. The tractor on the ground appears to have suffered a roll over accident. My baby book says I got a toy tractor for my first birthday. Most likely it is the one pictured. Toys were made to last back then. I think if I looked around the house where I grew up it is there waiting to be played with again.

In the Beginning

Everyone has a story. I'm going to tell mine. It's my blog so I get to tell any story I want. This one will be true with a condition. The condition is that it will be the truth as I remember it. Creative license will be taken when the mood strikes.

I was born on Friday, March 19, 1954 at 11:41 in the morning. It was a cesarean birth. Apparently even back then I could be difficult. The attending doctor was F. Gordon Beherents. If you go by the old poem Friday's child is loving and giving. I would like to think there is some truth in that.

If you examine the hospital bill it appears I was a difficult child even before my birth. Mom was in the hospital on March 14th and 15th but I refused to make my anticipated appearance. I found the bill interesting. A week in the hospital, surgery and my care all for a cash discount of $154.40. Clearly a bargain. I see I also had major surgery. It's amazing to me a doctor would do a major operation like a circumcision for three dollars. I know you scoff at my contention it was major surgery. I checked my baby book and the surgery was so serious I was not able to take my first step until February 1955 about 11 months after my major surgery. The good news is that by April 1955 I was walking all over the yard.

The note above is from my first doctor visit. The doctor notes I'm a "sturdy" baby. I would later be referred to as husky.. I was also apparently a hungry boy. Let's cut through the crap here Doctor Dayton. I was a hungry fat little fella.

So here we go. Baby Jeff has made a huge gain in weight according to this doctor note. The solution is to give me more food. I like the answer.

It is now August and I'm getting lots of teeth.

I don't have a note about my first injection but 11-2-1954 is my second.

My last injection for diphtheria, whooping cough and tetanus. I have lots of teeth so let's expand the food choices. Sounds like fum.

I continue to gain weight in a hurry but the good doctor says I'm not really fat. I got my smallpox vaccination and in a year the doctor says I will get my booster injections and the "Dick" test. The year starts with circumcision and when I'm two I have a "Dick" test. The good news is that it wasn't a test of my dick. It involved an injection of 0.1 cubic centimeter of scarlet fever toxin into the skin. A reddening of the skin in an area over 10 millimeters in diameter within 24 hours indicates a lack of immunity to scarlet fever. The test was developed by Doctors George and Gladys Dick. So it is the Dick test.

Quiet

Carol is currently in Georgia enjoying life on Tybee Island. I have some things I need to do at our cabin in the Illinois woodlands. I have told her often in the past that if she died before me I would be a hermit out here. The past week without her has been my test of that claim. Do I miss human contact? Sometimes but honestly most I just miss her. I want to write about the last couple of nights.

Monday night I sat out on the porch for a while just listening. What did I hear? Well usually living near Galesburg and the busy railroad lines I hear the sound of train whistles as they approach and pass through crossings. Monday night there was no sound from another human being. No tires or car noise from someone on our gravel road or the paved county road about a mile away. No sound from airplanes passing overhead. The silence was broken on rare occasion by an owl hooting over to the north in the woods belonging to our neighbor. The sky was clear and the stars shown above. It was lonely and wonderful at the same time. I thought it couldn't get any better.

Tuesday night showed me that I was wrong about Monday. There is something spectacular about nature. Late Tuesday night a thunderstorm blew in. The noise was not human. It was the simple awe inspiring power of this world. There was some thunder but not the type of storm that rattles the windows and shakes you to the depths of your soul. The trees were black against a grey night sky. The wind blew and the rain at times came down in sheets. It was a glorious Midwest thunderstorm. Not the storms we typically see on Tybee Island. Again, with the thunder and the wind bending the trees there wasn't a sound created by another human being. Was it a perfect night? No, because Carol wasn't here with me. We could have been sitting together in silence enjoying the glories this world offers.

So, can I live without other human contact? No. I would rather share those experiences with her. In her absence I would rather experience them alone. So, while we were apart those two nights and many others I can take solace in looking at the night sky and knowing the same stars shine down on both of us. Miles my separate us but the universe will always draw us together.

