"Vision"

The video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zHZ_BkkB1Tk&feature=mfu_in_order&list=UL

Album Proof:

© 2010 

Verse:

Sing like you mean it

Live like there’s only one way to die

And you know there is a meaning

And there's only one way to ride

Yo this is Ty say hi not why,

Every other brotha get chips on the side

Get so nasty Otis goes wild

Get so noticed that's that life

Give another mother heart attack on site

Any other song I would sing this line

But this one’s different why uplift it

Any other time I'd oblige no fight

Get so lifted forget lines

Bring another hook just for old times

This one here goes down like

Verse:

Don’t waste all your time on go decide where you belong

Always on your mind is your safe life so comfortable

And even when you step your lonely mind to breathe how others do

You would rather not be bothered than discovered by the cold hard truth

Verse:

The end of the line will define your worth

Gotta leave a legacy behind on earth

For the sea for the sky for the trees for the birds

For those here now and long after

Just a play button with no rewind

Don’t get another try just one life

I don’t need to live too long just right

Always got another soundtrack in mind

To leave another mark on the man mankind

Bring another hook just for old times

This one here goes down like

Breakdown:

Sing like you mean it

Live like there’s only one way to die

And you know there is a meaning

And there's only one way to ride

Verse:

Don’t waste all your time on go decide where you belong

Always on your mind is your safe life so comfortable

And even when you step your lonely mind to breathe how others do

You would rather not be bothered than discovered by the cold hard truth

The Christmas Tree From Hell

The "Christmas Tree From Hell" - 2010.

In the early 90's, we were still holding out for real Christmas trees each year. You know, the ones that are freshly cut and smell so good? Plus, I was a little snooty in thinking fake trees were just that...fake. The idea of having one seemed like it would be taking a lot out of the Christmas experience for our family.

But then somewhere around the mid-90s the wonderful world of allergies kicked in with both Julie and I and we lost the fight. We decided it would be a lot more comfortable, sneeze-wise in our house if we had a fake tree.

A measly few hundred dollars later we had her up in all her glory. 800-900 built-in lights, all hand wound with authentic looking fake branches; she was the works in all her artificial glory! I even bought a huge molded plastic storage box to keep her safely contained in our mini-barn during the off season.

Then, over the next few years I was 'fortunate' to discover first hand how fragile the lighting system was. Those 800-900 lights on the Tree From Hell were in a string of eighteen independent plug-in sections, each of which would go dark if two or more of its lights went out. Back then, as now, I was and am pretty clueless about lights. I also found out, no matter how careful I was in handling the tree, dozens of lights would go out each year.

The first year I recall noticing this problem I was lucky(?) to hit the local hardware store and purchase a pen-like device that would test an individual light after it was removed from the string. Each light on our tree was secured by a small clasp that required a fingernail maneuver to open and the tightness of the connection required another fingernail maneuver to get it out.  Easy enough for a couple of lights but after a dozen or so the process made fingertips mighty tender. (yeah i know, a "wimp")

Oftentimes, I would attempt to locate the beginning of a string then remove, check, and if needed, replace each light independently until the string had enough gumption to come back on. It was enough to bring small utterances of the blue kind on occasion. One year (the worst) I had to remove, check and replace several hundred of the lights...a process that took me most of the day and had me searching for new cuss words to loudly spread throughout our home.

Along the way I also found out once you have found and purchased replacement lights the battle is far from over. While those tiny lights all appear the same there are literally dozens of different plug-in bases and the diameter of the base will sometimes vary.   There is also some form of electrical variance (ohms?) that can cause perfectly fitting replacements lights to burn out instantly when they are inserted in your string. This all made working replacement lights very hard to find.

I usually had so many lights burned out I didn't want to buy the individual packs of 5 or so replacements they typically sell. It was and is a lot cheaper to buy an entire string of lights and pop them out individually for replacements.

All of these developments served to have me dreading Christmas as I knew the Tree From Hell would kick my ass again. I also knew the experience would start me on a dark cussing streak that would cause Julieann's blood pressure to rise and generally spoil a day or so of our holiday season.

Then, a few years ago, I found a wonderful device.  A pistol shaped contraption that you hook to a light string to restart it. You pull its trigger a few times and it jump starts the string so you can immediately see which lights are out. This meant I no longer had to remove and check lights individually to find out where the weak ones were.

Most recently, as in last year, I had finally found an effective replacement light at Ace hardware and was so proud of that I bought four boxes of 200 light strings. I figured that would last me at least three years considering how many seemed to burn out each year. When I started replacing them this year though, I found out the bases were just slightly smaller than those on our tree and they would be so loose they would fail to make the connection needed to get the whole string working again.

At that, I was ready to give up. I had been to so many stores.  I had tried and bought so many lights that looked like they might work, replaced so many bulbs and had so many tender fingers I was ready to cash it in. Julie witnessed all that and, much to my surprise seemed to agree. In fact, she said, "We just won't have a tree this year." I was with her on that notion and stashed the entire three piece contraption along our fence for later disposal. Then I hit Google to see what replacement trees might cost. I was figuring (hoping) the technology might have improved and we might get a better model. What I quickly found out was that getting a comparable tree would cost us roughly a thousand dollars. That represented a fair amount of chrome for my Harley so I quickly decided to hit the replacement bulb circuit again.

