They’re back! The Grambling Gang…..The Ghana Gang…..also knowas Mannie and Romeo….. made a recurring visit to spend their semester break, winter break….Christmas break…..whatever…..at my house. It was not a surprise visit. Actually, it had been long anticipated….since the day they left last August to return to classes Grambling university.

After spending the summer at my house, they picked up their rental car and headed back to Louisiana around 5:00 in the afternoon. From what they told me, it was a long, rather arduous trip. But… They made it. It is the end result that counts. We stayed in touch after their return to their college….mostly through weekly online visits. Four months may sound like a long time. Actually, it glided by rather quickly…..much faster than I had expected. As the months narrowed down to weeks….and the weeks to days….we began to again plan for their second arrival. Or, to put it more accurately and realistically…. I began to plan for their arrival.

Six weeks is a longer than one may think. Things do not just happen. It would be nice if they did…..but, they don’t. Unless we simply preferred to barricade ourselves inside the house for six weeks, become recluses and shut out the rest of the world, somebody had to start making some plans. And…. That would be me! And, let me assure you…. Coming up with activities that are semi-interesting and appealing is not an easy job. In fact, sometimes it seemed to be an almost impossible and futile….if not just a bit discouraging….. undertaking. But, as you read through the following pages, you will see that we managed to fill the time with some worthwhile, interesting and fun activities. At least, I hope they were….. So…. Keep reading.

Romeo and Mannie were scheduled to leave early on the morning of November 25. Since it is a 650 miles or so drive from Grambling to Topeka, they planned on about a ten or eleven hours drive…..twelve at the most….depending on traffic conditions, rest stops and fuel stops. The initial plan, if I can recall correctly, was to pick up the rental car at 8:00…..pack and be on the road headed north by 9:00. This plan would have them sitting in front of my townhouse at approximately 8:00 or 9:00 that night.

The subsequent sequence of events is not entirely clear to me. Maybe they can clear it up. But, I think it is safe to say that they did not leave Grambling at 9:00 or even 10:00. If I recall correctly…..and I admit that probably I cannot….it seems that Romeo had some misfortune and was late returning from a conference he had attended somewhere in California. And…again, I may not have my facts entirely straight….he missed one of his flights and was late arriving in Dallas, which, in turn, resulted in missing the bus from Dallas to Grambling. Mannie picked up the rental car, drove to Dallas to pick him up….. And, this in turn, upset their entire schedule that had been planned. Help me out….either Romeo or Mannie….. Am I even close to the sequence of events?

I don’t recall when I got their first check-in call. Probably late in the afternoon. The time had been adjusted to a 10:00 or 11:00 arrival. No big deal. Plenty of time to take a nap, watch the news and maybe even watch Stephen Colbert. So, I settled myself into the recliner, turned on some music and fell asleep, planning on waking up well before 10:00…..all rested and ready to welcome Mannie and Romeo. At some point in my nap, I was awakened by a call on WhatsApp. It was Mannie. They were running behind….rather seriously behind. Now, for various reasons, the estimated time of arrival had been pushed back to the neighborhood of 2:00 A.M. Wow… There was not much for me to do….except wait. Watch some TV…more sleep…..and wait. Finally, somewhere around 2:30 A.M., another call arrived. Romeo and Mannie had just pulled up into the parking lot and were sitting in front of my townhouse.

Let the fun begin!

Here it was….early Wednesday morning. Romeo and Mannie were no doubt exhausted after the long trip. It would be nice to say that they went upstairs and fell asleep immediately after they arrived. It was not quite that simple. After some perfunctory greetings, they proceeded to unload the rental car…..and, to put it simply….they brought a lot of stuff with them. Even after getting all their belongings out of the car, they still could not go to bed. The mattress that Mannie slept on was under the bed in my room…..just where they put it before they left. During some early conversations, I asked it would help if I would buy a single bed frame. A single bed frame would get Mannie elevated off the floor. And, in my own mind, sleeping on the floor did not sound like an attractive option. I was under the distinct impression that buying the single bed frame was what was wanted. Why wouldn’t it be? So…. I checked on Amazon and found a bed frame for somewhere around $50.00. I ordered it. Good job, Beryl! You have just make somebody’s life more comfortable. Wrong! As it turned out, the bed frame was not needed….unwanted. So…. If anybody out there wants a brand new single bed frame….free of charge, just to get out of the basement….be sure and let me know.

All of sudden, it really was Wednesday morning…..for real. It was going to be a busy day. The first order of business was to return the rental car to the agency….and that somewhere in the early vicinity of 9:00. The next day was Thanksgiving Day. There was a Thanksgiving meal that demanded our attention…. At least, the attention of Mannie and Romeo. I had already planned the menu. Thanksgiving dinner was going to be very traditionally American….with no distracting extraneous elements, like rice, for example…. The meal consisted of turkey, of course, green bean casserole, creamed corm casserole, sweet potatoes, cranberries and pumpkin pie. Sounds pretty much like a traditional American Thanksgiving dinner, don’t you think? To make matters less complicated, I had already ordered the food. All we had to do was pick it up in the afternoon….and we were ready to prepare a delicious Thanksgiving meal.

Nobody felt like preparing a meal that Wednesday evening. Plus, I seriously doubt if we really had the ingredients to prepare it with. The food I ordered was exclusively for the Thanksgiving meal. We took the easy….and sensible….way out. We drove down the El Dorado Mexican Restaurant, an eating place which ranks high on our list of favorites, for supper. I would like to say that we went back home and went to bed for a long’s night sleep…..although I am pretty sure that was not the case.

Thursday morning, the first order of business was to prepare the turkey for roasting. I was still in bed when Romeo and Mannie attended to this. If it had been I, I wold have simply put the turkey into a bag and shoved it into the oven…..and, chances are, it would have tasted just as good. I am sure this was not the case, however. Romeo and Mannie fit more into the category of “Chefs” than I. Things get a little more complicated when they cook.

I furnished the recipes for the food. That was my contribution. Otherwise I stayed completely out of the food preparation activities. The food turned out OK…. I am not sure than it was fully appreciated by everybody, however. You know…. When you are making American food, you pretty much have to do it the “American Way”. These recipes have been prepared, tested, modified and tweaked down through the ages. Sometimes the slightest variation can make a huge difference in the outcome. So… Yes, everybody tried some of the food, but with varying opinions on the final result. As for me….. I ate it all. No complaints. Maybe it wasn’t quite the “way Mother made it”….but yet it was good. At least, we had eaten a typical American Thanksgiving meal. We invited our friend, Sam, to come up and eat with us. And, the day turned out to be pretty nice.

(I am inserting some pictures. However…. Let me explain. The original or real pictures of the meal seemed to have been accidentally deleted. They are gone forever. So…. I am substituting some pictures from last year in their place. The meals were very similar. Just so you know….)

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When it was definite that Romeo and Mannie were coming to spend their winter break at my house, I did something that I otherwise would not have thinking of doing. I wished for snow! Yeah, I know. Those of you who know me well are still probably shaking your heads in disbelief. But…. It is true. Let me modify….or clarify…. that wish just a bit. I wanted a snow that would definitely cover the ground….a white landscape in other words. But, I also wanted the snow to disappear within a day after it fell! You know….. I want to have my cake and eat it, too.

And, almost as if I had some control over it, my wish came true! In fact, it snowed almost all day. By the late afternoon, four inches of snow had accumulated on the ground. It snowed enough that night our snow removal people came over in the night and cleared the sidewalks and porches.

Perhaps you are asking why I, of all people, would be wishing for snow….knowing how much I do not like it. It is because I am a nice guy! And, come to think about it, I must be a heck of a nice guy to wish for snow. However, I knew that neither Mannie nor Romeo had never been exposed to snow before. What a nice treat….a delightful experience….it would be for them to encounter their first snow in Topeka, KS. And, that is exactly what they did.

Late one afternoon, the day after it had snowed, we drove over to Lake Shawnee to take some pictures and record the important event permanently on film. Fortunately, both of them had brought warm winter clothing with them. I was rather uncertain….and just a little doubtful….if they would realize what the definition of “Kansas Winter” really means. I recalled the four years I spent in South Vietnam. When the temperature dropped below 70 degrees, the natives would get out their “winter” clothing and walk around looking like Eskimos. And, because South Vietnam has a tropical climate with a normal temperature sometimes reading close to 100 degrees and a relative humidity about as high, anything 70 degrees or lower seemed “cold” by comparison. They would appear on the streets with jackets, scarves, caps and gloves…..while we Americans were wearing shorts and glorying in the comfortable temperatures. My worries were alleviated when they came trudging downstairs dressed in warm winter attire. We headed off to Lake Shawnee….I wearing my favorite down vest and they in their Kansas winter clothing.

The sun was just thinking about sinking below the horizon when we arrived. It was just as well. None of us had any real desire to spend a lot of time outside….even though the lake looked serene and peaceful on the cold winter day. When our mini-photo session had ended, neither Romeo nor Mannie offered any objection when we hurriedly got back into the car and headed back home. I do not recall asking them specifically, but by the vibes they were giving off, I think I can safely say that neither of them became a real fan of snow that day. Neither of them said, “Can we please stay out here in the snow a little longer.” or “I hope it snows another four inches tonight.” They seemed to share the same attitude as I regarding snow: Snow is pretty to look at….but too cold to really enjoy. The short jaunt to Lake Shawnee served it purpose…. Mannie and Romeo got to “be out in the snow”, and I got to take some pictures of them doing it.

 

To the relief of all three of us, the temperature stayed well above freezing in the succeeding days, and the snow quickly vanished. Yeah…. I was my kind of snow: Here today; gone tomorrow.

One the more interesting things that we did while Romeo and Mannie were here was to make a return visit to Forbes Field, just south of Topeka. Forbes Field was perhaps the most recurring venue of the summer months which they spent here. In fact, we became quite familiar with the sprawling air base. No, there is nothing special to see that would warrant paying it so many visits. In fact, there is really very little to see.

Forbes Field was opened in 1941, back during World War II, as a military installation. Back in those days, it was called Forbes Air Force Base, and was an important military post. The assumption was made that it was a good idea to build major air bases inland….in the interior of the United States….because it take longer for enemy aircraft to seek them out. This was the same principle which was used during the Cold War when several hundred missiles were placed here in Kansas and other Midwestern states. In the meantime, our own aircraft would have additional time to deploy and hopefully shoot them out of the sky before they could do any damage. Fortunately this theory was never tested, although the logic seemed to be sound.

Over the years, the importance of Forbes Field diminished as the immediate threat of war lessened. It is still an active Air Force base. Today is the home of the 190th Air Refueling Wing and also the headquarters of the Kansas Air National Guard. It is also the home of the Topeka Regional Airport. The only problem with this is that at the present time no commercial airplanes fly into or out of the airport. This is not to say that Topeka has not tried to make it a viable commercial airport. Heaven knows they have. Sporadically over the years, the city has been able to attract what might be called “specialty flights” into and out of the airport. For instance…. Flights to Las Vegas, or as connecting flights to Kansas City or Dallas or Denver. But, they have never caught on with the public….probably because Topeka is so close to Kansas City, and it just isn’t worth the extra money to fly that short distance when driving is cheaper and probably easier.

So, today, the airport sits virtually idle….with its 13,000 feet runway just waiting for somebody to use it. In the meantime, the space has been quite profitably utilized by several large corporations as a home for warehouses and small manufacturing plants.

In all our past visits, we more or less drove around aimlessly on the mostly deserted streets. Our only real purpose for being there was so Mannie and Romeo could practice driving in preparation for their driver’s license exam. Those trips were in the past. Our purpose for driving down to Forbes Field this time was to visit the Combat Air Museum. Actually, we had intended to go there this past summer while Romeo and Mannie were driving there, but the day we chose to visit the museum, there was some sort of charitable event being held there. Not a good time to find a good parking space…..nor a good time to visit.

The Combat Air Museum was formally established in 1976, and it has been a repository to showcase vintage military aircraft. On display are a wide variety of airplanes dating from World War I to modern military aircraft…..at least, extending through the Vietnam War. Scattered among the aircraft are an assortment of other memorabilia related to military or combat activities.

This was at least the third time I have visited the Combat Air Museum. And, it was also at least the third time I have visited it in the cold of winter. I knew before we left our house to drive there that it was going to be a cold experience. Accordingly, all three of were dressed accordingly. This experience was somewhat better than previous visits, though. My first visit was probably around twenty-five or thirty years ago. Quite frankly, I had no idea what to expect. Not knowing any better, I assumed that the “museum” would be a “museum”…..and would be heated and comfortable like most museums. Wrong!

The museum is housed in two sprawling old airplane hangars. As one walks in the front entrance, there is no indication of this. The small souvenir shop and the small conference room are heated and comfortable….just as one would expect. Walking though the door into the actual museum….or old hangar…..is, or can be….a shock to one’s expectations. Close the door….and it is cold! The display space is enclosed, of course, but there is no heating source whatsoever. In general, whatever the temperature is outside…..well, that is also the temperature inside the hangar. On the day we visited, the temperature was cold….somewhere in the mid 30’s. Although we were protected from the brisk wind….and that is putting it mildly….it did not change the fact that the temperature inside still probably hovered somewhere in the upper 30’s.

On my first visit there, I had no idea. I wore a light jacket….just enough to protect me from the car to the front entrance. That was a big mistake…. also a big learning experience. I was with one of my German exchange students. He also was not dressed for the occasion. Needless to say, that first time was a short time. The second visit was not a lot better. This time I was with my niece and her husband. “OK,” I thought, “this time I will wear a down-filled vest.” Maybe a good thought in the right direction, but while my torso was protected, my arms where not. I was still cold! And, so were my niece and her husband. We were all cold! Again…. After a few minutes of looking….and freezing…..our primary goal was to simply get out of there and back into a warm car.

This year, finally, I had learned a lesson….the hard way. Before leaving the house, we all walked to the car dressed like we were embarking on an expedition to the South Pole. The admission fee to the Combat Air Museum is $4.00 per person or something like that. This price includes a guide…..if we wanted one. We didn’t. However, one of the guides did accompany us into the hangar and gave us a brief introduction or lecture before leaving us to our own devices. Actually, we really did not need a guide. Each individual exhibit….or aircraft….had a fairly comprehensive description posted explaining its capabilities and mission. We were able to proceed throughout the museum at our own pace.

I doubt if either Romeo or Mannie had seen such a large and diverse collection of military aircraft. I hadn’t until I made my first visit to the museum more than twenty five years ago. Both of them took good advantage of inspecting the aircraft, and when possible, interacting with them. Several of the displays allow them to enter the aircraft, to sit in the pilot’s seat (the cockpit, as it is called) and to get a close up look. Other airplanes had ladders which enabled the visitor to glance inside for a closer look. Both Mannie and Romeo took full advantage of these opportunities.

They were impressed with wide variety of aircraft on display…..and, I think, with the extended period of time they covered…..airplanes from World War I, from the Korean War, from World War II and from the Vietnam War. It was all covered. There is a difference between looking at pictures of these airplanes or seeing them on TV….and being able to see them close up and in person….to touch them, to stand beside them, to interact with them. All of us….Romeo, Mannie and I….agreed that seeing the planes sitting there in front of us was an educational, informative and exciting…..if not exhilarating….experience.

As for my own personal experience, several of the aircraft bring back some rather nostalgic and very personal memories….especially those of the Vietnam War era. During the four years that I served in South Vietnam, I had numerous occasions to experience a few of these aircraft on a personal basis.

While I was serving in the position of Chief of Education for the International Voluntary Services in South Vietnam, one of my major jobs was to travel about the country visiting the seventy-two teachers who were stationed in various provinces throughout the country. During this time, I had almost full access to transportation on military aircraft. In fact, this, for all practical purposes, was the only method of transportation available. Travel on roads and highways throughout the entirety of South Vietnam was unsafe….to put it mildly. To travel on highways outside Saigon or province capitals where most of our teachers were stationed was treacherous….and foolhardy. As Chief of Education, a civilian position, of course, I was afforded the privileges, for the most part, of a military colonel. The International Voluntary Services was funded by….and under the nominal umbrella of USAID….The United States Agency for International Development. Without this travel consideration, it would be been literally impossible to do my job.

As I flew on these visits to the various provinces, I flew in a variety of aircraft. The major means of transportation was to fly on an Air America flight….specifically the C-130 and the C-123. It was an open secret that Air America was controlled by the CIA and functioned as their transportation branch. I had a set of orders which allowed me to board almost any Air America plane flying within the country. No, I was not flying on any covert, secret missions, although I am sure there were plenty of them that were not available for general transport. Most of the people on these flights were military personnel, civilian officials, and also a smattering of local people who paid a price for the flight. Since these airplanes were flying under the guise of commercial flights, there was really no way to know they were operated and financed by the US government.

The other major means of transportation was to hop aboard a Bell UH-1 helicopter, know more commonly as a “Huey”. Access to these flights was on a space-available basis. Most of the time, fortunately, there was no problem getting aboard. Let me tell you…. Being recognized as a civilian with privileges of a military colonel was pretty powerful….and useful. The first couple times I rode in a Huey, I was somewhat apprehensive. Helicopters fly relative close to the ground. They are not as fast as regular airplanes. They are quite small and compact with no luxuries, except for a seat belt. After some time, like most everything else, it became a matter of routine.

More nights that I can remember…..that I even care to remember…..I stood or sat on our second floor patio and watched F-4 Phantoms and F-105 Thunderbirds drop bombs and strafe sections of the outskirts of Saigon. In the beginning, it was somewhat unnerving….if not just a little scary….to observe. Even in the relative security of Saigon, these night time fireworks were an almost nightly reminder that we were living in a war zone. As time passed, the sense of fear subsided. But, never the feeling of awe as I watched the fighter jets swoop down from the sky in turn in groups of four….and either drop their bombs or use their high powered machine guns….or Gatling Guns…to send a steady streak of red to their targets below. At times, it was almost surrealistic….almost like watching a war movie. Except, this was the real thing….and it was being played out only a few miles from our rooftop patio.

Above I said the museum is housed in an old World War II hangar. Well…. Let’s make that two old hangars…. sitting adjacent to each other, but not attached to each other. The distance between the two hangars is a distance of maybe a couple hundred feet. Not so far when the weather is nice and warm. But, on a cold, windy day like the one when we were there, it seems more like a couple thousand feet!

Between the two hangars is a display of a few….three or four…..very large airplanes which are too big to fit into the hangars. Both Romeo and Mannie climbed the stairs to take a look inside the cockpits of the planes. Plus we snapped the requisite photos to record our attendance. As I said, on a nice warm sunny day, this could be a pleasant diversion. On the day we were there, we did not spend an abundance of time inspecting them. Cold temperatures out weighed our curiosity.

The second hangar continued the exhibition, however, concentrating on more recent military air power. And… The cold temperature also continued. But, it was relief to go from very cold and windy to…..well, just cold. After inspecting the aircraft in the second, hangar, it was time to call it quits. Closing time for the museum was approaching. We hurriedly made our way back to the first hangar….the one where we started….and ended our excursion into the world of military air power.

I don’t know if either Romeo or Mannie were inspired to join the Air Force, or even to become pilots, but we spent a worthwhile…even educational and entertaining…afternoon in an environment which is relatively foreign to us….learned something (hopefully) and had fun. And, who knows? Maybe someday if you are flying to some exotic location, you may see one….or both of them…..sitting in the cockpit flying the airplane.

On Tuesday, December 9, we awakened early. Well, for the rest of the world, it was probably not very early. I found myself tumbling out of bed at the outrageous hour of 9:00. That may sound rather late, but keep in mind that we rarely went to bed before 3:00 A.M…..and sometimes even later.

On this day we had planned an excursion to the Geographical Center of the Lower 48 States…..located in north central Kansas near the small town of Lebanon. If we are to believe Google Maps, the distance is 218 miles, and it the approximate diving time is three hours and twelve minutes. That, I think it is safe to say, is the ideal time….the theoretical time….the time we dream about. I knew….from many years of experience, the “School of Hard Knocks”, as they say….that three hours driving time was pure fantasy. But….Why fight it? I may as well be realistic. We would never get out of bed and get ready to leave at 8:00 or even 9:00…..and probably not even 10:00. So…. That is why we didn’t get on the road until 11:00.

Even after we got into the car, we were still not actually heading for our destination. We had to stop and get gas. We stopped at the bakery. We stopped so we could exchange drivers. Mannie was the first designated driver. All of this may sound rather insignificant and petty. But, it all adds up….much more quickly than it may sound.

So…. Here we were heading west on I-70. The maximum speed on I-70, just like the speed on almost every highway in the USA is relative. In Kansas the speed limit is 75 mph. It is common knowledge that no state policeman in the entire country is going to stop a car for going 4 or 5 miles over the posted speed limit. It simply is not worth the time and effort…..and even a speeding ticket for a vehicle traveling 80 has very little chance of standing up in court. There are too many extenuating circumstances to be considered

In our case, the time of three hours and twelve minutes is based on the assumption that a vehicle will be traveling at least the posted speed limit. If we drove faster….we would arrive there sooner. If we drove slower…..we would get there later. If I had been driving, we would have reached our destination in probably less than three hours. I learned long ago that driving the posted speed limit…..or probably a few miles faster….is the only way to stay on schedule. But, to summarize…. Instead of arriving in Lebanon at approximately 2:00, it was pushing 3:30 when we arrived.

I don’t recall who drove that day. If my memory is correct, Mannie drove until we reached a rest stop near Salina, and then Romeo took over. It could have been the other way around, though.

The Geographical Center of the Lower 48 States is a rather nondescript location. As maybe is fitting for a place like this, it is located in a rather isolated rural area, far from…..well, about everything. One of the interesting features….at least, to me…..is that there is a farm located almost directly across the road from the monument. This visit was the third time I have been there. And, every time, I think, “Wow… Wouldn’t be great to live there?” When people ask where you live, you can honestly said, “I live at the exact center of the United States!”

 

 

 

 

 

Really, there is not much there. It is not a major tourist attraction….even for the people of Kansas. In fact, I doubt if a large majority of Kansans are even aware of its existence. The day we were there, we were the only visitors. Nobody else showed up during the hour or so that we were there. We had the entire place to ourselves.

I have to say, however, that even without crowds of tourists, the place does seem rather impressive in its own quiet way. Although it is not grand in scale, it is worth visiting. An official monument which pinpoints the exact center of the lower 48 states is the most prominent monument….and also no doubt the most important. Stand beside this monument if you truly want to tell people that you have indeed stood in the very center of our nation. Each of us….Mannie, Romeo and I….have proof that we among the few people who can actually say this.

 

 

 

Very nearby there is another more visible and perhaps more ornate marker, made of native limestone, which simply states “Welcome to the Geographical Center of the 48 States.” Maybe this makes a better photo because the wording is much larger….and therefore much easier to read. This marker could be considered the most photogenic of the two markers, even though its placement is maybe ten feet from the exact spot. Just to play in safe and to cover all the bases, all three of us had photos taken with both of the monuments directly behind us.

Obviously, the two markers….one a marker and the other a monument…. are the two major attractions. After all, that is what the place is all about. However, there are a couple other secondary attractions. The most visible and obvious is a miniature chapel, made of wood, painted white and not much larger than a medium size kiosk. On none….zero…of my visits to the Geographical Center have I found that it was unlocked and open to the public. Since I have never been inside it….it is still a mystery what it contains. Maybe….probably…..nothing. No matter. It makes a good backdrop for photos….and needless to say, we took advantage of that opportunity.

There is also a small rocking horse “toy” mounted on a spring. Romeo was the only one who tried it out… Maybe because he was the youngest one? Sorry…..No picture of that. A covered picnic area is located between the little chapel and the monuments. Having a picnic was not on our agenda…too cold….so that feature went unattended. A few benches were placed strategically around the grounds. Now…. That was on MY agenda. I sat and rested while Romeo and Mannie walked around and gave the property a more thorough inspection.

 

 

 

We spent at least an hour there….maybe longer. Even when we got back into the car to head back home, I knew there was no way we would….or could….make it before before dark. But, it had been a good day. And, I think it was a fun day inspecting what is really a unique…..certainly one of a kind….monument which is located here in Kansas. A distinction no other state has…..The Geographical Center of the 48 States. We got back into the car, with Romeo driving, and headed back home.

On the trip to the site, we drove on I-70 and then highway US 81, north out of Salina. On the return trip, we drove on US 36. I was not sure if mileage was any shorter….or even it we would save any time. Well…. Now I know. The mileage is actually longer…..and we certainly did not save any time. No big deal. Lesson learned for future reference. It was approaching 9:00 when we arrived back in Topeka. Nobody wanted to prepare supper at 9:00, so we stopped at the Hong Kong Chinese Restaurant in North Topeka and got some take-out food for our late supper.

A lot….if not most….of the time Mannie and Romeo were here was pretty much spontaneous. However, one of the important events we had planned in advance was a return trip to my hometown area of Lyons and Hutchinson. I still have several family members living in that area…..second cousins, niece, nephew, etc. Romeo and Mannie had met some of my cousins and also my niece and her husband on previous visits. Based on observations of those visits, I am going to say that they liked the relatives they met…..and the feeling was mutual.

The first step, as usual, was renting a place to stay while we were there….preferably in Hutchinson. On our two previous visits, we sort of struck out in both places where we stayed. Actually, there was nothing “wrong” with either place. The risk we take when looking for a private short term rental home is that it is not going to be “right” for me. Take for example the first little house we rented. The description was good. The house was good….clean, adequately furnished, convenient. The problem was that it was not right for ME. And, that is difficult to know before actually living there. After deciding which room would be mine….and which was Romeo and Mannie’s….I sat down in a comfortable appearing chair. That one little innocent act changed the entire situation for me.

The owner of the house was coming over to give us the password for the Internet and also to check us out and answer any questions we might have. He was actually a nice guy….and why not? He was a former teacher. After a pleasant conversation, he got up to leave. After he had left, I attempted to stand up and go about my business. One major problem. I was not able to stand up. The chair I was sitting in was a rocker. It was not possible to push down on the arms of the chair without it rocking….and making it impossible to stand up. Well…..after a lot of effort by Romeo and Mannie…..and the possibility that I may have to sit in the chair for the remainder of my life…. I was finally able to stand up. Needless to say, I did not sit in that chair again.

On the current visit to Hutchinson, after reading the description of the apartment several times….leaving it and coming back to it again….I was satisfied that it was an ideal place to stay. The rooms looked attractive and the price was almost affordable. So…. I booked the property.

As we pulled into Hutchinson, we were eager to find the house and get settled in. We got out of the car and following instructions, walked around the side of the house to the designated entrance. This is when we encountered a shocking discovery: The apartment was in the basement. This revelation was totally unexpected. It caught me by utter surprise. Nowhere in the description of the property did I see the word “basement”. (Upon further inspection, we found that the word “basement” did, indeed, appear…one time…. although it was buried deep in description of the property.) At this point in the game, there was little we could do. I would simply have to be very careful….and depend on Mannie and Romeo to help me make it up and down the stairs safely.

We rose rather early on Saturday morning in order to meet up with my niece, Wanita, for breakfast. We met at our usual breakfast venue…. The International House of Pancakes. Surely there are better places to eat….one that is not part of a national chain. But, unfortunately, we do not know where they are. So….we drove to the good old International House of Pancakes for breakfast. I mean…. There is nothing wrong with the place….and we had a good visit with Wanita. But, I can’t shake the fact that there is probably a better….locally owned….place to eat breakfast.

It was after eleven o’clock when we walked out of the restaurant and bid farewell to Wanita. We were left with a couple hours of time on our hands before driving to Lyons to meet up with two of my cousins, Luann and Dennis. For a while, we drove aimlessly around Hutchinson….through Carey Park…. then out to the western fringes of the city in attempt to find a disk golf course my cousins had built and donated to the city. We also checked out the location of the United Methodist Churches. Mannie and I planned to attend church on Sunday morning.

The main attraction, however, was a visit to the Hutchinson Art Guild. This is a regular stop almost every time I am in Hutchinson. The gallery features works of art from local and regional artists. The exhibits are constantly changing, so there is a new display every time I stop by, It may not be the MOMA, but the local artists they showcase are very talented, indeed. And… Who knows? Maybe some day in the future, one of the paintings I saw here will be hanging in a prominent art gallery in New York City.

We left the art gallery in sufficient time to drive to Lyons to eat a late afternoon meal with my cousins, Luann and Dennis. We had arranged to meet around 2:30….and promptly at 2:30 we pulled into their driveway. As usual, we sat around and talked for a while before leaving to find a place to eat. The first restaurant we tried was not open, much to our disappointment. That Mexican restaurant was housed in the old former Winter’s Service Station and general store on the northeast outskirts of Lyons, maybe a mile from my boyhood home. Back in those day, that would have been considered very close to where we lived. It was nothing to ride our bikes that distance to buy a Coke, some penny candy or some bubble gum. My younger brother and I often scrounged for old Coke or Pepsi bottles…. They were made of glass back in those days. We would take them to Winter’s. They would pay us the princely sum of two cents per bottle. If we could find five empty bottles….Wow! That meant we had earned a dime….ten cents! A fortune to us.

We settled for eating in another Mexican restaurant on the west side of town. It was another of our go-to places. Sunday afternoon is apparently not one of their busier days. Aside from a couple other tables, we were the only ones there. But, that was OK. We talked for a while, until it started getting dark….and it was time to head back to our little basement apartment in Hutch.

A trip to Lyons in the Christmas season would not be complete without seeing the iconic symbol that the town is famous for….at least, in Central Kansas. We had to take some pictures of the famous bell on the water tower before we left town. Even when I was a small child, this bell was known far and wide. And, for a little kid like me, it was awesome….something to behold. The night the bell was first lighted (lit?) for the Christmas season was a big night in which a multitude (at least, it seemed that way to me!) of people showed up in the downtown park to “ohhh and ahhh” when the switch was tripped to turn on the lights. When this happened, we were sure that the magical spell of Christmas had truly begun. The bell was first constructed on the water tower in the year 1938….which, by happy coincidence, is the year I was born. So…literally….that Christmas bell with its shining red lights has been there for my entire life.

After arriving back at our “dangerous” apartment, we sat and played games for a while until our interest started to wane. I had bought two new game for this visit…..one of them was a trivia game. And, of course, a newer version of Family Feud….the game we love to dislike. Romeo and I spent the rest of the evening watching TV.  As in the previous house we rented, this one did not actually have cable TV…. It had a subscription to Roku TV. I don’t know if this is free or simply cheap. But, it seems to be a popular choice of the home owners who apparently wanted to save a little money.

The next morning…..a Sunday morning…..I was up early, ready to go to church, just as Mannie and I had mutually agreed. As I sat and waited….and waited….. it became apparent that was not going to happen. When Mannie finally appeared, it was far too late to even consider the possibility of attending church. Oh well…. I had kept my end of the agreement….

Since going to church was out of the question, I sat and waited until Romeo and Mannie woke up and were ready to do something. Since coming to any sort of consensus was more or less out of the question, I made the unilateral decision that we were going to drive up north and take a look at Coronado Heights. We had vaguely talked about doing this, and Sunday afternoon was free…..so why not?

Coronado Heights is located near the town of Lindsborg. I had been there before….probably multiple times…..when I was still a kid. I can vaguely recall going there on various special occasions for picnics. I strongly suspect that some of these visits were in connection to our church activities. But, that was a long time ago. The strange….almost uncanny fact is…. When we arrived there on that chilly Sunday afternoon, it was sort of like….well, deja vu. It did not seem as strange or foreign as I had expected it to.

As legend….or maybe the truth, who knows?…..records it, an explorer with the surname of Coronado traveled north from Mexico searching for the Seven Cities of Gold. I know….You are probably saying he should have checked Wikipedia or something before he started his journey. About the only gold one will find in Kansas is in a jewelry store. Anyway, he mounted the 300 feet high bluff over looking what is now called the Smokey Hill River Valley. Obviously he was disappointed. I can see him now….standing there mumbling, “This was a waste of time. There in no gold around here.” So, again as legend has it, he and his men turned around and went back to Mexico. Who knows? Probably embarrassed. But, certainly with no gold. The territory was formed into a state park back in l936 as part of Franklin Roosevelt’s Public Progress Administration.

The park was new to Romeo and Mannie, however. I am not sure what they were expecting. Probably something a little more grand than what they saw. Maybe I overstated just a bit what Coronado Heights really is. But, on the other hand, in Kansas anytime a hill exceeds 300 feet tall, it definitely stands out. One of the guys asked if my car was capable of making it to the top. Yeah…. It did. No problem. After we had reached the top of the hill….Coronado Heights….I think both of them appreciated the view. There is unobstructed vision for 360 degrees. Like the song says, “On a Clear Day You Can See Forever”. If there had been seven cities made of gold, Coronado would surely have seen them.

 

 

 

 

Really, there is not a lot to see at the summit of Coronado Heights. The most impressive structure is the old castle….constructed in 1936. It dominates the landscape, and it can been seen for miles around. There is nothing inside the castle….it is just an open area….except for a large fireplace sort of grill and some concrete benches. There is plenty of evidence that this grill has seen ample use over the years. A roaring fire would have felt good on the day we were there. Although Mannie and Romeo didn’t do it, it appears that a good number of visitors have carved their initials into the stone walls to enshrine their visit for ages to come. The castle makes an excellent shelter for indoor picnics on days with inclement weather…..or when the temperature happens to be cold outside.

 

 

 

We did not have a picnic, but Romeo and Mannie seemed to have fun poking around the castle….although there is really not a lot to be found. It is sort of “What you see is what you get.” On the other hand, I think it was intriguing to them that the castle is still standing after ninety years.

 

 

 

 

A large stone fireplace….cooking grill is probably a better description…. is the most prominent feature outside. The grill is surrounded by a picnic area. One can only wonder how many family picnics and family reunions and other assorted parties have been held there over the past ninety years….certainly the facilities are unchanged from the first time I saw them back in my childhood. All of the structures are obviously original…..unchanged since the day they were constructed. They were built to endure….massive stones and solid construction. There is little doubt that they were will still be there….unchanged…..should Romeo and Mannie want to being their children to see it someday in the future.

 

 

 

 

After Romeo and Mannie walked around looking off into the distant landscape, and after taking a few pictures, we headed back to Hutchinson.

We had arranged to meet three of my cousins for dinner. We had agreed to eat at an old established steak house on North Main Street, just outside the Kansas State Fair grounds. The name of the restaurant is Skaets Steak House. This place has been there in the same location forever…figuratively speaking, at least. I wouldn’t even attempt to count the times I said to myself, “I am going go there and eat someday.” I said this to myself when I was just a kid…..and penniless. And, I also said this to myself after I had a job and could well afford to go there. I have often asked myself, “Why didn’t you just go there and eat?” I have no idea….not even a clue. I just didn’t.

When I contacted my cousin, Kathy, who seems to be sort of the spokesperson for the group of sisters, she gave me a list of four suggestions on where we could possibly meet. Skaets Steak House was on the list. And, I chose it with no second thoughts. Finally, after more than eight decades later, I was finally going to walk inside the iconic restaurant, sit down and eat a meal. Romeo, Mannie and I arrived almost precisely on time that Sunday afternoon….5:30 P.M., just as we had planned. Within seconds of our arrival, the ever so familiar blue-gray Toyota Prius with the K. State tiger emblazoned on each side pulled in, too.

Kathy, Terry and Becky, my cousins, stepped out of the car and immediately and enthusiastically accepted Romeo and Mannie into our group. As we entered the restaurant, I….nor they, apparently….had no idea what to expect. We weren’t surprised nor disappointed. It appeared to be very similar to the places we frequently go to here in Topeka. Comfortable, but not pretentious. Full of casual diners, many of whom appeared to be regular diners. A good menu with familiar and reasonably priced food. Yes… We immediately felt comfortable in these surroundings. The service was good. And, my gregarious cousin Kathy lost no time in engaging a couple of the waiters and waitresses in conversation.

As we sat and talked, the group tried to include Mannie and Romeo in the conversation. Sometimes this is difficult on first encounters, but I never had the feeling that either of them was intentionally ignored or excluded. But…. When family members get together… Well, the conversation usually revolves around….You guessed it: Family. The conversation flowed, the time passed quickly, and all too soon it was time to call it a night. However, the next time we meet….and we surely will….. the “formalities” are out of the way, and Romeo and Mannie will feel more part of the fellowship.

Even after a couple hours in the restaurant, it was still relatively early. Too early to call it a night. Romeo, who had done some research of things to do in Hutchinson over the Christmas Season, found a place….and I am still not sure if it was a private residence or a commercial business…..that was listed as a “must see” event. With nothing else on our agenda, we decided to pay it a visit. Somewhere on the western fringes of Hutchinson, was an elaborate display of Christmas lights. It could be compared to “Winter Wonderland” at Lake Shawnee here in Topeka, except maybe on just a lightly lesser scale. As we slowly drove through the winding lane, the lights, the decorations were gala vision well worth our time.

After we completed our tour of the light display, we drove through a couple of the more affluent sections of Hutchinson, admiring even more imposing Christmas decoration before returning to our apartment for the night….and an another evening of games and TV.

The account of our sojourn in Hutchinson would not be complete without an account of one very unpleasant incident. You may recall that earlier I mentioned the fact that the apartment we rented was located in a basement. You can believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that if I had known this, there is no way in the world that we would have considered staying there. Unfortunately….and I think at no fault of mine….this fact was not made a prominent part of the description in the online advertisement.

Let me emphasize that there was nothing wrong with the apartment. It was clean; it was attractive; it was well furnished; the Internet connection was good. Well…. It didn’t have a regular cable subscription….but we have sort of grown used to that. For Romeo and Mannie, the apartment was ideal. And, they liked it. On the other hand, they are just a little bit younger than I am.

Aside from the lack of conventional cable….this apartment had ROKU, instead…..the bathroom had a walk-in shower, which was a big selling point when I was checking out apartments. But…Unfortunately (for me!) it had no grab bars. Absolutely nothing to help prevent me from falling. This was not good.

Despite these two distractions, I could have accepted them and lived with them for a couple days. No problem. The major problem was the long stairway leading down to the basement. Not only the long stairway down! But, also the long stairway up! I tried to exercise extreme caution as I walked up and down the stairs. Both Romeo and Mannie were at my side making sure that I made it safely. On the first couple attempts there were no problems. Mannie stood at the top of the stairs….Romeo at the bottom. I could reach out to them if I needed help. It worked.

On Sunday morning, as we were leaving to drive up to Coronado Heights, I started my slow and careful trip up the stairs. One step at time…. Holding on to the rail….Get both feet on the step before taking another one…. Mannie went ahead and was waiting at the top of the stairs. All was going well….until the very last step. It happened so suddenly that I barely knew what was taking place. I  tripped on the very last step. I was helpless. There was nothing to grab once I had reached the top step. Mannie reached out….but it was too late. I was lying, helpless, on the floor at the top of the stairs. My right leg was pinned at an awkward angle beneath my body. Mannie took my arm. I attempted to pull myself upright. My right leg was still pinned beneath me. I had no leverage to attempt to push myself up.

As I lay there, the situation looked bleak. Mannie called to Romeo who was still in the basement apartment. Romeo appeared in what seemed to be an instant. Now both of them were attempting to help me stand up. With some effort we managed to free my right left from beneath my body. Now both legs were free. We made another attempt to pull me up off the floor. No success. They simply lacked the strength to pull me up. I lay there in pain. It was starting to appear that the only solution was to call a rescue unit. “Just give me a minute to rest,” I said. Then, “OK, let’s try it one more time.” Exerting all the strength and will power at their disposal, and using all the strength and will power at my disposal, we gave it another heroic attempt. This time I slowly, unsteadily was able finally stand up.

“Just give me a minute to rest, and I will be OK.” There was either a small bench or a chair which I immediately sat on….summoning back my strength. On the bright side, the entire misadventure could have turned out differently. I could have fallen backwards and tumbled down the entire flight of stairs. I do not even want to dwell on the consequences of that scenario. The owners of this property can easily prevent this sort of accident from happening again by merely making is clear and obvious in their description of the property that the apartment is located in a basement…..that whoever rents it can expect to walk up and down a long flight of stairs. Buyer beware!

