Part 10, You should have seen this coming

I need to make a correction that I failed to do when editing Part 9. I didn't go to Morris 3 years in a row. After the first year was completed, I wanted to come home and Momma sent me to Jesuit High School In Shreveport for my 8th grade year.

I knew a lot of kids there as most of them had either gone to St. Josephs where I did or were coming from other families that attended either of several Catholic Churches in the area. In any event, there was no bullying and I was among some friends that I had known my entire life.

Right off the bat, despite a comfortable student body population full of my friends from childhood, I had a run in with the infamous and hated Prefect of Dicipline, Father Junkin. It happened in the basement concession area where all the coin operated vending machines were located. As a normal and daily activity, we bought candy bars during break time, woofed them down and returned to class ready to get back with the program.

One day shortly after the beginning of the school year, "Punkin Junkin" was in the concession area. I bought a candy bar that morning and pretty much put the hole thing in my mouth after only 2 or 3 bites to reduce it in size enough to chew and not have to take the bar still in the wrapper, back to class.

Junkin saw me do that, came over to me and slapped me in the face harder than I had ever been hit in my life. I stood up to answer his question of "What are YOU doing".

When I told him I was trying to get the candy bar down so I could return to class and not be late. About that time he pointed his finger at me and said: "Butler, if you are ANYTHING like your brother, we don't want you". He told me then to report to his office after class. I did so but I don't remember what he said as I was too focused on hitting him in the face with a base ball or simply running away from this red cheek, drunk looking, sorry ass example of a priest. At that point in time, I simply decided that I would start skipping school to get kicked out.

Leland was with Uncle Raymond and Aunt Glade in Crowley, Louisiana, going to school down there and I was using his 1958 Cushman Eagle to get to and from school. Whem Momma redeived my report card and saw the number of days I had skipped, despite knowing about the Father Junkin episode, she took away the Eagle and made me ride the bus. I intentionally did things to get kicked off the bus whenever I had one of those days when I wanted to set fire to Father Junkins' pants or hit him in the head with a baseball.

At the end of the 8th grade year, my report card came out as a "CONDITIONAL" promotion to the 9th grade. The condition surrounded a mandate to go to summer school at Junkins house of hell, OR repeat the 8th grade. I asked Momma, NO, I begged Momma to let me go back to Morris School in Searcy, Arkansas. Again, another great decision by Momma even though I would have to repeat the 8th grade as part of the deal. I didn't care because I knew I was going to do something a hell of a lot worse than throw a chalk filled eraser at Junkin if I had to go back.

The fighter in me had been hatching for years, but he was born the second Junkin hit me. This wasn't the last time I had a run in like this but it was only going to happen one more time.

In any event, having missed a full year at Morris while I was attending Jesuit, I returned and saw many of my former school mate buddies still there. I also saw Saparito, a kid from Chicago who tortured me every week during my seventh grade year.

He never really beat me up but he would walk by, double up his fist, extend his middle finger, slightly bent at the middle knuckle joint, and make what he called a "frog". He would walk up to you and hit you in the back, in the ribs, the arms and occassionally, if he could get a free shot, he would hit me in the chest. It hurt like hell.

Brother Robert Desmond, who had coached boys basketball, saw that I had grown like crazy and was now 6 feet tall instead of the 5'9" example that I was as a 7th grader. I liked him as he was a square shooter and he liked me and my family, all of whom he knew. He was glad to see me back and said, as I approached him on my first day back: "Finally, a 6' center for the Morris Mustangs basketball team". We shook hands and I agreed to play on the team.

Later on the first day, I went out back to the tennis courts where the swing sets and picnic tables were located. Before long, Brother Robert, who was not far from where I was sitting, watched Saparito approach me as I was still sitting on the picnic bench.

Not being able to see the additional height and weight I had added in the year and 3 months since he'd seen me, Saparito approached me with that "frog" and a shit eating grin that usually announced a bad time for his victim.