I found Phillips lights at Target and was encouraged. I brought them home, removed and plugged one into our tree and it instantly burnt out. Deja vu? Yes. No problem though as I am a veteran light-replacer of many years. I hit the road again... nothing different at Ace hardware but two promising possibilities at Orchard hardware including GE and some generic brand. The GE's worked and now we have a bag full of several boxes of replacements.

The Christmas Tree From Hell is working too.  But I know, deep down inside her fake branches she is thinking of ways to torment me next year. Inside that Beauty is a true Beast.  I will be ready though.  I will have two (yes two) diagnostic guns and several boxes of tried and true GE bulbs. Bring it on Tree!

"Greater Love...

"Reflections in the Wall" Artist Unknown

hath no man...
That he would give up his life
For his (country)." ***

Yesterday our nation commemorated its veterans
For the 91st time (give or take)
Since it was originally called "Armistice Day"
At the end of WWI on November 11, 1918

That same month my Father was born
He would go on to serve in the Navy during WWII
He was assigned to a tanker ship, the USS Cimarron
He never saw combat

I would follow with service in the Air Force
For 24 years starting around the time of the Cuban Missile Crisis
And ending many years after the War in Viet Nam.
I spent two years in Thailand during the war and never saw combat

Wife Julieann would serve with me as a military spouse
For 18 of those years (that's 11 PCS moves for her in military parlance)
Many would argue that she did see combat
And that was possibly what she contemplated
On various occasions when she was trying to
Get me to do the right thing.

Between the three of us
Over 45 years of service...
Over 16,000 days of service
To our country

And here...is a fact
The sum of all those years
The sum of all those days
Is not even a drop in the bucket

In comparison to one Soldier, Sailor,
Marine or Airman's day in combat
With precious life at risk
Not one drop.
Period.

These are the ones we hold closest to our hearts on Veteran's Day
The combat veterans who survived
And the ones we lost
The ones who demonstrated the greatest love
The ones who gave us all they could possibly give
God bless them, heroes every one.
I also want to once again commend this song...
To them...our heroes... for you to enjoy:

Il Silenzio

***Attributed to the King James version of the Bible, John 15:13

The Line

Chalk line

(Click to enlarge this puppy and check out the lines...)

Power line

First in line

Center line

Chorus line

Clothes line

The fine line

Jump the line

Draw the line

Cross the line

End of the line

Back of the line

Front of the line

Latest in the line

Middle of the line

Mason Dixon line

I Walk The... (you know)

Queue (the highbrow version)

I’m not li’ne (Nah, not to you anyway!)

Beautiful lines

This is about the last one.

Beautiful lines

See the picture?

See what I mean?

Struck by a tree…not in the literal sense

As in having one ripped out by the roots

And smacking me where I deserve

“Take THAT you pitiful reprobate”!

But more so in the figurative sense

As in gawking at our old oak tree

It is a Western or “Cork” oak

It sits in the far back of our yard

It is noticed mainly at times of the year

When its small leaves make a mess out of

Molly’s own Personal Swimming Pool

And when it’s branches grow too close

To the power lines

So the utility company has to

Give it kind of a brutal trim

With little or no thought to esthetics

I happened to be back there

At the right time for beautiful morning shadows

And noticed she has grown somewhat stately

In the twenty plus years we have been here

So I wanted to give her credit for being around for us.

Look At You Jon Stewart!

I stopped making political posts some time ago, when a close friend pleaded with me to quit.  I thought he made a great case as my writing is intended primarily for two things;  to recollect life for the record and to entertain along the way.

At the Rally

In my mind this entry does not signal a return to politics, it celebrates a plea to restore sanity... yesterdays's Rally hosted by Jon Stewart in our Capital Mall.  I loved his speech at the end, so much so that I am posting it verbatim here.  To me, his is the voice of reason at a time when left and right extremists seem to be the ones taking center stage all too often.

I am fortunate to have a fair number of friends and they come from many persuasions; left... right... between.  Some lean pretty far toward either side of the spectrum but they remain my friends nonetheless.  This post is for them.  This post is for you.

Take it away Jon:

"And now I thought we might have a moment, however brief, for some sincerity. If that's okay - I know that there are boundaries for a comedian / pundit / talker guy, and I'm sure that I'll find out tomorrow how I have violated them.

So, uh, what exactly was this? I can't control what people think this was: I can only tell you my intentions.

This was not a rally to ridicule people of faith, or people of activism, or look down our noses at the heartland, or passionate argument, or to suggest that times are not difficult and that we have nothing to fear--they are, and we do.

But we live now in hard times, not end times. And we can have animus, and not be enemies. But unfortunately, one of our main tools in delineating the two broke.