Circus

I continue to work on scanning my Grandmother's journals. The other day I found this entry from July 1944.

As you can see her journals are a mixture of news and family issues. I was curious about the Hartford Circus fire. It turns out it was one of the worst fire disasters in the history of the United States. It occurred during the afternoon performance of the Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey Circus. The performance was attended by 6,000 to 8,000 persons. The death toll was 167 with over 700 injured.

The background of the disaster is interesting. It was during World War II so the circus had been experiencing shortages of equipment and personnel. The circus arrived in Hartford on July 5, 1944 but was so late arriving that one of the two scheduled shows had to be cancelled. Circus superstition holds that missing a show is extremely bad luck. The July 5th evening show ran as planned. The next day was Thursday and the afternoon crowd was largely women and children. The fire began as a small flame on the southwest sidewall as the Great Wallendas were performing. The circus band lead by Merle Evans began to play The Stars and Stripes Forever as the tune traditionally signaled distress to the circus performers. Ringmaster Fred Bradna tried to tell the audience not to panic and exit the tent in an orderly fashion. The power had failed and the crowd could not hear him. The crowd was in a panic as they attempted to flee. My Grandmother indicated the fire was caused by a carelessly discarded cigarette. This was the belief at the time. The true cause has never been determined. The fiery tent collapsed within eight minutes trapping hundreds of guests under it. How did that happen so fast? A common waterproofing technique of the time used on this canvas tent was a combination of paraffin wax dissolved in gasoline. In this case 1,800 pounds of paraffin wax had been dissolved in 6,000 gallons of gasoline to waterproof the big top. It is considered possible that the death toll was much higher than the 167 noted above. The fire was so intense that some victims may have been cremated leaving little or no trace. In addition some victims left only body parts and some of the circus performers and workers were drifters who would never be reported as missing.

The circus later reached an agreement with the City of Hartford to accept full financial responsibility and pay whatever amount the city requested in damages. By 1954 the circus had paid out over $5,000,000 to 600 victims and families who had filed claims. It is difficult to imagine what the settlement would look like now.

We Wonder

It is one of the constants of the human condition. People involved in the self help community tell us not to do it. They act like they don't. I cannot accept that is true. We all wonder. What if? We make choices every day. Some aren't very consequential or at least don't seem to be at the time. What to have for lunch? Over the years those choices can add on pounds and clog our arteries. When we drive, which way to turn at a fork in the road. Left or right? We went left. What would or could have happened if we went right? We can never know. When you are young you have dreams. Things you plan to do. Jobs you hope to get. How much money you will earn. The car you will drive. Life has a way of dealing with your dreams. Keeping you awake. You lay in your bed at night, look back at the day and wonder. What if? Why did I make that seemingly harmless smart ass remark? Should I have been kinder with my words or deeds? The unfortunate truth, is that for mankind, time is linear. We move forward constantly. No chance of going back and making a change. Words, once spoken, cannot be unsaid or unheard. We can offer our feeble apologies and vow to do better in the future. We cannot, no matter how much we would like to, go backward in time. I often think about people who die in car accidents. It happens in an instant but it is not isolated from the rest of the victims day. Another sip of coffee. A few more strokes of the toothbrush in the morning. A traffic signal that changes to red a second or two earlier. No accident. They are alive. It was as if a perfect storm erupted that day. No going back. So, we make choices every day. We look back and wonder. What if? The choice we didn't make may, in the long term, be worse than the one we made. Knowing all that we still abuse ourselves with the question. What if? I did that often today. I'll do so again tomorrow. It won't change the outcome. It won't fix any problems. I understand that. It won't change what is going to happen in my head tomorrow.

