Corporal Gupreet Singh, USMC

Corporal Gupreet "Gobi" Singh, USMC
Soldier, Patriot, War Hero

Tuesday, June 28th, 2011
Location: Former McClellan Air Force Base, Sacramento area, California


It was not a typical June day in Sacramento
There was a hard rain coming down
The drops stifled typical noises of the busy city
It was an extraordinary type of quiet...

The small Lear-type jet
Came smoothly to a halt
Just 50 feet from a large open hangar
Where the family of Corporal Gupreet Singh waited.

The Corporal was just 21
On his second tour in Afghanistan
He had arrived in the United States from India in 2000
For four of the following 11 years he was a United States Marine
His father said all his son ever wanted to be was "a soldier" 

In between the plane and the hangar
Some two dozen members of the Patriot Guard Riders
I among them
Had formed a flag line
They were there to honor the fallen soldier
And to preserve the dignity of the moment

The cargo door opened
The young Marine escort
Stepped onto the tarmac
And stood at attention
In full dress greens

The plane's crew of two
Moved deliberately
Through a routine of opening
The side cargo hatch
Setting up their equipment
And unloading the flag-draped coffin

The coffin was protected from the elements in a plastic wrap
The crew was solemn and kept positions of attention
Right hand over heart
At all opportunities throughout the process

The flag line was still
Holding flags at "present arms"

Patriot Guard Riders assembling for services
July 2, 2011

Left hand thumb up at bottom of staff
Right hand on staff thumb down and chest high
They formed an "L" to enclose the space
For the fallen marine and his family

All then departed, wordless in the rain
The Riders did not escort further that day
Out of caution for the rain conditions

Saturday, July 2nd, 2011
Location: Mount Vernon Cemetary, Citrus Heights, California


A more typical day in the city... sunny
Temperature was to hit in the 100's


The Riders began showing before 10 in the morning
Services for Corporal Singh were to begin at noon.

Patriot Guard flag line, awaiting call to "Present Arms"
at Mount Vernon cemetary, July 2, 2011

By 10:30 there were some 100 Riders assembled
By 11 they had formed flag lines around the front of the church
At 12 the Riders took a water break as services were held
At 12:45 they reformed the flag line at the rear of the church

At 1 the attendees began passing through the flag line
To assemble for a brief memorial outside
Just prior, in the triple digit heat
A Sikh elder passed among the Riders on the flag line
Offering small bottles of water - a welcome gesture of appreciation
Shortly after, there were three volleys of seven shots
That sealed the finality of the moment for all present

His father said all his son ever wanted to be was "a soldier" 
But he was much more than that
He was a hero in his adopted country

Obituary


Note: click on photos to enlarge in high resolution

36th Time's a Charm!

"Its just over the next hill, I swear!"
"Is the grass really greener over there?"
"Wanderlust?" Some say he got it from his daddy.

1945 -  Born Pontiac, MI - lived with grandparents
1947 - 50 Bottineau, ND
1950 - 54 Willow City, ND - house on west edge of town and house across from elementary school
1955 - Duck or White Lake, MI
1956 - Taylor St MI
1956 - Auburn Heights MI
1957 - River Road, Huron OH
1958 - Home on Lake Erie, Huron, OH
1959 - 61 Laylins Court, Huron, OH
1961 - 62 - 412 Williams St, Huron, OH
1962 - 63 - Uncles home Lakeridge, WA (Seattle suburb)
1962 - 63 - Bryn Mawr, WA (Seattle suburb)
1963 - Air Force Basic Training, San Antonio TX
1964 - Basic Medical Training, Greenville MS
1964 - Public Health Tech Tng, Gunter (Montgomery) AL
1964 - 65 - Cannon Air Force Base, Clovis, NM
1965 - 67 - Lajes Field, Azores (Portugal)
1967 - Bryn Mawr WA (Seattle suberb)
1967 - 68 - Air Force Intelligence School, Lowry (Aurora) CO
1968 - 69 - Ellsworth Air Force Base (Rapid City) SD
1969 - 70 - UTapao, Thailand
1970 - 71 - March AFB (Riverside) CA
1971 - 72 - Udorn, Thailand
1972 - 73 - Luke AFB (Phoenix) AZ
1974 - 75 - San Bernardino CA (finish undergrad school)
1975 - 77 - Mountain Home AFB, ID
1977 - 78 - Richmond VA (grad school)
1978 - 79 - Andrews AFB MD (DC area grad school residency)
1979 - 80 - Fairchild AFB (Spokane) WA
1980 - 83 - Malmstrom AFB (Great Falls) MT
1982 - Gunter (Montgomery) Al (Squadron Officer School)
1983 - 84 - McChord AFB (Tacoma) WA
1984 - 85 - (off base) San Antonio TX
1986 - 87 - Randolph AFB (San Antonio) TX
1987 - Present... One home... same home... finally!!! Sacramento, CA

Yes he's a tired puppy all right.. and glad the eagle (more like pigeon) has finally landed! 
(Note: estimates of years may be off by as much as... well, years)

Amen... Again

The air I breathe

Son Tyler Thomas and Daughter Samantha Marie

This hour.
This minute.
This second.