The country's 24-hour, political pundit perpetual panic conflictinator did not cause our problems, but its existence makes solving them that much harder. The press can hold its magnifying glass up to our problems, bringing them into focus, illuminating issues heretofore unseen. Or they can use that magnifying glass to light ants on fire, and then perhaps host a week of shows on the dangerous, unexpected flaming ants epidemic. If we amplify everything, we hear nothing.

There are terrorists, and racists, and Stalinists, and theocrats, but those are titles that must be earned! You must have the resume! Not being able to distinguish between real racists and Tea Party-ers, or real bigots and Juan Williams or Rick Sanchez is an insult--not only to those people, but to the racists themselves, who have put in the exhausting effort it takes to hate. Just as the inability to distinguish terrorists from Muslims makes us less safe, not more.

The press is our immune system. If it overreacts to everything, we actually get sicker--and, perhaps, eczema. And yet... I feel good. Strangely, calmly, good. Because the image of Americans that is reflected back to us by our political and media process is false. It is us, through a funhouse mirror--and not the good kind that makes you look slim in the waist, and maybe taller, but the kind where you have a giant forehead, and an ass shaped like a month-old pumpkin, and one eyeball.

So why would we work together? Why would you reach across the aisle, to a pumpkin-assed forehead eyeball monster? If the picture of us were true, of course our inability to solve problems would actually be quite sane and reasonable--why would you work with Marxists actively subverting our Constitution, and homophobes who see no one's humanity but their own?

We hear every damned day about how fragile our country is, on the brink of catastrophe, torn by polarizing hate, and how it's a shame that we can't work together to get things done. The truth is, we do! We work together to get things done every damned day! The only place we don't is here (in Washington) or on cable TV!

But Americans don't live here, or on cable TV. Where we live, our values and principles form the foundation that sustains us while we get things done--not the barriers that prevent us from getting things done.

Most Americans don't live their lives solely as Democrats, Republicans, liberals or conservatives. Americans live their lives more as people that are just a little bit late for something they have to do. Often something they do not want to do! But they do it. Impossible things, every day, that are only made possible through the little, reasonable compromises we all make.

(Points to video screen, showing video of cars in traffic.) Look on the screen. This is where we are, this is who we are. These cars. That's a schoolteacher who probably think his taxes are too high, he's going to work. There's another car, a woman with two small kids, can't really think about anything else right now... A lady's in the NRA, loves Oprah. There's another car, an investment banker, gay, also likes Oprah. Another car's a Latino carpenter; another car, a fundamentalist vacuum salesman. Atheist obstetrician. Mormon Jay-Z fan.

But this is us. Every one of the cars that you see is filled with individuals of strong belief, and principles they hold dear--often principles and beliefs in direct opposition to their fellow travelers'. And yet, these millions of cars must somehow find a way to squeeze, one by one, into a mile-long, 30-foot-wide tunnel, carved underneath a mighty river.

And they do it, concession by concession: you go, then I'll go. You go, then I'll go. You go, then I'll go. 'Oh my God--is that an NRA sticker on your car?' 'Is that an Obama sticker on your car?' It's okay--you go, then I go.

And sure, at some point, there will be a selfish jerk who zips up the shoulder, and cuts in at the last minute. But that individual is rare, and he is scorned, and he is not hired as an analyst!

Because we know, instinctively, as a people, that if we are to get through the darkness and back into the light, we have to work together. And the truth is there will always be darkness, and sometimes the light at the end of the tunnel isn't the promised land.

Sometimes, it's just New Jersey."

"S__t Happens"

Or at least that's what my old pal Forrest Gump says.

Cats left... dogs right ("Poop" sign is at bottom of right window)

While we are on the topic I should recount
My visit to our Vet's office this morning
To pick up Molly's thyroid meds

First, I took in the familiar dual entrances
With a different, say "human" perspective
As in; what if they were intended for people?
Cats to the left and dogs to the right... pretty clear
Well, I used to be a Cool Cat so I woulda' went left

Famous "Poop" sign for those who may be in continent...
you know, like... in North America.

But now I am an Old Dog so the answer is obvious.

Then, I took in the 'Poop' sign
From a similar... person's perspective
Don't know about you but I'm grateful they provide bags
And I certainly would need assistance if I were to attempt to use one.

Brake... Down

Julieann Marie - Pattaya Beach Thailand - 1972

Yup its a Brake Down

Want to wash Bertha, the family auto, before picking up
Julieann from the Airport this afternoon
But there is a chance of rain
Today and for the next couple

Should I slow down, or stop
As is my custom?
My approach has always been
Delay things until the last possible moment

Julie's is to do things immediately 
When they surface

A conundrum here
Please pass the...
Container holding
Moments of decision thanks.

Aw I'll just go
Julie will give me an "A+"
For effort the moment
She realizes I did it

She's that way you know.

Marbles! (A Deadly Game...)

