WHEN a DAY at the MOVIES REALLY WAS...

In 1941 or 1942 when I was 9 or 10, I distinctly remember going to the ‘Riviera’ theater in Rock Island and watching “Frankenstein” with Lon Chaney in 3D. They passed out the paper and plastic glasses that had a red lens and a green lens. Whenever I tell somebody this they think I am making it up. Nobody thinks they had 3D back then. (In those medieval days). But I know what I saw. We sat in the front row and thought for sure the cauldron of hot liquid was going to fall right on us.

The ‘Riviera’ theatre was one of 6 theaters in town. There was the Rialto, the Rocket,



which was the easiest to sneak into by the back door. There was also the Spencer, the Ritz and the



Fort which was the classiest. They had live shows like the Ziegfeld Follies.



When we were about 14 we lied about our age and got in to see the ziegfeld and all the bare legged dancers. Wow! But if you watched the aisle at the Riviera during the movie you would occasionally see a mouse running around or even a rat. I saw many, many movies there. It was my favorite theater. ‘Back in those days’ It cost 16 cents under 12 years and 21 cents over 12 years. For that you would see 2 main event movies (Double feature), a cartoon or 2, a ‘short film’ and a serial which showed every Friday like the ‘Lone Ranger’, ‘Captain Marvel’, ‘Flash Gordon’ or some other hero that brought you back every Friday night. On top of that, during World War 2, they showed the RKO news of what was happening on the war front. This may be hard to believe for the young today or even the middle-aged but it was true. Another thing is that you could go in any time as they never had intermission. All the shows run continually so you could stay for as long as you wanted. Even watching the same show over again, if you wanted. That is where I first saw “Gone with the wind”. It really was 4 hours long.

For a little over a dollar one could go to the movie, buy a bag of popcorn, a box of malt balls, a drink and have enough left to go next door after the movie to the ‘Coney Island’ diner and have a bowl of chili (the best I have ever eaten ever) with oyster crackers and maybe even a hot dog.

MEMORABLE PEOPLE and PLACES..

Getting discharged out of the Navy was probably one of the bigger moments of my life. Looking back, I really liked my navy life. Lots of travel and some good buddies and memorable times in my life but the finality of separation was also a memorable moment. I was in Boston, Mass. at the receiving station. I had been there for almost two months, awaiting my discharge. Previously, I was stationed aboard a light cruiser, the USS Worcester. I had been on board for nine months. That was also a good duty and a great experience.



The morning I was officially discharged I received 300.00 mustering out pay. Interesting enough, that was the same amount my dad received when he was discharged from the Army in 1945. This was 1954. Don’t seem right, somehow.

The first thing I did was to go out and buy some civilian clothes. I really do remember a yellow shirt and a gray zip up jacket, for some reason. 300.00 was a lot of money in 1954. Not a fortune but a lot to me. I was going to take a train back to Rock Island but got a hotel room for the night instead. I decided I would get the ticket in the morning. The next thing was to eat and I even went to a movie. I don’t remember in what order.

Boston was the home port for the U.S.S.Worcester so I had been in Boston a lot and my favorite place was Eddies Western Bar. I spent a lot of time there and got to know a lot of people. This also was the hangout for a lot of the crew of the Worcester. I knew Eddie pretty well. He was a typical short, stocky, balding and cigar smoking bartender who owned the place. He was always happy. There were the regular girls or ladies and the few gays but all in all it was almost like the ‘neighborhood bar’ found in most small towns. Everybody knew most everybody.

I remember one night in particular. Our ship was in and most of us were in Eddies that night. At one point, a bunch of bikers walked in which was kind of rare. Their were probably about 8 or 10. I was sitting at a booth with a couple buddies and most of the bikers sat at the bar. Evidently, they were set on starting something evidenced by their demeanor. Sure enough, one of them said something to a girl that was sitting with a sailor and a punch was thrown.



It was like every one was on a string and the puppeteer had jerked the strings. It was like everyone knew this was going to happen. It was the second bar fight I was ever in but this was a classic. Women were throwing beer bottles, guys were throwing punches and bikers were being thrown out the door. No one was exempt, even me and my buddies. It seems it was over in a few minutes but everyone was leaving because we knew the police would be here any minute. Mitch and I, a good buddy, stayed and helped Eddie straighten the place out. It was quite a night.

Getting back to the day I was discharged, I eventually wound up, of course, at Eddies to celebrate and to say goodbye to friends. Everybody was buying me beer and I wound up really wiped out. I only remember bits and pieces of the night but I remember one thing real well. I got up on the bar and danced, at Eddies’ suggestion. I was truly happy. The next that I remember was waking up in the hotel room. My hangover was about an 11 on a scale of 10. That bad! After getting myself sorted out, I found that all my money was gone. There was nothing. I was devastated and with a huge hangover on top of that, I was beside myself. I got dressed and cleaned up and with my little bag I went to Eddies bar. It was already about noon. I walked in and sat down. Eddie came over and he started telling me about last night. Evidently, I had a good time. I finally told Eddie that I didn’t have any money. I thought I had probably been ‘rolled’. Eddie began to tell me how sorry he was. He gave me a beer on the house and kept trying to console me. I told him I didn’t even have money to go home. This went on for about ten minutes and pretty soon Eddie went to the register and came back with an envelope and a big grin. I opened it and there was almost 300.00 dollars. He began to laugh and then told me that he asked me last night to keep my money behind the bar for safekeeping and I had agreed. I just didn’t remember it. That was a memory that one will never forget. He could have kept it and I would never have known. We had a little party again and then I left for Rock Island, my home.

INDUSTRIOUS LITTLE BILLY...

World War 2 lasted from December 1941 until June 1945. My age span then was 9 thru 13. We had rationing on most everything. Gas, oil, meat, sugar, nylons, butter, tires, shoes, cars, bicycles, cheese, canned milk, canned fish, typewriters. So much more. For an interesting site that pretty much tells what the true scope was, go to:

Http://www.ameshistoricalsociety.org/exhibits/events/rationing.htm#items.

There were ration books and red tokens and blue tokens. Each had a value. They were used just like coins. Legally, you couldn’t buy anything without them. However, there was a lot of black marketing that went on. How would it not.
I made a little bit of money in those days. I had the “proverbial” little red wagon that I pulled every where. I used it for my paper routes and to pick up and scavenge for bottles, tin cans, string, newspapers and discarded cigarette packages. In those days they had a lead liner on the inside of the package which peeled off. I would find lots of them in the streets and the alleys and I just made a ball out of them. String was another thing I collected. I would wind any that I found into a ball. Mom would keep her fat from cooking and I would put in cans. With all the bars in the area, bottles were my biggest money makers. I worked at this every chance I had. When I felt like I had a full wagon then I would take it all to the junkyard up by the river. He would buy everything I had. This was about once a week. The junk dealer would buy everything I had. This was about once a week or sooner.
The junk dealer was quite an entrepreneur. I can remember when I was very, very little when he went up and down the streets pushing a two wheeled cart and yelling and touting his wares. Only thing I sort of remember was “Rags for sale!” We all laughed at him as well as a lot of adults. We didn’t know then, nor did many other people that he was slowly buying up properties thru part of the city. Mostly in our neighborhood. When I was around 6 or 7 I can remember my Dad renting this little apartment where we lived in for about 6 months before buying the house on 7th avenue. I found out later that Dad actually rented that apartment from that same dealer.

Because butter was rationed, someone came out with a Plastic bag about six inches by four inches with a white buttery texture inside. There was a ‘button’ in the center with a red liquid dye that would break open and you would keep squeezing the bag all over until it all turned yellow. Something like a forerunner to oleomargarine, probably.
Patriotism was like nothing I can remember seeing to this day. People bought war bonds and war savings bond stamps. You could buy a bond for 18.75 and if you kept it 10 yrs, it would be worth 25.00. I bought quite a few 10 cent stamps and put them in the booklet they supplied. Truthfully, I don’t remember what even happened to it. But it was for the war and you just did it. A lot of men died from our city. When you walked down the street you could tell by the small flags hanging in the windows with stars. A blue star would mean one member of the family was in the service. Two blue stars would mean two were in the service and so on. If the star was gold it meant that the serviceman was killed. We saw a lot of flags in those days.

Most of the young men and husbands were gone to war. I made a lot of money mowing lawns and shoveling snow and doing small jobs for those left behind, even at my young age. I had a roll top desk with pigeon holes. In it I had index cards, one for each day, with an address for each mowing job that particular day.