Before he could administer the first hit, I got up, and now, towering over him and out weighing him by 15 pounds or so, a look of shock came over his face. Before he had time to close his mouth, I had a head lock on him and, as I spun him around my outstretched leg, I threw him on down on his back and, as he was laying in the dust, that "Oh my God" look came to his face as he knew there was payback in the air.

I began a speech to the effect that today was pay back day. I began hitting him with the frog on every square inch of exposed body including his head. "Hows that feel", I yelled? I added: "Remember how many times you hit me in 7th grade?", and I'd keep peppering that frog all over his arm, head and chest.

He was squeeling, begging and promising to never to pick on anybody again if I would just let him up. Well, as it turned out, since Brother Robert had seen Saparito pick on so many of the smaller kids, (including me) he took his time meandering down the hill to the tennis courts as I continued with what I called a mortal ass whipping.

I stopped when Brother Robert arrived and I let Saparito up. Brother Robert asked him to remember how many times he'd told him to stop picking on the smaller boys. Sap just said he would never, ever, ever do it again. Needless to say, I had a bully free year from then on and not one little kid in school had anything to worry about from the bully department.

Greg, my first cousin, was already somewhat familiar with the lay out as his daddy, my Uncle Charles was a graduate of Morris as was his brother, Greg's Uncle Joe.

Greg and I always were close and after that good ole fashion ass whipping that I gave Saparito, I told Greg that if any of the bigger boys gave him the least amount of trouble, simply let me know and I would handle it. He reciprocated by offering to take care of the little ones who sometimes liked to get the bigger, faster, stronger boys in trouble....................for any reason at all.

In any event, that's how my first day back at Morris started. They were thrilled to see a 6' center to assist Joe Murray, another Chicago boy who could play round ball like no body's bidness and they were beside themselves to see Greg who would be a second generation Morris student.

All things considered, we were thrilled to be back in the mountains where over night camping by the river at Letona Bluffs, with all it's caves, was a sure thing and squirrel hunting was an annual rite of passage and a custom that had been in place for many years.

It allowed us to raise the "pinkies" until their eyes opened and we could put them in our shirt pockets while we fed them milk from a barbie doll milk bottle. Soon, we could put them on our shoulders and walk around campus with them staying in place like all well trained squirrels should.

8th Grade was cool for me. Greg and I were both crazy glad to be back in the Ozark mountains/woods, especially with guys like Brother Robert leading the way. He was an outdoorsman to say the least and, later in life, gave classes to mountain climbers in Colorado.

Things went down as they should have and the year sailed by with a few highlights when Greg and I got to ride the Continental Bus home for Thanksgiving and again during Christmas. We are still in touch with one of the Brothers who is now a priest and a couple of the students that came there. I speak to one from Cuba at least once a year.

More coming, stand by.


.

Part 9, You should have seen this coming.

Momma and Daddy had a pretty neat schedule for a house with 4 kids. They would have their breakfast in the morning before we were up, and then, when they were finished eating, Daddy would go get ready for work and Momma would get our breakfast ready.

Usually, in the middle of our breakfast, Daddy would come in to tell us goodbye. He would walk through the kitchen with his hat on, coat, tie, wing tip shoes, socks with 30's style garters and NO PANTS. He would say "Bye kids, Daddy has to go to work" and we would scream: "DADDY, WAIT. YOU DON"T HAVE ANY PANTS ON". We fell for that a million times.

They both were heavily involved in St. Joseph's Catholic Church and were charter members. Mom eventually became the girls coach there as there were no athletic activities for girls. She coached girls soft ball and volley ball. Her girls were very competitive and showed their strength during the annual "Field Day" when all the kids had potato sack races and such as that.

Daddy was not to be out done and showed up one Field Day with his Ford 8A tractor pulling his utility trailer that was typically used to haul lumber or foundation framing to house sites that were too muddy to hold up the delivery trucks of those things.