Not so long ago
In my feeble mind
We gambled

Kids in the streets of Pontiac, Michigan
We lived within bicycle distance of downtown
It was friendly and safe then
Not so now

Life was idyllic
Though we were poor
We lived in the back half
Of an old house rental

Cousin Phil and his family
Lived in the front of the house
Cousin Dennis and his family
In their own place behind us

Dads were all factory workers

It was that way for a couple of years
As I recall
And we kids gambled...
With marbles that is

And not just the old style game of "Ringer" either...

Turn an empty coffee can upside down
Poke a hole in it slightly larger than a marble
(Be careful!  The larger the hole, the easier the game.)
Set your odds based on how difficult you have made your can

Cruise the neighborhood with can and marbles
You know someone out there will take you on
Give'em the rules and play the game
"You gotta' hold your marble at least waist high."

"Drop it through the hole in the can on the ground.
If you miss I keep the marble.
If you hit, I give you back your marble plus two more.
C'mon.  You can't lose!"

Remember, if it is an easy can (large hole) you might set the odds at 2:1.
If it is a hard can you might set the odds at 3,4 or 5:1
If you make it too hard word'll get out and you
Might as well  "kick the can"...

In the marble gambler's lexicon: "Cats-eye, Purie,
Steelie, Shooter, Knuckle Down, Boulder..."
All part of talkin' tough
When you're in the game

Gambling.  Its what we did.
"A Deadly Game?"  Nah, just kidding.

Serenity

Tyler Thomas Campbell

To me, this song characterizes the "generation gap" angst we experienced between ourselves and our parents.  A gap that we, in turn, saw or will see between us and our children and one that is likely destined to recur between all generations:

Click here for the recorded studio version of "Serenity."***

The lyrics follow:

Verse:

Thank you for giving me what you've given me and I... 
Will take everything and make it quite worth your time

But, all I'm living for is some... some serenity and I... 
All I'm asking you for is some peace and quiet.

I know that you've lived more life and you've seen so many things, 
this time it's not the same and I see with 2 different eyes

Chorus:

Samantha Marie Campbell

The world is about to explode and I want to live it up

It's no perfect fairytale or some theme from a storybook

It's all about slaving the grind is that what were fighting for

A cold concrete paradise well I hope there is more in store for me... 

I hope there's more in store for me.

Verse:

Thank you for giving me opportunities and I... Know it took all your strength to swallow your pride

Each day has given to me... more of that inspiration and I 
Will channel it from deep down inside

I know that life is so hard, and we have come way too far, it's just another wall that I need to climb.

Chorus:

The world is about to explode and I want to live it up

It's no perfect fairytale or some theme from a storybook

It's all about slaving the grind is that what were fighting for

A cold concrete paradise well I know there is more in store for me... 

I know there's more in store for me.

Just my interpretation but I appreciate the soulful effort to explain conflict and gratitude followed by an expression of hope for the future in the first chorus, then certainty of the future in the second.

*** From the Album, No Regrets in the Garden of Weeden by Arden Park Roots,  copyright 2010 

Asides

Unrelated Photo by old pal Dave Evans included without permission
 because it is more exciting that way.

Well.  Today we have gathered to share our understanding of a phenomenon that has perplexed the best of us through good times and bad but then there are those who would contend that times would not be what they are if there were not a mixture of both; therefore, who among us is fit to judge whether there is merit in the thinking of the masses who would prefer to ponder the complexities of various approaches to the solution of problems that have plagued us since the last time man was face to face with anyone of significance and therein lies the proverbial rub?
(WTF?)


But then again. Tomorrow we will see that there are many forms of this sort of activity none of which assume a definable figure at least as far as we can see but then our vision is limited by our perspective borne out of background, study, experience and fundamental understanding of the per-mutable laws which define the essence of man from a truly unbiased standpoint as if there were such a thing as unbiased, unblemished or unvarnished for that matter.
(Ok... I am getting the point... there is no point.)

On the other hand. In the past, our experiences have been derived from a collection of known and unknown factors the unknown being the most confusing at least from the continuance of studies limited by literally having to lick ones fingers to gain purchase on the next page but then we now are able to turn those pages with a simple sweep of a finger across a screen therein unlocking the great literary works of mankind including some of the worst and, as is this, some of the best.
(Yup.. it is some of that cheap California wine at work here my Dear... just go with the flow...)

"Asides"... you gotta' love'em.

DCWC

He is a gentle, loving man... of keen intellect.

He grew from a poor family in Seattle
Once briefly living in the projects as a child
Reared paycheck-to-paycheck style
In a loving but poor family

He briefly embraced the counter culture
That was all around him in the sixties
And seventies
But finally shook it as he discovered
Abiding interest in music, martial arts and electronics

It wasn't until the 90's that he met and married
A resourceful, energetic, upbeat Canadian who herself had emerged
From a culture of abuse and dysfunction
Together they forged a relationship that
Placed heavy dependence on each other's strengths
And shored up each other's doubts

Seven years ago after an amazing run of persistence
That would challenge the patience and resourcefulness of both
They had a fine towheaded, blue eyed son... Dakota
He would prove to be the final catalyst to their already strong marriage...
The meaning of their lives

Dakota was up to this in every way
A handsome, thoughtful, inquisitive, athletic son

DCWC and son, Dakota at Sacramento's famous Gunther's Ice Cream Parlor
August, 2010

With a wonderful sense of humor
Who would bring laughter to every day of their lives

As time passes, this son will grow from a loving, professionally successful family
His father in aircraft electronics; his mother in construction insurance underwriting
His family will nurture his direction to its fullest
As he finds his way through life

This is America
This is the place where my brother
David Claud William Campbell
Develops his life to it's fullest

Where he emerges as a gentle, loving man... of keen intellect.