With all this going on I would jog up to 38th street to the Bowladrome where I would set pins for the evening leagues. It was about a mile. Actually 12 blocks. I got ten cents a game for setting 2 alleys for a league per bowler which was 10 for 2 teams. Plus tips, which were usually pretty good if you did a good job. I could always set two leagues a night plus some open bowling before or after. Usually about 2.50 a night. That was a lot of money back then. Besides that, we got free bowling whenever we wanted and I wanted it a lot. I got good enough that I was asked to fill in for a league bowler 2 times when I was only 14.

I also worked sacking potatoes and bananas at the grocery store next door when I could. I even swept up at night. I also had a paper route and a Sunday paper route.

I was a pretty busy little guy during the War and after.

Seems like I’ve always been busy.

REAL MOUNTAIN MEN and GAS-A-MATS..

Sometimes, funny incidents or situations are the unexpected. They just happen and are perfect. When I lived in Montana between 1976 and 1982, we had a small cottage with I acre in the hills above Hamilton. I had done various jobs to make a living. One of the first was at a Log Home Building Co. I worked in the maintenance area mostly servicing chain saws, welding and repairing other equipment. However, before that I ‘peeled’ logs used for building the log homes. It was a very tough job and all was done outside in any weather. All the logs had a bark of sorts that had to be peeled off down to the bare wood. This was all done with a two handled draw knife. It was good exercise. The men who did this came and went. Occasionally, even a woman worked a while.

There were 2 of the peelers who actually lived in caves up in the hills. The older one, Kurt, about 30 or so, was a real live hermit. A true mountain Man. Never talked to anyone much. Just worked and got his pay and left. Just like a dan’l Boone. He carried a long Bowie knife that could almost whack a 2 x 4 in half. He had contempt and disdain for the other younger “cave man” named Dustin. Justifiably so, I thought. He was a “wannabe” but he was giving it a run for the money, at least. Well, there are other interesting stories there between them and about them, I am sure. However, while working there, I had noticed an old white ford station wagon accumulating a thick coat of dust in the parking lot. Under the dust, it didn’t seem to be in bad condition. It was there every day in the same spot. At the time, we only had a 1961 ford pick-up that we moved here from Colorado with. I asked around wondering who owned it. It looked abandoned. Come to find out, the “wannabe”, Dustin owned it. I asked him if he ever drove it. He said no. I asked if it ran and he said he didn’t know. He said he didn’t need it living in a cave up in the hills. I asked what he would take for it and he thought and said “maybe 75 dollars”. For the sake of bartering, I said “How about 50 dollars”. He said “okay”. And that is how I got my second car. He even had a title to it which was a shock.
It really was not a bad car. It needed cleaning and a lot of work but usable. It even had a heater which my truck barely had. The one irritating thing was that the driver’s door was missing one hinge. I had to get into it through the passenger side. One day, I needed to get gas. This was back when they had those “Gas-a-mat” stations. The pumps were right in front of the window where the lady sat and took your money and gave you a coin, of sorts, and you put it in a slot at the pump and then you pumped the gas. This particular day I pulled up in front of the window and not thinking, I opened the driver side door and it fell off with me standing there holding it by the handle. I looked at the lady and she began laughing so hard “I thought I would pee my pants”. Those were her words. I walked up and put down my money and said “It’s ok, That happens all the time”. One of those moments that could never be duplicated. I eventually got some hinges at a wrecking yard and fixed that problem.

'HUCKLEBERRY' BILLY and 'TOM' GARY...

One of my forte’s, I like to think was Ping Pong. I spent a lot of time at the YMCA while I was growing up. Besides swimming, running, basketball and all the other activities offered, ping pong was something special for me. We had tournaments quite often and I always done really well in them. My biggest competitor was Gary F. He was a really small kid who loved all sports but was always too little to compete because he was so small. But he worked harder than anyone I knew to prove himself to himself. Two of these sports that he did do really well were long distance running and ping pong. He and I played ping pong most every day at the “Y” and he would beat me probably 3 out 4 games on any given day.
Sadly though, his home life was as bad as mine. Maybe worse. His parents constantly fought and his dad drank a lot. Like me, he tried to stay away from home as much as he could. One time we decided to run away from home. We were 12 or 13 at the time. We packed a lunch each and took off walking across the bridge from Rock Island, Illinois to Davenport, Iowa. We ate our lunch early on the way. This was about 8:00 in the morning. We reached the outskirts of Davenport around 4:00 in the afternoon and got hungry. We sat down and talked it over and decided we would do this another time.

We took the ferry back across the river between Davenport and Rock Island. We had walked enough and It was only a dime. When we each got home about 7:00, nobody even missed us or knew we were running away.
When Gary and I were not running away from home or playing ping pong, we would go up to Augustana College where there was a lot of empty land and trees and a really muddy and rather small pond hidden by a group of trees. We found it one day while walking and running through the woods. Like huckleberry Finn, we claimed it as our pond. We found some old logs of different diameters but pretty much the same length. We got this idea of building a raft so we figured pretty much how to do it but we needed some rope and boards and nails and a hammer. A couple days later we took off to the pond with some equipment and proceeded to build our ‘Getaway’ raft.

With some patience and determination, we had built what looked somewhat like a raft, if you used your imagination. Up to this point, neither of us had the courage to actually go into that filthy pond but after having made a raft, then we couldn’t back down. We pushed and tugged and pulled and we actually got it into the water. Of course we sort of had to go into the water a ways to get it out far enough to float. And float, it did, until we got on it. It floated but with us on it, we were sitting on a partially submerged raft. But we did manage to get it out to the middle of the pond and most of the way back. Almost. Eventually, very close to the bank, we had to jump off and wade to the bank.
We, of course, had taken off our tennis shoes and socks before we had got on the raft so we were barefoot and had our pants legs rolled up. The mud must have been a foot deep under the water. I waded back to the bank first and Gary was alongside of me. All of a sudden Gary screamed like a bloody murder. We had already conjured up visions of monsters and poisonous snakes and everything in between, that lay in that pond. I was certain that Gary was a goner. He limped to the bank and saw that he had a terrible gash on the bottom of his foot and partly up the side. We found a bottom part of a broken milk bottle that he had stepped on. Of course, his mother had told him not to go to the pond almost every day that he came here. He said he couldn’t tell her about the accident but I told him he should see a doctor. He thought about it and said that in a movie he remembered these Indians would pack grass around the wound and wrap it up and it would heal the wound. I told him he was crazy but he had made up his mind. We found some grass and I gave him my socks to wrap it up. My socks alone should have been bad enough. I wrote him off as a friend who was going to die for sure. However, after about a week and about a pound of fresh grass later it was healing. The good thing was that for about a week, I could beat him in ping pong.
We never ever went back to the pond. I visited there many years later but the pond was gone. They had expanded the college grounds so much that I couldn’t even see where the pond was in the first place. Kind of like the ‘Time Machine’ movie scenes. Progress. They can’t change the memory, though. Like all my distant friendships back then, I can’t remember when or how but we sort of went our own ways or moved or found new friends. For a time he was a good friend. And, a good memory and I do cherish that.

PING PONG and the LOSER, again..

Speaking of ping pong. Later in life when I was about 35 or so, I was working at Jeffco Steel Fabricators in Commerce City. One of my co-workers was Franz G. He came here from Germany as a young man. One day, we were working on a project and some how got on to the subject of ping pong. Franz always seemed to be full of crap. A nice guy but I never believed much of what he said most of the time. Somewhere in there, I said that I could beat anybody here at ping pong. Franz said that he had been the champion ping pong player of Bavaria. I laughed and I think my words were “bullshit” or something along that order. We agreed to go to the sport center on Federal Blvd in Denver on the coming Saturday. They had bowling, pool tables and ping pong tables that you could rent. Well, we played about sixteen games and I only won one game. I accused him of letting me win that one. He was good. My thoughts from then on were maybe he is not completely full of crap, after all.

PERSPECTIVES on WARS and PEOPLE..

