Is it possible to make a life-long friend in just one hour? Especially with a person who doesn’t even speak the same language? Or who has a different religion? Or whose customs are about 180 degrees away from yours?

I think it is possible. And, I think that recently I just did it.

Sultan came for a brief visit at Thanksgiving. We were thrown together almost immediately without the benefit of any sort of intermediary or interpreter. There sitting beside me in my car was a young stranger…..and yes….one who could barely speak a word of English. And, me? No….my knowledge of Arabic is very sub-standard. Non-existent, in fact.

We managed to make it through a brief tour of Valley Falls…..and some of the surrounding territory…. Specifically…Paradise Point. Through the use of gestures, one syllable words….and a lot of silence….and lots of smiles….we established a form of communication that lasted at least until we came back home.

For the brief time were at home….we had Fayez, Sultan’s brother….to serve as a go-between. But, mainly….as is usually the case when there is an odd man out in speaking English (or any language)….Fayez and spent the time talking to each other….largely excluding Sultan from our conversation.

Later that night we found ourselves at Terry’s Bar and Grill. And, we found ourselves in largely the same situation: I speak English. Sultan speaks Arabic. My ability to speak Arabic hadn’t improved. And, neither had Sultan’s ability to speak English. But, there we were…..sitting across from each other…..looking at each other expectantly. And, we would be there for the next three hours! One alternative was to sit in silence…..to pretend to watch one of the ball games playing on one of the bar’s many TV screens.

But, we didn’t chose to do that. By now, we had both downloaded Arabic-English dictionaries onto our cell phones. We were equipped with a ballpoint pen and napkins to write on. We were also equipped with a desire to communicate with each other. So….one simple step at time….sometimes one word at a time…..we began to carry on a simple, slow….but real conversation with each other. We were taking the first small steps to an understanding and friendship that would grow as the weeks passed by.

Sultan returned to my house on December 12 to spend the Christmas break.

The foundation for our friendship had already been laid. Now the building could begin.

LEARNING, TALKING, LAUGHING…..

By sheer necessity, a lot of the three weeks Sultan spent in my home was devoted to learning the English language. He had been in the U.S.A. only two months. And, normally a person doesn’t become fluent in English…..or in any language…..in a mere two months. Sultan was attending a language school in Oklahoma City. And, as could be expected….they started from the very beginning. I got the distinct impression that they were concentrating more on grammar rules…sentence structure….verb tenses…. Stuff like that.

That is all good. Somebody had to teach that, if he were to learn to speak fluently….and coherently. And….that is a long, almost never-never ending….process. Most students in the public schools of the U.S.A never master that skill. In fact, I am not even sure it is taught any longer. Maybe schools have given up on it….considering it to be a lost cause. A great many of today’s teachers don’t even know how to speak correctly…..speak proper grammar the way that somebody back in the olden days decided it should be spoken.

And…..this is not a problem….except to those language purists who insist that every original rule be followed. I am not implying that schools no longer teach English….or language arts, as it is called today. They do…..and students are tested over it. I think it more the fact that nobody ever bothers to follow the rules. After all…. What is the main purpose of a language? To communicate with each other. Right?

Well….getting back to the story…. I was not….and for the most part….am not….so concerned about Sultan following the rules of correct English grammar and sentence construction. I was….and still am…more interested in helping him develop his vocabulary……add to his storehouse of words. I figure that these two approaches are extremely complimentary to other. His language school can teach him the “correct” way to say things. And, I will help him expand his vocabulary to we can talk about more and more things. After all, I have had a ton of experience in listening to….and understanding….foreigners speak as they continue to learn the language. For the past fifty years or so, I have worked with Vietnamese, Germans, Chinese, Koreans, Italians, French, Polish……to name the ones that come to my mind immediately. And….I have also worked with more than a few Americans who didn’t exactly speak good English, too.

We took every opportunity to learn English. Early on….immediately after he arrived for his extended Christmas break stay…..I gave Sultan a little spiral notebook to carry with him. He could write down all the new words he learned in this little notebook…..and we could use them as a basis for our conversations. He carried his little notebook with him wherever he went…..and he used it faithfully. In fact, I rarely saw him without it. Even at times I least expected, he would take out his trusty little notebook….either to write down a word….or to practice using words in sentences.

If he is nothing else (and he definitely is)…..Sultan is nice. He is rarely without a smile on his face. Fayez told me….even before I had met Sultan….to be careful. Even he did not understand a word I was saying, he would probably smile and shake his head “Yes”. Guess what? Fayez was right!

Many times I would say things to him. Sultan would smile brightly. And…to any unsuspecting person, it would appear that he had understood completely what had just been said. I quickly developed the habit of saying, “Do you understand that I just said?” or more than likely, “You have no idea what I just said….do you?” More than likely, his answer was, “No…..”

I learned this fact first hand a couple times. When we went places at night, Sultan did all the driving…..no matter that he did not have any sort of valid driver’s license. I would say, “OK, turn right at the next corner.” Sultan would immediately get in the left hand turning lane! “No, No…..turn right! Turn right!”

It turned out that he did not know the words “right” and “left”……two rather important words to know when driving. But, happily, I can say that we survived…..and Left and Right became two of his very first important vocabulary words.

No matter where we happened to be…..at home, in the car, at the fitness center, shopping….we took advantage of the time to learn language. Every place we went became a classroom. One of our favorite “classrooms” was Terry’s Bar and Grill in Topeka. It is a relaxing place to go….and sit….and talk…. And, when I could get his attention away from whatever basketball game happened to be playing on one of the many TV screens…..another of our language “classrooms”.

Whenever we left home, Sultan was always armed with his trusty little notebook and his cell phone, which contained an Arabic-English dictionary. I always carry my cell phone with me, too…..mostly for emergencies. But, it was usually a good thing I had it with me. Sultan’s cell phone was usually not in range of any of his carrier’s cell phone towers! When he signed up for cell phone service, he relied too heavily on Fayez’s advice. And….not so surprisingly….Fayez doesn’t have any cell phone service in this area either. But, be that as it may…..Sultan made constant….and profitable….use of the translating dictionary to add words to his vocabulary.

Most of the time it would probably have been easier and more convenient to simply sit at home in the evening. There is, however, something about sitting in a friendly bar that is conducive to good conversation. So, we spent many nights at Terry’s Bar and Grill talking, learning….and trying to keep Sultan focused on our conversation.

SPORTS….SPORTS….SPORTS…..

Somehow you may have gotten the idea that Sultan likes sports. If you did…..you are absolutely correct. I am not sure there is a sport that does not grab his attention….whether he is actually familiar with it or not. Familiarity seems to be irrelevant. Usually, if there is a ball and a whistle involved…. Sultan is interested in it.

Back in his home country of Saudi Arabia, he played handball….and also soccer. He excelled more in handball, though. The impression I get from Fayez….and also in a round about way from Sultan….he was perhaps the “star” player….and recognized leader…. on his handball team.

Handball in the rest of the world is not the same handball that we play here in the U.S.A. When I was in the Army, I was introduced to handball by my boss….the Commander of Troops at Fort Benjamin Harrison. And….it wasn’t exactly voluntary. He loved the game of handball. And, for some reason, he thought the rest of the world should love it, too. At least, the part of the world that worked in our headquarters office.

Everybody who worked in the headquarters was encouraged to take one hour each morning for physical training…..PT, in Army language. This was a time of day highly anticipated by most of the guys in our office. We could go to the gym….lift a few weights, ride a bicycle, shoot some baskets. Or maybe go for a jog around the Army base. To make PT time even better, I took it in conjunction with my lunch hour. So, around 11:00 or so, my best friend, a guy who worked in the Supply Section, and I would take off for the gym.

This was a great arrangement……Most of the time. But….maybe one or two days a week, our boss…..the Commander of Troops…..would decide that he also wanted some Physical Training…..or PT. And…..he wanted to play handball. And…..he needed a partner. And……that partner usually turned our to be ME or my friend….or both.

American handball….real handball, as we like to call it…..it not a game for the weak or the faint of heart. It is a fast-paced, never-stopping, always moving effort to hit a little hard rubber ball and score points. Don’t be fooled by the term “little hard rubber ball”. I mean it is HARD. And you do not hit it with a racket……you hit it with your HAND. It would probably shatter a racket on the first hit.

If you have ever been in the Army, you know that you do not say “No” to generals very often. (I never did!) So, when he said, “Come on, Specialist Darrah…..or usually just “Darrah”… Let’s go play handball.” I obediently dropped whatever I was doing…..and went to play handball. I never once won a match against him. Didn’t even come close most of the time. But….I always tried to look like I was trying…. And, I suppose….I did try. One thing for sure….when I went back to my office, my hands were swollen and sore. At least, in the beginning. And….that was not good for a person who spent most of the day sitting behind a typewriter! And….just so we are on the right page: It was a manual typewriter. Not a word processor!

This is the brand of handball played here in the U.S.A. But, has absolutely no similarity to the game of handball played in the rest of the world. I am not sure how to adequately describe the game for those people who are not familiar with it…..and most of you probably aren’t. Maybe we can describe it as a kind of dodge ball…..the game kids play in grade school. But instead of trying to hit a person and put him out of the game…..you are trying to throw the ball through a goal in the end zone….. Sort of like “air soccer” maybe. It can be….and it is….a rough game…..a fast-paced, non-stop….very physical game. And….at least, for the first few minutes….a rather interesting game. If you want to know more about it…..go find it on You Tube, and watch for a while.

At any rate, this is the game at which Sultan (and also Fayez) excelled. But….Alas….it is not a game found in the U.S.A. Fayez and I have searched the Internet for a handball league….or even a handball team….in the U.S.A……and none is to be found. Since the dimensions of the handball court have no similarity to a basketball or volleyball court, it is impossible even to improvise a game.

So…..when Sultan set his feet on U.S.A. soil, he said good-bye to his handball playing days….at least, until he goes back home again. Sultan is a highly active young man….and very athletic. Although he could no longer play handball, he could still run…and he could still work out in the gym.

Actually, Sultan is a good runner….and he could probably even be great….if he put his heart into it. But, he is a rather reluctant runner. He doesn’t love it….but he doesn’t loathe it, either. He isn’t apt to suggest it first….but he probably won’t turn down an opportunity, if he has nothing better to do. He usually doesn’t give it his full effort…..but he usually comes up with a fairly descent time. If he is running alone, he maintains a comfortable, but steady, pace. If he is running with somebody….he is highly competitive and does everything in his power to win. His only competitor while he was at our house was Fayez…..and Sultan made sure that he won.

Knowing that he would probably need an incentive to win, I told him that if he ran on the Ferguson Road from Highway K-16 to our corner…..a total of four miles….ten times, I would give him a highly prized Ferguson Road Runners t-shirt. These shirts were made back in the mid-70’s when a group of cross-country runners decided it would be cool to form a running club….and buy matching t-shirts. All sorts of names for the club were tossed about for consideration. The name “Ferguson Road Runners” was the name that was finally chosen……a name so obvious that it was an easy choice.

These t-shirts are about 40 years old. Only 50 shirts were made. They were made by a company in Topeka. We met the owner of the company at several of the cross-country races we attended. He told us one day that if we could decide upon a design, he would print the shirts and sell them to us at his cost…..just because he was impressed by the loyalty and effort and determination he saw in our impromptu group of runners week in and week out.

Our rather informal running club….the Ferguson Road Runners….held together for probably ten or twelve years. Kids drifted in and out…. Over the years, there were somewhere around 35 runners who came and went. The club was never dissolved. It just sort of came to a natural end…..as the runners grew older, graduated from high school, moved, got jobs…..or simply developed other interests. Some years ago, when I was conducting one of my infrequent binges of getting rid of stuff I don’t need…..I discovered the shirts. They have become prized souvenirs….one of a kind….never to be duplicated….highly coveted trophies.

Fayez earned a shirt (actually, two of them, because he lost one of them in the Henry Ford Museum in Detroit) by running the four miles stretch of the Ferguson Road a total….and probably in excess….of ten times. In the case of Sultan, I made a special deal: If he would run five times, he would receive a shirt. He kept his part of the agreement, running his final time the day before he left to go back to Oklahoma City…..and he received his shirt. I think the shirt is now one of his most prized possessions.

 

 

 

 

Sultan quickly established his running pace….and he rarely deviated from that pace. We timed each of his run….and all five of his times were within mere seconds from each other. I have no doubt that if he were being challenged, his times would have fallen dramatically! But, as I followed him in my car, stopping frequently to take pictures….he was never too tired to smile and wave at the camera. But, even running at his rather leisurely pace, his times were better than most people could probably ever hope for.

But, Sultan is a smart runner. I am pretty sure this was not the first time he had run four miles. Maybe it was the first time he had run four miles with a cold wind, freezing temperatures…..and snow on the ground. But he always took the time to stretch his muscles thoroughly…..both before running and after he finished. By doing this, he ran with relative comfort….and suffered few, if any, side effects at the end of his running.

While, Sultan may have been a semi-reluctant runner. He definitely was not reluctant at working out at the fitness center. This was a time he highly anticipated…..and a time that he often had to persuade me to do. Oh….I always took him, to be sure. But, his desire…..and his fondness….to lift weights greatly exceeded my desire.

I belong to a fitness center in Meriden. It is a 24-Hour center…..and each member has a key-card which enables entry round the clock. It is basically unsupervised….and members are on their honor to take proper care of the equipment. And, they are also on their honor to pay $5.00 every time they take a guest. The center, which is composed of two large rooms filled with various fitness machines, is monitored by surveillance cameras. There are several cameras in place. I seriously doubt if anybody is sitting in a room monitoring the activity twenty-four hours a day. But….I am equally certain that each camera is attached to a taping machine…..for use in case they become necessary.

For the few days that Fayez spent with us before going home to attend his brother’s wedding, he argued that nobody care if I took guests with me…..at least, that nobody would find out. Therefore, there was no need of paying the $5.00 per person fee each time we went. Reluctantly…unwillingly…..and against my better judgment…..I let myself be convinced that indeed nobody would ever know…..nobody would ever bother to ask about the $5.00 fee. So…..When we went to the fitness center, I merely used my card to enter….and we proceeded with our workout.

My fears and suspicions were confirmed one night. In fact, it was New Year’s Eve. We were on our way to Topeka to spend the evening at Terry’s Bar. We stopped at the fitness center on our way….expecting that nobody would be there on New Year’s Eve. But….we were wrong. I used my “key card”, as usual, to let ourselves in. There were actually two or three other people there. This must have been their way of celebrating New Year’s Eve. One of these people was a lady whom I had never seen before. She approached me and said, “Would you please write your card number on the sign-in sheet.” This was the first….and last time….I had ever seen or heard of a sign-in sheet. But, I willingly complied with her request, and wrote my number on the sheet.

I knew immediately that she worked there. Fortunately, I had a $5.00 bill in my billfold…and I put in the box where guests are supposed to pay their money. I sighed a sign of relief…..we were covered for the evening. Sultan was happily unaware that this was taking place. We had never paid before….and of course, he believed Fayez, who didn’t think it was necessary to pay. Later on in the evening, the woman came up to me and said, “When you bring a guest, you are supposed to pay $5.00. But, since it is New Year’s Eve, I am going to let you bring him for free. But, next time….be sure to pay.”

Ah, ha! “Oh, I already put $5.00 in the box,” I told her…innocently enough. Just like I had been doing it all along.

“Oh. That is great. Enjoy your workout,” she said.

A little later, as she was preparing to leave, she stopped again and said, “Well, I guess I will check and see if there are any messages in the box before I leave.”

I watched her as she opened the box…..and I can rather imagine the surprise as the actually found the $5.00 that I had put there. Come on, lady. You are not fooling me. You were just checking to see if I actually left $5.00. Another sign of relief. We only saw her one more time….. Or I should say, “I” only saw her one more time. This time I had no cash, so I paid her with my debit card. I think the moral of this story is: Be honest. If you are supposed to pay…..then pay. Don’t assume that the rules do not apply to you…..just like they apply to everybody else. And, never assume that nobody is going to find out.

Sometimes it is easy for other people….the people who are not affected….to take rules lightly. But…this was MY membership at stake. And, I certainly did not want to jeopardize it over $5.00.

Sultan has a fixed routine which he uses when he works out….based on the various muscle groups in the body. Each time we went to the fitness center, he concentrated on a different muscle group…..while I concentrated on staying awake until he finished. No….actually, I went through about eight of the machine weight machines…..doing about 30 reps on each machine. This is roughly 240 reps…… And, I still finished well before Sultan finished his workout.

Sultan lifted a lot of free weights. This sort of worried me. Having been a former weight room supervisor, I recognize the necessity of every individual weight lifter having a “spotter”…..just in case there any sort of problem. Can you imagine a scrawny 145 lbs. kid pinned under a bar containing a hundred pounds or so. I don’t think Sultan would take any unnecessary or foolhardy chances…..but…..Safety First. Occasionally he would ask for my help. But, more than likely, I would volunteer my assistance. And, on many occasions, I would end up helping him lift the weights back to the bar rest when the weight simply was too much for him. The sight of Sultan’s 145 lbs. body lying on the weight bench pinned down by a hundred pounds of dead weight was a sight I did not like to envision. And…..since he did all the night time driving, I would have no way to get back home.

Sultan is very conscientious and dedicated. He plans in advance….and he carries through with his plans. Sultan never entered with gym without a plan and a purpose clearly formulated in his mind. He would go directly to work and work steadily throughout the entire workout. If I asked him at any point, he would tell me exactly how many repetitions of each exercise were remaining. As for me…..after going through the usual eight stations, I would usually sit and watch TV…..or take pictures….look at the clock….and mentally say, “Come on, Sultan. Hurry up….and let’s get out of this place.”

We spent several nights at our favorite hangout in Topeka….Terry’s Bar and Grill. Anytime I have guests, this is almost a sure after dark destination. We are familiar faces to most of the people who work there. Depending on who happens to accompany me, it doesn’t take long before they become acquainted with our tastes….and usually bring our drinks without even asking what we want. That is how familiar our faces are. When Fayez stays at my house during his college breaks, they automatically know that I will order a pitcher of Bud Lite….and Fayez will have hot tea and a lemon. It is usually delivered to our table almost immediately after we are seated at our favorite table.

When Oliver came for a visit one February, we went there at night, of course. Almost immediately after we had taken our seats, the waitress appeared with a pitcher of Bud Lite…..and, of course….a cup of hot tea and a lemon. Oliver looked at it with a rather puzzled look and said something like, “What’s going on? Why can’t I have some beer?”

I started laughing. I knew immediately what had happened. They simply assumed that he was Fayez. The waitress was embarrassed and apologetic…. But, in a way, it was sort of comforting and reassuring to know that we were an accepted customer….and they were taking good care of us. And….Oliver did his beer.

When Sultan and I went to Terry’s, the dozen or so TV sets were like a magnet to his eyes. They were all tuned to ESPN or Fox Sports. It didn’t make much difference what sports was playing….Sultan usually appeared more interested in watching the TV than he was in carrying on a conversation. Most of the time….especially in the early days after his arrival……he usually had no idea was was happening. This was chiefly true when an American football game was in progress…..a game with which he was not knowledgeable. But….the sport could have been anything…..the luge….or acrobatics…..or fencing….or …….you name it. Sultan simply likes sports. He was will watch any sports…..and appear to be completely engrossed in it…..even if he has no idea what it is.

Such is his love for sports. As for me….if I do not know the team….and if it is not one of my favorite teams….and if I do not like the team….I couldn’t care less about it. On TV here in the U.S.A., sports proliferates the TV programming….several ESPN channels and even more Fox Sports channels….not to mention major sports events carried on the Big 3 TV networks…..and all the minor sports specialty channels. Yeah…..I have friends….but only a very few….who are just like Sultan: They will watch any sports and every sport, whether they like it….or understand it. Just as long as it is a sport. Just as long as somebody is competing.

Anyway…..sometimes the biggest competition for me was for Sultan’s attention.

Sultan goes to school in Oklahoma City….and he learned early that, as part of the Big 12 Conference, Oklahoma University and Kansas University compete with each other in sports. Long ago, Sultan became very much aware that I am a loyal and dedicated KU. Fan. And….knowing this… Well, I can imagine you are already way ahead of me in this story. Yes….he immediately became an instant Oklahoma University fan. But, now that I think of it….I guess that reason is as good as any reason….if somebody has to become an Oklahoma fan. Really…..I have nothing against Oklahoma. The only time I am against them is when they are playing the University of Kansas. And, as fate would have it…..they came up against K. U. three times during the basketball season: Twice on the regular season schedule…and once in the Big 12 Tournament. Fortunately, K. U. won each of the three games. And, believe me…..these wins spared me a great deal of grief at the hands….or vocal cords….of Sultan.

So…..as our friendship grew and strengthened, some of it, at least, took place in the fitness center…..and was further enabled by our friendly our mutual interest in sports…..although this interest was probably stronger with Sultan than with me.

Deja Vu

For several weeks, I knew that Fayez’s brother was coming to the USA to attend college. I had never met him….never seen him….knew next to nothing about him. I knew generic, peripheral information about him. I knew that his name was Sultan….but only because I had asked about ten times; I new that he was 18 years old…. I knew that he had graduated from high school the previous spring…..in Saudi Arabia, of course. I knew that he was a very smart guy…. “Smarter than I am,” Fayez had told me….proudly, I think. I knew that Sultan was an athlete….that he played handball on the same team that Fayez had once played on…. Again, Fayez had graciously remarked, “He is a better player than I am.” I knew that he intended to study some form of science. Fayez had initially told me that he wanted to study genetics….. And, I knew that he would be studying language at Southern Nazarene University in Oklahoma City. Fayez had chosen this school for him…..although I have no clue why. It is owned and operated by the Church of the Nazarene…..one of the more conservative Protestant denominations in the USA. And….I know, because that is the church that I and my family attended the entire time we were living in Lyons.

All this information may sound like a lot…..but it is really nothing. All of this stuff can be found by reading a book….or by watching a TV show….or talking to somebody. But, I still had no idea who this guy was….or what he was like. I had suggested to Fayez a couple times that perhaps I could talk to Sultan on Skype….and help him practice his English. But, these suggestions went nowhere.. Now that I think about it…..I had never even seen a picture of him.

Fayez spends his Thanksgiving break at my house….or at least, part of it. Fayez’s birthday always falls just a day or two before Thanksgiving…..so we usually start our Thanksgiving festivities with a birthday celebration….albeit a rather miniature affair….with only Fayez and me in attendance. And, this year was an important milestone in his young life: He turned twenty-one years old! Of course, I do not need to remind American readers how important this day is in the life of a young person….male or female. This is the date that the magic door swings open…..and there lies one of the greatest of opportunities: The right to buy alcohol legally! Never mind that the person has already passed through other doors that had previously been locked. The door that leads to a driver’s license…. The door that leads to the right to vote…. The doors that opens on to legal tobacco….legal lottery tickets….legal contracts….legal sex….. The door marked “twenty-one” is the final door….the big one….the one that contains the “forbidden fruit”. OK….I am talking about normal, red-blooded American, European and Asian youth. But, Fayez is not from America…or Europe…..or Asia. To Fayez, none of these “treasures” seemed to make any difference. Even though I tried to make the day special…it was just another day for him. But….that was not my fault! But….now, I am digressing seriously from the story.

This year he announced that he was bringing Sultan with him. I was looking forward to meeting him….. I mean, I was looking forward to just seeing what he looked like. As I said….I had never as much as seen a picture of him. Not a good, recognizable pictures, at least. It seems to me that Arabs have an entirely different attitude toward pictures than most people have…..the American, the Europeans, the Asians… Or maybe it was simply Fayez. But, however you look at it….I was eager to get a glimpse of Sultan.

Originally, they had planned to arrive around 11:00 A.M. I knew this was never going to happen….because I know Fayez. And, sure enough, sometime around 9:00, I received a text message saying their departure had been delayed….and it would be the middle of the afternoon when they finally got here. Then a little later, I got another message….. This time is was a snapshot of his GPS. Now, I was pretty sure they were on their way. Accompanying this message was a selfie of Fayez….and another guy, whom I presumed was his elusive brother….Sultan. This was the first real picture I had seen of him. Actually, when I looked at it, my first thought was, “Wow….he looks older than Fayez.” He had a definite mustache….something that made him look older, I suppose.

As usual, there was not much to do….except wait for him. And, as usual….I sat in my recliner and fell asleep. And, as usual….I left the front door unlocked. And, as usual….I was awakened from my sleep by a voice saying…..”Wake up, Beryl.” And, standing in front of me…with his ever present smile was Fayez. Only this time, not only was there a smiling Fayez standing in front of me….. There was also a smiling stranger….. A stranger who really looked nothing like the selfie that had been taken a few hours earlier.

But….there was the unmistakeable smile…..almost like the smile that I had seen on Fayez’s face the first time I had met him three years earlier…..when I met him on the road a few hundred feet from my house…..about five hours late after getting lost on his way to my house….. Sultan’s smile was equally as bright….as genuine….as spontaneous….and as inviting….as that first smile I had seen on Fayez’s face. It would become the smile that I will probably associate with him…..just like the smile I will always associate with Fayez. De´ja´ Vu.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Birthday Festivities

After the proper greetings, with the requisite small talk out of the way. After the suitcases were properly deposited in the proper rooms…..Sultan would sleep in the spare room, since he would be here for the entire winter break…..and Fayez would be relegated to sleeping on the top bunk in my room….the same place where he had started three years ago…..the birthday festivities began.

Well…..obviously, it wasn’t a big party…..only Fayez, Sultan and I. But…that is bigger than it has been in the previous three years, when it was only Fayez and I. There were no party games….no clowns….no ponies….no dancing….. But…there were fun little hats, the little things that when you blow on them….they unroll in front of your eyes. And, of course….there was a birthday cake…..the smallest one Walmart sells! Instead of lighting 21 candles…..we had only TWO candles: a candle in the shape of a 2 and a candle in the shape of a 1. 21…..Get it? There were birthday (paper) plates for the cake…..and birthday napkins…. And, birthday plastic forks and knives. It was sort of a throw-away party. When we finished eating the cake…..we simply threw everything away. No fuss…no muss….no bother. I would estimate that the party lasted at least 15 minutes!

I don’t think Fayez gets into parties like Americans or Europeans do. And Sultan? I think he was completely bewildered and puzzled about what was actually taking place! Chances are, he had never seen or attended a birthday party in his entire young life. He sat and dutifully ate his cake….probably wondering what the heck was happening. But….it just doesn’t seem right to let somebody’s 21^st birthday pass by without some sort of celebration. I mean….in the USA becoming 21 years old is a monumental milestone in one’s life. And….this is, after all….the United States of America.

Fayez said he did not want a cake. No birthday cake?? That’s almost un-American. Of course, I knew that he even though he said he didn’t want a cake…… He really wanted a cake. And, Fayez…..knowing me like he does….knew that I was going to buy a cake.

“OK,” he said, “if you are going to buy a cake, buy the smallest one available. And…don’t buy a chocolate cake.” These requirements were OK with me. Smaller cakes are cheaper! I ordered the cake at Walmart. It was the smallest cake they sold, the woman in the bakery told me…… Not very big at all. I picked up the cake on Tuesday. Wow…. If they had sold the smallest cake they make….I could only imagine what their largest cake must look like. Actually, we could have fed most our rural neighborhood with the cake.

We ate only a small fraction of the cake at our “party”…..and put the remainder of the cake back into the box….and put the box on the kitchen counter. And, basically…..that is where it stayed….untouched….. until a couple days after Fayez and Sultan left. And, then I threw it in the trash! But, that is beside the point. We DID have a birthday cake.

As soon as the “party” ended, Fayez announced that he was going to go study for his final exams. As he disappeared into his room….Sultan and I got into the car and took off on an trip of exploration. For first stop was Valley Falls, of course. This segment of our exploration took probably a grand total of ten minutes! High lights of the tour included such notable sites as the post office….the school….the swimming pool…..the two baseball fields…..the football field…..and a trip up and down Broadway….or whatever the main street of Valley Falls is called. I have lived here since 1969….and I am still not sure what the name of the main drag is. I am pretty sure it is Broadway….but…it also may be Main Street. It really doesn’t make much difference. There is not much left there any more. There are days when a person can drive down the main street of town….a length of two blocks…three, if you really want to stretch it….and there will be only three or four cars parked on the entire stretch. And, I suspect that most of them belong to employees of the few stores that remain.

Our tour continued at Paradise Point….the abandoned state park a few miles south of my house. I think it is safe to say that Sultan probably found Paradise Point to be slightly more interesting and enjoyable that the tour of Valley Falls. Even in late November when the trees are barren of leaves, it is a quiet and rather beautiful spot to visit. Back in the “old days”, before the budget cuts of the Ford administration, it was a lively, bustling park…..with camping spots, picnic tables, fire rings, restrooms and showers….and relatively good roads. Now….it lies dormant….largely uncared for….infested with acres of poison ivy…..

After our brief excursion we returned home to prepare for our evening’s activities.

The birthday celebration continued with a birthday feast at the Golden Corral. I doubt if Sultan had ever seen so much food…..just sitting there waiting to be eaten. It was a good introduction to American gastronomical delights…..and probably also gave him a hint as to why so many Americans are overweight. For most of the time we spent at Golden Corral, he followed Fayez around…..who helped him identify the vast array of strange foods.

We ended the evening at Terry’s Bar and Grill….our usual late night favorite. Fayez had taken at least one of his text books with him so he could study…..a little bit of over zealousness, I think….so that left Sultan and I to get acquainted with each other.

Let’s face it…. It is difficult to really get acquainted with somebody when neither of the people can speak each other’s language. This rule obviously applied to Sultan and me. My knowledge of the Arabic language is nonexistent. And Sultan’s understanding of the English was…well….about as close to nonexistent as you can get. Let’s compare my knowledge of the Arabic language to a dead battery. You turn the key…..and nothing happens. Not even a click. Sultan, on the other hand: Well, there may have been a click…or maybe even a feeble response. But….but not even close to what it takes to start the car.

With the help of our cellphones….and, I can honestly say this is one place where it actually came in handy…..and the Arab-English dictionaries we had downloaded….we were able to carry on a low…painful….halting…bewildering….conversation. But, throughout the entire two hours of near torture….the smile rarely disappeared from Sultan’s face. Yeah….I would say we took a giant step in getting acquainted.

Sultan’s First Thanksgiving….and the Rest of the Visit

The next day…Thursday…was Thanksgiving….Sultan’s first Thanksgiving. And, it has become more or less a tradition that Fayez and I go to our friend’s….Sam Delap…..apartment to eat. Sam is a good cook. And, his culinary creations are delicious. Thanksgiving meals are sort of traditional….but well….let’s say that they an art form in their own unique category. You know how it is when you walk through a contemporary art gallery? All the pictures are “art”…..but none of them can be crammed into a single style or category….they all have their own special character. That is the way Sam’s Thanksgiving meals are. They are traditional…..but, you know this is probably not the way the Pilgrim mothers had prepared the same meals the day the Native Americans came to celebrate…..if they indeed ever showed up at all. But….let me say this: If the Native Americans (Indians, as they were probably called back then) did sit down with the settlers on that famous day in our history….. And, IF Sam had been the cook…..they would surely have liked his food….and probably would have shown up every weekend for more.

If it had not been for the delightful meal…..and the great time we had at Sam’s apartment…..Thanksgiving Day would have been miserable….a bummer. It was raining when we drove to Topeka in the morning; and it was raining when we left Sam’s apartment to drive back home in the afternoon. If there were any redeeming factors….it was that Sam sent us home with most of the left overs.

The steady rain had diminished to a light rain….almost a heavy mist….by the time the late afternoon had arrived. Fayez was still urgently studying for his final exams. I urgently settled myself into my comfortable recliner for a nap. I don’t remember what Sultan did…..probably he took a nap, too. Poor kid. His brother was busy studying; his host sound asleep in a recliner. What else was there to do…..except sleep?

Fayez is rather obsessive about studying. It seems to consume his life. In fact…..I think it is his life. But, this fact also made it possible for Sultan and me to spend time together that may otherwise not have been possible. Fayez spent most of the visit in his room…..or this time, it was Sultan’s room. Sultan and I were left to entertain ourselves. This was good in a couple ways. First of all….Sultan was actively involved in our conversation. He had to be… It was only he and I. It was entirely normal for him to automatically look at Fayez whenever I asked him a question. And, it was entirely normal for Fayez to simply answer the question for Sultan….eliminating any sort of interaction between Sultan and me.

Or there is a second scenario…..and this happens commonly when there are two people who speak the same language…..and one person who does not speak the language. The two people who speak the same language simply proceed to talk in English….and the person who does not speak the language is simply left out. This is basically what happens when Fayez and I….and Sultan….are together. We simply go ahead and talk….and leave Sultan out of the conversation.

I mentioned this several times to Fayez….. “We need to include Sultan in our conversation.”

Fayez’s most common response was, “Oh, it’s OK….he doesn’t care.”

Well…..I don’t know. Maybe Sultan didn’t care. I never asked him. However, I can speak from a long history of personal experiences……and I can say with some authority: Yes….It does matter. And….Yes, I did care.

My earliest experience in being left out of conversations dates back to my days in South Vietnam. Until I learned to speak the language, I was largely an outsider when I was around Vietnamese. They babbled their unintelligible language…..and I did not have a clue what was going on. Fortunately, Vietnamese people are usually polite enough to make an attempt to include their non-Vietnamese speaking friends….such as I….in their conversations. Of course, I realize that it is virtually impossible for somebody to translate every work that is spoken. I also know that it felt good to be included in their conversations.

My second…..and probably most extensive experience in being left out of a conversation….comes from my experiences in Germany. I have spent time with the families of each of my former German exchange students…..visiting them in their homes. I can recall many incidents when they sat and talked in German, while I merely sat there….uncomfortable…..wondering what they were talking about….and if they were perhaps talking about me. (Of course….they weren’t. I hope.) There was nothing intentional…..or ulterior….about it. They just did not think to include me in their discussions.

A couple rather amusing incidents stand out in my memory.

I was visiting in the home of one of my former German students. I was led to the understanding that my former student and I were going to leave and go check out his town….and perhaps the area around the town. As I sat there waiting to leave, an argument seem to break out…..and in my mind, a rather heated argument. The argument….or maybe I should call is a discussion….went on for what seemed like several minutes. Voices were raised….and the discussion became rather animated.