My hero.

Stone - to Heal

Two TC's in Bruneau Canyon, Idaho circa 1990
Where Tyler found the specimen shown polished here.

"Oh I've been down to that place....

Where water falls on my face...

and drink it down... mind erased...

then wander around contemplate."***

The implementation period was six months.
As COO, he would hire, house and equip

More than 120 operations staff
And begin delivering managed care services
For almost 400,000 people living in Northern California

They, in turn, would be supported by hundreds of new and existing health plan staff

In claims, finance, network development and more.

It was a federal government program for military retirees
And active duty families

Initially referred to as the CHAMPUS Reform Initiative

Later called Tricare

Staffing went extraordinarily well
The pivotal directors and managers he hired
Would all make good decisions
About who they, in turn, hired

The implementation was characterized by high energy
A positive mood permeated the entire group
The program was new, the cause was noble

It was to be part of a test program
That was the first of its kind

It was a program that would grow to cover
Almost 10 million people living all over the world
And would celebrate its 35th year in 2023

A year after implementation
The program was judged
By Federal representatives 

And their consultants at Rand Corporation

It was considered a success by all
The founders congratulated each other
While the CEO... a newcomer brought in
Well after the deal was done
Elected to consolidate operations
And let go over half the staff
Who were responsible for the program's success

His job as COO was eliminated
But he was asked to stay on in a staff role to assist with the transition
To reassure the customers key representatives
That service would continue satisfactorily

After a couple of sleepless nights
Reflecting on the fate of the good people who were laid off
Trying unsuccessfully to understand the logic behind the consolidation
He consulted with his wife and decided to leave the company
He made the announcement and the great team began disbanding

In the following weeks he turned to activities at home
Activities that would help him regain his perspective on things
Activities that would help him heal his view of the world

One day, in his garage he picked up a fine, unfinished specimen of Bruneau Jasper
It was one of the best stones he and his son had collected
On a trip to Idaho's Bruneau Canyon, just off the Snake River

He decided to hand polish it
He didn't have the right equipment but he didn't care
He strapped an electric drill in a vise
Locked a grinding wheel in the drill and began

Tyler's Bruneau Jasper (click to enlarge)

First the coarse wheel
Next a finer grained wheel
Next various grits of wet sand paper
Finally polish powder

He had no particular shape for the stone in mind
He just followed it's natural lines
Let it dictate it's own final form

He did three that way
One the size of a plum
Two of them half again larger than his fist
Twenty hours or more for each stone
The best of them was the one his son found
On his first and only trip into the canyon

Along the way he found his own personal form again as well.

***Tyler Campbell from the Arden Park Roots song "Contemplate", the album "No rEgrets in the gArden of weEden", copyright 2010.  The video is here: "Contemplate" YouTube Video

An Old Friend Missed

Chasing a Catharsis

Back in Ohio after an absence of over 30 years.  I was there to do some work for a client in Columbus.  The job required a couple of weekend layovers. I took advantage of that chance to look up some junior high and high school friends in Huron, a small town on Lake Erie about 120 miles north of Columbus.  Huron is a town of around 7,000 in the winter.  In the summer it used to swell to twice that size, filling with inland folks who wanted to spend time on the lake.

The roads between Columbus and Lake Erie are remarkable in the spring.  They are filled with beautiful rolling hills, picturesque farms and dense forests. It was wonderful to see them again and great to be on my way to a town where I had spent many of my formative years. We moved around a lot when I was a kid but to me Huron was my hometown so you can imagine I was pretty fired up about the trip.   The fact that I got to be dazzled by the countryside while on my way was just frosting on the proverbial cake.

One friend I would not see on this trip however was Tom Cook.  Tom was a classmate of mine in the ninth and tenth grades.  At that time we both lived in Laylin’s Court just outside of Huron. Laylin’s was a blue-collar combination of cottages and house trailers right on the beach of Lake Erie.  Some folks lived there year ‘round and that’s what we did in one of the rental cottages.  Others, the ones with a few extra bucks, owned most of the trailers and would come in mainly from the Cleveland area to spend summer weekends.

Tom Cook, George Walbeck, TC, Jim Cunningham,
(Dick Haley not pictured)
Franklin's Flat Camping

Tom was a couple of years older than me and was behind a couple of years of school.  That put us in the same grade.  He was sure smart enough so I think he had flunked because school was never important to him.  He had worked part time and had received a little financial help from his Mom so he could have a car. It was a ’38 Plymouth I think, bone stock and in fairly decrepit condition.  It was beautiful to me though because it represented a certain freedom I did not yet have.