The Rest of the Story

The buoy cable had broken and the Squalus had to be located for the rescue to proceed. The harbor tug Penacook cruised back and forth for hours with a grapnel attempting to snag the Squalus near where the marker buoy had been discovered. It did manage to hook something but no one knew if it was the Squalus or a boulder or something else. Even if it was the Squalus the grapnel was unlikely to be near the escape hatch. The USS Falcon arrived near dawn the next morning with the diving bell lashed to her fantail. It was foggy and the sea was heavy so it took until almost 10 am for the rescue ship to be properly moored.

At 10:15 am Boatswains Mate Martin Sibitsky donned 200 pounds of diving gear. Air hoses and a telephone line were connected to his helmet. He could only spend minutes in the depths as the pressure would force nitrogen into his blood. That could cause strange behavior: blindness, symptoms of drunkenness and unconsciousness. Sibitsky was to attach a half inch steel cable to the escape hatch of the Squalus. Sibitsky was lowered into the water and followed the cable from the Penacook down. When Sibitsky reached the bottom he discovered the Penacook cable had caught on a railing about four feet from the hatch they needed to use to get the men out. Sibitsky spotted the broken cable from the buoy and disconnected it to keep it from interfering with the diving bell. The downhaul cable from the diving bell was lowered and Sibitsky hooked it to the middle of the escape hatch. That simple task took him 22 minutes. It took 40 minutes to return him to the surface and he was placed in a recompression chamber. Lt. Commander Momsen knew there were 33 men alive in the Squalus. He planned to bring them up in four trips with 7, 8, 9 and 9. He was hoping the diving bell would hold 9. The chamber in the bell was 10 feet high and 7 feet wide. It had an upper and lower chamber which could be attached to the submarine with a rubber seal. At 11:30 am Torpedoman's Mate John Mihalowski and Gunner's Mate Walter Harman were loaded into the upper chamber and lowered into the depths. It took half an hour to lower to the Squalus. Mihalowski maneuvered the rescue chamber over the escape hatch and bolted the diving bell to the hatch. They opened the hatch and loaded the first 7 survivors into the bell. The men were chosen by Lt. Naquin, the Squalus commander based on his assessment of who was the weakest. At about 2:00 pm the first seven climbed out of the diving bell onto the deck of the Falcon. On the diving bell's second trip Momsen ordered 8 survivors be brought up. Chief Machinist's Mate William Badders had a different idea. He had operated the bell more than anyone else and was convinced it could handle more men. The bell came back up the second time and Momsen thought it looked too heavy. The rescue would require 5 trips not 4. Nine survivors emerged from the bell. Momsen told Badders he brought up too many men but told him to do it again. The third trip went smoothly and 9 more men arrived on the Falcon at 6:27 pm.

The final rescue began at 6:41 pm and the final 8 men including Lt. Naquin were loaded into it. The bell began to ascend at 8:14 but at 160 feet below the surface it stopped. The steel wire had jammed on the reel. The men would heave the wire to clear it. It did not work. As the men hauled on the wire it began to break apart. The diving bell was gently lowered back to the bottom. Chief Torpedoman Walter Squire was sent down to free the wire. He attempted to unshackle it but it was too taunt. He cut the wire and the freed bell bounced off the Squalus. Torpedoman's Mate Jesse Duncan was sent down to try. His diving suit caught on the frayed wires. As he struggled to free himself he fell onto the diving bell and got entangled in those wires. He was finally freed and hoisted back to the surface. Metalsmith Edward Clayton was sent down and he got entangled in the lines as well. Momsen decided it was too difficult to attach a new wire. They would haul the bell up by hand with the frayed wire. Momsen told McDonald to blow the ballast tank for 3 seconds every time he gave the word. On the Falcon the men took hold of the half broken preventer wire. They pulled but the 21,600 pound bell was too heavy. McDonald was told to blow water out of the ballast tanks for 15 seconds. Six men on deck pulled on the wire. The bell was still too heavy. Another order for a 15 second ballast blow was given. The men pulled again and the bell began to move. Soon the frayed portion of the wire was on the deck and after 4 and a half hours the bell made it to the surface. All 33 Squalus survivors were now safe.