“Oh, no,” I thought. “They are probably talking about me. Maybe they don’t want (him) to drive the car. Maybe they have something planned. Maybe I had done something wrong.”

After a while, the discussion came to an end. My exchange student turned to me, and said, “Come on. Let’s go now.”

When we were in the car, I asked him what the argument had been about. Was there a problem? “Oh….no,” he said. “We were just trying to decide that kind of bread I should buy for dinner tonight.”

Another such incident took place one evening in Berlin when I invited Frank, one of my former students, and his sister to dinner one evening in a Chinese cafe. It was a pleasant evening as we sat and talked. Both of them speak fluent English….so communication was no problem. Our conversation was interesting and funny. At the conclusion of the meal, we motioned for the check…..which was my responsibility….and which was mine to pay. But, when the waitress arrived, both Frank and his sister looked it over closely…..and they began an excited and animated discussion. I had no idea what they were talking about…. They called with waitress over….and an ever more animated…. No…let’s called it heated…..discussion ensued. There was much pointing….much gesturing….raised voices….. Again….this went on for a minimum of five minutes….probably more. At last, things calmed down. Frank handed me the check, and said something to the effect of, “OK…. You can pay it.”

When we were safely outside on the sidewalk, I asked Frank about the problem. Wow…it seems that they thought the waitress had charged ME for a large size drink….and she only served a medium size drink. A heated, prolonged argument over perhaps a total of 10 cents….. And, as it turned out….there was no mistake at all.

Another incident…..and I promise this will be the last example….occurred during another visit. I was visiting Robert, my German student from 1998-1999. We….Robert, his parents and I….went to the city where Robert’s grandfather….his dad’s dad….lived. During the course of the visit, Robert’s parents took the grandfather out to a restaurant for lunch. Of course, I went with them. We we sat at our table eating. Most of the conversation was in German, of course. At one point, it was very apparent that they were talking about me. They were stealing rather furtive, sidelong glances at me. Nothing very overt or obvious. But, I think most people can sense when people are looking him them. Of course, I certainly didn’t say anything….. Like….”Why are all you people looking at me?”

But, again, when Robert and I were eventually alone, I asked what was going on back in the restaurant…..what were they talking about? “Oh,” he said, “My grandfather asked if you were married. When we told you are single, he asked how you manage to live….without a woman to take care of you….to cook your meals….to do your laundry. He just can’t understand how a man can live by himself.”

I thought it was a rather strange thing to be talking about…..especially in a family gathering. But….I hope I satisfied his curiosity. There I was. Alive. Functioning. Rather well educated and successful. With at least a small degree of sanity. And, I was fully dressed…..in clean clothing….with socks that matched…..and my pants on frontward.

So…..the point of these stories is: Don’t tell me that it is OK…..or that the person doesn’t care. Because I know that it is not OK. And I know that people do care.

And, with Sultan, I knew at the time that what we were doing was rude and inconsiderate….that it was wrong to leave Sultan out of our conversations. And….if could have changed it….I would have.

But….Sultan and I would have other opportunities. That night…..Thanksgiving night….we sat in the front room with a fire burning brightly in the wood stove, and continued the conversation we had started the previous night in Terry’s Bar and Grill. I had downloaded an app on my cell phone…..translating English into Arabic…..and vice versa….which helped our simple conversation along.

Thanksgiving night was also the night that I introduced Sultan to the Kansas Jayhawks by presenting him with a K. U. t-shirt. This is an event for which I can imagine he will thank he for the rest of his life.

During Thanksgiving night….true to what the weather forecast had predicted….there was a mild accumulation of ice. When I first looked out the front door on Friday morning, it was apparent that the world was covered with a thin layer of ice. And, part of that world happened to be the windshield and windows of my car.

Our plan for the day was that I would take both Fayez and Sultan to the mosque in Topeka…..the same one where I always take Fayez when he is staying here. Then we would come back home and make chili for supper. Fayez said that the service….or whatever it is called…..started at 1:30. In order to be there on time, it is a good idea to leave our house approximately one hour in advance…..just in case there are problems along the way.

As is usually the case, we were running a little late. About 12:40 I went out to start the car so it could warm up a bit…..and also to clean off the windshield. Unfortunately, the ice that had accumulated on the windshield and the windows was far greater than I had anticipated. I mean we had a serious ice problem. This was not the kind of ice that could be removed with a few swipes of an ice scraper. It was not even the kind of ice that could be removed with an ice scraper….period. Turning the defroster on full blast was at least a psychological help…….but, not a very practical help….at least, as a quick solution.

The only solution seemed to be boiling water! ……One coffee maker at a time. So this is what we….Sultan and I….did. We boiled a container of water…..took it out and poured it on the windshield…..scraped what we could. Then boiled another container….. Luckily, I have two water boilers, so we were able to keep up the process rather continuously. It worked….but it was a slow process. Remember…..not only the windshield was covered with ice…..but also all the windows. The rear window defroster helped a great deal in melting the ice a little bit….. But, when the entire process was finished….and the car was safe to drive…..it was already after 1:00.

“Do you still want to go?” I asked Fayez.

“Yes, it won’t make any difference if we are a little late.”

“OK…. Let’s go.”

It was after 1:30 when we got to the mosque. I stopped to let them out….and then made a U-turn so I could park my car in front of the mosque. I had intended to sit in the car and write some messages while I was waiting for them to return. I had barely had an opportunity to turn on my cell phone…..much less to write a message…..when I looked up and saw them walking toward the car.

“It started at 1:00,” Fayez said. “Everybody had already left.”

Oh well….sooner or later the ice on the windshield and windows would have had to be cleaned off…..so the effort wasn’t entire in vain. And, I was happy that I didn’t take off and go somewhere while I was waiting.

With the mosque part of the plan taken care of……we returned home to accomplish our second objective for the afternoon…..making chili.

Since I have no formal, written recipe for making chile, it is largely just a matter of mixing some stuff together in what seems to be pleasing amounts: hamburger, tomato sauce, diced tomatoes, chili beans, onions, green peppers…..and of course, the spices. This was Sultan’s first experience with chili. He was largely in charge of browning the hamburger…..which is the most labor intensive part of the process.

Actually, my role was mainly as the “supervising chef”. I kept a watchful eye on each step…..and made the major decisions concerning the ingredients. I am always amazed when people with no experience or knowledge of chili-making procedure want to take off and go their own direction. Who knows? The result could well be delicious….but, it does not turn out to be chili. It turns out to be…..well….whatever name the person wants to give it. My job was to make sure that the chili turned out to be “chili”……and not this other unknown creation.

After we had satisfied our stomachs with chili….and the kitchen was somewhat tidied up….. Fayez returned to his room to resume his studying. Sultan and I were given another opportunity to spend some time together. We could have sat in our warm living room in front of the brightly burning fire and talked. Or we could drive down to Topeka to Terry’s Bar and Grill for the evening. It was cold outside….but it was not snowing. The windows on the car had already been cleaned….. So..why not go to Topeka? Sitting in Terry’s Bar and Grill is always an invitation for conversation. It is a neighborhood bar in the truest meaning of the word….and friendly people were sitting at the tables eating, talking, laughing…..watching whatever game happened to be playing on one of the multiple TV sets.

Our conversation was interesting and lively. But, as you may have suspected, we did not discuss the global economy….or world peace…..or solutions to American involvement in Afghanistan. Our conversation was very basic. Again we depended heavily on the translators on our cell phones. But, these conversations were the foundation of a lasting understanding and trust that had begun to develop. These were the moments that would cement the bond of easy familiarity, of brotherhood and affection which rule our future contact. And, this is far more important than the substance….or lack of substance….of our simple, elementary dialogues.

Sultan had never witnessed anybody drinking a pitcher of beer. So…..for him….if he gained nothing else from these hours spent in the bar….. He now knows that I am fully capable of drinking a pitcher of beer with no apparent adverse or debilitating side affects.

Well, so much for Mammoth Cave. I will chalk it up to one of those “Been there…..done that” experience…..and leave it behind. It probably won’t end up on any of my future “must see” destinations. In fact, unless I have a totally unexpected travel vision in my dreams some night…..probably all caves and caverns have been expunged from any of my future travel plans.

We turned our sites on Paducah, Kentucky, as our evening camping site. Belatedly, I came to the realization that the campground is not actually located in Paducah. It is located somewhere near Paducah. We never did see the town of Paducah…..but surely it was close enough that KOA used it as the location of their campground. Although we did not get to see Paducah….there was a lake located somewhere nearby. I have tried to locate the lake on a map…..but apparently it is famous only to the local population. Or maybe it is a “phantom” lake. Both Fayez and I can affirm that the lake is there…..or at least, there is a large body of water that passes for a lake.

Actually, as I look back at the map, I am starting to suspect that maybe the “lake” we went to was actually the Illinois River…..or maybe even the Tennessee River…..or maybe there was actually a lake in the area…..and I simply do not know where we camped. Don’t raise your eyebrows! That is entirely possible. Anything is possible when you depend on a GPS….and not on a real map. Using a real, paper map gives a perspective that one can get only when looking at the location on a real map.

Anyway…..wherever we were…..it seemed to be rather highly developed. There was a hydro-electric plant….an apparent fish hatchery…..picnic facilities…..and sweeping, well-kept lawns…..and what appeared to be a major highway bridge passing over above us. We were there only a short period of time…..but long enough to figure out that there was not much to do there. And, at that point in time, we were not looking for a picnic spot….or a place to lie in the sun…. In fact, the only reason we were there was because somebody in the campground office….or a store….told us how beautiful it was. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder……of course. The only thing that did hold our attention, at least for a couple minutes, was the school of little fish…..apparently part of a larger fish farm or fish hatchery.

The campground itself was another cookie cutter KOA campground. And, I do not say that in a bad or disparaging way. I like KOA campgrounds. But, on the other hand, they are built according to a KOA master plan….. and, well….the are KOA campgrounds. This particular campground was apparently owned by an elderly couple…..and probably their kids…..although we really didn’t see them. It was a very informal place. Every time I went to the office….which also served as a general store…..both the elderly man and his elderly wife were outside working in the flower garden in front of the building. And, although they were working directly in front of the building….if not the front door…..they locked the building every time they left it. That meant that every time I wanted to go to the store, they had to unlock the building. There always seemed to be some confusion as to who had the key…..or even where the key was located. Just like a typical old married couple, they would argue as to who had the key…..until one of them would ultimately find it and unlock the door. Yeah…..it was a nuisance….and it would have been annoying…..if it wasn’t so comical to see them “fighting” like they may have been in a comic strip.

 

 

 

 

The stop in Paducah…..or wherever we were…..was pleasant enough. Another delicious meal cooked on an open fire…..another night of sitting by the fire, talking, discussing and laughing….. By this time in our travel experiences, we have more or less perfected our routine of unpacking….getting supper….and loading stuff back into the car the next morning….and taking off for another destination. And, this brief sojourn was no different. The next morning…..Sunday, August 2, to be exact….was no different.

We headed out for St. Louis…..a relatively short drive….around three hours. I had very much wanted to drive through Carbondale, Illinois, where Southern Illinois University is located. I had told a friend of mine that we would stop and take a look at the campus…..the university where he graduated. But….due to yet another mix  up that can definitely be attributed to the GPS unit…..we found ourselves on an entirely different course. We could have turned around and gone back….but we didn’t. Things like this tend to upset me, at least slightly. If I tell somebody I am going to do something…..I have been taught that it is not something to be taken lightly. I have given my word. It is a verbal contract. I am obligated to do it….as a matter of honesty and honor.

But, we didn’t turn back…..even though we had plenty of time. We continued our journey to St. Louis…..the next destination on our trip. We had reserved a room in a hotel in downtown St. Louis…..almost directly across the highway from the famous
Arch. The Crowne Plaza Riverfront at the Arch! We were going to be staying with the “beautiful people”. I booked the room online…..using the same web site as the ill-fated motel in South Souix Falls, by the way. The room was advertised as a $300.00 a night room! And, we were getting it for around $100.00…..or maybe a little less. I was excited about staying there. Wow! A luxury room….downtown St. Louis…..across from the Arch….a couple blocks from the St. Louis Mall….. We felt like big dogs!

Well…..through the magic….and power…..of advertising…..things were not exactly what they appeared to be. True….we were right downtown; we were across the street from the Mississippi River…well sort of; we were across the street from the Arch; It was only a couple block to the St. Louis Mall….. But…..it definitely was not the luxury room that I had been anticipating. It was a nice room, to be sure. But…..luxury? Hardly. I have stayed in nicer rooms in Hutchinson. But….I suppose it is all….Location, location, location…..

True to our normal routine when we stayed at a hotel, Fayez left immediately to go work out. This time, however, there was actually a gym in the hotel, so he didn’t have to drive. And…..true to my normal routine….I lay down on my bed and took a nap.

Fayez and I made the decision not to go to the Arch until the next morning….the last Monday of our vacation. I had known before we left on the trip that the grounds….the park….surrounding the Arch was undergoing a major reconstruction. In fact, it appeared that the entire Archway Park was being rebuilt…..an area of maybe two or three blocks. At any rate, we could easily see from our vantage point that it was closed…..and not likely to be open any time soon.

Fayez wanted to eat in a French restaurant, so he looked on the Internet to find what restaurants were available. Of course, the names of the restaurants meant nothing to us because we did not live in St. Louis…..and we had never heard of them. We decided more or less at random on a French restaurant….probably being influenced by its name….or maybe because of its location. Eating in a French restaurant was not a top priority of mine…..so I didn’t really care where we ate. The choice of a restaurant was left to Fayez.

Fayez chose….purely by accident…..a really nice restaurant in an affluent section of the city……near some of the hospitals and medical clinics and doctor’s offices. It was a warm summer evening, so we asked if we could be seated at one of the sidewalk tables. The surroundings were quite pleasant. We were obviously eating among some very affluent people…..the beautiful people, I suppose you could call them. The tables took up most of the sidewalk….and I felt sorry for the pedestrians who had to walk in front of the restaurant in order to get to their destination…..and they had to literally weave their way through the tables.   Personally, if I had been one of the pedestrians, I would have walked in the street to bypass walking among a bunch of people eating supper.

The surroundings….and the ambiance…..may have been attractive…..but the prices were far from being attractive…..unless you like large numbers. If you like large numbers….expensive food…..then things were very attractive. I don’t remember what I ordered….or what Fayez ordered…… I think when I saw the prices, I think my brain was so shocked that I have deleted it from my memory. But…..I do remember that it was more than $90.00. Not exactly a Big Mac and fries. Yeah….the food was good…. But, I am not sure it was $90.00 good! Food is pretty much food wherever you go. But I can imagine that since it was “French” food…..the price was inflated considerably. Oh well….the French have to be good at something, I suppose……or at least, think they are.

After eating our expensive supper, we drove back to the hotel and parked the car. Then walked the two or three blocks to the St. Louis Mall……a long stretch of green space extending several blocks from the old Court House toward the west…..

Just like in Detroit, there was a free outdoor concert in progress. We sat and watched and listened…..but only briefly. There was a good sized audience sitting on chairs listening…..and most….if not all…..of these people were black. It was good, free entertainment…..mostly blues music…..and the people seemed to enjoy and appreciate it. That is simply not my kind of music, though. And, I doubt if Fayez cared one way of the other. We decided to move on.

A few yards from the outdoor concert, there was a break dance contest in progress….. I think it was a contest. But, on the other hand, it is entirely possible that is was merely an evening of fun for the teenagers who were participating. Again, all of the participants were black…..and they were more or less rotating in and out of the dance circle…..after showing off their best moves, I suppose. If it was indeed a contest….it was a friendly contest……and the rivalry was mutually supportive. All the young men seemed to be having fun….urging each other on with enthusiastic encouragement.

Fayez and I seemed to be in a definite Caucasian minority. As the sun sank lower in the West….and not seeing any other white people….we decided that it might be prudent to start back to our hotel. It was not that we felt unsafe….or threatened….in any way. But, those how know me, already know that caution is one of my “strong points”! Actually, the break dancing was undoubtedly the highlight of the day.  It was fascinating to sit and watch the black boys perform their acrobatic and nimble and athletic moves. I was actually envious….thinking, “Wow….I wish I could do that.”

So, with the break dancing exhibition still going strong, we moved on to a nearby restaurant to eat supper before returning to our so-call “5-Star” hotel for the rest of the evening. We stopped at the hotel bar before going to our room. But….the drinks were expensive….and we were the only people there…..so it did not turn out to be a very exciting experience. We took the elevator to our room……to rest up for the major attraction of the trip: an opportunity to ride to the top of the famous St. Louis Arch.

The ride to the top of the St. Louis Arch was much more of an ordeal than it was an adventure, however.. Let me tell you right now: If you are traveling more than 50 miles only to see the Arch……forget it…..stay at home….don’t waste your time or energy….go mow your lawn….or clean your house….or something fun like that.

Fayez stood in line to buy our tickets in the Old Courthouse Building with its flag bedecked ceiling. I don’t even remember how much they were….but too much! Then we walked two or three blocks to a busy street where we stood for 5 minutes waiting for the traffic light to change. After successfully crossing the street…..things rapidly went downhill. As I said, the entire area around the Arch is being renovated. It is literally torn up….. What I suppose was at one time a beautiful park….and probably will again be someday in the future…..is an obstacle course of barricades, mounds of dirt and construction litter.

 

 

 

 

After weaving our way through the construction maze….and trying to avoid the typically unconscious, inconsiderate tourists…..we presented our tickets and then proceeded to stand in interminably long lines on several different levels. Up stairs….down stairs….up ramps….down ramps…..switch sides….this side….then that side…… For me, standing for long periods of time….standing anywhere…..is not good….and kills my back. And….this morning was one of the worst.

The only break in this exercise of discomfort and boredom was a brief photo opportunity. As the weary visitors slowly made their way toward the elevators at a less than snail’s pace, each individual or group paused for a quick picture taken against a “green wall”……and later to be superimposed on various scenes of St. Louis.

Oh how Fayez and I looked forward to stepping into a spacious elevator which would whisk us to the top of the Arch…..and the viewing platform. Finally, the elevators came into view. But…. Alas! There was no spacious elevator. The “elevator” consisted of a long series of small moving cubicles…..no larger than a human sardine can. We were packed into the small cells…..and we moved again with snail-like slowness through the dark interior of the Arch as it traversed it its curved pathway to the top.

What a relief it would be to reach the top of the Arch…..to step out onto the viewing platform and look at the city of St. Louis….and take some pictures. But….when the elevator stopped….presumably to pick up more weary…but expectant….tourists who had taken our place in the long line below……we discovered that there is no viewing platform. In fact, there was no platform at all. If we wanted to take pictures…..and I most certainly did….we had to take the pictures out of tiny airplane-type windows from the inside of the Arch. There was no panoramic view…..no pictures taken against the St. Louis skyline….no pictures of Fayez looking down upon the Mississippi River. I took my turn taking a few pictures from the tiny windows…..stepped back inside the tiny “sardine can”…..and we just as slowly made our way to back to the bottom of the Arch.

At least, getting out of the Arch was much quicker than getting in. But this time, I was barely able to walk! Good, kind, thoughtful Fayez told me to wait for him while he went to retrieve the car. I waited in the parking lot of a Roman Catholic Church which was adjacent to the Arch. Apparently the church had problems with visitors to the Arch using their church parking lot to park their cars. A woman was stationed at the entrance of the parking lot…..turning away cars as they attempted to drive in. Some tourists were not happy about her directions…..but the parking lot was private property…..not part of the Arch facilities. Probably the church could have made a great deal of money if they had charged people to park there at times when no church services were taking place.

As I stood there, waiting for Fayez to return with our car, I asked the woman if he could drive into the parking lot….turn around….pick me up…..and then leave. She was nice enough to say it would not be a problem. It took longer than I had expected for Fayez to return. Finally, I spotted him….and I motioned him to go ahead and pull into the church parking lot so he could safely stop and let me in. I asked Fayez what had taken him so long to come back and pick me up. He said that when he had gotten back to the car, there was a parking ticket on the windshield. I knew we had been parked too long….and I wasn’t particularly surprised.

“How much was the ticket?” I asked.

I don’t recall exactly how much he said he was……over $100.00, I think. “That’s quite a bit for a simple parking ticket,” I thought…..especially since we were only about 30 minutes late. “Oh well…… parking tickets must be expensive in St. Louis.”

“We had better pay it soon,” I told him. Wow…..two tickets. The rental car company would not like this, if they found out. I have driven for thirty years without a traffic violation….and not we have gotten TWO in less than two weeks.

“Yeah, we had better stop and pay it on our way to Springfield,” Fayez said. Fayez had paid the speeding ticket he got in South Dakota. I think he felt that it was his responsibility, since he was driving. But…..this was sort of a shared mistake….and I thought we should pay it out of our shared funds.

We left St. Louis early in the afternoon and headed toward Springfield. Along the way, I reminded Fayez a couple times that we should stop soon and pay the fine. After all, the car had been rented in my name….and it would be I who would suffer the consequences from the rental agency. I am not sure what happens to a person when he returns a car with traffic violations…..multiple traffic violations. But, I suspect they do not give you an award….or a discount on your next rental car.

As the afternoon began to wear down, I started to become more concerned…..and I began to insist rather forcefully that we should stop and pay the fine, Fayez finally admitted that there was no traffic ticket….. He had played the part masterfully….. I was thoroughly convinced that we indeed gotten a ticket. After all, we had been parked for longer than we had paid for. I was torn between being relieved…..but I also had the urge to inflict bodily harm on Fayez as a reward for his Academy Award performance in impressive acting….and almost perfect deception.

But…..honestly…..in the back of my mind I thought that $100.00 (and maybe he told me ever more than that!) was a LOT of money for simply over-parking. With that matter solved….we continued our journey to Springfield.

Other than the parking ticket incident, the trip to Springfield was uneventful….forgettable gettable. Upon our arrival in Springfield, we stayed at the same KOA we had stayed at a couple years ago in December when Fayez and I went to Arkansas where he took his language proficiency test. On that particular trip…..the one in December….we were one of a very few campers in the campground that night. In fact, the next day, the campground was closing for the winter months. Our camping cabin was directing across from the general store and showers….a very convenient walk to take a shower on the chilly, crisp morning. We were the only campers sitting outside at night in front of an open fire preparing our evening meal. The other few campers were sitting inside their 45 feet RV’s…..undoubtedly watching TV….and laughing at the two poor suckers sitting outside in the cold December air in front of a fire.

On this trip, however, our camping cabin was located somewhat further away….and we had an abundant number of fellow campers to keep us company. However, the cabins are far enough from each other that there is rarely an issue of privacy. On this night, Fayez prepared the final outdoor banquet over a roaring fire. We sat for a time for a final evening of talk and laughter and fun together before our vacation was to come to come an end.

Early in the morning, we took a final shower in the KOA shower….ate our breakfast of raisin bran and coffee…..packed our stuff into the car for the last time…..and took off for Farmington, Arkansas, to visit my cousin.

My cousin, who is ninety years old, had moved from her previous home in Springdale, AR, to an apartment in nearby Farmington. I had never been there before, but with the help of our GPA (Yes, it was actually rather useful this time.), we easily found the address….which was located in an attractive apartment complex. My cousin was waiting for us…..and as usual, was happy to see us and welcomed us warmly. When I say “us”…..This was the first time Fayez had met her….but she was equally happy to see him, too.

My cousin’s daughter…..my second cousin….was also there. I had never met her before, so not only did I have an opportunity to reunite with my cousin, but I was also able to meet a new relative…..and add a new name and a new face…..and a new Facebook friend….to my family “album”. They had a delicious lunch prepared for us. Always a thoughtful and considerate person, my cousin had prepared a low fat, low salt, low sugar meal. She never seems to forget about my diet….and always take great care to prepare food that she thinks will be healthy.

We sat at the table and talked and reminisced and traded stories of the past and present. As I said, my cousin is 90 years old…..but she is as sharp as a tack! She remembers everything. I think she thoroughly enjoyed telling Fayez the stories of her past life…..and it is an interesting life. Her husband (who is really my cousin) worked in the oil industry…..back when the oil industry was important in the USA. She has been places and done things…..as one would say. Well…..now that I think about it, I think she liked Fayez better than she liked me!! But….that is OK….Fayez is a very likeable person!

 

 

 

There is nothing feeble or “old” about her. She still drives her car….and if I can judge on the last time I drove with her….there is nothing “old” about the way she drives, either. She weaved her way in and out of the busy Springdale traffic with the ease and grace of a teenager. In fact, I think she would have made most teenagers nervous!

We could only stay for a short visit. We took some pictures….said goodbye….and headed up toward Kansas City where we would spend the night.

About halfway to Kansas City, it began to rain….. And it rained steadily until we reached Kansas City…..not a good omen for the evening….or for the next day. By the time we had reached Kansas City, the rain had more or less stopped….or had diminished to a light drizzle. That gave us some hope for the evening. Fayez wanted to spend the night in a hotel on the Plaza, so I reserved a room in the “Extended Stay America” hotel and suites. The hotel proved to be more than adequate. It is situated a couple blocks from the Plaza…..within walking distance, if we had chosen to do so. The “suite” had a small kitchen area…..two beds….a couple comfortable chairs….and a bathroom. The hotel wasn’t luxurious…..but met….or exceeded….our needs for the night.

Upon arriving, we closed the drapes and took a nap…..gearing up for what we hoped would be an exciting night on the Kansas City Plaza. Fayez and I had been to the Plaza on two previous occasions…..both times on summer afternoons. The Plaza was alive with strollers…shoppers….people relaxing in the sidewalk cafes and coffee shops. Both of the times we visited the Plaza, Fayez enjoyed himself…..and enjoyed the atmosphere and the ambiance of the quaint Spanish-style architecture, with its fountains and statues.

Both of us were looking forward to the same experience….and perhaps even more so….that night. The Plaza at night was a disappointment. Maybe it was the rain and the damp weather…..but were few people strolling the streets…..the sidewalk cafes and bars were closed…. The sidewalks were mostly bare. It was not what we had expected….and hoped for….but we made the best of it.

 

 

 

We ate dinner in an upscale Italian restaurant….called the Brio Tuscan Grill. Who knows how good it was? When you eat at an expensive restaurant…..you are expected to say that everything was great. And, make no mistake about it…..everything on the Plaza is expensive. This is not a place where you sit down in a McDonalds or Burger King and eat a Big Mac or a Whopper. All of the restaurants on the Plaza are “exclusive”……the best of Kansas City dining. And, they are also quite expensive. We paid around $75.00 for our meal….so of course, I am going to say it was “good”. Actually….and in all honesty…..it was just another Italian restaurant…..with a fancy name…..and dim lighting…… uniformed waiters and waitresses….. All of the things that one expects when eating on the Plaza. We paid the $70.00 for the “experience”….not for the food. I am sure that Fayez and I could have prepared a much more delicious Italian meal. We could have turned down the lights in our house…..played some soft music in the background….. The food would probably have been better…..but we would be eating on paper plates….and our little folding tables had no fancy napkins…..

After we finished eating, we wandered the empty sidewalks taking pictures of the Plaza at night. Walking on the Plaza at night was a stark contrast to a warm, sunny afternoon. We seldom met other people….and when we did, they were walking purposefully toward a destination….and not leisurely enjoying the warm, damp air of a summer evening. We did encounter a few strollers like us…..just meandering around, with no apparent goal….laughing, taking pictures….being “tourists” like Fayez and me.

After an hour or so, we decided we had had enough fun for one night….and decided to head back to Extended Stay America for a good night sleep before waking on Wednesday morning to the last day of fun and relaxation of our vacation.

We woke up Wednesday morning to a steady light rain. And….as luck would have it….the rain followed us on our drive south to Pleasanton, Kansas, where we would visit our friend, Sam, on his farm before returning to the Ranch. The time we spent in Pleasanton was “pleasant” insofar as we were happy to see Sam. But, in terms of the weather…well, it was not so pleasant. The rain continued to fall throughout our time there….making is necessary to spend our time in Sam’s machine shed. However, he did provide us with a nutritious and delicious lunch before we bid farewell…..and drove the final miles of our trip to our Home on the Range.

We arrive home happy….but tired. And, as usual, Fayez was eager to return to Wichita to do whatever it is he does there. We quickly unloaded the car….and just as quickly headed for Topeka to return the rental car. Our vacation had come to an end.

 

 

 

 

As just a final footnote….let me say that reserving our rental can online was a wise decision. The red tape was already taken care of….the rental fee was paid in full…..there were no confusing forms to fill out…. The clerk simply found my reservation online….handed me the keys….and I was on my way. Of course, it didn’t hurt that he was distracted by talking to a couple of his friends while doing all this.

My fears and reservations about returning the car were unfounded, too. The same clerk took them keys…..make a perfunctory walk around the car…..and I was on my way. Again….it didn’t hurt that he was involved in a discussion with a couple Indian nationals who were returning their car after being involved in an accident. I walked out of the rental agency happy….and relieved. Fayez took me to my brother’s house to pick up my car……and I returned to the Ranch….alone.

The “Rural” part of the trip had come to an end. Until this point, the biggest city we had visited was Rapid City. It has a population of around 68,000 people. That probably can be classified as city in South Dakota…..but it would no doubt fail to meet the criteria of a real city in the rest of the world. But, we people from Kansas understand that all too well! Take away Kansas City and its suburbs, Topeka and Wichita…..and probably Lawrence in the summer season…..and we aren’t exactly bursting with any mega-cities, either.

Be that as it may…..we woke up Wednesday morning….certainly not suffering any ill-effects of my birthday non-celebration…..unless we want to count some serious over-eating at the Chinese buffet……and we set our sights on our next destination: Detroit, Michigan. The trip really wasn’t so very far…..only 366 miles. But, of course, I was a year older now…..and maybe that made it seem a little longer.

I wish I could say that I have vivid memories of this part of the trip…..but that would not be true. Again….it was almost non-stop driving. We did stop a couple times….solely at my insistence. Our first stop was to take a pictures of the bridge that spans the isthmus between Lake Michigan and Lake Huron. We never measured the bridge, but I would imagine that it was somewhere between four and five miles long. Maybe a little more; maybe a little less. Who knows? Long bridges like this are a rather dramatic sight, I think……as they disappear off into the mist shrouding the water.

Of course, it was a toll bridge. We had to pay to cross it. I am always puzzled by this arrangement. I am curious to know what Fayez and I would have done if we had come upon this bridge…..and had no money with us. I wonder what any traveler would have done in such circumstances. We could have possibly simply turned around in the middle of the crowded highway….in the midst of dozens of angry drivers…..and retraced our route until we came to an alternative route. Of course, that would have added several hundred additional miles. Or, I suppose we could have not stopped….gunned the engine and sped past the collection booth….and continued on with our journey. That could have been an option…..but we would have most certainly paid dearly for our foolish choice later on. But, who knows? A week in a Michigan jail may have been the most interesting part of the trip.

Of course, we had the money to pay….but I sometimes wonder if there are ever out-of-state drivers…..drivers who are even less sophisticated that us……who come upon a bridge such as this…..and have no clue that it will cost money to cross it until they are in an unending line of vehicles…..all waiting impatiently to cross.

We did cross the bridge. It was so long that it seemed that we must be in another state….or even in another country. But….no. We were still in Michigan. The first one hundred fifty miles or so were more of the same…..more tree lined, flat highway….dotted with signs directing tourists toward more fishing resorts tucked away in the woods. The landscape and the atmosphere changed the further south we drove. That is when we truly left the “rural” portion of our journey behind us. The Interstate highway morphed into a super-highway was we drove through Bay City, Saginaw, Flint….and finally into the suburbs of Detroit. As would be expected, the volume of traffic increased exponentially as we approached….and entered….this string of cities.

Fayez was holding up. In fact, he was doing very well dealing with the mass of traffic….much like maneuvering one’s way through a congested marathon….with every runner scheming for the best advantage. Actually, driving in Detroit was not as bad as I had thought it would be. Of course…..I wasn’t driving. But, there were no “near misses” or any other alarming incidents as we made our way to the hotel. No matter what other problems they may have, the streets in Detroit are well marked…. We recognized…..or, more accurately….I recognized….many of the land marks from pictures I had seen previously.

As we turned onto the street where our hotel was located……I recognized it immediately. I had already seen pictures of it…..and I had already looked at it on Google Earth. That was easy enough. Of course, the motel was not nearly as luxurious as the pictures on the Internet. But….they never are. One of the first things I noticed was that the entrances to all the rooms were from the outside. That concerned me a little bit. This was, after all, Detroit. And, Detroit has never been renowned for its safety. And, it meant that there was no elevator to take us to the second floor.

The motel was located on the very outer fringe of “downtown”…..a couple blocks from Detroit’s famous Renaissance Center…..the sprawling complex of sleek skyscrapers: an urban renewal project championed by the Ford family to fight back against the rapidly deteriorating downtown area. But….in Detroit, even a few blocks can make a huge difference….and our motel was definitely on the border….sort of a transition….from the ultra-modern urban renewal showcase…..and the “real” Detroit.

Our motel was did not radiate the semi-posh atmosphere I had expected. In fact, it had seen better days. But, the owners…..maybe new owners…..were in the process of refurbishing it. The reception area was totally messed up. At first sight, it was a wee bit disturbing. But, the owners were friendly….eager to help….apologetic for the obvious disheveled condition of the motel. I felt a little bit….but not a lot….better about the situation. My confidence was raised a couple notches when I inquired about the safety and advisability of going downtown at night. They all agreed that it was safe to wander around the Renaissance Center for a while…..but they also advised that it was a good idea to be back in our room at or before 10:00. This admonition did nothing to bolster my confidence in the city of Detroit. But, it did increase my confidence in them….and their concern for our safety and well-being.
We carried out stuff up to our room on the second floor of the motel. Stairs….no elevator, of course. The room looked….well….. It looked adequate, at best. At least, the floor was clean, and the bedding looked like it may have been washed, and the shower was reasonably clean. Even though it didn’t live up to my prior expectations, I suppose it could have been worse….much worse. We could have been stuck in South Sioux City for another two nights.

The motel didn’t have a gym, so Fayez took off almost immediately to find a place where he could work out. I sat up my laptop…..and I immediately lay down on the bed and fell asleep.

