The Day…and The War

The Roll Call began:
Henry O. Bassett
James H. Brett
John C. Carter
These were men who came out on that day one hundred forty six years ago:

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Equal Time for the Big-Boned

Jerry is a good friend of mine. He is also overweight, or maybe just “big-boned”.

Jerry was a member of the Florida Highway Patrol and in his youth served his state by covering Florida’s Turnpike. One incident that he tells is great. He was near the northern end and he saw a trucker in trouble, so he stops to see if he could help. The trucker addressed him as “Jerry”, even though he was not close enough to read his name tag. This made him curious, and then the driver said that he had been talking with another patrolman down near Fort Lauderdale and was told that “up the pike” there was a “dumb and ugly” patrolman, and his name was Jerry.

He feeds his grandchildren ice cream cones every afternoon at the Wooden Nickel in Chattahoochee. I drink sugar free Starbucks, look at the Krispy Kreme donuts without a twinge of remorse or desire, as he downs a triple dip of Edy’s Cookies and Cream, probably using the excuse that the kids need training in such things.

Jerry is a regular reader of my column although he has not yet registered as a “Follower”. I believe that his grandchildren could show him how to do this, but they are probably holding out until the old man is no longer good for snacks.

Jerry and I are members of the American Legion Post 241 Honors Detail, and we enjoy the camaraderie while we wait at cemeteries for the casket to show. We have heard each other’s “sea and air” stories so much we have numbered them in order to save time in the telling. We have one hundred twelve on the list, and my favorite that he tells is Number 37, with Number 62 running a close second. Of mine, which have to do with oceans and ships, he claims that Number 12 has edged out Number 1, which, of course, is about Noah’s Ark and a couple of the animals, and a keg. It is truly hilarious. I don’t advise anyone else to call out a number and expect laughs, however. Some folks can tell a joke; some can’t.

Lately, though, as Jerry increases in girth, he has taken to sending me E mails, purporting to be from various experts in exercising and/or dieting. I truly think that he is jealous, but will not own up to it because I am Navy and our pilots can land a screaming jet on a very short carrier, while their Air Force flyers usually require a runway that reaches from one state into another. I have tried to take him under my wing, although it would be difficult to imagine a wing big enough for this purpose, and I have urged him to, at the very least, begin to walk on a regular basis.

Today I received another E mail from him. It caught my eye immediately because it was titled “Getting Older and Walking”, and is bordered with ads for “aerobic flooring” which purports to be the “newest evolution in Group Exercise fitness”.

The title of the article was even more eye-catching:”The Importance of Walking“. I immediately was attracted, because I know what the author went through just to do the title. He had to upsize the print. Then he italicized it, and underlined it and ended up with it in teal blue. Sid Riley, our Managing Editor, would have to have help on something as technically complicated as this.

I was ready for the gospel, which, according to authorities, means “Good News”!

And then I read the first paragraph and I knew that I had not converted Jerry. He will go on eating Cookies and Cream at the Wooden Nickel, and making excuses. Here is what he sent:

Walking can add minutes to your life. This enables you at 85 years old to spend an additional 5 months in a nursing home at $7,000 per month.

Aha! He has a fixation on nursing homes, and he feeds his grandchildren ice cream every day! He knows the truth: grandchildren will select our nursing homes!.

Then he borders on the humorous, at least as close to the border of humorous as Jerry will ever get:

My grandpa started walking five miles a day when he was 60. Now he’s 97 years old and we don’t know where he is.

That is a little funny, until you recall that Jerry is from Altha, and you had better not laugh at anything about Altha if you are not a citizen of that town. “You ain’t from around here, are you?” had its origins there, and if you are asked that, you had better start looking for the door.

Next he reveals his true nature:

I like long walks, especially when they are taken by people who annoy me.

Just last week I announced that my morning walks are up to five miles instead of three miles, and only lightning keeps me from accomplishing this. So I annoy him? Wait until I go into training for my next 5K!

I am rather surprised at the next one:

The only reason I would take up walking is so that I could hear heavy breathing again.