I want to hold it
To cherish it
To have it help me
Contain my life

To help me
Contain the gifts
I have not deserved
But accept gratefully

The moment.
The breath.
This breath.
Forever

Amen

But to all good things
An end
Must come
So be it

Amen... again

I can live with that
I guess
But I would rather not

Drafted on Father's Day, 2011

Casey Thomas

"Yunjkhan wanbli cha u kayapi.  (pronounced "Unkan blicha ooocopy")"  (Sioux)

"Das weikopfseeadler hat fassen ihm das hause."  (German)

When he was young... Casey Thomas learned Sioux from a priest at school.

W. "Casey" Thomas, 194x

He also learned German at home from his immigrant family 

Early American pioneer sod busting homesteaders. 

He came through poverty, the great Depression and life on the South Dakota prairies 
With a strong sense of family values

The keen eye of a craftsman 

A great sense of humor 

An affection for the Sioux and German languages.

He also had strong faith in “Hokah”, or “Gott” or God.

When those who knew him think of him 

Many snapshots of a wonderful man, father and grandfather come to mind.

So join me on a little journey through some of them... please.  

I will share a snapshot and I want you to participate in this by saying, or thinking, “hear, hear” with all the conviction you feel.  Casey will really get a kick out of this I guarantee.

Here we go (!):

The strong, callused hands of a man who loved to work with wood (“Hear. Hear!”)

The pleasure and concentration in his eyes as he played a game, any game (“Hear. Hear!”)

The curiosity and delight of a man who loved tools of any kind (“Hear. Hear!”)

His patience as a teacher of craftsmanship.

(“Hear. Hear!”)

His respectful approach to his customers…always (“Hear. Hear!”)

The thoughtful pause to consider the merits of a joke…most often followed by an ear-to-ear grin and a scrunched up face that said, “Das ist Gut!” (“Hear. Hear!”)

The timber of his voice as he spoke your name, forcefully and with love.  “My, My, My” that was good (“Hear. Hear!”)

The mischief in his eyes when he referred to someone affectionately as a “dikschniflik” and the joy he showed when teaching it to his grandchildren (“Hear. Hear!”)

The nearest translation I can up with for this would be "knucklehead."

The unconditional, nonjudgmental love for his family, his children, his grandchildren and all who were close to him (“Hear. Hear!”)

Okay thank you!

Wendelin "Casey" Thomas, 1997

Now, let’s consider Casey’s final hour.

At separate times during that hour his daughter Julie; sons Butch, Don, Chuck and Danny stepped outside Casey's Black Hills house and each time, they saw an eagle flying overhead. 

They each thought that the great bird had come for him.  As Casey would often say, “Isn’t that nice?!”

And so…

Yunjkhan wanbli cha u kayapi.  (unkan blicha ooocopy)

Das weikopfseeadler hat fassen ihm das hause.

Which is Sioux, and German for; 
“The eagle... has taken him home.”

Well-done Casey Thomas. Happy Father's Day for now and for always. 


He was the father of my bride... now of forty-four years.  I loved him and was fortunate to be able to tell him so before he passed.

Grad School Kicked His Ass

The Grant House at MCV
Current site of the MHA program
(He visited there once after many years absence
and found one of the great professors,
Dr. Ramesh Shukla still there -
they had a fine time reminiscing...)

He was an Air Force health care administrator
A freshly minted one
Serving as a sort of chief financial officer... the main budget person
At a nicely located Northwest US Air Force hospital

He met a counterpart from a larger hospital
Who advised him on the next logical
Career progression step...
How to get into Air Force sponsored grad school
His counterpart said; "I applied for it three times
And finally got accepted on the third attempt."

So he applied, fully preparing to get turned down
But was surprised with acceptance
First shot - dumbfounded and feeling lucky
Next step... find a civilian grad school,
Masters in Health Care Administration type
That would accept him.