I was awakened about 90 minutes later by Fayez, knocking on the door. After he had taken a shower, we took off to find a place to eat our evening meal. By a general consensus, we agreed that we would find an Arab restaurant in the suburb of Hamtramck, where supposedly 40,000 Muslims live. Needless to say, I was looking forward to it. Certainly I had never seen that many Muslims in one place at one time. With the help of our omnipresent GPS system, we arrived at the restaurant we had chosen……a restaurant we assumed would be in the center of the Muslim community. There was only one problem, however…… There were no Muslims around. At least, not in the numbers that we had been expecting. I don’t know who was the most disappointed…..Fayez or myself. Probably me. I was very much anticipating observing how 40,000 Muslims live in such a community…..to walk down the street and look into their shops, their markets. To see them interacting with each other on the streets.

However…..there were only a few Muslims shops or markets or people hanging out on the sidewalks. Nevertheless, we entered the restaurant……and ordered something. Actually, from this point on, I have on a dim recollection of what we ate….or anything else that happened. I do know, however, it was not what I had expected……and I think I can say…..it was not what Fayez expected, either. Both of us considered the possibility that we simply were in the wrong place…..that maybe we hadn’t actually found Hamtramck. But there would be more time tomorrow to explore that possibility.

In the early evening, we were off to explore Detroit…..without getting mugged, shot or a knife in our back. The clerk in the motel had already told us that is was probably “safe” to look around downtown Detroit….but he would suggest that we be back in our motel room by 9:00 or 10:00. I, for one, took him seriously. I want to continue to live for at least another twenty or twenty-five years!

Probably the only part of Detroit that is worth exploring is the Renaissance Center. Actually, the Renaissance Center was located only three or four blocks from our motel. However, we chose to drive there. It was quicker….and safer. The Renaissance Center is the “crown jewel” of downtown Detroit. And….it is the only feature that is clearly visible on the Detroit skyline. In fact, it dominates it.

The Renaissance Center was more or less the brain child of the Ford Family whose purpose was to revitalize the crumbling downtown area. Henry Ford, Jr. pushed the concept and was instrumental in bringing about its construction. In fact, the project was financed mainly by the Ford Motor Company.

The Renaissance Center is a complex of seven interconnected skyscrapers. Construction on the mammoth project began in 1973…..and the final phase was completed in 1977. As I said…..this complex of gleaming skyscrapers dictates the Detroit skyline……and this complex of buildings is overshadowed by the seventy-three story Westin Hotel. General Motors purchased the complex of buildings in 1976……and one of the buildings now serves as their world headquarters.

As in most cities these days, the downtown area of Detroit was practically devoid of people…..even at 8:00 P.M. …….And, maybe for good reason. After taking some pictures of the Renaissance Center, we drove around for a while….and then returned to our motel for the rest of the night.

 

 

 

 

Early Thursday morning, July 30, we were up and eager to see what Detroit had to offer. And, the answer is: Not much. Before we left on the trip, I had done quite a lot of research in an attempt to find some interesting sites to look at….or some interesting things to do. But, for a city the size of Detroit….there simply is not much to see or do. Kansas City, on the other hand, offers a wide variety of museums, galleries, theme parks, and other cultural and entertainment events.

Over the years, the population of Detroit has steadily declined….mostly as the result of loss of jobs in the automobile industry. With the rise in popularity of foreign cars and the diversification of the domestic automobile industry from Detroit to other part of the USA, Detroit has suffered a devastating economic hardship. Detroit reached its peak population in 1950 with 1,849,568 people…..sliding to less than half that number today…. 713,270 people according to the latest census numbers. It has tumbled from the 6th largest city in the USA to 18th largest city today.

And, probably even more debilitating is the tremendous racial imbalance that has developed. Today almost 83% of the population is black….and approximately 11% of the population is white. The remainder of the people are of other various nationalities and ethnic and religious groups.

Our day began with breakfast in the small cafe located in the motel complex. Unfortunately, breakfast was not included in the price of our room, a courtesy or convenience usually included in the price for most hotels. But….at least, the cafe was convenient. And, I must admit, the food was not bad.

Only a couple blocks from our motel was the Detroit River Walk…..a multi-purpose entertainment district which has been constructed…..and is still under construction….along the Detroit River. This was the site of our first sightseeing adventure of the day. Again, we chose to drive. Although we really didn’t see an over-abundance of muggers along the way…..no little old ladies lying helpless on the sidewalks with their purses missing…..driving was faster, especially since we had other things to do later in the morning.

I am not really sure what to say about the River Walk. Even though it offered a pleasant stroll along the river, there actually weren’t a lot of things to see or a lot of things to do. I had probably set my expectations too high…..at least, for Detroit. The River Walk seemed to be a popular destination for the locals, though. There were lots of people milling around. A band was playing…. No….it was recorded music…..accompanying an outdoor fitness session. A noble idea, to say the least. It appeared to be open to anybody who wanted to join in. And, there were probably a hundred people….mostly older people…..who were going through the routine, which was being led by a couple of enthusiastic leaders or instructors. And….there were even more people….like Fayez and me….who stood and watched…..maybe hoping that some of the physical benefits would rub off on us by osmosis. It didn’t! I did think of one useful purpose of the River Walk. It would be a great place for me to walk…..or for Fayez to run. It was perfectly flat….and extended for several city blocks…… If we should ever find ourselves living in Detroit…..

There were a few food vendors….and maybe even a couple souvenir stands. But, for Fayez and me, there wasn’t much to do except walk along and look at the river and the tour boats and admire the wild flowers and grasses that had been planted along the broad sidewalk…..with the ever-present view of the Renaissance Center looming in the near background. We were surprised to learn that the River Walk Park closes around 9:00 P.M……just when I supposed would be the time when the action would be heating up…..especially in the summer time. But…..then, too….we had been warned to be back in our motel room at 9:00 or 10:00. So, chances are…..there is a reason why it closes so early!

After leaving the River Walk park, we set off to find the elusive….and maybe mythical….Hamtramck. And, the search didn’t turn out to be any more successful than it was yesterday. Of course, the towns exists. It is shown on the maps. It has an official census population. There were signs on the highway pointing out its direction. But, it was not what we had expected. Obviously, is it not any sort of tourist attraction. It apparently was simply a town where 40,000 Muslims live and carried on with their daily lives without drawing undue attention or fanfare. As I said previously, I was somewhat disappointed. I had looked forward to getting a small gimps into the life and society of a Muslim community. But…..someday I will go to Saudi Arabia for a day….and probably I will have an opportunity to observe all that kind of stuff there.

 

 

 

 

The only other tourist attraction that was viable was the Henry Ford Museum. Like many major cities, the life and history of Detroit was shaped by one family. In this case…..it was the Ford family. Stop and think. Denver had the Coors family. Kansas City had the Kemper and Nichols families. Hutchinson had the Dillon and Carey families. St. Louis had the Anhauser and Busch families.

At any rate, the Henry Ford Museum complex is a vast collection of different museum venues…..all adjacent to each other…..but all operating independently. At least, they operate independently for the purpose of collecting entry fees! Some of museums are outdoor museums….and some of them are located indoors. We chose an indoor museum. Over the door in large prominent letters are the words “The Henry Ford”. So, I am going to assume that either we went to the Henry Ford “Museum”…..or they didn’t have the space to finish the name of the whatever its real name is.

Even though I have a Bachelor’s Degree in history….and even though I taught United States history for two years, I am not a big fan of museums. Especially, I am not a fan of museums whose main content if a collection of Indian arrowheads….or bits of pottery that have been pieced back together…..or bones of extinct creatures that no longer inhabit the earth. I also have very little interest in looking at stuff animals or reconstructed rooms that kings or emperors spent millions of dollars that could of….and should of…..been spent on the welfare of their people. Not am I particularly fond of looking at rooms of guns and other weapons……which after the 20th gun, all of them start to look alike.

From the very beginning…..I really liked the Henry Ford Museum. To be sure….a majority of the exhibits centered around the theme of transportation…and the modernization and mechanization of the United States during the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries in the USA. But, there were also a variety of Americana covering the same period. For me, it was a rather nostalgic trip back into time. Well….maybe not back to the nineteenth century. But, the exhibits were at least things I could relate to…..having been born a few years after the Ice Age.

It was interesting to look at agricultural machines…..tractors, combine, plows, irrigation systems, balers ….etc….that were common back in the forties, fifties, sixties…..and even up into the later years of the twentieth centuries. It is easy to forget that what we once considered to be state-of-the-art implements and equipment are now museum exhibits. The same is true of most of our electronic devices and conveniences. At the time these devices and conveniences were introduced, we felt like we were truly using the best and the latest that money could buy. And, we were…..for that time in history.

As I looked at the exhibits of common modern conveniences of the day, I could easily feel the excitement that I and my family felt as we added these things to our life: washing machines, refrigerator, telephones, TV’s, vacuum sweepers, VCR’s, slide cameras, stoves….. All of these things made our lives easier…..and added a new degree of sophistication to our lives. These “modern” conveniences are now relegated to museums. And, just as certain…..the modern, state-of-the-art devices that we are using today will also end up as museums artifacts that people of the future will walk past and remark, “How did people live like that?”

 

 

 

 

Equally interesting to me were the automobiles that were on display. Not only cars manufactured by the Ford Motor Company…..but a large collection of cars produced by a variety of manufacturers. The first car that I owned was a 1947 Chevy…..certainly a museum piece now. Even the 1960 VW Bug I owned is popular curiosity these days. I would dare say that probably the most “classic” of classic cars is the 1957 Chevrolet. This was the car that every teen-age boy wanted to own. It was a cruising car……the foremost chick magnet. Unfortunately, I never owned one of them….although one of my best friends did. And, that was almost as good. (I did own a ’57 Plymouth….but that wasn’t quite the same.)

 

 

 

 

Actually the extent of cars on display ranged from the Oscar Meyer “Wiener-mobile” to the Presidential limousines used by many of our modern presidents…..dating back to the horse-drawn buggy used by Theodore Roosevelt. The Lincoln Continental limousine in which John F. Kennedy was riding when he was assassinated is also on display.

 

 

 

 

Yeah…..I don’t think Fayez shared my fascination in the exhibits….at least, not to the degree that I did. But….someday I am sure he will see his old vehicle in a museum somewhere, too….. Probably a 2012 model camel!

It was mid-afternoon….. Fayez was getting tired….and maybe just a little bit bored. He sat down on a bench to rest while I hurriedly look at a few final exhibits. We had not had anything to eat since breakfast, so we bought a hot dog and a cold drink before we left to do other things.

Although I really have no desire to return to Detroit anytime soon….if I ever do return, I will, for sure, spend some more time in the Henry Ford Museum. It is my kind of museum.

Time was getting away from us. It was time to leave the museum and return to our motel. Again, I took a nap while Fayez went to work out.

 

 

 

 

Shortly after Fayez returned to the motel and took a shower, we left again and headed downtown to search for a place to eat. I am not sure how we found it….but we came upon an all-you-can-eat sea food restaurant. It was not the kind of buffet that we are accustomed to in Topeka….where you can keep going back for more food to eat. In this restaurant, they serve you only one entree at a time. After that has been consumed, the waitress will bring more food…..for as long as we could eat it, I suppose. At first, we thought this arrangement was somewhat strange. But, after thinking about it…..it makes sense. It forces a person to finish the food he has been served before being served additional food. At Golden Corral, for example, people fill their plates with food….leave half of it on their plate….and go back for more food…..and then often leave the restaurant with almost a full plate of uneaten food. This method, I can well imagine, cuts down drastically the amount of food that is wasted by greedy, gluttonous, unthoughtful people. I can also well imagine that before the waitress will bring another serving of food…..she definitely expects to see a clean plate! We never tested the theory. But….on the other hand, I never leave a restaurant until I have eaten all the food on my plate.

After we finished eating our supper, we strolled around the neighborhood for a while. The homes of both the Detroit Tigers baseball team and the Detroit Lions football team were close by. Let’s see if you can guess the name of the football stadium. Yes….It is called Ford Field. Probably of all the pictures I took in Detroit, the only pictures that most people will recognize….or even be familiar with….or care about….are the pictures of these two stadiums…..or is it stadia? The only other famous building we walked past was the Detroit Opera House. But, I can probably on my left hand the number of people who have any interest in that! We did stop briefly at a large outdoor chalkboard. At the top was written….. “Before I die……” There were pieces of chalk provided so passers-by could record their wishes. Fayez took advantage of the opportunity and wrote something. I don’t know what he wrote. Maybe he told me. But, if he did…..I have forgotten. I pretended to write something……so Fayez could take a picture. But….it was all for the picture. I actually wrote nothing.

During both days, we spent quite a lot of time driving around the city of Detroit. Detroit is a rather depressing city. When you read or hear about huge sections of the city being turned into run-down slum areas…..believe it. It is not exaggeration. We drove through block after block of abandoned houses….some burned out and some with boarded up windows. These neighborhoods were largely ghost towns….or at least, ghost areas. With no liveable housing…..the streets were largely deserted….no people on the sidewalks……no children playing the yards….no cars parked in front of houses. I suppose that among the vast stretches of abandoned houses, there were houses where people actually live. If so, they were living under deplorable conditions.

Looking back, I began to question if it was wise…..or safe…..to be driving through these neighborhoods, even in the day time. Sometimes it pays to be naïve, I suppose. I know for sure, however, we would have not driven there at night. And, certainly is was not a place where we would have gone for a casual stroll….at any time…..day or night. But….then again…..maybe Fayez knows karate!

We ended the day by going a Wal-Mart store…..somewhere that only the GPS knows. And for some reason. I think I was looking for a portable lawn chair….although we could have been looking for almost anything. By a rather unusual coincidence, we ended up in the same shopping center where Fayez had gone to a fitness center to work out earlier in the day.

If I didn’t know better, I would have firmly believed that this Wal-Mart store was located in the heart of Hamtramck! ……although it wasn’t. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, we encountered fifty times as many Muslims than we had seen anywhere else in the city…..men, women and children. We had apparently discovered one of their favorite shopping places. But, they are probably just like me: I go to Wal-Mart because it convenient…and because the prices are cheaper. I would have really liked to take some pictures. But, my mama taught me better manners than that! Anyway, I still had Fayez to take pictures of.

The next morning we were up early. After eating breakfast in the motel cafe….and paying for it again…..we loaded up the car…..and headed toward the sunny South.

It would be easy to say a lot of negative things about the next phase of our trip. But….I am not. I am going to look at it as part of the adventure….part of the experience….part of the reality….that adds interest, excitement…and drama…. to what otherwise surely would have been a typical run-of-the-mill vacation. In almost any situation, it is the extreme highs….and the extreme low…..that make a situation memorable. Oh…I am not saying that we even came close to having an “extreme low”…..not ever close. And, even low points are relative.

And, what I would probably call a low point….Fayez would probably look up on it as being a “high”….part of the fun.

OK….. Our next destination was Louisville, KY. What else can I say? We covered the miles….. There was not much to see….certainly nothing to write home about. But, it really didn’t make a lot of difference. Fayez and I kept busy doing what we do best: talking, discussing, debating…..the usual fun stuff. As they say: Time goes fast when you are having fun. And, we always manage to have some fun. We crossed from Michigan into Ohio into Indiana on our way to our next destination: Louisville, KY.

In Louisville, we again stayed in a KOA. It was certainly

adequate….unless we want to consider the trains that seem to pass by at least once an hour during the night, splitting the air with their warning blasts at every intersection they encountered. This may have been the only night that Fayez didn’t prepare some sort of mini-banquet for us to eat. Instead, we opted for a much simpler meal of hot dogs and some prepared salad….and other assorted junk food. But, this did not detract from the exquisite taste that Fayez managed to bring out in them. The main luxury of the evening, however, was to merely sit in front of a fire and relax after a long day’s drive.

Our major point of excitement for Friday, July 31….aside from our next KOA in Paduca, Kentucky…..was a visit to Mammoth Cave National Park. The drive to Mammoth Cave National Park was beautiful and green. But, Mammoth Caves had all the charm of going down into a dark basement and spending an hour or so. No…..I am not being negative. I have been in some rather interesting basements in my life…..and this may have been one time I wished I was in another basement somewhere.

Over the years, I have been in several caverns. Carlsbad Cavern, Crystal Caverns, Cave of the Winds….and some others that I have forgotten about. I remember all of them as being rather spectacular with the stalactites and stalagmites….with vivid colors induced by various minerals…..with the damp air and water dripping from the ceilings…..

We had our choice of tours…..lasting various lengths of time and costing various amounts of money. Well…..it is sort of like choosing a line at the grocery store. No matter which line you choose…..it will be the wrong line…..the one where you stand the longest. Well….we obviously chose the wrong line….or in this case, the wrong tour. There were no stalactites….no stalagmites….. Only gray walls….gray ceiling…..gray floors. The worst part of all, however, was the steep….never-ending flight of stairs we had to traverse to get to all of this….this….nothingness. Ah….but the trip down was nothing! I could hardly wait to make the trip back up to daylight! A trip that I was sure would send me to an emergency room…..if such a thing even exists in Kentucky.

The trip that Fayez and I made to the salt mine in Hutchinson was far more interesting! At least there was an elevator to take us down…..and….more important….back up again. The salt mine had a little motorized train that shuttled us around…..and a guide who pointed out the various interesting (to him, at least) sights.

In the salt mine, we were able to take pictures….mostly because there were things to take pictures of. In Mammoth Cave there wasn’t even anything to take a picture of. Unless, of course, you think a bare wall of gray stone is interesting or photogenic. Consequently, I have to rely on my long memory to even recall this dull description.

But maybe the very worst part of the ordeal was the fact that I simply was not able to do a lot of walking…..probably due to the fact, again, that nothing was level…..and everything seemed to go uphill…..even in a cavern. So…even though I felt badly about it…..I sat down on a bench and told Fayez to go ahead and explore the rest of the cave.

Actually, Fayez wasn’t gone for very long….for obvious reasons: there was really nothing to see. And…what did I do while Fayez was off looking at the cave? Well, there were no stalagmites….no stalactites….no rock formations…. And, of course, no cell phone signal. So, I sat….rested….and admired the dark gray walls. But, I could comfort myself knowing that Fayez was probably as bored as I was inspecting what was left of the cave.

After we at last finally reached the sunshine and fresh air of the outside world again, we face the long walk back to the Visitor’s Center….and our car. Oh…..I neglected to mention that the hike from the Visitor’s Center to the entrance of the cavern…at least the entrance we took…..was a good morning workout by itself. There were other trails leading off into the woods to some unknown place beyond the entrance.

Of course, Fayez was well aware that I was not able to do much more walking….especially the uphill kind….. So, he was considerate enough to suggest that perhaps I would like to start walking back UP the trail toward the Visitor’s Center while he trekked ahead on the trail to see what lay ahead. This was a suggestion that I was happy to accept. So…..as I turned to make my second long hike of the morning….this one back to the Visitor’s Center…..Fayez forged ahead on the trail….saying that he would be returning soon….probably before I had even made it back to the Visitor’s Center.

Remember that I told you that all the roads at the Mt. Rushmore KOA headed uphill? Now….that multiply that by two or three…..both in the degrees of the angle….and the distance. I struggled to make it back up there. I walked a short distance….stopped and leaned against a tree or a sign….rested….and continued on….repeating this many times until what seemed to be hours later, I finally made it to the head of the trail. The entire time I was walking, I fully expected Fayez to come up behind me and say something like, “Are you still walking up the trail?”…. or…. “Why are you so slow?” Every time I stopped, I closely scanned the distance to see if he was coming.

The only thing that gave me some comfort…..and kept from making me look like the oldest and most senile person there….was the fact that several people also were stopping along the way to rest. People probably half my age. OK….maybe they weren’t resting for as long as I did…..but, yet….they had to stop and rest.

When I reached the starting point of the trail, I sat down on a bench to wait for Fayez. It had taken me several minutes….or at least, it seemed like it…..to make it to the top. I was sure that Fayez would be coming into sight at any second…..and we could continue on our journey. So…..I sat on a bench and waited…..and waited…..and waited. Now, when I say waited…..I mean, I waited from probably an hour….or more. Long enough to start becoming concerned about his safety. All sorts of thoughts were running through my mind….. Maybe he had gotten lost. Maybe he had fallen down and hurt himself or even broken a bone. Or….on the other hand…..maybe he had decided to leave me behind….disappear into the woods…..and live the life of a Saudi Arabian hillbilly…..killing rabbits and making moonshine. Maybe he was hoping to meet up with a young female backwoods hillbilly. They would build a primitive log cabin….run barefoot through the forest….find some wild camels to raise….have a dozen little hillbilly kids. But….the Good News: I had the keys to the car….and I could return to my civilized home….and continue to live a life of a country gentleman!

 

 

 

 

Seriously, though…..at one point, I had decided to wait for another 15 minutes….and if he hadn’t returned, I would go to the Visitor’s Center and see if they could go look for him. In the meantime, I continued to sit on the bench. I should tell you this bench was not your ordinary run-of-the-mill bench. Just like the terrain, this bench sloped downward! Seriously. Apparently nobody had though of leveling it up. So….as I sat there, I would gradually slide down the bench to the other end. I would get up…go back to top of the bench……and gradually slide down again. I suppose it was actually quite comical. Fortunately, I was the only person sitting on the bench. If the bench would have been full, I am not sure what the consequence would have been. I suppose one-by-one we would take turns sliding off the bench…..go back to the beginning…..and start it all over again. The thought crossed my mind: Maybe they should charge people money to sit there…..and call it some sort of entertainment…..maybe something like…. “Five Dollars to sit on the Magic Sliding Bench.”

Sometime before the final 15 minutes had expired……I look down the trail….and here he came. Fayez was returning….with a smile on is face….and a cut on his hand. I don’t recall exactly what had happened. (Maybe I can get him to tell you that part of the story.) But, apparently the scenery had been so inviting and spectacular that he kept walking….all by himself….to see what lie ahead. Maybe was actually was looking for a hillbilly girl….I don’t know. At some point, he had tripped on a tree trunk…..and had seriously slashed a cut in his hand. It was bad enough that even he understood that it needed attention.

So, while Fayez went off in search of medical attention, I wandered around the Visitor’s Center….which can be more accurately described as a gift shop….looking at all the “Made in China” or “Made in India” souvenirs which were begging the tourists to pay a vastly inflated price…..and take them home…..and put them in a drawer or on a shelf…..and forget about them. These souvenirs were identical to the souvenirs we sold in the gift shops when I worked in Yellowstone National Park and Big Bend National Park. Only the name had been changed. I had looked at most of the merchandise….and Fayez still hadn’t returned. The morning was starting to turn into sort of a game called: “What Happened to Fayez?” I began to wonder if perhaps they were amputating his hand…..or maybe his entire arm. He eventually reappeared….still with a smile on his face….and a bandage on his hand. He was still alive….. I was thankful for that.

After explaining his delay, we proceeded across the street to the parking lot….got into our car…..and disappeared off into the afternoon Kentucky sun.

See…..I told you I was not going to be negative. We had an exhilarating drive to the Caverns…..we saw something we had never seen before….I got to sit on an entertaining sliding bench…..Fayez returned safely…well, rather safely…..from him hike…..he got proper medical attention…..enough, at least, to enable him to continue on to our next adventure….and we were able to laugh about the entire morning as we drove away as quickly as we could.

As my old friend, Shakespeare once told me…..”All is well that ends well.”

By all accounts, it was destined to be a great trip…..the thirteen day vacation that Fayez and I had planned. Or maybe I should say, the vacation that I planned….and Fayez approved.

 

 

 

 

 

 

We tried to plan the  camping portion of our trip around KOA campgrounds. Why? Mostly because I have a KOA membership card…..and we got ten percent off of the regular price for each night. But…not only that. The vast majority of the KOA’s that I have stayed in over the years can’t be beat. The are clean; they are safe; they convenient; they are locally owned by families who are friendly, and like people, who are helpful…… take pride in their business.

We have always stayed in a KOA cabin. They are basic structures…..primarily built from the same design nation-wide…. Some people might call them “glorified tents”. But…..believe me: They are much better than sleeping in a tent on the ground. Each cabin will sleep at least three or four people. The mattresses are already there…..covered with plastic, so they are easy to clean….and, I suppose, so bed bugs can live on…or in….them. The traveler has to furnish the bedding….the sleeping bag, the sheets, the blankets, the pillows….or whatever else you might want. But, the important thing is: You are sleeping inside, on a bed with a mattress.

All of the cabins have some sort of basic shelf….or desk…. They all have electricity. Then, depending on the campground, there may be a chair….or there may not be a chair….to sit on. Depending on where the campground is located, there may be an air-conditioner or a heater…..or both.

Outside is where the action is, however. There is a friendly front porch with a porch swing or some chair. Every cabin has its own picnic table. And, except in rare cases….probably determined by local ordinances….there will be a fire ring or a barbecue grill. ]

To me….this is the best part of camping…..building a fire….and eating the food that Fayez fixes for us! We have two comfortable camping chairs, and when supper is finished…..and the dishes are done, which

consists mainly of throwing away the paper plates and plastic eating utensils….we can sit back and relax and enjoy the rest of the evening…..talking and laughing and arguing….and trying to avoid the smoke that will inevitably blow in our face.

These are camping cabins. Of course, there are no showers in them. Just like the people living in tents, we have to take a shower in the shower house. But, the showers are rarely fully occupied, so the only inconvenience is walking to and from the shower.

OK…..so: Our trip was built in large part around the availability of KOA campgrounds. And, this can be a little problematic. The objective is always to find a campground approximately one day’s drive from the last campground. Sometimes this means driving a few more miles….quite a few more miles. Some days, it means getting to a campground with plenty of time to spare. Those were the best days!

Actually, when we started talking about the trip, the only real destination we had in mind was Mt. Rushmore National Park in South Dakota. That gave me a lot of freedom to choose a route. Another goal was to cover as many states as possible. Before Fayez graduates from college, one of our aspirations is to visit every state in the Continental USA.

Fayez added one place he wanted to visit: A city in Michigan….a suburb of Detroit…called Hamtramck….which has the largest Muslim population in the USA. According to census figures, somewhere around 40,000 Muslims reside there. And, I also added a couple places to round out the trip: the St. Louis Arch….and a visit with my cousin in Arkansas.

Thus…..armed with this information, I devised a trip plan which, on paper, would transport us 3758 miles. The reservations were made and confirmed. The campgrounds and the hotels were booked. The rental car was reserved. We were ready to go.

When I looked at the rental car…a late model Kia…..and then looked at the mountain of “stuff” we were going to take with us…..it was rather discouraging. “There is no way all that stuff is going fit into the car,” I thought. And, even it that was possible….it would take a half day to load it all.

By this time, it was probably 4:00…..I was 101 degrees outside….and the sun was showing no mercy. Fayez said he would arrive around 6:30. The job had to be completed….if we were to leave on time. And….part of my plan was for Fayez to simply lock his car….we would get into the rental car…..and leave. Precise planning is one of my strong points…..just ask Fayez.

So, one labored armful at a time, I slowly, but methodically, carried the equipment and supplies to the car. The camping chairs…..the bedding…..the plastic boxes containing food and eating supplies….. After each load, I returned to the front room….out of breath…..hurting. I sat down in the recliner for five minutes…..and then carried another arm load of stuff. “Just keep at it…. Don’t stop now,” I kept urging myself.

The heat was brutal; the sun was unrelenting. There was not a cloud in the sky. Not a breeze was stirring. I got a can of diet cola…..just something cold to drink. “You’re making progress….. Just a few more loads…..” Finally….everything in the front room had been carried to the car. And….it all fit. With some space left over. By this time, I was thoroughly worn out; out of breath; chest hurting….. But, the job was finished. I had done my part. The time was pushing 5:00. Fayez would be here in another hour.

Now…..just sit in the recliner, turn on some music, and try to sleep. Oh….what relief; what contentment. I closed my eyes….and listened to the soothing sounds of Abba….as I drifted into a world of sleep.

“Wake up!” said a voice somewhere out there in the fog of my consciousness. I opened my eyes….and there stood Fayez.

“What is this?” I asked myself. Abba was still singing…..and that is only the first track on the CD. I glanced at the clock…..I glanced at Fayez. Fayez was early! No…..I had to be dreaming.

“How can this be. This must be a mistake” But, no…..I was sure it was Fayez. Then I became wide awake. I realized that I had seen an important event in history….something that had never happened before….and may never happen again: Fayez was early! Fayez threw his suitcases into the back of the car….and soon, we were off on our adventure……and just about on time.

We drove up US 75 into Nebraska. It was a steamy night. So steamy, in fact…..that the camera lens steamed over, making it almost impossible to take any pictures that night. The difference in temperature between inside the house and outside the house….the difference in temperature between the inside of the cool interior of car and the temperature outside the car….caused the camera lens to fog over almost immediately. This was one of those nights when we definitely gave thanks for the invention of air-conditioning…..even though it did mean ruining a night’s worth of pictures. But….given the choice between comfort and pictures…..we gladly chose comfort.

As we drove along, we talked and laughed and joked…..and of course, traded a few insults. We ate our Subway sandwiches I had bought earlier in the day. But……We were running late……probably due to stopping in Holton for some supplies…..and due to the slow speed limits on US 75…..and stopping to take pictures of state signs….most of which were ruined by the fogged-up lens on the camera.

According to my calculations, we should have arrived in South Sioux City, Nebraska, somewhere around 10:30 P.M. Ten thirty came and went….and we still had many miles to drive. Other than our stop in Holton….and the stops at the state borders, we didn’t waste any time…..but it was approaching midnight when we approached South Sioux Falls.

Little did we know at this point that an even bigger surprise was waiting for us…..something that would set us back at least another half hour or forty-five minutes. I had booked a room through the Expedia web site in motel just off I-29. We walked into the motel tired and worn out….and ready to get a good night’s sleep….at least, what was left of the night. I gave my name to the hotel clerk…..a foreigner, of course. He checked the reservations. “No reservation,” he said.

“Check again,” I asked him. “I made a reservation and it was confirmed.”

The foreign clerk checked again….and shook his head. “No reservation,” he repeated.

“Surely there has to be a mistake. I have the confirmation e-mail right here.”

He started to rummage through the reservations. “Oh, you have a reservation for August 11th”

What? That was after our trip was ended…..after we were back home again. But….obviously there had been a mistake. And…..is wasn’t mine! Apparently Expedia had reserved the room for the wrong date. We were out of luck!

“Do you have a room we can rent?’ I asked.

“No….all booked up.”

He did suggest another motel, however.  For some reason, we didn’t look for it immediately,  but set off on our own to find another motel with an available room.  The “motel gods” were working against us that night.  We tried two or three motels.   They were either fully occupied…..or closed.  Finally, we thought of the motel the clerk had suggested.

We found it….and it was still open…..and they had a vacant room for

us to rent.  Even thought it was not 12:30 in the morning, the owner seemed to be out and about…..doing something,  Of course….he was a foreigner, too.  He smiled at us…..took our money…..and smilingly led us to our room.  Wow….we were relieved.  Finally a place to stay.  A place to lay our weary bodies down…..and sleep.

He opened the door for us…..and with a sweeping gesture welcomed us inside…..and is we were entering a suite at a 5-star motel.  but….it was NOT a 5-star hotel.   It wasn’t even a ZERO star hotel.   Quite frankly…it was a dump!  There were two small rooms….so dimly lit that we almost needed a flashlight to find our way around.  And….probably for good reason!  They probably didn’t want us to see that the room was dirty; the carpets were stained; the furniture…..or lack of it….was broken down and old.   I am assuming that the bedding…..the sheets, bed spread and pillow cases….had been washed….but that would have been difficult to prove in a court.

But….the owner….the foreigner…..seemed to be bursting with pride with his motel. And us…..we had no other choice. This would be where we would sleep…..and by that time, I was so tired that I could have slept standing up. Fayez slept in a little bedroom where the air-conditioner was located. And I? I slept in the “front room”, so to speak. I had expected to toss and turn the remainder of the night from the suffocating heat. But, surprisingly enough, the little air-conditioner actually worked…..and I even reached for blanket sometime during the night.

We woke up…..fortunately with no diseases or anything like that. Of course, there was no breakfast! We took showers, packed our stuff into the car…..dropped the key in the key return box…..and left! I think there was a general agreement between Fayez and me that we would strike this off our list of possible motels in the unlikely event that we should ever return to South Sioux City, Nebraska.

 

Fortunately….again due to my fantastic advance planning….this was to be the only misfortune or misunderstanding over reservations for the remainder of the trip. Our next major objective before leaving the city was to find a place to eat breakfast. Quite frankly, I am very easy to please when comes to food. I often say that I am on a “see food” diet. I see food……I eat it! I am not very particular. Just set some food in front of me…..and I am satisfied. Fayez is not so easily appeased, however.

We stopped at a casino…..which seem to be very legal in Nebraska…. Fayez went to check on breakfast….. He came back out and said that some guy was going to lead us to the best place in South Souix City to eat breakfast. I am just a little hesitant to follow strange people….in a strange city….to strange, unknown places. But….it turned out well. It was a good place to eat breakfast….and was full of local yokals….and friendly waitresses. With out stomachs satisfied….and our spirits somewhat higher….we took off for the first full day of our vacation.

“On the road again….Expecting that the world be going our way…..” (John Denver)

Now…..it really feels like we are in South Dakota. We are heading west on I-90. There is nothing to slow us down…..just miles and miles of interstate highway stretching in front of us. There are very few towns to break the monotony of driving…..just miles of vast fields of South Dakota farm land.

People often joke about

 

 

 

 

People often joke about Kansas….calling it a vast wasteland. Or a state whose only purpose is to serve as a barrier between Missouri and Colorado……a state that has to be driven through to get to the Golden West. Kansas has often been described as being “flat as a pancake”. And somebody actually did research to prove that this is true. Of course, those of us who have lived in Kansas all our lives know this description is pure nonsense….a bunch of bull. The eastern one-third of the state consists of the Flint Hills…hundreds….if not thousands….of square miles of rolling hills. Yes, central Kansas is flat. But, its flatness is more than compensated for by the lush fields of wheat and soy beans and milo.

But…..when it comes to boring…..surely South Dakota will win that prize any day of the year. Apparently even South Dakota recognizes this. They have set their upper speed limit at 80 mph. And, why not? There is nothing to slow a person down. Often it is difficult to keep speed down…..whether it be the urge to get through the state as quickly as possible….or whether it is the mesmerizing ribbon of seemingly endless highway. But, a driver should not be lulled into a sense of false security. Even though South Dakota has set their speed limit high……they are certainly serious about enforcing it. I-90 is well patrolled. It is not at all uncommon to see state troopers parked in the medians….or driving along the highways….keeping a close watch for unsuspecting drivers who may think that the posted speed signs are merely a polite formality.