I was, and still am, intensely against the Iraq war. There should have been better reasons to go to that war or, really, any war.
My Dad lived through World War 2 But many didn’t. At least it was a war of principles. Even the Korean War was to a degree. I served 4 years in the navy during that war. I felt good about it. My dad went into the Army in January of 1944 and got out in November of 1945. He was overseas in France and Belgium nearly 2 years and in the ‘Battle of the Bulge’, as they called it. He was 34 years old when he went in.
Bush and Cheney said that Iraq would welcome us into their country. They would rejoice at being liberating. Bush said, aboard an Aircraft carrier decked out in flight gear, that the ‘Mission was accomplished’. Yeah! That was over five years ago. After we went into the Iraq war, I found an article written by Ernie Pyle, A war correspondent during ww2 who was in the thick of battle. One of his final notes of ‘perspective` at the end of the war was:

“Dead men in winter and dead men in summer. Dead men in such familiar promiscuity that they become monotonous. Dead men in such monstrous infinity that you come almost to hate them. Those are the things that you at home need not even try to understand. To you at home they are columns of figures, or he is a near one who went away and just didn't come back. You didn't see him lying so grotesque and pasty beside the gravel road in France. We saw him. Saw him by the multiple thousands. That's the difference”.

I cut this out when I found it and put it up on a wall at work as I felt strongly against the war. A fellow employee wrote at the bottom, “Sissy”. It was written by someone who never served in the military. He was all for us going into Iraq. (Note: “us” but not “him”). But I never said anything to him. I simply took it down because the message of what 'could be' was lost on him.

A FREIGHTER THAT NEEDED MORE OARS...

It was in July of 1955 that the money arrived from Robert. Ironically or luckily, it arrived a bit too late to book passage on the S.S. Andrea Doria which was booked up. That was our plan all along. Because of that we resorted to buying tickets on a freighter which was going to Norfolk, Va. Actually it was my kind of travel. We were the only passengers so dress was optional. I opted for trunks every day. Angelina was very contented also, as she was the only woman aboard. She spent her days visiting with the crew and I spent my days drinking Greek beer and sunning myself or playing chess with the crusty old captain. This was not a quick trip. We were at sea without a stop for almost two weeks. If there was a bridge to Norfolk, I could have walked it quicker. But all in all it was rather adventurous in its own way.
When we arrived in dirty old Norfolk and debarked and went through customs and finally got in to the city I hailed a cab to get to the train station. The driver was a female which blew Angelina’s mind. She had never seen that before.
The trip to Michigan was rather vague. Meaning non-eventful. I was wondering if her traveling thru America made her as excited as I had been traveling thru Italy and Europe. It didn’t seem to be. Of course, I love to travel, obviously. Every new place was exciting. I’ve always been that way.
We finally arrived and the re-union between Angelina and Donna was almost worth the trip. Robert still had the diner and time was spent for a while at the diner while I was looking for a job. Calumet was a copper mining town, all the way. Eventually It boiled down to working as a miner.

I'M a MINER 49er for a YEAR...

One of the hardest and dirtiest jobs I ever had was up in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. About the only work there was in the copper mines. It was probably the most interesting work, also. I found it interesting going 2000 ft below the ground with only a light on my helmet and a lunch bucket. The battery for the light weighs about 3 lbs. It is about the size of a book and we carry it on a belt and hanging in the back. The wire cable from the battery goes up the back to the light on the helmet. Try wearing all that and climb up and around a hill.

I started out on the “scraper”. This is actually a winch that has a half inch cable wrapped around the drum. It has a seat where the operator sits and two levers which one is for forward and the other is reverse. Attached to the long cable was a scraper, much like a snow plow except it is larger and heavier.

To explain this operation easier we should start at the beginning. The drillers would come in and drill a horizontal series of 1” holes to a depth of about 3 to 4 ft at about 30 degree angle in the wall at the top of this “stope” (hill). At the end of their shift, they would then pack sticks of dynamite in those holes (carefully). A fuse and a cap would be inserted in the last stick in each hole. The fuses would be from long to longer so that they would blow in sequence. This is pre-planned pattern. It would take a shift of about 8 hours to complete this. When all the drillers were ready they would light the fuses and waste no time descending down the stope and leave the area. About a half hour after they blow. the next shift comes in. One would be the scraper operator. Trying to explain the cable set up would be difficult so use your imagination. The scraper operator would use the levers to move the scraper up the stope and then pull it down the stope bringing with it the rock and ore down to the bottom level. This would be a continuous operation for an 8 hour shift while the drillers were working at the top of the stope.

There are tracks winding through the mine shaft which are there for the mining cars to carry the ore. There is an air operated front end loader on rail wheels that is operated from the side with 2 levers. There is a step for the operator to stand on and to operate the shovel to drive into the ore, filling the shovel and dump the ore into the mining car which is attached behind the air shovel. When the car is full the mining car is then taken back to the ore elevator and dumped on the conveyor belt that takes it up to ground level. That is as good as I can do to explain the procedure.

At any rate, I worked there for a year. Actually, sometimes, the worst part was coming up after the shift and often facing a blizzard, or bitter cold. The mine stayed right at 55 degrees constantly. Another thing I remember is how everyone got along together so well. When you work that close to each other you tend to watch out for one another. Only one time was there a moment of slight panic. About the end of the shift one night the electricity went out. That meant the elevator would not operate. We were there for about 2 hours and not knowing what was going on up above. Eventually we were able to go up and found that, of course, there was a blizzard and it had shut the power down all over.

I was usually the youngest one down there and took a lot of ribbing and a few practical jokes. I always took 4 to 5 egg sandwiches every night. Sometimes they would nail my bucket to the bench or hide all but one of the sandwiches. And of course, send me to the tool room for the proverbial left-handed pipe wrench. All things considered, I really did enjoy that time in my life. But.. I would never do it again.

LIVING in the DARK it seems FOREVER..

The downside of my growing up in the house at 1430 7th Avenue in Rock Island were many but the basement was the worst. The basement was dark, especially at night. I had been afraid of the dark through my entire childhood. My dad went in the army in 1944. One of the duties I had was to put coal in the furnace two times a day, morning and night, every day through the whole winter months. I was 10 going on 11 and the oldest. The basement stairs went down 5 steps to a small landing and turned to the right and then down about 8 more steps. The furnace was at the other end of the basement about 20 feet away. One dim light was hanging in the middle. Along the entire left side was a crawl space that I had to walk by. It was absolutely dark and I was convinced it harbored monsters and ogres and everything bad and was just waiting for me to come closer. I never did. Never once in all the years I lived there. When I finally would make it to the furnace I turned to the left and faced the furnace. When I opened the furnace door I had to stoke the furnace to release the ashes to the bottom. The coal bin was to the right and it had a door but no light. Opening the door was the hardest. What if someone or something was in there. I would hurry very fast to fill the furnace and to remove the ashes. Each and every time I went down there I was waiting to be grabbed at any minute. The only thing that kept me going was the fact that I had to do it. It was my job. There was no one else. This was probably the most traumatic time of my life. I had dreams about that house and the basement for many years off and on. Too many bad things were connected to that house.



50 years later I went back to Rock Island and all the business’s and homes were gone along that block except for that house (above) and one bar that was boarded up. Someone was still living there and a guy was in the yard on the porch. I talked to him and told him that I grew up in that house. He invited me in but I turned him down. I really couldn’t get myself to go in there. Now I wish I would have. Maybe it would have been a closure of sorts. I took some pictures of it on the outside, though. It actually looked better then that when I lived in it.

STARS, ECLIPSE and KID GOATS

My good memories of our life in Montana are many but I think there were three that really stick out as exceptional. The first was one night in particular. There were many nights like this but for some reason, it seems everything came together to make it more spectacular. We were outside at about 11:00 at night. Everyone knows that the skies are more spectacular when you are away from the city lights and our one acre was up the sleeping child road and about 14 miles from Hamilton which certainly was not full of city lights. One of us looked up and gasped. The stars were so bright and seemed to nearly touch each other. One could have read a book it was so bright. It was the most beautiful sight I have ever seen. It was as if the clouds and debris and all matter between us and the stars were parted for that night. Perhaps we just happened to notice it more that night because there were surely other nights that were clear but we savored that night for a very long time lying on a picnic table.
The second was during the day. We raised chickens and turkeys and goats and they pretty much had free range. Not the goats, as they would just go if we didn’t have them penned a little. We knew we were going to have a total solar eclipse. I believe it was in February 26 of 1979 about 2:00 in the afternoon. Normally the chickens and turkeys would be clucking and feeding and roaming and at dusk they would slowly head towards the hen house. When the eclipse started it surprised me. I knew it would start to get a little darker and then after a while it would pass. I had never been around animals when watching an eclipse of any kind. We watched as the chickens and the turkeys and even the goats quieted down when it started. As it got darker, there was a complete quiet and calm. They just began to hunker down to roost as they would in the hen house at night. It lasted for about a minute or two and as the light came back then they shook themselves and went about their business. It was a moment to remember.