The summer before my freshman year I was working toward attending the Maryknoll missionary high school in Syracuse, New York in preparation for the seminary.  I don’t think I had any particular calling.  I was just thirteen and it sounded like a cool thing to do.  It just seemed to be a logical next step from my experience at Huron’s Saint Peter’s Catholic elementary school.  I had interviewed with a couple of traveling Maryknoll priests and was an active candidate for the school.  

But then one day I was swimming in Lake Erie just off the beach where our cottages were and I met a girl named Patty. 

Her folks were Irish or Scottish immigrants and they had just moved up from the South as so many did during that time to work in the auto factories.  Patty was a beauty with a killer smile.  We swapped some insults and in the process I noticed she had this beguiling way of talking with a combined Scottish and southern accent.  It was love at first sight, or so I thought, so I immediately dumped the missionary idea in favor of more basic instincts.  When high school started Patty took the place by storm and had all kinds of guys chasing her so my time in her life was limited. 

Eventually a guy named Dick took center stage with Patty.  I guess he was a little jealous of me though because he started rattling my cage.  For example, once I was standing by my locker in between classes with a load of books tucked under my arm when he came up behind me and tipped them out of my arm to the floor.  I just stood there thinking; “What was that?”  I didn’t know whether it was a simple joke or an act of aggression but I had my suspicions. 

Now Dick was over six feet tall and I was probably five and a half feet tall at the time.  One day I headed into the bathroom in our school cafeteria.  Tom Cook was behind me.  As I entered, Tom pinned my arms behind me and Dick, who was standing in front of me, shoved a fruit pie in my face.  Just as he did that, Tom released my arms and I caught most of the fruit pie as it fell.  Instinctively, I shoved the pie right back in Dick’s face. 

Dick grabbed my shirt and punched me in the chin.  It wasn’t very hard though.  I think we were both pretty surprised by the events that had just occurred.  He stood there looking shocked and that was pretty much the end of the incident.  Except…from that point Dick and Tom were my friends.

Dick and I would later sign on to work in Cedar Point's Hotel Breakers - on the clipper and busing tables.  It was a daily summer commute we often punctuated by stopping at the A&W for chili dogs and an orange soda. It’s funny how these things go when you are a kid…how friendships can arise out of conflict.

Tom had a real ironic outlook on things and, in my completely uninformed naive opinion, a ton of common sense. He had a tendency to curl his lip and smile in good times and bad. So you always thought he maybe knew something (About life? About the situation?) that no one else did.  He also smoked, drank and knew all the standard cuss words.  This gave him that grown up and worldly aura that impressed our whole crowd.

I was just learning things like how to cuss and, in fact, would often engage in conversations where I would find myself using completely unfamiliar words.  What I mean is I didn’t know what part of the anatomy or what sort of activity they were referring to.  I was clueless in a very "ignorance is bliss" sort of way.

Tom also had this combination flat top and duck tail hairstyle with a curl centered in front. I think the Italians from the “Little Italy” section of Huron referred to the curl as a “pachuco.” I believe “pachuco” had some vague reference to being a gang member or something.  I didn’t know how he got his hair to do that but I knew I wanted mine to do the same thing and it wouldn’t quite work, no matter how heavy I loaded it down with whatever greasy substance was at hand. 

Tom would do 50 pushups and 50 sit ups at the start of his day, every day that I knew him which was at least a couple of years.  I don’t know where he got the motivation– maybe he wanted to stay in shape for football.  I was in awe and to this day wish I had thought to imitate him.  Also, he had that car which to me was a symbol of complete independence. 

I was just coming out of eighth grade and a very sheltered existence as a student at Saint Peter’s so you can see that Tom was the coolest person I had ever met up to that point.  He was a classic teen angel and bad looking dude and my first hero.  I was the “wannabe” but I learned fast. 

Tom always treated me pretty square.  Since we were neighbors, I hung around bugging him a lot and he would give me rides to school.  We also hung out together from time to time– attending area school dances, beer parties (!), camping and so on. I appreciated that a lot.  After all, I am sure I was just a naïve broke kid in his eyes. I didn’t have much to contribute to the relationship but for some unknown reason, Tom put up with me.

I lost touch with Tom after moving from Ohio to Seattle, Washington in 1962 in the middle of my junior year.  I never forgot him though.  Then, sometime in the Eighties I was on the phone talking to another old friend from those days who was still living in Huron, Dave Sprankel. 

He told me in the late 70's Tom had been on his motorcycle and had a fatal encounter with a billboard.  He also told me Tom had always been the first in the area to get the newest machine, things like snowmobiles, bikes and so on.  I don’t know why I wasn’t surprised, about the machines that is.  It sort of sounded like Tom I guess.  Tom had only made it to his late 30’s.  If I could spend five minutes talking to him right now today I’ll bet we would both be rolling on the floor in laughter over those amazing high school days.  We would certainly share a common love for motorcycles.