We returned to Topeka on Monday afternoon, December 22….and then our thoughts turned to Christmas. First and foremost was unpacking, setting up and decorating the Christmas tree. It was sort of a big deal…..for me and Romeo and Mannie. I am not going to swear to it….but I think this was a first for both of them: Having a Christmas tree. I will leave it up to you to ask them for sure.

Back in my childhood, the night we bought and decorated our Christmas tree was magical….one of the most exciting events of the entire year. Mother would unpack all the Christmas decorations….the lights, the tinsel, the icicles, the ornaments, the decorative candy canes. And, of course, the angel or star that was place at the pinnacle of the tree. We kids….and I am mostly talking about my younger brother and me….were not allowed to touch the lights. That “honor” was reserved for my older sisters and bother…..and, of course, my parent. My younger brother and I would watch with anticipation until the lights were circled around the tree….always starting at the top. When the lights were finally arranged perfectly, each of us put an ornament on the tree in turn until the last one had been placed. We searched for the “ideal” place for our ornaments, most often, probably, being coached by one of our older siblings. I mean…. This was important stuff, and it had to be done right! After the ornaments, came the tinsel, again mostly a job for the older ones. But….the icicles. Now that is where we had almost free reign to place them anywhere we wanted. And… We took the matter seriously. After all…. The tree had to be perfect.

Our family had a Christmas tree for as long as I can recall. Even after all of us had grown into adults, decorating the Christmas tree was an occasion we all looked forward to. Sometimes it was not possible for all of the family to be together to decorate the tree, but whomever was available was always there to ensure that the tree was decorated and ready for the holiday season.

 

 

 

 

The last tree I decorated at home was the Christmas after I returned home from South Vietnam. It had been six years since I lived at home….three years in the Army….three years in South Vietnam….and that evening brought back a lot of fond memories. Well, that is not quite correct. The very first year I lived in my new, just-built house I had a tree. I was persuaded (and it didn’t take very much) to go out into the field behind my house and cut down some sort of evergreen tree that grew wild back there. It was a disaster. The branches were like stickers; it all too soon dried out and began shedding all over the floor….and it was ugly. So…. I am not counting that one. Only trying to erase it from my memory.

OK… After that nostalgic throwback, let’s get back to the present.

Romeo and I had discussed getting a Christmas tree even in the summer while they were here….especially how tall the tree would (or should) be. Romeo has all in favor of buying a rather humongous tree….. six or seven feet tall. Wow…. The ceiling in the front room is only seven feet six inches tall. A tree that tall would hardly fit into the room, especially if we intended to put a star on top. I was also concerned about blocking the warm air from the furnace vent. Sometimes we have enough difficulty in heating the house without intentionally setting something in front of the vent.

The debate continued during our weekly online chats. Romeo does not give up easily…..and neither do I. Initially, it seemed to me that a five feet tree would the ideal way to go. We could set it on a box to get it off the floor a bit and still keep the warm air flowing freely. After they arrived, we began to look at trees more closely….taking measurement and all that kind of stuff. After a bit more discussion, I relented and ordered a six feet tall tree….one that could sit on the floor and still not impede the flow of air.

I ordered a six feet tall artificial spruce tree with 800 branch tips with a folding stand so it could be stored and used annually. Actually, it was a good looking tree. Along with the tree, I also bought 80 Christmas tree ornaments and a 73 feet long string of 200 LED lights. So… On the Saturday afternoon following Thanksgiving Romeo was eager to set the tree up. The tree came in three separate sections to make storing it easy and more convenient. It was packed into a narrow box….so narrow that before we opened it, I was suspicious that we had been ripped off with some sort of malformed excuse for a tree. And, my suspicions were not relieved when Romeo first took the tree from the box, But, then he started straighgtening up the little “twigs”….800 of them, remember….and the tree began to take shape. I joined in the task and helped him. And, after maybe 15 minutes we had a nice looking….and realistic looking…..tree sitting before us. Maybe you are asking where Mannie was during this time. Actually, he did not seem to share the same enthusiasm for decorating that Romeo and I did.

Romeo started stringing the light around the tree. It soon became apparent that 200 LED lights were not going to complete the job. By this time, Mannie had appeared on the scene to check out what we were doing. The only thing we could do was get into the car and drive to Walmart to buy some more lights. I had forgotten to buy something to go on the top of the tree. The obvious choices were either a star or an angel. We saw a nice looking star that would nice on top. We headed back home to complete to decorating.

Mannie joined in the fun and helped Romeo hang the ornaments on the tree. They carefully and judiciously placed each ornament. Between them, they managed to create a visually stunning tree. Not only did they have fun….but I think they were proud of the work they had done….and rightly so. The crowning moment of the evening was plugging the tree into the electrical outlet….and knowing all the work had been worthwhile. This, hopefully, will be a process which will be repeated again and again for many years to come.

Depending on how you look at it, decorating the Christmas tree may have been the most exciting experience of this year’s Christmas Season. But that may be up for debate, depending on which one of us you ask. I am merely making a personal assumption….and stating a personal preference. But, it was only one of the activities we did to celebrate the season.

We looked a lot of Christmas lights around the city. Several evenings we braved the cold weather, got into the car, and went in search of Christmas lights. They were not difficult to find. Topeka has an abundance of lavish displays to look at. First and foremost among the Christmas light displays is Winter Wonderland. For the past twenty-eight years, this display has been a major fund raiser for TARC….Topeka Association for Retarded Citizens. They raise money which is used to support citizens with intellectual and developmental issues. At the present time, it touches the lives of about 2500 children and families.

Winter Wonderland is open from Thanksgiving weekend through the first of the year. This extravaganza is located on the east side of Lake Shawnee, and it covers about two miles of roads that wind their way around the lake. The display of lights is a feast for the eyes and depict a wide range of Christmas-related themes. Think of almost any topic that is related to the Christmas season….and the odds are it will be represented in this display. Of course, the major display are scenes of Christ in a manger….and the characters associated with the Biblical account of the birth of Christ….Joseph and Mary, the shepherds, sheep, the Wise Men, the star of Bethlehem. The scene would not be complete without angels. It is all there, the entire Christmas story….visualized in lights.

The secular scenes and characters from Christmas tradition are not neglected. You want Santa Claus? You got him. His elves? They are there, too. And, the season would probably not be complete without Rudolf and his high-flying reindeer companions. Throw in some candy canes and some snowmen….maybe Frosty?….and then you are getting some idea of what to expect. Take my word for it….or better yet, to see it for yourself.

Winter Wonderland take weeks to assemble. Stop for a minute and consider the planning, the logistics….not to mention the hundreds of thousands of lights which have to be installed. Not only installed….but arranged so they make recognizable objects….and tell a story. The price of admission is merely $10.00 per car. It is an inexpensive, fun and exciting way to contribute to a worthwhile community endeavor.

Romeo and Mannie and I actually drove through the display a couple times. The first time we had a tendency to rush though the displays. Our pictures were not very good. The pictures from our second effort was more successful….mostly because this time we slowed down….took our time….and took our time to enjoy the drive.

The citizens of Topeka, like the citizens of most cities and towns, go all out on Christmas decorations. Throughout the Christmas season we spent several evenings merely driving around looking at lights. One of the more lavishly decorated neighborhoods is the Potwin area….located on the near northeast side of Topeka. This neighborhood has long has the reputation of being one of “the” places to enjoy an evening of driving up and down the streets gazing at the lights. Just like us…. We spent an enjoyable evening joining the dozens of other sightseers who had the same idea as we did. Our time was well spent, I think. And, I hope I am safe in saying that all three of us, Mannie, Romeo and I, found the time to worthwhile and pleasant.

Another notable display of Christmas trees was set up in the Fairlawn Plaza Mall. This traditional display was a charitable benefit for SLI (Sheltered Living, Inc.) of Topeka. The trees had been decorated by various organizations and individuals and donated to SLI to be auctioned off to the highest bidder to raise funds for the organization. I am not sure how many trees were on display. Maybe 100 of them? At any rate, the trees were set up on tables in the long corridor of the mall. Many of the trees were not decorated in a traditional manner….what we would normally expect a Christmas tree to look like. Instead, the trees was decorated with a different “theme”….and some, in my opinion, rather bizarre. Maybe I am bound too much by my concept of what a Christmas tree “should” look like. But a Christmas tree decorated with dolls? With old 45 rpm disks? With Boy Scout badges? I guess that just isn’t my idea of what a tree should look like. Actually, I think our own Christmas tree….the one that Romeo and Mannie decorated….was more attractive and in better taste than many we saw at the Fairlawn Mall. I also questioned who, exactly would buy such trees? Somebody, I guess….at least…. I hope.

Christmas Eve finally arrived. Mannie and I attended the Christmas Eve service at The First United Methodist Church. This has been a long-lasting tradition for me, dating back to the year I first started attending the church in the early 1970’s. While many other churches conduct Christmas Eve services, many, if not most, of them are held in the late afternoon or early evening hours. I am not sure why they hold the services at such an early hour…..probably because they think it will improve the attendance. Or maybe because it is a more reasonable hour for children. Or maybe it is to give families more time to spend together on Christmas Eve.

The First United Methodist Church in Topeka actually holds a variety of services on Christmas Eve….. One in the afternoon intended for the children of the church. Each age group sings songs, acts out little skits…..things of that sort. There is another service in the early evening. It is a less formal service and is designed for those people who would rather not get out so late at night. And, then there is the service which begins at 11:00 P.M. It is a more formal service….more solemn, perhaps….which is attended by us people who like the formal structure of the service, not to mention its beauty…its grace….it style. It is one hour of scripture, music and spoken word, all of which convey the meaning of the birth of Christ. The service ends with the singing of Silent Night, as each member of the congregation lights a candle and the lights in the sanctuary go dark….and the service ends almost on the stroke of midnight….Christmas Day.

Mannie and I made a special attempt to arrive early because we knew that parking spaces would be scarce…..especially parking spaces for handicapped individuals. We were fortunate enough to find a somewhat convenient parking spot. Special Christmas music was performed prior to the service, so we sat quietly and listened to the music while we waited for the service to begin. The sanctuary was already approaching capacity when we arrive almost thirty minutes early. The most convenient seats available were those in the very front. That was OK. We had a front row seat to the service.

At midnight, after the service had ended, we took our traditional drive down Wanamaker Street. It is only night….the single night….of the year when this busiest street in Topeka is totally devoid of traffic. It is empty….a ghost town…. It is a little spooky to see the Walmart parking lot completely, absolutely empty. And, to me it is one of the Seven Wonders of Topeka. Please don’t ask me what the other six are!

We….or at least, I….started discussing Christmas gifts long before Christmas Day arrived. “What do you want for Christmas?” This inquiry was unanimously met with the reply of “I don’t care.” This response can become a little bit annoying after a while. “OK… You don’t have to tell me specifically. Just give me a category….a hint….a clue.” This did not help much. There was still no response that was going to help me choose a gift. And, let’s face it…. Both Mannie and Romeo are difficult to buy gifts for. Even after spending a few months with them, I still had no clues as to what they like or what their interests are. After weeks….and yes, it was weeks….of prodding, both of them finally said they wanted one of my paintings as a Christmas gift.. Romeo’s preference was that I paint a new painting for him. Mannie preferred to choose one that I had already painted. Wow…. Finally. That wasn’t so difficult….was it? Even though I still wasn’t exactly how sincere they were being. But, the die was cast. Both of them would….and did….receive a painting from me for Christmas.

 

Me? I tried to make it somewhat more simple for them. Anything would have been great! Anything they gave to me would be forever valued…..setting on their self forever. But, as I said, I tried to practice what I preached. “I want something personal with either YOUR name on it….of Ghana….or Grambling University….on it. I think that pretty well opened up the possibilities. And, I was not disappointed. In fact, I was happy and very touched when Mannie presented me with a lighted plaque with my pictures and an inscription on it. It is proudly displayed and is lighted twenty-four hours a day. Romeo gave me a “bobble-head” figure of myself…with the word Grambling written on it. It looks somewhat like me….maybe. At least they got the short sleeve shirt, the shorts, the black compression stockings and the black shoes….and the white hair. It is sitting on Romeo’s shelf….and will stay here….well, forever. Yes…. I will treasure these gifts forever because Romeo and Mannie gave them to me. But…on the other hand, they should also treasure the paintings I gave to them…. Someday they can sell them for about $20 million each….when they finally get tired being sentimental about me!

 

 

 

I receive two other gifts this  year that were notable and will also be displayed in my townhouse forever.  Both of them have special significance because they came from special people in my life.  The first of these gifts was given to me by my cousins  while were were visiting them in Lyons.  My cousin, Dennis, is a master craftsmen in the most true since of the word.  He produces some extraordinary works of art which I have admired for years.  This year he presented my with a handmade clock which he made specially for me. It is an amazing example of fine art….not a painting….but a clock.  And, not only a clock, but a clock with a Jayhawk on its face.  What more could I ask for?

My friend, Jason, gave me a special cup with his bank’s logo on it.  It is also a work of art in its own special way.  It is not a clock which you can buy off the shelf at Walmart.  It came in its own exquisite gift box.  It is too nice to ever use for mere drinking.  It, too, will remain on his shelf for everybody…..myself included…..to see.

Several days earlier, I had made an executive decision that we would spend a quiet, uneventful day together on Christmas Day…..just the three of us. No big meal to prepare….no extra preparations. We all rose late on Christmas Day, exchanged our gifts….and just lounged around the house until it was time to eat a mid-afternoon lunch. Most restaurants were closed both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day…..and that is understandable. In fact, Christmas Day is the ONLY day of the entire year when Topeka is virtually shut down…..nothing is open, aside from service stations and some convenience stores. We chose to go to the China Pavilion to eat. The owners of this Chinese buffet have long opended its doors on Christmas Day to accommodate those people…like us….who did not want to spend the time preparing a Christmas meal. So instead of dining on turkey and dressing….or other time consuming meals…..we, instead enjoyed a meal of good old Christmas shrimp, egg rolls, rice…. We were not alone in making this decision, apparently. It was somewhere around 2:30 in the afternoon when we walked into the China Pavilion. It was at least filled to three-fourths its capacity. I later talked to a friend who had been there during the noon hour. The only thing he could say was, “Wow! It was packed!” After an extended, but pleasant, Christmas meal, we returned back home. It was our first Christmas together….and one that I hope is repeated many times.

The final Big Event of Romeo and Mannie’s six weeks visit was our trip to Rock City Park, up and out in north central Kansas about twenty miles north of I-70 near the town of Minneapolis. Rock City is a collection of somewhere around 200 very large sandstone boulders which are distributed over an area about the size of two football fields. These large rock formations were formed in the neighborhood of two million years ago. At least that is what scientists claim. And, I am not going to argue the fact.

 

 

 

I know they have been there for at least three years! That was my first encounter with them. Actually this is only place in the world where such a concentration of this type this type of sandstone boulders can be found. Another important distinction for the state of Kansas! For sure, they are an impressive display….and it sort of appears that Mother Nature placed them in a rather picturesque pattern…..maybe so they would make a good photo op?

 

 

 

Maybe you are asking…. What are these rock good for? What can you do there? The answer is probably…..not much. Other than the fact that they are visually pleasing….interesting….unusual….maybe somewhat bizarre…. They are fun to climb on. And that may be the major attraction. It was for both Romeo and Mannie. They spent a great of time exploring the area….and, of course climbing the rocks. That activity proved to be most fun. One would think that once you have climbed one rock….then you have done it. All of the other rocks are the same. But, at Rock City each boulder is unique….different sizes, different shapes, different challenges, different poses to strike… Each rock presented its own unique satisfaction and offered its own rewards.

 

 

 

So…. Why not? Go ahead…. Climb all of them… They didn’t quite climb all of them, but they got a good start. As for me…. My rock climbing days are in the past. I was very content to watch Mannie and Romeo as they accepted the challenges of becoming “pretend” mountain climbers and scaling the heights of the miniature, make believe mountains. And, as always, I was the official photographer and recorded their enjoyment and laughter in pictures. It was a fun and worthwhile diversion, but, as will most things, it was time to leave it behind and move on.

 

 

 

Although it was a few miles out of our way….and we were not going to make it back home until after dark….we decided to drive over to Cawker City and take a look at the World’s Largest Ball of Twine.

Let me be quite honest. This is not a destination event. It does not rival the Grand Canyon….or even Rock City. It is, however, a unique and odd-ball roadside attraction. It is rather widely known in the state of Kansas. Everybody hears about it….but nobody goes to see it. Well… That really is not true. We went to see it!

The World’s Largest Ball of Twine is easy to find. It is located on the main street of Cawker City, on what I think it also a highway. There it is, sitting under a gazebo type structure on the south side of the street….and a convenient parking lot adjoining it. The ball of twine is 46 feet in circumference….and it weights 27,000 lbs. That is about 13 and a half tons! It is a little too heavy to pick up. If you unroll the ball of twine, it would measure a staggering 8.5 million feet long. You can wrap a lot of packages with that much twine. According to the sign, it was started back in 1953 by a local farmer. By 1963 it has grown large enough to be carried into town and put on display.

Yeah… To some people it may seem a little bit corny….somewhat rural. But, on the other hand, it is a testament to the creativity and ingenuity of the people of Cawker City to come up with a one-of-a-kind attraction which they can call their own. Come on…. Would you have thought of it? And, again, it makes a good picture….probably one that your friends do not have….and have not seen. We didn’t linger there for long….probably longer that we should have, though. The sun was thinking of setting when we left. A couple hours later, we were back in Topeka, picking up some Chinese food from the Hong Kong Chinese Restaurant, and heading back to the warmth and comfort of our townhouse.

To be honest…. Most of our time was spent in the townhouse….Darrah Tower….as it has been nicknamed. Everyday life took place here within these four walls. Yes, a lot stuff went on here….

One of the activities that Mannie and I actively engaged in was painting. The “painting studio” is located in the basement. For a few years the painting studio was on the dining room table. It really wasn’t bothering anything. I rarely….no, never….use the dining room table for eating, unless there are guests for dinner. And, that happens once….twice at the most…. a year. Eventually I simply got tired of the mess and confusion is caused. Once the paints….and brushes….and other painting utensils are on the table, there really is not much that be done to keep it clean and orderly. So about a year ago, Carter built a “painting table” in the basement, and all of the painting paraphernalia was moved down to the basement.

While Cezanne was staying here, his girl friend came to spend a few weekends. Now… She is an artist. While she sat creating her (literal) masterpieces from nothing else but her imagination…..and while Cezanne, for the most part, simply sat watching her….I worked on a painting of my own. It is….well, what should I call it? A mosaic type painting with my initials embedded in it. I like it…. And, so did Romeo…or at least, he said he did. Regardless, that is what he decided he wanted for his Christmas gift.

These painting are labor intensive, to say the least. First of all the initials of the person must be drawn on the canvass….and drawn in such a manner that they are distinguishable. Then, using a pencil, an intricate series of “pieces” are drawn over the canvass. In order to make it somewhat realistic, there must be literally dozens of little spaces created….to resemble small individual pieces of glass. Each of these little spaces….or “pieces” must then be filled with different colors of paint. Of course, the initials must be painted so they are distinguishable from the remainder of the background. The end product, if all goes well, will resemble a stained glass window with the initials embedded within the painting.

While I sat and worked on this one painting, Mannie worked on his paintings, too. It takes an estimated six to eight hours to complete my painting. About two hours is the max on channeling my attention toward painting. Consequently we were down in the basement three or four nights working. As I said, I was working on Romeo’s Christmas gift….and I wanted to do an acceptable job. Mannie’s paintings were a gift for me. As I said, he asked that he be allowed to select a painting that I had done previously for his gift.

As we painted, my back was facing him, so we did not engage in a lot of conversation, except for a few intermittent exchanges. We were both absorbed in the tasks at hand. The painting I was working on was labor intensive and required a great deal of concentration. During the time it took me to complete one picture, Mannie was able to produce three pictures….four, actually, because he painted over one of them because he was dissatisfied with it. The three paintings that he did produce were all pure Mannie. No input from me. Which is good. When he presented them to me on Christmas morning, they were one hundred percent his work….his ideas….his creativity. Actually, Mannie started another painting, too. He sort of hit a road block, so to speak, and left it to complete at a later time.

 

 

 

For some reason Romeo chose not to join us during any of our painting sessions. I have no idea why, but he declined all the invitations which were extended to him to come join us. Of course…. That was his decision.

Food preparation is always an important event….if not a ritual….when Romeo and Mannie come to visit. And…. Yes, rice was the ubiquitous food….again. And, chicken. And the various stews, soups and sauces, of which I am still confused as to their difference. But, on the other hand, it not of major importance to me. I merely accepted their word for what we happened to be eating on any particular night.

 

 

 

Happily, we did manage to make some progress….a baby step, at least….toward expanding our culinary horizons a bit. It was like pulling teeth from a chicken, as my mother would say, but one evening for dinner we actually had meatloaf. Good old staple, familiar American meatloaf. It was what I hope turns out to be a ground breaking step in future meals. And, the encouraging thing is: They actually liked it! Or pretended they did. I will even accept that! And, they also seemed to like creamed corn and scalloped potatoes….and cheese cake. The question is: Will they remember these innovations when they return? Will they still like them. Or will we have to start from ground zero again.

Yes… There was more fufu and more banku. But, only for them. As I explained earlier: Been there; done that. And, I did not like that. I was perfectly content…even eager….to eat my old diet on these occasions. Mannie, however, was always kind enough to prepare some rice for me. I think they simply cannot imagine a meal with no rice……and z meal with no rice is something that I dream about! At meal time, at least.

We continued to eat out on a regular basis, too. Always in the same familiar places. Still following long standing tradition, we ate lunch with Jason on Wednesday….always at the Ichabod Grille. Jason and I tried this place once, and it has become our regular go-to eating place. Back in “the old days”, we always asked, “Where do you want to eat this week?” Now that question is no longer asked. It is a foregone conclusion. It is understood that we will eat at the Ichabod Grille. As I may have pointed out previously, the food is excellent, as well as plentiful, and the prices are among the cheapest in Topeka. It is easy for both of us get to; parking is plentiful….and convenient; and the personnel are super friendly and accommodating. In fact, they do not even bother to ask what we want to order. They just bring it to us. I think that both Mannie and Romeo like the place, too. They have never registered any complaints….and they also tend to order the same food every time we eat there.

One of the other two places where we are bound to show up when dining out are The China Pavilion…..without a doubt the best Chinese restaurant in the city. This is a favorite of Sam’s, and we are semi-regular customers on Fridays.  We are also familiar faces in this restaurant, too. We all feel at home there. Again, the food is good….and plentiful. But….That depends on you since it is an all-you-can-eat buffet. It is casual dining at its best with a wide variety of food…..and a relaxed, no-hurry atmosphere. I think we have eaten there with Jason. But, when we are dining by ourselves….or with Sam….this is probably the place he chooses.

As mentioned previously, Jason and I eat lunch together every Wednesday. We have been doing this for several year. It is our “Wednesday” thing to do. He has gotten to know Romeo and Mannie fairly well, and when they are staying with me, they are also regulars at these lunch meetings….no matter where we decide to eat.

On the other hand, both Romeo and Mannie are also fond of El Dorado Mexican Restaurant. If either of them has the option of choosing where to eat, it is a good bet this is the place they might choose, rather than China Pavilion. It could be a toss up.

When we eat at home….and that is normally where we eat….the evening has sort of evolved into a distinct and regular pattern. We eat supper, after which Mannie and Romeo do the dishes. After the dishes are washed and put away, they go upstairs….probably to send some alone time, one on one time with their cell phones. For me…. It is nap time! I turn on one of CD’s, close my eyes and sleep for eighty minutes….let’s say from 6:30 until 8:00….the duration of the CD. This is a habit or pattern that I have developed and followed for more years than I can remember. If I miss my nap….and sometimes I do….though it is not any fault of my own….it throws my entire day off. I take care to always take a nap.

At 8:00, or shortly thereafter, I hear Mannie descending the stairs. Over the time he has lived in my house, this has developed into a tradition…..our special time together. Mannie doesn’t seem to be a fan of watching TV. Mostly we simply sit and talk….discuss…sometimes argue (in a friendly sort of way, of course). Spending this time has enabled us to get to know each other better and to understand each other on a more significant and thoughtful basis. I am going to venture an opinion and say that Mannie has a more philosophical personality than most people I talk to. But, Mannie also has a humorous side….although it is understated and a bit more subtle than my average friends.

At 10:00 Mannie goes back upstairs to do something….something I have never figured out. Maybe it is to check out his cell phone….maybe to work on one of his “projects”….or to do something on his computer….maybe to sleep. I really don’t know. But, in any event…. Here comes Romeo walking down the stairs….almost always wrapped in his blanket.

The time I spend with Romeo is an entirely different scenario. It is 10:00….time for the local news, which is always playing in the background. However, at 10:35 when Stephen Colbert appears on the screen, our attention shifts. Our eyes and ears are focused on the TV screen. If we are at home, you can bet we will be watching Stephen Colbert. And, if the show is a rerun, you can be equally certain we are watching Jimmy Kimmel.

On this most recent stay, Romeo introduced to two new TV shows. I think Romeo has quite possibly seen every TV show that has ever been produced in the past ten years….while I pretty much stick to my old familiar favorites. One of the TV shows that he really seems to like is “Friends”. I can honestly say that I never watched even one episode of that show during all the years is has been in existence. Why didn’t I watch it? I don’t have any idea. It just didn’t seem like something I would like to watch. And, also with the exception of “Antiques Roadshow”, I never turn on the TV until 10:00…..and then I watch my old standby favorites. So… In order to please Romeo and because I didn’t want to completely monopolize what we watched, I relented, and we started watching “Friends” on a regular basis….sometimes as many as three or four of them in a row. Yeah… It is an entertaining show….funny and engaging. After Romeo left and went back to college, “Friends” simply lost its appeal….and it is no longer on my nightly agenda.

Now…. Another TV show he introduced me to was an entirely different story. In pre-Romeo days, I had never heard of a TV show called “Shark Tank”…..and even if I had I probably would have passed over it without giving it a second though. “Shark Tank”? Who would want to watch a show about sharks swimming around in a pool…or river….or wherever. No…. There not a chance that I would have watched it. But, at Romeo’s suggestion I agreed to watch it. Wow…. It is not about vicious marine life….or the ocean….or of people actually fighting off sharks. It turned out to be an intelligent, as well as entertaining show that showcases new products which ambitious first time entrepreneurs are asking for money to jump start the products which they have developed. If you have not seen it…. Watch it. It is not what you might first think. And, like I said it both educational and entertaining. And, for me, it is addictive. I continue to watch even now when Romeo is 600 miles away, back in college.

Romeo and I had sort of a non-verbal understanding that we would turn off the TV at 1:00 A.M. This is when we took advantage of the time to sit and talk…..about a lot of stuff. Sometimes Mannie would some back downstairs, but more often than not, he could be found up in his room….sound asleep!

This pattern sort of evolved during the summer months….and carried over into this latest stay. And, it works well….although maybe it would be nice for all three of us to sit down and have a conversation together sometime.

A couple important items that do not mentioned enough….. One: for probably forty years each Sunday morning I drove down to Topeka to attend church…..The First United Methodist Church. Unfortunately, as my mobility deceased, walking up the steps which led to the church became more difficult….and then virtually impossible. Oh… I could probably have done it, but I live in constant fear of falling….tripping on one of the steps. If I were by myself this could end up not being a very pretty scene! Reluctantly, I opted to simply stay at home and watch the worship service online. It is certainly not the same as being in the sanctuary in person….but it does afford the opportunity to be part of the service….even remotely. While Mannie was here, we went to church almost every Sunday morning. It was a great satisfaction to me….and I think, to him. That simple act of kindness….although it was mutually beneficial….meant a lot to me. And, it is one that I will never forget.

Oh, yes….. One Sunday….the last Sunday before he left to go back to Grambling…..we attended a service at a Roman Catholic Church. Mannie is a Roman Catholic, but he was kind and considerate enough to accompany me to my church. Upon his return, I am very hopeful that we can make some sort of arrangement whereby we can go to both of our worship services. Maybe attend the Roman Catholic service on Saturday evening….and then continue to go to my church on Sunday. That would be a very agreeable plan…..hopefully, for both of us.

One more thing…. And, I have hesitated to discuss it….mostly I do not want it to appear that I am looking for sympathy…. As years to by, my mobility has gradually decreased. As those of you who know me are aware, my knee joints are, for all practical purposed, gone….bone on bone. And, the doctors are very reluctant to replace them because of various reasons. And, for a number of years, there have been issues with my heart, and this will probably never improve. As a result, there are problems with mobility and also with strength and stamina.

Both Romeo and Mannie and Jason have been great! They understand and they never hesitate to lend a hand without a second thought. Among many other reasons, this would be reason enough for them to earn a lifetime of gratitude and affection. They have been my guardian angels, to to speak. They have consistently made my life easier and more livable and joyful. Need I say more…….

So….. As we always knew it would…..The time came for Romeo and Mannie to return to Grambling University to continue their education and prepare for bright futures. For me, it was a sad day. But, they will return. And, that is something good to look forward to.

In the Beginning….. Some Background

It has been a memorable and exciting summer…..the Summer of 2025. Maybe you are asking, “What could be so exciting and memorable about a summer for a guy who has been retired for 22 years, has two bad knees and a heart condition….and has trouble getting around.

Take my word for it. Despite all these true statements, it was a summer that I will never forget. To sort of paraphrase Winston Churchill, “The Summer of 2025, a summer that will live in my memory.” That oblique attempt at a paraphrase is only for those of you that were born before 1950…..or who maybe paid attention in your history class in school, which judging by the political mess “We the People” have gotten ourselves into are not very many of you.

After the summer of 2023, I took a time out from hosting guests….both American and foreign, but especially Americans. Over the past few years, I had hosted a series of American guests…..most of whom were basically losers…..drifters, migrating from one free homestay to another. Some of them were just plain weird. I never felt in danger, but some of them were strange enough to cause “Caution” signs to be posted in my brain. I did, however, wait until they were sound asleep before I turned off the lights and went to asleep myself. Needless to say, none of them became my friends, and I do not keep in contact with any of these misfits today.

Foreign guests have been somewhat more palatable. I turned town several potential guests…..almost all were females who posted provocative photos….apparently what they hoped would be “sexy” enough to trap some unsuspecting male. I am not going to get into that discussion……but you can probably figure out why I did not want them as “guests”! On the other hand, several of my male foreign guests were among the nicest, most considerate and most pleasant guests I have hosted. Of course, they probably had different “motives” than the female wannabes. Many of them still stay in touch.

In April, I got a request from a university student in Ghana asking about the possibility of spend the summer hiatus at my house. Wow! I had never had a guest from an African country. Well…. Let me take that back. I did have one! I am still trying to forget about him! The very afternoon that he arrived, he started lobbying (i.e. begging, scheming….) to live permanently at my house. He pleaded with me to adopt him, to hire him as my personal servant, so he could “take care” of me in my “old age”! He wanted my help in finding an American woman who would marry him. (Good Luck there!) Actually, just anything so he would not have to return to his home country in Africa. There was no way in the world that I had any desire or intention of doing any of these things. And, I told him quite forcefully and unequivocally. In fact, I gave him a deadline to move out of my house! After searching the Internet literally all day, every day, for about a week, he finally found somebody who would accept him as a guest. I drove him to the McDonald’s on the west edge of Lawrence. Without even turning off the car, I got his stuff out of the trunk…..and I drove away into the sunset, as they say in the movies. Obviously, I never attempted to stay in contact with him. Who knows where he is…. Who cares? He is undoubtedly somewhere in this country…..illegally…..trying to stay one step in front of immigration officials. Do you sort of understand why I do not choose to consider this guy as a “guest”?

Some Wishes Do Come True…..

So…. When I received the request from a guest in Ghana, I accepted rather eagerly. Maybe you asking WHY?, after the previous bad experience. The answer was simple to me…..but may be just a bit complicated to explain to others. But…. Let me try….without appearing to be strange, or insensitive or politically incorrect…..or even racist!

For most of my adult life, I have always wanted a black friend. I spent four years in South Vietnam, so I had (at the time) plenty of Asian friends. My younger brother was married to a Mexican lady, and I had friends among her extended family. went to high school…..and graduated with…..a black boy. I can honestly say that I didn’t “know” he was black. He was simply one of my classmates whom I saw every day for four years….five, if we want to include the 8th grade. Of course, in the Army I had black barrack mates. It is is difficult….and rare….to make friends with anybody under those transient conditions. During the 38 years I was associated with the Valley Falls school district, we had exactly ONE black student. I never taught him….or actually, never even met him…..during the brief time he was a high school student. For a brief time, I even considered adopting one or two black children and raising them. But, that was much more wishful thinking than practicality or reality! When I moved to Topeka and into my present townhouse community, I was sure that I would meet up with all sorts of diverse people and undoubtedly make friends with them. Well…. That was a vast misconception, to say the least. Nobody visits with each other here. We greet each other, nod to each other. But, I personally do not know of any serious, longer-term friendships which have sprung up here in our two-hundred home community. We can’t even get people to show up for a free holiday dinner! So….. I sort of abandoned that expectation….or dream.

Yes…. It is more difficult to simply say, “I am going to make friends…..” with anybody.

I belong to two international hospitality organizations. So over several years, I have accepted a variety of guests who have spent anywhere from a couple day to regular, recurring guests who have more less made my home their home when they are on break, on vacation or just want to come and spend some time. I have had both short term and long term guests from Germany, Saudi Arabia, France, Italy, Hong Kong, Israel… But, it seems, that guests from African countries are always denied visas, a policy, either justified or misguided, to enter the United States.

I was somewhat surprised to receive the request through one of the hospitality organizations from a university student in Ghana….a student who was already in this country attending a university…..to come and spend the summer at my house. And, he asked if perhaps his brother could also come and spend the summer here. I immediately replied to him through the hospitality organization. (This is definitely a commercial endeavor on their part! Put even one little bit of personal information in your reply….and the message will be kicked back almost immediately.)

Within a few hours I got another message from the student asking, if effect, if I am gay! Actually…..and I do not want to embarrass him any more than necessary….he asked if I was looking for a lover!“What???!!!” What in the heck is going on here? I had never been asked this question before. Actually, this is the sort of question that I should be asking him! But…. I thought it was hilarious…..and I was seriously tempted to answer in the affirmative and ask him if he was, too. At that point, I, too, began to get just a bit paranoid about him. We arranged to talk on one of the social medial platforms…..and both of must have been satisfied with the outcome of the conversation.

Probably the decisive moment for me was that he took the time to look me up on Facebook…..probably a very daunting task given that he did not know my last name. However, I am probably one of the few….. if not the only…. person with the name of Beryl who lives in Topeka and is a member of Facebook! Somehow he narrowed it down….and I received a “friend request” from him. After our visit on WhatsApp, apparently both of us were satisfied that all was OK.

I was scheduled to pick up Romeo and Mannie at the bus station at the rather obscene hour of 7:00 A.M. on the morning of Saturday, May 3. Due some delays, Romeo finally informed me that it would be closer to 9:00 A.M. It really didn’t make a lot of difference. I was already awake and ready to go meet them…..and given my sleep patterns, it was not a very good idea to go back to sleep.

When I pulled up in front of the bus depot, they were standing patiently waiting for me to arrive and sweep them off to Darrah Tower…..with a ton of luggage. And, that was my first encounter with Romeo and Mannie

Two other guests were already staying at my house, but only for Friday and Saturday nights. I told them that I was expecting two more guests….that, in fact, they had already arrived. Fortunately, they were leaving early Sunday morning. Romeo and Mannie spent the night in a downtown hotel. Immediately after the two guests left, I jumped into my car and set off to retrieve them. With that, we started our summer adventure together.

The Starting Line…

Any attempt to reconstruct a chronological chain of events would be futile….and probably not very accurate or productive. However, it is fairly certainly that we started off our summer together by eating….something that would remain an important part of our daily life. If I can believe the pictures we took, we ate twice that day….. Once at the Golden Corral for lunch and once at the China Pavilion in the evening. Under normal circumstance, the Golden Corral is one of the favorite places in Topeka for foreigners… non-citizens, at least….to eat. They are impressed, if not overwhelmed, with the huge selection of food which is available to eat…..And, even better….. All you can eat. Normally, I, nor my friends, eat in national franchise restaurants. We long ago ….back during the COVID epidemic when many locally owned businesses of all sorts were being forced out of business…..decided that it is far better to eat in locally owned and operated establishments. They didn’t tell me at the time….but did later on….that they did not like The Golden Corral. It certainly did not hurt my feelings! In a way, that was a relief, because it meant that I no longer had to compromise my belief by taking them there. The locally owned and operated China Pavilion was a different story…. Both of them approved of it enthusiastically.

Up top….to lead off with…..let me state with complete certainty that Romeo and Mannie were, in my opinion……and I hope theirs…..a gift from God. There is simply no other way to describe this chance meeting. Both of them blended into our “family” naturally and seamlessly when I seemingly need somebody the most. Within only a few days, they were no longer guests. I didn’t regard them as guests….and neither did they consider themselves to be “guests”. Throughout the three months we shared a home, they quickly became almost indispensable. They were attentive to my needs, and it was difficult to give them up at the conclusion of their stay. On the other hand, I think….and hope….they shared the same feelings and attitudes. If they don’t….then they can write their own blog outlining their side of the story. But, I do not think that will happen. Deep down in my heart, I hope they felt the sense of belonging, of love and acceptance. I hope they had discovered “home”…..a place where they are always welcome and wanted…..a family who cares….an atmosphere of trust and acceptance.

A Few Bumps in the Road…..

Now, having said all that….Let me address another “issue” which both of us had to address and to which we had to adjust. Maybe them a little more than I! But…. Who knows?

I think….and hope….that most people find me to be an agreeable, reasonable and rather laid-back kind of person. Yeah, yeah…. I can already hear people saying, “Only in your dreams!” I hope these people are in the minority. Because, I really am a nice person! (Don’t argue with me, or I will have to start shouting!)

Probably closer to the point of what I am trying to say is one particular facet of my core beliefs that “If I tell somebody I will do something…..you can bet that I will do it.” and also its twin, “If I tell somebody I will be at a place at a certain time, they can absolutely trust that I will be there.”

I think it was this unshakable belief that was perhaps the only cause….or most important cause….of friction between us during the three months we lived together. (Again…. If I am wrong, I will offer space for them to set the record straight!) Yes…. Probably sometimes I came off sounding mean….definitely impatient. I know because they told me so! That’s OK. Nothing wrong with that…. Anyway, I already knew what they were thinking. And, maybe….probably….I would have reacted the same way. Who knows? The bottom line resulted in sort of an arrangement: We would carefully go over the schedule the previous night…..and they did their best to be ready and show up on time. If this was the most serious obstacle we faced….and I think…hope….it was, then we did OK. I accepted the fact….and was happy….that they inevitably showed up on the dot….on the second. Problem solved….. Happy ending! I am not sure what else I did that irritated or annoyed them. If you ever happen to run into them…ask them. And, then let me know. OK? We can’t work out difference unless we know what they are. Right?

However, with all that said, the summer must be sounding rather dire. Makes me look like some sort of monster! Makes them look like villains! Not at all…. It was a great summer….one of the best I can remember. And, I still love both of them…. How good was our summer, you may be asking. OK… Let me tell you. As I said before, it is impossible to give a day by day, chronological account. So…. Let me simply touch on some of the highlights…..and see if that will make any sense.

Making the Best of It: A Tight Squeeze

One of immediate problems we….they….faced after their arrival was the sleeping arrangement. I have only spare bedroom…..and it has one full size bed, not suitable for two people. An alternative would have been for one of the guys to sleep on the top bunk in my room. That may have been a viable alternative in the winter. But in hot weather a ceiling fan runs continuously twenty-four hours a day. Sleeping on the top bunk could be a precarious thing to do……one false move could have resulted in having an arm or leg….or even one’s head…..or something else of equal or greater importance…. being decapitated. So….. Mannie bought an air mattress….actually more like a small inflatable bed….to sleep on. After some creative shuffling of the furniture, they managed to arrive at an arrangement that satisfied them. Or was simply the lesser of other evils. At any rate, they were happily encamped in their room for the duration of their stay. Oh, yes…. There was one notable exception: The air mattress developed a serious leak which caused it to bubble up in the middle….rendering is to be rather useless. So, poor Mannie ended up sleeping a regular mattress….on the floor. He certainly deserves a medal of some kind….or at least, a cookie, for this heroic feat.