Two thirds of our numbered stories have to do with sex, and to hear him tell it his stamina in this field has not diminished since high school. I believe that he slipped up and told the truth in this quote. I will spring this on him when next we are gathered at a graveside to render honors to one of our fallen heroes. He would not dare to deny anything in such a setting.

Jerry sent a lot more of these “jokes” over to me, but I do not worry about them. He can enjoy his Cookies and Cream, and I will sip my low-fat Starbucks, and we will, by common consent, add eight or ten more “sea and air” tales to our list, properly numbered.

Believe me; we really know how to tell them!

So I was Wrong about Horses!

Horses and I have never been able to get accustomed to each other.

I once rode a horse over a narrow trail through the Sierra Maestra Mountains of eastern Cuba. This was during the time that Fidel Castro was a rebel living in the jungles and threatening the dictator Fulgencio Batista . The Naval Operating Base at Guantanamo, or GITMO, was used for underway training for U. S. ships fresh from overhaul stateside, and we crew members looked for amusement during the scant hours we had between heavy drills at sea. There was a riding stable there, and one day four of us rented horses and set out to explore.

My mount would stand still and then run to catch up with the others, which was rather disconcerting since we were often on narrow trails and
alongside thousand foot drop offs. His gait was uneven and ragged. When he would stop, he would try to bite me, and if I dismounted he would step on me.

There was a reason for this.

My father, while a soldier in France in 1917, on occasion had to dine on horse meat, and I am certain that my mount could sense this. The Bible says that the sins of the fathers shall be inflicted on the sons… So I was being inflicted. Never argue with the Scriptures, except the Book of Nicodemus.

You may have noticed that I own a statue of an elephant. The statue is six feet long and four feet high, and made of resin. He has been featured in parades here in Jackson County, and politicians far and wide know him by name and have posed with him, including one who has since left the Republican Party. Because of this statue I have taken it on myself to learn about these fine animals. I know that they take twenty three months to gestate, and that their tusks are similar to teeth and are valuable. Their trunks are prehensile. When they run they always have one foot on the ground, which is basically the way I run. And elephants are said to have a tremendous memory, and that they never forget.

But they have nothing on equines. Horses that I get near remember that my father had char-grilled flank horsemeat steaks, with Worcestershire Sauce, during his Army days ninety years ago. They step on me, and bite me, and try to throw me down mountainsides. So I have avoided them.

But Saturday that changed.

My grandson Stuart and I went over to the Ag Center on U. S. 90 Saturday to see an antique car show. The autos did not appear, but we noticed activity in the arena, and went up to check it out.

And there were horses, beautiful, well-behaved ones, ridden by beautiful, well-behaved ladies. And they were riding in time to music and parading around in formation. And it was worth our sitting down and watching.

Then at break time we found out that we were in the midst of a rehearsal of the American Dreams Mounted Drill Team and Show Squad. We met Kidnight Color Design, who, when he goes out on Saturday night, is known to her admirers as “Sparrow”. Sparrow immediately attracted me, because she is blond and blue-eyed and reminds me of my true love Doris Day.

Next horse to sashay up to the fence for our inspection was Don’t Look at Me Mr., but we did look, and admire, and we learned to pet a horse on the side of his neck, because that is where the teeth are not.

There were other mounts; all sleek and good looking, and they all seemed to know what to do. The riders were pretty sharp, also. We learned that anyone with a horse and the desire can try out for one of the teams, and learn the formations that are a part of this sport. The Boss Lady, called the Drillmaster, in charge is Tammy Dobek, and she almost sold me on taking up the sport. From Tammy we learned that beginners are welcome as long as they have a horse and a helmet and are willing to learn.

We found out that the American Dreams teams are well known, and that they perform often at horse shows and other events. They are headquartered in Marianna, and you can learn all about them on their Website. I am going to be watching out for one of their shows, for I understand that they sometimes use flags, lances, swords, fireworks and “more”. I may really not want to know what “more’ is. Lances, swords and fireworks will be enough for me.