His first choice... The University of Washington
Close to home and a cool place to live

They didn't want him
"Not enough meat in his mathematics undergrad work."
Which was true as all he had was undergrad statistics
He had challenged the required basic math via CLEP testing

Next stop (attempt), the Medical College of Virginia
Good possibility as there were two former Air Force
Health care administrators on the faculty
So he got a visit and an interview

One of the profs who was ex-Air Force challenged him;
"You have nice letters of recommendation
But we all know they are somewhat inflated in the military."
His response; "One of my recommendations is from a civilian undergrad professor."
Blammo... accepted into grad school!

His goal... just take it easy and get through
He loved his work but had absolutely no interest
In cracking any books to further his education

He wanted to be around hospitals, patient care
Learning in the 'school of hard knocks,'
Just punch that ticket...Get that degree and move on.
Little did he know that the real 'hard knocks' were right around the corner 

MCV turned out to be a good old boy college
Coat and tie to class... always
Southern blue bloods everywhere
One of his classmates was the 11th of his name
He liked to call him "Eleven" just for grins

He quickly found out the program was serious... very serious
The faculty was pretty proud of stating
They had an academic failure rate
And intended to use it when indicated

(And it was for one of his thirty some classmates
A fine gentleman of Armenian descent
Who couldn't (or wouldn't) maintain the required 3.0 GPA
And would be gone after the third term
Their "failed" classmate went on to graduate
From a different university
And became a very successful hospital administrator)

They worked so hard they felt guilty
Whenever they took a Sunday off to relax
He sweated every course, especially those
That included the math he had ducked earlier

Memorization was rampant
Cram it in, spit it back on essay
Don't worry about the short shelf life

There were three major components
Coursework, residency with written "management study"
And a comprehensive oral examination
Fifty-four semester hours

Including a nine month residency

Packed into two years

They made him take it serious
And somehow he made it through the coursework
Though he was often cowed by the brilliance of some of his classmates

Then he had a good residency and thesis
Although his professor/preceptor hated him
The feeling was mutual as the prof's arrogance was palpable

Then came the oral exams
And a pucker factor like no other

You could go for two years
Make it through everything
And lose it all in one hour-long oral examination

They wanted health care leaders
And you were not going to make it through
If you did not demonstrate it in orals

He thought he was a good leader
Having stepped up on every occasion
Since he was a kid
But who was he to presume
The MCV professors would agree?

Orals were conducted on the top floor
Of one of the hundred-plus year old buildings
Right across the street from their own grad building
It was a warm, humid day... they were in suits of course

The windows in the room were open
Hearing was difficult... complicated by street noise
From Richmond's main city drag below
The panel's questions hit him like stones
He couldn't make out some of the words

In response to one, he asked to use the blackboard
To diagram some concept he would later not remember at all
Short shelf life... remember?

There was nothing to drink
He was pretty sure all the southern cotton harvested that year
Was stuffed in his mouth
He had never felt more out of place or less worthy
After... he stumbled out of the building sure he had failed miserably

Back in the grad school building the answer was quick
One of the professor's gave him the news
"You made it."
He was stunned

He did not know why and still doesn't to this day
Maybe it was some enthusiasm he showed as he nervously
Fumbled with the blackboard that day.

He walked the few blocks to Shockoe Slip

On the James river
And one of its bars in old Richmond
Where the class often met

He was to meet one of his friends
The only other Air Force student in his class

He stood outside the bar waiting
Feeling more accomplished than he ever had 

Reveling in every sight, every smell
And the sound of rain drops hitting his umbrella

Then he looked up as his friend turned the corner
A block away
Their eyes met and his friend shook his head "No"

*****

He would readily confess that all the academic stress
Did not bring out the best in him
He never got over the shock of finding 
Such a serious environment
His wife somehow put up with his extremes
Throughout the two years... helping him study
Forgiving his trespasses
Making sure he had nothing but time to focus on making it
It ended up being her Master's degree in Health Care Administration...
Much more than his.

*****

His friend who failed at first attempt?  Hung in there through a couple more years of waiting... returning twice in the interim to repeat his orals and, in an amazing feat of persistence, finally made it.

Poker - more on "Dat Metaphor"

Luck.  Patience.  Skill.  Luck.
After several years study of the art of poker
He concluded it was a metaphor for life
... Sort of.