Daddy had the trailer cleaned off and had it filled with bales of hay to provide the kids with a hay ride. He drove it there from the subdivision he was building, a distance of 8 or 10 blocks. We loved it and so did all the kids at school including the priests and nuns.

One day Daddy showed up and loaded up a ton of kids to take them on the hay ride. They were jumping for joy when Daddy had them sit down and be careful as he drove off with them for the several block long ride. When he returned, Father Gremillion was there to greet him. He told Daddy how much he appreciated what he and momma had done for the school. He also told him that he would appreciate it if Daddy would WAIT until Field Day to come by and pick up the kids and not do it on a regualar school day. We got a million miles out of that one, too.

One day, Daddy came home for lunch around 11 o'clock or so. He began to have chest pains. He took his tie off, wrapped it around "Jock's" collar and told him to go to St. Joseph's and get momma. Jock, the coolest Standard Poodle ever, ran to the school with Daddy's tie around his collar and Momma knew something was bad wrong as it was Daddy's favorite tie.

She immediately went home only to find him dead on the floor of the master bedroom, gone from a heart attack. That was December 4th, 1958, only one month to the day after my 10th birthday.
It was a nightmare for us and it only got worse for me.

When I went back to St. Joseph's after the funeral, one of the nuns made a comment that was the wrong thing to say to me at the wrong time. I don't remember specifically what the comment was but I took it to mean that having a crazy kid like me around probably had something to do with his death. That was a life changer and I immediately went into the attack mode.

I picked up a chalk dust filled eraser, ran after her as she was leaving the classroom and threw it at her as hard as a ten year old kid can possibly throw. I can close my eyes and see the atomic bomb looking mushroom cloud that came when the dust filled eraser hit her square in the head. Try to imagine the after effect of that by picturing the "Black" habit and white brim cap that was a part of the nun's daily wear. Her entire world turned chalk grey as I escaped down the stairs to run home and hide.

Shortly after that I remember business people coming by to do whatever had to be done to handle Daddy's estate. Momma was upset and Leland sensed it. I don't recall if Leland got the bb gun or I did but I remember the situation where both of Daddy's boys became very protective of our mother.

In June of 59, six months after Daddy died, I left for a summer camp at a Catholic boarding school in Arkansas that was named "Subiaco". I was home sick but I liked being in the mountains of Arkansas. Shortly after that, in one of the smartest things my Momma ever did, I left to attend my first year at Morris School in Searcy, Arkansas, just above Little Rock.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, my Uncle Charles and his brother, Uncle Joe, had gone there as kids during their elementary years. I started there in the 7th grade until graduation from the 9th grade 3 years later. As a great comfort to me was the fact that my first cousin Greg, Uncle Charles' boy, attended there the last two years I was there. He's like the little brother I never had and remains so to this day. We were pretty much like partners during the whole thing.

There were kids there from Cuba, Venezuela, Mexico, Costa Rico and all over the U.S. I'll never forget the first day I was there when I walked into the boys bathroom to find a 16 year old 9th grader named "Falici" shaving in one of the lavatories. I can remember thinking that these were really old guys and this guy was actually SHAVING.

Great escapades from there which I will tie up tomorrow. Sorry I missed a couple of days but I needed the rest. Stand by for more of the transition from little kid pilot to little kid fighter.

Part 8 1/2. Taking off a day or so.

Hey everybody, Just wanted to tell you that I've taken a couple of days for me and haven't yet rec'd enough confirmations to continue with this. Tim JR took me shooting yesterday and I had a blast.

I will continue with the next post very soon, maybe as soon as tonight. Hang in there.

Tim

Part 8, You should have seen this coming.

In the summer of 1955, Daddy took me and Leland to work with him. He was building houses on Anderson Island which, at that time, was in the boon docks. There was an old hanger there that was the home base of a crop dusting outfit and I clearly remember the smells of the fertilizer, aviation fuel and the dope they used to cover the fabric on the bi planes that they used to do the spray work.