Before abandoning this subject…. I will interject just a thought or two on our sleeping habits. At the beginning of the summer, sleeping habits tended to be semi-normal….at least, for me. But, as the summer wore on, bedtime tended to degenerate into a state of chaos. Probably I was not aware of everything that was happening in the beginning of the summer. Over time our bed time shifted from late…..to early. Early in the morning, I mean! Somewhere around 3:00 A.M or 4:00 A.M. Mannie was obligated to attend some online IT sessions which were erratic or unusual, to say the least. Stay tuned…..There will probably be more on this subject later.

Our Daily Fu-Fu….I Mean Rice…. (Please…. No Fu Fu!)

Once Romeo and Mannie had settled in, one of the foremost problems centered around our evening meal. They commandeered this responsibility, and I actually had very little….well, nothing…..to do with it. When 4:30 or 5:00 rolled around, it was a sure bet that they would be in the kitchen preparing supper. Usually, I would take nap. The timing was almost always perfect. By the time the food was ready to eat, nap time was over. To somebody completely uninitiated to anything that has anything to do with cooking, it was always a puzzle I never quite figured out! My cooking skills consist of such complicated chores as opening a can, putting something into the microwave…..or boiling water. For me, preparing meals are no big deal. It simply is not important. The quicker the better. A maximum of 15 minutes is plenty to spend on a meal. My dining room table is the kitchen counter…..or my recliner. Doing dishes involved such processes as rinsing out a can or throwing away a paper plate….and I am impatient doing even this.

Needless to say, I was more that willing to turn over anything involving food to them. In preparation for preparing the meals, we made a trip to Lawrence to an African food store. Since I would have been useless to them inside the store, I simply waited in the car. Don’t even ask me what they bought! We also make two or three trips to an oriental food market here in Topeka. Again…. I simply sat in the car and waited. And, again, I asked no questions about what they bought. I mean…. This would have been foreign information to me. However, our stalwart food supplier was good old Walmart. Apparently they had sufficient choices available to satisfy their needs. I didn’t attempt to interfere. It is better to just stay out of affairs that I do not understand….and do not concern me.

For the most part, I have no idea of the technical or correct names of the food we ate. They prepared it….told me when it was time to eat. I ate it…..was happy and satisfied. And, basically, that is the end of the story. I am aware that rice was an important and integral part of our diet. And, they explained that the rice is always eaten with either some soup, or some stew or some sauce. I never did distinguish between those three items. I also recognized….or was duly informed…..that we ate either chicken or fish with almost every meal. I think that sometimes there may have been some beef. Oh yes…. Eggs were also a common and frequently part our diet. And, yes…. I did recognize the eggs!

So…. Yes! The food was good. Yes! I knew we were eating some form or variation of rice….fish….chicken….eggs. And…. Yes…. I knew that there was always some kind of sauce, soup or stew to go on top of it. But…No….I never did distinguish between them, either by taste or by sight. But, one thing is for sure: I could….and did….distinguish that I liked it….and they were all delicious. Oh… How could I forget? The plantains. Most people in the USA would mistake them for bananas. I did! They look like bananas….and more or less taste like bananas. And they are commonly eaten in Ghana. Take my word for it… The best way to eat plantains are to slice them in to little circles…..and then fry them. They are delicious!

My introduction to Ghanaian food would not have been complete without a couple items which I simply could not convince….or even force…. my taste buds, nor my stomach…..to accept, enjoy or appreciate. One was called fu-fu, and the other known as banku. Upon several occasions both Romeo and Mannie tried to explain the importance and the desirability of these two foods. Yes… I fully believe that they are maybe two of the most common and delicious and tasty foods of all the foods in Ghana. I do not doubt that for even one moment. But… Now! Convince my stomach and my taste buds and my brain of that! Don’t even bother. I have already tried, and believe me….. It ain’t going to happen. Sorry…. If any of you readers ever have the opportunity to sample either of these two foods….. Go ahead! I challenge you! Who knows? There is always the possibility that you may like them. If, like me, you do not like it…..you can use it to repair holes in your sidewalk.

But, on the other hand… And, there is almost always “on the other hand”….. There are an equal number, if not greater number, of American food they find distasteful. This, however, you can ask Romeo and Mannie personally. I want to be fair. I do not want to prejudice my case.

To sort of summarize…. Yes, the food was consistently delicious! Two little footnotes, however: After the first time I ate the food, I got VERY sick. This happened only once….and fortunately was not an omen of things to come. It was my only unpleasant memory of the food. Now….A very good memory: I lost up to 8 or 10 lbs. during the summer. I can only assume that it was the result of the food they prepared. Hey….. Romeo and Mannie, maybe you should consider entering the dieting or weight loss industry! Maybe you will make millions with your diet!

Eating Out….Fine (and Not So Fine) Dining

Talking about food sort of leads me into another of our favorite activities of the summer….eating out….like in various restaurants. The first day Romeo and Mannie arrived, I took them to The Golden Corral. As already stated, this is where I usually take guests the first day they arrive. Normally, they are impressed…..especially guests from foreign countries. There is an almost overwhelming array of food to choose from: meat, vegetables, fruit, salad, desserts…. To me….and probably most Americans…it looks like food paradise! To make it even more appealing, it is a buffet….an all-you-can-eat buffet. Personally, I like the place! Who wouldn’t? However, back during the COVID pandemic, it fell out of favor with me and the people I meet regularly for lunch. Not because of the food…. That probably never happen….but because we felt it was more civically responsible and maybe even more ethical to eat in locally owned and operated eating establishments. Since many locally owned eating place were being forced out of business by the large national franchise places, it just didn’t seem right to support large corporations who had the resources to withstand economic hardships and watch locally owned establishments forced to close.

Anyway, getting back to the story…. For our evening meal, (and normally I would have not have eaten an evening meal after visiting the Golden Corral) we ate at the China Pavilion, a Chinese buffet. This is our go-to Chinese place here in town. As a general rule, we eat out about three times a week: on Wednesday with my friend, Jason, on Friday with my friend Sam…..and usually just the three of us on the weekend. As time evolved, we ate in several locally owned restaurant and cafes. We ate in places such as Abigail’s Bar and Grill, The Shack, El Dorado Mexican Grill, The Globe Indian Restaurant, The Bar ‘N Grill, Jefferson’s, Thunderbird’s Grill, Speck’s Bar and Grill….and there could have been other places along the way that I have forgotten.

We sort of fell into a predictable pattern of our individual favorite foods. You can almost always be sure that I am going to choose a grilled chicken wrap plus onion rings. Count on it! But, it was not only I who was predictable. You could probably bet you last dollar that Romeo would order a double cheeseburger or some sort, along with french fries; It was a safe bet that Mannie would inevitably order wings and fries. Another odd little fact….probably cultural, maybe not….While Jason, Sam, Joe and I always ordered iced tea to drink….a good old calorie-free drink….Romeo and Mannie almost always….more accurately, always….asked for Fanta. Sometimes the restaurant had it on hand, and they got it….sometimes they didn’t. On the other hand, we always got our iced tea! Good old U.S.A.

Somewhere around the middle of the summer, we began rating the places where had eaten. Having eaten at most of the places previously, my preferences, along with Jason’s, were already pretty well determined. Mine were The Shack, followed by probably Abigail’s and China Pavilion. Jason? Probably Abigail’s. Sam…. Definitely China Pavilion and The Globe Indian Restaurant. Romeo and Mannie’s favorites seem to shift a bit as we added new eating places. The least favorite, somewhat to my surprise, was The Golden Corral. By the end of the summer, it seemed that their favorite places were (and I am not sure of the order) The Shack, El Dorado, and The China Pavilion. We ate at a Mexican restaurant in Hutchinson a few times….a place called El Potrillo (The Colt). They liked the place from the moment they ate their first meal there. I think that had an influence on their rating of ALL Mexican restaurants after that. And, I also noticed they ordered the same meal in all subsequent visits to Mexican restaurants. Score one for El Potrillo! Muy bien!

Yes…. Food played a fairly important role in our daily life. And, not only were Mannie and Romeo introduced to a variety of cuisines….and appeared to enjoy, or least tolerate them…. I was also introduced to foods or different food combinations that were, to say the least, foreign to me. And, aside from the couple examples I mentioned, it was an interesting and satisfying experience. The moral of the story seems to be that all three of us survived, and even enjoyed, new culinary choices.

Oh Happy Day….our daily routine

Let’s take a look and see if we can sort out what usually happened each day. As I have already said, it was normally somewhere between 3:00 A.M. and 4:00 A.M. when we finally called it a day and went to bed. Knowing that it rather simple to deduct that none of were what one might call “early risers”. Generally speaking, I rarely saw either Mannie or Romeo until somewhere around noon. It think it fair to say I probably woke up before either of them did….somewhere between 10:30 and 11:00. Although sometimes I was surprised to see both of them awake when I crossed the hallway to the bathroom. This generally was not the case, however!

My normal routine was to get out of bed, take a shower, check email and Facebook and then go downstairs, turn on the TV and eat a bowl of raisin bran, like I have done for the past 50 years or so. I do not have any pictures to prove it….and they may deny it….but most generally when I glanced into their room, both of them were looking at a computer: Mannie looking at his laptop and Romeo looking at his cell phone. I really can’t prove what either of them was looking out…..only suspect. But, it is a fact. Something on those computers was very interesting. Tic Tok…. Tic Tok… Tic Tok…. Thinking back, I don’t think I ever saw either Romeo or Mannie eat breakfast. They could have sneaked one in while I was not looking or was doing something else.

Our day together officially started sometime around noon….or whatever time we had to leave for our afternoon activities. And, as a general rule, our afternoons were pretty well filled up. Of course, for me, my afternoon centers around the ubiquitous cardiac rehab and various doctor’s appointments. Yeah…. Not much of a life, is it?

Soon after they arrived, both Mannie and Romeo became interested in joining some sort of fitness center. Accompanying me to cardiac rehab would have been the ideal scenario….and a lot easier. Actually, I think both of them would have preferred this solution. But…Alas! This is a very “exclusive” fitness center. First of all, a person must be a cardiac patient….and second, and this may be the most prohibitive: You must have some sort of insurance. ONE session of the initial sixteen weeks costs somewhere in the neighborhood of $1200 – $1500 per session. Exclusive indeed! (Fortunately I have insurance that pays for it!)

Obviously this was not going to happen. The second best solution was to find a fitness center with a group price and no contract. After all, they were going to be here for only three months. After some intensive searching and flip-flopping on the outcome, we finally decided that joining the YMCA would be the next best solution. Back in the day… There used to be 3 YMCAs in Topeka. For years I was a member. Back then, if you were a member of the YMCA you could go to any of the YMCAs in Topeka. It was a fantastic deal.

Now, due probably to economic conditions, there is only one YMCA in Topeka. That YMCA is located right off 37th Street in southwest Topeka. Since I had never been there before, it took a couple practice runs to finally come up with the quickest and most efficient route to get there. Once this was determined, driving there became almost an afternoon ritual.

In the beginning, I had fully expected and intended to simply go to the “Y” four or five times a week and work out along side Romeo and Mannie…..and go to cardiac only on Thursday afternoon. After one visit, however, it was quickly apparent that The Heart Center….cardiac rehab…..had by far the most suitable, newest and user-friendly exercise equipment….for me. So, a pattern developed. I would drop off Romeo and Mannie at the YMCA, and then I would go to cardiac rehab. They were left to themselves to exercise until I picked them up after cardiac rehab.

They had ample time to go through their workout routine. At the cardiac rehab center, I work out for approximately 50 minutes…..and add to this my travel time going to and from the “Y”, they were faced with about 90 minutes of time to develop their (already strong?) bodies? As soon as I got into my car after working out, I sent a text message to Romeo that I was on my way to pick them up. I really can’t say for sure…. But, I think they may had looked forward to these messages!

Soon after we returned home, it was time to start preparing supper…for them, at least. I completely stayed out of that operation. The kitchen was their domain….and they were the masters of their domain! I have already described my culinary capabilities…..none of which were useful to them. While Romeo and Mannie prepared supper, I took the opportunity to take Nap Number 1. And, it worked out well. I turned on one of my CD’s and by the end of the first song, I was asleep. By the time the food was prepared and ready to eat, the music had ended….and I was ready to partake of their delicious, expertly prepared food.

Romeo was in charge of distributing the food. I am not sure of the exact formula he used, but, in the beginning the amounts were in this order: Romeo got the least (don’t ask me why), I got the second largest amount, and Mannie got the largest share….probably because he is the most muscular of us three. This ratio changed over time. I was getting far too much food, and I was afraid I would start to gain weight (although I never did) and Romeo moved into second place. Mannie started….and finished…..in first place. Probably fair and realistic distribution.

After the dishes were washed and stored away….and the table was cleaned, we went our own separate ways. I? I took another nap! Mannie was obligated to an online IT education session at 7:00. I am going to go out on a limb….although a fairly strong limb….and say that Romeo retired to an evening with his cell phone. (Speculation on my part….but a good bet.)

On a Summer’s Night…. Who Are These Two Guys?

Mannie…..

By 9:00 P.M. I had awakened from my nap….semi-refreshed, but in good enough shape to stay awake for several more hours. Mannie’s online IT session also ended at 9:00. He came back downstairs and our nightly ritual was to sit on the front porch and talk. These were pleasant sessions…..just Mannie and I….sitting and talking about whatever came to our mind. Mannie would often become philosophical and tell me of his life dreams and plans. Other times we would talk of things past….of his experiences in his home country of Ghana. Mannie could explain matters in the greatest of detail, giving examples or suppositions to prove point or to get his story across. Mostly I just sat and listened, occasionally interjecting a comment or a question. And while Mannie and I talked…. I took photos, usually much to his displeasure. I was not deterred. I took pictures of what was in front of me, sometimes with unflattering results. But, with time I think he realized it was better to cooperate. Pictures turn out a lot better that way!

I always looked forward to this hour alone….just Mannie and I. It was virtually the only time we spent together one-on-one. Through these nightly sessions on the front porch, I grew to know him better and have a much better understanding of him. Mannie is not only very intelligent, but he is also a very intuitive and thoughtful person. I grew to like and appreciate his quiet and unassuming manner, along with his high ethical standards. I do not recall ever hearing Mannie say an unkind word against anybody. He was always a joy to talk to. But, I also learned that beneath this serious and unassuming demeanor is a delightful….but sly and understated….sense of humor. Mannie can be a very funny person….although it was never in a loud or obvious or demeaning or degrading manner. Sometimes I had to do a double take to recognize or appreciate his subtle humor.

A couple things that I learned about Mannie as a result of the nightly times together. First, and foremost, he is a thoroughly good person…..a nice guy…..a good friend and a good companion. Plus…. He is smart! I also learned that he is an honest person….not only in the standard sense, but also honest with himself and with his feelings and in his personal interactions. I don’t think he would ever intentionally hurt anybody. He is very sensitive to the feelings of others, too. I have to chuckle when I think of the many times I teased him about his attempts to veil or obscure his attempts to be diplomatic with me. I would say something like, “You’re not telling the truth….are you?” Or “Come on, you can tell me what you really think.” Although he would rarely change his story, he almost always laughed or smiled…..knowing that I was right, but he did not want to admit it.

Mannie is going to be successful….very successful….one of these days. Just give him time. Let him graduate from college. He is already ambitious and inventive….full of ideas and concepts which someday will become reality. He is smart….catches on to….understands….things very quickly. He is a hard worker, and he is not afraid to put in long hours working and learning when necessary.

Yeah…. These front porch interludes were one of the memorable aspects of sharing a home during the summer. I was entertained; I was informed; and I grew to develop a strong respect for and an admiration of good old Mannie…my good old friend. One things I learned without a doubt: Mannie is Mannie. He is own man! Got to love and respect him for that.

When the alarm on his cell phone sounded, we knew that it was time to bring our conversation to a close for the night. The alarm was his signal that he had better get back upstairs to his room…..back to the ubiquitous IT sessions.

Shortly after Mannie disappeared to go back upstairs, I could hear another set of foot steps coming down the stairs… It was Romeo.

Romeo

Ah, Yes…. Romeo…. Delightful, little Romeo!

By the time he got down the stairs and took his usual place on the couch, I was already watching the top of the nightly local news. I am not sure we ever watched the news. It really was not very interesting or informative. Actually, the only reason I watch the 10:00 news is for the weather forecast….and it is usually wrong. Romeo was totally not interested….with either the news (which is mostly national news….and he had already seen or read it on his cell phone) or the weather, which he had also already watched. And, he was totally not interested in the sports report. Well….in the summer, neither am I. At one time, long ago, I was really into baseball. Nowadays, it is just a game that moves at a snail’s pace and thus is mostly only useful for wasting time. Our conversations were always more interesting than the news!

It was the show that followed the 10:00 news that we were interested in… Late Night with Stephen Colbert. Romeo likes politics…or at least, he seems to know what is going on even more than I do. And, even better, he and I both like Stephen Colbert because we almost totally agree with his humor and point of view….which means we also agree with each other. Harmony…..no discord here.

We joined the Perry Mason Show at its halfway point after watching the first half of Stephen Colbert. Yeah…. Good old Perry! Back when TV was young, this was an exciting, if not gripping, story. But… TV was in its infancy. We didn’t know any better…..because that was all we had to watch. Romeo and I both got a kick out of watching the show. By today’s standards it is mellow dramatic, over-acted to say the least, bordering almost on comedy. It would have been heresy to have said that sixty years ago. Perry Mason was a Top Ten show. But, today, as we sat and watched, about all Romeo and I could predict about the guilty party was to say, “It’s not him.” “It’s not her.” How did we know? Easy…. The guilty party was never revealed until the last scene….usually by that person jumping up and shouting something like, “Yes! I’m guilty! But…. You understand…don’t you? I had to do it!” Then the guilty person breaks down and sobs uncontrollably. Yeah…. A very realistic, authentic courtroom scene! We never took the show seriously….just an interlude before moving on. Perry Mason was always a nice transition to the remainder of our nightly TV routine.

Over the weeks, we more or less developed our routine. In the beginning, Romeo’s favorite program seemed to be The Big Bang Theory…..a show I find to be disgusting, but for some reason continue to watch, with Romeo, at least. After a few weeks we sort of weaned ourselves off watching this show. Well, we eventually reduced our viewing down to one….two, at the most…..episodes per night. Tolerable… I was never sure if Romeo got tired of watching the show…..or whether he simply got tired hearing my constant complaining about it. And, I admit…. I did! Romeo would sit and laugh uproariously, while I spent most of my time pointing out that nothing about the show was remotely humorous. No matter how you look at it…. Watching that program one time a night….even two….is better than watching four or five of them consecutively. Still not funny, though.

Strangely enough, somehow we got into the habit of watching rodeos. Romeo had never seen a rodeo in his life. But, on the other hand, neither have probably more than half of the people who live in the USA. This was an entirely new experience for him…..but one that used to be important in my life, but has long since faded into the past. Romeo became somewhat proficient (not as good he claims, however!?) at predicting the scores of events such as bull riding, bronco riding, bull wrestling… He was always very pleased with himself when he guessed an exact score….usually doing his little celebration dance. I was probably less interested…..or emotionally involved…. than he. This fascination with rodeos continued for a few weeks. It can be rather addicting….at least for a while. After several weeks of watching rodeos (Yee Haw!), our attention and interest started to diminish. The bull wrestling and the bronco riding sort of began to lose their excitement. We had satisfied our “inner cowboy” instincts. Our interests drifted to other late night TV shows.

Other TV shows….mostly game shows….were the standard fare: Wheel of Fortune, Flip Side, Switch…. These shows do not take a lot of concentration, to say the least. They do, however, serve as a nice background for conservation.

Yeah…. If you are thinking that we sat there blindly watching TV for four or five hours with a dumb, vacant look on our faces…. Well, you are wrong! Let’s put it this way: The TV may have been on for four or five ours, but that doesn’t necessarily mean we were watching it. The highlight of all those nights was the opportunity to talk, discuss and joke with each other. And, man, did we cover a wide range of topics as we sat there with the TV playing in the background! We solved the world’s problems….probably some that didn’t even exist…..political, social, economic; we sometimes covered a wide range of quirks in our daily life; we had a solution for every Perry Mason Show….We an answer for all the questions on every game show. We (mostly Romeo) clowned around; we tested our humor (mostly good natured put downs) and our sarcasm (A lot of that was mine….but Romeo dished out more than his fair share….but also done in a spirit of love and not harm.)

It is obvious that Romeo (and also Mannie) love their country and their culture. It was during these late night sessions that I learned a lot about Romeo’s culture and background….. Ghanaian culture and Ghanaian history. Sometimes I feel that I have earned my PhD in Ghanaian history….although it probably more like a Bachelor’s Degree. It is interesting to note how traditional practices and culture can comfortably co-exist beside today’s democratic government…..and today’s Christian religion.

One of the things I like about both Romeo and Mannie is that they will answer a wide range of probing….sometimes skeptical….questions about their history and culture. Whereas many people in their position might (and would) become defensive when somebody questions either their history or culture, they seem even more motivated to explain it in even more detail. Not only are Romeo and Mannie well versed in their own history, but they seem to have a fairly good grasp of today’s world and today’s problems.

Let me write just a couple sentences about Romeo. First of all…. He is smart! Intelligent! He knows a bunch of stuff….stuff that constantly amazed me. I suspect that he may have a near photographic memory. While he was here, I fully intended to give him an IQ test, but time is elusive, and we never got around to doing it. I will not be at all surprised to find that he has a very IQ….maybe even higher than mine! We will find that during another visit, however, when I intend to give both him and Mannie an IQ test. He is quite socially and politically aware. There are very few subjects that he can not engage in an intelligent conversation.

Let’s Call It a Day…..

Around 1:30 A.M. Mannie’s online IT sessions had concluded; he had taken a shower; and now he was ready to join Romeo and me for our “together time”. By now the TV has been turned off, and we were ready to sit and talk with no exterior distractions. Who can say what we talked about? Almost anything and everything….but now with Mannie adding his presence and his voice. One of the important things we attempted to do was attempt to finalize a definite schedule for the coming day. In general we were successful. Other than that, the conversation was wide-ranging….sometimes serious and sometimes light-hearted. Keep in mind that once Mannie came downstairs to join us….the conversation often took on a “two against one” nature. Romeo and Mannie were the “two”, and I was the “one”. There always seemed to be more than sufficient topics to hold our interests until the early hours of the morning. We rarely had a deficit of topics to occupy the time.

In many ways Romeo and Mannie are very comparable. Undoubtedly both of them are highly intelligent and have made the most of their education. They are both ambitious and hard working. They are both very personable. Maybe for me, however, one of their most important traits is that they are both very caring individuals. In today’s society, that counts for a lot….at least to me.

Romeo and Mannie are far from being carbon copies of each other. Both are unique young men; both have their own identifiable personalities. They complement each other in many ways. But, needless to say, they are both special to me….collectively and individually. Don’t even ask me who is my favorite…which one I like the best. That would be like asking parents which of their children they like the best. They are both special to me….both for their unique personalities and for their similarities. 1X1=1.

Yes… That sort of describes a typical day and a typical night. But, it is only a framework….sort of a skeleton….

Behind the Wheel……

Life more or less took on a predictable pattern. Events in my world tend to happen at the same time on the same day week by week. Maybe you caught on to that fact already: Get up….go to the YMCA or cardiac rehab….come home…..prepare supper….take a nap….sit on the front porch with Mannie….watch TV and talk with Romeo. However, another interest or desire loomed of epic importance in their minds. That desire or goal was to learn how to drive. I could sense almost immediately that this was of utmost importance to both of them. And… Why not? It was a skill that was not readily available to them in Ghana….but yet an almost vital talent or accomplishment to know in today’s world….and unquestionably important if they choose to remain in the U.S.A.

They were right. Learning to drive is not a luxury; it is a necessity….a skill that everybody needs to acquire. Of course, the normal expectation was that I would teach them. There are a couple fault or defects in that approach, however….neither of which I had any real control. First of all, I had just recently leased a new car. Legally….well, and practically…. I do not own the car. I am only paying for the legal use of the car for a certain period of time….and for a predetermined number of miles. Second: If I taught them to drive, they would have to have to appear at the DMV (Division of Motor Vehicles) to take not only a written examination, but also would have to pass a driving test. I had no doubt that both of them could…and would…..do this easily. But, it made more sense, and it was much more practical, to find a good driving school.

There are several driving schools in Topeka. After some investigation, we chose the Kennedy Driving School. I am really not so sure why we chose this driving school. Maybe it cost the least. Maybe because they offered quicker results. Romeo and Mannie later read some online reviews of the school. Some of them praised the school…..and others thought it was a rip off. At this point…. We were stuck with it!

Our first visit to the school was pleasant, and the woman behind the desk was eager to help….maybe just a good sales person. At any rate, she explained the procedure or format of the classes: An almost all day introductory session which, I suppose, could be called the “text book” session. By piecing together information that Romeo and Mannie provided, this session covered the driving rules, protocols, traffic laws….things of that nature. Both Mannie and Romeo seem to have enjoyed it….if one can enjoy that kind of thing for six hours or so. However, they liked the instructor….felt they learned a lot and in an entertaining manner. In the long run, they finished the instructional part of the class. And, both Romeo and Mannie passed with perfect test results. So…. All is well that ends well…..

The next part of the driving school was a little more tenuous, and it gave us a few days of concern. Upfront the instructor told the members of the class that the actual driving would not be scheduled for another couple weeks after the classroom sessions were complete. (Something that the lady behind the desk neglected to point out.) There was nothing to do but wait. At the end of the two weeks, we started to become a bit concerned. Still no word from the driving school. Still no practical driving schedule. The weeks were passing by…. June had already passed. We were entering the first week of July. We planned to leave the last week of July on a trip. What is holding them up? Why haven’t they contacted us? When will they start to drive? All these question loomed uncertainly in our minds.

We had already asked a couple times when the driving lessons would be scheduled, but the answers were always vague, if not evasive. Personally, I was becoming impatient. Although I can’t prove it, I suspect that except for Romeo and Mannie, a large majority….if not the entire class…..lived in Topeka or very close by. The lady whom we always dealt with knew that they were living in Topeka only until the last of July….and then they, by necessity, had to return to college. I began to have doubts and second thoughts about the integrity of the school. Surely they would understand the situation and make favorable arrangements for Romeo and Mannie to complete their driving expeditiously.

After probably three weeks, their driving sessions were scheduled. Romeo completed his first session of driving on Thursday, July 10, and Mannie started his sessions on Thursday, July 11. Once the lessons started, they were scheduled in a timely manner, much to the relief of all us us. Both Mannie and Romeo were very enthusiastic about their driving instructor. He was knowledgeable; he was patient; he was thorough….and he also had a good sense of humor and a large repertoire of stories and anecdotes that kept them engaged during the three hour sessions of practice driving.

Both Mannie and Romeo “graduated with honors”, so to speak. To say they were pleased and excited would be an understatement. They were ready to get behind the wheel and drive. The next formality was to schedule appointments at the DMV to apply for their driver’s license. Both of them came out of the DMV with happy smiles on their faces. And…. Why not? This was a major milestone in their lives…..in the life of any young man.

During the next two weeks, I took them driving as often as possible. Keeping in mind, I do not own the car I drive….. We basically started our driving sessions at Forbes Field….a former air force base that is now a combination of military air base, regional airport and commercial establishments….mostly business and industrial warehouses. For all practical purposes, Forbes is deserted, at least of traffic. Very few vehicles drive on the streets of the large commercial/industrial complex. It is an ideal setting to practice driving. It has corners, traffic signs, parking lots….almost everything needed. Except it had no traffic. I felt quite safe starting the practice driving there. And, I think they were satisfied to start there.

After a couple sessions at Forbes Field, we graduated to city driving. For the most part, they drove at night….and drove separately. Romeo drove around 7:00 P. M. while Mannie was occupied with his online IT sessions. Mannie took over around 9:00 or 9:30 and drove until until it was time for him to return home for another online session. Mostly we just drove spontaneously….randomly….around town. One of the pattern we developed was to drive the length of the major north-south streets: California, Adams, Kansas Avenue, Topeka Blvd, Gage, Fairlawn and Wanamaker. Then we switched and drove the length of the major east-west streets: 29th Street, 21st Street, 17th Street, 10th Street and 6th Street. These are the major streets in Topeka and are probably the streets where they were bound to encounter the most traffic.

Both of them performed admirably. Of course, before we left the house, I made sure I had taken my heart and blood pressure medicines…..and I checked to make sure my life insurance policies were up to date! I didn’t have to worry about my hair turning gray! My hair is already silver. I am not generally accustomed to riding with another driver, let alone a beginning driver. But, their improvement was steady….and they gained confidence through these nightly sessions. Probably the next time they return, they will be my designated drivers.

On the Road Again…..

Most of you already know that traveling is one of my passions. I love to travel and see and experience different scenery, environments, cultures…..and see how the rest of the world lives. And, believe me…. Living in Kansas all my life is not typical of, nor a reflection of, the rest of the world. Travel and see the world, as they say….

This summer was no different….just not on a very grand scale. Time was a limiting factor….maybe the major limiting factor…..in taking off for an extended trip. On a less ambitious scale, we managed to squeeze in a significant amount of time away from the environs of Topeka, however.

We took two trips out to my hometown area of Lyons/Sterling/Hutchinson. These towns cannot exactly be certified as tourist destinations. They did, however, serve three practical purposes: First of all, they got us out of Topeka for a few days. Second: They gave me an opportunity to show Romeo and Mannie where I spend my youth. Third: I…and they….got to spend some time with some of my family members.

The first journey was over the Memorial Day Weekend. Since finding a hotel which has three beds is virtually impossible, we rented a small house for the weekend. This seemed to be an ideal solution….and in theory, it was. We searched the Internet and found a three bedroom house which was reasonably priced. Communicating with the owner proved to be a bit problematic, however. I paid the rental fees online at least two weeks before the trip. I expected an immediate response from the owner. A week went by…..then ten days…. Understandably (to me, at least) I began to become just a bit apprehensive. Why isn’t the owner contacting me? What’s going on? I pictured the three of us arriving in Hutchinson with no place to stay. Or, maybe worse yet, having to rent a hotel room at the last minutes…..having already paid the rent on the little house. Finally, about three days before we were scheduled to take off for Hutchinson, I sent a message to the booking agency. They gave me the owner’s telephone number. Probably this was something I should have done at the very beginning, but not having had any experience in renting short-term housing, I assumed (falsely) that the owner would contact me immediately. I learned a lesson!

The owner told me that he would leave the back door unlocked….just go on inside….and call him when we arrived, and he would bring the key to the house. Upon arrival, we followed his instructions. While were waiting for the owner to show up, I sat down in what appeared to be a comfortable recliner…..and it was. The owner arrived shortly thereafter….gave us a key….and sat and talked for a few minutes. It turned out that he was a nice guy. Soft-spoken, willing to please….and also a Democrat who shared almost exactly my own political views. Wow… This is going to be pretty nice!

And, it was pretty nice. Both Mannie and Romeo had their own bedrooms. The house was neat and clean. There was Internet….and a TV. It was not until after the owner had departed that I began to discover the real truth about the house. For Mannie and Romeo, there is little doubt that the place was ideal. It had everything we needed…. At least, everything they needed.

Where shall I begin? First of all….and this revealed itself almost the instant the guy closed the door to leave….. The nice…and comfortable….recliner had one disastrous fault: I could not get out of it! I could not stand up! Maybe I am trapped here in this recliner for the rest of my life! It was only after a great deal of effort…..and even that is blurry now….that Mannie and Romeo managed to help me stand up and get out of the recliner. It was a Herculean task, but they finally freed my from my comfortable little prison. I suspect they were considering calling in either a crane or a forklift! The problem was that is was a “rocker”, and there was nothing firm and unmovable on which to push down to lift myself up. Needless to say, I never sat in that recliner again.

The next unpleasant revelation came as we were leaving the house to go pick up some food to eat. There were three or four steps leading up into the house. And, there was a hand rail to hold onto. Good. But… The door was designed to open outward, covering up the hand rail….blocking access to it. Smart thinking by somebody! I wonder if the person who installed the hand rails even understands what he did. He obviously does not need help climbing steps. I need to hold on to hand rails in order to climb up steps….any number of steps. Fortunately, Romeo and Mannie were there for me to hold onto…..each of them sort of acting as my hand rail. Without them, I could have not made it into the house. I was just lucky! They both did a good job. It is possible that if the college thing does not work out…..they can get a job as human hand rails.

The third problem….and it is a common one: The house had a rather old-fashioned bathroom. Unfortunately, there was not a separate shower. In order to take a shower, I would have to step up and over …..well, a 15 or 16 inches bathtub. That conceivably was possible IF the bathtub would have had grab bars. I am sure you are ahead of me by now… No, the bathtub did not have any grab bars…..not even one! The result: I was not able to take a shower for the three nights we stayed there. It was a real bummer. I did manage to more or less wash myself in most of the vital places, though. Take my word for it…. It is not the same as being able to take a shower.

The fourth problem… Well, to some people it may not have been a problem. But, here we were, about three hours from home with not a lot of choices on how to spend an evening. The little house had a TV and also TV reception. But, it was not exactly what was advertised….misleading, at best. There was no cable subscription; no exterior antenna to coax in local stations. The only type of TV programs available was a subscription to Roku……no local programs; no live network programs. Romeo more or less had command of the remote control, and after repeatedly scrolling through the available channels, we more or less alternated between “Family Feud” and “The Big Bang Theory”. I had literally not watched Family Feud for several years. And, as I pointed out previously, I find the Big Bang Theory to be nothing short of disgusting! Family Feud is not quite as objectionable…. But, how many episodes of that show can a person watch without turning off the TV?

And…That is more or less what we did. Fortunately, we had taken three games with us: Trivial Pursuit, Password and…..you guessed it, Family Feud. Playing Family Feud is a little bit better than watching the TV show…..but not by much. And, I want to give him credit…. Romeo is really quite good at that game. Why? I do not know. Maybe he sits around the entire day watching it! (Just as side note: Neither Mannie or Romeo were a match for me in the game of Trivial Pursuit! Mannie usually fared pretty well in Password.)

Although I think the TV situation was a misrepresentation….misleading at the least…. in the description of the house, playing games was actually rather fun. Romeo was probably the most enthusiastic when he won….and he is already a happy guy….and treated us to his impromptu victory dance after each victory.

I have probably made this house seem like a miserable dungeon. It wasn’t! It was really a pretty nice place. The problem was that it simply was not properly equipped for a person who has mobility problems…. Like me, for instance.

Our second visit was somewhat better, at least, in the area of lodging. My cousins invited us to stay in their parents’ former house….which they still maintain in hopes that some day it will be occupied by one of my cousins who currently resides somewhere back East…. Delaware, New Jersey…. All the same…aren’t they?

The houses were similar in the fact that they both have three bedrooms. That, in itself, was a major attraction. However, again, the only TV available was an over-the-air antenna which hung in the front window. Romeo and Mannie moved it around until they found the most advantageous place to hang it. At most, we were able to pull in maybe ten or twelve TV stations. At least, we were able to watch some local stations and catch up on local news and weather.

Again our evenings were mostly spent playing games….again. The games are fun to play….and they gave us something we could do together. Even they, however, get rather tiresome after a while. They mostly gave Romeo a new venue to perform his victory dance.

For a town the size of Hutchinson….approximately 45,000 people…. there are surprisingly few attractions. I took Romeo and Mannie to the Salt Museum….the Stratica… I have already been there two or three times previously. And…. There is a lot of walking. The first time we went….on a Saturday….all the tours were fully booked. It was a disappointment, but, judging on past visits, it never occurred to me that the museum was ever booked to capacity. For their return visit on Sunday, I reserved the tickets online, thus assuring they would be able to tour the museum. I dropped them off, made sure they were in the correct tour group….and then I left them on their own. I drove over to Carey Park….put the seat back….and took a nap. Since I did not go down into the salt mine, I will leave it to Romeo and Mannie to give an account of their experience…..if they want to.

The other major tourist spot they visited was the Cosmosphere….the space museum. Wow, I have been here more times that I can count. When I had foreign exchange students and when I had foreign guests, this was always the “go to” place in Hutch. There is a fairly impressive of space memorabilia to look at…..especially for a town like Hutchinson, which does not even have a commercial airport. For those who are interested in space and all things related to space, this is an interesting place to visit. If you have no interest in space…..then you probably aren’t going to be very engaged. And, to view all the exhibits, there is a lot of walking. Maybe a good way to accumulate your desired number of steps for the day, but still a lot of walking. The first couple times I toured the Cosmosphere, it was somewhat interesting….maybe a six on a scale of ten. That score diminished proportionately in succeeding visits.

The day Romeo and Mannie toured the museum, I again simply dropped them off to fend for themselves…..and again I headed for Carey Park for a nice nap. You should probably ask them about the experience.

Perhaps my favorite place to visit is the Hutchinson Art Guild. It is a small gallery with ever-changing exhibits. It primarily features the works of local area artists. I am going to openly admit that this is probably the only place in Hutch that I really enjoy visiting. I am not so sure about Mannie and Romeo, however. I would like to think they enjoyed it. But, they might tell you that the experience was sort of like being punished for a crime they didn’t commit. Nonetheless, a good cultural experience really doesn’t hurt anybody. In fact, it can be a good thing.

Our first trip to Hutchinson was on Memorial Day Weekend. The main purpose for going to Hutchinson was really to visit some of my relatives who live in the area. We met my niece, Wanita and her husband Doug for breakfast on Saturday morning, and then proceeded to drive to Lyons so I could put flowers on the graves of some family members. I wouldn’t swear to it, but I suspect this may have been a “first” for both Romeo and Mannie. However, I think they understood the meaning and the purpose of the yearly ritual.

Showing Romeo and Mannie all the nostalgic sites from my childhood and youth was certainly one of the more pleasurable activities for me. Keeping in touch with where I came from and the places and events that have formed or influenced my development and helped determine who I am as person today are useful and important to me. And, when I am visiting with other people, I feel the same about them. If I were to go to Ghana, one of the foremost things I want to see is where Romeo and Mannie grew up…..the house they live in…. their old neighborhood ….their school(s)…..where they used to work….where they spent their free or recreational time. Knowing their past helps me to know them in the present.

So…. We visited the sites of places where I once lived during my childhood and teenage years. I only lived in two different locations while I was growing up. Neither home is still physically there, but the property is. They saw where I went to school, including my old elementary school and the high school from which I graduated. We took a brief tour of Sterling College….drove through downtown…..spent some time at Sterling Lake, which serves a dual purpose of being the city swimming pool and also the city park. I hope they somewhat understand that I was….and still am…. a small town boy….a boy from the farm. If I ever have the opportunity to visit Ghana….and I hope I do some day…..these are the sort of sites that I hope they will show me.

But, as I said earlier, the main reason for the two trips to my hometown area were to visit with family members. As mentioned earlier, we met my niece and her husband for breakfast Saturday morning and ate in our usual place to eat breakfast…..IHOP. Normally, I do not eat in national chain restaurants. But, in this case I make an exception because it seems to be the favorite breakfast for my niece. Oh…. There is nothing wrong with IHOP. Their food is good. But, since COVID we….my friends and I…..have sort of made it a mission to eat only in locally owned and operated eating establishments. We think it a noble and wise decision.

On both our trips out home, we also visited with my second cousin, Luann and her husband, Dennis. They are delightful people whom I enjoy visiting. On these two occasions, I got to introduce Mannie and Romeo to them. They liked them immediately. Dennis took them to his workshop and let them lend a hand in making some hand made jewelry, while Luann and I sat and visited. After a while….a long while….when it was time to return to our little house in Hutchinson, Luann and I walked to the workshop to check on them. They were still actively engaged with Dennis and his craft projects. Actually, they were fascinated with the work he was doing…..and very impressed with the outstanding projects he was working on. All of his projects are finely and expertly crafted….with an abundance of attention to the fine details. His work is on the same level as that of a professional, in my opinion.