Made up of 4 equal components
The first and last being the same
And therefore a lot more equal

Luck borne from the deal of life
You begin with two  certain "cards"
Your environment and your attributes
Face down, your "pocket" is the beginning

Patience drives your ability to moderate
To play your cards when the time is right
To play your life, "pushing" when there is opportunity
Pulling back, "folding" to see another day and a better chance
When you see that the time is wrong

Skill becomes strength
And at times weakness
Out of periodic self doubt
Over time it keeps you in the game longer

Luck again surfaces
And drives the "Beat"
The rhythm of your life
Sometimes taking you to the "Final Table"
A long and satisfying road
But then sometimes it takes you to the "Felt"
An early demise

When you are "felted"
You get back up
Parlay the four components again
Renew the cycle
Shuffle the deck
Reload optomism and hope

(See also: Pocket Aces - "Dat Metaphor")

("Pushing - to bet all your remaining chips - to go "all in". "Pocket" - your first two cards in Texas Hold-em, dealt face down. The remaining five cards are shared by all players.  "Beat" - the way the cards fall - if you spend time pulling a lot of bad cards, they say you are experiencing a "Bad beat".  "Final Table" - Tournaments typically begin with multiple tables - when all but ten players are eliminated they convene at the "Final Table" where there is typically a graduated pay-off for each of the ten spots. "Felt" - when a player is wiped out and has no more chips.  All that remains in front of him is the felt that typically covers the table.) 

The Leaves

At door... waiting to come in.
March, 2011

Tyler Thomas Campbell... "Molly, have you been playing in the leaves?"

Molly... "No, I wasn't playing in the leaves."

Tyler Thomas Campbell... "Are you sure?  Because it definitely  looks like you've been playing in the leaves."

At Seven

As her birthday party approached, her father remarked how she had so many things in her life it might be a good idea to have her friends bring gifts she could in turn donate to children through a local agency.  Her reply at the age of seven; “Don’t you think we should wait until I am more mature?”  In those words. Exactly.

So they waited.  Then, as her next birthday approached the suggestion was made again.  That time, she was ready.  She gave the many gifts and donations from her friends to other children and also helped the agency with their annual Christmas toy campaign.  They continued this tradition for several years.  In the end many thousands of dollars in cash and goods were donated.
   

"I do it!"

From very early childhood, she was an “I do it” sort of person.

A button pusher; any gadget… any time.

An activity; skiing, blading, biking… any time.

She would just dive in fearlessly, marking her enthusiasm for life.

Most often, she would realize the outcome she desired.

When she decided she wanted to visit her grandparents in South Dakota. She didn’t want her mother or father to accompany her. 
She wanted to “do it” herself. 


Her parents were always in awe of the little person with such amazing skills and confidence. So they finally agreed, thinking she was more than capable of handling such an adventure. The day came and they put her on the plane to South Dakota with a change in Denver. She arrived safely and full of self reliance as her proud grandparents picked her up.


Within a day or so, regret set in and she was homesick but she conquered it, assisted by her mother’s soothing words over the phone. 

This was Samantha Marie Campbell at seven... humanitarian and adventurer.

This is how she will be as a UCLA graduate.

Spider Cave - Yosemite!

Stone Entrance to Yosemite's Spider Cave
Slide in. Slide out.
I know, its a way below average photo
but it's the only one I could track down.
It's only about the black part anyway...

The crawl space was pitch black
Just a few feet inside the entrance
The group moved without lights

In a cave black as pitch
Visibility absolute zero
A dozen or so they were
With a seasoned park guide
Training to work as a team

By touch:
Each holding the feet of the one in front
By voice:
Guiding through with simple commands

Through most of it you could not sit up straight
Or hands and knees
You had to belly crawl through Spider Cave

"The cave drops a couple of feet here."
"We are moving to the left."
"We are entering the room."

Daughter leading father
Father leading daughter
Training to trust one another

(The father was proud of his little girl Sam guiding him through.)

All within Yosemite National Park
Known for its magnificent sights
Yet this one offered no sight at all

It was about feel and faith
How strong and comforting each can be

(Recollection of an elementary school class trip Samantha and Tom Campbell made circa 1998. No, there were no spiders...the name just made it spookier for the kids and adults, adding confidence to those who dared enter...and survived.)

Old Dogs

Sacramento's famous Ancil Hoffman horse and foot path
The start of a 3.5 mile adventure for Molly and I.

Two old dogs
Molly and me
On an adventure

To recapture the old days
When she was young
And I had decent wheels

On this trip we had a new companion
The titanium hip (a new wheel)
We were testing all the parts, her, me and the hip

On the venerable Ancil Hoffman trail

But first a little (honest!) background
On my February post surgery visit
My surgeon had these words to share as it ended
"You can jog if you want, but we don't encourage it."

To this old dog those words were license to steal

Ancil Hoffman Golf Club -We circled the perimeter on a great
day and were not conked by a single errant shot!