Unless a person chooses to stop at one of the few bona fide towns located at infrequent intervals along the highway, the only real opportunities to stop…rest…and to stretch muscles….are the highway rest areas. These rest areas are normally crowded with both tourists and truckers seeking a few minutes of relief from the highway. The rest areas are welcome green oases from the vast areas of uninhabited prairies.

Most of the rest areas have picnic tables. Ours did…..and we took advantage of the stop by eating our lunch. And, in our situation, our lunches were usually improvised….and consisted of anything edible we could readily put our hands on…..usually sandwiches made of peanut and jelly and sandwiches made of sliced turkey meat and cheese. For the first few days, we also treated ourselves to boiled eggs….which I had left over in my refrigerator.

After we picked up I-90 at Sioux City, South Dakota, and stopping only for a lunch break and maybe a couple rest sessions, we drove steadily across the state…..after a while, paying little attention to the surrounding landscape. There are a limit to the number of wheat

fields and corn fields that can hold one’s attention….even though there is a certain beauty to them. After all, this is our nation’s food supply. Without the vast fertile fields of grain and the thousands of square miles of pasture land which provide the food for the nation’s beef, pork and dairy animals, we would not be the great “bread basket” of the nation….and of the world.

But….. Even acknowledging all this, the landscape does take on an undeniable sameness. For the vast majority of the people who travel this highway, they have no hint that only a few miles to the south of these fertile fields lies the largest undisturbed mixed grass prairie in the United States. And, within this vast grassland lies a spectacular area of sharply eroded buttes, pinnacles, and spires…..which have been formed through thousands of years of relentless forces of nature…..water erosion and wind erosion. These earth and rock formation are known at the Badlands of South Dakota…..almost 243,000 acres in area.

It was mid-afternoon. We had driven about four-fifths the distance across the state of South Dakota when we finally left I-90 and headed south to take a look at the Badlands National Park. To me, the vast areas of peaks and valleys that have been carved out of the soil are fascinating…..and well as beautiful. For one thing…..they are so unexpected. Except for a sign pointing the way, there is no other visible evidence that they exist. A person who does not know this area….or a person who doesn’t read highway signs….would simply drive past it…..never knowing that it was there.

Driving through the Badlands is interesting. There are plenty of opportunities to stop and take pictures. But the best way to fully appreciate this park is to hike on one or more of the many well defined trails….and be surrounded on every side by the beauty of the landscape. One the three other occasions I have been there, this is exactly what we did. We spend several hours hiking the trails and taking pictures. But…sadly to say….that was back in my younger days….days when I was in better shape and in better health.

I felt badly for Fayez. Even though I encouraged him to go ahead and do some exploring by himself, he declined to do so. Maybe out of consideration for me….not wanting to leave me by myself while he was off having fun. If he had chosen to go off for a while on his own adventure, that would have been fine with me. It would have given him the opportunity to experience the Badlands up close. And, maybe it would have made his experience more personal and memorable. Climbing down into the valleys….being surrounded on all sides by cliffs and spires….being separated from the highway and “civilization” would have perhaps have given him a new perspective and appreciation of the unique beauty of the Badlands.

Or….maybe it was simply because it is not much fun to do things like this alone. And, I certainly understand that feeling. It is more fun and often more meaningful to share such occasions with others. But, in any event, we stopped in several places, took pictures…..and moved forward on our journey. For those tourists…..like us…..who only want to look and take pictures, there is a loop through the park…..a strip of highway that winds approximately 40 miles off I-90…..from east to west. Once we were back on the Interstate, we were only a short distance from your destination for the day: The Black Hills and Mt. Rushmore National Monument. Our first stop was in Rapid City to fill up with gasoline. Our next stop was intended to be our destination for the day….the Mt. Rushmore KOA Campground that would be our home for the that night and the next night. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done, though. Fayez entered the address into the GPS. For some unknown reason, the GPS didn’t recognize the address.

Unbelievable! We are headed to one of the most popular tourist destinations in the USA….and the GPS has never heard of it? Now I am beginning to question what kind of GPS unit I bought. The answer seemingly boiled down to one of two choices: (1.) The GPS was manufactured before 1941 (when the Monument was dedicated)….which was rather unlikely! Or… (2.) The GPS unit was a piece of worthless junk!

The KOA is located on highway 244…..the same highway that leads

to Mt. Rushmore. How could the GPS not know that? We checked the atlas we had brought with us…. We checked the little maps on the brochures we had picked up in town….. They all knew where highway 244 was located….. The location of Mt. Rushmore was no secret to them.

Without the magical GPS to guide us….we had to resort to our desperate last choice: Follow the directions on the map…..and read the highway signs. We….at least Fayez…..felt that we had been transported back into a long-ago era…..an era which was void of modern technology…..and when human beings were forced to use their own ingenuity and intelligence and resourcefulness to guide them to any given target. At one point, we even considered waiting until darkness fell….and use the stars as our guide.

As for me…..as we drove along one of the highways going south out of Rapid City, I recognized many of the landmarks. Landmarks….which in this case can be translated more literally as “Tourist Traps”….abound by the dozen. Tame bears, pony rides, water slides, “museums”……anything to get a dollar out of a tourist’s pocket. Because of these familiar sights, I knew that at least we were in the right vicinity….at least, the right state…..and it was only a matter of time before we would find the highway we were looking for……the highway that would lead us to our campground.

Once we located the town of Hill City, we were able to orient ourselves….and figure out where we needed to go. It was also about this time that the GPS Unit woke up and decided that it, too, knew where we were! I am not sure if had been asleep….or whether it was one of those “special ed” type GPSes…..and just need a little bit of extra time to figure things out.

Shortly after leaving Hill City, we turned east onto highway 244….and within a few minutes we had arrived at our destination: The Mt. Rushmore Campground. No….No….that isn’t right. It was the Mt. Rushmore Campground and RESORT. As I said earlier, most….it not all….of the KOA’s where we have stayed have been locally owned….family owned….franchises…..many times with the entire family involved in its operation. The people who stay there almost always get friendly, personal attention. In many cases there is a small general store which stocks the most basic of supplies that travelers might need. And, commonly they have a small laundry that tourists can use. Some of them may even have a swimming pool that is open during the daylight hours.

But, this KOA was not your ordinary campground. It was as much a “resort” as it was a campground…..inasmuch as a campground can be called a resort. Personally, I would classify it as perhaps a “poor man’s resort”, at its best…..and an expensive tourist trap, at its worst. Included in the sprawling compound were such “amenities” as 2 large swimming pools, a bike shop, a car rental agency, a catering service, a chuck wagon dinner show, a climbing wall, stables, a “splash park”, UTV (utility terrain vehicle) rentals…..not mention the store, cafe and gift shop….. All of which cost an extra fee.

In fact, it had everything except WI-FI. I don’t know. Maybe they figured that if they furnished free wi-fi, people would spend their time using it, rather than spending money on their other “attractions”. Ask Fayez….. for me, this could have been the first strike against the campground. I had waited two days to log onto my e-mail accounts….only to find out that I could rent a horse….but not log onto the Internet.

Oh…but let me tell you what else the “resort” DOES have. It has many roads…. which were all heading uphill. It had an abundance of rocks that one could easily stumble over in the dark. It had a terrain that did not have one square foot of level ground…..This would have been great, if one of my legs was shorter than the other leg. It had long walks to the showers….all uphill….. Again, great if I had been training to climb Mt. Everest. It had showers which were located exactly in the middle of the large 55 feet self-contained RV’s…..the only vehicles which had their own comfortable showers. It had cabins with little desks….but no chairs to sit on (but on the other hand, there was no wi-fi, either…).

Yeah….the campground was in a beautiful environment….the trees, the mountains in the background. But, for me, none of this was enough to compensate for the discomfort and the inconvenience of the rocky, hilly, sprawling terrain. Throughout our entire stay there, I felt like I was constantly standing at an angle….always tipped to one side…..feeling much like I was the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Maybe that was because I was.

Fayez, on the other hand, loved it…..and was quite satisfied and happy. Maybe I can persuade him to write a paragraph or two giving his impression of the campground….and the two nights we spent there. Aside from all of my complaints….and they are legitimate ones…..it did not prevent Fayez and me from having a good time. And, it did not prevent Fayez from preparing a couple highly delicious meals. The first night, we enjoyed his specialty: chicken with rice and vegetables.

(By Fayez:  ‘Mt. Rushmore Campground, it is not as bad as Beryl made sounds. In addition, it was one of the best campgrounds that we stayed in this trip. It is true that it was bigger than normal but it was accepted to be big comparing it as it is being close to Mt. Rushmore. The camping place was located in the top of hill where the wound was blowing so peacefully late at night. We did not have any problem with insect or any sort of thing like that for the first time in that trip. Even though, the place was packed with a lot of people, who came today for the same purpose as us, we did not have any problem with people making noises or distraction. For the shower thing, it took us 30 seconds to hop in the car and be in the actual restrooms. I do agree with beryl for one thing only which is that the ground is not level, and there were rocks all over. But I want tell beryl that live cannot easy all the time, you have to be adventures and take the risk to be a real man and take it’….)

One of the few good things about the KOA was that it had a very comfortable mattress. I slept well both nights. And, although the days were quite warm….even bordering on being hot….it cooled off nicely at night. This, of course, was a gift from Mother Nature…..and not of the KOA.

Sunday morning, after a breakfast of raisin bran, a boiled egg and some coffee, we headed toward Mt. Rushmore….only a few minutes up the highway toward the east. Although it was fairly early on Sunday morning, the parking lot was filling up quickly at Mt Rushmore. Very luckily we were able to find a parking spot very near the entrance to the Monument.

Mt. Rushmore is quite amazing. Even though it is not a very interactive park, it makes up for this in its awesome beauty and wonder…..and incomparable dimensions and detail. The monument was the brainchild of a man named Doane Robinson…..who contacted the Gutson Borglum, a renowned sculptor, who had worked on other such projects.

Construction on the Monument began in 1927 and continued until its dedication on October 31, 1941…..shortly before the USA entered World War II. Although there was some controversy concerning who should be displayed on the Monument, in the end the final choices were George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln, and Theodore Roosevelt…..all considered to be among the most important and influential presidents in our history.

The total cost of of the Monument was approximately $990,000. That probably sounds unbelievably cheap….. Today it is less than money than 90% of university football and basketball coaches are paid every year! One million dollars back in 1935 would be worth somewhere in the vicinity of $17,000,000 in today’s market. Still not a bad price to pay for such a monumental undertaking.

Ninety percent of the “sculpting” was accomplished with dynamite. And, it is astonishing that not even one person lost his life during the 17 years of the construction.

Leading up to the main viewing area, we walked along the Avenue of Flags….a walkway flanked on each side by the flags of each of the 50 states….plus the flags of the District of Columbia…..and the American owned territories. Of course, we stopped to take each of our pictures with the Kansas flag.

 

 

 

 

 

Although we could see the faces of the presidents from many places….even from outside the park….they can be seen in their full magnificence only from the viewing platform directly in front of the monument. And, as one would expect, this is the spot where all of the people want their picture taken….and usually not just one picture….but several pictures. There is no other choice except to wait until there is an empty spot before having your picture taken. And….don’t even think of having your picture taken without any other people in it. It’s just not going to happen! Everybody is competing for their opportunity to have their picture taken….. And, Fayez and I were no different than the rest of the crowd. Once we had claimed our spot…..we took as many pictures as we needed before relinquishing it to somebody else. But…..the crowd is friendly. All of them have come for the same purpose…..so there is a general understanding that you may as well be patient until your turn comes around.

 

 

 

One thing that we found at Mt. Rushmore…..and at most parks…..is that people were always cheerfully willing to take pictures of Fayez and me together. And…..they are also happy when we volunteeres to take their picture. And, of course…..there are always the usual quota of people carrying the annoying selfie sticks, too.

I have visited Mt. Rushmore probably four or five times. And, every time I go there, I am truly in awe of how the people doing the sculpting…..the dynamite blasting…..are able to put the entire process into perspective…..and visualize it so accurately…..the steps to be taken to end up with an image that bears such a close resemblance to the person they are sculpting. When I consider that the face of George Washington is 60 feet long….it boggles my mind to understand how the workers could start out with the bare side of a mountain…..and end up with highly recognizable likenesses of the four presidents. I guess the lesson to be learned from this is…..I had better stick with things that I know…and leave sculpting to somebody else.

It was a hot day. The sun was bearing down with no clouds in the sky. We spent more than an hour at the Monument. After taking several pictures of Mt. Rushmore….from several angles….there was not much more to do. The carvings of the four faces are the main attraction….the only attraction. Right before we left the viewing area to walk back to our car, we did the thing that Fayez probably enjoyed the most about the visit. Fayez bought each of us an ice cream cone! I am not sure how much he paid for them….but whatever he paid, it was worth it. After standing in the sun for an hour, we were ready for something cool and refreshing…..and ice cream hit the target.

The visit to Mt. Rushmore gave me….an old history teacher….an opportunity to give Fayez a short lesson in United States history……by explaining who each of the presidents was….and why each of them was important in the history of our country. And….the only president whose qualifications I might be tempted to question would be Theodore Roosevelt. But, even then, I was able to tell Fayez several important things he did while he was in office. It took a couple attempts, but Fayez did pass the test on the name and location of each of the four presidents….and even why each of them is important. I am not sure if he could pass that test today….but he did well at the time of the test. And, as we all know….that is what is important. And….I hope he finally realized that studying history is equally as difficult as studying chemistry!

It was after noon by now….time to move on to something else. In our case, it was Custer State Park. Custer State Park was sort of a disappointment for me. In the first place, we had a difficult time finding it. Every other time I have visited the park, we entered from either the east or the south. But, never from the west. Every other time I have visited the park, we always planned our route using a map….a real map.

And, for some reason, Custer State Park seemed different this time. Nothing looked familiar. I didn’t see any recognizable landmarks. The only real attraction of the park is the herds of buffalo….or bison….that roam freely, grazing in the expansive grasslands and in the forests of the Black Hills. On each of my former visits, we have seen the buffalo. I can prove it. I have pictures of them.

 

And, an even better attraction is the donkeys or burros that call Custer Park their home. The donkeys are docile…tame. They can commonly be found on or near the road that runs through the park. They are eagerly waiting for any human being who will stop and pet them…..and give them something to eat. We always stopped our car….got out…and petted the friendly animals. We put our arms around them….fed them….talked to them….. However, if you are nervous….or afraid….to get out of the car to face these cute, cuddly animals, just open the window of your car and they will stick their head inside. Sort of self-service petting. Of course, they are being friendly…but there are also looking for some sort of hand out. So be prepared….have some bread or fruit or vegetables handy as a reward.

 

 

But, this year, we didn’t see any. No buffalo. No burros. Not even any camels. I don’t know. I can imagine we were simply in the wrong place. But, for me, it was a major disappointment.

We did see some beautiful scenery, however. Lots of spectacular rock formations. We drove through several miles of thick forests. We drove through a few tunnels….none of which I recall from any previous visit. It was a pleasant drive.

Our next objective was to find the sculpture of Crazy Horse. Of course, it wasn’t listed on the GPS either. After driving east for several miles, we finally realized that we were probably going to wrong direction. And, of course, we were. Retracing our route, eventually we did find the Crazy House sculpture…..another one of those sculptures which is carved….or blasted….into the side of a mountain. I can imagine that it’s purpose is to be a copy-cat tourist opportunity. If people will come to see Mt. Rushmore which displays the faces of some famous presidents…..maybe they will also pay to see a deja vu version of an Indian chief. Fortunately, this monument-in-progress is visible from the highway…..because it is certainly nothing that I would want to pay good money to see. I last saw this sculpture in 2002…..and it looks much the same today as it looked then. This monument is being financed by private funds, I think…..so perhaps is why progress is so slow. But….even when it is done…..so what? It is a likeness of an Indian riding a horse. Oh well….. There are all sorts of ways to make money from the public. By this time, both Fayez and I were starting to grow weary of driving….an we headed back to the campground……the resort…..or maybe “last resort” would be better description.

The second night we spent at Mt. Rushmore KOA we decided to be a bit more creative with our supper. I thought that maybe I was one of the few people in the world who really likes to eat liver. Most people turn up their nose….or make disgusting gagging sounds….when they hear the word liver. But, what a fortunate coincidence: Fayez also likes liver. So, we bought some liver….plus a cast iron skillet….and enjoyed an appetizing and tasty meal of liver…..and you guessed it…..rice. So, not only did we enjoy a delightful and different meal…..but I now have another cast iron skillet to add to my already more-than-adequate collection.

No matter how uncomfortable and inconvenient the campground was, it never kept Fayez and me from relaxing at night beside a campfire…sometimes until late into the night. Generally speaking, we had the night to ourselves. When darkness fell, the other campers disappeared into their RV’s or their cabins…..or their tents. So, as a strong breeze played with the campfire….and as the leaves of the trees rustled in the background and the crickets, the cicadas and other night sounds formed a curtain of serenity…..Fayez and I sat from talking and laughing and having fun solving the problems of the world…..and enjoying the freedom and serenity of nature and the great outdoors…..all the while trying to avoid the ubiquitous smoke that followed us no matter where we put our chairs.

We woke early Monday morning, ate our breakfast, packed our stuff back into the car…..and left the KOA Campground and Resort. And, for me…..there were no tears shed as we drove away! It wasn’t so much that I was eager to get away from the Black Hills….although I think we had seen as much as we wanted to see. But, it meant that I did not have to spend another night in that uncomfortable campground. I was hoping that at our next campground, I could at least stand up straight….and not be constantly leaning to one side. I think I can say with a great deal of certainty…..that will be the last time I will see that campground. I have to claim most….if not all….of the blame for staying there two nights, instead of one night. I told Fayez earlier that I thought I had made only ONE mistake in the planning of the trip….although I didn’t tell him what it was.

About a week before we were to leave, it dawned on me that for our second night, it would have been to our advantage to move to a campground closer to our next destination. I am not sure why I didn’t think of this when I was making the reservations, but by now it was….for me, at least…..too late to go through the hassle of canceling our reservation for Sunday night…..and looking for another campground on down the highway. It was just easier to stay in the Black Hills KOA….and drive a little bit farther the next day. But….I have found out that sometimes doing the easiest thing is not necessarily the best thing!

But….in my defense, I had no idea that the campground would be so…so….disagreeable. Most of the time, it is difficult….if not impossible…..to know these things in advance. I was more concerned about it having a picnic table….a fire ring….available firewood….. And, of course, the description in the advertisement in their brochure always sounds good.

So….we drove back into Rapid City to get back onto I-90….and headed west for some miles before turning north toward Sturgis. Sturgis is famous for its motorcycle rally held each summer…..when literally thousands of motorcyclists descent on the small town for a week of partying and smoking weed. The rally was still a couple weeks away when we drove through the small town. However, there were an inordinate number of motorcyclists at both Mt. Rushmore and Custer State Park…..most of them traveling in groups…..if not gangs.

It is always said that most of these motorcyclists are ordinary people, from all walks of life. Well….I don’t know about that. But, I can say that all of the motorcyclists that we saw were very well behaved….with no hint of a problem. Yeah…..they look like hoodlums….at least some of them do. But, I guess I would, too, if I were dressed in leather, with a headband, boots and gloves…..in the middle of the summer. I mean, we certainly did not see any of the motorcyclists wearing a suit and tie!

It was sort of amusing to me. We had stopped in Custer State Park. Fayez wanted to climb down to a rock formation to have his picture taken. I waited for him in the parking area. While I was standing there waiting to take his picture, there were three or four motorcyclists standing nearby. They were all dressed in their motorcycle attire. They looked somewhat unshaven. In other words, they fit the stereotype of the typical motorcyclist. I wasn’t eve dropping on their conversation….not intentionally, at least. But, I couldn’t escape hearing their conversation. I don’t know exactly what I expected them to be talking about…..maybe their next party….or where they would buy their next supply of marijuana….or about the next fight they had planned with a rival gang? But….No! They were discussing the stock market…and how various stocks were doing on the market. Who know? Maybe motorcyclists are just ordinary people, after all….at least, some of them.

After we departed I-90, a few miles west of Rapid City, we drove for several hours on a two lane state highway…..something pretty rare for this trip. Two lane state highways are by far the best way to see the countryside…..to absorb the atmosphere and ambiance of the area. It is only on the two lane highways that a person has the opportunity to drive through the small towns and villages….to see the local landmarks….the schools, the churches, the parks, the quaint downtowns….. It is the only way to observe people as they go about their daily routine….and live their everyday lives. If we had the luxury of another week or ten days, we could have….and would have….taken this more leisurely route. But….time was the king….the dictator of our schedule.

The next two days have pretty well been lost in my memory. We didn’t stop and take pictures…..and nothing significant comes to my mind when I try to think back on those days.

North Dakota is just an extension of South Dakota, basically…..although I am sure that the residents of both states will vehemently disagree with that assessment. North Dakota is probably the more productive of the two states. In fact, North Dakota has slipped past Kansas as the leading producer of wheat in the nation. This is largely due to the fact that Kansas farmers have diversified their crops over the past years…..and now produce a larger variety of crops. But…..nevertheless, North Dakota is a largely a state of flat land which disappears off into the distance….farm land…..although one of the nation’s biggest oil booms has taken place there in recent years.

One other things stands out in my memory about our journey through North Dakota. A lot of highway construction was taking place, which, at times tended to slow us down. But, maybe this was good. These stops were among the rare opportunities I had to take pictures.

It was approaching mid-afternoon when we reached the eastern border of North Dakota and crossed over into the state of Minnesota. I think Fayez was rather disappointed about the trip through Minnesota and Michigan. I think this general rule applies: If you want to see spectacular scenery….mountains, deserts, conifer forests, rock formations…..travel to the West. That is where you will find the Rocky Mountains, Yellowstone National Park, the dense forests of northern Idaho, the enchanting rock formations of Utah and Arizona, the Grand Canyon. Travel to the East….and you will see the history and cultural heritage of the USA. I am not saying that much of the East is not beautiful….because it is. But, you will, in general, not find the magnificent grandeur of the Western USA.

Most of the two days were spent winding our way through often heavily forested flat land. Minnesota, for example, is billed as the Land of 10,000 Lakes. Hidden away in the abundant forests are hundreds of fishing and boating resorts, that avid fishermen, boaters, water skiers and campers call paradise. But, after having traveled to the West Coast and the Pacific Ocean the previous summer….and experiencing two weeks of constant visual stimulation…..the trip through Minnesota and Michigan could no way compare to that experience. But, on the other hand, part of our purpose for taking the trip…..other than relaxing and having fun…..was for the experience of becoming acquainted with each of the lower 48 states…..and to appreciate the wide variety of differences within our country. Farmlands of the Midwest and the deciduous forests of the northern states are part of this varying landscape. So…. during the two day drive we transitioned from farmland of Kansas, Iowa, Nebraska and South Dakota….to the Black Hills….back to vast stretches of farmland in South Dakota and North Dakota….to vast stretches of seemingly never-ending forests of Minnesota and Michigan.

On Monday night, we stayed at a KOA in Bemiji, MN. It was late in the day when we arrived…..after the campground office had closed. However, we found our key and cabin number waiting for us when we arrived. Because we arrived late, we decided to make to settle for hot dogs that night…..instead of our usual elaborate meals.

Tuesday, July 28, was a special day. It is not special to everybody…..maybe only to me. And….really….it has become even less important to me as time goes by. In fact, more and more I try to ignore the day. And, unless somebody reminds me….I have been rather successful in ignoring it the past several years. The past couple years, however, it has been vividly brought to my attention….mostly by Fayez. But….that is OK. He is merely pointing out the obvious….only bringing me back to an unpleasant reality.

July 28 is my birthday. Last year, Fayez brought an ice cream cake with him when he came to visit on my birthday. This year….we spent it in our rental car, driving across the states of Minnesota and Michigan to our destination of Newberry, MI……a 517 miles….10 hour drive. There was not a lot of celebrating. Fayez had already given me a gift before we left home…. And that morning before we started on our day’s journey, he gave be a birthday card. That, basically, was our celebration. Fayez didn’t even sing “Happy Birthday” to me.

Maybe the most welcome gift I could have received was to finally arrive at our destination…..and to pull into our KOA Campground before the sun slipped below the western horizon. It was a close call….it wasn’t completely dark….but it really wasn’t very bright outside, either. Neither of us felt like finding a grocery store to buy supplies at such a late hour. So instead of Fayez preparing a sumptuous birthday meal…..we got into the car and drove toward the nearby town of Newberry, searching for a place to eat. And, luck was with us. We spotted a Chinese buffet on the highway. We immediately pulled into the driveway….and decided we would commemorate my 77th birthday by eating Chinese food…..one of our old favorite choices of cuisine. It was a good decision. By the time we got back to the campground, it was dark…..and all we wanted to do was start a fire….sit back and relax and try to erase the long ten hour journey from our short term memory.

As we sat by the fire and talked, I was somewhat surprised how warm the evening was. We were in the far northern part of the USA….actually only a few miles from Canada…. and somehow I had expected that maybe we would even need a jacket to stay warm at night. But…..not true. The temperature did become cooler as the night progressed….which made it a nice for sleeping.

We were looking forward to leaving the days of constant driving behind us….and to head to our next destination…..Detroit. We had seen enough farmland and forests for a while. Now we were ready to take on the Motor City.

It began like most of his visits…..me, sound asleep in my recliner: oblivious to anything but my dreams. I left the front door unlocked….sort of like Motel 6: “I’ll leave the door unlocked for you”…. It was about 9:30 in the morning. I don’t know whether he said something….he probably did…..but all of a sudden I had the feeling that somebody else was in the room. I opened my eyes suddenly and looked up…..probably with a startled look on my face….. and there he was….standing there smiling at me. Fayez had arrived for another visit. This visit was not as long as we had originally planned…..or as long as I wanted it to be….but nevertheless, there he was, saying something original like “Wake up.” Fayez has always had a talent for saying original, clever, witty things like that. I shook my head, wiped the sleep from my eyes, and got up to give him a hug.

Wow….this was an exciting encounter. Fayez had brought two gifts to me! The first gift was a huge metal container of dates….which were produced on his family farm back in Saudi Arabia. These dates were plucked off the trees and packed directing into the metal box. No processing; no preservatives; no artificial coloring or flavoring. These dates were fresh off the farm. Fayez had given dates to me before….but never in this sort of commercial packing container….or in this volume.

Getting dates in this volume was a real treat…..and even a delight, if I can believe the many medical benefits and pleasurable physical enhancements that Fayez claims that the dates have. No matter. The dates are just plain delicious. The second gift was a memento that I had long asked for…..but never expected to receive. I figured that if I am ever able to spend a day or two in Saudi Arabia, maybe I would buy one for myself….only as a souvenir. Certainly I would be the only person in Valley Falls….or among my circle of friends….to own one. It was not very practical…..and I realized that I could probably use it only in the privacy of my own home. But….never mind that. I wanted one…mostly just say that I have one. I had asked Fayez a few times previously to bring me one…..or told him that I was going to buy one when…and if…..I went to Saudi Arabia. I do not like to beg for gifts. Gifts should come from the

heart. “It is more blessed to give than it is to receive.” But, he handed me a sack with Arabic writing on it…..and stood expectantly as I looked inside….and removed its contents. It was an Arab robe….or whatever they are called. The flowing gown that is the native dress for Arab men. I had always wanted one of these….but secretly doubted if I would ever own one. But here I was…..standing in my front room with one of these fine garments in my hand…..and hopefully, with a smile on my face. Fayez seemed pleased that I was pleased. I think he knew that he had done a good thing. That he had come across with the perfect gift….the perfect souvenir or memento….. Of course, the next step was to model the gown (I wish I knew the correct term.) I immediately pulled it on over my head. And, believe me…..this is no easy assignment, especially when the only thing I have ever pulled on over my head is a shirt and a sweater. But, after a little effort….there I was modeling my new article of clothing. It was (and is) a little long….about 8 inches…..but I will have it hemmed up….and wear it on cold winter nights as I sit and read in front of the fire.

Benefiting from my….and I emphasize the word MY….advance planning, our plans for the day had already been made. So, as soon as I took off my Saudi Arabian garment, we were ready to start out on the day’s adventures. We grabbed by new…at least, to Fayez….GPS system, got into his car, and headed for Kansas City…..our destination for the day. Under normal circumstances, I would have planned a rather detailed route to follow. But in deference to Fayez….or maybe in honor of Fayez….I skipped this strategy in favor of letting Fayez depend on the GPS that he has come to worship during his short lifetime. We stopped at a Dollar General Store in Tongonoxie en route so I could buy some bandages. No….this was not the result of any sort of violence between Fayez and me. (If it had been….Fayez would have been the one buying the bandages!) But, it was to treat a small, insignificant scratch on my left arm.

I take a drug which helps prevent blood from clotting on the three stents that I have in arteries near my heart. Of course, this is good! Otherwise, I probably wouldn’t be writing this right now. But….as with most good things, there is also a bad side to the story. If it prevents blood from clotting in my heart….then, guess what? Yeah….you guessed it. It keeps blood from clotting almost anywhere and everywhere in the body, too. Even the smallest of cuts or scratches can seemingly bleed forever. It is more annoying and inconvenient than dangerous…..in a very small cut, at least. A cut which might bleed for a few seconds…..or a few minutes, at the most…..can bleed for long periods of time. When I have asked my doctors….and yes, that is plural….about how to stop it, they all say, “Put pressure on it.” Oh come on now. I am not stupid. Do they think I haven’t tried this already? I am (or used to be) a certified First Aid Instructor. Whatever! But, this little incident happened about 6:30 the previous afternoon….and it continued to bleed until after we got home in mid-afternoon. That is why I needed the bandages. Maybe some day, Fayez, as an aspiring doctor, will be able to come up with a solution that seems to elude other doctors: If they are smart enough to devise a drug to prevent the blood from clotting…..surely somebody will be smart enough to figure out a way to make it clot in places where it should clot. But…..I have digressed. Now….back to the story.

As I looked over some possible interesting ways to spend our time in Kansas City, I considered several amusing and appealing possibilities: The Harry Truman Museum and Library; the Kansas City Museum; the World War I Memorial; the Jazz Museum… Kansas City certainly does not lack for things to do. However, we settled on the Arabian Steamship Museum. Fayez is from Saudi Arabia, and this seemed like a very favorable option. It has been said that “You cannot judge a book by its cover.”….and that is quite possibly correct. Stop and think now. If you have never been to the Arabian Steamship Museum….what would you think it is? Yes….that is what we though, too. We assumed that it had something to do with Saudi Arabia….about a steam boat from Saudi Arabia. This would be something that Fayez could relate to…..and maybe even know a great deal about…..

I was thinking, “Great….Fayez will be able to tell me a lot of details that other people don’t know about the things in the museum. He has probably studied all about this stuff in school…..and knows a lot about it.” Or….more accurately, I was thinking, “He is probably still using most of this stuff in his home. For him, most of the things on display are probably things that he uses every day back home.” Camel saddles….goat bells….large pottery jars to carry water from the oasis….maybe a couple sheepskin tents…..some sandals made from camel skin…..

As the little GPS devise pointed the way to the parking lot, both Fayez and I entered the museum….which wasn’t exactly cheap…..with high expectations of being both entertained and informed. We knew almost immediately….well, I did, at least…..that something was not right when there were no pictures of camels, no barren deserts with a caravan in the distance, no date palms growing around a secluded oasis….. Instead we were greeted with a picture of the Missouri River, lined with trees….and a large paddle wheel boat marooned in the center……. Not the desert scene we had anticipated. My heart skipped a beat or two….I reached for my chest…..I had the feeling of being kicked in the rear…… On another level, I felt like an idiot….a gullible sucker who had just been bamboozled by a carnival sideshow barker. But, mostly, I felt like someone who had not done adequate research. I had taken something for face value…..not having bothered to read the fine print. Not even fine print…..I simply had not taken the time to see what the museum was all about.

I don’t know about Fayez. I can imagine that he also was expecting to spend a couple hours that morning looking at relics from his native country….telling his friend (that would be I) all about them. Displaying his vast knowledge of his country……and acknowledge that, “Yes, indeed! Most of these items could be found in my home back in Saudi Arabia.” But, like they say, “When you are given a lemon…..make lemonade.” And….that is what we did. And, it wasn’t so difficult. In fact, the museum turned out to be a rather interesting place to visit. Steamboat Arabia Museum is a unique museum in the fact that it deals only with one subject……in fact, only one boat. It probably wasn’t as dramatic as the sinking of the Titanic, for example. After all, it was a steamboat….it sank in the Missouri River, not the Atlantic Ocean…..nobody lost their life…..and it hit a tree trunk that had fallen into the river and was submerged unseen beneath the water…..not an iceberg. But…..Wow! The ship contained a cargo of about 200 tons of diverse merchandise. The products and goods on the ship were intended for a variety of purposes: to stock new stores that were staring up in newly founded towns along the river; to supply equipment and supplies for farmers along the river; and even materials to build new villages….   Two hundred tons of almost perfectly preserved household supplies, building material, farming equipment, toys and recreational equipment, clothing, kitchen and food necessities, items ordered by individual families….or being sent to them as gifts….. There was not a single camel saddle or desert tent or earthen vessel in sight! Of course, there were also remnants of the wrecked ship: the huge paddle wheel, the hull of the ship, plus examples of the potentially deadly fallen tree trunks that lurk unseen beneath the surface of the muddy river. One interesting bit of trivia we learned was that the ship was not actually discovered in the Missouri River. Because of severe flooding over the years, the river has changed its course several times. This boat was found a few miles from the present day river by a group of adventurous….and far-sighted….friends who correctly concluded that there were possibly sunken ships buried beneath the earth in the paths where the Missouri River had formerly flowed. In fact, several boats have been discovered over the years….but none approaching the magnitude of the Steamboat Arabia. Immediately after hitting the fateful underwater log, the ship sank quickly…..not just to the bottom surface of the Missouri River……but it continued to sink far down into the mud. So far down that the thick mud formed an air-tight seal around the ship….cutting it off from air, oxygen and anything else that might cause the content of the boat to deteriorate or rot away. Thus….there was almost 200 tons of perfectly preserved….undisturbed….cargo, resting in the original place where it was when the ship sank. I don’t know…..I suppose we could say that was definitely the highlight of the day…..not that the remainder of the day was a bust….not by any means. We ate a leisurely lunch at an outdoor restaurant on the Plaza. I really don’t recall what we ate. It was good, though…..and I am including a picture of it. What I do remember is that I wanted so badly to pick it up and eat it with my hands! That is why we were born with fingers! But, bowing to social convention, I struggled to eat it with a fork….like a proper gentleman. I often wonder what would happen if I would simply pick up the food….food that is clearly intended to be picked up…..and started eating it with my fingers. I bet it wouldn’t be very long before everybody in the restaurant would be following my example…..and probably be giving me a standing ovation. But, no….I followed the artificial rules of etiquette that some lonely old lady with nothing better to do dreamed up while sitting at home alone…..wishing she had man to devote her attention to!