He took us to the corner of East Washington and Bolch Street where the construction was underway and we had to walk 3 or 4 houses northward to get to his job site. As a coincidence, this was only a couple of blocks away from Doles Street where Robert and Ginnell moved to when they left our garage apartment.

There was a bayou there and it had to have a culvert installed to finish the street, and that required a bulldozer for clearing work. Leland and I found a German Shepard momma there with a new litter of pups that had nested under a fallen tree. Daddy wouldn't let us have them as he said they were too young to take away from their momma.

He took us from there to look at a new bridge that was under construction. It would cross the Red River to Bossier City and go right into the West Gate at Barksdale AFB. The approaches to the bridge were already finished and had 1955 put into the form to show which year it was built. From there, we could see the red brick of the hanger that held the crop dusters as it was not yet demolished to make room for the new subdivision.

We sat at the western approaches to the bridge and watched huge Cat scrappers and bulldozers clearing the land for North Louisiana's first and only shopping mall. Daddy told us that he wanted us to see it because it would mark a change in Shreveport like no other change before it. He said that the clothing industry was more or less monopoliized in the down town area and that the "shopping mall" would change all that. He said that people from California were coming to work in a big plant somewhere and he said that would change things too.

Not long after that, Daddy took us to the airport again for another visit with Joe Messina. I'm not sure if Leland was there but someone was because I sat in the back seat of his Pipler Tri Pacer which was completely different than the Piper Cub that Linda and I flew our first flight in. The Tri Pacer had a radio in it and a speaker in the ceiling that was loud enough for all to hear.

During the flight, some garbled radio call came in and Joe made mention of the "idiot" who made it. He said that is "Herman Hesllinger", a German immigrant that Joe clearly did not like. When the tower asked him to repeat his message, in an extremely heavy German accent he said : "This is Hairrrman Hezzlinger, Cross Lake for landing Downtown".

Joe banked the Tri Pacer and headed toward Cross Lake to see if he could find Haiiiirman. Shortly after that we landed and my second introduction to flight was completed. I began, at that time, to see and accept that there was a common dislike of immigrants that was held by most of the combat veterans of World War II. To some, even the thought of buying anything foreign was totally out of the question.

In any event, I now had two flights under my belt and I was hooked forever. As a suggestion, you may google Piper Tri Pacer and take a look at the beautiful control yolks and the instrument panel. In it's day, it was fabulous. You can also google earth and go to the corner of East Washington and Bolch Street and probably see the old bayou that made Anderson Island an island.

That will do it for today as I'm really tired and full of meds that make you want to lay that head down and fall asleep on the couch. The point of all this, up to this post, is to demonstrate to be true, how those of us who arrived as baby boomers, GREW UP with a certain degree of hero worship of World War II veterans and a certain amount of SUSPICION when it came to aliens or immigrants.

We had nothing to base those suspicions on except for the fact that those men that fought the War, felt it, showed it and had already proven themselves to us as men of impeccable character and wisdom. It was only logical for us to be like them as they were the pillars of society as well as the greatly admired foundation of my own family.

"You should have seen this coming" is turning out to be a pretty good title, don't you think!

Part 7. You should have seen this coming

Playing in the back yard was suddenly interrupted by the familiar sound of Daddy's work truck coming up the drive way.

The horn was repeatedly honking, so we knew something was up. We all ran out of the back yard to the back patio to see what was going on. It wasn't Daddy, it was Cecil Carter, the job superintendent that managed all of the construction work Daddy had going on at the time.

He was a mess. He had on khaki pants and shirt and was covered from head to toe with something black like oil and grease. As he got out of the truck he was jumping up and down, waving his arms through the air, yelling: "Nora, we're rich, we're rich, we hit it, the well hit and it's a good one".

When he began to explain that the oil well had "come in", momma said: "What oil well"? Mr. Carter's face suddenly went blank and he said: "We've drilled an oil well and it came in this morning". I remember that he was looking around and asked: "Where's Leon"?