A final effort had to be made to determine if there were any survivors in the torpedo room. They may have been able to close the door and hold back the flood from the engine room. Badders and Mihalowski climbed into the bell again and were lowered to the Squalus. The bell was lowered to the hatch and bolted in place. Badders climbed into the lower chamber and opened the hatch. Water flooded in to his waist until Mihalowski blasted compressed air into the chamber and forced the water back into the submarine. The torpedo room was completely flooded. No one could have survived. The bell returned to the surface. The rescue of the Squalus crew was over.

The Navy wanted to find out what happened and salvage operations began. The Squalus was raised from the bottom on September 13, 1939 and the bodies of 25 men were recovered. One seaman had apparently gotten out of the hatch and his body was never recovered. The Squalus was cleaned out, repaired and recommissioned as the Sailfish in February 1940. The Sailfish sank seven ships during World War 2. The conning tower now serves as a memorial to those who died at the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard. Divers William Badders, James McDonald and John Mihalowski were awarded the Medal of Honor for their efforts.

So, please take time to follow those things that arouse your curiosity. There are lots of great stories out there.

Do You Follow Your Curious Nature?

I am once again in the process of scanning my Grandmother Harriet's journals. Today while scanning I came across an entry dated May 1939 which said only this: "The submarine Squalus sank." Well, one of the hazards of being a history major in college and having a curious mind is being unable to let something like this just pass. The usual questions came to mind. How? Why? Who? What? Well, Google is a wonderful thing. Google revealed an article from the New England Historical Society titled "The Greatest Submarine Rescue Ever: Saving the Squalus."

The date, May 23, 1939. The location, nine miles off the coast of New Hampshire. The USS Squalus had been launched from the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard in September 1937. It was named for a small shark with a big bite. Since the launch the Squalus had successfully completed 18 test dives. No one expected any trouble on this her 19th dive. The sub was commanded that day by Lt. Oliver Naquin. He was in charge of 4 officers, 51 enlisted men and three civilians. At 8:40 in the morning Lt. Naquin gave the order to dive. The submarine began a steep dive but at about 60 feet something went wrong. The Squalus began to level off and the crew in the forward compartments felt a slight flutter. They heard over the battle phone frantic voices in the engine room to take her up. The main air induction valve had either opened or failed to close. The reasons were never discovered. Tons of seawater gushed into the engine room. The crew tried to raise the Squalus. They closed the flooded aft compartments and attempted to close the induction valve. They forced compressed air into the ballast tanks to lift the Squalus to the surface. It was then that torrents of water surged into the forward compartments. The Squalus began to sink to the ocean floor. Chief Electrician's Mate Lawrence Gainor realized water was flowing into the aft battery room. The batteries would short out and explode. He crawled through a narrow opening and turned the first switch to the batteries off. This set off a small lightning storm however he managed to shut the other battery switch off just in time. The submarine went dark. Lt. Naquin ordered the watertight steel door between the operating compartment and the aft battery room closed. Electrician's Mate Lloyd Maness held the door open long enough for eight men to claw their way to safety. The Squalus sat 240 feet below the surface of the ocean. When it failed to surface as scheduled at 9:40 am. Rear Admiral Cyrus Cole was sure the Squalus was in trouble and knew quick action was required. By 11:00 am he had summonded the USS Falcon, a minesweeper stationed in New London, CT and called Washington requesting the Navy's best divers. The situation was dire. No submarine rescue had succeeded in the past at a depth exceeding 20 feet. They were entering uncharted territory.

One of the key figures in this rescue attempt would be Lt. Commander Charles "Swede" Momsen. He was a submarine rescue expert and the head of the Experimental Diving Unit. On the day of the Squalus sinking his unit was completing the final test on the use of mixture of helium and oxygen to prevent decompression sickness or the bends. Momsen had commanded a submarine in 1925 that had made a futile attempt to rescue another submarine that had been struck by a passenger ship. He had vowed to find a way to rescue trapped submarine crews. He had invented an underwater breathing device called the Momsen lung. He had also conceived a diving bell that would be used for the first time to try to rescue the crew of the Squalus.