It took some time to coax Romeo and Mannie away from the workshop. They had fun….and they became thoroughly engaged in the process of producing the fine craft projects. After their first visit, a second visit was high on their list of priorities.

Each visit was concluded by a visit to the local Dairy Queen where all of enjoyed a Blizzard before returning to Hutch.

Our second trip to Hutchinson was over the long 4th of July weekend. This was a new experience for them….celebrating the birthday of our independence from Great Britain. We arrived at Sterling Lake around 7:00 or so. The fireworks display was scheduled to commence at approximately 9:00….about the time the sun disappeared below the western horizon. That was two hours before the first of the fireworks was fired into the sky. Back in the “old days” this would have been more than early. But, that was long ago. When we arrived, a large crowd of people had already assembled. The parking space where I had parked for several years…in the past….was taken. We found a parking space about two blocks or so from the lake. This was the absolute closest parking space we could find.

We sat in the car and waited….and waited….for more than two hours. For the intervening two hours, a steady stream of people walked past our car, blankets or lawn chairs in hand, all heading for the lake. Little did they know that we probably had the best vantage point to watch the fireworks display! Those people were going to sit with their head tilted back for a full thirty minutes or so. From our viewpoint, we could almost look straight ahead and still see them just as well….and maybe from a better perspective. We were satisfied with our location. We could see the fireworks perfectly….and they did not disappoint! Mannie took several pictures which we could look back upon and enjoy to help us remember the evening. When the fireworks display had finished, we were doubly happy about our parking space. We escaped the surge of traffic….and headed for Hutch.

The only real problem….for me….was driving back to Hutchinson in the dark. Something which I do not like…..and something I probably should not do. But, we made it safely. Mannie and Romeo had celebrated their first 4th of July.

We also spent a day at Sam’s farm. And, immediately before they had to return to Louisiana, we took a four day trip through eight of the North Central states. That will be addressed at a later time.

Carpenter, Painter…..and other skills

I don’t know if one would call it a hobby or something else…. I suppose that would be a personal opinion…. But I have more or less dabbled in painting for five or six years. And, dabbling is an apt word to describe it. I always point out that I paint abstract paintings. This is a general cover excuse for those that turn out poorly (which, unfortunately is most of them!) and people have to ponder what the painting is all about. It doesn’t make any difference, however…..My paintings are for me! And, you know what? I really don’t care what other people think of them.

Normally, as I said, my paintings are only for me…..to hang on the walls of my townhouse…..to cover space! On occasion I may do a painting for one of my close friends, especially if I know they will value the source of the painting more than the painting itself. And… They do. I know my friends quite well. They like the paintings because they know that the one hanging on their wall was done for them….and them alone. That makes me feel good when friends regard my paintings are treasured object and display them prominently in their homes. It gives meaning to the saying, “It is not the gift; it the sentiment behind the gift.”

When I first suggested to Mannie and Romeo that perhaps they would like to paint something for me…..or for themselves…..they greeted the idea with a rather luke warm response. However, after a few weeks, both of them began to warm up to the idea. After a few failed attempts, all three of us finally rendezvoused in the basement and proceeded to paint.

Both Romeo and Mannie completed a painting for me. And, each of them is hanging prominently on wall of my living room so everybody can see them. They can be assured that they have permanent rights to the space, and will never be removed. I like both of them, not only because they are attractive paintings, but because I know they were painted just for me.

Before they departed to return to college, I offered a painting to both Romeo and Mannie…..a painting of their own choice…..one already hanging on the wall. As luck would have it… Wouldn’t you know it? They chose two of my favorite paintings. I was just a little sad when they took the paintings down from the wall. But, on the other hand, I am happy they both recognize quality when they see it! They recognize the fact that if they keep the paintings long enough…..they can sell them and retire comfortably for the rest of their lives!

They also made a brief foray into another creative area. I needed two small night shelves to be constructed for my bedroom. One choice was to call Carter, my regular helper, and ask him to come down and help build them. He would probably have readily agreed. Carter is a kind-hearted young man…..and also a very caring kid. He normally comes down on Sunday afternoon to help out with things I can’t do for or by myself.

But, I thought…. Why not ask Romeo and Mannie to help build the little night stands? Building was new territory to them….something they had never done before. They readily agreed. As always I had the lumber pre-cut at Sutherland’s. Having the lumber pre-cut is a significant time saver. And, most of the time it is cut more accurately. We followed the usual procedure of using the picnic table in the back patio as a work bench.

With the lumber already cut to the correct lengths, the two tasks remaining were to stain the lumber, along with a coat of polyethylene….and then to assemble the two units. I furnished Mannie and Romeo with latex gloves (a necessity when doing any sort of staining or painting.) Mannie applied the stain to the boards, and Romeo wiped the excess stain off the boards. I watched and give instructions! Teamwork! There is little doubt that Romeo got the “dirty job”. Wiping off stain is by its very nature “dirty”. The good news, an over-the-counter spray called “Goof Off” will readily remove stain from the skin. Both Romeo and Mannie immediately sprayed a liberal amount on their hands…..and they were as good as new.

We took a brief break in order to give the boards time to dry….which they do very quickly, especially when there is sunshine and a breeze. By happy chance both of these factor were present on that Sunday afternoon. After the lumber had dried, they carried it into the house where they proceeded to assemble the little night stands. This also was a job they had never done. They caught on quickly, and together, Romeo holding the lumber in place and Mannie using the cordless drill, the stained lumber quickly took on the form of shelves…. Just what I needed! Needless to say, both of these little night stands will remain by my bedside permanently.

It Runs in the Family

Just to keep the record straight, if for no other reason, I am going to squeeze in another brief activity that lasted about as long as it will take to read this section. Being an old cross country coach, I usually ask people I come into contact with if they like to run. A surprising number of them say, “Yes”….. Consider Fayez, Sultan, Robert….even Sebastian. But, also not surprisingly, most of them say a rather resounding, “No!” It really makes no difference to me either way. But, I do recall spending uncountable hours….pleasant and productive hours, I want to emphasize….with these guys out on the Ferguson Road (the country road which passes about a mile from my house in Ozawkie) and also at Paradise Point, an abandoned state park a few miles to the south.

Long ago I came to the conclusion: Either you like to run….or you don’t! There is, in my opinion, not a lot of middle ground. Those people who like to run….just for sake of running….are sort of special breed. Whether a person likes to run, or whether he does not, is irrelevant. There are dozens of ways to exercise, and everybody has his own preference, not to mention his own adaptability and suitability. It is a personal choice.

Both Romeo and Mannie agreed they would like to do some running….just for exercise. I suspect they came to this decision rather reluctantly or grudgingly…..but they may disagree on this point. Nevertheless, they decided they wanted to do some running….just to keep in good physical condition.

The closest nearby place near my townhouse to run safely is at the public walking track at Highland Park High School, just down the street from me. To make a long story short…. I took them there three or four or five times to run. After that, it just sort of faded away int the proverbial sunset.

A Little Help from My Friends

All of the activities which are listed and explained above were all highlights of the summer, and all of them contributed to making the summer an enjoyable and memorable few weeks. But, let there be no mistake, for me, these pursuits are by far not the most important events or outcomes of the summer.

Romeo and Mannie made my life so much easier and pleasant and less stressful and brighter….and… Well, I could go on with these adjectives, but I hope you understand where I am going with this. When I am living alone…. Let’s face it: Sometimes I struggle a bit in taking care of things. For sure…. I have a loyal group of people who sort of watch over me and watch out for me. If I need help….it is never more than a message or a telephone call away.

But, the joy of having Mannie and Romeo living with me this summer….the summer of 2025….removed almost all of the obstacles I normally face in the course of a day or week or a month. They were constantly attentive, always eager and willing to help….often anticipating my needs even before I had to ask.

They were always beside my when I had to stand up. Oh…. I can almost always stand up, but it take effort. Romeo and Mannie were there, offering their hand or arm. Any time I had to step down off a curb….or step up on a curb….they were there offering their arm. For anybody who has not had bad knees or a bad back, perhaps you will not properly appreciate this. For anybody who has not lived with pronounced heart arrhythmia and has to contend with the constant lack of breath will not understand what I am talking about. It is difficult, to say the least. These seemingly insignificant details…these gestures of assistance…. made a huge difference in the quality of my life.

Romeo and Mannie more or less simply took over, without being asked. They took out the trash (constantly….so often that the supply of trash bags started to seriously dwindle.) They carried groceries from the car into the house….something that I previously had to in multiple trips…..or simply leave them in the car until Carter came down on Sunday afternoon. One of them carried my laundry from the basement to my bedroom…..and even folded it for me! As I discussed earlier, they prepared all the meals and did all the dishes. In the area of preparing meals, I was more or less simply left out of the loop, so to speak. And, with a couple exceptions, which they know about….and so do you, if you were paying attention earlier….the food was delicious and well prepared……and apparently healthy.

I spend most nights at home alone. I really am not lonely. I see and interact with a lot of people during the course of a day. And, I talk constantly to many of my former foreign exchange students and former guests. I use the time to read, paint, catch up on responding to messages. I watch TV, most usually after 10:00 P.M. Time rarely hangs heavily. But, what a vast difference it is having Mannie and Romeo living here. It the honest truth…. During the three month they lived here this past summer, I didn’t read a single page of a book. Not one page! Except for the night we spent painting together…..Not even once did I pick up a paint brush. There simply was not time. They provided in-person companionship…..and I enjoyed it.

Romeo and Mannie could pull off a surprise, too. My birthday was on a Monday this year. I had probably told them, but since Monday was the day we were to leave on a four day trip, I more or less dismissed it from my thoughts. Celebrating birthdays on the road are simply not very practical. For the past several years, birthday celebrations have not loomed very high on the horizon in importance to me. At my age, I am more thankful than anything else. And, I have long passed that stage where a birthday part is expected. We do not pin the tale on the donkey at my age. No ponies to ride or elephants to perform. Maybe a girls jumping out of a cake might have been acceptable…. Like that was ever going to happen!

As we were sitting in the front room on Sunday night….and it must have been pretty late since Mannie’s IT session doesn’t wind up until 1:00 A.M…..when both Mannie and Romeo disappeared into the kitchen for a brief time. This is nothing unusual….nothing that would attract attention. When they returned, however…. They were carrying a cake! Actually, it took me a couple seconds to fully realize what was happening. It was a birthday cake! I was honestly surprised….even a tiny bit shocked.

“Where did you get that cake”? And “When did you get that cake?” And “How did you do it without me seeing it?” Yeah… They had pulled the entire thing off pretty smoothly…..and slyly. We frequently went to a bakery in east Topeka to pick up various pastries. After the first couple visits, I normally sat in the car and waited while Mannie and Romeo went into the bakery and selected the pastries. I always ate the same thing, so choosing one for me was no problem. Apparently, they had ordered the cake on a previous visit. I was certainly not aware of it. And…. They carried it to the car, placed it on the floor in the back seat, right in front of me eyes. I never had a clue what they were doing. I do not ever recall seeing the box. Why would 1? This was a routine we had repeated so many time. And….even more.. They put the cake in the refrigerator on the bottom shelf. I am sure I opened the refrigerator door several time. Never once did I see the cake…..right there in plain sight. Or maybe they had disguised it.

Nevertheless, when they carried the cake into the front room that Sunday night, I was caught completely by surprise…..a happy surprise! After singing the ritual Happy Birthday song….and that was quite a production in itself….they presented me with the cake. I cut the cake….. It was probably after midnight. So I was treated to a surprise birthday party…. It was a good and wonderful way to start my birthday…..my 87th year on this earth.

Another event which may seem insignificant to others, but is very important to me is that I was able to go to church on most of the Sundays. Mannie also wanted to attend church services. Even though he does not attend the same denomination as I, he generously, and eagerly, looked forward to attending my church, The First United Methodist Church, for the Sunday service. It had been literally well in excess of ten years since I have been able to attend church services in person, even though I wanted to. In order to enter the front entrance to the church, where I always entered in past years, one must walk up probably 10 or 12 steps. Even though there are hand rails, I was very hesitant and fearful that something bad might happen…like tripping or falling….or suffering some other major catastrophe. So I was forced to stay at home and watch the Sunday morning service online. Watching the service online is a welcome substitute which has not always been available…..and one which I greatly appreciate. But, nothing can replace the satisfaction or the joy of attending church services in person. And, Mannie made this possible. And, a joyful feeling for me was that he enjoyed and appreciated the service as much as I did. It is acts of kindness such as this that really bring me joy and satisfaction…..and that there really are some good people left in the world.

Forever Grateful…..

The event that reinforces my belief that the two guys… Romeo and Mannie….. were sent to me as a gift of God….or were otherwise destined to spend the summer with me was of a much more serious nature.

One morning I woke up to go to the bathroom. I knew almost immediately that something was not right. I had experienced the feeling before. I was so tired that I could barely hold my head upright. It was difficult to put one foot in front of the other because I was so exhausted. It took all the strength I could command to even stand up. To compound the misery, something was wrong with my vision; objects were blurry. I could not see clearly. There was a tightness in my chest.

I had encountered these symptoms before…..about two years earlier. I ended up in the emergency room of the hospital….and subsequently in the cardiac unit. So…. Yes, I had a strong suspicion of what was happening. I was helpless to do any thing about it. I had left my cell phone in my bedroom….and there was no way I was able to go retrieve it…..even though it was only a few feet away. Was I frightened? What do you think? Oh course, I was.

But, by an act of God, Romeo and Mannie were in their bedroom, also just feet away. Mannie….I think….was still awake, engaged in his online IT session. I called to them. Fortunately, and by God’s will, they heard me and immediately came running to the bathroom, where I sat rather helplessly.

To make a long story short…..but, by no means less important….one of them called 9-1-1 to summon the an ambulance and a rescue unit. Both of which showed up minutes later. I am not going to belabor the situation, but I am more than confident that their presence….and their quick action…..were vitally important.

They also called by friend, Jason, who showed up in the emergency room a few minutes after my arrival.

I do not dwell on what the consequences may have been had not it been both for their presence….and for their quick action.

By the time they showed up to visit me in the afternoon, I was feeling considerably better, and we slipped back to our familiar routine of talking and joking….and playing an impromptu game supplied by one of the nurses. I hope that by now you can feel my gratitude and gratefulness to these two outstanding, caring young men.

Farewell ‘til Next Time……

Well, friends and family….. That’s what happened in the Summer of ‘25. The highlights, at least. It is a summer that I will never forget….filled with memories that will remain with me forever. This report covers only the “highlights”, as they say. As I read this in the future….and as they read it in the future….there are bound to be times when one of says, “Oh, yes…. Do you remember this? You left it out of your blog.” If….or when….that happens, I will add them.

The day Mannie and Romeo left was bittersweet….for me, at least. Even though I was bound to miss them….that the house would seem quiet and empty….that I would have to prepare my own meals…..that I would miss our nocturnal conversations and camaraderie….. They were going back to Grambling University to continue their education, preparing themselves for bright futures. We agreed to stay in constant touch with each other….. And…. We all saw the goal before us….That we they would return in November….and we would take up where we left off.

I think they know that they now have a “home away from home”….and the light is always on….there will always be some rice to cook….

It has occurred to me that many times, people have to be protected against themselves. Correcting the problems I discussed above should…..and probably will…..take care a lot of the problem. Until then, changes need to be made in our Constitution to help insure that some of the problems we face today will be alleviated to some degree.

When our Constitution was adopted back in 1789, the people who wrote it and approved it had no idea…..not even a faint premonition….of the society in which we find ourselves living today. And, how could they?

I am going to attempt to explain what I would do if I were in charge of writing a new Constitution. I will explain changes I would make and hopefully, make sense of them. I know what I am going to say may seem radical…..a definite departure of the way things have been done. These are my thoughts and vision. And, I am quite sure they would not be changes that will….or would….ever be made by our existing government.

But…. Here goes.

The first part of the Constitution I would change would be Article 3, the article that deals with the Supreme Court. Let’s face it, the Supreme Court is, for all practical purposes, is the most powerful branch of the government. Yes, the Constitution give the power and authority to make laws to the legislative branch. It gives the power to enforce those laws to the executive branch. All of that sounds good….but: The Supreme Court has an almost absolute power….at least, they have taken the power…..to declare any law passed by Congress to be unconstitutional. They have the power….at least, they have assumed the power…..to declare any action the President makes as being unconstitutional. And, they have also assumed the power to make final decisions of social and moral issues….on medical and “personal” choice issues…..that have not been specifically given, or even implied, to them by our Constitution.

In 1789 when the Constitution was written, the men who wrote it visualized the Supreme Court as being a group of legal experts who were impartial, honest and with no ulterior motives or self-interest in the decisions they made in interpreting the laws. They were given protection against outside influences and forces by being granted lifetime appointments…..with a guarantee that their salary could not be decreased. These two articles were intended to assure they would, to the best of their ability, render a strict and impartial and independent interpretation of the law with no fear of losing their job or having their salary cut because of their objectivity and honesty.

The intentions of the writers of the Constitution were admirable. Leave political philosophy and pressure and interference of special interests outside the judicial process. Free the justices from any threat of punishment or retaliation. Make it possible to arrive at a just and equitable decision according to the laws and the Constitution. Of course, from the very beginning, human emotions and values were bound to play some part in the decisions the Supreme Court justices made. It probably cannot be avoided. After all they are human.

In more recent years, the Supreme Court has been transformed into a division of the party which controls the Congress as a political tool. Justices are approved or rejected by Congress according to their political philosophy….the probability of “interpreting” laws in favor of the party which is in power to appoint them. Since the decisions they hand down are more or less permanent until a later version of the Supreme Court rescinds them, the justices of the Supreme Court are, for all practical purposes, assume legislative and executive powers by imposing their will on the country. And, once the Supreme Court has ruled, there is very little recourse, aside from amending the Constitution, to change it. This places almost supreme power in the hands of nine non-elected individuals.

The Supreme Court has no constitutional power to enforce its decisions. However, up until this point, the executive branch has been honorable enough to recognize and enforce them.

To me it is obvious that this branch of our government….the Supreme Court….would be the obvious place to start when writing a new Constitution. Here are some of the provisions I would include.

First of all, the President should not have a major role in appointing members of the Supreme Court…..or any other federal court. This, alone, will help guarantee that it will not become a political arm of the government…..not responsible to…or favoring….or representing….any political philosophy or group.

There may be equally good ways to select Supreme Court members. However, one method that perhaps would work very well is to have a constitutionally authorized committee of highly trained and skilled law professionals….attorneys, law professors, former judges, law enforcement officials, etc….. choose a limited number of qualified candidates….three, let’s say….from which the President is constitutionally required to select a candidate.

It is important that the selection committee NOT be selected by current politicians….nor former politicians, either. But, rather, they be selected by some mutually agreed upon independent method. These committee members will serve a constitutionally number of years. It is also important that the committee be composed of an equal number of members. The winning candidates must each receive at least a simple majority of votes. In case of a tie vote, no candidate will win. But, if the selection committee is composed of non-political members, the chances of this happening are probably going to be greatly diminished…..and impartial, highly qualified candidates will be agreed upon. The President will be required to make his selection from these three choices of the committee. There should be no restriction of candidates appearing on subsequent lists of possible candidates.

Second: Members of the Supreme Court will have a constitutionally imposed term limit. To me, ten or twelve years seems fair and sufficient. After completing a term, no justice will be permitted to serve a second term.

Third: A very strict Code of Ethics should be established for member of the Supreme Court….. Indeed, for all judges in all federal courts. Judges should be held to the highest of standards. This Code of Ethics should be written by perhaps the same committee which appoints the possible nominees…..with no input from any political sources. As stated before, this committee should be selected from highly recognized legal authorities such as The American Bar Association, university law professors, law enforcement officials. In any event, it should contain no members of a political organization or political philosophy. If written thoughtfully, the Code of Ethics should be a “one time event”…..and it should endure throughout the years.

The power to enforce the provisions of the Code of Ethics should be placed in the hands of a constitutionally authorized committee who will make final decisions. If a federal judge on any level should be removed for misconduct, that judge should never be allowed to serve as a judge at any future time.

There may be a variety of methods to choose the various nominating and oversight commissions. However, the important thing is, I think….. In order to insure fairness and impartiality, there should be no political involvement. This will no doubt be the only branch of our government where politics is not involved.

Fourth: There should be definite and clear guidelines and criteria on the types of issues the Supreme Court and other federal courts can consider and hand down decisions. In all fairness and in all reality and in all common sense, it seems true that the only issues a group of highly trained experts in law should consider will be…..well, laws! This seems like a good time to update or modernize our judicial system. In the two hundred or so years since the Constitution was written, society and circumstances have changed radically. The society and the atmosphere we live in today would be totally foreign….totally unrecognizable…..to the framers of the Constitution.

In my opinion, a better solution would be to have multiple “Supreme Courts” which would deal with different kinds of problems, different phases of society as we know it today:

One Supreme Court that would deal with interpreting laws as enumerated in the Constitution or have been duly ratified by Congress.

One Supreme Court which would handle only cases arising from social issues, not specifically covered by laws.

One Supreme Court which deals only with medical problems….matters that only trained professionals have the knowledge, training and expertise to deal with.

These are only three examples, and there are surely others. There is really no reason to have only one Supreme Court. In fact, there are probably more valid reasons against it than there is for it. Not only will having multiple “Supreme Courts” result in more informed and equitable decisions, it will also diffuse the power that that has for too long been centralized in an un-elected group that is no longer respected by our citizens and has frequently abused its power for personal and political reasons…..and with no readily available recourse.

There are probably other changes that should be made to the Supreme Court and the judicial system to insure that it better reflects justice and fairness and equity, but let’s leave it for now and move on to the legislative branch of our government…. Congress.

Oh, Congress. This should probably be the most important branch of the government. It is the branch that represents the people directly. No electoral college here. They are elected outright by the voters. They are mandated to make the laws of the land, within the structure of the Constitution. They are the branch that serves designated populations. It is the branch that is most in touch with the people and reflects the will of the people. This is the branch which makes us a democratic republic.

At least, this is the ideal which was envisioned by the men who wrote the Constitution.

But, through the years a gradual erosion of democratic intent has virtually transformed the Congress into a body of men and women who have used it to promote their own selfish agendas, to build a power base to satisfy over-sized egos, and to ingratiate themselves to outside influences for their own financial gain. The Congress itself may be one of the most undemocratic institutions in our country. The concepts of seniority, lobbying, and politics over the good of the nation, internal self-enrichment and lack of accountability at times have rendered Congress into a “club” of its own.

Let’s take a look at some of the changes that I would make to ensure that the Congress is more responsive to the voters than it is to itself.

First and foremost the constitution should mandate limits of the number of terms any person can serve in either of the houses of Congress. And, this total should include the total or collective number of years a person can serve in either or both houses Congress. In other words, there needs to be a constitutionally imposed limit. For example: I would set the limit at a total of 12 years. A person can serve all 12 years in the Senate. Or, they can serve 6 years in the House of Representatives and 6 years in the Senate. After serving these 12 years…. They are finished and will no longer be seek an elective federal legislative office. This will also solve the ancient policy and problems that the matter of “seniority” has often caused.

In fact, in order to have a truly representative Congress, I would propose choosing members of Congress that same way we choose juries. A lottery with the names of all citizens who are above the age of 25 would be used. Names would be generated randomly by a computer selecting names which match a variety of socioeconomic factors, as well as racial and ethnic backgrounds.

The “winners” would be temporarily moved to Washington, D. C. where they would live in more than adequate government provided housing during their stays there. They would be well compensated for their service, and their jobs at home would be constitutionally protected during their term of service.

This would solve some of the inequities which exist in the process of running for election. Maybe first and foremost would be the fact that the person would not be held hostage by special interest groups, by lobbyists, or even an extreme political group. In order to help insure this objectivity and partiality, they would be specifically prohibited from accepting gifts of any sort from anybody. They will not be obligated to any political or special interest group.

Except for the restrictions enumerated, they would function in a similar manner to our present day Congress, but with the freedom to function without the influence and interference of external pressures or distractions.

Yes….. I know. This is a rather far fetched proposal…..and I am not naive enough to think it will happen. But…. It is an alternative!

OK…. Let’s move on with some more realistic reforms…..and, these are not fantasy or ideal ideas. They are important to the reform of the legislative branch….Congress.

Next to term limits, the next most important reform is to abolish “gerrymandering”. The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defined gerrymandering like this: To divide or arrange a territorial unit into election districts in a way that gives one political party an unfair advantage.” In other words to draw electoral district lines in such a way that would exclude or include certain political philosophies or racial groups or ethnic groups. Actually, it can include any segment of the population that may favor or hinder a certain political party. You can easily look up some “gerrymandered” districts. It becomes immediately obvious that district lines were intentionally drawn to favor a political party. Some of these maps are indeed strange with boundaries so contorted that it defies imagination how they could be considered anything except deliberate and obvious plans to, for all practical purposes, disenfranchise large groups of voters.

The Constitution should clearly and specifically define how various voting districts can be delineated. They should be based strictly on population. The shape of the electoral districts should be a recognized geometric figure…..preferably a square. Furthermore, each side should be approximately the same length. In any case, it should be always constructed so it has four equal parallel sides.

If the sides are constructed to the above specifications, they will in all probability more accurately reflect population…..and not special interests.

Today it is a common practice to “bundle” bills. For some purposes, this may be acceptable, especially it bills contain the same or similar subject matter. The practice of attaching a “popular” bill, in the opinion of a political party, to one that is not popular, only to insure that the perceived “unpopular” bill will more likely pass should be prohibited. And conversely….attaching an “unpopular” bill to a “popular” bill only to prevent the more popular bill from passing should likewise be prohibited.

This procedure of “bundling” bills, it can be argued, helps keep the consideration of legislation moving. And, this is probably correct. But, every bill before the Congress should have an equal chance of being considered on its own merits. Whoever has presented a bill before Congress should have the right to demand that his/her legislation should have fair and equal consideration on its own merits…..and not buried in a bill that either is headed for passage…..or defeat.

To this end, if one-fourth of the total legislative body demands that a bill be considered separately and on its own merits, nothing should prevent it from being considered independently. And, this should also be the policy in removing a bill from a “package”.

It is ironic that in our democratic republic form of government…..our government of the people, by the people and for the people…..that one man, either the Speaker of the House or the Majority Leader in the Senate, should have the power to prevent our elected representatives from voting on a bill. That he alone, in effect, has the power to determine what will become a law and what will not. There are one hundred elected members of the Senate and four hundred thirty five elected members of the House of Representatives. They…..and they alone…..have been elected….who have the Constitutional power…..to make the laws of our country. One man should not have the power to bottle up a bill.

Because the people of the United States hold supreme power, it should be made easier for voters to become involved in the process of determining and deciding the laws that will govern their lives. Today the people have no option to vote directly on measures that affect the lives of all Americans equally…. Laws that govern such issues as abortion, legalization of marijuana, matters dealing with gender choice or sex preference……emotional issues which affects all citizens equally, but on which they have little or no voice and even less control. Matters such as these…..matters which are usually politically explosive….matters on which most legislators are too cowardly to deal with….should be be decided directly by citizens. After all, in a democracy the people are supposed to hold supreme power. And, it is far more democratic and logical to simply let the people decide what they want. In the end, the people are accountable….and cowardly legislators will not be held accountable. Contrary to the belief of many members of Congress, the people are far better judges of what they want and what is best for them.

Thus…. If a nation-wide petition is circulated, and let’s say, 10% of eligible voters of the entire United States sign it…..even 5%…..then the proposed law will be placed on a ballot and the entire country can vote whether to accept or reject it. And…. Stop to think, in 2024 there were approximately 245 million eligible voters in the USA. This means that if 5% of voters demanded that a measure be submitted to the people for a vote, the number would be approximately 12 million voters. That is a significant number of people, no matter how a person looks at it!

Another good things about passing a law in this manner is that it will be free of money from special interests who are willing to pay legislators for voting for their selfish gain. And, like it or not, this is what gets laws passed in more cases that we like to admit or realize.

Continuing along in a similar scenario, the Constitution should contains provisions that deal with the behavior and conduct of members of Congress. It is recognized that lobbyists play can play a useful role in the legislative process by providing valuable factual information to members of Congress. But, this service should only consist in offering information, either in person or in written form. In all cases, any payment in the form of money or gifts to a Congress person should be deemed illegal and an act of misconduct. The common practice of presenting gifts to Congress persons in order to gain or influence a vote is all too common in today’s Congress. In effect, and in most cases, in reality, the Congress person is casting a vote for a special interest and not for the voters who elected him or her. It should be grounds for removing that person from Congress. Common courtesies such as buying a Congress person lunch should be excepted and not classified as “gifts”.

Just like the Supreme Court, a strict Code of Ethics should be enforced by a special panel which is independent of Congressional control. Since Congress has been empowered to make the laws for the nation, they should be held to rigidly high standards. If they are, or have been, found guilty of a felony, they will not be allowed to serve as a member of Congress. Again, it is ironic that Congress has enacted laws that prevent felons from voting, when all too many of them are guilty of the same kind of crimes.

Members of Congress are elected by the people…..and there should be a Constitutional provision whereby they can also be removed by the people for reasons of serious misconduct. Again if a Constitutionally specified number of citizens legally sign a formal petition demanding it……a special election will be conducted to determine if the people wish to retain that person as a member of Congress.

Elections are the means by which people exert their power and superiority in a democracy. The people should always have the ultimate power.

Constitutional provisions should enumerate very clearly the benefits, salary, retirement, insurance and other financial considerations for members of Congress. Members of Congress should clearly be well compensated for their service, even quite possibly be given a housing allowance or perhaps a living allowance. Living in Washington, D. C. is expensive, and there is no reason they should have to make undue sacrifices in order to serve. However, if a person ran for….and was elected to Congress….only for the purpose of getting rich, they are seriously misguided.

Other than the fact that they elected to serve their country for a fixed number of years, there is nothing special about members of Congress. They are no better or worse than the citizens they serve……and which will once were…..and will become again.

There is no logical reason that a member of Congress should have any special financial privileges (or any other kind) once they have left office. After all, unless they are extremely old, they will return to their former job when the leave Congress. The Constitution should clearly define their financial rewards….i. e. salary, insurance, retirement…..and they should mirror the financial rewards of any working citizen. If this matter is left to the members of Congress, like it is now, they are free to reward themselves with almost unlimited benefits which are not enjoyed by the people they represent.

Part of their Code of Ethics should strictly forbid members of Congress from receiving any sort of financial assistance or gifts from outsiders or from accepting any gifts or rewards. Such a provision will eliminate the possibility of a member of Congress, in effect, from accepting a bribe to vote for bills which favor or benefit a particular special interest group.

Now, let’s take a look at the Executive Branch. In the eyes of many people….indeed, many nations….this is the most visible of the three branches of government. Its function in our democratic republic is to “execute” or carry out the will of the people as determined by the Constitution and through free elections of our representatives. Back in 1789, the founders of our nation never intended for the President to be a power in his own right. Instead, he (and back in those days, it was definitely a “he”) his job was primarily to do the bidding of the Congress. He could veto laws which they passed, but, in turn, they had the power to “override” his veto by a convincing number of votes.

In loose and general terms, Congress was always envisioned as the “powerhouse” of the three branches because they represented the people directly. The people would elected their representatives; their elected representatives would enact laws which would benefit them and the nation at large; The Supreme Court was established to ensure that these laws were carried out legally and fairly and people rights were not violated by either by unfair laws or the unfair execution of the laws. In reality, each branch of government was assigned distinct, specific roles to play in the government. The power was “divided”…..thus the expression “division of power”. And, it also established the three branches of government as a system of checks and balances so that no branch of government would become too powerful.

So….. Here are some changes to the Constitution that I think will more closely define the power, the functions and the limitations of the office of the President.

First and foremost…. The Electoral College needs to be abolished. The concept and the actual practice of the Electoral College is undemocratic and is counter to the principles upon which our nation was founded.

For you history buffs, you will admit immediately that the reason an Electoral College was established was the fact that nobody except a privileged few had any idea who the guys running for president were. And, why would they? Newspapers for practically non-existent. And this was more than a century before the first commercial radio station in the U.S.A. (1920); more than a century and a half before the first commercial TV station in the U.S.A. was licensed; and almost two centuries (1969) before the Internet was first introduced.

For the most part, people who did not live in the few big cities which existed at the time had no clue what was going on, sometimes for weeks or even months after the fact. They didn’t know the men running for office, because they had no way of finding out. So…. The “founding fathers”, the men who wrote the Constitution, logically reasoned that it was far “safer” and more logical to let people who were better informed and who knew the candidates actually choose the candidates who were running for office of President. It was assumed that they could make a more intelligent and informed decision on who the candidates would be. And, of course, when our first President was elected, there were no political parties.

OK….. Why hasn’t it changed? Today we are subjected to a massive amount of information. We are bombarded with it. There is no good reason every person in the USA should not know each candidate and what they stand for.

In today society, the Electoral College is the complete opposite of representative democracy. We preach to the rest of the world….. “One person…..one vote.” It is time….after more than 230 years we need to start practicing what we preach. The Electoral College is not democracy.

Second: To create fairness and equity, all Presidential elections should be funded strictly and exclusively with public (government) funding. A strict limit should be set on the amount of money each candidate can spend…..and that money should be furnished by the government…..”us”….the people….the voters. When this happens, if effect, every voter is taking part in funding the elections…..not a few super-rich individuals or organizations….who are seeking to promote or perpetuate their own narrow and self-serving agenda. The agenda for any Presidential candidate should be the good welfare and well being of the people and the nation, and it is only fitting that all the people in the nation should contribute. This is another measure to put the ultimate power back into the hands of our citizens and take it out of the hands of the few….the super-wealthy.

It probably would not be a bad idea to establish this practice for people running for any federal elective office.

The original Constitution clearly intended that the President’s function was that of a Chief Executive. He was empowered to carry out the wishes of his “employer”….the citizens of the nation. And, like many other large corporations or businesses, “the employer” also elects a “Boards of Directors”…..the Congress…..to make rules, that is, to adopt rules and guidelines for the good of that business or organization. He does only what the Board approves and instructs him to do. (This is a general analogy, of course!) The President does not make the rules….. He carries them out.

Over the years, however, the President….(let’s make that plural)…. has gradually usurped legislative power, especially in “gray” areas, assuming powers that were not given to him in the Constitution…..nor were they intended for him. In some cases, a President has refused to carry out or execute lawfully enacted measures because he disagrees with them, mostly on political grounds. Just like the Chief Executive of a company, he is bound to abide with what his Board of Directors instructs him to do.

Thus….. There should be a provision in the Constitution which clearly mandates that the President carry out all legally passed legislation, whether he agrees with it or not, and whether or not it will further his own personal agenda or the agenda of a political party. Further, if a President refused to fairly and faithfully enforce such laws, this will be reason to remove him from office.

And, the Congress (and the courts) shall have the power and the obligation to prevent the President from assuming power for himself.

It is a sensitive issue, but it seems logical and wise to establish minimum Constitutional standards or qualifications for a member of the President’s Cabinet. Each cabinet secretary is responsible for administering a department which affects the lives of large segments of our population. They should possess a high degree of training and expertise and understanding in the area of the particular cabinet department and the population it serves. Nobody wants a non-pilot, or even an inexperienced pilot, flying their aircraft. We expect the pilot to be highly trained and possess the understanding of aircraft. We should also expect the same degree of training, experience and understanding from our cabinet officers.

Finally, it is becoming increasingly apparent that a strict Code of Ethics should be set into place to govern the conduct of the President. Our President’s job is to uphold and enforce the laws of our nation. He, above all our government officials, should be held to the very highest of standards and behavior. The President should lead by setting the highest of standards of ethical and moral behavior. The Code of Ethics should be written by citizens representing a wide variety of socioeconomic backgrounds, as well as people representing different religions and ethnic and racial backgrounds. And, would be administered by a Constitutionally defined body of people who will have the authority to take Constitutionally mandated measures to make sure the Code of Ethics is enforced.

That about wraps up my suggestions for changes that need to be included in a newly written Constitution in regards to the President. Now let’s move on to some odds and ins which need to be addressed in a new Constitution.

Before we do that, though, you are surely aware that these suggestions are only a few changes that need to be made in a new Constitution. Obviously, this is not a new Constitution….only changes that should be incorporated into the new document.

A new Constitution…..a new document which should start with the old Preamble…. “We the People……” will undoubtedly be very similar to our present Constitution, but it will be updated to reflect today’s conditions and needs, and it will be no longer necessary to include such clauses and amendments such as the ones like each Black person will count as 3/5 of a person….or that women have the right to vote…..or that alcohol is legal…..or the clause about quartering of soldiers in private homes….

In fact, the new Constitution will have no amendments at all. All of what are amendments (changes or additions) will simply be incorporated into the body of the document. In effect, we will be giving ourselves a fresh start with a document that more fairly and accurately reflects our country in today’s society and provides for and takes into account our future as a people and as a nation.

Our Constitution was written in 1789…..a long time ago. 1789 we faced vastly a vastly different environment and vastly different conditions. By and large, it has served as well. The United States of America is the oldest and longest lasting democratic republic in the world, so the Founding Fathers must have done something right. Our job is to strengthen and adapt the Constitution to it will continue to live and serve as well for many years into the future.

Before I wrap this up, I am going to point out a few changes that I think need to be made to the original Constitution that have presented problems and are not clearly defined in the document.

The first first subject which needs to be clearly defined is that of citizenship. The Constitution already guarantees that all people who are born in the U.S.A. are automatically citizens. This provision should be emphasized and stated more unequivocally so there is no question of its meaning. Citizenship is not a matter to be decided by the whim of a political group or an individual. It should be unchangeable. Under ethically leadership this has never been a problem until recent years when some government officials have attempted to circumvent the Constitution and make decisions that suit their own preferences or desires.

The Constitution also guarantees that any child born to parents who are citizens of the U.S.A. while not on the soil of the U.S.A. is also automatically a citizen. This applies to citizens who may be serving in the U. S. A. military, or in the diplomatic corps, and also to those parents who may be studying abroad or who may be vacationing abroad or holding a job in a foreign country.

The United States is made up almost 100% of immigrants…..unless you are of 100% Native American origin. And, even our Native Americans are thought to have immigrated across the Bering Strait at some point in our distant past history. So…. Let’s be honest. You are an immigrant or at some point your ancestors were immigrants.

Once a person from another country has fulfilled all the legal requirements and has become a legal citizen through the provisions set forth in statutory law, that citizenship should be permanent and not subject to political pressure or political expediency. The only way this type of citizenship can be revoked is by duly passed legislation which enumerates reasons for withdrawing citizenship. Such legislation can not include ex post facto reasons. The only reasons citizenship could be revoked are being convicted of a felony in a federal or state court. But revoking citizenship must be done on an individual, case-by-case basis.

As I remarked previously, in a new Constitution, there will be no “Bill of Rights”. All the provisions contained in the Bill of Rights will be incorporated into the body of the Constitution. However, there are a couple areas that I feel should be further explained and clarified.

One of these provisions is part of the First Amendment. It concerns the freedoms of speech and the freedom of press. The framers of the Constitution had no way of knowing how society and technology would develop. To them today’s society and way of life would have been pure science fiction with our present-day forms of communication…..and actually probably not even to that stage. In our newly developed country, the main concern was maintaining our newly won freedom and protecting themselves from returning to the dictatorship they had fled to escape.

I suppose, in a way, we are still attempting to achieve this very goal. Except this time, we are not fleeing a dictatorship, but working to make sure we do not fall prey to such a dictatorship of our own making.

The matter of freedom of speech and freedom of press should be protected and guarded closely. These two freedoms (along with all our other freedoms) should not be taken from us by would-be dictators of today. Therefore, a further and more definite description of what these two terms actually mean….and especially what they should exclude….is necessary.

For example….. Should it be freedom of speech for a person…..any person…..to knowingly, deliberately and with malicious intent….to spread lies, mis-truths, misinformation, and falsehoods…..against anybody, at any time, in any form, at any place, for any reason?

Stop and ask yourself if a person should have the right to do this to you? Your family? Your friends? I am going to venture a guess. No, it would not. It simply is not right for somebody to willingly, knowingly and intentionally to spread such information, either in speech or in writing.