Another moment was the birthing of our first kid goats. We had a doe named Ruffian (shown above) that we took to a goat farm to be bred. Keeping a male goat could be very tricky and we weren’t that much into goat ranching. At any rate, when she was beginning to show that it could happen any time, we watched her rather regularly. Of course, when the event began to happen it was about midnight on a frosty night. We had a shed where we kept her and watched in awe at our first experience of watching a birth. She had one kid and she licked and prodded her and shortly thereafter she began having another. We didn’t know they had more than one as we were pretty green at this sort of thing. After the second one came out, she began to clean that one too. Then, to our surprise, she started to act up once again. We thought no way would she have another but all indications told us that yes, it looked like it. However, she was having a lot of trouble and began to make noises. We waited for a while and determined that she was in a lot of trouble. We had read a little about breech births but never gave it much thought at the time. My wife looked at me and said she probably needs help and after this soaked into my head, I thought, oh crap. I’m going to have to go in there. I took off my jacket and slowly put my hand up inside and sure enough, the feet were crossed and I had to literally turn it around and help pull it out. It took quite a while but I finally pulled it out. unfortunately, it was stillborn. It was an experience I would never want to go thru again but all things considered, I felt pretty good about myself. We know that it never would have come out on its own and we surely saved her life. The two kids did fine and the mother got them standing up and kicking before long. The next night was really cold and my wife insisted we take the two kids in the house for the night. Below is a couple pictures of Gloria's mother with the 2 kids while on a visit from Colorado. I think she was enjoying herself as were they.





Trust me when I say that kid goats are worse than cats or dogs in the house. They get into anything and everything. This went on for three nights and we finally left them with their mother after that. We named them Nip and Tuck.

ITALY, PIZZA'S, WINE and BABIES...

In 1952 I was in the Navy and stationed in Afragola, Italy at an Infirmary. It was actually there for about three years and was de-commissioned in about 1955. We were the ones who moved everything in. It was a 50 bed hospital, which qualified it as an infirmary. It was a fairly small three floor building that sat in a piazza. No, it didn’t even have a fountain in this piazza. It had 4 dirt streets leading out of it. It was perfect. Afragola was a small town outside of Naples. I hate to say village but it leaps to mind. There was a fire escape stairway in the back with a landing on each floor. A building to the right was the dormitory where we slept. Behind the infirmary just beyond the fire escape was an apartment building. We should call it a villa, I suppose. Their 2nd floor was on the same level as ours and had a balcony which started only about 6 or 7 feet from our fire escape.

I was wide-eyed and young and eager and excited. I worked on the 3rd floor which was the obstetrics ward and the nursery. Yeah, I don’t know how I got stuck with that, but I grew to enjoy it. I worked with Edwards and Larry most of the time. I felt like we were the 3 amigos. We took care of the pregnant navy wives from Naples, mostly. I was in on most of the deliveries during the day shift and night shift. We switched every once in a while for training purposes. Every experience of birth was the experience of a lifetime, each time. There was, of course, a Doctor and a nurse and me. I took the baby after it was delivered and used the suction machine to suck the mucous out of the nose and mouth and then put silver nitrate drops in their eyes and then cleaned them up with baby oil and cotton balls and put them in the incubator. I watched them closely for a while until the nurse OK’d putting him/her in the nursery. Before putting them in the nursery I weighed them and put the bracelet name tag and took ‘foot prints’. I was always amazed when I was handed the baby by the doctor. They truly did not all look alike.
Of course, my job was also to clean up the delivery room after each use and get it ready for the next use. Another job was making rounds in the nursery every half hour and check each baby. Also, to take the baby to the mother if she breast fed them during the night. Otherwise I or Edwards would bottle feed them at the right times. Yes, we also had to change their diapers as needed which was more than we liked. And yes, I had been hit by that proverbial ‘pee-spray’ at the wrong time more than once.

On one round of my shift in particular, in the middle of the night, I noticed one baby was not breathing and was flailing around and turning blue. I grabbed him by his two legs and ran to the delivery room and used the suction machine to clean out his mouth and nose. He immediately began to gasp and cry and his color returned to normal. He was okay! After I watched him for a while I took him back to the nursery. When I told the night nurse what had happened she simply said “OK”. No one knows that I probably saved a baby’s life except me, but That’s alright. I had a good educational and satisfying job while I was there. I look back on it with mostly fine memories.
Now Edwards was a different matter. He hated the nursery. He wanted a transfer to a different ward. Everyone knew this. Almost anywhere but in the nursery. After a few months he told me that he had a plan to get out. I couldn’t imagine what it would be.
It was mostly routine duty through the days and nights. Occasionally in the evenings, when we didn’t go on liberty into town or Naples, We would ‘order in’, so to speak. These were my best times. In the apartment behind us were several families. One of the ‘ragazzi’ (young boys) of one of the families would hear us calling from our balcony. He had attached a basket on the end of a long pole and would extend it over to our balcony. We would put, usually, way too much money in it and tell him “Dieci oppure dodice pizza e due bottigli di vino” which was '10 or 12 pizza's and 2 bottles of wine'. He had done this enough times that he pretty much knew what we wanted. We had to do it this way as we weren’t supposed to drink on the hospital property.

Out on the balcony, (shown above with me) we reasoned, wasn’t too illegal. After about an hour or less the ragazzo would return with about twelve margherita pizzas’ and a couple bottles of wine. He was always paid well for the trip. Now this pizza was like nothing I have found today or any time since. I have tried. They were about 8 or 9 inches and had tomato and basil and mozzarella and olive oil. You could not eat them like you do anywhere else. We would fold it over and eat it like a sandwich and it was so fresh and soft it would almost melt in your mouth. It dripped while you ate it. I usually ate about three of them and wash it down with the really good wine. We really would not have fit into a classy restaurant the way we ate but it was unbelievably delicious. Again, one of those memories that one never forgets and the buddies you shared it all with.

Meanwhile, getting back to Edwards. We were on the night shift on a Saturday night. Now if you can picture a nurse at a desk and in front of the desk was the corridor that went all the way to the other end of the building. Off of this corridor were doors to the delivery room and two ward rooms where the patients slept and various closets and rest rooms. The nursery was half way down the corridor. Except for the lamp on the nurses’ desk and one light at the end of the corridor and the light coming out of the nursery door windows, it was rather dark at night. No one was wandering around at night anyway, except us. I was up at the desk writing in a chart near the nurse while Edwards was bundling the babies in a blanket and taking them to their mothers one at a time for breast feeding time. It is a very quiet time except for the swinging doors from the nursery. All of a sudden, at one point, Edwards come out of the nursery and had a bundled blanket in his arms which he suddenly threw up into the air and yelled “I can’t take this any more”. The nurse and I looked up and saw this bundle bounce on the floor and I was sure that Edwards had finally lost it. The nurse turned white and run down to the bundle, as did I. Edwards was leaning against the wall with a grin. The bundle, it turned out, was a bundle of blankets. No baby inside. The humor was lost on the nurse, which I understood. Edwards was put on report and yes, he was taken off the ward and replaced by Larry the next night. Edwards was switched to being a driver for the Commander. It fit him well. No one really ever talked about that incident for fear of what some of the women patients would think if they knew of it. Of course, Edwards knew that.

MY LATE FRIEND, the MOUSE...

When I wound up in Bonner Springs, Kansas in one of my travels, I stayed at my mom and dads. They had an upstairs apartment that I rented. I have a feeling for animals that has progressed to the point that I would rather catch a spider or fly or any living thing and release it outside as opposed to killing it. It has been an ongoing and escalating problem. My thought is always that “they are just trying to make living like the rest of us”.

What brings this to mind is a recollection of the time that I was watching TV one evening alone in that apartment and happened to see a small mouse out of the corner of my eye. I just watched and didn’t try to scare him or her.(Never figured that out). After that, most every evening he would come out of somewhere and sit nervously at a distance. One night I got some cheese and put it down. Very cautiously, he/she sidled over and ate the cheese. This went on for some time and became a ritual most evenings.