Momma turned around, faced us, and told us to go in the house. We knew something was up but didn't really have a clue what it was. Not long after that, Mr. Carter left and Daddy came home. He was clean as a pin and in fact, was wearing his coat, tie, 50's vintage hat and was dressed to the nines as he always was.

I'm not sure what the conversation was about, but the next day, momma came home in a brand new, 55 model Oldsmobile Rocket 88 and we all went for a ride. The following day, Momma came home in a brand new, baby blue, 4 door Caddy with every conceivable accessory including a "wonder bar" radio that only had to be "touched" to change stations. It also had electric windows and air conditioning.

The day after that, Momma showed up with a new mink stole. I can imagine the conversations between Mom and Dad that prefaced the new, improved situation for Momma. She wore it to church that Sunday and many a compliment was received by all the ladies at the church.

Of course, later on, we discovered that Daddy and his lawyer had invested in some drilling operations in Oil City and the first well was a winner. Many years later as I was going through some of Daddy's papers, I found an income statement that declared $18,000 and some change as his income from "Cottage Builders". It had nothing to do with additional income from the oil field but in those days of 15 cent per gallon gasoline, I think 18 grand was huge.

Not long after the oil well episode, something happened that was one of the coolest things I'd ever experienced in my life. Daddy took Linda and me to the airport and introduced us to a locally famous World War II pilot named Joe Messina. Joe had flown C 46's over "The Hump" in the China, Burma, India Theatre and was well known throughout the aviation community as "The Man".

Joe had made it back from the war and had purchased a couple of Piper Cubs from the military when so many planes were put up for sale as excess inventory. He brought credibility and expertise to Shreverport in the form of the first professionally run flight school.

Many of you know how small a Piper Cub is but for those that don't, it was a tandem seat, single engine, high wing plane that had room enough for one in front and one in back. Linda and I were so little, both of us fit in the back seat. Joe put us in the back with Daddy's assistance, fastened our seat belt and sat in the pilot's seat up front to prepare for flight.

Before we could quit diggin the smells and the look of things inside the Cub, he'd started the engine and was taxing toward the runway for take off. In less time than it takes to tell it, we were circling the field, looking down at the hanger and could see Daddy there, still standing where we had been parked in the Cub.

That clearly marked the first day in my life where I had the yearning to fly. I had no thought at all about helicopters and in stead, thought about fighter planes, bombers and the big four engine airliners of the day. In short, my flying career was the result of a real cool Daddy and a World War II pilot who knew how to introduce children to flight without scaring them to death. It was a wonderful flight.

Joe's picture, complete in his WW II flying suit, is framed and hangs in the first spot among the Hall of Fame at the Downtown Airport in Shreveport. I've had the priveledge to talk to young kids staring at the picture when I told them about Joe and the story above.

That's going to be it for today as I don't want to get ahead of everybody. More coming. Stand by.

Part 6, You should have seen this coming

I don't remember the story regarding the time frame when Uncle Parker returned from the war. I do remember that when I was very young, he and Aunt Margie moved into the garage apartment my daddy built over our garage until the construction of their new home was finished.

During that time, I had a chain driven, pedal powered tractor. It beat any tricycle or pedal car in the neighborhood and I was clearly the fastest little kid around. One day, the chain came off and I was completely confused about it all and couldn't figure it out.

When Uncle Parker came home from work he saw me in the garage crying my eyes out with frustration and asked me what was wrong. When I told him about the tractor, he grabbed a tool, put the chain back on and had it properly adjusted and running in no time at all. From that moment, and for the remainder of my life, I simply accepted that he was as smart or smarter than Albert Einstein. I actually thought he was a genious disguised as a regular human being.

One year, as the story goes, Uncle Parker wanted to come from Castor to the big city of Shreveport and go to the Louisiana State Fair. Castor only had a few houses, Sledges Store, a sawmill, gas station and a church, so they had no fair or much of anything else.