When I went on their Website I found that the description of the abilities of a Drill Team horse pretty well matches what most men look for in a mate: “A good Drill Team horse has many abilities: looks, style, and must be in overall good health. They must have a good disposition, and at least have a ’forward’ gear.”

And if I am going to be around them, I would add “and a forgiving nature”.

Visit thier website at http://www.americandreamsmounteddrillteam.com/

Flag Day?

This morning I, along with nine other members of American Legion Post 241, rendered honors to a deceased veteran, a long time member of our Post, and one of the few remaining men in this area who served in World War II.

We rendered these honors by reading a short message about his service to his country. Then two of us folded the United States Flag that had been stretched over his casket, and it was presented to his next of kin. We fired a three volley rifle salute, followed by “Taps”, the music that for over a hundred years has signified the end of the day for the soldier and the end of his life here on earth.

As we had waited for the funeral cortege to arrive, I noticed a scattering of small flags on some of the gravesites. Placed there for a special occasion, perhaps for Memorial Day, they were tattered, dirty and torn. I straightened one up so that it would not touch the ground.

I stood there, and thought about our Flag.

Last week the mayor of a nearby town had received a U. S. Flag that had been flown over the United States Capitol. It came from a Congressman’s office. The mayor seemed pleased at the gift. The picture sent me to do research.

The program began in 1937, when a Member of Congress received a request from someone “back home” for a Flag that had flown over the Capitol building. The Architect of the Capitol accommodated him, and the program has grown from that point.

Soon one flagpole did not suffice, so more were installed, and a detail was assigned to fly Flags, however briefly, over the Capitol.

Over a hundred thousand Flags are hoisted annually to the peak of a short staff, lowered and packaged, along with a “Certificate of Authenticity”, and shipped to someone. All requests go through a Congressman’s or Senator’s office. Prices run from $13.25 to $22.55, plus shipping and packing. I could not find how many people are required to furnish this “service”, nor how much it actually costs the taxpayer. I do know that, on occasion, a Member presents one, free of charge, to someone. Perhaps the one to the Mayor came under that classification.

I do not have such a Flag. I have not requested one, and do not plan to do so.

I do have the Flag that draped my father’s coffin that day in March when he was laid to rest. He was a soldier with General John J. Pershing’s American Expeditionary Forces in France in the Great War.

I have a Flag that once flew over the USS SAUFLEY, a destroyer that saw service in World War II in the Pacific war against the Japanese. The Flag was used years later, when I was a young officer in her during the uneasy days of the “Cold War”. It was to be destroyed because it was frayed, so I brought it home and had it repaired.

I have assisted in presenting many Flags as we mourned with survivors of honored dead.

Since that day in September when terrorists crashed into the World Trade Center and the Pentagon and the field in Pennsylvania, we have seemingly become obsessed with the Flag.

We fly it from houses, and from stores, and along streets and high above businesses and sometimes even from the antennas of new cars on display.

We fly it as decorations. It is not uncommon for a speaker to stride onto a stage that has ten or twelve or twenty U. S. Flags in a row serving as a backdrop or for some well meaning organization to use them as centerpieces at their annual banquet.

In the days of protest during the 1960s we as a people condemned those that made garments from our Flag or otherwise desecrated them.

Today we buy shirts and shawls and hats with the same design emblazoned on them.

Once flags were flown reverently on the Fourth of July and on Memorial Day and on Veterans’ Day.

Today we fly them from our homes and along our streets on President’s Day and Flag Day and on any other day when we feel patriotic.

Today we American Legion members presented a folded United States Flag, with its thirteen beautiful stripes and its field of blue and its fifty white stars, to a weeping widow.

Today a man or woman will receive from his Member of Congress a folded United States Flag, with its thirteen beautiful stripes and its field of blue and its fifty white stars and a Certificate of Authenticity.

Today………which would you say honors our nation?

And then the President said:

Here we are, well into the second week of the campaigns which will culminate in this year’s General Election.