One night my mom asked me down to eat with them. This happened occasionally. In the course of the conversation I mentioned about my friend the mouse. Mom proceeded to inform me that they have been having a mouse problem for some time and she did NOT want me feeding one of them. She was very enthusiastic about the point. I agreed. I went to work the next morning and when I arrived home and while fixing supper, I heard a loud snap from the other room. When I went to see what it was I saw my little friend caught in a mousetrap. Dead. Fortunately, I never saw any more mice to feed while living there. No acknowledgement of this was ever made between mom and I.

AT 76, LIFE IS STILL TOO SHORT..

I’m not going to say “Time flies by”. But it does. We can’t do much to stop it but we could make use of the time given us. My question is, why am I still here? I don’t really believe in a God but I do believe in what God stands for and what he has created in our lives for that very thing that keeps us going. I could not have just been born and existed and then arrived at (eventually) the end. It can’t be that simple. There are so many times in my 76 years that should have been the end.
My best friend, when I was only 12, made deliveries of small radios in a small Radio Shop his adoptive parents owned. His name was Andrew Wooley and he was 15. He had a bike that he made deliveries with about every other day for his father. I almost always went with him, riding on the handlebars. It was a fairly small town in those days. He was like an older brother, sort of. One day he had a delivery up near Blackhawk Park. He said it would be too difficult for me to go that time because there were a lot of hills in that area. I was disappointed but I told him I would be home when he got back. This was about 10 in the morning. I went home and never thought about it until around 2 or 3 in the afternoon. About 5 there was a report on the radio that said that there had been an accident involving a car and an unidentified boy on a bicycle. The boy had been crushed by the car. After the shock and realization that he would never be there again to be my friend, I realized that I would have normally gone with him on a trip. Why wasn’t I with him? I don’t know. It could have been both of us laying there.
In reference to the previous incident in Imperia, Italy while hitch-hiking. What if I left the bar that night and I had not been aware of what had been transpiring. I would have not took off running. I probably would have been walking down the road. If those men were as serious, as I truly felt, they could have simply hit me with the car or all jumped out and attacked me. Or killed me. No one was around to see and it was night and I was just passing through town. I have no doubt they were planning to do me harm. It could have been over then.

My wife and I were going to leave Italy, finally, in July of 1956. We were just waiting on some money from the States which was late coming. When it finally arrived we tried to book passage on the Andrea Doria from Genoa. We were too late as it was all booked. We wound up taking passage on a freighter, who’s name I don’t even remember. This is a true story. If you remember, the Andrea Doria sank after colliding with the Swedish ship Stockholm.
Figure in the car accident on that wet dirty road in Kansas or the 2 possible drowning incidents or, if I was not so inept, at those 3 suicide tries. What powers kept me alive through all those circumstances and the bigger question is why? Is there a grand plan for all of us or some of us that we hadn’t quite completed yet? Sometimes I feel that is it. I (we) have been put here to accomplish or complete something and it just hasn’t come up yet. It doesn’t have to be earth shattering or memorable but just the completion of a plan. I feel so lucky to still be here and considerably healthy (minus one lung, of course) at the age of 76. I have always said I would never live past 63 because of my family history and my smoking and my, at times, unhealthy lifestyle. But here I am and I still buy green bananas and hard avocados.
So my point, somewhere in this micro-autobiography, is that I feel we should act on those wishes and desires so they don’t become a 'could’ve been' or a 'should’ve done'. This is the only time you will be here unless there is something I don’t yet know about. Use it!

SYNOPSIS OF THE BAD DAYS...

Okay! When I said earlier about the good with the bad. This is some of the bad. I will call this another lesson in life. God,I am tired of them.
About 1962 in L.A., sometime after my divorce, I was arrested on a DUI charge. It was over a disagreement with 2 police officers as to where to park my car on a street. They didn’t like my spot and I did. They won. Yeah, I had been drinking. Pleaded guilty and paid a fine. However, I spent the night in a drunk tank and trust me, you never want to wake up in one of them. At the time, you think that is probably the bottom of the barrel. Trust me again, that is not the bottom. I was arrested on 4 more occasions over the next 2 or so years. Every time for drinking connected offenses. The next time was in L.A. again, once in Rock Island, Ill., once in Davenport, Iowa and again in Tulsa, OK.
The one in Davenport was the only one that involved someone else directly and is the one I regret the most. I had just started working at a steel shop in Davenport and found that often on Fridays after work the boss would break out the booze and beer for everybody. It was a ritual. Bad one, albeit. They would sit around and play cards or checkers and party up and this was Friday. I could never pass up a party so I stayed and, of course, drank way too much. So much that the next morning I woke up in another drunk tank. I didn’t even remember leaving the shop. The accident I caused involving another car with a mother and daughter. I was told I went up the wrong way on a one-way street. Before I go any further it was not that bad an accident and no one was hurt, fortunately. Just the autos but all the horrible possibilities were there. When I look back I wonder why they let me get into my car in my condition and what about the other workers. They surely were too drunk to drive, also. In today’s world this would not happen. Companies are acutely aware of the liabilities. But back then it was not uncommon to break out the booze on a Friday night after work. My wages were garnisheed after I had returned to work which made me angry at the time. They were laughing about it all at work. I wound up quitting on the spot. I don’t think anyone really cared. Looking back, I deserved what I got at the very least. I could have killed someone as drunk as I was. I just left town for another beginning, again.
This drinking problem never started with my divorce, though it didn’t help. I think it started when I was in my teens. You really can’t blame a drinking problem on any one thing or person or circumstance. It really came down to me to look at myself and to listen to others trying to tell me that something is not right. Perhaps it could be the environment while growing up and in your teens and you are living in a drinking family situation but when you are grown it becomes your problem. In my case it was something that started like that and grew over 20 or 30 years. Just a little at a time. Ever so slowly. The Navy was good for me in so many ways but it was so easy to party when you are 17 to 21 years old and away from home. When I got out it should have stopped but it didn’t. I was still at the party.
In Rock Island, one night, I had been drinking at several clubs by myself. I had a hotel room in Davenport across the river but it was late and I was very sleepy and decided to crawl into a car’s back seat and sleep a little. Just an unlocked car I found on the main street. The next thing I remember was waking up in jail, again. This time for 2 weeks. Again, I left town.
This went on and off for a couple years until I wound up in Denver, Colorado by bus from Tulsa. I found a hotel on the corner of Broadway Blvd and 13th street. called the Howard Hotel. I’ve written earlier about the stint at the hotel so I won’t repeat except to say I worked there at the desk for free room and 1 dollar an hour. It was a good deal for me. A few months of that and I decided to find some work which I did in Edgewater, Colorado at a Iron Shop. Mostly building and installing Ornamental Iron fencing and stairways. I liked it a lot but the old Friday night routine was still there. Drinking and eating at the Edgewater Inn which usually extended into the week-ends and other bars.
After about 7 months I saw a help wanted ad in the paper for welders and fitters in Grand Junction, Colorado which sounded good. I called them and was told I had a job if I showed up so I gave notice and left on a bus within a week.
I found an apartment with a girl that I met on the bus which worked out good for a couple weeks. The job was a good opportunity for me and the pay was great. However, this was the beginning of the spiral to the bottom for me. There was this neighborhood bar just across the alley from my apartment. I began spending most every evening in there. After a while I branched out to other bars. Grand Junction back then was a lot smaller town. For the sake of brevity I will move along. I really began to acknowledge that I couldn’t go on like this. I was going nowhere.
I found a small building that was the meeting room for Alcoholics Anonymous about five blocks away which was about halfway to a bar I had been hanging out at. I started going to the meetings and found new friends to be around. We would spend evenings going to coffee shops and just talking about our problems. I was still working and making money. Things were looking up. A few weeks had gone by and, as the old saying goes, I went out to celebrate. I started to drink more and more often. I would still try to go to meetings occasionally but it wasn’t helping.
I finally found out what my ‘bottom’ was. I found myself going to a bar at six in the morning ‘when it opened instead of work. I had a friend that would pick me up every morning but towards the end he would pound on the door and the last time he did I answered and said I couldn’t make it. He never came back and I never went to work again. I remember one night when I was to drunk to make it home and I fell asleep in a business’s doorway. I woke up at daylight and made it back to my room. I stayed home without leaving for about four days and then one afternoon I went to the AA building. I told some one there that I was afraid to leave. And I didn’t. I ate there and slept there on a couch and that was against all the rules. But they let me stay and about the 3rd or 4th day we had a meeting and they all decided to give me a bus ticket to Denver and made an appointment for me at Fort Logan Alcoholics Section. I thanked them all and the next morning boarded the bus. I was to go to Fort Logan the next morning and report at 9:00 AM. It was the one of the longest nights of my life. There was a bar right below the hotel room I had found. But I made it thru that night by not leaving the room.
The next morning I found a bus to Fort Logan. I spent 3 weeks in treatment there. I met an Artist who helped me an awful lot. He got me re-interested in painting which I continue to this day. Among the others who helped me was a self imposed ‘hermit’ who would abandon himself and his wife to a cabin in the mountains and drink until the ambulance would bring him to Fort Logan. I met a gay who wasn’t sure he was gay but everyone else knew he was. Really a pleasant person to talk to. There were group meetings and one-on-one meetings most every day. It was singularly the best thing that ever could happen to me at that time in my life. I was allowed to stay the 3rd week which was not in the treatment plan but I needed to have a place to live. One of the female staff was really the one who helped me back on my feet. She drove me to an interview for an ad I saw in the paper at a place called Jeffco Steel Fabricators. I got the job and started 2 days later. She also helped me find a trailer to rent in a trailer park on a hill above the shop. I was there for 3 years as a welder then a fitter and eventually become the Shop Inspector. I think that was the beginning of my future. There were still a few tough times but I could handle them a lot differently. I don’t have enough words to express what Fort Logan and the people there did for me. It was truly a turning point in my life.