This applied to everybody….from the most powerful to the common citizen….and in any setting. Violations of this Constitutional provision should be severely punished. And, as I said, this Constitutional clause will apply to everybody…..no exceptions.

Another amendment that has caused tons of problems is the 2nd Amendment…..and the vague words concerning “the right to bear arms”. In a new Constitution, that phrase should be clearly defined and explained. Definite guidelines should be established so there is no longer confusion to its interpretation. It should not be left to the Supreme Court to decide. The people should have that power, since it affect millions of people directly.

Currently, as of 2024, there are more than 500 million privately owned firearms in the U.S.A. This is about 1.93 firearms per adult. About 46% of households own firearms. As you can easily figure out….the other 54% must own multiple number of firearms. As you may also have figured out or at least assumed, it is too late to consider starting over on the matter of weapon ownership. That train left the station long ago. The goal for the future will be to determine how to keep firearms out of the possession of people who are not qualified to possess them. For example……Is is reasonable to assume that people with a record of mental illness should be denied the privilege of owning one? Or is it reasonable to set a limit on how many firearms an individual can own? Or it it reasonable to define the type of firearms that private individuals can own? Or is it reasonable to deny access of ownership to individuals with a record of criminal violence? Is it reasonable to require any and all people who own a firearm to successfully complete a weapons safety training course?

The problem has never….and I repeat never….been that the government wants to take weapons away from citizens. And, I challenge anybody to come up with any bill that was ever introduced into Congress in the past one hundred years that would do this, The goal always has been…..and always should center around safety and common sense.

And, I think that his issue is such national importance that it should be addressed in the Constitution……and not left to each individual state governments.

The final issues that needs to be addressed is that of voting….who is eligible to vote. In a democracy it seems ironic and counterproductive that we should spend so much time trying to figure out ways to prevent people from voting. The goal and intent of a democracy should be to entice the greatest number of people possible to vote.

This is another case in point of a matter that should have uniform national standards…..and not left for each state to determine. There should be one standard only for voting qualifications and eligibility. Voting is a basic right, and it should be uniform nationwide. Voting qualifications should be determined solely on a set of standards that are free of political considerations….free of racial and ethnic bias….free of economic bias….free of religious bias. In other words, anybody and everybody who is qualified under a single set of eligibility requirements should not only be permitted to vote….but encouraged to vote. These qualifications and standards should be written in clear, concise, easy to understand, easy to interpret language.

A uniform means of identification should also be Constitutionally established…..and not left up to the individual states to determine. When there are 50 different sets of identification requirements…. There are 50 sets of voting requirements. In a democracy this should not be allowed to occur. Voting, especially in national elections, is not a matter for each state to decide. So, what should this uniform means of identification look like? Finger printing each child born in the USA at birth is one way to prove citizenship. This is a common practice, and it could be used for voter identification. When citizenship is granted to new citizens…..fingerprint them. Many countries….democratic countries….issue identity cards to its citizens when they are born. That number stays with them for a lifetime. Identity cards, which are duly recorded, can also be issued to new citizens. Valid driver’s licenses which contain a certified name and address, a recent photo and possibly a fingerprint, is another possibility.

I can’t leave this controversial subject without adding that voter fraud is a political lie. It is a fictitious issue that is used by dishonest and unethical politicians. It is not a valid issue. Out of 100 million votes cast in a recent election, there were 39 certified cases of voter fraud. In another study, conducted in the last election there were two studies of voter fraud. One study found that voter fraud was 0.0003%. The second study found 0.0025%. (If we already had an enforceable Code of Ethics for public officials, this would certainly would qualify as a deliberate lie….and attempt to deceive the voters.)

Well…. That’s about it. As I said before, these are my thoughts and suggestions on how our Constitution can be changed to better fit our present day society and way of live and hopefully serve as an avenue to eliminate some of the uncertainties of meaning of the Constitution and make them more definite and well-defined. Some, if not all, of the subjects I have written about are highly emotional issues. If they are written in more precise and less unambiguous language…..less open to multiple interpretations by courts or by Congress or by the President……or by the citizens of our nation, it will become more effective and more distinct and more practical and more reliable and more trustworthy and will serve our nation long into the future.

It has occurred to me that many times, people have to be protected against themselves. Correcting the problems I discussed above should…..and probably will…..take care a lot of the problem. Until then, changes need to be made in our Constitution to help insure that some of the problems we face today will be alleviated to some degree.

When our Constitution was adopted back in 1789, the people who wrote it and approved it had no idea…..not even a faint premonition….of the society in which we find ourselves living today. And, how could they?

I am going to attempt to explain what I would do if I were in charge of writing a new Constitution. I will explain changes I would make and hopefully, make sense of them. I know what I am going to say may seem radical…..a definite departure of the way things have been done. These are my thoughts and vision. And, I am quite sure they would not be changes that will….or would….ever be made by our existing government.

But…. Here goes.

The first part of the Constitution I would change would be Article 3, the article that deals with the Supreme Court. Let’s face it, the Supreme Court is, for all practical purposes, is the most powerful branch of the government. Yes, the Constitution give the power and authority to make laws to the legislative branch. It gives the power to enforce those laws to the executive branch. All of that sounds good….but: The Supreme Court has an almost absolute power….at least, they have taken the power…..to declare any law passed by Congress to be unconstitutional. They have the power….at least, they have assumed the power…..to declare any action the President makes as being unconstitutional. And, they have also assumed the power to make final decisions of social and moral issues….on medical and “personal” choice issues…..that have not been specifically given, or even implied, to them by our Constitution.

In 1789 when the Constitution was written, the men who wrote it visualized the Supreme Court as being a group of legal experts who were impartial, honest and with no ulterior motives or self-interest in the decisions they made in interpreting the laws. They were given protection against outside influences and forces by being granted lifetime appointments…..with a guarantee that their salary could not be decreased. These two articles were intended to assure they would, to the best of their ability, render a strict and impartial and independent interpretation of the law with no fear of losing their job or having their salary cut because of their objectivity and honesty.

The intentions of the writers of the Constitution were admirable. Leave political philosophy and pressure and interference of special interests outside the judicial process. Free the justices from any threat of punishment or retaliation. Make it possible to arrive at a just and equitable decision according to the laws and the Constitution. Of course, from the very beginning, human emotions and values were bound to play some part in the decisions the Supreme Court justices made. It probably cannot be avoided. After all they are human.

In more recent years, the Supreme Court has been transformed into a division of the party which controls the Congress as a political tool. Justices are approved or rejected by Congress according to their political philosophy….the probability of “interpreting” laws in favor of the party which is in power to appoint them. Since the decisions they hand down are more or less permanent until a later version of the Supreme Court rescinds them, the justices of the Supreme Court are, for all practical purposes, assume legislative and executive powers by imposing their will on the country. And, once the Supreme Court has ruled, there is very little recourse, aside from amending the Constitution, to change it. This places almost supreme power in the hands of nine non-elected individuals.

The Supreme Court has no constitutional power to enforce its decisions. However, up until this point, the executive branch has been honorable enough to recognize and enforce them.

To me it is obvious that this branch of our government….the Supreme Court….would be the obvious place to start when writing a new Constitution. Here are some of the provisions I would include.

First of all, the President should not have a major role in appointing members of the Supreme Court…..or any other federal court. This, alone, will help guarantee that it will not become a political arm of the government…..not responsible to…or favoring….or representing….any political philosophy or group.

There may be equally good ways to select Supreme Court members. However, one method that perhaps would work very well is to have a constitutionally authorized committee of highly trained and skilled law professionals….attorneys, law professors, former judges, law enforcement officials, etc….. choose a limited number of qualified candidates….three, let’s say….from which the President is constitutionally required to select a candidate.

It is important that the selection committee NOT be selected by current politicians….nor former politicians, either. But, rather, they be selected by some mutually agreed upon independent method. These committee members will serve a constitutionally number of years. It is also important that the committee be composed of an equal number of members. The winning candidates must each receive at least a simple majority of votes. In case of a tie vote, no candidate will win. But, if the selection committee is composed of non-political members, the chances of this happening are probably going to be greatly diminished…..and impartial, highly qualified candidates will be agreed upon. The President will be required to make his selection from these three choices of the committee. There should be no restriction of candidates appearing on subsequent lists of possible candidates.

Second: Members of the Supreme Court will have a constitutionally imposed term limit. To me, ten or twelve years seems fair and sufficient. After completing a term, no justice will be permitted to serve a second term.

Third: A very strict Code of Ethics should be established for member of the Supreme Court….. Indeed, for all judges in all federal courts. Judges should be held to the highest of standards. This Code of Ethics should be written by perhaps the same committee which appoints the possible nominees…..with no input from any political sources. As stated before, this committee should be selected from highly recognized legal authorities such as The American Bar Association, university law professors, law enforcement officials. In any event, it should contain no members of a political organization or political philosophy. If written thoughtfully, the Code of Ethics should be a “one time event”…..and it should endure throughout the years.

The power to enforce the provisions of the Code of Ethics should be placed in the hands of a constitutionally authorized committee who will make final decisions. If a federal judge on any level should be removed for misconduct, that judge should never be allowed to serve as a judge at any future time.

There may be a variety of methods to choose the various nominating and oversight commissions. However, the important thing is, I think….. In order to insure fairness and impartiality, there should be no political involvement. This will no doubt be the only branch of our government where politics is not involved.

Fourth: There should be definite and clear guidelines and criteria on the types of issues the Supreme Court and other federal courts can consider and hand down decisions. In all fairness and in all reality and in all common sense, it seems true that the only issues a group of highly trained experts in law should consider will be…..well, laws! This seems like a good time to update or modernize our judicial system. In the two hundred or so years since the Constitution was written, society and circumstances have changed radically. The society and the atmosphere we live in today would be totally foreign….totally unrecognizable…..to the framers of the Constitution.

In my opinion, a better solution would be to have multiple “Supreme Courts” which would deal with different kinds of problems, different phases of society as we know it today:

One Supreme Court that would deal with interpreting laws as enumerated in the Constitution or have been duly ratified by Congress.

One Supreme Court which would handle only cases arising from social issues, not specifically covered by laws.

One Supreme Court which deals only with medical problems….matters that only trained professionals have the knowledge, training and expertise to deal with.

These are only three examples, and there are surely others. There is really no reason to have only one Supreme Court. In fact, there are probably more valid reasons against it than there is for it. Not only will having multiple “Supreme Courts” result in more informed and equitable decisions, it will also diffuse the power that that has for too long been centralized in an un-elected group that is no longer respected by our citizens and has frequently abused its power for personal and political reasons…..and with no readily available recourse.

There are probably other changes that should be made to the Supreme Court and the judicial system to insure that it better reflects justice and fairness and equity, but let’s leave it for now and move on to the legislative branch of our government…. Congress.

Oh, Congress. This should probably be the most important branch of the government. It is the branch that represents the people directly. No electoral college here. They are elected outright by the voters. They are mandated to make the laws of the land, within the structure of the Constitution. They are the branch that serves designated populations. It is the branch that is most in touch with the people and reflects the will of the people. This is the branch which makes us a democratic republic.

At least, this is the ideal which was envisioned by the men who wrote the Constitution.

But, through the years a gradual erosion of democratic intent has virtually transformed the Congress into a body of men and women who have used it to promote their own selfish agendas, to build a power base to satisfy over-sized egos, and to ingratiate themselves to outside influences for their own financial gain. The Congress itself may be one of the most undemocratic institutions in our country. The concepts of seniority, lobbying, and politics over the good of the nation, internal self-enrichment and lack of accountability at times have rendered Congress into a “club” of its own.

Let’s take a look at some of the changes that I would make to ensure that the Congress is more responsive to the voters than it is to itself.

First and foremost the constitution should mandate limits of the number of terms any person can serve in either of the houses of Congress. And, this total should include the total or collective number of years a person can serve in either or both houses Congress. In other words, there needs to be a constitutionally imposed limit. For example: I would set the limit at a total of 12 years. A person can serve all 12 years in the Senate. Or, they can serve 6 years in the House of Representatives and 6 years in the Senate. After serving these 12 years…. They are finished and will no longer be seek an elective federal legislative office. This will also solve the ancient policy and problems that the matter of “seniority” has often caused.

In fact, in order to have a truly representative Congress, I would propose choosing members of Congress that same way we choose juries. A lottery with the names of all citizens who are above the age of 25 would be used. Names would be generated randomly by a computer selecting names which match a variety of socioeconomic factors, as well as racial and ethnic backgrounds.

The “winners” would be temporarily moved to Washington, D. C. where they would live in more than adequate government provided housing during their stays there. They would be well compensated for their service, and their jobs at home would be constitutionally protected during their term of service.

This would solve some of the inequities which exist in the process of running for election. Maybe first and foremost would be the fact that the person would not be held hostage by special interest groups, by lobbyists, or even an extreme political group. In order to help insure this objectivity and partiality, they would be specifically prohibited from accepting gifts of any sort from anybody. They will not be obligated to any political or special interest group.

Except for the restrictions enumerated, they would function in a similar manner to our present day Congress, but with the freedom to function without the influence and interference of external pressures or distractions.

Yes….. I know. This is a rather far fetched proposal…..and I am not naive enough to think it will happen. But…. It is an alternative!

OK…. Let’s move on with some more realistic reforms…..and, these are not fantasy or ideal ideas. They are important to the reform of the legislative branch….Congress.

Next to term limits, the next most important reform is to abolish “gerrymandering”. The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defined gerrymandering like this: To divide or arrange a territorial unit into election districts in a way that gives one political party an unfair advantage.” In other words to draw electoral district lines in such a way that would exclude or include certain political philosophies or racial groups or ethnic groups. Actually, it can include any segment of the population that may favor or hinder a certain political party. You can easily look up some “gerrymandered” districts. It becomes immediately obvious that district lines were intentionally drawn to favor a political party. Some of these maps are indeed strange with boundaries so contorted that it defies imagination how they could be considered anything except deliberate and obvious plans to, for all practical purposes, disenfranchise large groups of voters.

The Constitution should clearly and specifically define how various voting districts can be delineated. They should be based strictly on population. The shape of the electoral districts should be a recognized geometric figure…..preferably a square. Furthermore, each side should be approximately the same length. In any case, it should be always constructed so it has four equal parallel sides.

If the sides are constructed to the above specifications, they will in all probability more accurately reflect population…..and not special interests.

Today it is a common practice to “bundle” bills. For some purposes, this may be acceptable, especially it bills contain the same or similar subject matter. The practice of attaching a “popular” bill, in the opinion of a political party, to one that is not popular, only to insure that the perceived “unpopular” bill will more likely pass should be prohibited. And conversely….attaching an “unpopular” bill to a “popular” bill only to prevent the more popular bill from passing should likewise be prohibited.

This procedure of “bundling” bills, it can be argued, helps keep the consideration of legislation moving. And, this is probably correct. But, every bill before the Congress should have an equal chance of being considered on its own merits. Whoever has presented a bill before Congress should have the right to demand that his/her legislation should have fair and equal consideration on its own merits…..and not buried in a bill that either is headed for passage…..or defeat.

To this end, if one-fourth of the total legislative body demands that a bill be considered separately and on its own merits, nothing should prevent it from being considered independently. And, this should also be the policy in removing a bill from a “package”.

It is ironic that in our democratic republic form of government…..our government of the people, by the people and for the people…..that one man, either the Speaker of the House or the Majority Leader in the Senate, should have the power to prevent our elected representatives from voting on a bill. That he alone, in effect, has the power to determine what will become a law and what will not. There are one hundred elected members of the Senate and four hundred thirty five elected members of the House of Representatives. They…..and they alone…..have been elected….who have the Constitutional power…..to make the laws of our country. One man should not have the power to bottle up a bill.

Because the people of the United States hold supreme power, it should be made easier for voters to become involved in the process of determining and deciding the laws that will govern their lives. Today the people have no option to vote directly on measures that affect the lives of all Americans equally…. Laws that govern such issues as abortion, legalization of marijuana, matters dealing with gender choice or sex preference……emotional issues which affects all citizens equally, but on which they have little or no voice and even less control. Matters such as these…..matters which are usually politically explosive….matters on which most legislators are too cowardly to deal with….should be be decided directly by citizens. After all, in a democracy the people are supposed to hold supreme power. And, it is far more democratic and logical to simply let the people decide what they want. In the end, the people are accountable….and cowardly legislators will not be held accountable. Contrary to the belief of many members of Congress, the people are far better judges of what they want and what is best for them.

Thus…. If a nation-wide petition is circulated, and let’s say, 10% of eligible voters of the entire United States sign it…..even 5%…..then the proposed law will be placed on a ballot and the entire country can vote whether to accept or reject it. And…. Stop to think, in 2024 there were approximately 245 million eligible voters in the USA. This means that if 5% of voters demanded that a measure be submitted to the people for a vote, the number would be approximately 12 million voters. That is a significant number of people, no matter how a person looks at it!

Another good things about passing a law in this manner is that it will be free of money from special interests who are willing to pay legislators for voting for their selfish gain. And, like it or not, this is what gets laws passed in more cases that we like to admit or realize.

Continuing along in a similar scenario, the Constitution should contains provisions that deal with the behavior and conduct of members of Congress. It is recognized that lobbyists play can play a useful role in the legislative process by providing valuable factual information to members of Congress. But, this service should only consist in offering information, either in person or in written form. In all cases, any payment in the form of money or gifts to a Congress person should be deemed illegal and an act of misconduct. The common practice of presenting gifts to Congress persons in order to gain or influence a vote is all too common in today’s Congress. In effect, and in most cases, in reality, the Congress person is casting a vote for a special interest and not for the voters who elected him or her. It should be grounds for removing that person from Congress. Common courtesies such as buying a Congress person lunch should be excepted and not classified as “gifts”.

Just like the Supreme Court, a strict Code of Ethics should be enforced by a special panel which is independent of Congressional control. Since Congress has been empowered to make the laws for the nation, they should be held to rigidly high standards. If they are, or have been, found guilty of a felony, they will not be allowed to serve as a member of Congress. Again, it is ironic that Congress has enacted laws that prevent felons from voting, when all too many of them are guilty of the same kind of crimes.

Members of Congress are elected by the people…..and there should be a Constitutional provision whereby they can also be removed by the people for reasons of serious misconduct. Again if a Constitutionally specified number of citizens legally sign a formal petition demanding it……a special election will be conducted to determine if the people wish to retain that person as a member of Congress.

Elections are the means by which people exert their power and superiority in a democracy. The people should always have the ultimate power.

Constitutional provisions should enumerate very clearly the benefits, salary, retirement, insurance and other financial considerations for members of Congress. Members of Congress should clearly be well compensated for their service, even quite possibly be given a housing allowance or perhaps a living allowance. Living in Washington, D. C. is expensive, and there is no reason they should have to make undue sacrifices in order to serve. However, if a person ran for….and was elected to Congress….only for the purpose of getting rich, they are seriously misguided.

Other than the fact that they elected to serve their country for a fixed number of years, there is nothing special about members of Congress. They are no better or worse than the citizens they serve……and which will once were…..and will become again.

There is no logical reason that a member of Congress should have any special financial privileges (or any other kind) once they have left office. After all, unless they are extremely old, they will return to their former job when the leave Congress. The Constitution should clearly define their financial rewards….i. e. salary, insurance, retirement…..and they should mirror the financial rewards of any working citizen. If this matter is left to the members of Congress, like it is now, they are free to reward themselves with almost unlimited benefits which are not enjoyed by the people they represent.

Part of their Code of Ethics should strictly forbid members of Congress from receiving any sort of financial assistance or gifts from outsiders or from accepting any gifts or rewards. Such a provision will eliminate the possibility of a member of Congress, in effect, from accepting a bribe to vote for bills which favor or benefit a particular special interest group.

Now, let’s take a look at the Executive Branch. In the eyes of many people….indeed, many nations….this is the most visible of the three branches of government. Its function in our democratic republic is to “execute” or carry out the will of the people as determined by the Constitution and through free elections of our representatives. Back in 1789, the founders of our nation never intended for the President to be a power in his own right. Instead, he (and back in those days, it was definitely a “he”) his job was primarily to do the bidding of the Congress. He could veto laws which they passed, but, in turn, they had the power to “override” his veto by a convincing number of votes.

In loose and general terms, Congress was always envisioned as the “powerhouse” of the three branches because they represented the people directly. The people would elected their representatives; their elected representatives would enact laws which would benefit them and the nation at large; The Supreme Court was established to ensure that these laws were carried out legally and fairly and people rights were not violated by either by unfair laws or the unfair execution of the laws. In reality, each branch of government was assigned distinct, specific roles to play in the government. The power was “divided”…..thus the expression “division of power”. And, it also established the three branches of government as a system of checks and balances so that no branch of government would become too powerful.

So….. Here are some changes to the Constitution that I think will more closely define the power, the functions and the limitations of the office of the President.

First and foremost…. The Electoral College needs to be abolished. The concept and the actual practice of the Electoral College is undemocratic and is counter to the principles upon which our nation was founded.

For you history buffs, you will admit immediately that the reason an Electoral College was established was the fact that nobody except a privileged few had any idea who the guys running for president were. And, why would they? Newspapers for practically non-existent. And this was more than a century before the first commercial radio station in the U.S.A. (1920); more than a century and a half before the first commercial TV station in the U.S.A. was licensed; and almost two centuries (1969) before the Internet was first introduced.

For the most part, people who did not live in the few big cities which existed at the time had no clue what was going on, sometimes for weeks or even months after the fact. They didn’t know the men running for office, because they had no way of finding out. So…. The “founding fathers”, the men who wrote the Constitution, logically reasoned that it was far “safer” and more logical to let people who were better informed and who knew the candidates actually choose the candidates who were running for office of President. It was assumed that they could make a more intelligent and informed decision on who the candidates would be. And, of course, when our first President was elected, there were no political parties.

OK….. Why hasn’t it changed? Today we are subjected to a massive amount of information. We are bombarded with it. There is no good reason every person in the USA should not know each candidate and what they stand for.

In today society, the Electoral College is the complete opposite of representative democracy. We preach to the rest of the world….. “One person…..one vote.” It is time….after more than 230 years we need to start practicing what we preach. The Electoral College is not democracy.

Second: To create fairness and equity, all Presidential elections should be funded strictly and exclusively with public (government) funding. A strict limit should be set on the amount of money each candidate can spend…..and that money should be furnished by the government…..”us”….the people….the voters. When this happens, if effect, every voter is taking part in funding the elections…..not a few super-rich individuals or organizations….who are seeking to promote or perpetuate their own narrow and self-serving agenda. The agenda for any Presidential candidate should be the good welfare and well being of the people and the nation, and it is only fitting that all the people in the nation should contribute. This is another measure to put the ultimate power back into the hands of our citizens and take it out of the hands of the few….the super-wealthy.

It probably would not be a bad idea to establish this practice for people running for any federal elective office.

The original Constitution clearly intended that the President’s function was that of a Chief Executive. He was empowered to carry out the wishes of his “employer”….the citizens of the nation. And, like many other large corporations or businesses, “the employer” also elects a “Boards of Directors”…..the Congress…..to make rules, that is, to adopt rules and guidelines for the good of that business or organization. He does only what the Board approves and instructs him to do. (This is a general analogy, of course!) The President does not make the rules….. He carries them out.

Over the years, however, the President….(let’s make that plural)…. has gradually usurped legislative power, especially in “gray” areas, assuming powers that were not given to him in the Constitution…..nor were they intended for him. In some cases, a President has refused to carry out or execute lawfully enacted measures because he disagrees with them, mostly on political grounds. Just like the Chief Executive of a company, he is bound to abide with what his Board of Directors instructs him to do.

Thus….. There should be a provision in the Constitution which clearly mandates that the President carry out all legally passed legislation, whether he agrees with it or not, and whether or not it will further his own personal agenda or the agenda of a political party. Further, if a President refused to fairly and faithfully enforce such laws, this will be reason to remove him from office.

And, the Congress (and the courts) shall have the power and the obligation to prevent the President from assuming power for himself.

It is a sensitive issue, but it seems logical and wise to establish minimum Constitutional standards or qualifications for a member of the President’s Cabinet. Each cabinet secretary is responsible for administering a department which affects the lives of large segments of our population. They should possess a high degree of training and expertise and understanding in the area of the particular cabinet department and the population it serves. Nobody wants a non-pilot, or even an inexperienced pilot, flying their aircraft. We expect the pilot to be highly trained and possess the understanding of aircraft. We should also expect the same degree of training, experience and understanding from our cabinet officers.

Finally, it is becoming increasingly apparent that a strict Code of Ethics should be set into place to govern the conduct of the President. Our President’s job is to uphold and enforce the laws of our nation. He, above all our government officials, should be held to the very highest of standards and behavior. The President should lead by setting the highest of standards of ethical and moral behavior. The Code of Ethics should be written by citizens representing a wide variety of socioeconomic backgrounds, as well as people representing different religions and ethnic and racial backgrounds. And, would be administered by a Constitutionally defined body of people who will have the authority to take Constitutionally mandated measures to make sure the Code of Ethics is enforced.

That about wraps up my suggestions for changes that need to be included in a newly written Constitution in regards to the President. Now let’s move on to some odds and ins which need to be addressed in a new Constitution.

Before we do that, though, you are surely aware that these suggestions are only a few changes that need to be made in a new Constitution. Obviously, this is not a new Constitution….only changes that should be incorporated into the new document.

A new Constitution…..a new document which should start with the old Preamble…. “We the People……” will undoubtedly be very similar to our present Constitution, but it will be updated to reflect today’s conditions and needs, and it will be no longer necessary to include such clauses and amendments such as the ones like each Black person will count as 3/5 of a person….or that women have the right to vote…..or that alcohol is legal…..or the clause about quartering of soldiers in private homes….

In fact, the new Constitution will have no amendments at all. All of what are amendments (changes or additions) will simply be incorporated into the body of the document. In effect, we will be giving ourselves a fresh start with a document that more fairly and accurately reflects our country in today’s society and provides for and takes into account our future as a people and as a nation.

Our Constitution was written in 1789…..a long time ago. 1789 we faced vastly a vastly different environment and vastly different conditions. By and large, it has served as well. The United States of America is the oldest and longest lasting democratic republic in the world, so the Founding Fathers must have done something right. Our job is to strengthen and adapt the Constitution to it will continue to live and serve as well for many years into the future.

Before I wrap this up, I am going to point out a few changes that I think need to be made to the original Constitution that have presented problems and are not clearly defined in the document.

The first first subject which needs to be clearly defined is that of citizenship. The Constitution already guarantees that all people who are born in the U.S.A. are automatically citizens. This provision should be emphasized and stated more unequivocally so there is no question of its meaning. Citizenship is not a matter to be decided by the whim of a political group or an individual. It should be unchangeable. Under ethically leadership this has never been a problem until recent years when some government officials have attempted to circumvent the Constitution and make decisions that suit their own preferences or desires.

The Constitution also guarantees that any child born to parents who are citizens of the U.S.A. while not on the soil of the U.S.A. is also automatically a citizen. This applies to citizens who may be serving in the U. S. A. military, or in the diplomatic corps, and also to those parents who may be studying abroad or who may be vacationing abroad or holding a job in a foreign country.

The United States is made up almost 100% of immigrants…..unless you are of 100% Native American origin. And, even our Native Americans are thought to have immigrated across the Bering Strait at some point in our distant past history. So…. Let’s be honest. You are an immigrant or at some point your ancestors were immigrants.

Once a person from another country has fulfilled all the legal requirements and has become a legal citizen through the provisions set forth in statutory law, that citizenship should be permanent and not subject to political pressure or political expediency. The only way this type of citizenship can be revoked is by duly passed legislation which enumerates reasons for withdrawing citizenship. Such legislation can not include ex post facto reasons. The only reasons citizenship could be revoked are being convicted of a felony in a federal or state court. But revoking citizenship must be done on an individual, case-by-case basis.

As I remarked previously, in a new Constitution, there will be no “Bill of Rights”. All the provisions contained in the Bill of Rights will be incorporated into the body of the Constitution. However, there are a couple areas that I feel should be further explained and clarified.

One of these provisions is part of the First Amendment. It concerns the freedoms of speech and the freedom of press. The framers of the Constitution had no way of knowing how society and technology would develop. To them today’s society and way of life would have been pure science fiction with our present-day forms of communication…..and actually probably not even to that stage. In our newly developed country, the main concern was maintaining our newly won freedom and protecting themselves from returning to the dictatorship they had fled to escape.

I suppose, in a way, we are still attempting to achieve this very goal. Except this time, we are not fleeing a dictatorship, but working to make sure we do not fall prey to such a dictatorship of our own making.

The matter of freedom of speech and freedom of press should be protected and guarded closely. These two freedoms (along with all our other freedoms) should not be taken from us by would-be dictators of today. Therefore, a further and more definite description of what these two terms actually mean….and especially what they should exclude….is necessary.

For example….. Should it be freedom of speech for a person…..any person…..to knowingly, deliberately and with malicious intent….to spread lies, mis-truths, misinformation, and falsehoods…..against anybody, at any time, in any form, at any place, for any reason?

Stop and ask yourself if a person should have the right to do this to you? Your family? Your friends? I am going to venture a guess. No, it would not. It simply is not right for somebody to willingly, knowingly and intentionally to spread such information, either in speech or in writing.

This applied to everybody….from the most powerful to the common citizen….and in any setting. Violations of this Constitutional provision should be severely punished. And, as I said, this Constitutional clause will apply to everybody…..no exceptions.

Another amendment that has caused tons of problems is the 2nd Amendment…..and the vague words concerning “the right to bear arms”. In a new Constitution, that phrase should be clearly defined and explained. Definite guidelines should be established so there is no longer confusion to its interpretation. It should not be left to the Supreme Court to decide. The people should have that power, since it affect millions of people directly.

Currently, as of 2024, there are more than 500 million privately owned firearms in the U.S.A. This is about 1.93 firearms per adult. About 46% of households own firearms. As you can easily figure out….the other 54% must own multiple number of firearms. As you may also have figured out or at least assumed, it is too late to consider starting over on the matter of weapon ownership. That train left the station long ago. The goal for the future will be to determine how to keep firearms out of the possession of people who are not qualified to possess them. For example……Is is reasonable to assume that people with a record of mental illness should be denied the privilege of owning one? Or is it reasonable to set a limit on how many firearms an individual can own? Or it it reasonable to define the type of firearms that private individuals can own? Or is it reasonable to deny access of ownership to individuals with a record of criminal violence? Is it reasonable to require any and all people who own a firearm to successfully complete a weapons safety training course?

The problem has never….and I repeat never….been that the government wants to take weapons away from citizens. And, I challenge anybody to come up with any bill that was ever introduced into Congress in the past one hundred years that would do this, The goal always has been…..and always should center around safety and common sense.

And, I think that his issue is such national importance that it should be addressed in the Constitution……and not left to each individual state governments.

The final issues that needs to be addressed is that of voting….who is eligible to vote. In a democracy it seems ironic and counterproductive that we should spend so much time trying to figure out ways to prevent people from voting. The goal and intent of a democracy should be to entice the greatest number of people possible to vote.

This is another case in point of a matter that should have uniform national standards…..and not left for each state to determine. There should be one standard only for voting qualifications and eligibility. Voting is a basic right, and it should be uniform nationwide. Voting qualifications should be determined solely on a set of standards that are free of political considerations….free of racial and ethnic bias….free of economic bias….free of religious bias. In other words, anybody and everybody who is qualified under a single set of eligibility requirements should not only be permitted to vote….but encouraged to vote. These qualifications and standards should be written in clear, concise, easy to understand, easy to interpret language.

A uniform means of identification should also be Constitutionally established…..and not left up to the individual states to determine. When there are 50 different sets of identification requirements…. There are 50 sets of voting requirements. In a democracy this should not be allowed to occur. Voting, especially in national elections, is not a matter for each state to decide. So, what should this uniform means of identification look like? Finger printing each child born in the USA at birth is one way to prove citizenship. This is a common practice, and it could be used for voter identification. When citizenship is granted to new citizens…..fingerprint them. Many countries….democratic countries….issue identity cards to its citizens when they are born. That number stays with them for a lifetime. Identity cards, which are duly recorded, can also be issued to new citizens. Valid driver’s licenses which contain a certified name and address, a recent photo and possibly a fingerprint, is another possibility.

I can’t leave this controversial subject without adding that voter fraud is a political lie. It is a fictitious issue that is used by dishonest and unethical politicians. It is not a valid issue. Out of 100 million votes cast in a recent election, there were 39 certified cases of voter fraud. In another study, conducted in the last election there were two studies of voter fraud. One study found that voter fraud was 0.0003%. The second study found 0.0025%. (If we already had an enforceable Code of Ethics for public officials, this would certainly would qualify as a deliberate lie….and attempt to deceive the voters.)

Well…. That’s about it. As I said before, these are my thoughts and suggestions on how our Constitution can be changed to better fit our present day society and way of live and hopefully serve as an avenue to eliminate some of the uncertainties of meaning of the Constitution and make them more definite and well-defined. Some, if not all, of the subjects I have written about are highly emotional issues. If they are written in more precise and less unambiguous language…..less open to multiple interpretations by courts or by Congress or by the President……or by the citizens of our nation, it will become more effective and more distinct and more practical and more reliable and more trustworthy and will serve our nation long into the future.

The United States of America elected a President this year…..2024. Of course, he will not actually become President until January 20, 2025. Believe me all of you great nieces and nephews and all of you cousins, born and yet-to-be-born, this will be an election….and probably an era….that you will read about in the history books no matter how old you might be in the present day. I hope what you read will all be good, but as when I am writing this, the future looks somewhat doubtful. I can almost assure….guarantee you…..that the events of this year are going to have a profound affect on you….if they have not already done so. You will be reading about it in ahistory book. And, hopefully, you will still have that right and privilege. As for me….. I am living in the midst of it. An eye witness to history, you might say.

Our country is in trouble. If you are a breathing human being, this assertion probably does not come as a shock. Like they say, you don’t have to be a nuclear scientist to figure it out. Our population…..the people of the United States of America….are polarized…..intentionally polarized…..by the people whom we elect to public offices. It would seem that our elected officials….politicians…..are more interested in their jobs…..in getting reelected that they are in the well-being and future of this country.

Let me give you my assessment of when, how and why the political situation has deteriorated to its present status or condition.

From my viewpoint and experience….and my lifetime…. the change in attitude of the American people toward the government and elected officials dates back to the Vietnam War. The Vietnam War was a very unpopular war. A significant number of people vigorously opposed the war. A large proportion of these people were young people, although the opposition was certainly not limited to young people. The reasons for the opposition were varied and diverse.

Certainly, ranking among the top reasons was the fact that fighting a war in South Vietnam was fighting in the war was not in our national interest. Back in the early and mid-sixties, there was an almost irrational fear of communism, at least by a large majority of elected governmental leaders and the population in general. To be fair, communism was no doubt the major fear of most of our population. We had been conditioned to both fear and hate communism. The media at all levels bombarded us constantly with the evils and the consequences of communism. And, also to be fair, a lot of the indoctrination was valid. There is probably little doubt that major communist countries such as the Soviet Union would have liked to dominate the world…..that they constantly made hostile and provocative threats.

In the case of South Vietnam, it declared its independence from France in September, 1945. Ho Chi Minh was its president. Ho Chi Minh sought recognition and support from the United States. Harry Truman, who was president at the time, declined to give such recognition and support, motivated by the staunchly anti-communist stance that prevailed in the USA at the time. Ho Chi Minh, in fact, admired the principles of the American Declaration of Independence, and appeared willing, if not eager, to apply them to the newly formed nation of Vietnam. However, the USA chose, instead, to stand with France in its colonialism rather than recognize Ho Chi Minh’s government. This decision to support France in its colonial efforts ultimately led to the escalation of tensions in Vietnam and to the eventual and ultimately very controversial and unpopular involvement of the USA in what would become the Vietnam War.

In my opinion the second incident that eroded the confidence and faith in our government officials was the Republican break-in at the Democratic headquarters which was located in the Watergate office and apartment complex in Washington, D. C. This was in June, 1972. That simple bungled break-in led to the unraveling of a dark web of lies, deception, covert operations, cover-ups, along with other illegal, not to mention unethical, activities within the Republican Party and the Nixon administration. Instead of simply admitting to the American people that the break-in did, in fact, occur….that it was a mistake…..that those involved would be dealt with…..and that it would not happen again (I am not saying that all of these assertions would have been true.), Richard Nixon, the Republican president at the time, for some reason chose to deny the entire affair. Due to the persistence and diligence of the American press, the seemingly insignificant incident burgeoned into a scandal whose tentacles reached into the very heart of the Nixon Administration and eventually brought down the presidency of President Nixon. In my opinion…..and in my own lifetime……these two events, indeed short eras in American history, are the events that emboldened the American press to speak out independently and not be constrained by what the government wanted them to print.

I am not even going to get into the fact that our government has ignored or marginalized large blocks of racial or ethnic minorities, not to mention low economic groups, because they have been perceived, rightly or wrongly, to have no political impact at the ballot box. In most cases, once a person has been elected to a political office, he (or she) usually forgets that they were elected to serve the people. It becomes all about themselves, their perceived power…..and most of all, about being reelected and staying in office. This is a discussion into itself….. But, I believe, it is certainly a reason people have largely put little faith or trust in their elected representatives.

Let’s move on to another reason people have lost their perspective, understanding and ability to make sound, informed and objective choices and decisions in regards to their government, and to be specific, about choosing their elected officials.

As a former educator…..administrator, teacher, counselor and coach…..I will be the first to say that our education system is failing us. One of the major goals in education is to enable people to gain a sufficient and workable knowledge of the structure and mechanics of our government, of our history, of our geography, of our sociology and of our political system to be a “government of the people, for the people and by the people”. In other words, one of the main goals should be to educate students to be good and well informed citizens.

The ballot box…..our right to vote for and choose the people who will make laws for us and who will carry out those laws…. is nothing less than a sacred right. It, in reality, is the our only means of meaningful participation in…..and control over…..our government.

Somehow it seems that our education system fails to understand this important concept. In my opinion preparing students to be good citizens is the most important purpose of education. Public education should be designed to give students the tools to be successful in their personal and family life…..in their social life….in their job environment…..and certainly in their understanding and participation in political life. Only citizens who understand and are prepared to make well-informed, intelligent and wise decisions can insure that our democratic republic will survive.

Let’s make a brief review of how our schools are performing to fulfill their role of preparing the youth of this nation in achieving these goals. And, just to make sure we are on the same page, I am not talking about teaching students to balance check books, make budgets, change a tire…. This is also important…..but it is not the problem I am talking about.

Nationwide an average of 79% of adults in the USA were considered to be literate…possessing the ability to read….in 2022. This means that 21% of American adults were illiterate….who do not possess the ability to read.

However, 54% of Americans have a literacy rate below sixth-

grade level. This is more than half of the nation who can read, but only at the level of a 6^th grade student. Or to put it another way, they can read at the level of a 12 year old child. For all practical purposes, this means that more than half our nation’s population are probably dependent on other sources in order to obtain information.

Only 13% of high school seniors in the USA were able to pass the American history test. The other two levels that were tested didn’t much better. Just 22% of 4^th graders and 18% of 8^th graders scored “proficient” of better.

Let’s take a look at some additional scores. In 2022. less than half of the adults in the USA….47% to be exact…..could name all three branches of our government, down from 56% in 2021. Less and 1 in 4…24%…could name each of the five freedoms guaranteed in the First Amendment of our Constitution. Let’s take a look at each of the freedoms individually as cited in the 2022 study:

Freedom of speech was correctly cited by 63%.

Freedom of religion was correctly cited by 24%.

Freedom of press correctly was correctly cited by 20%.

Right of assembly was correctly cited by 16%.

Right to petition the government was correctly cited by 6%.

Well…..What do you think? Does this sound like a population who has the knowledge and understanding to make intelligent decisions about the future of the nation?

Our educational content has been severely diluted and twisted to meet the demands of a myriad of social, political and religious groups…..and that is not even mentioning the radical groups on both the left and the right. Since education is a matter left to each individual state, there are literally 50 different brands of education being taught in public schools. Education should be standardized across the nation. At least, educational content. Of course, It is not difficult to recognize why such matters as bond issues, taxes, hiring, etc. should be in the hands of state and local officials. They are local, not primarily state or national issues. They involve the spending of money that was taxed locally usually through bond issues which appear on local ballots.