I am almost sure than Fayez would have joined me. I have always eaten such things as pizza, fried chicken, french fries….etc….with my fingers. But, it was Fayez who taught me to eat rice with my fingers. And, that, is one of his valuable contributions to my life. I’ve got to admit that I am not very good at it yet. I tend to get more rice on my shirt and on the floor than I put into my mouth. But….the concept it good. Now I am anticipating additional lessons on how to eat other food with my fingers, too! And….Practice makes perfect. It probably wouldn’t be accurate to say that from this point on, the afternoon headed downhill. However, the visit to the Steamboat Arabia Museum was no doubt the high point of the day…..the feature length movie, if you know what I mean. After eating lunch, we drove to the University of Missouri at Kansas City (UMKC) medical school in hopes of at least a short tour of the School of Osteopathy….. But, apparently our luck had run out for the day. The School of Osteopathy was one giant work zone: No parking lot, no sidewalks, blocked entrances…..

I have been encouraging Fayez to consider osteopathy as one of his options when it is time to choose a medical school. As for me…..I wouldn’t hesitate for a minute to seek out an osteopathic physician as my primary care doctor. Osteopathic doctors have the exact, identical education and training as a medical doctor (MD) has. In fact, they have education and training beyond what medical doctors receive. It seems to me that osteopathic doctors incorporate a more realistic, holistic, all-inclusive approach to treating patients and their diseases.

I don’t know….. Maybe the name “osteopathic doctor” doesn’t have the romantic…and expensive….ring to it as the term “medical doctor”. But….all of you have been around long enough to know that all doctors…..any sort of doctor…..have the almost certain potential to become rich. If not….why else would they be doing it?

OK….enough of my editorial….or infomercial…. After realizing that visiting the School of Osteopathy was not possible, we headed for home….for the ranch. The day’s activities must have taken its toll on us. We had barely gotten on highway US 24 headed toward Tongonoxie, when Fayez admitted that he was so sleepy that he was barely awake…..and that he had to stop and rest before he fell asleep while he was driving. Oh, Wow! This was serious. It looked like all the wild excitement of the day had worn him out. Fayez is a good driver……but only when he is awake. I have never driven with him when he was asleep…..and I did not want to start that afternoon! So, at our earliest opportunity, we pulled in to the parking lot of a convenience store so both of us could take a short nap…..and hopefully, wake up refreshed.

Happily, we made it home. And, happily, we agreed to take a long nap before driving to Topeka. My ideal nap time is eighty minutes. That is the length of one music CD. I pop a CD into the CD player…..turn it on….and when it is finished….I usually wake up ready to attack the evening. Normally, I hear only part of the first song….and then I zonk out, only to wake to silence….or the music of Willie Nelson, who always sings the final song on each of my more than five or six hundred CD’s. I really don’t think Fayez sleeps for eighty minutes. But, he is young….and he doesn’t need as much sleep as I do.

We spent the evening in Terry’s Bar and Grill in Topeka…..by far our most favored bar in the city. Terry’s Bar is almost a prototype of the neighborhood bar. Most of the people who go there seem to know each other. The owner and staff of the bar quickly learned to recognize us….many times bring our drinks without having to ask what we want. I don’t think it is mandatory to buy food… But, I always feel somewhat obligated to buy at least an appetizer, if only because we often spend three or four hours just sitting and talking.

Terry’s Bar is a great place to sit and talk. There are several TV monitors, usually showing area athletic teams. There is music playing in the background…..real music, not today’s ear-splitting, unintelligible hip-hop or rap music. That is not the kind of customers Terry’s attracts. When the bar is full…..of course, the noise level can climb a few decibels. But, it is always a friendly noise…..the chatter and laughter of friends getting together for a party or just a neighborhood social hour.

After the people leave…..and it is always quite early…..I can well imagine that Fayez and I are the loudest, most obnoxious people in the bar….especially when we begin to argue….or “discuss” or “debate” some topic. No….no…..We are never loud or obnoxious…..and we never disturb other people. At least, not intentionally. At any rate, we have never been kicked out of the bar…..and we are always welcomed back….time after time after time. Surely, that is a good sign.

As it does in many cases, our day ended with a visit to Wal-Mart to stock up on whatever food we are planning for the next day. If I had my choice….and if it were possible and practical…..I would do ALL of my shopping in the early morning hours. At 1:00 A.M., Wal-Mart is a shopper’s paradise…..a shopper’s dream come true. We are able park our car within a few steps of the door. The aisles are not clogged with shoppers…. There are no noisy kids running up and down the aisles…..no fat-ass women standing in the center of the aisle talking…..no handicapped shoppers driving their motorized carts down the center of the aisle, daring us to try to pass them….no unprepared, perplexed men trying to find a product while talking to their wives (or mistresses) on a cell phone…..

Wal-Mart restocks its stores at night, so there will be some carts loaded with groceries, but you can maneuver your way around them. On the plus side…..there are LOTS of people working at restocking the shelves, and that means if you have a question, there are lots of employees around who cheerfully help you. Wait time at the checkout stand is minimal. There are not as many clerks working…..but neither are there as many customers. Checkout times are much faster…. Shopping in the early morning hours is as about as close as you can come to in-and-out shopping.

Thursday dawned bright and cheerful. Well, no…..that’s not right! Actually it didn’t “dawn” at all. I opened the door to a dark, overcast sky. The clouds look ominous….almost like they were daring us to carry through with our day’s schedule. And, our days schedule depended rather greatly on the weather. We were at the mercy…..and good graces….of Mother Nature. How was she feeling that day? Did she wake up in a good mood?

For a while, Mother Nature was like most women….she couldn’t make up her mind. But, as always, Fayez and I are not the quickest, most alert people in the morning, either. We constantly say that we are going to wake up at a certain time….be going to a certain place at a certain time…..or be doing a certain job at a certain time….. But, it rarely….no, it never…..happens. I would like to say this is all Fayez’s fault. And, maybe three years ago, I could.

When I first met Fayez back in December of 2012….the first time he spent time at my house……it was easier for me to ride a wild camel than it was to get Fayez out of bed in the morning! Any attempt to wake him up was greeted with an unintelligible grunt. It took begging, cajoling….and even threats to rouse him into a semi-awake state of mind. And, even then, I didn’t dare leave him alone. If I did….he would immediately lapse back into a state of sleep……and I would have to repeat the entire process over again. Finally, I adopted the strategy setting his wake-up time about 30 minutes early….in hopes that I would be successful and rouse him to a state of consciousness to get on with the day’s agenda.

But….times have changed….and so has Fayez. Probably the secret for this transformation is his cell phone. It seems to emit strange sounds all night long. I can even hear them a room away. It also has an alarm…..which, although not very loud…..seems to work. These days his desire to check the cell phone for messages is a huge motivating factor to wake up and become alert. Over the past few years, Fayez’s right arm has been conditioned to automatically reach for the cell phone the instant his eyes open in the morning. Sort of a like Pavlov and his dogs, I suppose.

At any rate, in recent times, Fayez has begun to allege that it is I who tends to obstruct progress in the morning.

I will be the first to admit that I am a true believer in organization…..that I am addicted to lists, schedules, time tables…..shackled to careful planning. I don’t know….maybe it all the indoctrination I received while serving in the army. The old “Hurry up and wait.” thing. Or perhaps I have seen….and suffered….the consequences of too many poorly planned schedules and agendas that I have made while working at the school.

Or….nowadays, I can probably just chalk it up to the fact that I am getting old. And….they say that the memory is the first thing to go….among other things. If I don’t plan in advance….and write it down….there is a very good chance that I will forget about it….and it will never happen.

But, I think a rather strange thing is happening. Tight organization….strict time schedules….are becoming less important to me…..but more important to Fayez. Maybe it is my imagination, but it seems to be he who is always prompting me to hurry up. It often is he who is waiting for me….pacing back and forth impatiently glancing at his newly acquired wrist watch….something he refused to believe he needed until recently.

When he gives me those, “Hurry up….. Why aren’t you ready yet?” looks, I am never sure whether to feel annoyed…..or proud. Sometimes I get these spooky feelings that maybe some of my organizational and efficiency urgency is rubbing off on him. And, even more freaky is the feeling that it may be like pouring water from one glass to another glass: As one glass gets fuller….the other glass gets emptier.

But…..getting back to the story: The day was cloudy….but it wasn’t pouring down rain. Our only objective for the morning was to build a bird feeder. By 10:00 we were sufficiently ready to start the job. The bird feeder we were going to construct was the same bird feeder that Oliver and I had constructed a couple months earlier during his visit. It seemed to be very popular with the birds, so I figured: “If it ain’t broke….don’t fix it.” Or….if you have the ball…..run with it.

In anticipation of this construction project, I had all the lumber pre-cut to save on time. Having the lumber cut to the correct lengths in advance certainly did save some time for Fayez and me as we prepared to build the bird feeder. But….in the long run, I am not at all

sure it saved time for me. I spent an hour at the home improvement store explaining to three high school age boys exactly what I needed to have…..and watching the three of them trying to figure out how to accomplish this seemingly impossible task. Finally, a guy who I assumed was an assistant manager came along to help them…..after I explained what I wanted for the tenth time. Actually, he didn’t know much more than the high school kids knew….but they finally figured out the magic of using the big saw…..and cut the wood I needed. If I could have video-taped the entire incident, it would have made a great You Tube video.

With all the components pre-cut to the correct size, the bird feeder rapidly took shape. Fayez was in charge of the electric drill….and I held each piece in place while it screwed the little bolts into place.

For an amateur with no experience in screwing, I have to say that Fayez did a very good job. Things went as scheduled until we finally came to the last steps. And…..then I found that I had forgotten one step…..I had simply forgotten about one of the most important parts. I already told you that my planning and organizational skills are deteriorating….right?

I had neglected to include the 1×2’s that go on the outside of the feeder and keep the seed inside…..and keep the seed from falling out. But, necessity is the Mother of Invention, as they say. Improvise….Adapt…..Overcome.

I had some spare lumber…..and now it was time to improvise. We got the job done. The end product didn’t look as nice or as professional as the bird feeder that Oliver and I built. But, as I am fond of saying, “The birds don’t care what the feeder looks like….only about the food.”

Fayez got to experience something new for him….which is always

good. He seemed to enjoy it. I don’t think he fully appreciated how ugly the bird feeder turned out. But….the good news: it can be repaired. The next time he comes to my house, we will make some modifications…..and hopefully improve its appearance….and make it look like it was not put together as a kindergarten project…..or that it was constructed in an institution for mentally challenged people.

It was my fervent hope that painting it would make is look better. That adding some color would disguise some of its defects. But, Alas! This did not happen. It will have to undergo some major surgery.

And, who is there better to do this….except for an aspiring doctor who needs some practice in this area……under the direction of a master teacher, of course.

We painted the bird feeder yellow and black…..the colors of Wichita State University, the university that Fayez attends. And, to emphasize the fact that the yellow and black were intended as the WSU colors…..and not the Valley Falls colors…..we painted “WSU” on the roof…..on both sides. Certainly….no offense to Valley Falls. But we wanted to make sure the true intent of the choice of colors was clear.

After we finished building the bird feeder…..admiring it…..taking pictures of it…… It was time to get ready to drive into town to get haircuts. Every time Fayez comes to visit, I make an appointment so he can get his haircut at the same time I do. Of course, I have been going to Laurie Glassel for at least twenty-five years. And, for good reason: She does a super job of cutting hair.

Not only has she cut my hair down through the ages, but she has also cut the hair of all my foreign exchange students. Most of them look forward to going to her when they come back for a visit. Without exception, all of my former students say she is by far the best barber they have ever had…..both before and after they spent the year living in the USA.

And, it took Fayez only one visit to come to the same conclusion. When he leaves her shop, his thick black hair has never looked so good. I have never cut anybody’s hair, but I can imagine that cutting and styling hair as thick as Fayez’s hair takes more than just a little talent. She is very meticulous….and she cuts and styles hair to please the customer…..and not herself.

At any rate, we both walked out with fresh haircuts…..and headed back home to the Ranch. Almost immediately we began to prepare for our late afternoon meal….our only real meal of the day. Fayez is always in charge of preparing the food. If he weren’t….we would live on a steady diet of pizza, frozen dinners and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Fortunately, however, Fayez likes to cook….and even more fortunately….he is good at it. He is capable to conjuring up some delicious Saudi Arabian food….using his mysterious, exotic Middle East spices that the tongues of the Western world are not capable to pronouncing.

Over the years, I have learned to simply leave him alone while he is preparing his recipes. There is nothing I can do to help the situation…..and my offers of assistance only serve to slow the process….and possibly make it more complicated….for both Fayez and me.

One thing I have observed, as time has passed…..is that Fayez uses fewer and fewer dishes as he creates his culinary masterpieces. I remember….back in the old days….that there would be mountains of dirty dishes to deal with as a by-product of his tasty feasts. And, I suppose, you have already recognized who becomes the dish washer. You know…. “I will do the cooking…..and you do the dishes!?” My attitude was that there is always a price to pay for perfection…..you have to take the bad with the good….or “Thank Heavens for dirty dishes; They have a tale to tell; While other folks go hungry; We’re eating very well.”….

But, I am starting to become convinced that Fayez has already begun to adopt my aversion to doing dishes. Or at least, he has started looking at the “big picture”…..Why spend an hour washing and drying dishes when you can simply prepare everything in one or two pans? No…..Fayez is not becoming lazy. In fact, he is starting to use his considerable intellectual power….and do things the most efficient way. Fayez is fond of saying, “Work smarter…..not harder.”

And, I am proud enough….and egotistical enough….to suspect that this is another important life lesson that he has learned from the Master.

OK. Putting all that aside…. It was time to fix supper. On this particular night, however, we were not having Saudi Arabian food. We were having good old American food. And, what could be more American than chili?

Normally when we prepare an American food….and I only know how to fix a few of them…..I take over and ‘Just Do It’. But today, Fayez was again in charge of preparing the meal…..under the constant and critical eye of the resident Master Chili King. (That would be ME!)

Actually, I really do not have a recipe for preparing chili. I know what ingredients I will use: hamburger, onions, garlic, maybe some green peppers, diced tomatoes, tomato sauce, chili beans, chili spices…..anything else that seems like it may be right at the moment. After caramelizing the onions, garlic and green peppers…..and after thoroughly browning and dicing the hamburger…..then it is pretty much free-style the rest of the way. Just keep adding the ingredients…adding the spices…..tasting it….adjusting the spices….. Bring it all to a boil….let it simmer……

Fayez is slowly learning the secret. And the beauty of making chili is that we only have to get two pans dirty in the process: the skillet with the hamburger…..and the big pan that is used to cook it. The chili almost always turns out good….sometimes better than the last time. Even when Fayez makes it!

I have never asked him……and he has never volunteered……to explain the secrets of preparing the Saudi Arabian food. And, it is no doubt best this way. I don’t have the spices that are necessary….nor do I have the desire or patience to bother with it. It tastes so much better when Fayez makes it…..and I am willing to wait for it.

We washed the one skillet and the one pan we used to cook the chili…..and the bowls we ate out of, of course…..put them away. And, supper was over for another day.

Next came my mandatory rejuvenating, energizing nap…..accompanied by 80 minute of choice, personally selected music….. That was closely followed by another night of merriment at Terry’s Bar and Grill……and then home to my bed that I am sure was calling out my name…..

And, Thus ended the second day of Adventures with Fayez.

It’s Friday. And today, I am not saying “TGIF’. It is the last full day of Fayez’s visit….and it has come too quickly. Too quickly especially since he had originally planned to stay for a week…..only to be subsequently scaled back to three days. But, as usual, we have things planned….and as usual, the day gets off to a slow start.

A late breakfast will satisfy our hunger until our main meal later in the afternoon. And, as usual, breakfast consisted mainly of a bowl of raisin bran….and a cup of coffee, for me. Fayez has stopped drinking coffee….once one of his favorite morning drinks. If you really want to know why, you will have to ask him yourself. He has told me multiple times…..but somehow, the reasons still elude me. The coffee that he used to like so much is still here….waiting for him…..if his “coffee” pendulum ever swings back the other direction.

It is already 10:00….but there are only four events on our calendar today. First of all, Fayez will go to the mosque in Topeka. The service starts at 1:30, so we scurry around in order to leave our house by 12:30. Of course, we don’t meet that goal…..but we are not in any danger. We will make it to Topeka in plenty of time. Anything over one or two minutes seem to be “plenty of time” for us.

While Fayez is attending the mosque, I will go my weekly shopping….plus pick up any last-minute items we will need for later on in the day. The scheduling worked out pretty well. The car was getting low on gasoline, and by the time I had filled up the car at a service station on California Street….almost across the street from Wal-Mart…..and by the time I had driven back around the block in order to cross California at a traffic light….the scheduling seemed to work out perfecting. There was no point sitting and waiting to cross a busy street like California, when it was faster and easier to drive around a block to a corner with a traffic light. I do have insurance on my car….but I didn’t particularly want to use it that afternoon. However, I am sure that if Fayez had been driving, he would have made a dare devil crossing…..and would probably have made it safely. Many years ago, I would have chosen to do this, too. But….not now. I know I have lived a long, fruitful life…..but…..

After doing the shopping, I drove back to the mosque. The timing was almost pefect. Within just a few minutes, Fayez appeared….and we started on our journey back to the ranch.

After we arrived back home, it was time to prepare for the second event on our agenda: we had invited our friend Sam to come up and eat with us at 3:30. The division of labor had already been decided. Fayez was in charge of preparing the meal. I was in charge of starting the fire in the fire ring….and doing all the other flunky things like carrying everything we needed out to the picnic table: the paper plates, the plastic forks and knives, the paper towels….everything we would need for our meal. All the high-tech stuff.

And the meal! Wow….Fayez was in high gear with this one. I have learned to just leave the cooking to him. Sort a “Don’t ask; don’t tell” situation. He brought the meat with him from Wichita….where I suppose he got it at an Arab market. One of the kinds of meat looked fairly conventional….probably lamb. The other meat was a kind of “mystery meat” to me. Again…. “Don’t ask; don’t tell”. We can be pretty sure that is wasn’t pork…..and I was hoping that it wasn’t camel meat! It looked like what I imagine a Saudi Arabian hotdog to look like. Whatever kind of meat it was, I was confident that Fayez would transform it into a culinary delight.

Along with the meat, there were some other more conventional foods: rice, potatoes, tomatoes, green pepper…and maybe some other vegetables…..and rice. The ubiquitous rice. This may sound conventional or ordinary…..but when Fayez combines it with his exotic Middle East spice, it tastes delicious…..anything except ordinary.

No sooner than I had gotten the charcoal lighted….my most technical task of the afternoon…..than our friend Sam pulled into the driveway. I left Fayez to be the official greeter….and I hurried to my bedroom to quickly slip on my newly acquired Saudi Arabian gown. When I walked into the front room wearing the garment, I am not really sure what I was expecting. Maybe a gasp of surprise? Or some insincere….but well-intentioned…compliments? Some uncontrolled

laughter? Actually, Sam’s response was more of a non-response: just a look of bemused uncertainty or patronization. Having spent enough time making myself look like a dork……I quickly removed the flowing garment……and the entire incident was quickly forgotten. In other words: It did not produce the reaction I had expected.

Dinner was served on the patio with a background setting of whispering green trees, a green carpet of freshly mowed grass, the easy pre-summer breeze……and hundreds of thousands of cicadas! This year…..2015…..is the year of the Seventeen Year Cicada. They appear en-mass only once every seventeen years……and each of them must have received his invitation. And….for sure…..each of them accepted the invitation. I don’t know who the Chief Cicada was for my yard……but I can assure you he did his job very well….and very efficiently.

Not only that Friday afternoon….but for the next two or three weeks…..the cicadas hung around. As we sat and ate our lunch, we spent much of our time flicking cicadas off our arms…off our head….off our back….off our legs……off our face…… They were truly annoying. They are stupid, bumbling insects. Where ever they land, they tend to stay there until they are forcefully dislodged.

The cicadas literally blanketed all the tree limbs…..all the tree trunks…..all the fence posts….. They covered almost anything that had a solid surface. They are disgusting, to say the least. And….apparently stupid. Leave the door open for a minute, and a halfway intelligent bug or insect will take the opportunity to fly inside……either attracted by the light or the warmth…..or just because they want to perturb the owner of the house. But….the cicadas? Never once during the four or five weeks they hung around did one enter my house. And, the noise! The indescribable discordant sound of thousands of tiny buzz saws…..or of a thousand little kids all playing scratchy sounds on a violin. However one wants to describe the noise, it is loud….and it is never-ending.

However, even with the bothersome presence of the cicadas, the meal was an unqualified success. Although we were sitting around a picnic table on our patio, with the savory, spicy Saudi Arabian food, we could just as easily been sitting beside an oasis in the middle of a vast desert while our camels feasted on the green grass and drank the pure blue water. All this….minus the cicadas, of course.

The food was yummy…..and it was satisfying….. When the meal was over, the clean-up began. The clean-up consisted mainly of stuffing paper plates and plastic eating utensils and plastic water bottles into a plastic trash bag. And….lucky me! There was plenty of food left over….so I could continue the feast for at least another two or three days.

The meal ended…..Sam got back into his pickup and headed for Topeka….. And, we prepared to take our daily siesta. After eighty minutes of music that I would never hear, we were on our way to Topeka….and the YMCA. Fayez wanted to spend some time working out. I made a couple attempts to ride the stationary bicycle…..and I did persevere for about 30 minutes. For me, it was a lost cause. I went back to the car to continue my nap…..leaving Fayez to complete his workout routine. In the end, however, it worked out well. Fayez emerged from the building energized, refreshed; and I woke up from my nap also energized and refreshed!

Our next….and final…..destination for the evening was Terry’s Bar and Grill….where I enjoyed my traditional pitcher of Bud Lite…..and Fayez favored his two glasses of Diet Pepsi. Our favorite way to end a splendid day.

As always, Fayez had something important to do in Wichita the next morning. He had to leave the house by 6:00. We both set our alarms so he wouldn’t be late for his important meeting. I set my alarm for 5:15….and Fayez set his alarm for 5:30. When I awoke the next morning…..Saturday morning…..it was already 6:10. My alarm had not gone off. And, apparently Fayez’s alarm didn’t work, either. He was still sound asleep. He jumped out of bed….threw his belongings into his suitcase….. Our “Good-byes’ were quick and to the point……as Fayez jumped into his car, spun out of the driveway…..and headed off into the sunrise….on his way back to Wichita.

As a bit of a sequel…..in the mad rush to leave the house, Fayez forget to take his favorite cooking pan…..plus his array of spices. I mailed them to him the following Monday…..and the length of time it took for him to receive them equaled about three times the length of time that he spent at my house. But….the is another story for another time!

It was mid-afternoon, Sunday, June 11, 1995, when I got my first glimpse of the city of Berlin. That was the year I went to Europe for the first time. My first German exchange student, Sebastian Holzhausen, had invited me to visit. And, we planned a three week driving tour of Europe.

As we entered Berlin, we drove down Kurfurstendamm…..the entire length from west to east. I was nervous….because Sebastian was nervous….. This was his first solo trip in his parents’ car. He had never been to Berlin before.. And, certainly, I had never been there before! As we drove down the wide avenue, Sebastian was tense. He really didn’t know where he was going……and neither did I. He didn’t want to get lost…..and neither did I. So my attention focused on his driving. Sebastian was very quiet as we drove along. I knew he was nervous…..and I didn’t want to do anything to exacerbate his uncertainty.

He found the youth hostel where we would stay for the next three nights with a minimum of trouble….and then we relaxed. We could afford to relax. After checking into the hostel and locking our possessions in a locker…..we set out to explore the city. We walked to a subway station about three blocks from the hostel…..and took it downtown. It was my first ride in a subway.

As I stepped out of the subway station, I got my first conscious view of Berlin. It was magnificent! If there really is such a thing as “falling in love at first sight”….this would be a textbook example. Although we had driven the same route only minutes earlier, I was too occupied to pay much, if any, attention to our surroundings. But, as I stepped out of the door at the Whittenburg Station and saw the Unity Sculpture and Kurfurstendamm….the beautiful tree-lined avenue in front of me…..I knew this was a place I was going to like. And like a lot.

It wasn’t until successive visits that I really got to know Berlin, though. That first trip, when I was with Sebastian H., we traveled everywhere by subway. From that time on, I never traveled on the subway system again……unless it was absolutely necessary….which, sometimes it is. Riding on the subway is very disorienting….especially for a first-time visitor who has not yet gotten his “bearings”. Underground, you have absolutely no sense of direction. And, those who know me know that I am very dependent on directions….north, south, east and west.

There is nothing to use as orientation points. All a person can see is darkness. There is no way to know where I was heading. I would emerge from the darkness of the subway tunnel into the bright light of the outdoors…..and have absolutely no idea where I was. If it was cloudy…..which is usually was during that trip…..I couldn’t even look at the position of the sun for orientation.

I am not sure why we didn’t use the city’s extensive city bus network….or the S-Bahn (above ground trains) system. I am assuming that Sebastian thought they were too slow. But…come on…..I was in no hurry. It has been said…..although I can’t prove it…..that you can ride on public transportation to any location in Berlin and be within 400 meters of your destination. I don’t know if this is true…..but I am sure it comes pretty close. Berlin has a magnificent public transportation system

In my opinion, city buses…..or trams in the eastern part of Berlin…..are the only way to travel. I can look out the windows….see landmarks….and see them repeatedly over a period of time. This gives a sense of order….or stability…..or familiarity….to the city. This enabled me to know and keep my directions…..and eventually learn my way around the city.

It turned out that one of the most important city buses stops about a block from our youth hostel…..a bus that could have taken us anywhere we wanted to go….with only a change or two. But we were completely oblivious to that fact. I marvel about that fact every time I go to Berlin. Every time this bus stops to pick up people. I look down the street and say, “That’s where we stayed the first three nights I was in Berlin.” Oh well…..

The moral is: If you are a permanent resident of Berlin, and if you are in a hurry, and if you already know where you are going, and if you don’t care about the surroundings, and if

directions mean nothing to you….then, by all means….take the subway. But….if none of the above things are true: If you are a first-time visitor, or if you are not in a hurry, or if you do not know where you are going, or if you do want to see your surroundings….or if you are dependent on directions……then always take a bus or a tram or the S-Bahn.

And, just for the record…..most people in Berlin…..most people in Germany….have no concept of north, south, east and west. It is quite obvious they were not born in Kansas.  And, I have only recently learned the concept of “right” and “left”. It took me a while to become savvy in the ways of Berlin transportation. Having been raised as a Kansas farm boy and having lived most of my life in the Midwest, I consider myself a fairly polite, civil person. I open doors for women; I always let them go before me; I help them when and if they need help. And….I always do the same for old people, too. Oh wait…..that’s me! I am the old person.

During my earliest experiences with traveling on a bus or subway or tram in Berlin, I tended to stand back and let other people go first….especially women….and more especially, older women. But, after finding myself standing in the aisle holding on to an overhead strap or bar…..or finding myself still on the outside of the bus when it took off, I began to reevaluate my strategy. When boarding any public transportation, it is literally “every man for himself”. I learned that if I wanted a good seat…..or any seat, at all…..I had to become more aggressive….and maybe just a little cold-hearted. I began to rescind some of my chivalrous habits and tried to assume some of the aggressive nature of a native Berliner. For a while, I felt guilty about crowding in front of somebody else….but, the guilt feeling didn’t linger very long. Back in the “old days” my exchange student would get a seat….and then hold the one next to him for me. But, it wasn’t very long before I was “out German-ing” them….and I was the one who found a seat….and held the one next to me for them.

Berlin has made it possible to see most of the historical sights easily. By riding two different city buses, a person can see probably 80% of the most important historical sites in the city. The 100 bus and the 200 bus have been intentionally routed past these buildings and landmarks. Make no mistake about it…..there are hundreds of things to see and do in Berlin. But, if you take these two buses, you can come back home and (almost) pretend be an authentic authority on Berlin: The Brandenburg Gate. The Reichstag Building, the State Opera, Humboldt University, the German Museum….. Before the Berlin Wall came down, most of these buildings were located in East Berlin and were not accessible to most tourists. Probably the only old historical building which was located in West Berlin was the Reichstag Building. The newly built Berlin Philharmonic building was on the West side…..as was the Museum of Modern Art, Bellevue Palace and the Tiergarten park. But, now the city and nation are unified, so there is East or West Berlin. On my first trip to Berlin in 1995, I think Sebastian H. was very reluctant to venture very far into the former East Berlin. Old habits seem to linger. On subsequent visits, however, I discovered that there is truly no East or West…..it is all one unified city. No STASI agents were lurking in the shadows waiting to whisk me away to a secret prison for interrogation. Nobody was secretly plotting my every move. If there was….it was probably our NSA or CIA. (If I suddenly disappear….you now know what probably happened to me!

It took me a while to realize that these two buses are really city “tour buses”. One or two times, we paid $15 or $20 to ride on a commercial tour bus that took us to the exact same places. But for a $3 or $4 daily transportation pass, you can go anywhere in the city…..on any type of public transportation. Once the light in my brain turned on, I never paid for another tour bus. The transportation schedules are complicated….at least to me. They are generally posted at every transportation stop. I rely entirely on my German students to decipher them…..which they do with no problem. They have been doing it all their lives. But….on the other hand…..I can read a map….something I had to teach most of them. So….yeah. I really believe that some form of city transportation will take you to within 400 meters of your destination…..no matter where you choose to go in Berlin. I have never tested this theory…..but I can imagine that it is fairly close to being true. There are over 1000 miles of bus lines; more than than 200 miles of S-Bahm lines; more than 90 miles of subway lines; and about 120 miles of tram lines. Now…come on. That is a lot of miles. That many miles can get you from Kansas to the Oregon Coast……not quite, but almost. Of course, this is when knowing how to read the transportation tables comes in handy. All forms of transportation chris-cross the city….east to west; north to south. Knowing how to make sense of the transportation tables is a valuable skill to learn…..one that I have yet to master.

Sometime when I am in Berlin, I would like to take a day or two and just ride around on buses all day. I will get on the bus at its starting point…..probably the Zoo Station….and stay on it to its ending point. And….then ride back to the Zoo Station. If I see something that looks interesting, I will get off the bus….look around for a while….and get back on the bus and continue on the journey. To me that sounds like fun…..an interesting way to explore the different neighborhoods of Berlin. And, maybe I will even discover some offbeat intriguing site that didn’t make it into the guide books. Yes….I know, this probably doesn’t sound very exciting to most people….and I may have a few problems convincing my Germans that it is a good idea….but I think it may be a fun thing to do. Berlin is a conglomeration of neighborhoods….just like many big cities. And, each of the neighborhoods has its own distinct personality, and there is a different “feel” or “vibe” to each of them. There are several ethnic conclaves within the city…..

Kreuzberg being one of the most prominent. Kreuzberg is predominately made up of people of Turkish descent….although it is rapidly being gentrified and becoming one of hotspots of development. The Turkish population of Berlin amounts to somewhere around 200,000 people. Berlin has the largest Turkish population anywhere outside of Istanbul, Turkey.

Berlin has a population of around 3.4 million people living with its borders. But, the entire Berlin-Brandenburg metropolitan area has around 6 million people. So….yes….it is a large city (larger than anything in Kansas, at least)….but it comes nowhere near the masses that inhabit such cities as New York, Tokyo, Seoul, Shanghai….

It is a comfortably large, manageable city. There are people from 180 different countries living there. In fact, about 30% of the population is foreign born. Maybe one of the factors what makes Berlin not seem like such a crowded city is the fact that it covers over 340 square miles of land area. Now…Paris…..just for comparison…..occupies only 40.7 square miles. How about that, sports fans? But….the population of Paris is less than 3 million…..so I suppose that is a mitigating factor……but not much. With so many nationalities and ethnic groups represented in Berlin, it is not difficult to find a restaurant from a different nationality almost every night of the week for more than a month! And, that is exactly what we did during my trip to Berlin in 2013. We made it our mission to eat in at least one restaurant from a different country every day I spent in Berlin…..and I was there for three weeks. The next time I go to Berlin, I am pretty sure that I can take up where I left off and not have to repeat any of the nationalities for another three weeks. Eating different kinds of exotic food is interesting. If you are strictly a Big Mac kind of person….or if you have no sense of adventure……then eating at random foreign restaurants is probably not your thing. These are not Big Mac sort of place; they are not steak and potatoes type of places. You will soon learn that there are lots of foods….served  in a lot of different ways….containing a lot of unfamiliar ingredients…..out there just waiting for you to try them.

One Sunday afternoon, Sebastian B. and his wife, and myself ate in an Ethiopian restaurant. We sat down, ordered our food….sort of a random choice, since none of us had been the Ethiopia…..and waited. Usually one of the first things a waiter does is to bring the silverware or other eating utensils. The food was brought to our table…..and still no knives or forks. Ethiopians do not use eating utensils. They eat with their fingers. Now…..that is MY kind of restaurant.

Oliver and I went to an Arab restaurant one Sunday evening. One of the first things we usually do upon entering a restaurant is to order a beer to drink…..especially after 5:00…. Beer is actually cheaper than most soft drinks. We looked through the entire menu….twice. We looked at the signs on the walls. No beer. Then we asked the Arab waiter. No beer….. And, then it dawned on me. “Wake up, Beryl! This is an Arab restaurant. They are Muslims. They don’t drink alcohol!” So, we ordered a soft drink and waited until later for our first beer of the evening.

The evening we dined at a Korean restaurant, everything was so strange that we simply asked the waitress to bring us some “typical” Korean food….the kind she would eat at home. She brought out an impressive array of food…..none of which was very familiar. It had an egg on top….and that may have been all I recognized. But, it was delicious. We asked for the most popular Korean beer. She brought each of us a bottle of Sojou….(I am not sure that is how you spell it, though). Whatever….. She said it is the beer of preference for young people in Korea…..probably because it will get them drunk the quickest. Anyway….it tasted very much like rubbing alcohol. Maybe after a while, we could have developed a taste for it. If you drink enough of it, you probably won’t care what it tastes like!