MY EXPERIENCE at MEALS on WHEELS.,,

After I had my cancerous lung removed in 1993 I went back to work at Cleasby Mfg for a short time until I turned 62. I quit and went on Social Security. The steel work was just a little too much physically. I got a job at Volunteers of America delivering meals on wheels which is the point of this part of my story.

It really makes you take notice in a world where one sees, in the course of a day, a people who are living from day to day with often this one meal we bring. It was very difficult at first as I was not prepared for what I saw. My route began downtown Denver and quickly took me to north Denver to a housing development. I went into homes and apartments where mostly older women and men and some with disabilities or diabetic or handicapped or where they had difficulties managing there life physically. Some were bed-ridden and some had someone to come in periodically to care for them. I am not talking about wealthy people. Most had very little and were reliant on disability and programs like meals on wheels and varied health care programs through the city or county and other such programs.

I had some good moments and some heartbreaking moments. There was, for example, Edith and Edna. Edna lived on a street I don’t remember and right across the ally from Edith. My first stop was Edna who was 84 and almost spry for her age. Her family were all gone or at least not close enough to be helpful, which was quite often in these cases. She would talk from the moment I went in continued on for a good fair of time until I could pry myself away. One day she told me that Edith was 100 years old. Evidently they talked across the alley once in a while. I was surprised that Edith could be 100. I always stopped at Edith’s as my next stop on the route and that day after talking for a while I mentioned that Edna told me she was 100. She, in an angry voice, informed very emphatically the she “was NOT 100! She was only 99” and she wished that Edna would quit saying that. Anyway, Edith did not have any family either and had a girl come in once a day to help her with various duties. Every day when I did go to Edith, I would talk a bit with her. I did with most of the clients as sometimes I was the only one they would see in a day.

Whenever I arrived Edith always had a cat on her lap and one on the tp of the back of her chair. She admitted to having 4 cats but I suspect there were more. One of them I always saw sliding under the bed as I walked in. The problem was feeding them and the one on her lap was very sick. I asked about her and she said she couldn’t afford a vet for her and I didn’t think she would survive for long. I told her that if she wanted, I could take it to the humane society for her. After a while she agreed. My wife came with me on that saturday and we took her down to a shelter on a Saturday. They told us after a brief that she was too far gone to last long so we made a donation and had her put to sleep. Edith never found out and just as well. The next time I went there she had another cat on her lap and life went on. She was still there watching TV with a cat on her lap as usual when I quit the route nearly a year later. She was a good woman.

Another woman, probably 50 was not so lucky. She was bed-ridden and had one leg amputated do to diabetes some time ago. Her other leg was not far off. She had a son who visited occasionally when he needed money or something else. She claimed he brought her the paper and occasionally cigarettes and sometimes videos. She was on oxygen all the time, even while she smoked and her bed was always somewhat dirty but she seemed to always be in good spirits. She had a stack of videos which she watched every day, all day. Her home smelled as she only had someone come in once a week and didn’t seem to do much for her pay.

Then there was the new client at an apartment that I stopped every day and knocked. When the door opened a young man answered and I asked if, I gave a name, lived here and he looked sort of surprised but said “Si” so I handed him the meal and left. I did this for a week until I looked at the address given me a little better and realized this wasn’t the right apartment. It was on the next street. Why this guy didn’t tell me I was at the wrong place really pissed me off. Mostly because the bed-ridden lady it belonged to never got a meal for a week. There was another one whom I never did see. She just opened the door a crack and took the meal and said thanks.

There were many stories but I will end with this one. Once again, probably in her late eighties, there was this lady who always said just come in when a I rang the bell. When I walked in from the doorway to the living room and through the whole house, there were plastic bags, mostly filled with newspapers but other items too. Probably some trash, also. I asked her about it and she just said someday she would be getting rid of it but she might need some of it sometime. It never moved and was still there when I quit the job. But the sadness was that the filth and conditions lived in and the inability of them to physically change anything and no relatives or friends or any one to help those who couldn’t help themselves.

And I have to say that I quit mostly because of not being to cope with all that I saw ever day. But I feel I did make their day once in awhile and helped a little once in a while. I don’t regret the job but it got to be too much. Meals on Wheels does so much good that a lot of people couldn’t understand or know about. There are a lot of wonderful people in that Organization who really do care.

CHARLES ATLAS Revisited..

Is there anyone out there who can remember the ‘Charles Atlas’ body building courses of the 30’s and 40’s?

http://www.charlesatlas.com/

It was a body building course that needed no equipment except perhaps a chair or two. A man from Italy named Angelo Siciliano started using this system in the 1920’s and changed his name to Charles Atlas in 1922. He actually formed the company in 1929. I was 12 when I sent off for it around 1944. it think it cost 25.00 and I paid it in 3 different payments. (I could be wrong about the price). The reason I did is because there was a older kid up the street that sent off for it about 6 months before and it really did work for him. It didn’t make big bulging muscles but just bigger smoother arms and legs and stomach abs. It was a regimen called ‘Dynamic Tension’. You can look it up online but it really worked. I did see a difference myself after a few weeks.

One exercise was putting a chair on each side of you and putting one hand on each chair and doing push-ups just like on the floor except using the chairs. Another was putting your arms out in front of you with one fist on top of the other. Then pretend you were climbing a rope but exerting by pushing down the bottom fist with the one on top. Alternate the left fist with the right fist every other pull. Picture yourself actually pulling yourself up a rope. Another was pushing your fists together in front of you really hard. If you try it you can see feel all the muscles you are using. I know it sounds weird trying to explain it but it really had effects. Think ‘Dynamic Tension’ and you will get it. Another part of the course, which sounds weird also, was to do this while in front of a mirror with no shirt. You can actually see your muscles being used which has a positive mental effect. I went online and found that it is still in business under ‘Charles Atlas Bodybuilding’. It did work but like anything, it takes perseverance.

I WAS in LOVE with KAY STARR..

I went through Navy Boot Camp at Great Lakes, Illinois. When I graduated from there, I went to Hospital Corps School just across the street, so to speak. You find your buddies by natural selection or some thing like that. I never remember how Buddy and Tim and I ever got together originally. I don’t even remember their last names and that’s okay. (chapters, remember?). Milwaukee was the closest liberty town. Just a short trip on the El. This was in 1950. There was this bar that sit on the corner about a block from the train station. I don’t remember the name of it, either. This was a Navy town. Shore Patrol (S.P.’s) were frequent in the streets to keep the military personnel from getting out of hand and help to keep the local police from getting involved. All three of us were underage. The bars weren’t allowed to serve anyone under 21. Go figure. We were in the military during the Korean War and were too young to drink? We, of course, found a way around this like good sailors would. The bar waitress’ never ever bothered asking for ID’s in the bar so we were served OK. We would always sit in a booth by the front window to watch for the SP’s as they frequently would come in the bars and randomly ask for ID’s from the military. When we saw them coming or someone saw them, we would just go in the women’s restroom until they left. Needless to say, we were regulars there. Every one knew us.