But, in so many cases, people who are educated and have the knowledge and the experience in the educational process are not the people who make decisions about what is being taught in our public schools. Most decisions are made by elected and non-elected officials and both the state and local levels. Having worked in public education for forty years at all levels…..secondary, middle school and elementary school…..I know that many of the things we teach are forced upon us, not because they are necessary and useful for a student’s future and the future of our country, but because it is the viewpoint or fantasy of a political party. Facts cannot be changed. History cannot be altered to fit the fantasy of a social or political sentiment. And, no public official or politician can simply declare that something did not happen. All they can do is hide the facts.

And, having served on a local school board, I have experienced first-hand that most people elected to a school board know little or nothing about teaching, about learning or about the realities of actually conducting the process of education and giving students the knowledge and understanding and skills to become well-informed and responsible citizens and voters. I would venture to say that most people who run for a school board are doing it because of the perception of power or prestige they think it gives to them. Or, and this is equally important…. They have a gripe or a grudge or a pet project they want to push. Or they run with the illusion of protecting or hoping to advance the status of their own children. Or they believe that being on the school board gives them unlimited influence when dealing with teachers and other school personnel. The function of a school board should logically be limited to such things as setting overall policy for the school district, setting an overall budget, perhaps approving large expenditures of money, maybe hearing and settling grievances and disputes arising from the public……and, most important, hiring a good qualified superintendent of schools who will effectively run the school district and make day to day decisions and execute the policies determined by the school board. All educational decisions should be left to those people who have training and expertise in dealing with educational problems.

Certainly, I am not saying that there are not good, well-informed, educated and dedicated people on school boards. There are. However, there are enough of the kind I described to cause real and profound problems.

The same is true on the state level. Remember anybody with a heartbeat can pretty much run for office, with only a few exceptions. In order to be elected to a local school board or to the State Board of Education, a person is not required to have any background in the field of education…..not even required to be a high school graduate. On the state level, politics play a major role…..trying to perceive what will be the popular thing to do…..what will get them re-elected…..what reflects their own set of beliefs.

If the purpose of education is to prepare students for a productive life….to give them the skills and knowledge and understandings which are the foundation of good citizenship, to help them grow and flourish in their personal lives, as parents, as active participants in their communities, to help them make sound and informed decisions, to give them the tools to become intelligent voters and participants in the political process….. Well, emphasizing math and science is not going to accomplish that mission. And, neither is any attempt to rewrite history or to intentionally withhold information

Let me tell you: I cannot do the first problem on the first page of the first book in algebra. But, I know how to add, subtract, multiply, divide…..not only plain old numbers, but also fractions and decimals. I can measure almost anything you want measured…..and to it accurately. In fact, I have built everything in my living room except for the recliner and the TV. I can count money, and I have a pretty good grasp on how to balance my checkbook (back when we used them) and to make and stay within a budget. I even taught six grade math for more than twenty years…..and I think most of my students are living normal, productive lives now. Never in my life…..not even one day…..have I said to myself, “Oh, I wish I had taken more algebra or geometry or trigonometry in school.

When it comes to science…. Well, let me say that I understand enough to have lived, rather successfully, for more than eight decades. I studied biology, physical science and astronomy in college……and passed all of them. I know everything I need to know in order to understand how to live a successful everyday life. You can’t fool me: I know that if I drop an apple it is going to fall downward and not up into the

sky. I know that it is not a good idea to touch an electric wire. I know that I have to get plenty of exercise and eat a balanced diet……and a lot more, too. The stuff that I do not know….believe me, it has not interfered with my life whatsoever. Most of the special science courses are useful only to those people who are employed in special fields in science or who have a desire to pursue careers in scientific professions. And, that is good. I will leave the development of new medicines, new products, new life improvements to them. That is their job. My job was to be a teacher, counselor and administrator. I have a feeling most of the “scientists” would go bonkers if they had to teach a class of grade school or high school students…..or deal with irate, sometimes irrational, parents.

Most important, however, I have a pretty grasp of our political system and our social system. I am pretty well equipped to discern truth from fiction; truth from lies; fraud from reality or honesty. I am in a good position to vote intelligently and to make informed decisions on issues facing our local communities, state and federal governments. I know and understand the difference between propaganda and truth and reality. I know how to fact check what I hear and read…..and learn the truth. I like to think that it is difficult for anybody to “pull the wool over my eyes”!

How did I acquire these abilities? Certainly not by the math and science courses that I took in high school and college! I learned them by taking classes in history, government, geography, civics, sociology….. And, I also learned them by my ability to read….and read widely in a variety of different subjects, sources and viewpoints. Being exposed to and absorbing a wide variety of knowledge about our past and the resulting consequences of those events is a large piece of the puzzle in understanding the events that take place today.

It is probably a trite saying….but: History often repeats itself. We must learn from the past in order to make intelligent choices and decisions to live in the present and in the future.

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OK…. Let’s move on to another reason the citizens of our country are failing as good, responsible, well informed citizens and voters. I didn’t learn it in school, but like most people of my age, I learned how use a computer….and to embrace the possibilities it has to offer. And, to be sure, there are a multitude of possibilities. If you own a computer, I am not going to waste your time enumerating all the positive uses of which you can take advantage. I use my computer constantly. It makes my life much simpler, easier and convenient. For example….Good old Amazon! And Temu!Because of the ease, the convenience and the never-ending selection of products…..and because I have a severe aversion to going into a Walmart store….I do much of my shopping online. Sending messages is much easier and quicker, and talking face-to-face on Skype or WhatsApp is awesome. This was pure science fiction when I was young. I do my banking online now. It is convenient, it is easy, and I have constant access to my banking information and records. Except for one or two notable exceptions, I pay all my bills online. The payment is instantaneous, and I have an immediate record of payment. No longer do I have to travel to a bank, and no longer to I have to wait until the end of the month to examine my payments and bank balances. I have instant access to an overwhelming range of information that was not immediately available before the introduction of the Internet.

This last point is where many of the problems with the Internet begin…..Information! “Google this.” or “Google that.” As the Internet has continued to develop, the amount and scope of information it contains has become almost overwhelming. The problems with the quality of this information has also multiplied. The amount of misinformation, distortion, deception and out and out lies has become a genuine problem for the entire human race.

Acting under the guise of “freedom of speech” and “freedom of press” the Internet has become the repository of information that is often difficult to discern its reliability, authenticity and truthfulness. This is especially true on the so-called social media sites….Facebook, You Tube, Tic Toc, Instagram, Snapchat and X…..just to mention a few.

These social media platforms were originally conceived as places where friends could interact with each other, stay informed of what friends are doing, share information and ideas. But, as with a lot of well-intentioned endeavors, they have been thoroughly infiltrated and corrupted with users who have misused and abused this original objective. Many, if not most or all, of the social media platforms I listed have been drastically changed in the past several years. They have been steadily transformed from places where people can interact with friends and also expand their circle of acquaintances with similar interests. The transformation has taken a dark turn…and unhealthy turn….and perhaps an even dangerous turn toward the spreading of mis-truths, half-truths, deception and just plain old lies.

It can be very difficult to distinguish between truth and lies or misinformation. The person who stays abreast current events and who can read and interpret the written word objectively and often skeptically is more likely to discern the difference between the two. However, there are an abundance of people who have no idea how to make that distinction. Why? First of all, people tend to believe what they want to believe….whatever supports their biases or prejudices. Then, there are those people who are not well informed, who will believe lies and misinformation because they are ignorant of the true facts.

Social media is similar to a disease. If you are constantly exposed to the same information day after day, you are probably going “to catch” whatever you are exposed to. In the case of a disease, we can….and should…..take precautions to avoid contracting that disease. We go to a doctor or a clinic and get a “shot” or a vaccination or immunization against the disease. Many of us will perhaps do some research to learn what we can about the disease…..maybe how it is spreads, and what we can do to avoid getting it.

In the case of social media, we can also take such precautionary measures. What is the source of the information? Who is behind it? Does this square up with the facts? Does it seem on the level, or does the information seem like a baseless attempt to spread mis-information? Is the information something you have encountered in other reputable, main-stream sources? Is the name of the author given? If so, did you look up information about the author? Did you search for the primary source document….who originally said it or wrote it? In what context? For what apparent reason? Did you independently verify the information in other reputable sources?

All too often users of social media are prone to accept what they read as being the truth, just because it appears on a printed page. Or because it was re-posted and “liked” by other people. This is one of the times when a solid education in history or government or social studies becomes valuable. This is one of the times when critical reading is important. This is one of the occasions when the ability to exercise a healthy skepticism can pay off. It is often a good idea to say, “This stuff is nonsense!” or “This is a bunch of bull!” And, then maintain that attitude until proven otherwise.

People without the foundation or knowledge to discern truth from fiction…..facts from lies….propaganda from reality….are like a herd of sheep running blindly and unquestionably toward an almost certain disaster. The people who publish lies, mis-information, distortion of the truth realize this fact! They count on it! And, they are all too aware that there are millions who fit into this category.

So….. The lesson to take away from this is “Be Aware!” Always question everything you read on social media. Challenge everything! Just assume that it is probably false….that you are being taken in by somebody who thinks you are naive enough or ignorant enough or gullible enough to believe what they are saying. Yeah…. Go ahead and read it, if you want to. But, read it as if you already know it is false or misinformation or propaganda. Stop and remind yourself, “They don’t know any more than I know!” They certainly do not have any special insight or understanding or information that is special to them. What makes them so special? Read it, be entertained by it……but don’t believe it.

I want to mention another disturbing statistic from American life today. According to reputable polls, one-fifth of the American public get the majority of their news from so-called “social media influencers.” Roughly an equal number of people from each political party regularly get their news from the so-called influencers. Caucasian Americans are less likely that other racial or ethnic groups to turn to influencers for their news….around 17% compared to Hispanics at 30%, Asians at 29% and Afro-Americans at 27%. Also, adults in lower income brackets are more likely to receive their news from influencers. About one-fourth of those with low incomes get their news from influencers compared with 21% of middle income earners and 16% with higher incomes.

Out of curiosity, I checked the Wikipedia web site and learned that there is far in excess of 500 of these so-called “experts”. It had a partial list…..the most influential or most important or those with the most follower….something like that…. And…..I had not heard of any of them. Zero! Zip! Have I been getting my new from the wrong place for all these years…..listening to NPR, watching PBS and CNN and the three major networks and News Nation…..paying attention to the Associated Press, Reuters, etc? I took the time to look up some of the “influencers” on the Internet. Most of them I simply could not find. Those that I did find were identified most commonly as “an Internet influencer”…..a rather ambiguous and doubtful title.

What do these people know that I don’t know? What do they know that the major TV and radio networks don’t know? What to they know that the major print media do not know? Do they have some privileged information that nobody else has? Are they blessed with special insights that have eluded the rest of the population? Of course not! They don’t know any more than the unsuspecting readers and viewers they have reeled in. People tent to listen to those individuals who share their same beliefs…..who help reinforce their point of view. If this is how you prefer to get your news, why not just ask the check-out clerk at Walmart? Or the guy working behind the counter at McDonald’s?

It is strange that people simply accept the word of somebody they know nothing about only because they are hearing what they want to hear. This points out or reinforces the fact that a large number of people here in the USA…..and I suspect many of these are young people…..simply lack the education and knowledge to discern the difference between the truth and the misinformation and garbage which they are accepting as “facts” or “the truth”. This reinforces the fact that education is important….especially education that has taught facts about United States history and United States government. And not only the knowledge of the USA, but indeed the entire world. We cannot correct mistakes unless we know what they are. We cannot do the right thing unless we know what is right. We cannot lose our way or stumble over garbage in a dark alley if we have a flashlight to light the way

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OK…. There is a final factor that contributes heavily not only to our gaining information…..but to being brainwashed with misinformation. Many people accept anything they read on the Internet as being the “truth”: “But, I saw it on the Internet.” Some people also share this attitude toward what they hear and see on the ubiquitous twenty-four a day news channels. “But, I heard it on TV!”

Keep in mind….always keep in mind…..that those twenty-four hour a day news channels are not primarily in business to inform you of the truth. They are in business to make money! Period!

When I was growing up, we originally got our news on the radio….usually a 15 minute news summary at noon, another at 6:00…..and maybe another one at 10:00, although I was rarely awake at that time to even worry about it. These newscasts were brief, succinct and to the point. Who, what, where, when and how. Just like that. Give the facts and get on with it. Get back to the program.

Aside from the regular newscasters, there were a variety of radio commentators or “columnists”. They “reported” the news, but with their own interpretation. And, everybody knew that. There was really no covert plan to “change” the facts or of subversion. And, I am going to go out on a limb and say that most of these commentators were conservative. My parents and my aunt and uncle on my dad’s side of the family would listen to some of these commentators regularly when they came to visit…..which was fairly often. And, let’s face it…. For the first 21 years of my life, I grew up listening to these guys on a regular basis. I really didn’t have much choice….and even I did, I had no idea they were “conservative”.

Most of these names are not going to ring a bell with you. However, they were “big” back in their day: Gabriel Heatter, H. V. Kaltenborn, Fulton Lewis, Junior, Walter Winchell…. I’ve got to say, they were captivating speakers. Sort of disembodied voices, but still fascinating to listen to. Of course, as a small child, I had no idea or concern about political philosophy. But, my parents and my aunt and uncle seem to hold on to every word.

It seems that my aunt and uncle came to our house almost every Saturday night. It was sort of a ritual: Listen to the dramatic, forceful, “authoritative” style of Gabriel Heatter or the almost frantic style of H. V. Kaltenborn or the more laid back, but equally self-assured Fulton Lewis. Jr. As I said, I was only a small child….maybe in the age range of 5 years old up until I was perhaps 11 years old. For some of that period, we didn’t have electricity. But, that didn’t interfere very much. We…mostly “they”….listened to our battery powered radio. It was what came after the news that I was waiting for! We listened to the “Grand ‘Ole’ Opry” on WSM in Nashville until it ended. Or, at least, that is what I assume. I feel asleep long before that!

The important thing that I remember most about all of this, aside that we enjoyed some close family time together, was that even back in “the good old days”…..the days of radio….there was a wide variety of differing political views, both conservative and liberal. My parent and family just happened to listen to the conservative point of view.

During all this time there were some rather historic and monumental events taking place. In the early days of my recollection, of course, there was a world war…. World War II to be exact. President Roosevelt has just died, and Harry Truman has succeeded to the presidency. The first atomic bomb was dropped. The war ended. President Truman was saddled with the daunting task of transitioning from a war society and war economy to peacetime….jobs, housing, education…. Then, as now, there were crippling strikes in many phases of the economy. A little later on Joseph McCarthy started an investigation of the infiltration of communism in our government and society. He could have been one of the first conspiracy theorists!

Of course, there were differences in opinions. There was political unrest and controversy. People took sides. But, the important things were: No president ever advocated storming the Capitol Building; no president ever tried to overthrow an election…..nor did radio newscasts.

For the most part, radio news programs were short and to the point: 5 minute summaries…..15 minutes at the most. As much news as possible was packed into these programs. There simply was no time for interpretation or opinion. The people were not accustomed to it…..they were not expecting it…..nor did they want it. “Just tell me the facts.” Maybe people were more accustomed to doing their own thinking back in those days. Of course, I was just a little boy, but never did I hear anybody….my parents, my relatives, my teachers, my neighbors, people at my church…..say: “Wow, I wish we had some idiot sit and explain what is going on to us! We just can’t figure it out!” Yeah…. I know. That is an exaggeration, but you get the idea.

In the 1950’s, radio was still king! But, television began to make it appearance in our society. I was a sophomore in high school….1953…when KTVH in Hutchinson, the first TV station in Kansas…. came on the air. Up until that time, the nearest TV station was in Oklahoma City. A insurance agent….and part-time appliance dealer in Sterling….”McKelvey’s” to be exact….had a TV in his store. They would turn it on in the evening for people to see. I am not going to use the word “watch”, because it was inside the store, and we were all outside looking through the window. And, most of the time the picture on the screen was very poor…..snowy, as we said back then.

When the TV station in Hutchinson opened, we, like many, many other residents nearby, bought our first TV set. Along with the TV set came the necessary TV antenna which was mounted on top of our house. Believe me…. Having a TV antenna on top of your house was a real status symbol back in those very first days. Back when KTVH first started broadcasting, the programs came on around 5:00 in the afternoon, and the station closed down at midnight, after displaying a flag and playing the national anthem. The remainder of the time either the screen was blank….or there was a so-called “test pattern”. We were even fascinated with the TV set. We would simply sit and watch the test pattern! (Which, admittedly, was more interesting that some of the program of today!) Even the broadcasting tower, which was located east of Hutchinson, was a tourist attraction!

As the station got its footing and got its technical problem solved, the TV station added additional hours. At 6:00 and again at 10:00, there was a 15 minute summary of the news and weather. I am not sure how the “newscasters” were chosen. This was several years before universities started adding TV journalism to their curriculum. I can imagine they were former radio announcers…..or just as likely….somebody who had no prior experience at all.

At any rate, they would sit at a desk and read the news…. Yes, just read it! Most of it was very inconsequential. Occasionally there would be a still photograph or illustration. Film would come along later down the line. Another guy would read the weather. This was long before the days of meteorologists. The weatherman just pointed at a crude map and paraphrased the National Weather Service forecast.

I remember one of the first “columnists”…..and that probably is not a very descriptive word. She was a middle age, slightly rotund lady….the wife of a local mortician, I think. She could not have cared less about the news. She would invite local people of interest to appear to discuss their organization or maybe an upcoming function. There was certainly nothing controversial….or interesting…..there.

After KTVH joined the CBS network, a national newscast began to appear on the schedule. Soon two more stations were introduced…..one affiliated with NBC and one with ABC. In the first years, the national news programs were 15 minutes long! Five days a week. Some of the original newscasters….more accurately, news readers….were John Charles Daly (who became more famous as moderator of “What’s My Line”), Douglas Edwards, and John Cameron Swayze (who became even more well-known advertising a brand of wristwatch). The were followed by guys like Walter Cronkite for CBS (consistently voted “The most trusted man in America.), Chet Huntley and David Brinkley for NBC, and Frank Reynolds for ABC. And, of course, here was Hugh Downs of the “Today” show. Later names like Peter Jennings, Dan Rather and Tom Brokaw came along.

But, there were still only three major networks. PBS would appear on the scene, too, but its mission was somewhat different. And, the newscasts were still only 15 minutes long. The transition to a 30 minute newscast did not come easily! Local stations fought it! In their opinion, it was simply stealing time from them. Sponsors along with network executives had serious doubts if they could hold the attention of an audience for 30 minutes….or find enough material to fill up 30 minutes. Well…..obviously they could….and they did!

To be fair, the three TV networks did begin to broadcast news interview shows fairly early in the game. “Meet the Press” was the first “in depth” news interview program in 1947. A short time later, in 1954, Face the Nation signed on, and in 1967, Washington Week. None of these programs had a political agenda. They were a forum to discuss and understand important news events of the week.

It wasn’t until 1980 that Ted Turner launched CNN, the first 24 hour news channel. Actually, I don’t think anybody thought it would last through the year. Who was going to sit and watch the news? And, for 24 hours a day? Many people thought Turner was crazy and that the network would soon fail and go off the air. But, guess what? People apparently did want to sit and watch the news. I had a friend who could….and would….sit for literally hours and watch CNN. Maybe it was the novelty, or maybe she actually loved to watch news…..or maybe she literally had nothing else to do. (Which I suspect may have been the case!)

At first, it was a novelty. Somehow CNN stayed on the air. Other 24 hour a day news channels began to emerge when they observed the CNN was actually making money and attracting a viewership. As one might expect, one 24 hour a day news channel is a novelty. But, five 24 hour a day news channels….then 10 round the clock news channels…..and 25 such stations. How many is enough? How many are too many?

Instead of one channel searching for viewers and sponsors, now there are a bunch of them…. For a few years, CNN had the field to itself. They only had to attract viewers….not compete for them. They only had to attract sponsors…..not compete for them. If you know anything about math at all, you realize that if you are given a pizza, for example, it is yours. You can have it all, the entire pizza….eat it all….maybe even throw away what you do not want. But, then suppose siblings or friends start coming in and you are forced to share the pizza. It’s not all yours any longer… Let’s face it: There is the pizza, lying there in front of you…..your siblings and friends will all starting to take a piece of it. It is not going to magically get bigger. Somehow, you have to divide what is in front of you into more and more pieces.

This, I believe, is what has happened with the news media….especially the all-news, twenty-four hour a day news channels. So, if you are the guy with the one whole pizza that you thought was yours alone…..what to do you do? I suppose you could try and not let them take any of the pizza…Slap their hands, cry and make them feel sorry for you, take the pizza and go into another room, call your mother and tell her that somebody is taking your pizza, maybe even deck them, if you are big and strong enough, or if you are generous, maybe you can get another pizza to share.

That approach does not work when the “pizza” is a twenty-four an hour day news channel. There is a finite number of TV viewers, especially those who watch the news. Even more important to the TV industry….there is a finite number of advertisers and advertising money to be divided up and distributed. After a while, it becomes “the survival of the fittest”! And, let’s not forget there is also a finite amount of “news”.

So….What can they do? And, even more relevant is WHAT did they do. So, let’s take a look at this…..in no special order.

One of the most obvious tactics was to stake out a niche…claim their “territory”. Left wing….right wing? Conservative….liberal? It doesn’t take a lot of creativity to realize that people are going to listen to whatever supports the beliefs they already hold. They will listen to somebody who affirms or nourishes their beliefs. It is much like our interactions in daily life: We like to talk with people who agree with our opinions and point of view. It seems to validate our point of view.

Thus, we have the birth of political “news” sites. Major examples that come to mind almost instantly are Fox News, Newsmax, CBN and OAN. News channels such as these make no pretense of presenting a balanced or impartial interpretation of the news. Facts are certainly not relevant; accuracy is not relevant; truth is not relevant. Most other channels devoted entirely to reporting the news at least make an attempt at presenting a fair and accurate presentation of the news.

This is a major problem. However, another more common problem is simply the problem of how to fill up twenty-four hours of continuous news. Come on, now….there is only a finite number of news making incidents which take place on a normal day. Yes, we all expect some repetition. The same news will, out of necessity, be repeated. But….every half hour….for 24 hours?! How many viewers are going to sit still for that long before falling sound sleep?

There are some solutions….tactics, maybe we should call them…..that news networks use. The most common, in my viewing experience, has been to call in “experts” and “analysts” to “explain” the news to us clueless viewers. We apparently are not bright enough or “aware” or “sophisticated” enough to understand. It is sort of like a parent explaining to a kid how to tie his shoes…..or explaining why we shouldn’t get into cars with strangers….of why we have to turn up the heat when it get cold.

Yeah, I know…. This sounds pretty negative. But, in large part, I think it is true. Somehow, they have to fill up twenty-hour hours….day after day after day. One might ask: Who are these experts? Where to they come from? What makes them experts? For the most part, all of them have titles of some sort to make them sound authentic and qualified. But, in reality, they don’t know any more than you and I. They all want to sound important….like they are on the “inside”. Just think for a minute…..If what they have to say is “news”, it would be reported as news…..and not, “Now let’s call in this expert and see what he has to say…..” Mostly, they have no idea what they are talking about.

Just as a side note…. You know, I could be an “expert” in several areas…..even a cabinet secretary! Secretary of Defense, for example. I spent three years in the Army….one of them in South Vietnam. I worked as secretary to the Adjutant General, US Army Vietnam. Now sounds rather impressive, doesn’t it? Or maybe Secretary of State. After all, I have traveled abroad many times. I even lived in South Vietnam for four years! And…. I ate lunch with the Prime Minister! Imposing….right? Maybe I am over-qualified to be Secretary of Education. Wow… I spent 40 years working in the field of education, both here in the USA and in South Vietnam! I could settle for the position of Secretary of Agriculture. I lived on a farm for the first twelve years of my life. I can readily recognize cows, pigs, chickens…..Oh, a wide variety of farm animals. Oh, Oh….And I spend several summers hauling wheat, plowing fields, bailing hay….

I think maybe you have gotten the idea by now. Just because you can spell a word or have spent time working in a field, does not make a person qualified as an “expert”. Yet…. Pay attention the next time you watch TV…..and then wonder what makes these “experts” so special….. Maybe they know more “book learning” or more abstract theory. But….How would they really know any more than you when it comes to actual facts? They have to watch the news just like you and I.

But, yet this happens all the time. “Now let’s go to Professor So in So and see what he thinks.” Or “Let’s talk now to So in So. He worked in the Clinton administration.” Who cares? That certainly does not mean he necessarily knows anything about the present situation than you do. So…. It doesn’t take a lot of smarts to imagine that if a news channel is opposed to something…. They get somebody is who is going give a negative “facts”….i.e. opinions! And, vice versa for the other side.

OK…. Enough of this… But…. Before I leave this subject and move on, there is one more brief point I would like to make.

Have you been to a movie lately…..or watched TV. Just for this reason alone, a person does not have to be a nuclear scientist to figure out that the movies are fantasy…..and many times violent fantasy. It is very rare these days that movies contain much realism: Monsters, alien beings, cities being completely destroyed, spacecrafts bombing civilization into oblivion, political systems being ruled by fictitious, grotesque beings. Chaos, disorder, lawlessness, anarchy, turmoil. Are things like this becoming our role models? Do we really believe that these things happen? Is this our reality?

What has happened to good, realistic, wholesome movies…..movies with a believable story to tell? Movies that teach values? Movies that demonstrate that it is not necessary to depend on violence or outrageous fantasy to be entertaining. Are we in danger of accepting this sort fiction as our reality in “real” life, too? Are we becoming a nation that is not capable to determining what is right and what is wrong? Of what is real and what is not real? Of expecting outlandish, make-believe actions and words from our leaders?

I have always believed….and still believe……that the basic problem here in the USA is NOT the politicians. Our long history has kept proving over and over that once a person is elected to a public office, the most important goal is to be reelected! Politicians are like very almost all employees in almost any setting: They want to preserve their job. In the “real” world, an employee has some choices on how to achieve this. The most desired….and probably the most honorable…..is to simply do the best job they are capable to excel in serving their employer and to provide a high quality service to those they serve. Or, they can “get in good” with their employer and hope that incompetence or laziness will be overlooked in favor of friendship. Or they can covertly work to subvert their employer’s best interest in favor of their own. In any case they will endeavor to do what it takes to hold on to their job…..and possibly take advantage of it.

In private business or industry, any good employer will fire a person who is working against the best interest of the company or business. After all, the purpose of hiring an employee is to do a competent job serving his employer and promoting the best interests of his employer. If they are not doing a good job, indeed, if they are actually working against the best interest of the employer…..It is probably “Good Bye”, “Get out”. I will find somebody who will actually do the job they are hired to do.

However, in the case of the government…..and this applies to all levels from village government up through the federal government…..the “boss” is the people….the constituents who vote, or at least, should vote.

And, here lies the basic problem. The “boss” or “employer” of elected public officials is the people who elect them.

As I have attempted to point out, many voters in the USA….those who actually take the time to vote…..are not well prepared to make those choices. Many times….to0 many times….the “employees”….the elected officials…..often take over and run the show. And…. Why do they do this? Simply because they can!

It has occurred to me that many times, people have to be protected against themselves. Correcting the problems I discussed above should…..and probably will…..take care a lot of the problem. Until then, changes need to be made in our Constitution to help insure that some of the problems we face today will be alleviated to some degree.

When our Constitution was adopted back in 1789, the people who wrote it and approved it had no idea…..not even a faint premonition….of the society in which we find ourselves living today. And, how could they?

I am going to attempt to explain what I would do if I were in charge of writing a new Constitution. I will explain changes I would make and hopefully, make sense of them. I know what I am going to say may seem radical…..a definite departure of the way things have been done. These are my thoughts and vision. And, I am quite sure they would not be changes that will….or would….ever be made by our existing government.

 

After I retired…..I more or less lost interest in hosting foreign students. While I was still working for USD 338, it worked out well. At least, most of the time. After some convincing, I agreed to accept my first foreign exchange student in 1993. Yeah…. It was a good experience. However, I also found that high school students can be jerks. Of course, I already knew that…. just like adults! I got rid of the jerks. Why not? It was my house….and why should I be miserable living in my own home for a full school year? If I acted like a jerk, I wouldn’t realistically expect somebody to let me stay in their home for ten months. OK… If I were a teenager, maybe I would. But, I am pretty sure they would have gotten rid of me…..just like I got rid of two of the jerks who were sent to live in my home!

It all worked well back in those days when I was still employed by the school district. I had to get up and get to work every day. Taking the exchange students to school with me was no problem…..no big deal. This was also true of taking them back home. They would come to my office after school and hang out until I was ready to go back home. With one lone exception, none of them was interested in participating in high school sports. The main reason was that they had no background or experience in American football or basketball or baseball. Actually, high school sports was an entirely alien concept to them. Competitive high school athletics appears to be a wholly an American concept. Sometimes it seems that many schools in the USA exist primarily for sports….in most of the rest of the world, the main purpose of schools or public education is…. Education!

After I retired in 2003, the habit of getting out of bed at 5:30 in the morning rapidly dissipated. Yes….. It look a while, but not very long, for me to realize that getting up before the sun rose simply did not make a lot of sense. The first few morning I proceeded to wake up at 5:30 or so…..take a shower….eat a bowl of raisin bran and drink a cup of coffee….Then what was I supposed to do? Living in a rural area eight and half miles from nowhere didn’t offer a lot of opportunities or alternatives. Go drink coffee and gossip with my neighbors? Hardly. I didn’t even know the people who lived in the nearest house east of me. My neighbors to the west were at work. What else was there to do? Let’s review the options: Sit and watch TV for the entire morning….or even the day? Even today, after having been retired for almost twenty years, I rarely turn on the TV until 10:00 P.M., except to watch the news. Clean the house? Come on now…..I lived there by myself. How was the house to get dirty enough to need cleaning every day? I could read. And, I did. But, reading is not an all-day activity, at least not for me.

The point is….. There was no reason to wake up at 5:30 A, M. any longer….not even to drive an exchange student into town so he could go to school. And, even if I did, that would mean that I would also have to be at home in order to drive back into town to pick him up at 3:00. Not a good plan, to say the least. So…. It was not very difficult to make the decision not to have any more foreign exchange students. They were great while I was working at the school…..and I thoroughly enjoy sharing my home and life with them….. Well, except for the two that I got rid of….and the one they sent back home. I was not going to lock myself into a pattern just so I would be able to accommodate them. No….. Not selfish. Just that I wanted to live my own life, free of any unnecessary restraints.

I never regretted not hosting exchange students after I retired. But, I had to admit that it was lonely at times…..and the exchange students did offer companionship so I would not have to live an entirely solitary life. This is when the thought of having short term guests began to form in my mind.

There are several short-term international hospitality organizations which have been set up to accommodate both domestic and international travelers. The idea is similar to that of an exchange student: To offer your home and hospitality to travelers in need of a place to spend a night or maybe even a few days. The idea is that I will furnish a temporary home……a place for travelers to sleep and to call “home”….usually for free…..to people who are passing through the area. On the other hand, in the event that I happen to be traveling through their home territory, they will, in turn, provide a place for me to spend a night or perhaps a few nights. Not only is this a huge benefit to the traveler, but it is also an excellent opportunity to meet a large variety of people from different parts of the world, from different cultures, from different religions and customs. It is an excellent way to broaden a person’s understanding of people who come from different countries and backgrounds.

On two or three separate occasions while traveling in Germany….specifically in Berlin…. I have taken advantage of this service. I never stayed somebody’s home, but I have asked them to serve as a guide or native-speaking companion. A couple times, they took on the role of sort of a personal guide, even when one of my German exchange students was present. They, being native Berliners, were much more familiar Berlin, and they had a more intimate acquaintance with the city than any guide book could offer. They knew places that only “locals” know. They showed me attractions the guide books left out. They took me to sites that only Berliners knew. They had the time…..and they took the time…..to answer questions and give some meaning, some background, some context to our new experiences and to our surroundings.

One of our guides was a retired teacher, a member of an all-cello orchestra, who had lived in Berlin all his life. He was a history teacher….and knew more about Berlin than even we wanted to know. He was accompanied by a friend….a survivor of the Holocaust….and a bitter one, at that. Another our guides was formerly the Director of Youth Services for the former East German secret police…..the STASI. In fact, he was our guide as we toured the former headquarters of that dreaded organization. He even showed us his former office. He did it all very objectively and unemotionally…..and, I might add, un-apologetically. The other guide was a professional photographer. He showed me many of the amazing attractions of Potsdam….a suburb of Berlin….which was formerly the home of a series of German rulers from the Holy Roman Empire. His daughter also accompanied me around Berlin, pushing her infant son in a baby stroller….. Even I got into the act and took over and pushed him for a while. Yeah…. Me, pushing a baby carriage. People probably thought I was his grandfather! One night she and her husband, a PhD physicist, invited us to their apartment for dinner. All of them were gracious, intelligent and welcoming people. For some years, I kept in touch with them, especially at Christmas, but as happens all too often, we gradually lost contact with each other…..although I still remember them gratefully and fondly.

This is what makes hosting international travelers rewarding and special…..the lasting friendships and relationships that are formed. Let me hasten to say….. This has not been the case with domestic guests….those from the USA. Actually, I must say, most of them have been rather strange and creepy people….enough so that I am very hesitant and reluctant to accept domestic guests.

In the past twenty years or so, I have had guests from a variety of counties: Germany, Israel, South Korea, Tanzania, Saudi Arabia, Hong Kong, China, Italy, Poland, Ukraine…..and France.

Now…. This brings me to my latest guest. His name is Francois, and he is from France. Francois is going to learn something for the first time right now: I almost did not accept his request to be my guest. How can I put this diplomatically….politely….. but, more or less honestly? I will start by saying that like too many other people….and it not just the uneducated masses (although maybe they are more prone to do so)…. I am one of those who tend to stereotype people…. Yeah…. Sometimes some we really sophisticated and educated people……In case you are wondering…. That’s me!….. actually tend to do this! Yes…. I am building this up so I can let Francois down easy!

It is said…..although I have not found it to be particularly true…..that most of the world looks upon us citizens of the U.S.A. as “Ugly Americans”. Well… Maybe it is also true that we Americans sometimes tend to regard the French as slightly jealous of the USA and maybe just a little bit insecure or envious….

Now, I am not going to admit that I also had these stereotypical attitudes…..but I was just a shade hesitant about hosting somebody from France…..and hosting them for ten days! And…. Heaven forbid, a PhD student? And, somebody coming to a rural state like Kansas. And, somebody who would probably be snobbish and demanding about the food I eat and the wine I drink. And, somebody who might find my lifestyle somewhat…..shall we say…. eccentric. I have never been in the home of anybody who lives in France…..but I going to make what I think is a fairly correct assumption: Francois had never been in a house like mine before. But, on the other hand…..neither have an overwhelming majority of Americans! But…. That really doesn’t bother me very much. I figure that the front door serves two purposes: To walk in…..and to walk out!

However….and this is the truth…..from the moment Francois walked in my front door, I knew that he was none of these things. I immediately knew that I was going to like him. And….. I did…..I still do.

To begin with….. Unlike a lot of potential guests who would send a cryptic text at 10:00 at night saying, “I want to stay at your house tomorrow.” (And, I can assure you that all such requests were either ignored or rejected.) Francois contacted me at least two weeks in advance…..told me the exact dates he wanted to stay at my house and explained why he was coming to Kansas. I mean…. How many people from France….or anywhere….come to Kansas for the scenery….or the excitement? He was coming to do some research for his PhD dissertation. At the time, I didn’t know the subject of his PhD dissertation, but at least, I some assurance that he wasn’t a fugitive from justice…..trying to stay one step ahead of Interpol, or whatever the French national police is called.

The fact that he was a PhD student bothered me a little bit…. I know lots of PhD’s. Some of them are “normal”, and some of them are pompous stuffed-shirts. I don’t have a PhD, but I do have two….almost three…..Master’s Degrees….and I do not consider myself as anything but normal. Then I thought….Two of my former German students have PhD’s….. Two of my Arab students have doctorates… My Chinese student is a PhD….. They are all semi-normal people. So…. OK, all of them turned out to be tolerable. They never wanted to sit around and talk about Terra-hertz radiation…..or cures for Alzheimer disease….or robotic hip surgery…..or information systems controls. And, I, sure as heck, didn’t bore them with theories of testing or innovative theories of school administration, or experimental approaches to teaching special ed students….or how to organize and carry out professional development programs.

So….. I ignored the PhD stuff. Instead, I was impressed by Francois’s consideration and kindness….even in his messages. His English was outstanding. He wrote simply, but intelligently and effectively……not trying to use words that he had no idea of the meaning, like some of my foreign contacts have. He asked relevant questions. And, not even once did he ask me if I was a “Rural Kansas Right Wing Reactionary Republican Trump-Loving Hick”! I was impressed! (That may have been the first thing I would have asked, if I had been a foreigner!)

The only unusual request that he made was to ask if it was possible for us to visit the Dalton Brothers’ Museum in Coffeyville. I had heard of the Dalton Gang. At least, I knew they were a bunch of outlaws….bank robbers. I had no idea they were important enough to rate a museum, however. I looked them up on the Internet….and sure enough, there really is a Dalton Gang Museum…..in Coffeyville.,,,,a town where I had never been…..or even thought of going. But… Sure. Why not? Of course, we can go take a look at the Dalton Gang Museum. Even I am never too old to learn something new.

Francois arrived on Friday, October 14. I met him at the Kansas City International Airport. That, in itself, was an an adventure. I had not been to KCI for quite a while…..since I flew to Philadelphia in August of 2021. I had no inkling of what was in store for me. Kansas City started building a new airport some years ago. I was aware that Terminal A was closed and no longer in operation. It was cordoned off like most vacant buildings. Throughout the decades that I have been going to KCI, I never had the occasion to use Terminal A, so it never disrupted or interfered any of my trips there. Mostly I used Terminal C, for some reason or other. One reason, I suppose, was that this was the terminal for international flights. And, except for the flight to Philadelphia and a flight to Portland long ago, the only reason that I went to the airport was for the flights that I took to Germany…..and to pick up and return my international guests.

As a matter of fact, I had pretty much mastered Kansas City International Airport. Going there became a fairly routine trip over the years. KCI is not a big airport, especially when compared to airports such as Chicgo O’Hare, or Newark or even Minneapolis. It is not a small hometown airport, either…..like, maybe, Topeka or even Wichita. Let’s call it a mid-size airport. Whatever we call it, it was laid out in a plan that was fairly compact and fairly easy to understand and handle. The three terminals were well marked, as were the parking areas associated with each terminal. Depending on the time of day, the parking lots were never completely full. I always managed to find a parking spot fairly close to the terminal building.

I was not prepared for what I encountered this particular Friday. The situation had changed dramatically since I was there the last time. Instead of driving straight into the parking lot of the appropriate terminal, I was faced with a confusing maze of narrow one-way streets and a bewildering array of signs, arrows and symbols. I almost panicked. They were about as decipherable as hieroglyphics. At least twice, I had to turn around and retrace my path…..and hope that at least through a process of trial and error I would end up at the terminal. Through some stoke of good luck or clean living……and following other cars…..I eventually found myself back in semi-familiar territory.

Once inside the parking area, it became rather chaotic again. The parking lot of packed….literally. I can imagine they were packing twice as many vehicles into a space that was designed for half the cars! I told myself, “Just be patient. Pretend you are Walmart!” I slowly drove around and around. I finally found a vacant parking space. I took it…..without caring a lot where it was located. Actually, I was afraid that if I didn’t take it, I might be driving around for another day before I found one. When I got out of the car, I carefully noted some important landmarks…..or at least, I thought that I did.

Meeting Francois was the easy part! He had access to hundreds of pictures of me, if he looked at my web page. I could have shown up appearing to be anywhere from five years to eighty-five years old…..and he should have been able to identify me! He had sent me a couple pictures….both taken at a Renaissance Festival. I did not expect him to appear wearing a cape or a pointed hat or a feather in his hair. But, I knew that he had red hair. I figured that would be enough for a fairly accurate identification. How many red hair people could possibly be on that airplane? We recognized each other almost immediately. A good sign, I suppose.