Inside the Squalus Lt. Naquin ordered the men to stay calm, lie down and not talk. He felt it would do the most to preserve the 48 hours of oxygen he felt they had left. Each man was issued a Momsen lung and reminded how to use it. Soda lime powder was spread on the decks to absorb carbon dioxide. The marker buoy was ordered released from the deck. It was attached by a long cable and had a telephone in it. The letters on the buoy spelled out "Submarine sunk here. Telephone inside."  At 12:55 pm the day after she sank the submarine USS Sculpin recovered the marker buoy and made contact with the Squalus. They learned the high induction was open, the crew compartment and forward and aft engine rooms flooded. It was shortly after that the cable connecting them snapped.

Tomorrow, the rest of the story.

Tybee Yard

Before we left Tybee for Northlandia I took a few pictures of the yard.

Rose decided to get into this picture. She is wearing her Thundershirt. It is designed to comfort dogs when there is a thunderstorm. If we get it on her before it begins storming it works pretty well. If we wait too long it is really tough to get her calmed back down.

Those are little grapefruits. If things go well they should be ripe around Christmas. The tree is more loaded than previous years.

Play Ball

John's youngest daughter Johnnie Lynn turned eight years old in March. She wanted to go see a St. Louis Cardinal baseball game as one of her birthday presents. So on June first we went to an afternoon game to see the Cardinals play the Dodgers. It turned out to be one of those great days to watch a baseball game. The weather was in the low 80's and the sky was overcast. It meant we weren't baking in the St. Louis sun. There are plenty of ways to see a ball game. Bleacher seats, box seats, first base side, third base side, outfield, just lots of choices. I thought it would be fun to sit on the Coca Cola Patio in straight away center field. It had the bonus of having your food and drink included in the price of the ticket. When a beer at the ball park can cost over $10 it seemed reasonable to pay more for the ticket and have those drinks included. Johnnie could have all the Coke products she could drink. Since I like to experience things though Johnnie's eyes I gave her the camera and had her take pictures.

She wanted a picture of her father and grandfather before we left. I'm wearing my Cardinal hat. It is a bit dated since it shows the Cardinals as 9 time World Series champions. They have now won the title 11 times.

Since I paid for the tickets I had John drive our car. So Johnnie wanted a picture while we were on the road.

This is the view of the field we had from our seats. There was only one time during the game we had to stand up to see a play. One of the Dodger players hit a long fly ball to the warning track in center field and we had to stand to see it caught by Dexter Fowler.

The people in white standing along the first and third base lines are members of the United States Navy. The large group behind home plate are new recruits taking the oath and joining the Navy that day. Join the Navy, watch a Cardinal game and off to basic training.

The band pictured above played God Bless America. The group farther away was tasked with singing the national anthem. I know in the recent past there have been individuals who felt compelled to kneel or refused to stand for the national anthem. While I disagree with their manner of protest I do respect their right to do so. There was no protest this day. Everyone stood and respected the playing and singing of the anthem.

Yadier Molina, the Cardinals catcher warms up in the outfield in right field. He stopped his warm up routine to pay his respects to the flag and the anthem.

The game has begun. It turned out to be a low scoring event. Adam Wainright was the Cardinal pitcher. The game ended with the Cardinals winning 2-0. The only runs were scored in the second inning when Wainright hit a two run homer into the left field bullpen. Pretty tough when you have to pitch and drive in all the runs.

There is a story behind every picture. The players pictured here are relief pitchers heading for the clubhouse after the game. One of our friends on Tybee by the name of Mike has a nephew who plays for the Cardinals as a relief pitcher. He was called up from triple A Memphis the day before and I was hoping to get a picture of him on his first day as a major league player with the Cardinals. He has previously played in the majors with the Braves. He, unfortunately, is not in this picture.

So, how did the day turn out? Well, Johnnie says it was the "the best birthday present ever". She's only 8 years old so hopefully the future will hold even better gifts. Having made that disclaimer I think Grandpa hit a home run this year.