There was a Juke box just across from us. We would put nickel after nickel in it and listen to all the, what we now call, golden oldies. Theresa Brewer, Kay Starr, Patti Page, Frankie Laine, Mario Lanza, Johnny Ray and on.

A nickel a song, all day long. Any one remember Goodnight Irene, Be my Love, Tennessee Waltz, Cry or Wheel of Fortune. After 58 years, I can still see us sitting in there listening to that music and laughing and being with friends and girls and enjoying growing up. And I was only 17. We would sometimes stay there all night and into the morning when we had week-end liberty. They were only required to close from 5:30 AM until 6:00 AM so we would go outside and stand around for a while. OK, this only happened a couple time but I remember it well. Yeah, that was real music where you could actually understand the words. That’s why they call them the Golden Oldies. Memories were invented because there are no do-overs.

WARS without a purpose SUCK..

I think I must have slept through the Vietnam War. Between working and moving around and of course, partying, I never really paid attention too much. I could never understand why we were fighting over there in the first place. No more than why we are fighting in Iraq. A lot of good men were killed in Vietnam and wounded both physically and mentally and the ‘lucky’ ones got pissed on when they returned. I never really knew many that had been there. Some would not admit it and some dropped out. I only knew or met a few. But one I will always remember. His name was just Joe for this writing. It was when I was living up in Montana. We were sort of neighbors up in the hills. He had a small ranch with a wife and two little girls. If ever there was the proverbial ‘man who never talked much’, it was him. He kept to himself and avoided, the best he could, any conversation with anyone except for the obligatory hellos’. He was having trouble trying to make it financially, as a lot of people were. I was working at a steel Corporation in Stevensville at that time. They were having a little trouble finding loaders for the trucks and general work around the yard. I thought about Joe and asked one evening if he would want to work for a while. He said that would help him get through the tough time he was having at the moment. It was 20 mile each way to work so I told him that I could drive each day. Every morning we left and he barely spoke and only if spoken to. It was the same on the way home. I found out that the guys he worked with said the same thing but that he was one hell of a worker. I did get him to tell me that he was over in Vietnam but never could I get him to talk about it. One morning, after about 1 month, he just said he didn’t want to go any more and that was that. Through the neighbors I found that he was that way at home around his wife and kids. It was so sad to see him totally isolating himself from everyone and nothing you could about it. I eventually moved back to Denver and never knew how he wound up. We were not friends, really. It just wasn’t possible.
I reluctantly must say that for a long time I didn’t much respect for some of the men that run around in khakis and used dope and smoked pot or let themselves go. I just went with crowd and formed that opinion. Gradually, as time went on, I realized that had I went through what they did, had seen what they did over in that war and come back to the insults and disregard and disrespect they were given, I would have been in the same condition. I can’t imagine this sort of reception for those that serve our country today will ever have to, go through that again. I would like to believe, once this Iraq and Afghanistan fiasco is over, that the only reason we will use our military will be for aid to countries where hunger or disaster are present or if our very shores are actually being invaded.

MY ARRIVAL AT AFRAGOLA, EVENTUALLY...BEAR WITH ME..

In 1952 I was stationed at the Naval Hospital in Quantico, Virginia. Actually, I had been there since around August of 1950 after finishing Boot Camp and Hospital Corps School. It was a good training ground and learning experience.

I spent most of my duty on the S.O.Q ward. That was the Senior Officers Quarters. It was where I saw my first person die. He was a retired Marine Colonel. His wife was standing there, also. A sobering experience for a young man.

There were some good memories there in the 2 years I spent on that duty. One is about a very wiry, crusty old retired Chief Warrant Officer. He was 91 years old. He probably only weighed about 90 lbs. but as tough as nails. I had to give an injection in the arm every day and it was like trying to stick a piece if leather. Sometimes it took a couple of tries but he never complained. He had tattoo’s of all his battles that he served up and down his arms. This was back when tattoo’s were not that much in fashion and adorned mostly by sailors and marines. Most were faded. He could tell some good stories although he got tired pretty easy.

Some good liberties in Washington DC, Fredericksburg, MD and Baltimore, MD. Even the small town of Quantico was okay and really close. Right off the base. My favorite liberty town was Fredericksburg. It was a nice sized town then. I met a girl there named Trudy. Actually met her in a park. We could set for a long time and just talk. Went to the movies a couple times but not much more. She warned me one day to not get serious as she was Jewish and her parents would not like her getting serious with a non Jew. That sort of threw me a little. She eventually took me home to have dinner with her parents but I soon realized it was just that. Dinner. We really got along good and we enjoyed the evening. I saw her a few times after that but eventually we drifted away and later I left Quantico anyway. She was just a nice girl that I liked very much and it is so long ago now that I don’t really even remember what she looked like.

In 1952 some orders come in for a few of us. There was a choice of 2 duties. One was for Korea (during the Korean War) and the other was for Naples, Italy. For the duty in Naples it required extending my enlistment for a year. If I had to go to Korea I would have, without hesitation, but I’m no fool. I made the choice to go to Naples. It was good news for a guy who loves new adventures and Italy would be a better adventure than Korea, I was sure. There were four of us that hung together that made that choice. Larry, Mitch, Kirby and me. Picture shown to the right.

The trip there was an experience all by itself. We went by a Navy cargo plane. It was small, loud, cold and only bucket seats that lined each side. I think it was only had 2 engines but I’m not sure. Sleeping was sporadic to none whatsoever. I have been in jeeps in the mountains that were a smoother ride than that flight. We fortunately made 4 stops on the way over the big Atlantic. The first was in Gander, Newfoundland that was raining hard the whole time we were there which was overnight. I talked to someone stationed there about the rain. He said it rained most of the time in Gander except when it was foggy. Some duty! We ate and slept and the next morning took off for the Azore Islands where we stopped for fuel and whatever else they always need. It was short and non eventful but it was where all the fog in the world started from. The next stop was Port Lyautey, Morocco in North Africa. We did have a day there and found a couple sand covered bars that sold warm beer and had a fan that did practically nothing except burn electricity. Still, I was in Morocco! Wow! I don’t remember eating anything there but that was a long time ago. (actually 57 years ago). If I did I must have got over it.

The next stop was finally in Naples, Italy. This was where my second stage of life began. Instant love. I couldn’t wait to get out there and walk amongst the people and the stores and the food and the music. And the girls.

We were put on a berthing ship named the U.S.S. Mercer APB 39 docked in the Bay of Naples Port. It was an almost stationery ship used for just the purpose of berthing the Navy personnel temporarily before going to their permanent duties.


We lived on it for about a month. It had only hammocks for beds, upper and lower and a locker each. I had a top berth. It was pretty good as we were hardly ever in them except to sleep. We got liberty most every night. When you hear the term ‘living close’, this was what they meant. Taking daily showers was practically an accepted (unspoken) requirement by all.

Playing cards was almost mandatory. I learned to play Pinochle, poker and hearts aboard the Mercer. I learned quick as it was expensive. Pinochle was usually a penny a point and 50 cents a game. I received my Navy base pay of 75.00 every 2 weeks and between the pinochle and poker and the liberties with beer, Pizza and the girls, I learned fast how to play pinochle. I had a partner who I played with most of the time. After a while you get to know how you each play and do pretty good without having to cheat. Some partners used subtle signals to cheat but eventually got caught and chastised. We made some good money to help with our liberty times.

After a month they moved us to a hotel. It was the hotel Grilli right in the center of Naples. It was about 6 stories and I was on the top floor in a large room with 3 others. Like a dorm.`At last I had a real bed. Actually it was pretty plush living. We had maids who cleaned up and made beds every morning and a bar and lounge downstairs in the lobby.
According to our standards, everything in Naples and Italy were really cheap. A beer then was like 16 cents. For a 1,000 lire you could spend a big night on the town. A big meal with all the trimmings would only run about 6 or 7 hundred lire. Barely over a dollar. That 1,000 lira was 1.60 in our money. I smoked at that time and we bought cigarettes for 90 cents a carton at the ship stores but we could sell them for 3,000 lira (4.80 American) or more on the black market. We were allowed 2 cartons a payday. Usually we kept one and sold one. We all knew someone that didn’t smoke, however, but liked money. There were other ways to make money but that was as illegal as I wanted to get. For the first and last time in my life I was rich. Only because the economy in Italy was so bad.