What followed that was not such a good sign. At least, that is probably what Francois was thinking. We proceeded to walk across the street to the parking area. I had memorized the necessary landmarks for locating my car. However, when we arrived at the parking lot, none of them seemed to be there. It was almost like a bad dream….or a bad science fiction movie!

We walked to approximately where I remembered parking my car. However, I didn’t see it. I checked to see if the “landmarks” were still there. They seemed to be. Oh…. Maybe the car is in the next lane over. It wasn’t there, either. Oh, come on! I parked in here less than an hour ago! It has to be here. We walked up and down a couple other lanes…..like two lost sheep. Nothing! Where is my car? I can imagine that Francois may have been getting just a little nervous….maybe wondering about my mental stability! Wondering what kind of person he would be staying with. Being the nice guy that he is, is told me to just wait, and he would go look for it. I gave him a description of the car…..most notably that it has a Vietnam Veterans license plate. He was no more successful than I.

We continued to walk…..and look…. Finally, and I am not at all sure how much later, I spotted my car. It was on the opposite side of the lane than I remembered. What?! I checked the surroundings again. Apparently, in all the driving up and down the lanes looking for a parking space, I had become confused….not a difficult task for me…..and had gotten my directions mixed up. And I mean 180 degrees mixed up! I was in no mood to stop and analyze the situation. And, Francois didn’t immediately buy a ticket back to France.

The sun was hanging low in the sky as we finally departed the airport. Francois, I found, had a very good knowledge of English. It was easy to carry on a good conversation as we traveled I-70 back to Topeka. The sun had already set when we pulled into my parking space in front of my townhouse.

I showed Francois his room….where he would be sleeping for the next week and a half. After we went back downstairs, we were faced with a decision. It was still early…..maybe not even 8:00. What should be do? Sit in the front room and wait until we ran out of things to talk about…..or go to a bar…..and talk until we ran out of things to talk about…..or until the bar closed, which, in Kansas these days, is fairly early. We opted for the latter choice…..go somewhere and talk. The obvious choice was “The Shack”.

Since moving to Topeka, “The Shack” has been my bar of choice. It replaced Terry’s Bar and Grill, which for reasons I do not recall, had always been my first choice when I lived in Ozawkie. The Shack is located on 29th Street about two miles from my house. It is easy to get to; it is safe; it is a neighborhood bar; it has plentiful TV screens for watching ball games; it does not cater to the young loud, obnoxious punk, hip-hop clientele; its atmosphere is informal and non-threatening; it has a limited, but adequate…and delicious….assortment of food and drink; and it is affordable.

We sat and talked….started getting acquainted….. and drank beer and ate something until around 10:00. As the patrons started to pay their bills and drift away, we, too, called it a night and returned home to the townhouse. My fears of having accepted an arrogant French snob as a guest for the next ten days had been completely alleviated.

I figured that Francois might want some time to acclimate to his new surroundings. I am not at all sure this was necessary. I mean… There isn’t very much to acclimate to in Kansas. Nevertheless, I decided to spend Saturday showing him some of more notable sights around the area.

As fortune would have it, I had to drive to Holton to pick up my computer which I had taken there to be repaired. This wasn’t really part of the “tour”, but it worked in quite well since Holton is a typical Kansas town of about 4000 people with its downtown build around in a “square” with the country court house in the center, and also contains the traditional water tower with the town’s name emblazoned on it.

Our next stop was my home for almost….but short one year….fifty years…..Valley Falls. I figure Valley Falls is one of those mandatory destinations for anybody who really wants to “know” me. I was not born there…. Thank heavens! And, I did not grow up there…. Thank heavens! But, I did spend well over half of my life there working in the public school system…..and that is just a little bit too long to be ignored, no matter what.

If you are asking, “What is there to see in Valley Falls?” Well, don’t feel like the Lone Ranger. I also ask myself that. For all practical purposes, the short answer is, “Nothing.” But, I suppose one could say that about a lot of little towns. In Valley Falls, there is only one retail business left on Broadway, the “downtown” street where all the business are……or were. That business is an auto parts store….not a store the average person would find useful on a day to day basis. There is a Western Auto Store a block off Broadway…..and a grocery store on highway K-16, which bisects Valley Falls on the south side. On highway K-4 which by-passes the town on its southern perimeter, there is a convenience store, a liquor store, perhaps a real estate office and a used car dealership on the north side. On the south side of the highway one will find a ubiquitous Dollar General Store and some sort of farm supply store. That is essentially it insofar as “stores” are concerned.

So…. What is there to see in Valley Falls? Like most small towns, about the only things the town has going for it is its schools. For all practical purposes, the school is the town…..The Only Show in Town.

When we arrived in Valley Falls, about thirty minutes later, I proceeded to give Francois a tour of the highlights of the town. Of course, the first things I showed him was the school…..now one large, self-contained building, unlike it was when I worked there. During the thirty-eight years I was associated with the school system, there were two buildings: a grade school/junior high school building and a high school building. However, much of the facilities were shared: the gym, the library, the music and band rooms, the lunch room, the weight room…. The final year that I was associated with the school district, the board adopted a resolution to combine the two buildings, add a new gym and commons area, plus some other feathers. As a member of the school board, I was the only member to vote against it.

 

 

 

This was Saturday, and obviously, the school was closed. However, I showed him the exterior of the building…..and I pointed out my former office….. The window of my former office, at least.

After leaving the school, we were off to see the other important sights of the town. After my rather dismal appraisal of the town, you might be asking, “What sights?” Well…. There is the football field. That probably ranks second after the gym in overall importance. The football field has undergone several improvements and reincarnations since I first arrived in Valley Falls. When I arrived, it was a rather dilapidated place with a gravel track, that was virtually unusable….and on which, no other school would agree to come for a track meet. It has since been reconstructed a couple times, each time trying to get it closer to what one might call a regulation track. Additional bleacher space has been added. It doesn’t quite measure up to Texas standards…..and it is not overly impressive….. but, at least, it is the Valley Falls version of “Friday Night Lights.”

Having seen the two gyms (from the outside)….the most important attraction in Valley Falls…..and having seen the football field, it was almost mandatory to take a look at the third “Wonder” of Valley Falls: The two baseball diamonds. Like the football field, the baseball diamonds are also not located adjacent to the school. The two diamonds are located on on each side of the main street leading into downtown Valley Falls. Of course, on game days….and nights….traffic….and there have never been any traffic jams in Valley Falls….is routed around the baseball diamonds. For a person like me, who has no special interest in the games, it was an annoyance. But, “The show must go on!” And, in the spring and summer, it is definitely the only show in town. Just like football and basketball are in the fall and winter, respectively.

After these three attractions, the possibilities diminish rapidly. We took a brief look at the city park….mostly to see if the restroom was unlocked. It wasn’t. No surprise there. I am not sure when…..if at all…..it is open. I know that I have never…..not even once….found it to be unlocked. It must be a fairly exclusive place…..or maybe open by appointment only. I didn’t think to make an appointment! Nearby was an old surplus tank from Operation Rolling Thunder. That is probably the highlight or the focal point of the park. There was nobody else in the park, so we were never disturbed.

 

After taking a couple pictures, we moved on downtown to see what was going on. Nothing! As the famous line of the poem goes: “……Nothing was stirring, not even a mouse.” Downtown was dead, as you can see in the pictures. Fortunately, we did not have to make any decisions about what to do…..because there was nothing to do! Left with few, is any, alternatives for additional sightseeing, we said good-bye to Valley Falls and headed out of town.

After leaving Valley Falls, we headed out to my old house…. Well, former house, may be a better way of phrasing it. But, then again, I did live there for almost fifty years! I don’t drive up to look at my former house very often. When I do, however, it is always a rather depressing experience. To me the most depressing thing is the fact that somebody made the decision to cut down almost all of the trees that I spent so much time planting, watering, fertilizing…..just urging to grow. Some of the trees were literally as old as the house. One of my friends and myself went out into the back pasture and dug up several evergreen trees and planted them along the front of the property and along the east side of the property. Not only did they improve the appearance of the property, but they also provided a degree of privacy…..and, very important, they acted as a shield from the billowing clouds of dust stirred up by cars as they went speeding down the gravel road toward the river. Also, shortly after I moved into the house…..December 30, two days before the beginning of 1974…..Mother planted several catalpa trees. They flourished. Over the years the trunks became large and sturdy, the branches provided shade…..and for a brief period of time each spring, white blossoms proliferated those branches. The summer after I retired…..2003….I bought a dozen (probably genetically engineered) fast-growing trees to provide some beauty and privacy to the west side of my property. They flourished beyond my wildest expectations. I had a mini-forest growing in my yard, all of which grew into healthy, mature trees.

All of this was to no avail. Probably within a week or two after I moved to Topeka, the new owners inexplicably proceeded to simply cut down all the trees. I drove past one day…. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Almost all of the trees were gone…. Cut down. The house looked lonely and almost deserted. And, not only the trees were gone. They had torn down the deck which I had built across the entire front of the house. The deck where I often sat and read. The deck where I entertained guests in the summer months. Along with the deck, the shutters that I had built had also been torn down, making the house look even more plain, lonely and uncared for. The day that Francois and I drove past, we discovered that the entire yard had been covered with gravel. There was not a blade of grass to be seen. The house looks sad….certainly not like a house that had been care for…..that had been somebody’s home…..a house that had been the object of attention, hard work and pride. The front of the house, tree-less, the lawn covered with gravel….a great big parking lot…..and not a car in sight.

We proceeded on down the road toward the Delaware River. The road is a “dead end road” which ends at the river. At one time, before I lived there, a bridge spanned the river. When Perry Reservoir was opened…..a year or two before I moved to Valley Falls….apparently the decision was made to close the bridge which connected the Ferguson Road to K-4 highway. Who knows why such decisions are made? Nevertheless, the road on which I lived…..now 130th Street….ends at the Delaware River, no matter which way it is approached.

The Delaware River brings back fond memories. It was the launching point for my boat. Back in the early 1970’s, I bought a boat for $75.00….along with its trailer. Wow! I was a boat owner! I was proud of that boat. Yeah…. It was just a little twelve feet aluminum boat, but it was MY boat. My neighbors and my friends used to take that boat out every day. We would go up and down the river, usually with a cooler of beer (or pop). We would stop at regular intervals, tie the boat to a log, get out and go skinny dipping in the cool river. I had long since forgotten how to swim. And, Yes…. I did know how to swim when I was a kid…..although a lot of people solemnly swear that swimming is like riding a bicycle: Once you learn, you can ever forget! But, I will swear just as solemnly that is not true. I took swimming lessons with my younger brother when I was in grade school at the public swimming pool in Lyons. We used to go to the pool almost every day. But, in these days…..my Delaware River days…..I always had a life jacket. I would strap on my good old life jacket…..and I had no fear of the water.

There was no swimming the day that Francois and I were there. We had neither a boat nor life jackets. Just a quick, nostalgic look, a couple pictures…..and we were on our way again. Our next stop was Lawrence….the home of the University of Kansas and, of course, the Kansas Jayhawks.

 

 

 

Any trip to the campus of Kansas University must include three mandatory stops. Our first stop was probably the most important. We pulled into the parking lot diagonally from Allen Field House…..the home of the storied Kansas Jayhawks, the NCAA basketball team that has won more college basketball games than any other university since the inception of basketball. And… Why not? The first basketball coach at the University of Kansas was James Naismith, the guy who invented basketball.

Basketball wasn’t invented…..or whatever the correct word is for thinking up a new game….at K. U. It is a game made up by Dr. James Naismith back in 1891 in Springfield, MA. Naismith was a physical education instructor at a YMCA in Springfield. He needed….or at least, wanted….to develop some sort of game or physical activity that would help keep the young men in shape during the winter months when it was too cold for them to exercise outside. He hung up a peach basket and had the guys try to throw a ball into it while moving around…. Well, that is what it more or less boils down to, at least. Thus, from this came the name “basketball”. Obviously the game and the rules have changed just a little bit over the years. Of course, there was no such thing as a 3-point shot back then. And, I doubt if there were tall Black kids dunking the ball, either.

 

 

 

Naismith was the first basketball coach at K. U. from 1898 – 1907, when he was replaced by Dr. Forrest Allen…..commonly known….in fact, by most people…as “Phog” Allen. Ironically, James Naismith was the only K. U. basketball coach with a losing record! Oh well… You can’t expect him to do everything. He invented the game…. Let somebody else win games.

Before actually entering “Allen Field House” from the front, at least, one must go through the Booth Family Museum…..a monument or museum….or shrine….devoted to all the different sports played by K. U. athletes down through the years. To somebody who doesn’t know….or doesn’t care…..about K. U. athletics, it can be a little boring or tedious. There are several thousand square feet of memorabilia, exhibits, trophies, old uniforms, photographs and other minutia relating to various sports….men and women.

 

 

 

For me, personally, it is always exciting to see the national championship basketball trophies…..1952, 1998, 2008 & 2022. I was only in the 8th grade when K. U. won their first national championship. However, I do vaguely remember it, believe it or not. This was long before the days of TV, so if anything, I only listened to it on the radio. The other three championships? I remember them vividly! In fact, I still had season tickets during the 1997-1998 season. I think I even bled crimson and blue blood back in those days! However, for anybody who is not a K. U. fan…..or, like Francois….who had probably never even heard of them until his visit to Kansas….they are probably just another pretty object made of plastic and metal.

 

 

 

 

Francois and I spent maybe thirty minutes wandering about the museum, looking at the exhibits. Of course, when K. U. is mentioned, a sports fan probably automatically thinks of basketball and its legendary players….. Wilt Chamberlain, who stayed with K. U. for only two seasons because he perceived a high degree of racism toward him, even though he was the over-shadowing giant of the basketball team. He went on to become a giant in professional basketball…..and to, allegedly, by his own count…..to have sex with a few thousand women. But, on the other hand, there was Danny Manning, one of the “good guys”……and the player who probably set K. U. on its permanent course as a basketball power house.

In football? Well, homage is paid to the Great Gale Sayers…..a great athlete and a great humanitarian. And, on the flip side of the coin is John Riggins, a great football players, but more or less a jerk in real life. And, of course, Jim Ryan, who broke the college one mile record. He went on to become a right-wing, ultra-conservative
Congressman for northeast Kansas until he was defeated by Nancy Boyda….with a one-vote assist from me!

So…. For Francois this was a brief introduction to Kansas University athletics…. K. U. Athletics 101, so to speak. And, like most introductory survey courses, it may have been more confusing that instructive. However, I am going to give him an “A” for at least being attentive and pretending that he was interested!

Having crossed Allen Field House off our list, we moved on to take a cursory look at some more of the K. U. campus. We took a drive through “downtown” K. U….. that is, Jayhawk Blvd, on our way to the second….at least, co-equal….site on the campus: Memorial Stadium, home of Jayhawk football, such as it is. Usually, this stadium is only minimally occupied on a typical game Saturday. The K. U. football team has not been very successful in recent years. The 2022 season was an exception….and hopefully the beginning of a new and improved football program and tradition.

During the 2022 season, the season Francois was here, the Kansas Jayhawks won 6 games (and lost 7). They lost several games by one touchdown or less. For K. U. this was a joyous season…..a promise of great things to come. No longer were they a joke. No longer were they playing to a nearly empty stadium, sometimes with more of the opponent’s fans on the visitors’ side than people in the K. U. section. After a succession of coaches….a sort of of “musical chairs” sort of game…..maybe they finally found the right coach to lead and inspire the team. For one brief week, the Jayhawks were ranked Number 19 in the nation…..the first time they had been nationally ranked since 2009.

In any event, Memorial Stadium is a picturesque…..if not imposing…..site. The stadium seats 50,000 people…..with parking lots that have space for maybe a tenth that many people. Despite K. U.’s long established losing record, rich people continue to pour money into the program to build a series of posh facilities for the players. Parking lots have been converted into practice fields and commercial spaces. It is always about money…..and vanity….a rich person getting his name on something…..instead of the fan. “Put my name on it….and I will give.” Only time will tell if they the K. U. football team can build on the success of the 2022 season that will result in a winning….and lasting…..football tradition.

However, on this Saturday afternoon, neither Francois nor I was concerned with such thoughts. We took some pictures…..and moved on. Before leaving, we took a brief look at the K. U. Memorial Bell Tower…..the Campanile. The bell tower is a memorial to the K. U. students who died in World War 2, and it towers over Memorial Stadium….and Potter Lake, located down the hill and to the left. The bell tower chimes rings out the time each quarter hour, imitating the chimes of Big Ben….and serves as sort of the campus clock. On special occasions and at irregular intervals, special recitals are presented for the public to enjoy.

 

 

 

The afternoon was slipping by. We had already skipped lunch. It was time to head back to Topeka to satisfy our ever growing hunger. We settled on the China Pavilion for our evening meal…..the only meal of the day, in fact. The China Pavilion is a locally owned and operated buffet…..always a good choice as a place to eat. And….although this has nothing to do with the quality of food served there….. The restaurant to located adjacent to the Shawnee County Democratic Headquarters….my political party. Maybe good things tend to attract each other.

Before Francois arrived, he had asked about the possibility of visiting a place in Coffeyville called the Dalton Gang Museum. Really? There is a place in Coffeyville called the Dalton Gang Museum? I had heard of the world’s largest ball of twine….and the world’s deepest hand dug well……and the Evil Knieval Museum. But, in all my years living in Kansas….and that has been all my life…..I had never heard of any place called the Dalton Gang Museum. I had heard of the Dalton Gang. I was never sure if they were real….or if they were a fictitious figment of somebody’s imagination…..or maybe the subject of an old western movie.

The first thing I did was to check to see if there was, indeed, a place in Coffeyville by this name. There was! One point for Francois. The next step was to find out if this so-called “gang” had really existed. They had. Another point for Francois! In fact, Wikipedia had far more information about them than I was interested is reading. You can check it out sometime, if you want to.

For now, suffice it to say that they were a gang of four brothers whose notoriety was derived from the fact they were outlaws, bandits…..robbers of banks and trains….back in the very late part of the 19th century, let’s say, from 1890-1892. Why is there a museum in their “honor” in Coffeyville? One afternoon, apparently with nothing better do to, they attempted to rob a bank….or maybe it was two banks…..in Coffeyville. Two of the brother and two additional gang members were killed in the attempt. Another brother was captured and subsequently pleaded guilty to second-degree murder. Later on he claimed that he never fire a shot, however. Too late!

So, being assured that there was indeed a Dalton Gang Museum, I said, “Sure. Why not?”. This would also afford me an opportunity to expand my educational horizons….just in case anybody asked me about the Dalton Gang. In the intervening days before Francois’s actual arrival, I took an informal sample poll among some of my friends and acquaintance. I was actually surprised that of the seven or eight people I asked, three people had actually heard of them. One of them even knew there was a museum in Coffeyville. They apparently read more….or get around more…..than I do.

It I takes about three hours and forty minutes to drive from Topeka to Coffeyville, driving down US 75. Since the museum does not open until 1:00 P. M. on Sunday, there was no desperate rush to wake up early in the pre-dawn hours in order to drive there. However, to insure that we would arrive at approximately the opening time, we were in the car and on the road by 9:30. The trip to Coffeyville was uneventful. There is not much to see along the way. There is no such thing as “the scenic route”. Or, who knows? Maybe were actually taking “the scenic route”. We will never know. We drove through a series no small, forgettable towns on a 2 lane highway. The trip wasn’t bad. Francois and I spent the time talking about…..things….this and that. Fortunately, he turned out to be a very easy person to talk to. I have no recollection of what we talked about, but it must have been at least semi-interesting. The time passed by more quickly than I had expected.

 

 

 

I have been referring to the museum as the Dalton Gang Museum. Actually, its real name is “Dalton Defenders & Coffeyville History Museum”. That is a fair description of the place. Let’s face it: There was only one bank….two at the most….for the Dalton Gang to rob. I personally have never robbed a bank…..but I suspect that it is a fairly quick process. They were not crooks like….well, let’s say, Donald Trump. Now that could have filled ten such museums.

The actual space that was devoted to the Dalton Gang was significant, of course. There are relics and personal items associated with various members of the gang….guns, a saddle, bullets and shell casings, local newspaper stories…..and, of course, a lot of photographs and pictures. Probably back when the Dalton Gang was on their rampage of robbery and murder, they didn’t stop and think of what would look good in a museum a hundred years later.

Most of the museum was devoted to the history of the city of Coffeyville and the immediate surrounding area. Actually, I like to visit this type of museum. Maybe, for one thing, it makes me nostalgic. Increasingly often the items I see on display in museums are the same….or very similar…..to things that were being used in my childhood. They often make me feel that maybe I maybe that is where I belong…..in a museum! Of course, Francois is much younger than I, so he no doubt he actually thought all of the artifacts were “Old”…..that he was indeed in a museum. Someday, when he is in a museum somewhere with his children or grandchildren, he will be saying to them, “Oh, Wow. I remember that. We had one of those when I was a kid.”

 

 

 

We spent maybe an hour in the museum….and that was more that a sufficient time to look at all the exhibits. We exchanged some friendly words with the two women who were volunteering on that particular Sunday, and then left. The bank that the Dalton Gang robbed is located immediately across the street from the museum. It did not appear to be open. Even it had been open, we were feeling a little pressed for time. However, before leaving Coffeyville, we paid a quick visit to the cemetery where the two Dalton Brother who were killed in the shootout were buried, along with a third member of the gang who was not a member of the Dalton family. Actually, I was a bit surprised to find a gang of outlaws….part of them at least….buried in a public, municipal cemetery. On the other hand, it is another “tourist attraction”…..if they were thinking of such things back in those days.

Having satisfied our curiosity about the Daltons….even if not becoming experts (and I am speaking for myself)….we left the town and headed for our next destination…..Hutchinson. As I was planning this trip, Hutchinson was to be the major destination…..the highlight….of the trip. When planning a vacation, Hutchinson is certainly not one of the major “destination cities”, but it has a sentimental place in my life. It was my “big city” while I was growing up in Lyons and Sterling. And, there are enough noteworthy attractions to make it at least semi-noteworthy. Among other things, there is the Stratica, another name for the Salt Museum; there is the Cosmosphere, also known as the space museum; there is the Hutchinson Art Guild, a small, but interesting, art gallery; there is the Reno County Historical Museum, a self-explanatory name, I suppose…. And there is…. Well, I guess that is about all there is. That is enough for one day. That would keep us busy and occupy our time in a worthwhile manner.

So, we headed for Hutchinson where we planned to eat supper…..and both of us were getting hungry….. and spend the night. The sun was hanging low in the sky when we arrived in Hutchinson and checked into The Comfort Suites Hotel. Our our immediate concern was finding a place to eat. I left this up to Francois. Food is not that important to me. Just set it front of me….and I will eat it. What or where we are going to eat is never an issue with me. Francois chose a Mexican restaurant called Potrillo’s on North Main Street. It was a fully satisfactory place to eat. It is my theory that back in the kitchen of a Mexican restaurant there are maybe four or five large pans: one pan each for beans, rice, ground beef, ground chicken and some tortillas. Oh…..maybe two or three smaller pans for same sauces. No matter what a person orders, all the food is just a different variation of those foods. The food is all basically the same….. It just looks different when place on the plate in different combinations. Nevertheless, the food was good. It satisfied our hunger. And, that is main purpose of food…. Right?

Of course, the sun had already gone down…..and darkness enveloped the city. I am not good at driving in the dark, so we returned directly to the hotel.

After we had gotten back to the hotel, I decided that I had better start making a plan for the next day…..a Monday…..so we would be able to include everything on my agenda. I had already told Francois the places that we were going to visit, and he was, I think, looking forward to seeing all of them. So, I fired up the trusty old laptop to arrange the schedule.

OK…. Stop and think about the places I mentioned earlier…..and they included the entirety of what Hutchinson had to offer insofar as “tourist attractions” are concerned. First: The Stratica….Salt Mine Museum: Wow! It was closed on Monday! Really!? OK…. No really big deal. We won’t have to rush around so much. We will go to the Cosmosphere and then on to the Hutchinson Art Guild. Not a bad day….

Let me see what time the Cosmosphere is open. What? This can’t be! The Cosmosphere is also closed on Monday? Wow! Well…. That leaves the Art Guild. For what reason could it possibly be closed on Monday? I don’t know the reason…..but, it, too, was closed. With a rather defeated feeling, I next checked with the Reno County Historical Museum. OK…. I sure that you have already guessed. It was also closed on Monday.

What’s going on down there in Hutchinson? What do they have against Monday? The rest of the world has to get up and go to work. Why shouldn’t they? At that point, I was surprised that Walmart was open! Or even the hotel where we were staying. I don’t know, but I suspect that all of these places are open during the weekend…..and Monday is their day off. What else could it be? At any rate, here we were…..in Hutchinson, Kansas. Everything was closed…. That is when I started thinking about Plan B. Of course, I had no Plan B. But, we had to do something. I concluded that the best plan would be to check out the Rice County Historical Museum. It’s not a huge place, but it would be somewhere to go. No….. I am not even going to tell you. Surely, by now, you have already guessed that the Rice County Historical Museum was also closed. So…. It was a unanimous decision! Everything was closed.

If I did not have a Plan B, I certainly did not have a Plan C. I mean….. What are the odds? Everything I had planned to do was closed on Monday. This was a real education for me….. A real eye-opener. Now I know: Don’t plan to do anything in Hutchinson….or Lyons….on a Monday. It was a lesson learned the hard way.
Let’s face it. There is always something to do. It may not be what had been planned….or even what one wants to do. But, at this point in the game, as the old saying goes, “Beggars can’t be choosers.” That was our situation that Sunday evening. We could have simply moved on to Salina or Abilene… However, I had already paid for two nights at the Comfort Inn in Hutchinson. I did not want to go through the hassle of getting a refund. So….. I decided to do the only other thing I could think of: I would give Francois what I like to term as an autobiographical tour….a tour of Lyons and Sterling….and show him all of the exciting sites of my youth. Sort of a nostalgic trip down Memory Lane….for me, at least. Francois, being the super nice guy that he is, readily accepted this plan….like we had a lot of alternative options!

Monday morning we ate breakfast in hotel. As we were wrapping up breakfast and getting ready to leave, we were approached by a man and wife. “Are you Mr. Darrah?” the guy asked.

Well…. “Yes, I am,” I replied.

“Do you remember me?” he asked.

He and his wife had been sitting at a nearby table, but if he hadn’t introduced himself, I would certainly never have recognized him. In situations like this, I am rather oblivious to the people who are sitting nearby. They are all travelers….nobody I would know.

Fortunately, on this Monday morning, I looked at him closely. And, also fortunately, he is a friend of mine on Facebook. And, even more fortunately, I recognized him as being one of my former students and runners from long ago….back in his grade school days.

“Yes… Of course, you are Chad Brading!”

His daughter was in Hutchinson participating in some sort of athletic competition, and he and his wife were there to watch her. Chad was one of my favorite students, and also one of my favorite runners. By the way, I also taught his mother! If it had not been that we had been friends on Facebook and had seen present-day pictures of each other, I doubt if either of us would have ever been aware that we were in the same room. Chad must be in his mid-40’s now. That is a long stretch from being eleven or twelve years old. And, me? Oh yes…. Of course, I haven’t aged a day in the past 40 years! Lucky coincidence….. Perfect way to start the day…..

After eating breakfast, we got into the car and headed for Sterling, where I lived from eighth grade, 1951, I think, until I joined the Army in 1962….minus a few months during which I lived in Hutchinson. That’s only about ten years. However, when a person is young, ten years is a long time…..and it seemed like a long time. When somebody asks me that my “hometown” is….. I usually say Sterling. I lived in Lyons for the thirteen years prior to moving to Sterling. But, these were truly my childhood years, and my memories and recollections are much more sparse….and indistinct than the years I lived in Sterling.

Assuming you have even a cursory knowledge of geography, you still may not even heard of Sterling. And, there is no reason why you should have. It is a small Kansas town of maybe 2200 people….a population that has not changed significantly in the past seventy years. Sterling has two “major” claims to fame. Sterling College is located there. Sterling College is my alma mater, although I am not at all nostalgic about it…..nor do I have a lot, if any, fond memories of the place. (This is probably covered in another, separate blog.) The only other noteworthy attraction is Sterling Lake. The lake serves a number of purposes. It is the Sterling city park; it is the municipal “swimming pool”; it is the city’s picnic area; it is the city’s major “walking area”.

Both of these “landmarks” have changed a great deal since I last lived there back in the early 1960’s. Sterling college has increased in size somewhat, although it is still a rather small college with an enrollment of less than 700 students. But, that is a probably at least twice as many students as they they had when I graduated from there in 1960. The campus has expanded greatly, too, with probably twice as many buildings. When I graduated there were six buildings that I can recall. I haven’t actually counted the number of buildings the campus contains today…..but I am rather confident there must be twelve buildings of some sort…..including the dormitories. Thinking back, I think all of my classes were in one building….. Cooper Hall…..during the years as enrolled there. So there was never any mad rush between buildings to get to class on time! The only major walk was to Spencer Hall for the daily mandatory “chapel”, in which we had assigned seats……and attendance was taken each session…..and there were consequences for missing a session. That, I am pretty sure, has changed today. If not, I doubt if there would be very many students enrolled there! No…. We showed up….under duress….to listen to a boring speakers, mostly the dean, who deliver dull, uninspired, monotonous monologues…..and to catch on a few minutes of extra sleep. However, in the intervening years, several wealthy alumni have left money to the college, and thus the additional buildings were added.

Sterling Lake has also been improved and transformed. When I lived in Sterling, Sterling Lake was just a “lake”. The main activity centered around the swimming area…..and the occasional person fishing. I am not sure if there were….or are…. even any fish in Sterling Lake. That, of course, certainly does not mean that a person cannot go fishing there, however! Today playground apparatus has been added, along with a tennis court and a camping area. A concrete walking path now extends around the complete perimeter of the lake. I have seldom, if ever, visited Sterling Lake without seeing somebody walking on the path.

Probably the most important claim to fame for Sterling Lake is the fact that several scenes from the movie “Picnic” were filmed there back in 1955. This event probably brought more excitement to Sterling that any other single event…..before or since. Wow! William Holden, Rosalind Russell, (a young) Kim Novak, Susan Strausberg, Cliff Robertson….. The town could hardly contain its excitement. The movie stars came….and they went……but the movie and its glamorous stars were the topic of conversation for years to come.

These two venues were obviously on our agenda the day we visited Sterling. Of course, we could hardly avoid driving through downtown. The downtown area of many small towns the size of Sterling have taken a significant hit in the past few decades as Interstate highways or other major highways have been rerouted to avoid them. Although Sterling has very recently experienced this very thing, it still maintains a vibrant business district for a town its size. At least, there are stores that are still open for business, in contrast with other little towns…..Valley Falls comes to mind when I write this. And, there has been recent downtown construction. There are still cars parked on the street in front of businesses, again in contrast with a town like Valley Falls.

At the present time….2022 when we were there…..Sterling has a population of 2248 people. When I first lived there in 1952, the population was 2243. Well, if you want to add on the five members our family…. it was 2248. So, I suppose we can say that we kept the population of Sterling from decreasing! Nevertheless, I pointed out the location of the old Dillon’s store where I worked for eight years during my high school and college years. It is said to be the first Dillon’s supermarket. If this is true, it is a shame that Dillon’s did not preserve the building as a sort of monument to the organization. But, like most other profit making organizations, Dillon’s was more interested in making money than in preserving history.

Francois also knows where I graduated from high school. In fact, I was in the first class to graduate from the present day building. Back in 1956, when I graduated, it was literally only a fraction of the size it is today…..although the front facade or entrance remains basically the same. Because of today’s security precautions, we didn’t dare try to enter the building…..although if he had, I would hope that my senior picture will still be hanging somewhere in one of the hallways….with the rest of the class, of course!

We drove past the site where our house once stood. Mother owned about half of a square block where our house was located. It seems that about half of this was devoted to the always huge garden….and the remainder was grass that my younger brother and I were responsible for mowing. Today there is some sort of commercial building on the approximate spot where our house sat. The rest of it has been divided into lots and houses have been built on them. There is little or no resemblance between the past and the present. Time moves on, I suppose.

We took pictures of the two symbols of almost every small Kansas town…..and even the large ones: the local grain elevator and the water tower. Both of these structures have the name of the town written on them. Back in “those days” that was one of the main ways to identify the name of the town for people traveling through.

Yeah….. Nothing very earth-shaking; no destination sites; nothing one would find in a history book. But, Francois got to see a little of my life when I was growing up in Sterling.

We had about milked Sterling dry, so to speak, so we moved on to Lyons….my first, chronologically speaking, at least….. home town. I was born in Lyons, and lived there until moving to Sterling in 1951 when I was 13 years old. So, I think it is fair to say that Lyons was my early childhood home. I never formed the same attachment with Lyons that I had with Sterling. Why? Well… Because, as a child, unless I was at school, at church, or in town for some special reason, I was confined to mostly to home and the immediate surroundings.

For some reason, Mother had no objection to my younger brother and I exploring a wide range of rural area extending out from our home…..but, if we wanted to go into town…. Well, that was another matter entirely. Back in “those days”, kids just didn’t hang out in town the way they do today. Unless there was a reason….a good reason….to be in town, we were rarely allowed to go into town and just “hang out”.

So…. School, church, Saturday afternoon movies, maybe a visit to the home of an aunt and uncle…. On the other hand, as I said, we were only kids…..little kids. But, still I knew Lyons pretty well. We were in town enough to feel and be a part of it. We knew where everything was. We knew where all our friends lived. I mean…. Lyons wasn’t like a “forbidden city”. It’s just like we were kids. A bicycle was our major form of transportation…..or walking…. And, our mother, like all the mothers, wanted to know where we were…..generally speaking…..and what we were doing. How much trouble could we get into playing baseball or touch football, or pretending to be Gene Autry or Roy Rogers, or playing hide and seek, or tag, or “Kill the Nazis (or the Japs)”…..or even riding our bikes to a wooded area maybe a mile from our house and playing “Tarzan”?

Back in those days…..the 1940’s and early 1950’s….Lyons was a thriving little town. It was the country seat of Rice County, and the oil business was booming…..not to mention that it was still a largely agricultural community. When I lived there the population held steady around 4500 people. As the oil industry started to decline and as farms began to consolidate into large corporations and the small farms began to disappear, the population also began to decline. Today the population is somewhere around 3600 residents…..almost a thousand fewer people. Aside from being the county seat, maybe the only large industry left is the salt plant. And, even here, Lyons used to have two major salt plants….now there is only one. Probably the reason Sterling’s population has not experienced such a drastic reduction is the fact that it has Sterling College. Sterling College is Sterling’s major “industry”.

Nevertheless, Now Francois knows a little about Lyons. Again, just like Sterling, the house where I used to live is long gone. In fact, all the land we owned is now part of Lyons…..a residential area. They didn’t even put up a sign saying, “Beryl lived here”! The grade school I attended was torn down and replaced many years ago. The junior high school building burned down (!). The old movie theater is history. But, the courthouse square is still there. The Nazarene Church that we attended is still there, and looks pretty much like it did back in the day. But, Lyons just isn’t the same. It is a rather sad town…sort of left in the dust by progress. And, all of this in spite of the fact that both highway K-96 still runs north-south through the town and US 56 still runs east-west. And, even though the town last lost two of its grocery stores…. It still has a Dairy Queen!

Francois and I drove past most of the important places that were part of my childhood in Lyons: where I used to live (although the house has long since disappeared, my old schools (or a reasonable facsimile thereof), my old church, downtown….. After completing this tour, we drove few miles west of Lyons to a large granite cross that marks the spot that a Spanish Catholic priest has once visited. That cross has been there ever since I can remember…..and I am still not really sure what happened there. Probably nothing. But, it makes a good picture. Before closing out our exploration of Lyons, we drove a couple miles south of the cross to a place where Buffalo Bill once set up camp…..or supposedly set up camp. Insofar as I can remember, it has always been called Buffalo Bill’s Well. Old Buffalo Bill got around, apparently. “Buffalo Bill” landmarks are almost everywhere you go. He must have had a good public relations agent! People have told me that Buffalo Bill actually once visited (?), lived in (?), passed through (?) Valley Falls. The sad thing is…. Valley Falls doesn’t have a marker or a monument. Maybe they should erect one. Maybe that will keep them from evaporating into oblivion.

A few hundred feet from the Buffalo Bill’s Well, is an active oil well. This was a fortuitous event. This may have been the first active oil well Francois had seen….and probably even more likely the first one he had his picture taken with. Active oil wells…..mostly with the tall derricks ….were  common in Rice County back when I was a kid. They were a major source of jobs….and wealth. In recent years, the oil industry has experienced a severe decline, and the design of pumping devices has changed from the tall, impressive derricks to the low, rotary pump….which are just as effective, but less impressive.

It was approaching mid-afternoon. I had probably bored Francois enough with the tour of my childhood memories….although he is much too polite and considerate to ever admit anything like this! Nonetheless, we left Lyons and drove back to Hutchinson to finish up our nostalgic tour.

After we reached Hutchinson we more or less drove around at random. I suddenly discovered a site that I was totally unaware even existed. I had to look twice….rub my eyes….to make sure that I was not dreaming or seeing a mirage that did not exist. I have lived in Kansas all my life. I have been in Hutchinson probably thousands of times….I even worked there….. but I was not prepared for the site that appeared outside my car windshield as we drove along K-61 on the south side of Hutchinson.

There was blanket of white. At first, I thought it was snow. But it was a warm October day. We were wearing short sleeve shirts. I turned left at the next corner and slowed down to confirm my eyesight! Yes… It was a field of cotton. “Oh, I wish I was in the land of cotton……” Maybe it had been there for a long time…..and I just did not know it. Whatever….. The fact is: I saw something that I had never seen before…..anywhere. Certainly not in Kansas. One of the pictures on my photography “bucket list” was a picture of a cotton field with the cotton blooming. I was planning to take a trip to a southern state for just this single purpose. Guess What? The picture was right there in Hutchinson, Kansas, just waiting to be taken.

 

 

 

After the discovery of the cotton field, it was time to slow down the pace to something more traditional and conservative. We drove a few miles east of Hutchinson to Yoder. Yoder is basically an Amish community….made up predominately of traditional Amish residents. I was hoping that maybe we would see an Amish farmer or even a family in a horse drawn buggy. But, it was not to be. In fact, I have never really seen a horse and buggy in Yoder. I know they exist….and I know they are common. Reliable people have told me that a person is most likely to see farmers riding in their horse and buggy in the morning. For me…. Going “Amish Hunting” in the morning in Yoder has never been on my famous bucket list.

We did, however, drive past the Carriage Crossing Restaurant. It it famous…if even on just a local level…..for its superior food. Everybody raves about it. “It is soooooo delicious!” “It is the best food I have ever tasted.” Statements like that. A few years ago when Fayez and I went to the State Fair in Hutchinson, we decided to drive over to Yoder to sample this out-of-the-world food. There was a long line in front of us….if was State Fair time, remember…..so they gave us one of those buzzer devices to signal when there was a table available. Some forty or fifty minutes later, we found an empty table. Girls….young women…..in dark Amish attire, complete with the little bonnet on their head….were waitresses.

We ordered something that looked like might be typically Amish….and then sat and waited for another 30 minutes for the food to arrive. The waitress with the little white bonnet finally set our food in front of us. I don’t know…. It looked pretty much like food I would order in any run-of-the-mill restaurant. And…. It also tasted like food we could have ordered from any ordinary eating establishment. We kept wondering when the Amish magic was going to kick in…..and our taste buds and our digestive system would start turning cartwheels of delight. They never did! It was just another meal…..in just another restaurant. But, I am quite sure that other people were singing superlative praises about the food. It is all in the perception, I guess. (And, I strongly suspect that the girls with long Amish dresses and the little white bonnets were high school girls from Hutchinson and were probably United Methodist or Presbyterian, just like I am!)

No doubt we drove around aimlessly while I pointed out some of Hutchinson’s other “attractions”…..the school where I once taught, Hutchinson Community College, the State Fair grounds, the Sports Arena, Carey Park…..and also probably the Cosmosphere and the Salt Museum which were supposed to be the major attractions of the day.