Knowing that momma had experience in the city, when she found out that he was coming to town to go to the fair, they set up a meeting. During that time, she told him that he should be very, very careful as there were "Big City Pick-Pockets" there and he'd better watch his wallet and his money or he would lose it.

Years later, as we talked about Uncle Parker, momma told the story about his trip down the fairway. She said that every time he took a step, he would use his left hand to slap that left rear pocket and check his wallet. She would then act out the walking scene and portrayed Uncle Parker walking through the fair. As his left foot went forward, that left hand would hit his left rear pocket where his wallet was. From there, it was right, left, slap, right, left, slap. She role played that so well that we all got a great laugh out of it and Linda, my younger sister, would mimick that a thousand times when we talked about Uncle Parker and his great achievements in financial matters.

That's not a joke, he was a masterful finance manager but we loved the story and would mimick that walk and slap maneuver for years and years. When we talked to him about it and showed him the walk, he would laugh out loud, take the wallet out of his rear pocket and say " I still have it and nobody ever got it". It was a wonderful story that he loved to see us tell. Step, slap, step, slap, step, slap and the sound still echos in my mind.

I don't remember when they moved into their new house but I do remember the next renters were Robert and Ginnelle Saucier. Robert bought a baby blue 55 Ford and since the new models came out in September, I knew it was 1954. We still see Robert and Ginelle at the grocery store and remind him that, in our family, he is referred to as the guy that married the best looking woman in Shreveport. She loves to hear that but in reality, it was true. During those years, I'd never met a more beautiful woman.

In any event, before I continue with other stories about other family members, I wanted to stop here and say that the first six posts I've made cover a period of time between my 4th and 6th year on this earth. What grand memories and what incredible family members I experienced during those years.

This may be boring to many but the family members send emails and inspire me to keep on with the story as they know where it is headed. For the rest of you, hang in there because further along the line, there are other stories about the War and it's influence on me from my daddy's side of the family. There are also stories regarding business influences I had working as a kid that swept the floor at my Uncle's Industrial Supply Company in Shreveport. Bare with me, flying experiences are coming.

Part 5, You should have seen this coming

With the trip to Uncle Raymond's under my belt, the annual trip to my Grandmother was due and, on June 19th, we left to join the rest of the family for the event. I loved riding down to Granny's because Daddy would always drive over the dam at Lake Bistineau, and the view was really cool to a 5 year old kid.

When we made it to Granny's, I could tell that there was a big deal going on compared to other times we visited, because then, there were no cars in the yard. On that day, there were at least 8, maybe more.

Momma came from a huge family and had sisters: LC, Essie May, and brothers: Lattis, Wayne, Earl, Richard (who we always called Uncle Taylor), Morris Ray, Parker and Levon. With momma, that made 7 boys and 3 girls born to my grandmother. As you can see, I had tons of aunts and uncles on my momma's side of the family and three sets from Daddy's side. Can you imagine having 13 aunts and uncles! It was the best and most loving family environment you can imagine.

To my knowledge, every one of the McInnis brothers went off to fight and win World War II. As most combat Veterans do after they returned from a combat tour, whenever they met, they would talk about the war. They would make a small fire in Granny's front yard and, while the women were in the house with Granny doing their birthday lunch thing in the kitchen with the chicken that Uncle Morris Ray caught from the coop. After wringing her neck in front of all the little kids, he gave it to the women to cook. That 's when the McInnis brothers met around the camp fire.

The older boys could play in the storm shelter or "ditch fish" for crawfish. When there was water in the ditch next to the road that ran along the west side of the yard just west of the chicken coop where the laying hens were, the bigger kids could always catch crawfish with a stick that had a string tied on the end of it and a piece of bacon tied to that.