This happened to us in more than one restaurant. Ask the waiter….or owner….in many cases the same person…..for some authentic local food…..and they are more than willing to accommodate you. When you are finished eating, he (or she) will invariably ask how you liked it. Always….and I mean Always…..say it was delicious. First of all, this is simply good manners. Second of all, it makes the owner feel good. And, third, it promotes a little bit of good will toward the United States. Let’s face it…..in many places, the USA needs all the good will it can generate. But, all of these eating places seemed to be authentic. None of them were in the usual tourist areas. We chose restaurants in the more out-of-the-way places…..places where I doubt if many Americans ever venture. And, almost without fail, we were welcomed warmly….and showered with attention.

Every time I go to Berlin, I like to discover something new…..whether it be a new restaurant, a new section of the city, a new and interesting site, a new art gallery….. But, one rule I have pretty much established for myself…..and I pretty much follow…..is to find one or two places…..bars and restaurants…..that I return to night after night. It is amazing to observe the contrast in the quality of service that takes place. It will change from polite indifference to a cordial welcome within a couple nights. Germans may be….or act like….rude people when you first meet them. But, once they become familiar with you…..this indifference quickly turns to welcoming acceptance…..and excellent service

. There are hundreds of bars in Berlin…..maybe even thousands. Actually, I supposed we could say that almost every restaurant in Berlin is also a bar…..(although the reverse cannot be said.) Most of the “popular” bars feature loud music….sometimes recorded and sometimes live…..and they are expensive. These bars are frequented mostly by young people who like loud music….and loud electronic music, at that. And, they are probably not aware that they will gradually grow deaf if they persist in going there for very many years. But….they go there to have “fun”…..to see and be seen. But, on the other hand, they are also going to develop very strong lungs and vocal cords learning to shout over the deafening music. Either that…..or they will go away with a severe case of laryngitis. Usually, however, one would not go to such a bar to “talk” anyway. Most of these clubs and bars don’t even get rocking until most normal people have already gone to bed. And….did I say that they are expensive?

I have gone of a couple of these bars…..but I quickly recognized they are not for me. Somehow I don’t get a lot of pleasure shouting at somebody for a few hours…..and having them shout at me in return. I prefer the quiet neighborhood bar….a place where people go to see their friends and talk and argue and watch a soccer game on TV. Most….or a lot….of the people know each other…..and they are generally friendly, safe places. We most commonly choose a bar within easy walking distance of our apartment…..and there is always a bar within walking distance!

If there is no soccer game on TV, most bars play recorded music in the background….mostly just to muffle voices and so people can talk privately and without being heard. Rarely does one find the blaring, high decibel music that is played in the “hip” bars and clubs…..or the so-called “discos”. And about seventy-five percent of the time, the music is going to be “oldies”….and American oldies, at that. Maybe they do it in honor of me! No, I doubt that. Germans simply like old American music.

Most…..or a majority….of “bars”….as contrasted to eating establishments…stay open very late. Many all night. It is not uncommon for us to be going back to our apartment about sunrise…..about the time that everybody else is waking up. Bars….at least the dozens of bars that I have been in….are safe, congenial places to sit and talk. I don’t know how many bars I have visited in Berlin….or Germany…..but, I know it is more than I can count on my fingers…..and my toes. . During all this time I have spent in a wide variety of bars…..in many areas of the city…..I have never witnessed a fight! Or any kind of violent behavior, for that matter. In fact, I am trying to recall if I have ever actually seen a drunk….inebriated….person making a fool of himself. I am not naïve enough to think that it doesn’t happen….somewhere. But, it has never happened in a bar where I

have been. One reason for this, I think, is the fact that alcohol does not have the “forbidden fruit” allure that it has here in the USA. People start drinking at a much younger age in Germany. For example, wine is a staple part of a meal in many German homes. Most German grow up not experiencing the “mystery” or “taboo” that is attached to alcohol that the young people in this country are accustomed to. It’s no big deal. It is available from a very young age…..and thrill is just not there. I think the only Germans who I have ever seen drunk….in public….are low-class soccer fans on the day of a soccer game. Somehow, they seem to take their rivalries rather seriously.

One aspect of Berlin…..and Germany….life is the abundance of open-air, sidewalk bars, cafes, coffee shops….. When the weather is warm enough, they are everywhere! Germans love to sit and talk, argue, read a book or a newspaper, talk on their cell phone….or just sit and do nothing….. As for me….I like to sit and talk…..and to do nothing. I am not the arguing type of person. And all of the newspapers are written in German. But, it is pleasant to sit and sip a cup of coffee…in the daytime….and a glass of beer at night…..and talk to whomever I am with at the time….and just watch the people and the traffic pass by.

If you sit long enough, you will see just about everything. You will receive an education in human behavior. There are poor people and rich people, young people and old people; couples; people walking their dog; people waving signs; people mumbling to themselves; people preaching or ranting about something; punks with their weirdly colored hair; kids wearing the latest American fashions. And……of course, the traffic. Sitting in a sidewalk bar is not without its risks…..and without its drama for people like me who really do not know exactly what is happening. One sunny afternoon, Frank and I were sitting in an outdoor bar in Alexanderplatz near the World Clock. Of course, Frank did all the ordering. Like always I just stood there like a puppet while he ordered a couple beers and paid for them. We sat there talking and watching the people. Alexanderplatz is a great place for people watching.

When we got ready to leave, I stood up and started to walk away. Frank stopped me and said, “Take your beer mug with you. “Really?” I asked. “Are you sure it’s OK?” “Yes,” Frank assured me. “I paid for them when I paid for the beer.” “Wow!” I thought. “This is a good deal. This is a good souvenir to take back home.” We walked about ten or twelve feet, and I heard angry shouts. Again…..I don’t speak German, so I had no idea what was happening. Actually, it never occurred to me that the yelling was being directed at us. I turned around to see the waitress running after us….shouting angrily. And until you have been shouted at by an angry German woman, you really don’t know what it is like to really be shouted at. We stopped. I stopped only because Frank did. After some words between them, Frank looked rather embarrassed and said, “We have to give the mugs back.” As often happens….there had been a misunderstanding. Frank thought he had paid for the mugs. But, it turned out that he only paid a deposit on them. And, I don’t remember if he ever got the deposit back or not. As for me…..I felt like an idiot with people staring at us like we were common criminals. Needless to say, we did not linger around Alexanderplatz much longer that afternoon. And….we certainly did not stop at that outdoor bar again!

On another occasion, a minor incident of another sort happened while Oliver and I were sitting in an outside bar near the Brandenburg Gate. Each of us had a glass of beer, and we were sitting, talking….and watching the people walk and drive past. The area where we were sitting…..between the Brandenburg Gate and the Reichstag Building…..is a busy tourist area…..a perfect place for people watching. The bar was filled with people, most of whom were drinking beer….although a few of them may have been drinking coffee.

I was comfortably slumped back in my chair, enjoying the sunshine and the beautiful weather. Suddenly a gust of wind hit us…..and before I could react, I found my glass of beer in my lap! This didn’t happen to Oliver….or anybody else….only me. Somehow I think most of the people sitting around us were probably tourists. Why do I think that? If they had been Germans, I am sure they would have found the situation to be hilarious and would have gotten a good….and long….laugh. For some reason, it seems that many Germans find other people’s embarrassing misfortunes to be comical and funny. While most people are uncomfortable and sympathetic to these sorts of incidents……and usually look down or pretend they do not see what is happening…..or they volunteer to help……Germans seem to find them funny and often laugh long and loud. To me, as a civilized, polite American….I find this to be rude, crude and inconsiderate. But, many Germans don’t seem to understand it that way. At any rate, a waitress brought a towel so we could clean up the mess……and so I could get dried off. She did not, however, volunteer to give me another glass of beer as a replacement.

By far the most serious….and frightening….culinary experience took place in an Indian restaurant. It was a cold day. Sebastian B. and I were sightseeing on Oranienburger Str., This an interesting street on the near north side. The New Jewish Synagog, the old Post Office Building, the Hackeche Hof…lots of bars, restaurants….and people. It is one of the “hip” sections of Berlin . It was getting to be late in the morning, so Sebastian and I decided to eat lunch in an Indian restaurant. It was a pleasant place. We were the only two customers in the restaurant at the time. We seated ourselves in a booth in the front of the restaurant near the door. Our young waiter….and he may have been the owner, too….we never did find out…..was chatting with his wife and his young son. They were getting ready to leave, and he was saying good-bye to his son. Actually, it was a rather touching scene. Obviously, they were a happy couple, and it was easy to see that their little boy occupied an important place in their life.

After the wife and child left, he came to us, still smiling. We asked him what he would recommend, since neither of us was familiar with Indian food. He pointed out a meal that he thought we would enjoy…..and left to place our order. He came back a few minutes later….still smiling….and said that they were going to prepare the meat in a different way than usual. They were going to put it on a charcoal grill instead of the gas stove like they usually did.

“This is the first time they have done it this way. It will taste much better,” he assured us, rather proudly, I think. We ate the meal. Before we left the restaurant, Sebastian said he was going to use the restroom. After he got back, I decided it was probably best if I went, too…..not knowing when I would have another chance. On my way back to our table, I passed by the kitchen. I heard some very loud, excited conversation taking place. I had no idea what they were talking about. When I got back to our table, I asked Sebastian what they were saying. It seems that there was a fire in the kitchen.

Seconds later, the waiter reappeared. This time he was not smiling. He told Sebastian that the kitchen was on fire…..apparently caused by the charcoal. We sat there for maybe fifteen seconds, and Sebastian looked at me and asked, “What shall we do?”

“Let’s get out of here!” I said. Around this time, heavy smoke began to come from the kitchen. The waiter was shooing us out with his hands…..as if we needed any encouragement. Sebastian said something like, “Shall we take our coats?”

“YES!” I replied, grabbing my own coat.   By this time smoke was billowing out of the kitchen. The waiter stopped us on the way out and asked Sebastian something….rather urgently. Sebastian was patiently explaining something to him…..as I stood there expecting to be barbecued alive at any minute. When we got outside on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, I asked Sebastian what he and the waiter were talking about. It turned out that the waiter had no idea how to call the fire department…..and Sebastian was giving him rather detailed (I thought) directions on how to do it. In fact, thinking back on the incident, I think maybe it was Sebastian who finally called the fire department on his cell phone.

In a short time, flames and black smoke were coming out a window to the side of the restaurant….presumably from the kitchen. By this time, a crowd of on lookers was gathering on the sidewalk and in the street outside the restaurant…..proving, I suppose, that it is not only people in small towns who are attracted to fire….but  fires have a sort of universal allure. We stayed around and watched for a while….. Of course, there was nothing we could do. I wanted so badly to take some pictures. But, at the time, that did not seem to be a very nice or appropriate thing to do.

Sebastian asked if we should pay for our meal! Actually, in all the excitement, I really hadn’t considered that possibility. We gave the waiter….who was standing by helplessly, just like us….a bill that was more than adequate to pay for our food. At first, he declined it…..but it didn’t take very much persuasion from us before he finally accepted it. We told him how sorry we were…..and left. For a while, I felt rather guilty about the fire. After all, they had used charcoal especially for us to prepare our meal….. It was obviously an experiment. The food was, in fact, very delicious. But….on the other hand, we hadn’t requested it…..and they had done it voluntarily. I rather doubt if they ever used this method again…..

There is a totally unrelated mistake that a  novice visitor to Berlin commonly makes. I know I did. Never assume that just because everybody is speaking German….and after all that is their native language….they do not also speak….and understand….English. It is easy to fall into the trap of thinking that just because you cannot understand what they are saying, they cannot understand that YOU are saying. On one of my early trips to Berlin, Sebastian and I ate most our meals in a restaurant quite near the hotel where we were staying. Each day we would go there….and each day the same woman took our order. Sebastian did all of the talking. I am sure I made comments not only on the food….but probably on other things, too. She seemed to ignore me….dealing only with Sebastian. This reinforced my belief that she did not understand English.

On the fourth day we went there, we sat down in our usual place. But this time, instead of talking to Sebastian, she looked at me, and asked me in almost perfect English what I wanted to order. Needless to say, I was startled….and a little speechless. I managed to tell her what I wanted…..and then I asked her where she learned to speak such good English. Had she lived in the USA….or England? “No,” she said, “I always wanted to speak English, so I went to language school.” Just to make sure she knew other things besides the menu, I talked to her a few minutes….just friendly chatter. Yes…..she really spoke English…..and very good English, too. As soon as she left our table to place our order, I asked Sebastian if we had made any comments about her….or about anything…..that could have been offensive. Neither of us could remember exactly what we had said…..but apparently all of it had been good. At least, she continued to be friendly to me…..and always spoke in English after that. I don’t know…..maybe she was just testing me. If she was….we apparently passed the test.

No matter what hour of the day or night…..there is always a place to eat or drink in Berlin. It may be a small outside cafe with only a couple tables….or it could be a large fancy restaurant….or maybe you prefer a crowded noisy bar. As for me….give me a familiar, friendly neighborhood bar with music playing in the background….just loud enough to disguise and obscure surrounding conversations….a safe place where we can talk late into the night…..a place where we are greeted with a friendly smile.

But, while you are in Berlin, don’t forget that one of the most convenient and quickest places to eat…..and some of the most exotic and tasty food….are the sidewalk curry wurst vendors and the doner Kabap stands. Both of these snack foods are ubiquitous throughout the city.

Kabap originated in Turkey…..and naturally followed the burgeoning Turkish immigrant population when they arrived in Germany. Curry wurst, on the other hand, is said to be indigenous to Berlin….and something that Berliners are rightfully proud of. There is even a curry wurst museum tracing its history….or development….or rise in popularity. For those of you who have not eaten curry wurst….and if you have not been to Germany, you probably haven’t. Maybe you have tasted what may be passed off as curry wurst….and imitation knock off. But only in Germany….in Berlin…..will you be treated to the real thing. Curry wurst is essentially German wurst….or sausage. The sausages are steamed first, then fried and cut into little sections……with curry sauce on top of it….and served with french fried potatoes. They are almost always eaten with tiny disposable plastic forks. This is not a meal. It is a snack food…..much like a hamburger is here in the USA. I have heard people say….and I have seen it written…..that Germans couldn’t care less about “diet” food. Maybe overall this is partially true. I have never seen a “diet” menu or a “low fat” or “low salt” menu in a German restaurant. But, it is certainly possible to buy low fat and low salt food in grocery stores. I don’t know if anybody besides me buys it, however. But, I have experienced little difficulty buying “no fat” or “low fat” milk. And, the same is true for sliced meat and cheese. On the other hand….it is quite easy to order vegetarian food in Germany. I never have…..but the sister of one of my former students is vegetarian, and she has never had a problem finding it.

Speaking of cheese. When buying sliced cheese in Germany, you won’t find the little conveniently individually wrapped slices of processed cheese….imitation cheese. The cheese you buy in Germany is the real thing….authentic cheese….and a huge variety of them. Most German are appalled at the thought of eating the chemically produced cheese. One final story comes to mind when I think about food in Germany. On my first trip to German….the one back in 1995 with Sebastian H….. On our first night in Berlin, we went to a restaurant to eat. I asked him to order me something that was “typically German”….something a native would be likely to eat. He did…..and when it arrived at our table, I took one look at it and exclaimed, “What IS this stuff?” It was

something called Eisbein….or something like that. It was almost pure fat! Certainly at least 90% fat. It was inedible! It was repellant! Pure fat? I get sick now even thinking about it. I picked out the lean meat….probably less than 10%…..and left the rest of it on the plate. Man….people complain about McDonald’s food being high in fat. Their food is health food compared to this! But… I was comforted in later years when subsequent students told me they would never think of eating it…..and their mothers would never even consider serving it at home.

Well….if I sound like one of those food critics on one of the cooking shows….in my own mind, I probably am….but only for myself. And….NO….I do not intend to write some sort of restaurant guide for Berlin. Everybody likes what he likes…..not what other people tell him to like. As a general rule, I try to avoid the “popular” places….the “in” places. The only thing different you are going to find there are vastly inflated prices, ear-piercing music and suffocating crowds of people trying to be hip.

I am content not to be “hip”. I will choose the friendly, neighborhood bar or restaurant any day of the year. Places where I can relax and mingle with “real” Germans

 

                                                   

 

 

 

 

Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Oliver. He was a German. Yes…that’s right….a Kraut. He was a nice little boy. He always obeyed his Mama and Papa. He made good grades in school. He had lots of friends…especially another nice little boy named Bjorn. Oliver liked to play and have fun with his friends.

But, one day Oliver began to get bored. He wanted adventure. He wanted to go out and see the world. So he decided to go to the most exciting country in the world…the United States of America. But wait! This wasn’t enough. He wanted to go to the most exciting state in the USA. There was only one obvious choice: Kansas. But, Oliver wanted even more. He had to go live with the most exciting person in the state of Kansas. Oliver was very lucky. It just so happened that he was chosen by the most exciting person in Kansas to come and spend the school year….and to attend the most exciting high school in the state of Kansas.

Oliver spent ten months living in the most exciting country, in the most exciting state, with the most exciting person and attended the most exciting high school. After ten months, Oliver had to go back home to the land of beer and sauer kraut. Oliver was very sad. And, so was his host father…..the guy who took care of him for ten months and came to love him as a son.

But, sometimes Oliver missed his Kansas home and his Kansas host dad….so he returned to Kansas to visit. Sometimes, Oliver’s host dad missed Oliver, so he traveled to Germany to visit him. This has been happening for almost twenty years. Of course, little Oliver has grown older…..while Beryl has stayed the same age. They have a special relationship. Now they are simply special friends.

There is another reason that Oliver is a “special” friend of mine. What are the chances of choosing an exchange student who shares your birthday? Yes….July 28 is the birthday of both Oliver and me. I bet this hasn’t happened very often in the exchange student history! But….it happened to us. Many people probably don’t know it……but Oliver is a few years younger than me!

This is the story of Oliver Schoeller, my exchange student during the 1996-1997 school year. Now here is the story of his most recent “homecoming”.

On the night of Saturday, February 21, I drove to Kansas City to meet Oliver at Kansas City International Airport. It was a trip that I was afraid would not take place. There were predictions of a winter storm that threatened to shut down highways….and potentially even the airport. But, as many times happens in such frantic weather prophecies, the tale was worse than the truth. It was cold, however…bitterly cold. Oliver’s airplane was due to arrive at 11:23 P.M. I was somewhat shaken when I did not see his flight listed on the arrival board. But, there was little I could do except wait. All of the ticket windows were closed. But not long before its expected arrival, it was announced that his flight had been delayed by one hour. Great! But….at least, I knew he would be there eventually. And…I knew it would be worth the wait.

Oliver drove back home….no doubt out an instinct of self-preservation…..since he knows quite well that I do not see well at night. Before we headed for home, however, we made a detour to McDonalds in Platt City….the same place where we stopped when he first came to my house in 1996….and every subsequent visit. The wind was bitterly cold, and we were motivated to get back to our warm house.

But….it seemed that we had a slight problem…..or what we were hoping was a slight problem. The temperature gauge in my car was registering above normal heating. The engine was starting to overheat. Being the cautious person that I am….and not knowing anything about cars…..and considering my car often acts like a piece of junk….I was worried. Would we have to spend the night in Platt City? Was I going to be faced with a repair bill of a few thousand dollars? We tried the obvious solution. We bought a gallon of anti-freeze/coolant. The little tank that contains the fluid was almost empty. I am somewhat paranoid when it comes to the honesty of mechanics. I had just had the oil changed two days before….and they are supposed to check the levels of all the fluids. Did they intentionally remove some of the fluid…..knowing that the car would overheat? Would they be that devious? Would they take advantage of a person they know is almost totally naïve about cars? I would prefer to think they did not…..but: Who knows?

One good thing about Oliver’s visit was the fact that when we arrived back home at around 2:30 A.M., I didn’t have to waste time giving him a tour of the house. He had already lived here for 10 months….and had come back for at least two visits. So basically, we followed our usual routine: We sat down, opened a couple beers, and started talking.

No matter if Oliver is visiting me….or I am visiting him in Berlin or Cologne….time has a way of slipping away. In Germany we usually find ourselves in a friendly neighborhood bar, sipping a few beverages….and talking. Most bars in Berlin are open all night….and we are usually there to keep them company and also to provide our token amount of business. Bars in Berlin are relaxed, inviting establishments…..places where people are welcome to sit and talk and drink all night….if they so desire. And, many times, that is what we do. We don’t do it intentionally….say: “We are going to stay here until 6:00 A.M.” Time just sort of slips away….and before we know it, we are going back to our apartment about the same time as most people are getting out of bed.

This pattern seems to prevail at home, too. The emphasis is always on talking; the drinking only keeps our throats from getting too dry.

Did you ever sit down with somebody who just sat there? No matter how you tried to start a conversation…..nothing worked. You start to wonder: Is the person too shy? Is he not very bright? Is he afraid to express his opinions? Does he speak English? Is he deaf? This never happens when Oliver and I are together, Maybe it is because we are none of those things. Well….both of us are a little bit shy, maybe….but not when it is only the two of us. But….we do not have to worry about those other reasons. Yes…..both of us are bright. We are not afraid of expressing our opinions and thoughts. We both speak English. And….neither of us is deaf. Well….I am probably a little bit more deaf than he is…..but….I am also older. In any case, finding something to talk about has never been a problem…..even if it caused a severe lack of sleep during the times we visit each other.

Our days rarely began before 11:00 A.M. or noon….except on our occasional travel days.  So planning something to do in the morning was a problem we didn’t have to worry about.

When I am at home alone, I eat only two meals a day. And they are definitely not the kind of gourmet meals that I would serve to a guest.  Basically, Oliver was in charge of preparing lunch…..which consisted mainly of some sort of sandwich. Early in his visit, we bought a little ceramic skillet which can be used to bake eggs in the microwave oven…..or whatever happens in a microwave oven. We made extensive use of it. On more than one occasion Oliver tried to convince me that I was trying to starve him…..deprive him of sufficient amounts of food. He even claimed that he had actually lost weight while at my house. Wow….I wish I could make that claim!

During his ten day visit, I prepared three sumptuous meals….well, actually two meals. One night we had a picnic outside on the patio in the Arctic weather. But, as always, if the fire is hot enough….and if you wear enough warm clothing….it is very comfortable and pleasant….sitting in front of the roaring fire….baking hamburgers….eating chips and dip….and drinking a cold beverage….listening to our teeth chattering. And, it is always fun to make the neighbors wonder if the person living in the next house to the east of them is crazy. On this particular night, the coyotes were howling in the distance, and we could hear the hoot of an old owl somewhere in the darkness. And……we could also hear the warm wood stove in the living room calling to us: “Come back inside, you morons.”

The other two night, we feasted on two of my specialties. (I only know how to make three things.) One night I prepared my famous….and high delicious….burritos. The other night, I cooked up a pan of chili. For those of you who really know how to cook, you will recognize immediately that neither of these recipes takes a lot of imagination or effort. Oliver asked me to write down the recipe for the chili. I don’t even have a recipe. I just brown some hamburger and start adding stuff. Fortunately…or miraculously…it always ends up tasting pretty good.

 

But, mainly, we depended on our favorite all-you-can-eat buffets in Topeka for our evening meals: The Golden Corral, Coyote Canyon, and Chow Time. Neither of us left there feeling any hunger pangs. And, for good measure, we ate lunch at the Globe Restaurant…an Indian buffet…one day with a friend of mine. And….our all-important visit to the Dairy Queen. This was probably more important to me that it was to Oliver…..since I restrict myself to one trip to the Dairy Queen each year. (Although this year I made two trips.)

Oliver also got his wish to go to an American steak house and eat. Oh….I suppose I would have taken him to one…..if he insisted. But, the truth of the matter is: I don’t particularly like steak. Steak is only hamburger that has not been ground up yet. Taking a look at one of their menus is enough to make me lose my appetite! Their inflated prices are merely a ruse to disguise the fact that you can get almost the same nutritional value from a couple Big Macs, some french fries and a salad. I think it must be the “snob appeal” that attracts most people.

“Oh…guess where I ate last night? A Steak House. Of course, I paid ten times what it was worth…..and ingested ten times more cholesterol than is healthy for any human being. But, never mind all that….I ate at a ‘Steak House’. Aren’t I special?”

But, on the other hand…..we didn’t pay for it. We went as guests of my brothers. Thinking back on it now…..No, we probably wouldn’t have gone if they hadn’t invited us.

OK…..now what do you think? Do you see a pattern of systematic starvation here? Did Oliver really lose weight while he was here? And….if he did…..whose fault was it? Next year, we will eat all of our meals at the Golden Corral…..and I will send him back to Germany needing to buy larger clothing.

While we were planning for Oliver’s trip, I ask him if he would help me do two or three little jobs around the house that needed to be done. Yes….I would have paid my high school helper to do them. But, Oliver was more than eager to do anything he could to simplify my life. “I really hate for you to come all the way to see me….and then I just make you my little slave,” I told him.

“Not a problem,” he said. “Just leave everything, and I will help you do it.”

Using the word “slave” was a big mistake! And, knowing Oliver as well as I do, I should have realized that before used it. “Stop and think, Beryl!”

For the remainder of the time he spent at my house, he never ceased to remind me of it. But……Yeah….now that I think about it, he was a pretty good “slave”. And, we accomplished some pretty neat stuff while he was here.

One of the most constructive….and fun….things we did was to construct a bird feeder. In some of the past years while I have lived here, I merely threw bird seed on the ground, hoping birds would come around and take advantage of the free food. Back in those days, I had hardly any trees. There weren’t many birds around to feast on the banquet I had laid out for them. And, after a while, it would inevitably rain…and then the seed would pretty much wash away. My attempts at establishing a bird buffet failed. Maybe I failed to promote it or advertise it aggressively enough. But, at any rate, I closed it down because of a lack of interest on the part of the birds.

Now….several years later, I have a small forest of trees growing in the yard beside my house….thanks to a company who sells fast-growing trees….and my own faithful devotion to caring for them the summer I planted them. Now there seems to be an abundance of birds that make this area their home….or at least, their vacation destination.

For quite a while, I had wanted to make a bird feeder….a large bird feeder….to hang in the yard to attract birds. This feeder would have a roof to protect it from the rain…..and it would be large enough to accommodate several birds at one time.

Over the past few weeks I had formulated a plan in my mind. Now I only needed somebody to help me….sort of a carpenter’s helper. Non-union, of course. (Although I am a firm believer in labor unions!) Oliver readily volunteered to help. So, armed with my mental plan and vision of the bird feeder I wanted to build, we drove to the lumber yard in Oskaloosa and bought the necessary lumber that I did not have lying around my garage or storage shed.

The feeder is one of simple design. Let’s call it a minimalistic design….since it a type of architecture. And….after all it is just a bird feeder…..and I doubt if the birds are really concerned with its design. On each of the four corners there is a 2×2 support post….each twelve inches high. In the center there are three support columns….each of which are 16 inches in length. This gives the roof a four inch pitch. Since we had no miter saw, we simply joined the two pieces of the roof together as well as we could…..and covered the roof with some spare shingles that we found in the tool shed. The bird feeder is painted red, white and blue…..the colors I paint almost everything. Most people…..and my neighbors in particular…..think I use these colors because they are K.U. colors. Actually, I use them because I like these colors….and because they are the colors of our flag.

Oliver had not had a lot of experience using an electric saw before, so I found it prudent on my part to do all of the sawing. If there was a finger or a hand to be cut off….it may as well be mine. And I was hoping if such a disaster happened….it would be my left hand. No…..I have done this too many times to have an accident. I am an old pro when it comes to using an electric saw.

I explained the basic concept of the design to Oliver…..and he understood quite quickly what our mission was. After I cut the plywood for the roof and the floor, I turned the project over to Oliver. And….I became the carpenter’s helper. The picnic table….and a couple old saw horses….were our workbench. Because of the limited facilities I have, we met with a few logistical problems….but Oliver came up with clever….if not ingenious….solutions to all the obstacles…..putting his degree in engineering to good use.

This was the first time Oliver had done anything like this…..and I think he found it to be pretty interesting. Yeah….I think he even had fun. The bird feeder looked pretty good….at least to us! I didn’t get it hung up in a tree….and I didn’t get it painted….until after Oliver had gone back to Germany. But….we both agreed: Our project was a success.

So….what is the moral of this story? If you are going to be a “slave”……you may as well have fun doing it.

Now that the bird feeder is in place….and now that it is painted…. all we have to do is wait and see if the birds will eat from it. But, I believe the famous line from the movie “Field of Dreams”: If You Build It….They Will Come!

I won’t even bother to tell the rest of the ways Oliver made life more comfortable for me. Things like do all of the night driving. Move a ton of green wood from the garage to the outside. Help me with my cell phone and computer. Start the fire when it went out. Now…..Do you see why I missed him when he had to go back to Germany?

While Oliver was here, I took a humongous step into the unknown (for ME)…..into the vast world of the unexplored (for ME)….that colossal world that was waiting for ME to explore. If you wonder why I am emphasizing the word ME…..it is because in the realm of technology, I tend to lag about five or ten years behind the rest of the world. At any rate, I bought my first GPS system….with the help of Oliver, of course.

I am almost ashamed to admit it…. especially after spending so many years belittling them and poking fun at the people who use them. After all, I know how to read a map. I have been doing it successfully now for many years…..and I have never gotten seriously lost. I mean…..isn’t using a GPS the lazy way to do things? Doesn’t this take some of the satisfaction out of planning a trip? Doesn’t it subtract some of the joy of the unknown….rob a person of some of the mystery of “Will we make it there without getting lost?”

Nevertheless, I relented to peer pressure and buckled under to the prevailing social customs and accepted technology of today.

Actually…..most….if not all…of the credit for using it can be accredited to Oliver. He is the one who set it up for me. He is the one who read the directions on how to use it. He is the one who typed in all the addresses. He is the one who made a rather futile effort to provide an orientation for me…..to demonstrate its use….to coach me on how to use it. As Oliver will no doubt verify…..he more or less failed in his mission. But, at least, now I can brag with the best of them and say I have a GPS.

Why did I take this rather radical (for ME) step…..and in effect admitting that I was wrong about the value of owning a GPS? Oliver and I had originally planned to spend a few days driving aimlessly around the state of Colorado….just sightseeing….taking advantage of pleasures Colorado has to offer….and camping in KOA camping cabins at night.

The last time Oliver and I went to Colorado was in the summer of 1999. We had big plans of just roaming around at random…..seeing as much as we could…..and sitting around a big campfire at night. Unfortunately, it rained every single day…..and especially night….we were there. Although we did have a great time, we had to sleep in motels at night….and we never had the opportunity to camp out. Not even for one night.

We had planned to make up for that on this trip. Just roam around….with the help of our trusty little GPS….stay in a KOA cabin at night….sit around a campfire….fix our supper….and enjoy the legal pleasures of Colorado. Sure…we knew that it would probably be cold. But, that was nothing that some warm clothing and a roaring fire couldn’t remedy. Sadly, though, we had not counted on the snow. Much of Colorado was experiencing near blizzard conditions…..and even our GPS couldn’t overcome that little obstacle.

As I mentioned earlier, however, we did take short trip to the farm of a friend of mine, Sam, over in east-central Kansas. We could have easily made it there without the help of the GPS….but now that we had it…..why not use it? So…..Oliver typed the address….and we dutifully followed the GPS woman’s expert directions. Good News! We made it.

As I mentioned earlier, it was a bitterly cold day…made to seem even colder by the brisk north wind. And, Oliver was woefully under-dressed. We only stayed for a couple hours. Even in that short time, I think Oliver enjoyed himself….and learned a few things about grafting trees. While we were there, Oliver contributed some more of his famous “slave labor”. He helped Sam install a bird house….while I looked on and took pictures. This seemed appropriate. Oliver is an engineer. I am a photographer. Oliver was not dressed warmly….so the work helped keep him warm, whereas I was dressed like an Eskimo.

One of the interesting features of Sam’s farm is the small cemetery which adjoins his property. Although I had been to the farm a couple times previously, I had never taken the time to take a close look at it. It is a small family cemetery, devoted to a family who lived in the era in the mid-1800’s…..around the time of our War Between the States….or Civil War. The grave stones were engraved with dates from that era. Many of the markers are in remarkably good shape, considering they are more than one hundred and fifty years old.

Oliver agreed that the farm, located in a beautiful setting with small forests of trees, and gently rolling hills…..and also sufficient flat land for farming….would make an ideal setting for a country home….. Idyllic, as the Germans like to say.

And…..I might add….the GPS got us back home safely.

Like most of Oliver’s trips to my house…our house….this one was also mostly a trip of nostalgia. Deja vu….shall we say. We try to do a lot of the things he did during the ten months he lived here. We made a couple trips to the Golden Corral, a couple trips to the Dairy Queen. We took five minutes and took a tour of Valley Falls….looking at all of the old familiar landmarks in the city. Broadway, the school, the swimming pool, the football field, the two baseball fields, the post office. Yes….I think I have about named all of them. We went to Laurie, my hair dresser for the past twenty-five years or so, and we both got hair cuts.

Of course, we went to Topeka….our “big city”. We looked at Lake Shawnee. Drove up and down Kansas Avenue…..and of course, Wanamaker….the street “where it all happens”…..even back then. I introduced him to my…..now “our”….favorite bar, Terry’s Bar and Grill. We ate lunch on a Friday with my Sam. We went to an Indian buffet, which was new to Oliver…..but which he liked. On the Sunday night before he left, we strolled through the almost-deserted West Ridge Mall…..very different than the bustling crowds when he was here.

Late one afternoon, we walked around the State Capitol Building. Well…part way around, anyway. It was a frigid cold afternoon. And, let’s be honest: Those Germans just aren’t as tough as we Kansans. So we cut the walk a little short. No…honestly, it WAS very cold. And, we seemed to be the only people stupid enough to be out “sightseeing”.

Interesting for me…..but maybe not so much for Oliver…..was a quick drive-by inspection of a town-house complex that I hope will be my home some day. Oliver encouraged me to stop and ask for a tour of one of the town homes, but maybe it is still a little too early to be requesting a tour. I am planning to stick around the ranch for another two or three years…..before I start inviting him to come visit me in a town house in Topeka. However, when that time finally arrives, Oliver will not have to worry about carrying firewood, building fires is a stove, constructing bird feeders…. It will be new experience for me…..and him..