Very similar to the taste of a watermelon that is stolen
As opposed to one that is purchased
The former infinitely better.

Molly looking over the famous American River - site of the
famous California Gold Rush and a famous Golden Retreiver
A lot of fame to be sure...

Yesterday, some 10 weeks after the fake hip literally 'joined' me
Molly and I were going for it!

Truth be known
The trail is 90% soft packed dirt - easy on the joints

Also, my "jog" is much more like a shuffle
Doesn't even cause Molly to break into a trot

We did it
Just over an hour
Likely around three and a half miles

Molly with the RedSled at the end of the trail
One pooped puppy!

An entire circuit around the park, nature trail, river and golf course

Life is good.
Nah, it is better than good.
It is great.
Just gotta' make it that way.

(You can see a lot more detail when you click on the photos...)

The Feel - Now... and Then

"

"The game of billiards has destroyed my naturally sweet disposition."
- Speech, April 24, 1906

Now:
Make sure forward hand is completely dry and free of anything that can cause drag.
Use talcum powder if necessary but much better just to keep it clean and dry.
Smooth feel is the ticket.

Place tip of index finger firmly against tip of thumb and rest against middle digit of second finger, forming a circle around stick six to ten inches from cue tip. Spread second, third and little fingers evenly.  Place these fingers and palm of hand on surface to make stable platform.  Place opposite hand roughly half way from balance point and butt end of stick.  Use thumb and two or three fingers to secure in light grip.  You want it to feel secure and comfortable.

Place cue ball equidistant from first spots on near and side rail.  Or place it close to side rail at second spots. Aim tip of stick slightly above center of cue ball.  Take 4-6 easy practice strokes to make sure stick is aligned to cause the cue ball to strike the one ball.  Draw back slowly, then suddenly move stick forward, accelerating with entire body to cause stick to smash cue ball into one ball.  Proper forward english will cause the cue ball to hit the one ball, retreat slightly while still spinning forward then go through the rack of calls once again, effectively breaking the rack of fifteen balls twice.  You are looking for a feel of controlled violence here.

Begin working geometry and physics on the table and balls.
The geometry of rail and ball angles.
The physics of english, spin and momentum.
Establish rhythm, use patience and a practiced hand.
Get in the zone.
Like many other experiences, the feel of it will stay with you for a lifetime.

Then:
"I wonder why a man should prefer a good billiard-table to a poor one; and why he should prefer straight cues to crooked ones; and why he should prefer round balls to chipped ones; and why he should prefer a level table to one that slants; and why he should prefer responsive cushions to the dull and unresponsive kind. I wonder at these things, because when we examine the matter we find that the essentials involved in billiards are as competently and exhaustively furnished by a bad billiard outfit as they are by the best one. One of the essentials is amusement. Very well, if there is any more amusement to be gotten out of the one outfit than out of the other, the facts are in favor of the bad outfit. The bad outfit will always furnish thirty per cent. more fun for the players and for the spectators than will the good outfit. Another essential of the game is that the outfit shall give the players full opportunity to exercise their best skill, and display it in a way to compel the admiration of the spectators. Very well, the bad outfit is nothing behind the good one in this regard. It is a difficult matter to estimate correctly the eccentricities of chipped balls and a slanting table, and make the right allowance for them and secure a count; the finest kind of skill is required to accomplish the satisfactory result. Another essential of the game is that it shall add to the interest of the game by furnishing opportunities to bet. Very well, in this regard no good outfit can claim any advantage over a bad one. I know, by experience, that a bad outfit is as valuable as the best one; that an outfit that couldn't be sold at auction for seven dollars is just as valuable for all the essentials of the game as an outfit that is worth a thousand. ... Last winter, here in New York, I saw Hoppe and Schaefer and Sutton and the three or four other billiard champions of world-wide fame contend against each other, and certainly the art and science displayed were a wonder to see; yet I saw nothing there in the way of science and art that was more wonderful than shots which I had seen Texas Tom make on the wavy surface of that poor old wreck in the perishing saloon at Jackass Gulch forty years before." - Mark Twain's Autobiography, Chapters from the North American Review, November 1907  

TC's Road King Classic at Mark Twain's cabin on Jackass Hill Road.

A note of interest (to me anyway):  Twain is referring to "Jackass Gulch" in Amador County, California, maybe an hours ride from Sacramento here.  He had a cabin at the end of "Jackass Hill Road" a replica of which is still there today. I have stopped there several times while riding the Harley, just to soak some of the atmosphere... sort of makes a person feel like writing you know?!