We little ones had to be underfoot in the kitchen with the mommas. It was either that or taking a nap, or stay on the front porch or around the front steps. Not much lattitude there but the front porch wasn't far from the camp fire and I headed over there to experience something that would, later on, become my standard of thought, spirit, duty and patriotic demeanor when it came to thinking about McAruthur's duty, honor, Country.

Even though I didn't understand anything at all about those wierd places my uncles talked about, I knew they were important and I felt it was important for me to listen to every word they said. I heard words like Saipan, Tinian, Guadalcanal and Okinawa. There was another wierd one named Occupation Force Japan and Uncle Morris Ray was there. There were other crazy words like depth charge, U Boat, Nazi dogs and Mathausen (sp) Concentration Camp, where my Uncle Wayne became the first U.S. Army Medic to walk through the gate and begin the liberation of the Jews there.

I certainly could not remember those things as a 5 year old kid, but after that and throughout most of my early life, when I had an opportunity to visit with any of the uncles, I asked them to tell the story. I will share some of those with you now so that you will know what I learned very early on and learned with detail for many years after that.

Uncle Morris Ray loved criminal justice and became an MP in the Army right after the war began. He talked about arriving on Guadalcanal in the midst of a huge battle. He repeatedly said that he was suppossed to be a traffic cop on the beach making sure everything that came off the invasion barges made it to the right place at the right time. Think about that for a second. In the middle of the battle for Guadalcanal, my uncle and a few of his MP buddies, was responsible for getting the tanks, men, ammunition, artillery pieces, mortars and medicine to the men in the battle.

At the end of the first day of battle, during a meeting with the ground commander at the beach commander's tent, Uncle Morris Ray was told to get with other MPs and go to the jungle, capture a Jap, and bring him in for interrogation. He repeatedly explained that he was with the POLICE and not the infantry, to no avail. Despite that, he found himself and a few others, belly crawling through the jungle and setting up an ambush point where they might kill 4 and catch 1. He told me about the fear of that and I thought about it for years and again, when I was going into combat in Vietnam. He was part of the occupation force at the end of the war and didn't get to come home in 1945. Regardless of that, he did return and began a career in law enforcement until the day he retired. Want to know what he looked like? Robert Mitchum. He was some kinda tough looking guy but was as gentle as a lamb. I loved him alot. Oh yeah, he got the Jap.

Uncle Earl told stories about cold, dark nights spent hunting U Boats in the Atlantic just off the East Coast where so many of our ships were sunk at the beginning of the war. It didn't occur to me at the time but I was learning that there were bad people out there and there was a lot of fighting where ever they'd been.

Uncle Wayne talked about being the first Medic at Mauthausen (sp) Concentration Camp. I won't go into the details here and neither did he. With all that we've seen on the History channel and the Military channel, you know the picture, but he saw it first hand. It was ugly.

He almost died there because when he was inside the camp, he became sick and our medical corp did not have the medicine he needed. The doctors on hand found some of it in the Nazi Camp Hospital and administered it to Uncle Wayne. German medicine was slightly different than ours and for whatever reason, it almost killed him but he made it okay without any life long effects.

Uncle Parker didn't hang around much when that kind of talk was going on, so I really didn't get much information from him except that he'd fought on Okinawa. We all know about those kinds of things from movies and documentaries. To say the least, since he'd made Saipan, Tinian and Okinawa, I would say he had seen more combat than some of his brothers, but what he'd seen was pure hell. He was always quite the gentleman and never spoke of such things.

It's ten oclock here and this is more or less my bed time. Eyes are getting heavy and the screen is hard to see. With these things in mind, I hope you are beginning to see where the military influences in my life came from. I have some more to say about that but not tonight.

Thanks for the comments on the blog. Without them or a personal email, I dont have any way to know how many of you are up to speed with the blog and Leland says it would not be good to get way ahead of everybody OR to feel like I have a deadline. I just compose when the spirit leads me but I did want to mention the comments or confirmations through the net. Thanks again. Stand by for more.