Of course, anybody who lives around there…..or has lived around here in the past….will understand that there are not a lot of new discoveries to be made in this area. Everything stays fairly predictable. It is sort of like an old shoe. They last a long time…..and the longer you wear them, the more comfortable they become. I think this may describe how Oliver feels when he come back “home”.

We also continued another custom of past years: We measured Oliver. And, we found that he has grown a full inch since the last time he was measured. On the bathroom door, you will find the measurements of all of my former exchange students….and some of my other guests. One of those guests was Oliver’s older brother, Michael, who came to visit in 1997. He is a couple or three inches taller than Oliver. But….Oliver is taller than all of the other former students. Six feet five inches? I think that is correct.

But….like they say: You can’t have everything. So there were some disappointments. Some things were rather deja…not so….vu.

One afternoon, shortly after he arrived, Oliver and I set out looking for an old abandoned missile base which was constructed on some land south of Valley Falls. I had never been there before, but I had heard other people who had been there talk about it. Oliver was eager to see it…..and so was I. At times, I have considered buying an old abandoned missile base, such as this one, and converting it into an underground home. I have seen pictures of other missile bases that are now being used as homes….and they are awesome. Sound proof. Weather proof. Fire proof. Burglar proof. I am ready to buy one. The only thing holding me back is the $550,000 price tag.

The location of the old missile base was not difficult to find. It was exactly where everybody had said it was…..maybe a half mile off K-4 Highway. As luck would have it, though…..we reached a point where the road ended…or rather was blocked by a double or triple locked iron gate…..on which were multiple warnings and threats to Stop…Stay Out…No Trespassing….Do Not Enter….. I think they were trying to tell us something. Admitting defeat, we turned around and made our way back to the highway. Mission failed.

Almost every winter, American bald eagles nest in the dense trees around many of the lakes and reservoirs in northeast Kansas. They have been spotted on many occasions at Lake Perry…..at Paradise Point. In fact, I have seen them. I have even taken pictures of them. On the day we drove to Lake Perry, we were not so fortunate. We didn’t get out and hike through the trees…..but from the roads, no eagles were visible. Spotting and photographing a bald eagle had been high on our priority list. But, actually seeing one of these magnificent birds is never guaranteed. In fact, it is probably more a stoke of good luck more than anything else. Whenever an American Bald Eagle is spotted, it usually makes the news. They are definitely around….but seeing one is sort of like playing the lottery. You have to be lucky.

The trip to Paradise Point was not wasted. This is the location where Oliver learned to drive a car. It is the place where I almost had a nervous breakdown teaching him to drive a car. Almost every Sunday afternoon, we could be found at Paradise Point…..Oliver behind the steering wheel…..me in the passenger seat. In those days, all of my cars had standard transmissions. In the case of the teal colored Hyundai that Oliver learned to drive…..a 5 speed.

There is no doubt that learning to shift gears is by far the most difficult concept to learn for a beginning driver. Paradise Point was an excellent “classroom”. Isolated. Very little traffic. A variety of terrains. Straight roads. Circular loops. Even a couple stop signs. And…..there are the hills! Have you ever tried to explain to a beginning driver how to shift gears when starting from a stand still….on flat ground? It is difficult. Now…..have you ever tried to explain to a beginning driver how to shift gears from a stand-still position on a hill?? Or to stop the car and start it again on a hill?

“Stop!” “Let the clutch out slowly…..no, no….slowly!” “Now give it a little bit of gas. Keep letting the clutch out.” “Not so much gas!” Clank! Thunk! The engine dies. So….you start over again. Eventually, the new driver gets the idea. It just sort comes to him….like turning on a light in the brain. Oliver learned. And….that is probably the time when I started getting my gray hair. Anyway……he learned….and this became our favorite training course…..many Sunday afternoons.

So, Paradise Point is a place that Oliver knows well. Even though we didn’t spot any eagles that day, he got to take a nostalgic trip down Memory Lane.

The third major bummer was….I think….the fact that we didn’t get to take a trip. Both of us had looked forward to taking a trip to Colorado. But, as I explained earlier…. the weather won out this time. But….the good thing: Colorado will still be there the next time he comes to visit.

The bitterly cold, windy weather….and then the snow on the final weekend….sort of threw a wet blanket….a cold wet blanket….on some other nostalgic plans we had made. For example, we didn’t make it to Lawrence….nor did we get to go to church. But, those were minor details compared to the fun and delight of merely getting to enjoy Oliver’s companionship for a few days.

Normally, I am not the sort of person who has a “favorite this” or a “favorite that”. Why limit myself to favoring one thing over another. I probably have twenty or thirty “favorite” songs. As for a favorite food: Just put some food in front of me…..and it is probably one of my “favorites”. A favorite TV show? Although most of the shows on TV today are trash, I like to watch ten or twelve of them whenever I can. My favorite movie? Ask any of my German students. No matter what movie is playing…..I am going to fall asleep.

However….if I were going to choose my favorite thing about Oliver’s visit…..aside from the simple pleasure of having in around…..it would be a gift that he made for me the Saturday night before he went back home.

It was either the night…or morning….that he arrived, or maybe it was the following day, that he told me he had brought something with him……and that we were going to work together on a project he had in mind. He seemed rather excited about it.

“Just wait and see,” he said mysteriously. “It’s going to be fun. You’re going to like it.”

I always get suspicious about “surprises”. I like to always know in advance what is going to happen. I don’t like for people to figuratively jump out from behind trees and startle me. After Oliver observed the proper period of keeping me in suspense…..making me wonder what this secretive project might be…..letting my imagination swing back and forth like a trapeze  artist high above the ground…..with no safety net….. He finally told me that we were going to paint a picture together.

My immediate reaction was, “Yeah…right. And what have you been smoking?” The zenith of my talent in drawing is to construct stick figures. And, even then, I would probably mess them up. However, Oliver brushed off my protests and professed to have full confidence in my artistic abilities. Of course, he secretly knew the limited extent of my talent….but, as usual….he was being nice.

On the final Saturday night before he returned to Stuttgart…..a snowy night when were were pretty much snowed in at home…..Oliver got out the canvass and the acrylic paints he had brought with him.

Knowing that I would be of little or no help to him in the actual painting, Oliver and I agreed that I would make a contribution by making suggestions to him as he painted the picture. Fair enough. I am good at giving advice. We found a small square of wood that had once been a book shelf which he used as his easel…..and Oliver began to work his creative genius.

Oliver’s choice as subject matter for the picture was to paint a lake scene at dusk, with mountains and forests in the background. That having been decided, he sat down, mixed some paint and started. Yeah…. He started to paint. Just like that. No rough sketch. No picture to copy. No picture to fill in. Just a blank square of canvass.

As he concentrated on painting, I did something. Although I don’t remember exactly what it was. Probably watch TV….or read….or take a nap. As he neared the completion of the picture, he held it up and asked what I thought. This is where my expert advice….my artistic contribution….to the project became valuable. This is where I put my stamp on the painting. This was what made it “Our” painting.

“Why don’t you put a little cabin on the edge of the lake? Maybe some lights in the windows? What about a moon…..with the moonlight shimmering on the lake?”

 

So…..Oliver added a cabin with lights in the windows….a nice moon with moonlight shimmering on the lake. Just like that.

“What about a little boat on the lake? Or some colorful flowers in the foreground?”  And…..no sooner suggested….it was done.

For me, the end result….the picture of the lake and the mountains and the forest and the little cabin and the bright moon….and the flowers…..was nothing short of a masterpiece. Certainly a masterpiece to me. It has already taken its permanent place among the three other paintings Oliver has given me in past years….hanging on the wall in my front room for everybody to admire.

It is difficult to explain the intangible delight of the ten days Oliver spent visiting me. But, this painting….along with the red, white and blue bird feeder….are visual reminders of Oliver’s visit and of the fun we had together.

On Sunday, the weather took an unexpected turn for the better. The temperature warmed, the snow melted, the sun shone again. We ate one final meal at the Golden Corral…..had one more drink at Terry’s Bar and Grill. And….then, suddenly, it seemed….Oliver’s short sojourn at the Darrah Ranch had ended. But….it is never “Good-Bye”……only “See You Later.” And…..maybe next time it will be on our birthday.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the last blog, I wrote about landmark events in my life…..those events that will always stand out in my memory. Events which are those “Where were you when……?” events. They were historical events which have changed the course of history in my life time. It is a tricky job making judgments like this. Making pronouncements like this is very subjective, to say the least. Incidents which I placed on my list of life changing occurrences for our world and our society may not appear on the list of somebody else. Probably there will be people who will disagree with me…..even want to argue about it. Sorry…..I don’t argue. I learned long ago that it really accomplishes nothing…..nobody is really going to change his mind! So…..if you want to disagree on my selection….go head. Pick out your own historical makers….. And, then write a blog about it.

This blog is going to be different. It will do you no good to argue about these……because they are my own personal landmark events. I am going to call them Sign Posts…..because they have pointed me in a direction that I may not have taken if they had not have happened. The good thing about this blog is that nobody can really disagree with my choices…..because nobody has lived my life…..except me! Like they say, “It’s my ball. If you don’t want to play my game, I will take it and go home.”

As I was pondering which events to include, I had to stop and sort through an entire life time of events, happening, occurrences, circumstances, coincidences……

Some of the obvious choices….choices that I am almost sure other people would be quick to include….simply were not that life-changing to me. Sorry.

I would be willing to bet that one of the first events a lot of people would have chosen would be graduating from high school. Actually, I can barely remember my high school graduation ceremony. I know I graduated because I still have my diploma….and it is signed. I also have copies of the programs for both our Baccalaureate service and the actual Commencement ceremony. As I look at them, there is nothing on either of them that even remotely rings a bell. But….again…..I know I was there not only because I have a signed copy of my high school diploma…..but I also have pictures of me in my graduation robe. And, I am pretty sure it wasn’t just something I used as a Halloween costume that year!

For those of you who are perhaps wondering what a Baccalaureate service is: It was a religious service that was usually held about a week prior to the actual Commencement ceremony. They have faded away over the years. In fact, I am assuming they are not permissible…or legal….today….because it involved local pastors offering prayers and sermons to the graduating seniors. Back when I graduated from high school….in 1956….they were not only common…..they were a regular part of the graduation process.

So…..No….high school graduation was most definitely not one of the “Sign Posts” of my life. In fact, my life changed very little after I graduated from high school. The most memorable reminiscence I have of my high school graduation is that I came down with mumps the day after the Commencement ceremony……and I spent the next few weeks in bed….in a darkened room…..with very little to do.

After the recovery process began, I would try to read….I would watch TV…..I would lie in bed and listen to every Kansas City “A’s” baseball game. From 1955 – 1967 Kansas City was home to an American League Team known as the Kansas City Athletics. They moved to Oakland, California, in 1968. The Royals began to play in Kansas City in 1969…..which, coincidentally, was the year I moved to Valley Falls.

But, wait…..I am getting off the subject.

After graduating from high school, I continued to live at home; I continued to work for Dillons; I continued to have the same friends. No…..I don’t think that can really qualify for a major life-changing event….and significant Sign Post of my life.

But…..Hey! What about college…..and I AM a college graduate! Surely, college must be a life-changing experience for everybody. Perhaps…..everybody, except me. I went to Sterling College in my hometown. I continued to live at home; I continued to work at Dillons; I continued to have the same friends. Maybe you are asking why I didn’t have a lot of college friends. Let’s face it: Most of the students attending Sterling College back in those days were there studying to be pastors, missionaries, youth leaders, etc. And, most of them lived in the dorm. I went to Sterling College for economic reasons: Dillons, the company I worked for, gave me a scholarship all four years…..and I had the luxury of living at home, like all of my fellow Sterling High School graduates did. I felt….and I think I can even say WE felt….that we had more in common with each other than we did with the majority of the student body. All of us were enrolled in Sterling College because we were receiving local scholarships…..and we could live at home. Again economic and financial reasons…..not because we wanted become any sort of religious professional…..and most certainly, there is nothing wrong with that.

While I was in college….and this includes my entire four years at Sterling College…..I made one friend with whom I am still in contact today. And, except for that one guy, I really have no idea where the rest of my class is…..or what they are doing. And, I don’t really care. No….back in those college days, my life went on pretty much as usual. At that time, I would have been content to live in Sterling for the remainder of my life…..and work for Dillons.

I recall one Saturday morning in one of our drug stores. A few of my friends and I were sitting in a booth drinking Cokes. One of our recent high school graduates…..a member of our graduating class……came in and sat down with us. After high school she had joined the U.S. Navy, had recently finished her basic training, and was now in college (at government expense) studying to obtain a degree in nursing. She had been away from Sterling for a while, and she was home on leave. During the course of the conversation, she said something to the effect, “You guys need to get out of this town. I would never come back here and live.” Wow! We were all highly offended. How dare she talk that way about our beloved little town! She went on to tell us what a hick town it was….and how, once we had gotten away from it, we would never want to come back there and live.

It would take a few more years before I would come to realize that she was right….before all of my graduating class except for one person…..would realize that she was right. Our life was too familiar, too safe, too comfortable to even think of leaving it behind. “Come on, you little snob…..if you don’t like it, then go back to your Navy and leave us alone.”

So…..No…..neither high school or college was a major Sign Post in my life….nothing life-changing about either one of them.

 

 

 

The first major intersection I encountered in my life……a Sign Post that pointed me in a way that would become my life was the decision to enter the field of education: to become a teacher. (But….I suppose my college education had something to with that.)

It is a little too late in life to debate the merits of my choice. It’s all in the past. It is a done deal. I can’t turn around and go back how. I’ve already been down that road…..and it was a one-way road. It’s like any other journey. After it is over…..you are back home….and the car is in the garage….you can say, “I should have gone here…..or there. I should have done this….or that.” Of course, you COULD have….but you didn’t. And, as long as you enjoyed your journey…..as long as you completed the journey safely…..as long as your “snap shots” turned out OK….. Why worry about it?

And, believe me….I have had these second thoughts…..plenty of times. I probably should have stayed in the Army; I could have kept working somewhere overseas; I could have been a travel writer; I could have been quarterback for the Denver Broncos; I could have been the organist at the Mormon Tabernacle (if they would actually let a United Methodist be the organist).

When I was in high school and college, teaching was the only profession that I ever seriously considered, although I would have been just as happy back in those days if I could have continued to work for Dillons. I loved my job….sacking groceries, stocking shelves, running the cash register, trimming produce…..all of the mundane little tasks that were associated with working in a small grocery store. I loved my job back then….but I am not sure I would want to go back and do it now. Of course, “back then”, I didn’t know anything else. I knew practically everybody in Sterling…..and what kind of car they drove. It was a comfortable and familiar situation.

Of course, Dillons didn’t pay my way through college just so I could work in one of their stores for the rest of my life. Not “back then” anyways….. And, the district supervisor…whose name was Duke….who came to our store about once a week more or less…. let my boss know this. District supervisors dealt only with the manager…..not us commoners. I saw the handwriting on the wall, as they say…..and I began to look for a teaching job.

The first job I interviewed for was a job in a one room school house somewhere out in Western Kansas. I have even forgotten where it was now…..or even what they offered as a salary. But…..it was out in the country, of course. The school was on the upper or main floor…..and I would be living in the basement, as a sort of caretaker, janitor, whatever you want to call it. This did not seem very appealing to me…..and I didn’t accept the job.

A job which I accepted was at a little two room school north of Lyons….Fairplay School. I taught grades 5 – 8….everything except music. And, I was also the softball coach, the basketball coach and the track coach. We didn’t have a gym…..but we did have an outdoor asphalt slab with two basketball hoops….and that was our “gym”. We did have a softball diamond….and even a backstop. Since there were only twelve students in the entire school, 1 – 8, everybody played on the team. They had to or there wouldn’t have been a team.

Fearing…..and realistically fearing…..that I would be drafted that summer, I did not sign a contract to return for the next school year. It was getting late in the summer….and still no draft notice. Wow….I had better start looking for another job. I accepted a job as 7th and 8th grade teacher at Prosperity School, just north of Hutchinson on Plum Street. This job was pretty much like the job I had at Fairplay School, except I was teaching only 7th and 8th grades. I still taught all the classes except music; still coached softball, basketball and track….without a gym.

 

Sometime during the year, I received a draft notice. I appealed it…but assuming that it would probably do no good. Somehow I had the feeling that the clerk of the Selective Service Board in Rice County…..a Mrs. Zima….was determined that I would be the one and only guy drafted from Rice County. However, I was granted a deferment for the remainder of the school year. So at least for that year, I did not have the draft breathing down my back.

Again, summer came…..and no draft notice. “Maybe I got lucky and they gave up on me,” I thought. I went ahead and signed a contract to teach the following school year. So far….so good. But sometime in the autumn of that year, the inevitable happened. Why did I think I should be so lucky? This time, I knew there was no point contesting the obvious…..I was about to become a member of the U.S. Army. I was instructed to report to the Induction Station in Kansas City on December 11, 1962. And, on December 12, I was officially inducted into the U. S. Army.

Upon my release from the Army three years later…..on December 12, l965…..I was faced with looking for another job…..in the middle of the year. And, you know what? There are not a lot of teaching jobs available in the middle of the year….at least, not a lot of desirable ones. I interviewed for a job in Chicago…..a job which would have placed me in a school in an inner-city slum. As a small-town boy, that was not exactly what I was looking for. I found another teaching opportunity in Kansas City, Missouri….in George Caleb Bingham Junior High School…..and experimental school. I accepted a position as a Core Curriculum teacher in grade 8. Core Curriculum is another name for language arts and social studies.

I stayed there for one semester…..and that was enough. Enough both of the school and the city. All of the instruction centered around large group instruction using only audio-visual methods: film strips, slides, movies, overhead projector, guest speakers…..anything and everything except actual books. It was interesting….but I wanted a class of my own…..a class that I could become to know and identify with and work with and enjoy and appreciate. So….at the end of the semester, I started looking for another job……again.

At that time, the only college I had attended was Sterling College. That is probably not the college where all the schools of the Mid-West….or even Kansas…..rush to list their job vacancies. But, at the time, it was the best I could do. When I got my first job vacancy bulletin….and keep in mind, this was probably not the most comprehensive list…I saw a job available in Valley Falls. I didn’t have a clue where Valley Falls was located. I had never heard of it before. However, I looked it up on a Kansas map and found that it was actually quite near Kansas City. “Ah ha,” I thought. “I could stop there for an interview on my way home to Lyons some weekend.” So…..I asked for an application form….filled it out….mailed it in. A couple days later, I had an appointment for an interview on a Saturday morning.

Because it was easier to follow the highways, I took the long route….I-70 to Topeka and then K-4 to Valley Falls. I found the school quickly…..it is actually hard to miss. But, my interview was at the house of the Superintendent of Schools…..a block west of the school. It was still rather early in the morning, but the Superintendent, Dr. Ted Jones, offered me a glass of water…..and then asked if I would like to go look at the school. “Yes, of course,” I said. The new gym (It is now the OLD gym) was under construction….as well as the library, lunch room, music department…..etc. We looked through the existing building….and then Ted (I call him that because we quickly became friends.) gave me a tour of the “under construction” part of the building. All of the time we were walking, he was telling me all the good things about Valley Falls….all the advantages of teaching at USD 338. He was selling me the job! This was back in the days when there was an authentic teacher shortage. And, later on, I would come to see just how desperate they were to find teachers! (Oh well….I am sure they probably thought the same thing about me!)

At the end of the tour, he asked, “Well, can I have Betty send you a contract to sign?”

Actually, I don’t think I to stopped and think about it. Now I could relax. “I had a job. Now, I don’t have to look any more.” It happened just that quickly…..without a second thought.

I continued on to Lyons. At the time my mother lived next door to my aunt and uncle (her brother). When I arrived, they were all sitting in the backyard of my uncle’s house. I announced happily, “I got a new job!

“Where?” my aunt asked.

“In Valley Falls.” I told them.

She looked at me skeptically and said, “There is no such place as Valley Falls.”
Apparently, she had ever heard of it either.

I convinced them that I actually had a new job…..and that I was leaving Kansas City.

This was probably one of the times I did not even stop to read the Sign Posts….let alone consider their consequences. I went careening down the road…..never looking back.

Did I make a mistake? Did I make a stupid choice? Should I have looked at several jobs before I accepted the job?

I don’t know. I have asked myself that question at least a thousand times over the past four decades.

Of course, these are questions that will forever remain unanswered.

Let me start with the negative side. When writing something like this, I am aware that I have to be very careful what I say. I realize that even little things can turn into big things…..a molehill can become a mountain if you keep piling on enough dirt.

When I first arrived, I immediately liked the three or four colleagues that I met that summer. I rode to Lawrence to the University of Kansas every day with the high school principal and the P. E. teacher. They became two of my closest friends that year. Our grade school principal was top notch….calm, knowledgeable, in quiet control. Our superintendent of schools was one of the best administrators I ever worked for…..always willing to help and to give advice. He had a remarkable grasp of how schools should work….of how to assemble a budget that would please the school board, the public….and the teachers. But….teachers always came first. My fellow social studies teacher, who lived in the same house as I did, was smart, friendly, well liked by the students….and always ready to offer a helping hand when I needed it. And……it probably helped that all of these people were avid K. U. fans!

I was hired to each two classes of United States History at the high school level….and the remainder of the classes teaching social studies and English in the junior high school

It didn’t take long before it was clearly evident that not all the teachers were dedicated to teaching…..or even competent to be teaching young people. Many classes were simply chaos. In one of the coach’s classroom….across the hallway from mine…..it was a common sight to see students sitting on his desk as they discussed the sport he was coaching. The rest of them were doing pretty much as they pleased. The hallways were always noisy….even during class time. Many teachers seemed to have little or no control over their classes.

Back in those days, Valley Falls was known (and not in a good sense) as the “basketball school”. Or maybe simply as a “sports school”. It was no secret that athletics came first…..even to perhaps bending the rules in order to pass football and basketball players who would probably otherwise be ineligible.

It was very common that when I attended meetings, conferences, etc…..other teachers would ask where I taught. I would say, “Valley Falls.” Almost invariably they would give each other knowing looks and smile (or snicker). It seemed that most of the boys looked upon themselves as being little “Michael Jordans”. Yeah….they were basketball stars. Funny, that in my almost four decades of association with the school district that only ONE student ever played on a major college team. I can count probably a dozen of our “star jocks” who went to smaller colleges or community colleges…..and more or less bombed out.

At the end of the school year three teachers were fired: Two who should have been. But one.….my good friend, the P.E. teacher and J.V. Basketball coach…..was fired because he did not….would not…..give one of the school board member’s son enough playing time…..even though he was an outstanding teacher and well liked by the students and faculty. In protest, the high school principal and the elementary principal resigned.

Both outgoing principals urged me to resign….to get out while I could….to go somewhere else. But, this was my first full time job after coming back from South Vietnam, and I was hesitant. I needed to built my resume. So….against my better judgment…..I stayed.

There were only two times that I can remember that I made serious efforts to find another job. On one occasion, I applied for a position as counselor in a high school somewhere south of here. I really don’t recall the name of the school. They offered me a job as high school counselor……but: I would have to take a pay cut….and I didn’t feel that I could afford to make less money than I was already earning. That was back in the days when teachers were hired according to a salary schedule: a chart or graph on which the vertical axis was the number of years in the district; and the horizontal axis was the amount of education the teacher had acquired. Where ever these two points met…..then that was your salary. And most school districts would only allow incoming teachers to start at a predetermined spot on the graph. The reason for this was, of course, to keep salary costs down…..and usually to find beginning teachers who could be paid a lower salary. As fate would have it, my present

salary was quite a bit above the salary they would offer an incoming teacher. So…..I didn’t accept the job.

The only other job I applied for….and was offered…..was a position as counselor, vice principal and transportation director (and maybe the official dog catcher, too) of a small….but very wealthy…..school district in southwest Kansas. The school was rich with natural gas revenue…..and was apparently much better off than many other school districts of its size. It was very isolated from…..well, everything. It was actually closer to drive to Wichita Fall, Texas, that it was to drive to Wichita, Kansas! But, I would have…..and could have…..endured it for two or three years. It would have been a great place to gain some experience…..in counseling, in administration…..and in being a transportation director, whatever that entailed!

The old superintendent of schools showed me around. And….he was old! Could have been one hundred, for all I know. This little town was the only town he had ever taught in…..forty or forty-five years. Two things in particular stand out in my mind about the trip. One: Once I reached a certain point in southwest Kansas, EVERYBODY I met on the highway waved at me. This was back when the “wave” was to simply raise a finger or two off the steering wheel. Friendly people, I guess…..or lonely. The second thing: The superintendent said they still regularly used corporal punishment in their school system: Not only in the elementary school, but also in the high school! I asked him specifically if I would be expected to spank high school kids. “Yes,” he said.

“What do the parents say about this?” I asked.

“They are perfectly fine with it.”

WOW!

Anyways, he offered me the job……and told me how much money I would be making. It was considerably more than I was making in Valley Falls…..enough at least, to accept the job. Before I left, he said he would check with the school board members over the weekend……and I should give him a call on Monday.

I drove back to Lyons to my mother’s house to spend the night. Of course, I told everybody that I had a new job…..as an assistant principal! They were all delighted, and were full of congratulations to me.

On Monday afternoon, during my break, I called the superintendent, as I told him I would. Well, he said. The school board was OK with him hiring me…..but they were willing to pay much less than the amount he had told me…..actually, not much more than I was making at current job as a sixth grade teacher. I was shocked, to say the least. I really didn’t know how to respond.

Looking back, I suspect that it was probably a sort of “set up”…..a sort of “bait and switch” operation…..although, of course, I don’t know that as a fact. I can imagine they thought they had a real sucker! A guy who wanted to be an administrator so badly that I would accept anything they offered. Well…..I didn’t take the bait. I told the superintendent that I was no longer interested…..and hung up. I hadn’t told anybody at the school that I was applying for another job……but I did have to explain to everybody back home that…..No, I wasn’t going to be a principal, after all.

So……I ended up spending thirty-four years working in the Valley Falls school district.

Who knows what would have happened if I had left and taken another job in the field of education. Could I have achieved more? Had a more important position? Made more money?

And, even more important…..to me, at least…..what would have happened if I had followed a Sign Post marked Army? Or writer? Or foreign aid worker? Or Peace Corps volunteer? Or political science? Or park ranger?

Would I have had a more satisfying life? A more exciting life? A more fulfilling life?
Would I have made more money? Met more exciting challenges? Made a greater contribution to society?

Working in the public school…..at least, back when I was working….can be compared to making a long trip. Once you reach a certain point, it just doesn’t make any sense to turn around and go back. You are too far from your starting point…..closer to your destination….whatever that may be.

In the case of working in a public school, it all has to do with that salary schedule I talked about. Is it worth it to change jobs….to turn around and go back….and lose a great deal of salary….and have to start from the beginning again? Or is it better to simply keep going…..and hope for the best?

But….wait!

Here I am, at the end of the road…..still in Valley Falls. And, as I look back, it wasn’t all bad. Please don’t get the impression that it was a miserable journey….the kind where you end up in a miserable motel room with no hot water and dirty sheets!

The fact is: a lot of it has been a great experience. I think I was a reasonably good teacher and had the respect of most of my students and parents. Today, a lot of my good friends are my former students. We enjoy being with each other and carrying on a conversation as equals. It is rather strange: back in 1969, when I first arrived, these people were kids……eighteen years, at the oldest. I was thirty-two…..and at that point in my life, that was an eternity. I wasn’t old enough to be their parent…..but I was certainly old enough to be their youngest uncle! Today, these same students I taught as juniors and seniors in high school are sixty-two years old! It boggles my mind. Most of them have overcome the habit of calling me “Mr. Darrah” and simply call me by my first name. And, I like that. When we talk with each other….we have forty-five years of shared experience…..forty-five years of memories. And, another startling fact is…..to me at least…..is that I taught many of their grandchildren. Well, if I didn’t teach them, I came into contact with them when I was counselor.

Valley Falls is where I built my first….only only….house: a place where I have lived for the past forty years. Valley Falls is the place where I had the privilege of building a summer track program and coaching Junior Olympic athletes for many years. Some of the kids were very good and won medals. Some just had the fun of working hard, trying and participating. To me, all of them were equally important.

Aside from teaching, I am sure I was, at one time or another, the chairman of every committee ever formed in the Valley Falls school system. I got to do a lot of interesting things…..and meet a lot of fascinating people.

Upon my retirement, I was elected to the school board for a four year term….beating out my opponent by a 3-1 margin.

So…..Yes…..I would have to say that Valley Falls was good to me. And, I would like to think that I was also good to them. There is no point speculating on “what might have been”. I look back with many happy memories….a lot of good friends….and a sense that I also might have made a little contribution to the community.

The next life-changing junction in the road of life was a Sign Post that, at the time, I would have preferred to ignore. Actually, I did not want to take a journey down the road……but all the other roads were blocked. And….the were blocked by big army tanks……and probably a drill sergeant screaming, “Take that road…..and drop and give me ten!”

Yeah…..the only Sign Post I could follow….the only road open to me…..was the road to the United States Army. I resigned my teaching job…..the students and parents threw a party for me…..and I headed to Kansas City. On December 12, l962, I was inducted into the good old Army. I received a draft notice….and this time there was no getting out of it.

Soldiers who were drafted had two year active duty obligation….plus some reserve duty. Soldier who enlisted were required to serve for three years…..with a some reserve duty.

Back then I was very naïve….I knew very little about the military and how it works. Before we took the oath to be a solider, they gave us a little speech telling us that if we chose to enlist for three years, we could choose from all these wonderful and exciting career options…..in other words, choose our MOS…..Military Occupational Specialty.
I was an innocent, unsophisticated country boy…..or maybe I simply wanted to believe them. Anyway, I chose to enlist. It was first of many lessons I would learn in the Army. Sure…..they told us that we could CHOOSE any MOS we wanted. They just didn’t bother to tell us that this meant nothing! They would….and could….put us anywhere they wanted. I wish I had had my attorney with me!

My Army experience was sort of like eating spinach or Brussel sprouts. At first sight and first taste, they don’t taste so good. Get them out of here. But, the more you eat them….the better you like them. In fact, after a while, they taste pretty good. This, in a way, can describe my three years in the Army.

This was the first time I had been away from home for any length of time. I had gone to visit my sisters or other relatives…..or college friends…..or I had taken a trip with friends. But, I always knew that I would be going back home in a week or two. And….I liked the people I was with. And, I more or less knew what to expect.
And, during my four years in college, I had lived at home…..so I had no experience with “communal living”. The first night I slept in the Army Induction Station in Kansas City was a rather intimidating experience. Take my word for it….it was not a Five Star Hilton Hotel. No friendly, accommodating front desk clerk; no chocolate on my pillow; no TV to watch; no recliner to relax in. Hey…..is this any way to welcome a guy who is going to defend our country for the next three years? No…..our sleeping quarters was a cavernous room with maybe fifty or one hundred beds in it…..I didn’t think to count them. There was a bed on the left….a bed ton the right….a bed in front….a bed behind. I can imagine that a few of the guys actually wanted to be there……but I also suspect that the vast majority of us did not want to be there.

Nothing really changed when we were shipped out to our basic training posts. In our case, I think most of us ended up at Ft. Leonard Wood, Missouri….in the middle of the winter. Our barracks were old wooden, two story frame buildings…..probably left over from the Civil War…..or something earlier. Each building housed the platoon we were assigned to. There were absolutely NO interior walls in the building….except the basic walls to hold up the roof and to separate the sleeping area from the shower area. Even in the shower room there were no walls or divisions. Everything was an open area. Privacy? There was no privacy.

Everybody had a “bunk mate”…..one on the top bunk and one on the lower bunk. We were responsible for each other…..making certain our bunk was made to specification each morning; making sure our foot locker was arranged in precise order; making sure our clothing in the wardrobe locker was hung in an explicit manner. If one of got into trouble….we both got into trouble. Well….let me assure you: I had no desire to get into trouble! I followed their silly regulations to the letter! My bunk mate….well, let’s just say that he was not so concerned. I really don’t think the problem was his lack of concern as much as it was his lack of competence….or his failure to grasp exactly how the Army wanted this to be done. He tried….I think he really did. But, he was sort of like the kindergarten kids I taught: Give them a picture to color….explain to them carefully that you want them to “stay in the lines” when they color. When they finish, they bring their picture up to you…..so proud of it! But….is was terrible! At any rate, I managed to keep the poor kid out of trouble most of the time. He was such a nice kid….good natured….easy to get along with. It was almost impossible to get angry with him. Looking back, I wish I had done a better job keeping in contact with him.

But, in retrospect, it is easy for me to see that the Army was training us…conditioning us….to always look out for our buddy. It could, I suppose, potentially mean the difference between life and death in a combat situation.

It was not until after I completed both phases of my basic training….after I received my permanent assignment….that I was assigned a room of my own.

Although at the time, I did not consider this to be my ideal living arrangement…..as I reflect on it, I can understand the Army’s motive. They were trying to build a cohesive unit….one that would function as a solid team in case of war. “All for one….one for all”….or however that cliché goes.

In my own case, this was the first time that I had to really “grow up”. It was the first time I had truly been by myself without some sort of support unit to fall back on. It was the first time I had to totally rely on my own instincts and judgment…..or depend on the judgment and support of my fellow soldiers.

It was in the Army…..and especially in basic training….that I was first exposed to a literal melting pot of humanity: rich and poor; white, black and yellow; educated and uneducated; high school drop outs and those with college degrees; city boys and country boys; boys from the North, from the South, from the West and from the Midwest; the smart and the not so smart; the shy and the extroverts. We were all lumped together into one group….and everyone with the same responsibilities and the same opportunities.

It was a dramatic awakening for me. This was the first time I had ever been exposed close up to black people; the first time in my life that I ever met a Jew; the first time I had ever been exposed to a New England drawl or a deep South accent; the first time I had ever met somebody from a ghetto. Not only was it an awakening…..but it was a very valuable lesson in tolerance and awareness that would serve me well later on in life.

If I followed orders….if I did what I was told to do…..if I did my job to the best of my ability….I quickly found out that the sergeants would leave me alone….not give me “special attention”. I also learned…..Always look busy! Act like I am doing something….and do it earnestly….and the sergeants would leave me alone.