The Infirmary was located in Afragola, Italy. About 20 miles outside of Naples. A really small town and we were located right in a piazza that had 4 dirt roads leading out of it. When the infirmary was built and ready to be moved into we were taken out there each day and brought back to the hotel in the evening. We were moving in the beds and setting up the equipment and just generally getting it ready for use. If you’ve ever seen an Italian movie circa about 1950 set in a little Italian village then you would have seen where we were. Just perfect. It took about 3 weeks to set things up for business, so to speak. There were 2 Dormitories in the back. One for us and one for the Nurses. ‘Neither the twain shall meet’. Eventually we moved out of the hotel and into the dorms and the world was right.

Afragola was a really small town. I hesitate calling it a village as that sounds like it was in Africa or something but it would fit. There was a Pharmacia, a barber shop, Several wine shops, a couple alimentary (grocery stores) and a couple places to eat. By no definition was it a swinging city. I know there were other places of business but I can’t remember them at the moment. After I had been there a while I tried the barber shop out one day. The barbers name was Alberto and I could get a real haircut (scissors only) a shampoo, a shoe shine by a ragazzo named Vito, a shave and a couple beers all for 500 lira. Under a dollar. I even got a little language lesson as I went on. It was right across from the Hospital. It was down the street a couple blocks that I found the original pizza shop. I had never found a pizza quite like that outside of Afragola or possibly Naples.

You could fold it and eat like a sandwich being careful not to let it drip or you could tear it apart and eat it piece by piece. And you had to have a glass or so of red table wine with it to complete it all.

At night the people would stroll through the streets to enjoy the cool night air. There would be gelato shops open and always someone roasting chestnuts along the street. Sounds like I am making it up but I know it was true because I was there and I was part of it.
I learned how to play Scopa with some of the locals.



It is a card game much like canasta but with different cards. Much different.! We played for wine generally and I supported a few of their habits until I learned how to win. Life was certainly slower there compared to Naples. That was a good thing, however.

Eventually I found an apartment about 2 blocks from the hospital. I had met a really beautiful girl named Angelina from Caserta and we decided to share the apartment. Living off the compound was not illegal as far as the Navy was concerned but was discouraged. I would just climb the fence on the nights I had the duty and go back before daybreak and no one ever new the difference except a couple buddies. There were a couple others who were doing it also but it was done discreetly by all of us. Week-ends were all mine except one a month where I had the duty. Quite often, a few of us would climb the fence at night and keep a wine shop open most of the night. The owners never complained as they were making some good money off of the rich americanos. We really never caused any problems was the other reason they tolerated this. The girls we lived with were sort of shunned by the locals as the girls were deemed to be ladies of the night (Puttana) but it wasn’t exactly true however they were not from Afragola, for sure.

The apartment we had was on the 2nd floor and had a small balcony in the front and a long walkway balcony in the back that accommodated other apartments on that floor. It overlooked a courtyard that also served as a garden. It also had an outhouse that served everyone. Yes, we had no toilet upstairs but I lived with that okay. There was a ‘thunder mug’ we used during the night occasionally. The neighbor people were really friendly to us both and really helped me with my learning Italian. I was getting pretty good because no one spoke English except Angelina and she was limited so I was determined to learn out of necessity.

One day when I arrived at the apartment the old women were in the garden thrashing (my term) the bean plants to loosen the beans from the pods. There was a 3 foot long round stick like a broom handle that was attached on one end to another 3 foot stick by a piece of leather. The bean plants were spread on the ground over an area. They would then swing one end of the stick and beat the plants with the other end in a continuous motion and did this for hours. They would then remove all the plants and sweep up the beans. There were about 6 or 7 women doing this. After talking to them they asked if I could do this. I said sure and after about 3 minutes I stopped as I was pooped. They all laughed and continued on like it was nothing. These were all farming women that grew up working hard. The men were actually out in the farms. Either their own or working for someone else. They would leave before day break in a horse drawn cart and not come back till before dark. Usually they have almost a loaf of bread filled with cheeses and salami type meats along with a jug of wine and they take a couple hour ‘siesta’ from about 2 till 4 during the day. Probably ‘under a tree’ to make the scene complete?

THE PLOT THICKENS…
My buddy Edwards decided to take an apartment in the same building as I was in. Of course, he found a girl to share it with. Her name was Lorena. Just a couple doors down. When I moved in there were certain things we had to obtain. Like sheets, blankets, dishes, pots and well, you get the idea. Some things we bought but working at a hospital gave us access, albeit illegal, to some things like sheets, blankets, dishes, pots and well, you get the idea. That is how it started. A couple sheets here and a few dishes there and pretty soon we were sitting comfortable.
When Edwards moved in it become a different animal. He was giving some items to the neighbors above what he needed himself. He had a big heart but needed guidance when it came to common sense. There was a large storage area for the food supplies for the kitchen and also a store room for extra beds and equipment for the hospital. Eventually we were going in there at night and taking a little ‘stuff’ for our homes away from home. Nothing too serious or expensive but I could see the writing on the wall. Edwards was thinking big. When he started talking about taking a bed out, piece by piece, I lowered the boom. No Way was I going to be part of that or even let him get involved. I think it was more of the challenge than the end result of actually wanting a bed. Kind of like the soldier during WWII that shipped an entire Jeep home before getting caught. Anyway, it never went any further. Except for a 5 lb cheese or a gallon of milk once in a while, we tapered off with the pilferage.

We had a Personnel Officer at the Hospital. His name was Lt. Harwood. Not a pleasant man but a stickler on the rules and regs. There was also a Chief Petty Officer who was in charge of all of us. His last name was Shirley. Unknown to Lt. Harwood, Chief Shirley had an apartment in Afragola also with a live in girl friend. Not too far from us, actually. It eventually came to Harwood’s attention that some items were beginning to be missing from the Hospital stores area. They did have some local Italians working in the Hospital. Mostly as janitorial and kitchen help. At first glance that would be where the guilt would be but after it became no secret that Edwards and I each had our own apartments in town, among others, the suspicions were expanded somewhat. When we were approached about this we of course denied everything. When one of the wheelchairs came up missing it kind of helped Lt. Harwood go over the edge. The missing wheelchair was not our doing. We knew something would have to be done to stop all this thievery and we were right. They put locks on the doors to the storage areas which should have been done sometime ago.

But it wasn’t over as we found out shortly after the locks were installed. A few days later Chief Shirley came to me and said “I told you guys not to get carried away with taking things from the hospital”. He told me that Lt. Harwood has found out where Edwards and I were living and was planning to have a surprise inspection in hopes of finding some of the missing items. When I asked when he said “this afternoon about 1:00. You two are in trouble”. It was 11:00 A.M. already and I had no way to leave or warn Angelina and Lorena to get rid of everything. I had a thought about the roof overlooking the street where the Barbershop was. I told the Chief not to worry. “We would do something”. I went up and looked over the edge and saw Alfredo the barber dozing in the chair. Vito, the shoe shine boy was sitting outside the shop. I ‘yelled at him quietly’ (try doing that) to get his attention. I finally had to resort to throwing small pebbles at him. He finally looked up and quietly as possible I said to him “Vai a casa mia and ditta Angelina che la Dottore gonna have inspezione at casa mia and Eduardo too” Fortunately, between my Italian and vito’s English, I think he got the message and took off. I could only hope he understood. I went downstairs and found Edwards and told him everything. He should have been shook but Edwards never got shook often. He said that Angelina and his girl would take care of it.

It was 12:30 when we were summoned by Chief Shirley to our ‘surprise’ to go down to the foyer and accompany him and Lt. Harwood to our apartments. No words were exchanged on the short ride but Lt. Harwood looked pretty smug sitting in the front seat. I was sweating it a little and Edwards was just there. When we arrived the local women were trying their best to look nonchalant and busy. I could tell they all knew about the inspection. We went up the stairs and walked down the balcony to my room and I opened the door just as Angelina was coming out. I couldn’t believe the transformation in the room. They had replaced the navy sheets with the Italian muslin sheets and replaced the pillow cases and blanket and everything else in the room that I could see. Old pots and pans and dishes, etc. were all gone. There was not even an American smell in the room. Nothing was there with the hint of being navy property. Not even the roll of toilet paper on the dresser. I sighed a long sigh, silently. Edwards room was the same way. We were in the clear. The lt. was Pissed and the Chief was visibly relieved. All was well. Within an hour everything was back to normal but that ended the thievery.