A Jog in the Rain

And so, while I was in Huron I decided to try and find Tom and pay my last respects even though I was twenty years late.  My old friend Dave did a little investigating and handed me a slip of paper with Tom’s plot information on it.  I found out the cemetery was a couple of miles from town and decided to jog out there to see him on an early morning visit.

It was a little cloudy but very pleasant when I left Captain Montague's B&B where I was staying. I took off at an easy jogging pace looking forward to the visit and not worrying about the weather at all.  I had received directions and took the turns I thought I was supposed to be taking but there was a lot of farmland out there and I was getting a little concerned about getting lost.  Then, it started raining. 

It was a fairly heavy but warm rain and was comfortable enough so I decided to press on with the jogging.  Just when I was getting pretty soaked and thinking I would turn around, I saw the cemetery ahead.  I went in and began looking for Tom.  It took me a while to figure out how the plots were laid out.  At the very moment I did find him though, it stopped raining. 

I know it was just a coincidence but it doesn’t take too much imagination to think it could have been Tom’s way of saying, “Hey, glad you could visit!  What?  Are you just stopping by so you can bum a ride to school?” 

I hadn’t figured out what to say when I got there.  So, I just said, “Tom.  We had some great times together.  I loved you like a brother, I have missed you and I will never forget you.  I will see you again.”

*****

Note: This story would later be a dedication to Tom in my book about riding Harley Davidson's; "Badass."  A few years ago I tracked down Tom's son through an old pal in Ohio.  I called him to mention I was an old friend and ask if I could send him a copy of my book dedicated to his father, free of course.  I thought he might like a story about his Dad.  Must have caught him in a bad moment as he declined. I still don't don't know why and I still don't know his Mother's (Tom's wife?) name.

Ciudad Juarez

1964.
Cannon Air Force Base, Clovis New Mexico
He was a Preventive Medicine Specialist
For the Air Force
Duties: Industrial Hygiene, Toxicology,
Environmental Medicine, Public Health
Everything from swimming pool inspections
To Mosquito collection and identification
To VD interviews

He once rode a helicopter on a mapping expedition
Of the base perimeter to identify potential mosquito breeding areas.
He once rode an ambulance as a volunteer to physically extricate
The remains of a F-100 jet pilot who flew into the ground.
He once interviewed a husband and wife, together
About which was the source of their gonorrhea infection
(They both pointed at each other.)


His buddy, William K. Smith
Was a Flight Surgeon technician
On flying status
Collecting a few extra bucks a month for it.

They were heading out for a weekend in Juarez
About 300 miles Southwest of Clovis
They got off late on a Friday afternoon
And stopped a little over half way
At another friend's mom's home
In Tularosa, New Mexico
The next morning... 'Mom' made them
New Mexico style enchiladas for breakfast
Small corn tortillas, stacked about 3 inches high
Each layer with sauce, or beef, or cheese or frijoles
All topped with a fried egg
They were so hot they made the Airman's eyebrows sweat.
Still, to this day the best enchiladas he has ever had

They spent the day in Juarez, roaming from bar to bar
As teenage Airman would do
Whiskey sours for a quarter
Each bar with a line of woman outside and in
Groping and trying to catch attention for a quickie
And a stage for the ladies to take turns strutting their stuff

At their last stop of the evening
They sat in chairs that directly faced the bar's semi-circular stage
And ordered beers
It was better than a bird's eye view

Finally, one of the seasoned strippers
Hit the stage and between entertaining the whole crowd
Would occasionally squat directly in front of one of the
Guys drinking at the stage

She was working her way systematically from her left to right
And sure enough, she stopped in front of the
Barely 18 year old, small town Ohio ex-altar boy
He was doing his best to look composed as the two
Were also bathed in the bar's spotlight

While she was in front of him trying to tantalize everyone
He chose to casually pick up his beer and take a swig
Then return it to the stage in front of them
He managed to complete that task before she
Figured out what he was up to
But the she had his number

She bent real close to him
Smiling and moving provocatively
Then took both breasts in hand and
Smacked him on both sides of the face
One right after the other
In the process knocking his glasses so they sat
At a 45 degree angle
The audience roared
And the Airman turned deep sheets of red


The rites of passage
Some never leave you

The Test (for Samantha)

Philosophy 101
Gotta have it to graduate

*************************************
He was on a crash course through college

Working full-time as an Air Force Airman
Attending night classes to graduate with a BA
While serving at four locations (assignments)
Two in California
One in Thailand
One in Arizona
All in under three and a half years
It was all made possible because
Courses could be successfully challenged
Under the College Level Entrance Program tests
And others could be taken in accelerated, shortened terms

Plus, the Air Force had a Bootstrap program

They sponsored the last ten months full-time 

But still... there was The Test.
Glendale Arizona Community College
Night class in Philosophy
The professor didn't want to be there
The students didn't want to be there
No one wanted to be there
Four hours a night
Two days a week
For eight weeks

The professor lectured
The students took notes
The professor didn't like
Philosophical discussions
He just kept lecturing

Finals approached
The professor gave his students a break (?)
He wrote four topics on the blackboard
"I will include three of these on the final, essay exam."
The Airman went home to his wife
Who was also working full-time
He said, "Gotta' study. Please help."
Without hesitation she said, "Okay."