There will be, one way or the other, a new Governor of our great state.

We will have a smattering of new state officials, including a new Commissioner of Agriculture. It is rumored that Doyle Connor, a man who held the office for many years, said that the only qualification for the job was to look good on a horse.

You will notice that I said: “It is rumored…..”, I placed that caveat into my statement because I am going to write this week about quotes, misquotes and quotes that were never said by the supposed author in the first place.

Take this one:

“When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21 I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years”.

This has always been attributed to Mark Twain, but no scholar has ever been able to find it in any of his writings. We know that the statement is true, but Twain did not say it. I am ready to accept it as originating here and now in my column, but only because my father has no opportunity for retribution.

Ol’ Sam’l (Twain’s real first name) did lay this one on us, and it is not used as often as it should be:

“We have not the reverent feeling for the rainbow as the savage has, because we know how it is made. We have lost as much as we have gained by prying into the matter”.

In this one statement we have anthropology, history, religion, science and humor stirred into one pot. Now, that’s the way I expect Mr. Clemmons to write!

You can see from these two quotes that the same saying, filled with the wisdom of the ages, does not draw equal attention when they come from common folk. With Mark Twain’s imprimatur upon it readers will chuckle and get out a highlighter, or E-mail it far and wide. But I put it in my weekly writing, and the reaction is: “After all, he is eighty years old, and you can’t expect anything better”, and there it dies.

Like many folks in Jackson County I attended a church service today. It was a good service, as such things go. The music was excellent, and we had a covered dish dinner afterwards, and even a Methodist can find no fault there. As in most services the preacher read a scripture. Most announce the location in the Bible and give time for the congregation to find the page and follow along with him as he reads it out loud. Not me. I trust preachers to read correctly the selected verses, and will continue to do so, until he commends to us a passage from the Book of Nicodemus, either in the Old or the New Testament. Bible reading is no time for flights of imagination. It is serious business.

Most politicians often borrow quotes from others to fit a particular event. Many of us heard President Reagan on the occasion of the explosion of the space shuttle Challenger quote the first and last lines of the sonnet High Flight. It was a stirring and moving moment. The Great Communicator read:

“Oh, I Have slipped the surly bonds of Earth

And danced the skies on silver-colored wings…

and done a hundred things you have not dreamed of...

And while with silent lifting mind I’ve trod

The high unsurpassed sanctity of Space,

Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.”

The poem was composed by a young pilot with the Royal Canadian Air Force in 1941. He wrote it on the back of a letter and sent it home. He crashed a few days later and the poem has been quoted from time to time throughout the years, but never at a more appropriate time than when President Reagan spoke the words to a grieving nation.

President John F. Kennedy has been known for his speeches, and we admired the way that he gave them. “…..ask not what your country can do for you-ask what you can do for your country.” But we do not often continue the quote, and we should. It reads “My fellow citizens of the World, ask not what America will do for you, but what we together can do for the freedom of man”. What breadth this adds! And, by the way, the first time the beginning sentence came to the attention of the public was from the pen of Kahlil Gilbran, and was written in Arabic.

Since I began this column with a couple of humorous sayings, I would like to end with my favorite.

One of the most controversial issues of all time has been the sale and the consumption of alcoholic beverages. The statement below has been narrowed down to a member of Congress, but no one yet claims it. A member had been queried on his opinion, and he answered, in part:

“If when you say whiskey you mean the Devil’s brew, the poison scourge, the bloody monster that defiles innocence, dethrones reason, destroys the home, creates misery and poverty,…..then I am against it with all of my power.

But if when you say whiskey, you mean the oil of conversation, the philosophic wine, the ale that is consumed when good fellows get together, that puts a song in their hearts and laughter on their lips…the sale of which puts into our treasuries untold millions of dollars that are used to provide tender care for our little crippled children……to build highways and schools and bridges, then certainly I am in favor of it.”

I intend to give all members of Congress a reasonable time, say thirty days from the date of publication of this column, to claim credit for the authorship.

And if no one steps forward, it is mine!