Also, I discovered…..and I don’t know why this surprised me….that my education was a valuable asset when the Army starting assigning permanent jobs…..at least, it was in my case. At Ft. Benjamin Harrison (Indianapolis) I went through the basic Army administration school…..training to be a company clerk. Every company has a clerk….whether it be in a suburban Army post like Ft. Benjamin Harrison…..or a jungle outpost in South Vietnam.

When I finished the course, it was time to receive orders for our permanent assignment. Most of the guys in my class were being shipped to South Korea, West Germany…..or South Vietnam. Any of those place….except for South Vietnam….would have been an acceptable place to be transferred, I suppose. But….the powers that be noticed that I had a college degree…..and that I had taught school for a couple years. They pulled me out of the regular assignments and kept me at Ft. Benjamin Harrison as the administrative assistant to the Commander of Troops…..not a bad assignment.

Even after I received orders to serve in South Vietnam, I had the same experience. My original orders were to report to an Army base in the southern delta region of the country. But…again….the people in the personnel office saw that I had graduated from college….that I had taught school…and that I had been administrative assistant to a commander. So….my orders were changed. I was permanently assigned to the Headquarters of the U.S. Army in Vietnam as the secretary to the Adjutant General. And, that my friends….was a lucky surprise! And, I might say…..a very welcome surprise.

However, I quickly learned that I could…and would…succeed by doing the best job I could possibly do: To take care of my boss….to make him look good. His reward was was that he looked good to his superiors (and Yes, generals have superiors, too.) and he also looked good and gained the respect of all those under his command. It made him look more competent, skilled and authoritative….more worthy of their respect. And….I was rewarded generously for it. At Ft. Benjamin Harrison I was placed on the board of directors of the Indianapolis Service Men’s Center, our local USO organization. I was sent to the Indianapolis airport to escort important military visitors to the post. I was invited to the commander’s house for dinner. I was highly encouraged to date my sergeant-major’s daughter….although I never took advantage of the offer. In South Vietnam, I was never on guard duty, because my boss wanted me on-call twenty-four hours a day. That plus the fact, that we…the commander, the sergeant-major, myself….would sit and just visit in the closing minutes of the day when our work had been completed. At times, I felt more like their friend that I did their subordinate. And, they both acted as sort of a father-figure to me.

Even though all these lessons were important and lasting, probably the most important change the Army made in my life was that it instilled in me the love of travel….to see and live in other places. Just like the Navy nurse from my graduating class, I would never be content to simply move back to Sterling and live out my life and be one of the local yokels. As I said in an earlier blog…..while in South Vietnam, I caught the “travel bug.”

I returned home after my enlistment was completed…..and was immediately restless. I wanted to go back to South Vietnam….or to Hong Kong…..or to Tokyo…..just any place. The “travel bug” had become chronic…..and I have never succeeded in curing it.

This was one Sign Post I was forced to follow…..and it was a road to enlightenment, awakening, awareness and satisfaction that I will never regret taking.

An unexpected Sign Post presented itself one afternoon in July back in 1992. It was a fork in the road that took me by surprise. I found myself in a place where I did not expect to be. I had never seen this road before…..and I certainly never thought I would find myself staring at a sign post wondering, “Should I go down this curious new road…..or had I best just let well enough alone and stay on the road I am familiar and comfortable with?”

I looked down that road marked “Exchange Students Blvd.” and tried to imagine what it would be like. Was it a straight, wide, smooth road? Or would it be a rough and bumpy road filled with holes? Just over the horizon, would it take some weird, unexpected turn? Or would it take me somewhere I didn’t want to be…and leave me stranded there.

After pondering these questions for an uncharacteristic short time….at least, for me…..I made the decision to plunge forward….and see where the road would eventually lead. And…..I am glad I did! It was an exciting road….full of adventure and intrigue and drama. There was never a dull moment…..and the journey passed by so quickly. Even after the journey had ended, I was motivated to take other shorter…but no less interesting….trips. And, they continue to this day.

Over the years from 1992 through 2001, I hosted nine foreign students. Two them simply didn’t work out…..and they were gone quickly…..and relatively painlessly. The other eight brought a degree of satisfaction and fulfillment into my life that greatly overshadowed any negative issues I had to deal with. These seven young men became the sons I never had…..who eventually gave me the grandchildren I will never have.

These students…..six Germans and one Chinese….brought adventure and satisfaction and cheer into my life and gave me a sense of responsibility that I had not had before this time. I formed lasting friendships not only with them…..but also their families….their parents, their siblings, their wives….and now their children.

One of the great aspects of opening my home to foreign students for ten months, was that no two of them were the same…..different personalities, different temperaments, different identities, different egos, different backgrounds, different family histories….. Each one of them was a unique individual…..and remain so today. I always looked forward to meeting each of my new students…..and I always hated to see them leave.

Much has been said about fostering international understanding. Previously, this was a rather remote and abstract concept…..words that looked good on paper, at least. Through my involvement with my foreign students, this concept transformed from the abstract to reality.

These students….the Germans in particular….opened a new avenue of travel to me. It introduced me to a new and fascinating world……the continent of Europe…..and especially the country of Germany…..and more specifically, the city of Berlin. Over the years, I have traveled through eleven different European countries……each of them with its individual charming and intriguing characteristics, identities and ways of life. I have walked down the Champs Elysee in Paris; seem the Little Mermaid in the harbor of Copenhagen; sat through an opera at the Vienna Opera House; driven through the snowy peaks of the Alps Mountains, walked along the Danube River and browsed through the Rembrandt Museum in Amsterdam…..among other things.

The visits to any….and each….country in Europe are delightful and compelling. But….it is always Germany that has the magnetic attraction to draw me back time after time. And….and again….more specifically to the city of Berlin. When I add up the total time I have spent in Berlin, I find that I have spent more than one year of my life in that city. It probably is not an exaggeration that I know Berlin better than any other city in the world…..except for Topeka, Kansas.

There have been at least two other opportunities for exciting travel. I turned them both down…..and I am still kicking myself for it. My old boss, who was promoted to be military attache to Turkey, asked me to be his assistant near the end of my enlistment. At that time, I just plain did not see the advantages of it like I see them today. You know the old cliché: Hindsight is always 20/20. Well….I wish I had had my glasses on the day I told him that I was going to go ahead and get out of the Army. Shortly after I arrived back in Sterling after leaving the Army, the United Presbyterian Church extended an invitation to teach English in Ethiopia. At the time, that seemed to me to be highly undesirable…..given the unrest and unstable governments in that area. But, I have never been to Africa…..and I have always wanted to go to Africa. This would have been a good opportunity to do this.

After I got home from South Vietnam in 1969, after working for the International Voluntary Services, my dream was to start a private English language school in Hong Kong. I even wrote letters to the Ministry of Education….and to my Congressman….and probably some other people, too…. Nobody was adverse to the idea…..but I was amazed at the unbelievable sea of red tape which was required. That…..and the staggering amount of money it would take. Wow….it seemed like it would take “All the Gold in California”. So….you guessed it! I ended up in Valley Falls.

I realize that not everybody wants to travel….and not everybody can afford to travel…. cannot afford it in regards to both time and money. I was lucky. Teachers only work with a contract of nine months a year. However, we have the option to divide our salary into twelve equal payments so it will make it easier for us to live in the summer. (NO….we do not have a three months paid vacation….free and charged to the tax payers! Anybody who thinks that needs to become a teacher…..and find out first hand!)

During the summer, teachers have a couple choices, I suppose: become temporarily “unemployed” until the school year begins in late summer……or they can get a summer job to supplement their meager income from teaching. Many of those with families to support, of course, look for a summer job. I spent most of my summers coaching Junior Olympics….and traveling. With some discipline and some sacrifice, I was usually able to save enough money for one basic major trip….i.e. Camping….where ever I traveled.

My usual destination of choice was usually the Oregon Coast. The spectacular, breathtakingly beautiful Oregon Coast. I did this until I had my first exchange student. Once I made my first, wonderful trip to Germany….I never looked back. Europe was the place to go. Yes….I still travel within the U.S.A…..but my eyes are always set on Europe.

Throughout my life, I have traveled thru twenty-three countries of the world. No two of the countries are the same. And, in each of them I think I grew as a person, expanded my horizons, became more aware of, and learned to appreciate, different cultures and different ways of living. And, maybe, most important, I have come to the realization that people everywhere are basically the same. To type-cast or stereotype people is almost always inaccurate.

So….Yes: Choosing to following the road marked “Exchange Students” was one of my better choices. It has enriched and enhanced my life…..not only by their presence in my life, but also through the by-product of fulfilling my love of travel.

And, I would be negligent if I did not also mention the twenty or twenty-five other short term foreign guests who have shared my home in the years following my retirement. They also have played an important part in this story.

So…..there you have it. A sort of road map to the directions I have taken in my life. So….what do you think? Quite frankly, I think I did a pretty good job of deciding which road to travel. I am pretty good at reading Sign Posts. I don’t even use a GPS. But, actually, I don’t think I need one. Chances are….it would have always routed me to the easiest, quickest, dullest, most uninspired route. It is so much better to simply throw the map away……and rely on your own instinct  for your life’s journey.

 

                 

 

     

 

 

E

 

 

 

 

 

Every day  of the year there are events taking place that are going to change the lives of individuals, of families, of nations….of the world.Some of these events will be noticed by a single individual or a single family or perhaps a single community. But, other events will affect the lives of nations or even the world. They may end up in history books because they have changed the course of history.

Unless you were born only yesterday, you have probably experienced such an event. If you haven’t…..you soon will. It will be an incident or a development from which other events in your life will be measured. If not this, at least it will be one of those “Where were you when……?” type of event. You may not recognize these incidents immediately. It may be months, if not years, before you will….or can….recognize how important they are….and what a profound effect they had on your life. In one’s personal life, these events may be very happy and positive kinds of experiences…such as a marriage, the birth of a child, or….in very happy circumstances….winning the lottery. Or, on the other end of the spectrum, they could be very sad events: a death, loss of a job, a devastating accident…..

It seems that on the national level or the international level, many of these milestone are serious and often negative events….although this not always true, fortunately.

In my own personal life, we can rule out marriages….or divorces. And, insofar as I am aware, we can also rule out any children. (Now that definitely would be a life-changing circumstance for me.)

The life-changing milestones in my life can be divided into some personal landmarks….and also historical landmarks. And, since this is my story….let me tell you about four of them. In this blog, I will talk about the historical landmarks.

There are many people who are convinced that my list of important life references begins either when I accompanied Moses in parting the Red Sea…..or when I was with Noah in the Ark. But…sorry, I can’t lay claim to either of those events…as important as they were.

 

 

Without a doubt, the earliest landmark which took place in my early life was the bombing of Pearl Harbor by the Japanese…..and our subsequent entrance into World War II. Yes…..it took place….but I was a little too young to remember it. I was only three years old at the time that happened. The War ended in 1945, and that is my first recollection of a landmark event in my life. And…..I have to admit, those are only fuzzy, blurred recollections.

I have definite…..but again vague and indistinct….memories of my parents and my aunt and uncle…..my dad’s brother and his wife….sitting in our front room listening to the radio. Even at my young age, I knew by the serious expressions on their faces, that whatever they were listening to was heavy stuff. There was no laughing or joking. In fact, I recall very little conversation….and whatever conversation they engaged were in was somber. I was too young to ask what they were talking about, and I don’t remember them ever explaining to us kids what was happening. It is entirely possible….even probable….they did….but I don’t remember it.

I knew we were going through some tense times. There were “blackout” nights, when ALL lights had to be tuned out….or windows thoroughly covered to block any and all light. No longer do I recall how long these “drills” lasted….but I do remember sitting in complete darkness for a period of time….probably wondering why all this was happening. I vaguely remember that on other occasions, Mother covered our windows with heavy blankets…..while we sat with only a kerosene lantern as light.

Even as a kid, I knew this was not fun and games….that something grim and somber was taking place. I also remember rationing….rationing of food, of gasoline, of rubber. Each family was issued monthly “rationing” books….with little coupons which were required in order to purchase certain items. When the allotment of coupons was used up…..then we were unable to buy any more of that product until the next allotment booklet was issued. I still have some old allotment booklets with a few unused coupons in each of them.

In those war time days, we saved all of our “tin cans” and took them to a central collection point. These cans were lined with tin….I suppose. At any rate, they were melted down to recover the precious metal that would be used in the manufacture of war machinery. American families were also encouraged to plant “victory gardens”….to grow as much of our own food as possible, so that the bulk of commercially grown food could be used in to feed our soldiers fighting in Europe and Asia. Of course, we were already growing a garden…..a big garden. And, this was probably used as a motivating factor to make working in our garden less of a burden.

There were many other measures taken….things that I was probably unaware of at the time…..to ensure that there would be adequate resources to carry on the war effort. But, the restrictions and strictures applied to everybody…..so, to be sure, everybody was involved in supporting our campaign against the Nazis and the Axis powers.

Living in a rural area, my life was a rather simple, uncomplicated life. When we were not working in our garden….”victory garden”…. or doing other chores around the farm, we were undoubtedly playing with kids from neighboring properties. Along with the inevitable cowboys and Indians….more specifically Roy Rogers and Dale Evans or Gene Autry…..or baseball….or touch football…..or hide and seek……We were playing “War”….with the “Japs” and the “Krauts” being the bad guys. Of course, we older kids always ended up playing the good guys….while the younger kids were relegated to playing the bad guys. And, of course, the good guys….the Americans….always won.

That brings me to the first landmark event in my life that I actually remember….at least, sort of: The end of World War II….May 8, 1945…..more specifically the defeat of Hitler and Nazi Germany. After the official announcement was made over the radio, almost everybody took to the streets….or even the country roads….to celebrate. I can remember that my parents and our neighbors were all outside…..talking and laughing.

Even though we lived just outside of town, we were still able to hear the city siren which was sounded every day at noon…..and when there was a fire. And, we could hear the deep, coal-fired whistles of both the salt mines which blew to announce the beginning and end of the work day. These whistles…..both the siren and those of the salt plants…..not only blew once, but they sounded over and over and over. I do not recall how long we could actually here them….but it was certainly long enough for anybody to know that a celebration was taking place…..and that something indeed momentous had happened.

Parades and celebrations were held everywhere…..in every village and every large city. And, Lyons was no exception. A day or two after the end of the war, we went to watch one of the most joyous parades I had seen up to that time (I was only seven years old!)…..maybe even since then. It was a typical small town event. Every fire truck, every police car, tractors, horses, bicycles, tricycles…..the high school band….already discharged veterans…..pets…..and almost everybody and anything that wanted to participate joined in the festivities….all decked out in red, white and blue…..to a background of honking automobile horns, police and fire truck sirens, patriotic music, fireworks and the general raucous merriment of the crowd. Even as a seven year old boy, I was caught up in the excitement and filled with pride and excitement.

For succeeding decades, all time and events were referred to as happening “Before the War”….or “After the War”.

 

 

The next truly landmark event which has taken place in my lifetime was the assassination of President John K. Kennedy…J.F.K.

As the administration of President Dwight D. Eisenhower was coming to an end, the campaigns to choose the candidates to be the next President of the USA in 1960 had started in earnest. Richard Nixon was no doubt the obvious choice of the Republican Party, since he had served as Vice President for both terms under Eisenhower. Even though as far back as then, he had already displayed questionable ethical and character weaknesses. Nobody seriously contested his nomination, and he was ultimately selected to be the Republican nominee for President.

The Democratic Party had been out of power for a long eight years, largely because there was really nobody to nominate who could come close to defeating the hugely popular Eisenhower. Even though his administration was largely a hands-off, do-nothing government with few accomplishments to boast about, Eisenhower’s success in the recent victory defeating the Nazis in World War II and his stint as Commander of the NATO forces had consolidated his niche in the annals of history. And….not to mention the famous, but largely deceptive and forged “Eisenhower smile”. Having no political affiliation prior to becoming a civilian after his military career, both the Republican and Democratic parties strongly courted his favor. Ultimately, he declared himself to be a Republican….which was probably an appropriate choice for him, given his style of governing.

Adlai Stevenson, a Democratic liberal, a former governor of Illinois, was chosen by the Democratic Party to run against Eisenhower not only in 1952, but also in 1956. He was convincingly defeated both times.

He would have dearly loved to have run again in 1960….but it was not to be. The Democratic Party chose John F. Kennedy as its nominee to oppose Richard Nixon.

John Kennedy had a lot going for him. He was a pseudo war hero, his exploits having been glamorized in a ghost-written autobiography….and another heavily “edited” senior thesis from Harvard University…..where he was at best a mediocre student. He was handsome; he had a winning, outgoing personality. His older brother, Joe, was slated by his family to be the “family politician”. But Joe was killed in the War…..and thus the mantle was passed to John Kennedy.

John Kennedy possessed all of the previous qualities….but most of all he had money…lots of money. Not his money…..but the money of his ultra-rich father. And, he had organization. His large family of brothers and sisters, along with an assortment of his ambitious college and navy friends, rallied to form a support organization that made his name and face a familiar household presence.

The margin of victory in the election was razor thin….one of the closest of any presidential election….around 100,000 votes out of a total of sixty-eight and a half million votes cast…..one tenth of one percent. Kennedy did not win by a landslide vote as some popular Kennedy “mystique” would have people believe. There were questions of serious voter fraud….especially in Illinois, where it was alleged that his father has bought votes.

In one of his rare displays of statesmanship, Richard Nixon chose not to contest the election and conceded defeat…..and the triumph of John Kennedy.

This was the first election in which I was old enough to vote….and the only presidential election in which I voted for the Republican candidate….probably as a result of the lingering influence of my parents. Looking back….and knowing what I know about both men now…..I would probably have voted for a third party candidate….who matter who they represented.

The “thousand days” that Kennedy was president was characterized largely by glamor and “style” rather than substance. But, that is a story for another day.

I was teaching school in a two room school when Kennedy was elected…..my first teaching job. After moving to another school the following year and teaching there for a year and a half, I joined the Army…..under the inevitable consequence of being drafted if I didn’t.

After completing four months of basic training and advanced training as an administrative specialist, I was assigned to the office of the Commander of Troops at Ft. Benjamin Harrison, Indiana, as his administrative assistant….or secretary.

It was a great job…..after overcoming my initial “breaking-in” period, when I struggled to learn my job…..and more important, in which I waited for my boss to gain confidence in me and to trust me. It was a happy place to work. I looked forward to going to work each morning…..although all I had to do was walk down a flight of stairs to my office. The sergeant-major, who was my immediate supervisor, spent a great deal of his day trying to get me interested in dating his daughter. It wasn’t that I was particularly opposed to it; it was just that I didn’t have any means of transportation….except the bus that went from the army base into Indianapolis.

My best friend was a guy who lived in the room adjoining mine. He worked in the logistics….or what normal people would call the supply….division. We hung out a lot together….mostly playing pool in our private pool room in the basement of our building; target shooting on the sound-proof top floor; working out in the base gym; running….. He also had a car…..but we did not use it often.

He had a wicked sense of humor….always a joke or something funny to say about almost everything. He also liked to tease…. He was known throughout our little kingdom as the resident clown. He got by with it, too….largely because he was also a hard worker and always did his job above and beyond what was asked.

It was a Friday…..a cold day in late November…..Friday, November 22, 1963, to be exact. We were all in our office that morning, doing our job. As usual, I was answering the telephone, greeting visitors, writing letters, looking up Army Regulations about various matters for my boss, the Commander. The other people where doing their jobs….whatever that happened to be. It was getting to be late in the morning….actually approaching lunch time. There was sort of a lull in the activity, as we were sort of winding down our busy morning…..just sitting around, engaging in light-hearted small talk waiting for the first lunch period to arrive.

My friend, who worked in another part of the block-long headquarters building, stuck his head in our office and said….I thought with a half-grin on his face…..”President Kennedy was just shot.” There was a rather stunned silence. I didn’t know if he was joking….or if he was serious. I knew he was no big admirer of Kennedy…but, on the other hand, it was not something one joked about….especially on an army base.

My boss, the Commander, heard him from his private office…..and immediately came bounding out of his office. “Are you telling the truth?” he demanded.

“Yes,” answered by friend. “We heard it on the radio just a couple minutes ago.”

My boss, who was a devout Roman Catholic, grabbed his overcoat and announced that he was going to the base chapel.

By that time, the gravity and the reality of the situation was sinking into our brains very quickly. Whatever light-hearted banter was taking place just a few minutes earlier had vanished….and was replaced by a dark, somber atmosphere. We quickly turned on our own radio….which for some unknown and uncharacteristic reason had been sitting silently the entire morning.

The telephone began ringing almost immediately. Of course, at that time, we had no more information than the caller did. My boss returned to the office….maybe thirty or forty minutes later, and immediately left to consult with the Base Commander, his superior.

In the meantime, orders came down from the Base Commander that all operations and activity were to cease immediately. Only a skeleton staff was to remain on duty to answer calls and to conduct….or defer….business. A Second Lieutenant was designated to stay in our office. The rest of us were free to leave.

The only ceremony that was held to commemorate the President’s death was a formation of all available troops on the parade ground the following morning. The following morning was a Saturday. It was frigid cold. There was a brief, pre-planned, according to the regulations ceremony…..lasting no more than ten minutes, as I recall. And, then we were dismissed. The next two days were weekend days….during which most troops already are not on duty. The funeral was held on Monday, also a day which all activities and work were canceled.

For the next three days….Saturday, Sunday and Monday…..there was very little to do. Almost everything was closed. It seemed as if the usually busy city of Indianapolis was semi-deserted. The mood was somber and restrained. And, of course, at Fort Benjamin Harrison, everything was also closed…..almost literally. Meals were still being served in the dining halls and church services were conducted as usual on Sunday. But any form of recreational facility was locked. And, to make it worse, my friend, the guy whose room was next door to mine, had gone home. His parents lived within easy driving distance of the army base.

I was more or less left alone….literally. Of course, the soldiers were still there….also with nothing to do. But…..they had each other. I didn’t know any of these soldiers who were stationed there only temporarily for training purposes. As permanent staff, we never associated with them. I had nobody. Except for my friend, everybody else in our office lived off-base….and, of course, that is where they stayed.

But, at least, I had a TV set in my room….something the “student” soldiers did not have.  I had bought the TV set….a black and white TV, of course….a few months earlier and set it up in my room….with the usual “rabbit ears” antenna. I had fashioned a sort of aluminum foil “flag” on each strand of the two-strand antenna to boost reception. With it, I could fairly satisfactorily receive each of the four VHF….very high frequency….channels; those channels from 2 through 13. With nothing else to do….except go down to our pool room…by myself….or go for a short run….I sat and watched TV almost around the clock. When I turned on the TV, I had no other choice. All commercial programming has been suspended…..including the commercials. The time was devoted exclusively to covering the events surrounding the assassination. Looking back it was reminiscent of watching one of the twenty-four news channels today….but without the commercials. A lot of it was repetition; a lot of it was purely conjecture and speculation. But, it did make for fascinating TV watching…..to see history unfolding before my eyes.

Sunday morning was no different than Saturday. The TV was turned on, and I was sitting with my eyes glued to the TV set. A suspect, Lee Harvey Oswald, had been arrested earlier in a Dallas theater as the main suspect in the murder. Late in the morning….around 11:20 A.M….police authorities were in the process of transferring Lee Harvey Oswald to another prison facility through an underground garage in the Dallas jail. He was being led to a police car by several policemen…with the characteristic smirk on his face…..when all of a sudden gun shots rang out. It was alarming; it was totally unexpected. Lee Harvey Oswald was holding his side and falling to the floor.

This was 1962, remember, and for some reason the basement of the jail was jammed with news reporters….and dozens of other people. Who knows who they were? Curious on lookers of some type. A situation of this sort is almost unbelievable in our day and age, but apparently it was acceptable at that time. Anyway, there was pandemonium as police and other by standers wrestled the gun from the man who had fired the shots…..and fired them at almost point-blank range.

If I was watching with only a casual interest before…..now I was totally alert! The man who shot JFK had just been shot…..on live TV. At that time, nobody knew the man’s name….why he did it….where he came from…. They didn’t know anything….only that Lee Harvey Oswald had been killed. The man who shot John Kennedy was dead. It would be later when the details about Jack Ruby, the owner of a Dallas strip club, began to reveal themselves.

All of this happened so suddenly and without warning. But, the reality began to sink into my brain: I had just witnessed important history being made.

Monday was the day of the funeral. Now everything was really closed! Again, there was nothing to do except to sit and watch the entire funeral proceedings…..and all of the accompanying hype. To me….from the very beginning….it appeared to be a highly staged spectacle…..staged to highlight and bring attention to its dominant leading character….Jackie Kennedy. That probably sounds cynical…..but to me there was a definite absence of sincerity….and an over-abundance of publicity seeking. But…that is only my opinion. Even with all the obvious “Jackie touches”, it was a moving and dignified final salute to the slain President of the United Sates of America.

 

 

The third defining event that took place in my lifetime was an event that had it origins back in autumn of 1957. It was on October 4 of that year that the USSR launched the first artificial Earth satellite…..Sputnik I.

The satellite was visible all around the earth, and since its orbit could be predicted, millions of people, including myself, flocked outside at night to watch as it streaked through the sky. It stayed in orbit for several weeks…..and soon the novelty of looking for it wore off.

Wow….surely the USA must have been expecting this to happen….but maybe not so soon. I was a freshman in college that year…..and I know I was rather stunned, even though I probably didn’t understand all the ramifications of what has just happened.

My college professors were also surprised. There was a feeling of gloom…and alarm….that pervaded the atmosphere. This was in the midst of the Cold War. Of course, no shots were being fired…..no bombs were being dropped. But, a real threat of both of these possibilities was always on our collective minds…..the minds of the people and certainly on the mind of the government. With this event, the common perception was that now the USSR had….or soon would have….the capability of launching missiles or even atomic warheads at the mainland USA.

As for our government……well, let’s just say we were not accustomed to coming in second…..in anything…….and especially second to the Russians, whose store shelves were bare…..and even their toilets wouldn’t flush.   An intensive effort was launched in order to catch up with the Russians. But….that was not the end of it. On April 12, 1961, the Soviet Union pulled off another “first”: They successfully rocketed the first man into space. Yuri Gagarin, a Soviet astronaut, was the first man to travel into space and the first man to orbit the earth. This was a major assault on the pride and prestige of the USA…..not to mention evidence that we lagging seriously behind in the “space race”.

The Kennedy Administration initiated an all-out effort to catch up with the USSR…..and to take the lead. And, of course, this was done with the type of face-saving public relations dazzle that the Kennedys were noted for. Physical fitness councils were formed and an emphasis was placed on accentuating physical education programs in schools, NASA was formed, and great importance was placed on establishing or strengthening mathematics and science programs in colleges and universities…..and also in the public schools.

If I had been a math or science major…..or even a PE major……I could probably have gotten a rather substantial scholarship to a good university. But….alas…..with my meager aptitude for those two subjects, there wasn’t much chance of that happening. So…..with a scholarship from Dillons…..I plodded my four years through Sterling College to become a teacher.

BUT….all of the this was merely an introduction to the main event…..a prelude to the symphony….an occasion that would become one of my life markers. On Saturday, July 16, 1969, the United States of America launched a spacecraft…named the Columbia…. into the vast reaches of the cosmos toward the moon. The three American astronauts in the lunar spacecraft were Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin and Michael Collins.

Of course, the approximate time of the lunar landing was closely tracked and was widely reported on the three major TV networks. In fact, in the final hours, all three networks devoted their air time exclusively to covering the impending landing.

I had moved to Valley Falls only a couple months earlier. I had found a place to live: one room in a house only a block from the school. Although my “apartment” consisted of only one room, the elderly lady who owned the house assured me that is was perfectly OK to spend most of my time in the living room…..and I had full access to the TV, whenever she wasn’t watching it. She even had a large “lap board” that I put across my recliner which I used to grade papers while I was watching TV. She spent some time sitting in the living room at night watching TV with me. But, generally speaking, she was in her room at the back of the house…..or she was entertaining as assortment of her equally elderly friends playing a card game around the dining room table. In any case, if I kept the volume low….and I always did…..I did not disturb her….and everything worked out well.

Although school had not started yet, I had enrolled in a Masters Degree program at the University of Kansas, and I was commuting there five days a week with two of my future colleagues: the high school principal and the P.E. teacher. Without exception, as soon as classes had ended on Friday, and soon as I could get back home to pick up my suitcase, I would jump into my red Volkswagen Beetle and head off to Mother’s house in Sterling. I would spend Friday night and Saturday night in Sterling, and then after church on Sunday, I would eat lunch at Mother’s house and then head back to Valley Falls.

On this particular Sunday, July 20th, I lingered around for a while watching the coverage of the imminent lunar landing. Back in those days, there were always a lot of “ifs” concerning the exact time. I had to decide: should I simply stay at Mother’s house until the landing was complete….even though it might be much later than predicted? Or should I go ahead and leave…..and hope that maybe I could be back at my apartment before the lunar module landed.

I was in the middle of my first summer studying to obtain a Masters Degree. I had class the next day….and I had studying to do. I made the only logical decision that could have rationally been made: I started back to Valley Falls. Valley Falls is about a three and a half hour drive from Sterling. But….who knows? Maybe there would be a problem, and the lunar landing would be delayed. I mean…..I certainly was not hoping for any problems. But, like I said, there was a little bit of a question about the exact time. Maybe I would be back to my apartment in time to watch it on TV.

As soon as I got into my car, I turned on the radio to WIBW in Topeka. Even listening to the verbal descriptions was exciting. Of course, a lot of the coverage is much like it is on TV today……just peripheral and marginal chatter when there was no hard news to report. And….still like today…..a lot of repetition.

As events began to come together and predictions of the lunar landing became more definite, the intensity of the coverage increased. It was apparent that even though the scientists who were manning the flight center…..and those people who were in charge of the mission…..tried to remain calm and cool and professional, there was definitely an undercurrent of nervousness, excitement, anxiety and anticipation in their voices.

The historic moment had arrived: ten…..nine….eight…. Three….two…..one. “The Eagle has landed!” It was 3:17 P.M., Sunday afternoon, July 20, 1969. The first men had landed on the moon. The USA had landed on the moon.

Even on radio, it was not difficult to hear the collective sigh of relief that was being breathed in the control room…..the sense of satisfaction, of joy, of excitement….of the many dedicated scientists who had worked so long to bring about this historic event. A man on the moon had previously been science fiction fantasy…….but now….in this moment….it was a reality. I hadn’t seen it…..but I had heard it…..and I had seen it in my mind.

I was listening to the CBS Radio Network. They asked everybody traveling on a highway and listening to the coverage on the radio to turn on their headlights. Almost instantaneously the headlights of almost every car driving on I-70 flashed on. The sight was enough to make a shiver of pride run up and down my spinal cord…..if not bring actual tears to my eyes.

When I arrived back at my apartment, even my lady was excited. She had watched events unfold on TV with some of her friends….and normally she was not one to sit around and watch the news when there was a good soap opera or a situation comedy to watch…..or the chance to play one of her beloved card games.

Coverage of the event continued throughout the evening…..again, mostly repetition, commentary, speculation…..and just plain babbling by people who apparently had the desire to appear wise or to be considered as part of the “in crowd”. Late in the evening, when it became apparent that the first “man on the moon” was a very real possibility, the coverage became more urgent…..with the same undercurrent of excitement, anticipation…..and the same degree of tension that had preceded the actual landing.

The pictures being transmitted back to earth were sometimes blurred and grainy…..but all eyes were focused on the spacecraft, anxiously awaiting the appearance of the first man to ever set foot on the moon’s surface.

At 10:56 P.M. (Kansas time), history was made. Neil Armstrong firmly planted his foot on the surface of the moon. As he did so, he declared, “This is one small step for man….one giant leap for mankind.”

Mission accomplished. The United States of America had convincingly won the “space race”. History was made. And….I had been a witness.

 

 

The fourth….and latest….landmark event in my lifetime is a sad event which is still so fresh in the minds of most adult people that it really needs no explanation or background. It is an event has affected….and probably will forever affect…..the lives of not only the citizens of the USA…..but of the entire world.

Here is a brief time line of the horrific events:

7:46 CST: North Tower of World Trade Center attacked
8:03 CST: South Tower of World Trade Center attacked
9:37 CST: Pentagon attacked
10:03 CST: Hijacked airplane crashed in a field near Shanksville, PA

A total of 2,996 people lost their lives. There was a total of approximately Ten Billion Dollars damage to property and infrastructure.

On the morning of Tuesday, September 11, 2001, I was attending a professional development meeting at the headquarters of the Northeast Kansas Educational Service Center in Lecompton along with our Superintendent of Schools. The meeting had barely begun when one of the secretaries came into the room where we were meeting and said that an airplane had crashed into a building in New York City. At the time, we assumed that it was a private airplane, and it appeared to be a tragic accident.

Soon after, she returned and said that another airplane had crashed into another building…..and that it appeared that it was not an accident…..but some sort of attack. The mood was somber as the meeting got underway. And very soon it became apparent that the USA was under some sort of attack. Several of the school administrators left the meeting to return to their schools. Although the meeting continued, it was apparent that the minds of those of us still there were not focused on the meeting…..but on what was happening in New York City.

At our lunch hour, instead of eating the lunch being served at the meeting site, I drove back to my house, turned on the TV…..and saw for the first time the devastating events which had taken place. It was shocking; it was appalling; it was horrifying….and it was frightening.

Even so, the meeting continued to its conclusion in the afternoon. After the meeting was over, I had to drive into Topeka to do some sort of errand. I was shocked….and somewhat shaken…..to see long lines of cars backed up at service stations, apparently waiting to fill up with gasoline.

Did these people know something I did not know? Had something happened during the afternoon that I hadn’t heard about? I was definitely on edge as I continued on into Topeka. I was even more amazed and disquieted when I saw that at some service stations the price of gasoline had been jacked up to more than double its normal price! (These service stations were later investigated, castigated….and fined for price gouging.)

I concluded my errand in record time and returned home where I spent the remainder of the evening watching TV coverage of the day’s disaster…..including an address by President George Bush. Even more moving was an address by the British Prime Minister Tony Blair, offering support and condolences to the people of the USA.

Looking back, there have been many important, history-making events which have taken in my lifetime…..but these four events are the bookmarks of my life…..the events from which I mark all other events.

Perhaps you detected a pattern to these events. I did. Good….bad….good….bad. With Good Fortune and with God’s Will, the next of these events will be GOOD.