First, he cleaned up his notes
On the potential four essay topics
In meticulous outline form
To four levels:
I. Roman Numerals
     A. Capital Letters
         1.  Natural Numbers
               a. Lower Case Letters

Then he started memorizing
First all the Roman Numerals
Next all the Capital Letters
And so on

In the latter stages
She would follow his notes
While he laid on the couch
Moaning and groaning
Trying to memorize
And recite the seemingly endless notes
None of it made any sense to him
But he just packed the information in
************************************
The night of finals
His professor wrote 3 of the 4 essay questions
On the blackboard
No stated time limit
The student started writing
Not the essay
Just his outlined notes

Much later...
He began transforming
His notes to long hand
Note style to essay style

Much later...
The student looked up
All the others were gone
Just the professor and the student remained
Still not quite half way done
He wrote a little more
Than made a decision

He gathered all his papers...essay and notes
Stood and walked to the professor's desk
"Look, I still have a lot to do here.
But if you will review what I have done so far
And agree to give me an "A" for the final
We can both go home."

The professor looked at the papers
Than focused on the notes and said,
"Did you bring these in with you?"
"No!" said the student
"I just wrote them out tonight
Right after you posted the questions on the board."

The professor said, "Done."
They both went home.

Campbell Ranch Dominates NorCal Landscape

This will be a photo essay - that soon will be snatched for $billions$ in movie rights...
(Please note... if you click once on each photo as you go they will probably fill your screen - making it all the more stunning in its splendiferous beauty, wonder and scientifically inaccurate detail. When you finish looking at the photo, just click the back arrow to return to this electrifying treatise.)

Not many of you know we, the Campbells, are
Carpetbagger, robber barons
Who have ravaged Northern California
While amassing vast holdings in land
An embarrassment of riches so to speak
Its not a big deal... just how we roll
So as Kenye West says; "ima letchu finish" this with your own thoughts

To get you started I am going to plant a few notions:

First, you want to know how I did it
Well, it was through blatant use of migrant farm workers
Here's one now taking a break (goofing off)
In the back yard of our vast estate.
Claims her name is Julieann and we're married (yeah right)
(photo r. undocumented farm worker who already shows signs of US patriotism by wearing a weird stars and stripes hat)

Next in the "how I did it" department
We need to observe the huge crop (millions of acres)
Of loaded  tomato plants growing in our huge truck farm
There are also millions of acres of basil,
Sweet peppers, and chives there
Although you may not be able to tell because the photo
Has been taken by satellite.
Millions of miles away
(photo r. high resolution satellite image)


You are also curious about where I store
My huge herd of thoroughbreds here in NorCal
Truth is I no longer have them
As my migrant farm worker has taken
Over the horse barn
And filled it with large plastic storage boxes
That contain seasonal bric-a-brac decorations
Anywhere from one to 8 boxes per holiday
With Christmas coming in first of course
(photo r. former gigantic horse barn)

Having seen all this, I know many of you
Are wondering and hoping that we have
Luxurious, palatial guest accommodations
Available here on the estate
Well of course.  Don't be ridiculous.
If you should be invited to visit (you won't)
Your cottage is prepared and includes
All the comforts you are accustomed to
No bed, no bath, a four foot tall grand main entry
Two, that's right,  two side windows
And a 2.5' by 4' grand Southern style
Front porch that holds (0) relaxing rocking chairs
(photo r. commodious guest quarters)

Rumor has it that the guest house
Was built by her Grandfather and cousin
As a playhouse for Samantha Campbell
But hey, that is just a rumor

No folks that's not the end of it
A couple more features to titillate you here
A gigantic grove of (2) cork oak trees!
(Click on THIS photo and you will see some 
Really cool, gnarly [really] bark!)
Yes, thats right
For all you cork lovers out there
Why, heres one now!
Notice how it likes to grow in odd directions
(Much like me)
Wandering around our stupendous NorCal acreage
(photo r. Cork oak growing where it wants)

Finally, when you have logged in as our distinguished guest
(that will never happen)
You will next question whether there is a place to bask in the sun
And wonder at the magnificent Tahoe Blue swimming pool
Well, there isn't
I mean there is a pool
But it belongs exclusively to our dog Molly
And she will not allow you to use it unless
You know how to throw a tennis ball
A trick few have mastered
(photo r. Molly in her pool being observed by 
Arizona immigration law refugee)

For info and a long, exhausting preview about how we got to this point click here: "Travel On"  

Atlas Shrugged

Yes, they are making a movie!  

But, and this is a really big but, they are casting it with unknowns (at least to me anyway).

Hopefully it won't have Ayn's fans, me included, shrugging.