There was only one attraction left to show Francois. It may not be on the list of major highlights for Hutchinson, but, nevertheless, is a “one and only”….something that only Hutchinson can claim. Hutchinson is the site of the world’s longest grain elevator. As is probably the case in all superlatives, there are other cities…all in Kansas….who from time to time also claim this distinction. However, I have heard this….and believed it…..from….well, since I can remember that Hutch has the longest grain elevator in the world.

This “longest grain elevator” measures one-half mile long. Actually, it is a little longer, measuring 2573 feet long. At various times through the past decades, I, myself, have measured the length of the elevator…..in my car, of course. And, yes…. The odometer always registered the same distance…..just over one-half mile. It never got any shorter or any longer!

In any event, we stopped to take some pictures, just in case Francois wanted to brag about having seen the world’s longest grain elevator. In this unlikely event…..but, who knows?….he now has solid evidence to back up his claim.

 

 

 

This was the end of our day…. It was not the agenda I had planned….or had even wanted. Like they say, “When you are given lemons…..make lemonade.” I hope that is what we did.

Tuesday Morning: Now it was time to say good-bye to the Comfort Inn and to Hutchinson and to head back home. But, first, we stopped in Abilene for a brief sojourn. The only stop we had planned in Abilene was a visit to the Eisenhower Museum. This museum, of course, houses the memorabilia of Dwight D. Eisenhower, a transplanted Kansan who served in various capacities throughout his career. His most notable jobs were as Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces in World War II, President of the United States, a brief tenure as commander of NATO forces and an even shorter term as president of Columbia University.

There a variety of opinions of Eisenhower that range from brilliant strategist and leader down to that of a rather dull intellect who was supremely ambitious and ended up in his many exalted positions, not because of his brilliance, but because he was a good “politician” who was very adept at knowing the right people and keeping the right company. I do not want to get into that discussion at this point. Let’s just say that if he were running for president in the coming election, there is no way I would vote for him….unless he was running against Trump, that is.

Over the years, I have been to the Eisenhower Museum several times….enough times that this time I was going only so Francois could see it…..not because I had any expectation of seeing or learning anything new or different. The museum had been closed for about two years as it underwent a complete renovation. This would be the first time since it re-opened that I had seen it.

As I said, the museum was constructed in Abilene because this became Eisenhower’s hometown when his family moved from Texas to Kansas. Much is made of Eisenhower’s “humble” beginnings. And, it is probably true. However, it sometimes seems (to me, at least) that he quickly forgot about these fabled humble beginnings once he left Abilene. There is no doubt that he was supremely ambitious, perhaps beyond his true capabilities. He ranked 64th in a class of 164.

 

 

 

That is all beside the point now. We know that he served in the highest capacities in the military and was elected as the 34th president of the United States. Much was made of the fact that Eisenhower surrounded himself with a “millionaire” cabinet, and seemed largely unconcerned with the “common man”. Despite his trademark smile, he was widely know by his associates and subordinates as a man with a quick and vicious temper when things did not go his way. It was not until after his death and books began to be written about him by his military and political associates that the myth behind the smile began to be made known.

Eisenhower never did own property in Kansas, and insofar as I can find, never lived in Kansas once he left to attend West Point. He certainly never returned to Kansas to live after he retired. Francois and I made at least a cursory inspection of the museum, checking out various exhibits which paid homage to the various phases of his life.

After leaving the museum, we walked to the Place of Meditation where he and his wife, Mamie, and their young son, are buried. Also located on the museum grounds are a large statue of Eisenhower, a library which houses his presidential and military papers and documents and his boyhood home. Inside the little chapel, called The Place of Meditation, the burial places are located behind a metal railing. Behind these there is a small room with stained glass windows in which are located a few rows of seating, for meditating, I suppose.

 

 

 

Eisenhower’s boyhood home is also located on the same premises. When Francois and I were there, it was closed for renovation.

Sunday, Monday and Tuesday were the days of the most intense activity. We returned to Topeka when we were finished looking at the Eisenhower Museum, and the pace of life slowed down a degree of two. The main purpose of Francois’s visit was to do some research for his PhD dissertation in the Kansas State Historical Library. Before coming to Kansas, he had previously reserved some time for research on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday.

We arrived back home from Abilene in the mid-afternoon on Wednesday. After arriving home, my major desire….or interest…..was to take a nap! I was feeling beat! I am fairly certain that Francois also found something useful to do, although I was not awake long enough to determine that that might be! My naps are always accompanied by music playing in the background. Being the considerate host that I invariably am, I put on my headset, selected an eighty-minute CD…..and zonked out!

When I awoke about an hour and a half later, I had regained at least a portion of my strength and mental clarity…..and to be sure…..there wasn’t much to regain. It was dinner time, and not wanting to subject Francois to my usual…..but delicious and nutritious….diet, I had already decided that we would eat out. My friends and I have made an unbreakable rule regarding eating out: We will only eat in cafes and restaurants that are locally owned and operated. We made this decision back at the beginning of the COVID crisis when businesses were failing due to lack of customers or patrons……especially those businesses that were locally owned and did not have the vast support of national organization. In the past three years, we have faithfully stuck with our decision. However…… On this particular night, I broke the rule. Actually, I justified breaking it by rationalizing that Francois was not a party to the agreement! Yeah…. I know. That is a little lame! Anyway, we ate at the Golden Corral, which, back in the “old days” was one of our steady eating places. And, I figured that it is probably the best example of an all-you-can-eat restaurant in Topeka, something that I think is rather rare in France.

Wednesday morning, I took Francois to the Kansas State Historical Library so he could work on his research. I picked him up in time so we could eat lunch with my friend, Jason, at the Airport Cafe. The Tammy’s Airport Cafe has long been one of our “go to” eating places. When Jason and I eat, we take turns paying…..alternating every second week. When it is my turn to choose….and pay….it is simply understood that we will eat at the airport. I really do not recall exactly how we chose that place….or when we chose it. It as become an ingrained part of our routine that we simply do it without thinking. Actually, we were eating there on a regular basis long before COVID hit. The buffet is always delicious….prepared from scratch in their kitchen….and plentiful…..and predictable. There is a sufficient, but limited, rotating choice of entrees each day. The choice is not overwhelming…..like the Golden Corral, for example. But, there are enough choices to….well, give you a choice.

Tammy’s Airport Cafe can accurately be described as “neighborhood cafe”. We have been eating there long enough to certainly know the owners…..and they also know us…..and, also to recognize many, of not most, of the people who eat there on a regular basis. The restaurant, which also has a menu as well as the all-you-can-eat buffet, is an interesting place to eat. We can watch privately owned aircraft land and take off while dining. And, I must add…. The place is loud! Many of the people, as I said, know each other. They tend to be rather uninhibited in their their conversations…..and in the volume of their conversations. This is true of both the patrons….and the owners! But, that is what adds to the “charm” of the place. It may not be “fine dining”, but it is certainly comfortable and familiar dining.

Another memorable and noteworthy culinary event took place the following night…..Thursday. I had to attend a board meeting of the townhouse association that evening. While I was gone, Francois began preparation of our dinner. I really have no idea what the food he prepared is called. I am sure he told me, but remembering the name of various food is not one of my strong points. It was strictly his creation. Cooking is not one of my strong points. In fact, it is not even a point at all! When I returned from the board meeting, he was well into the process of preparing the food. I helped him the best way I know how: I stayed out of his way! The end product was delicious. I am going to unscientifically describe the food as some sort of pizza. It looked sort of like pizza. It even tasted somewhat like pizza. However, I am pretty sure it was not pizza…..but it was somewhere in that general family. Maybe a cousin of pizza? As usual, I didn’t ask a lot of questions about the food. When somebody sits food in front of me…..and especially when it looks tempting and delicious….I simply eat it. And…. I was right: It was delicious.

Francois was about to complete his research at the Kansas Historical Library. After working only in the morning on Friday, he was satisfied that he was successful in finding all the information that he was seeking. He had nothing but praise for the staff of the library. Apparently he had previously sent them an outline of the research he was doing to ascertain if the data was available. Upon his arrival, he was pleasantly surprised to find that they had already assembled a great deal of the information for which he was searching. This act of thoughtfulness and consideration left Francois with a very favorable impression of the Kansas Historical Library…..not to mention that it greatly facilitated the speed with which he could accomplish his research. Actually, it is probably not often that any governmental unit makes a good impression on anybody in Kansas.

One of the positive results of finishing early was the fact that we were left with more time to explore other activities. However, before satisfying our desire to explore, there was the matter of satisfying our hunger. Since Francois had arrived, we had already eaten Chinese food, Mexican food, American food. I had considered going to our one and only French restaurant. But, he eats that kind of food every day back home. So, I decided to take Francois to one of my regular eating establishments on my Friday rotation. We ended up at the Globe Restaurant on Tenth Street just off Kansas Avenue. I really don’t remember how this became part of our regular lunchtime agenda. I do know that it has gone through two or three reincarnations that the year, however.

When I first started eating there it was a more or less a full service all-you-can-eat buffet of delicious, albeit rather spicy, food. This format continued for several years until the COVID epidemic hit. As was the case in so many things, COVID hit restaurants rather hard. The Globe was forced to discontinue its buffet for a period of time because of health restrictions. Its regular diners more or less evaporated. It changed ownership about this time, and after closing temporarily, reopened as a modified buffet…..a one-time only buffet, only this time a server placed the food on the plates. On most Friday when we ate there, there were only a handful of people there…..and a small handful, at that. It took a while for people to start coming back again. However, today it has returned to its all-you-can-eat format…..but with a much more limited selection of food. Nevertheless, we both enjoyed the meal, which, of course, is all that counts, I suppose.

It was a beautiful day in the neighborhood, as Mr. Rogers would say. Too nice to simply go back home…. One of the few nice, quiet and scenic places to go in Topeka…..in fact, maybe the only place…… is Lake Shawnee. Lake Shawnee is located in southeast Topeka, and it covers a little more than 400 acres. There is almost literally something to do for everybody…..unless that person literally doesn’t like anything!

Personally, I go there because it is a pleasant place to walk. There is a wide, paved trail that completely encircles the lake….. a distance of some seven miles, to be specific. I have been going there to walk for around twenty years….ever since I retired. Even when I was living near Ozawkie, I would often drive down to Topeka for the sole purpose of walking at Lake Shawnee. A lot of the trail is too hilly for me, but both Sultan and Fayez have jogged there on numerous occasions, while I found a flat stretch of land suitable for my pace of walking.

The trail is shared with other walker, of course, but also with families pushing baby stroller or people walking their dog. It is also popular with bicyclists and skateboarders. It is always a good idea to keep to the right while walking…..just for safety’s sake.

For those who looking for other forms of entertainment or amusement, never fear. It is also a popular place to go fishing and for picnicking. There are several playground for children and both a baseball complex and a softball complex, which are used extensively in the summer by dozens of city league teams. Also popular in the summer is the designated swimming beach. There is also a year-round camping area for people who own camping vehicles. 

Throughout the year, it serves as the venue for several special events. One popular annual event is a two-miles drive around the lake featuring elaborate Christmas lights. It is one of the main fund raisers for a local charity organization. It is the site for the 4^th of July celebration, which attracts thousands of spectators. Other popular events are the Annual Duck Race, a fishing derby, the Polar Plunge, not to mention the dozens of weddings and social events that take place in its enclosed clubhouses.

Starting in April and continuing through the autumn months thousands of people are attracted to the Ted Ensley Gardens, an array of flower gardens named after the long-time retired Director of Shawnee County Parks and Recreation.

In fact, more than a million people visit Lake Shawnee every year to take advantage of one of these activities or attractions. Francois and I added to that number after we finished eating at the Globe Restaurant. Our visit was merely as “tourists”…..just so I could give Francois an idea of what the park looks like and observe some of the features I pointed out above. It was well into November, and most of the flowers had long since made their appearance and had disappeared for the winter. However, the trees were still green and the water was still blue. It was a Friday afternoon, and for the most part, we had the lake to ourselves….. No ball games, no picnickers, nobody swimming. There were only a few people fishing…a few people walking and jogging….and, like us, a few people relaxing and hanging out and enjoying the pleasant scenery.

At 3:00 we had arranged to meet Jason at the Blind Tiger, so our time was limited. One of Francois’s favorite rock groups is the band, “Kansas”…..a group that was popular in the 1970’s. Maybe you got a clue from their name that they got their start here in Kansas….. Topeka, to be exact. One of the places they played on a regular basis, apparently, was the Blind Tiger. I don’t think it was called the Blind Tiger back in those days, but whatever the name, it is essentially the same place…same location.

In fact, after Francois left my house, he and his parents attended a concert given by the band “Kansas”….with maybe one or two new members due to death or retirement….in Des Moines. These guys are not young any longer! I saw them in concert back in the mid-1970’s at Allen Field House in Lawrence. They were probably at the peak of their fame at that time. I am going to guess they were all in their twenties or early thirties at the time…..and that was at least forty-five years ago. Yeah…. Times goes fast when you are having fun. Other than the vaguely recalling that the packed audience went wild when they sang their signature song, “Dust in the Wind”, the only other fact that I can remember is that when the concert was over, and I was walking to my car, I was sure that I would be at least partially deaf for the remainder of my life. The volume…..or noise level…..inside Allen Field House was deafening. Surely, they must wear some sort of ear plugs when they perform….. Or, maybe they really are deaf! Anyway, Francois said that even after all those years, they still sound like “Kansas”…..still have that distinctive “Kansas” sound.

Saturday was a semi-lazy day, with little sense of urgency. Francois has completed his research, so that was no longer a concern….no need to meet any predetermined schedules or anything like that. The major item on the agenda was to tour the Kansas State Capitol Building. The Capitol is probably Topeka’s major tourist destination. And, why wouldn’t it be? Topeka is the capital of Kansas…..and that is there our governor’s office is located…..and that is where the Kansas Legislature passes all of its right-wing, conservative laws.

I have been in several state capitol buildings around the U.S.A., and. Putting aside all my prejudices and biases, I can say that Kansas has one of the most impressive capitol buildings in the nation. Of course, some of this is due to the fact that it recently underwent a $332 million renovation….all at tax payers’ expense, of course. The measure to spend that amount of money was not an entirely popular decision with taxpayers. And, please include me in that number! That is a lot of money to spend on refurbishing….well, anything.

Many people felt that spending a third of a billion dollars to remodel the Capitol Building was excessive. The renovation went far beyond merely giving the building a facelift. A new parking garage was constructed…..underground. This, as can imagine, involved extensive excavation…..not only costly, but time-consuming. A entry-level, basement visitor’s center was constructed. Much like the parking garage, this was created out of space that did not previously exist! In other words, it, too, had to be excavated. Literally, a new basement was created.

A new copper dome was also fabricated and installed to replace the old, original dome, which had long-since started to leak when it rained. A sculpture of an Indian holding a bow and pointing to the North Star was created to top off the dome. There were other improvements which are probably not so high profile: Things like new electrical and mechanical systems, additional office space and restrooms, additional (new) elevators…..and a general cleaning.

The renovation of the Capitol Building started in the year 2000 after a struggle in the legislature to get the money appropriated. It is somewhat amazing that the money was actually approved considering the fact that many more necessary and immediately important bills supporting education, mental health, and unemployment relief either failed or were severely curtailed. Well… Maybe in Kansas that is really not so amazing.

The renovation process began in 2000 and continued for what seemed to be an interminable length of time…..thirteen years, to be exact. For this thirteen year period, the building was covered with scaffolding and many parts of it were closed to the public. It was an ugly affair, with the Capitol grounds stacked with building material, blockades erected, parking curtailed….and of course, the ever-present scaffolds. Although it did not make it any more palatable, after a few years, the clutter surrounding the Capitol simply became “normal”. A lot of people…..me included….began to suspect that this “is just way it is always going to be” and suspected that the work would go on forever.

After twelve years, the building…..the entire block….all twenty acres….slowly, almost imperceptibly….began to morph back to what we all remembered so many years ago. Among the last of the final touches was the adding of the Indian sculpture on top of the Capitol. A big deal was made of the sculpture….although I think most people could not have cared less. All they wanted was to have the Capitol back….to put the ordeal in the past.

One of the major changes affecting the public is that visitors can no longer enter the Capitol Building from any door. For years….decades….I was accustomed to entering from the south entrance, after walking up a small mountain of steps. After the renovation was completed and the building was reopened, the one and only way to enter was through an entrance which has been installed on the ground level on the north side of the Capitol Building. Somehow, I suspect that this was a result of the 9/11 attacks of 2001. If gave the Capitol Police more control of who entered the building. A metal detector was also installed. To me, this seemed a little ironic, considering the fact that the Kansas Legislature passed a law that removed all restrictions on carrying a weapon…..both concealed and openly carried. The only place where the legislature prohibited the possession of a gun illegal was in a medical facility. This also was slightly ironic because a medical facility was no doubt the quickest and most competent place to treat gunshot wounds.

The single entrance for visitors on the ground floor opened into the new visitors’ center that has been carved out of the ground beneath the Capitol Building. I can only speak for myself, but the visitors’ center is only mildly interesting, at best. Mostly it contains some historical artifacts, but mostly it is only a collection of old photographs and pictures from Kansas history. Expect to find many pictures and information about notable Kansans from the past, along with a sizable pictorial history of the construction of the of the building. I suppose that it is quite interesting and informative for those people who are interested enough in Kansas history to take the time and effort to actually take the time to read and examine it.

The grandeur of the building lies on the upper floors. Take any one of the several elevators up to the main floor….and step out into a beautifully conceived and constructed great hall of gleaming Kansas limestone. Your eyes will be pulled in many directions in an attempt to absorb and assimilate the many visual wonders. For me, and no doubt countless other visitors, perhaps the most compelling attraction is the dome that towers over the building, giving an unobstructed view upward to the peak of the building.

Each of the five floors of the Capitol Building is built around the dome…..with the rotunda at the center. It is almost…..but not quite…..as spectacular to stand on one of the upper floors and look down on the rotunda below. The main floor is stunning with its gleaming limestone columns and wrap-around murals.

Francois and I spent some time looking at the exhibits in the visitor’s center on the lower level. Since Francois was doing research on a phase of Kansas history, it is possible that he found the various exhibits to be more interesting that I. One reason could have been that I have seen the exhibits numerous times. They were no longer new to me. Second…. Dwight Eisenhower, William Allen White, John Brown, Charles Curtis, Arthur Capper, Amelia Earhart…. Well, these are names that I have know all my life. At some point, they cease to be fascinating, especially when the information….and the exhibits…..never change. Of course, we are proud of all our famous sons and daughters. But, let’s face it……they can only be fascinating and intriguing for so long…..and then they are simply part of the landscape. I think that I have reached that point in the road. Nevertheless, it was all new and fresh to Francois, and I was content to stay in the background….to lean on a wall….or sit on a bench….while he looked at the displays.

The exhibits documenting the construction and subsequent renovation of the Capitol Building were not very interesting to me when I first saw them……and they are even less interesting now. They rated only a cursory walk-by before we ended our tour of the visitor’s center and began to look for an elevator to take us to the second floor rotunda of the Capitol Building.

Aside from the gleaming marble and granite columns and the sparkling mosaic floors, by the far the most eye-catching and spectacular features on the second floor rotunda are the larger than life murals. Undoubtedly the most famous of the murals is John Stuart Curry’s “Tragic Prelude”….commonly called The John Brown mural. It depicts John Brown in a defiant pose with a rifle in his right hand and a Bible in his left hand. He is standing in the midst of dead soldiers….or who will soon die. In the background are a tornado and a prairie fire. The mural was not greeted kindly. In fact, many people held it in contempt.

Another of Curry’s murals is called “Kansas Pastoral”, depicting a bucolic, rather idyllic farm scene. Seemingly an innocent representation of a Kansas farm, it too was the subject of criticism by some people who complained that the bull was the wrong color…..that it was too long…..

In another mural, one showing the Kansas prairie at night, critics said that the painting looked more like an ocean, that the woman’s dress was too short, that the oil derricks in the background looked like ships, even that the pigs’ tails were curling in the wrong direction. Curry had intended to add some pictures of Kansas industry, but instead he pained a family of skunks, his opinion of his critics…..and left the mural unsigned.

 

 

 

If I had not read about such criticisms of these murals in textbooks and other media, such nonsense would have never occurred to me……or, I can very well imagine, to almost anybody else who looks at them. I have been looking at these murals for a few decades now…..and if I hadn’t read about these unkind remarks…..I would be completely oblivious to them. Quite the opposite. I find myself saying things like, “Cool!” and “Wow…. I wonder how long it took them to paint that?” Maybe that is one disadvantage….or symptom…. of having taught Kansas history for a couple years! I think it also demonstrates that no matter when a person has lived….people basically do not change. Instead of being appreciative of the grandeur and sheer scope of the art, people choose to complain. And, I can imagine they complain and gripe and find fault….however imaginary…..for the same reason: To bring attention to themselves. For publicity. To get their name in the newspaper. To try to gain some sort of political advantage. Because they, themselves, have a poor self- concept….or because the are jealous that somebody else is getting some recognition or praise.

 

 

 

As Francois and I walked around the rotunda, neither of us expressed any negative thoughts or displeasure. The murals are truly awe-inspiring, even for those not well acquainted with Kansas and its history.

Also located on the second floor is the office of the Governor of Kansas. In 2023 when Francois and I visited the Capitol Building, the governor was Laura Kelly, a Democrat who was in the midst of her second term. Right outside the office of the governor’s office is the mural of John Brown, “The Tragic Prelude”. The office of the Lieutenant Governor is also located on the second level nearer to the “Kansas Pastoral” mural.

The third level of the rotunda is mostly occupied by the chambers of the two houses of the Kansas legislature. The House of Representative chamber is located in the western wing and the Senate is located in the chamber on the east side of the building. The door of both chambers were locked the day we were there, which I found to be rather unusual. This is the first time I remember that the doors have been not only closed, but locked. On all the other occasions that I have visited the Capitol Building…..and it has been many….visitor and tourists were free to enter each chamber. I even have pictures of several of my former exchange students and other guests standing behind the podium where individual senators or members of the house of representative stand while they address the chamber. But, not this time. We had to content ourselves by merely looking at the door and imagining what was behind it.

Before leaving the Capitol grounds, we looked briefly at some of the statues that are placed around the 40 acre complex…..statues such as Abraham Lincoln, and the “Pioneer Woman”, a replica of the Statue of Liberty, among others. There are other monuments commemorating veterans of various wars. On the sidewalks, special plaques have been implanted honoring well-known Kansans who have made important contributions to world industry, politics, arts, culture. On the northeast quarter of the Capitol grounds one will find an impressive tribute to Kansas law officers who have lost their lives in the line of duty throughout the history of the state.

It was time to move on…..and we were getting hungry. I don’t recall the process we used in deciding where we would eat lunch. Probably there was no process. More than likely it was a spur of the moment decision. We ended up at a place that I most likely would have never considered under normal circumstances. We ate our lunch in a downtown bar and grill called ‘The Iron Rail Brewing. It is a pleasant place to eat. The food was good. The décor was….well, fake rustic. They brew their own beer, which, of course, is available for sale in the restaurant…..although neither of us ordered it with our meal. I can imagine that the name was derived from the fact that Topeka was once an important railroad center. In fact, there is a railroad mural on the wall. The place was OK….the food was OK….the beer was OK…. It is not a place that I have placed on my list of favorite hangouts…..and probably will not in the future, either.

It was getting late in the afternoon. I was getting tired. We headed back to the townhouse. It was nap time for me…. We ended the day back at “The Shack”….my regular neighborhood, locally owned, familiar, comfortable all-purpose go-to evening eating (and drinking) establishment. Back at home again, Francois made a valiant effort at entertainment by playing an old guitar that has been sitting idly in my basement (and in multiple different place in the old Ozawkie place) for several years since Fayez gave it to me shortly after he arrived in the USA. The guitar is seriously….and probably permanently…..out of tune. However, Francois managed to perform a creditable, if only a little off-key, version of “Dust in the Wind”…..by “Kansas”, of course. The fact that we were drinking a bottle of native Kansas wine probably helped with situation a little. At least, it didn’t hinder it!

Sunday we journeyed back to Lawrence for lunch. We were looking forward to enjoying the Sunday buffet of Middle Eastern food at the Aladdin Restaurant on Mass Street. For the past ten years…..since Fayez first arrived in 2012…..that has been a favorite Sunday dining treat. On week days, it is “menu” only. Since I do not know the names of the foods, I seldom go there. On Sunday, however, it turns into a highly delicious selection of Middle Eastern cuisine. There was little doubt that Francois would find it to be equally tempting and appetizing.

Because of COVID, it had been a couple years since I had been there. Needless to say, I was highly anticipating the opportunity to eat there again. COVID did so many bad things to our society…..and this was one of them: Aladdin had ceased serving their Sunday buffet. It could have been because of the strict healthy regulations that were put into place…..or it could have been that the decrease in diners brought it about. Faced with the choice of leaving and finding another place to eat or stay and order from the menu, we chose to stay. I am not going to deny it….. The food was good, but it in no way compared to their (former) buffet.

Francois was doing research on some phase of Kansas history. And, it is a happy coincidence that we have an important historical site in the little village of Lecompton. Lecompton is a village….a very small town….with a population of 588 people a few miles north of Topeka. When a person has a historical landmark in his backyard, it is fairly easy to forget about it…..to take it for granted. This, I think, is the predicament that Lecompton faces to us people who live so close to it. As for me….. I drove past it for almost fifty years…..attending classes at the University of Kansas, going to K. U. basketball games or just going to Lawrence for business of pleasure. While I was on the board of directors of the Northeast Kansas Educational Service Center, I parked within only a few yards from it for four years. I really never gave it much, if any, thought. Over the years, I took a few of my guests there, mostly because of the lack of something else to do.

In the state of Kansas, Lecompton truly did play an important role in its history. The town served as the capitol of Kansas from 1855-1861. It was in a building called Constitution Hall that the fist constitution for Kansas was drafted. This constitution would have admitted Kansas to the Union as a slave state. However, the constitution failed to pass. Anti-slavery legislators won control of the Kansas Legislature, and Kansas was admitted as a free state. This legislature also chose to moved the capital to Topeka in 1862, where it has remained since.

The museum itself is located in the Lane University building. Lane University was opened in 1865 and apparently functioned until 1902 when it merged with Campbell University. At it zenith, the university had eleven faculty members and a student body totaling 178 students. It was operated by the Church of the Brethren.

The exhibits on display are moderately interesting. The Sunday afternoon that Francois and I were there, conditions were just a little chaotic. Some of the volunteer staff were preparing for their annual Christmas tree extravaganza. The friendly attendants apologized profusely for the inconvenience of the Christmas trees strewn liberally through the already small space of the museum. It was OK, though. We were still able to walk up and down the aisles and look at the artifacts that were on display. If anything, it sort of punctuated their pride in the museum and their desire to keep it as vital and inviting as possible.

On display in the museum are a rather eclectic display of memorabilia ranging from Civil War artifacts to children’s toys to period clothing to farm implements to household items to patriotic items to numerous photographs and pictures to newspapers and books of the period.

One of the major displays, of course, centers around the fact that the parents of Dwight Eisenhower were married in Lecompton while attending Lane University. In reality, the display dwells much less on Eisenhower’s parents than it does on Dwight Eisenhower and his wife Mamie…..neither of which every lived in Lecompton and probably never visited the town. In fact, neither were alive during the period that Lecompton served as the temporary capital of Kansas. But….. That is OK. “Guild by association”…..or, in this case, “Fame by association” is harmless, and serves as one of the museum’s major exhibitions.

Since the museum has no elevator, I hung out downstairs….took a few pictures and talked to one of the volunteers while Francois took a look at whatever the second floor contained.

From the museum we stopped briefly at the actual Constitution Hall, located perhaps a block, maybe two blocks, away. Constitution Hall is a much more austere building. The building is a very basic wooden building with no exterior adornments. If there were not a sign to indicate that is was once the Capitol Building, probably, without exception, people would drive past it, never for one second suspecting it was once an important building. Certainly it lacks the grandeur of the present day Capitol Building in Topeka.

 

 

 

The building still contains the original floors and a few other original artifacts of the original building. Mostly, however, the items on display are reproductions or copies of the real thing. So…. What can one expect to see inside the old Territorial Capitol Building? Really…. Not much. On the walls are a variety of pictures, graphs, charts, and maps which explain the origins of the attempt to establish Kansas as a slave state. In essence, this was one of the major factors that precipitated the beginning of the Civil War. They also document the era known as “Bleeding Kansas”….the violent struggle between the pro-slavery forces and the anti-slavery forces that resulted in many lives in the events leading up to the Civil War. Although there are not a lot of original or primary source material on display, a lot can be learned about the events of that period.

After a refreshing nap, we finished the day with another delicious meal at where else? ….. The Shack.

Monday, October 24….. This was Francois’s last day at my house. His research was complete; our excursions taken; the sightseeing concluded. We stuck around Topeka the entire day. Francois met Jason at lunch at the Airport Cafe on Wednesday, and we had made plans for Francois to meet him at his bank today. We arrived at the bank around 1:00. Jason gave Francois a brief tour of the bank. I waited in Jason’s office. You can ask Francois….. But, I think perhaps the highlight of the tour was the vault, which I have never seen since it is down a rather long set of stairs. Jason also introduced him to members of the staff who where there at the time. The interior of the bank is no doubt one of the grandest sights in downtown Topeka. The building was built almost one-hundred years ago in the grand manner one would expect of a bank built in that era. It exudes character….strength….stability…..permanence. The building has eluded major change….and the wrecking ball…..for almost a century, and has been placed on the national register of historic places.

It was well into the afternoon by the time we left the bank. Francois had not eaten breakfast, and his thoughts were turning to food…..to eating lunch. In maybe what was a sudden inspiration, it occurred to me that Hu Hot, a Mongolian restaurant, might be an interesting and unique culinary experience for his last lunch in Topeka, at least for this visit. For those of you who have not eaten in a Mongolian restaurant, it is an experience worth trying…..at least once. If you like it….you are probably hooked. If you don’t like it….you don’t have to do it again. The idea is, in general: Take a couple bowls. One for the raw vegetables, condiments and sauce. The second for the raw meat. Then take both bowls to the cook who is standing behind a super hot grill…..and wait until he grills (or fries or whatever) the ingredients to perfection. If you choose the right sauce….and the right combination of veggies and meat, you will end up with a delicious, savory, low calorie meal.

The meal at Hu Hot was the last official item on our agenda for the afternoon. We stopped by our office briefly so I could introduce Francois to our manager, Kelly. Then it was back to the townhouse to wait for Francois’s parents to arrive. They were picking him up and then had planned to do some sightseeing around the Midwest in the days before they had to leave to go back home.

His parents arrived later than evening. They are personable, outgoing, friendly, easy-to-know people. We sat and visited for a couple hours before Francois suggested that we go somewhere for a drink. On a week night in Topeka, that is somewhat easier said than done. The obvious choice was The Shack, of course. We arrived at 9:00, just as they were preparing to close. Our next choice was The Blind Tiger, which would have been great since they, too, are fans of the band “Kansas”. Sadly, but not surprising, it also closed at 9:00. Not to be deterred, we drove to our third choice, “Abigail’s”. Fortunately, it was open until midnight…..plenty of time to get a drink and something to eat. Francois’s parents were understandably tired after their long airline trip from France to Kansas City. They dropped me off at my townhouse. After saying good-bye, Francois was suddenly gone. It had been a great ten days. We had an interesting and fun time. I authentically made my first French friend…..and it was good. It changed my pre-conceived attitude toward the French….at least, one person from France. And, I learned that the terms French and doctoral student actually do form a good combination.

There is a short postscript to the story. I met up with Francois and his parents in Lawrence the following week on a chilly, rainy Monday for lunch. They had finished their road trip through some of the Midwestern states, and they were headed back to France. We met at the Aladdin Restaurant again for a pleasant meal before they departed for Kansas City International Airport…..and home again. It was sort of the “dessert” of Francois’s trip…..a good and pleasant….and making me look forward to the next time.

To accentuate and reinforce all the unique and special events that I not only enjoyed and found fascinating, but also added to my “filing cabinet” of new experiences, Francois sent me a couple of very thoughtful gifts after he returned to France:  a couple  Dalton Gang comic books, a jar of snails, and a book.  Who knows?  I may be the only person in the  USA with Dalton Gang comic books.  I have never seen them….or heard of them prior to his visit.  I will keep them among my prized collection of memorabilia and as a remembrance that it was from Francois that I first learned of the Dalton Gang.  The snails?  Well….  They are gone now!  A delicious culinary treat….much more delicious and tasty than I had ever expected them to be.  The book, “What’s the Matter with Kansas?”  Well…..  That is a story for later on.  In the meantime: This is my French Connection.

After spending about two weeks in abject misery, one week of which was spent in my room, in my bed, aching, not being able to eat or drink….wondering what I had done to deserve such punishment, the malady was finally diagnosed as hepatitis. Never once during those two weeks…..those long two weeks…..did hepatitis ever enter my mind. If, indeed, I was even in such a state that something could actually enter my mind.

I certainly am not going to say that I was relieved to learn I had contracted hepatitis. On the other hand, at least I knew what the problem was. Maybe the my “end” wasn’t as close as I had suspected it might be! The doctor didn’t show any overt alarm. In fact, he told me quite casually. “Go home, sit down or lie down and don’t do anything. Don’t eat any fried food…..and absolutely no alcohol.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Yes. You can go to the beach and lie around all day, if that is what you want to do. Just stay out of the water.”

Wow. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

I never had an opportunity to find out.

Back in those days….and I am talking about South Vietnam during the Vietnam War…. Hepatitis was a fairly common disease. It is spread predominately through… well….unsanitary conditions. And, believe me…..unsanitary conditions were never very far away in South Vietnam. Contaminated drinking water was probably near the top of the list of suspects. At our IVS house, we had a large ceramic jar with a series of filters in it. It supposedly filtered out all the contaminates in the water. We also boiled our water before we used it for anything…..drinking or cooking.

Any time we were at a restaurant or bar, we always drank bottled drinks. There was one exception…..and I suppose I didn’t think much of it at the time. Whenever we drank beer from the tap, we always asked for ice to put in the glass. Yes…. Ice…..In beer! Normally the beer was not cooled or chilled like we here in the “real world” are accustomed to drinking our beer. Nobody….at least nobody playing with all his marbles….and believe it or not, I was playing with ALL my marbles….likes to drink warm or hot beer. So….. We would put ice into our glass of beer! Maybe it never occurred to me at the time…..but the ice was probably not made with water that had been filtered or boiled. It was probably ice that was simply made with plain old water. And….also looking back….the water could well have contained all sorts of germs and bacteria and other little living creatures just waiting to create some sort of disease!

Nevertheless, when the doctor informed me that I had hepatitis, I pictured myself taking a couple weeks off from teaching….and lying on the beach with some of my Vietnamese friends….relaxing and recuperating. Before I left the USAID compound where I had met with the Air Force doctor, all the employees wished me a speedy recovery with the usual polite, “If there is anything I can do to help you, just let me know.” Knowing, of course, there was really nothing they could do. But, it was nice of them, anyway.

Just knowing what the problem was made a huge difference in my attitude and in the way I felt. I hopped back into my Jeep and drove back home, ready to face the recuperation process…..lying on the beach all day. The Vietnamese lady who took care of us…..our housekeeper and cook….was happy to see me up and moving…..hopefully thankful that I was going to survive for a while longer. She fixed me something to eat and made some coffee…..hopefully with germ-free water….and I went upstairs to go back to bed.

Sometime in the early afternoon, the head of the USAID office stopped by the house and informed me that I was being “evacuated” to Saigon to recover. His visit was totally unexpected, and, I might add, totally necessary. There was really nothing special that I could do to “recover”. Just like the doctor said: Do as little as possible; don’t eat any fried food; don’t drink any alcohol. Looking back from today’s perspective, I wish that all my physical problems were that easy to cure!

The USAID director’s words were not exactly a request. They were more of an ultimatum! Get your stuff packed. I will be back around 5:00. “Wow!”, I thought, “They commandeered an airplane just for me?”

I packed some clothing in my suitcase, and I was waiting when the USAID van arrived to pick me up. The USAID director, his wife and another USAID officer were all in the vehicle when it arrived. “Wow,” I thought. I didn’t expect this sendoff. “Maybe they are really going to miss me.”

Well, that was wishful thinking. When we arrived at Phan Rang Airbase, maybe five or six miles from the city center, the driver pulled up at the front entrance. I had my suitcase on my lap. I opened the door and got out. So did the other three Americans: the USAID director, his wife and the other guy. “Since we had to get an airplane to take you to Saigon, we figured we may as well come along.”

Oh….. Now the situation was starting to make a little more sense. The light was starting to shine a little more brightly. This trip wasn’t so much about me as it was about them getting their own transportation to Saigon. And, what better excuse could there be than to evacuate some poor sick American for medical treatment? OK…. But, I really did not want to go to Saigon! There was really no need for me to go to Saigon…. But an hour later, the airplane…..the medical evacuation plane…..landed in Saigon at Tan Son Nhut Airport. The USAID director said that he had notified the IVS office in Saigon, and that somebody would meet the plane and take me to the IVS house. I automatically assumed that they would send one of the volunteers who was sitting around doing nothing…..or one of the drivers, at the very most. Let’s face it, picking up another volunteer at the airport…..maybe a couple miles away…..probably does not come with a high priority rating.

Once I was inside the airport waiting room, I was surprised to see our Chief of Party waiting for me. After the normal greetings, I put my suitcase in the IVS Jeep, and we headed out on our short journey to the IVS house. Somewhere en route to there, he casually asked me if I would accept the position as Associate Chief of Party for Education. At first, I thought the hepatitis had affected my hearing….that maybe I was hallucinating. Surely, I had heard him wrong.

 

 

 

 

 

But…. I had heard correctly. I was almost speechless. This was something that had ever entered my mind…..not even for a second. It was totally unexpected. It was certainly nothing that I had aspired for. I wasn’t even aware that the current Chief of Education had any intention of leaving the job. Of course, I really had no idea of anything that was happening in Saigon….and I really didn’t care. It was something about which I had zero interest. I was rather content with my job and my work in Phan Rang…..the teaching schedule, the organizations I sponsored, the library project. I was making new friends. The students seemed to like me….. My goal was to finish out the two years…..and who knows? Maybe extend my contract by another year or two.

What a day that was! A day of contrasts…..from learning that I had hepatitis to learning that I was the new Associate Chief of Party for Education. Man, talk about going from bad to good in a hurry.

As it turned out, the current Chief of Education was not leaving for another two or three weeks. I really do not remember exactly, but I do recall that he would be hanging around for a while longer. So…. During that time, I was more or less suspended in a state of limbo. It actually worked to my advantage. I was under doctor’s orders to do nothing….absolutely nothing…..for the next couple weeks. And, to tell the truth, I really didn’t feel like doing anything! I was constantly worn out; always feeling a little bit nauseous; often sleepy. Even just a little bit of activity left me feeling drained of all energy. Walking from the men’s dorm….where I was staying…..to the dining room felt more like a hike to the summit of Mt. Everest.

One day after perhaps a week in Saigon, I decided to make a trip to the PX….the military Post Exchange store. When I started out I was feeling pretty well….like I was really starting to recover. When I returned to the IVS house, I felt like I had been chased down and beat up by a band of thugs. I obviously need some more recuperation.

A week later, however, either on Christmas Day or a day or two after Christmas, Bob Hope was presenting his touring Christmas show at Tan Son Nhut Airbase. I had already seen the show once before while I was stationed at Tan Son Nhut in the army. There was no way that I was going to miss his show. So, along with a few other volunteers, I sat in the hot Saigon sun and enjoyed a couple hours of nostalgic American entertainment. There were a few thousand military personnel in attendance…..and, as one might expect, they went wild, especially when stars such as Kim Novac, Jayne Mansfield or Raquel Welsh performed their intentionally provocative dances. Each show ended with the singing of Silent Night or I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas….or both. It was our little taste of Christmas and the holiday season.

 

 

 

 

 

At any rate, I returned to the IVS house feeling not so bad….at least, not in the exhausted condition as I was when I returned from the PX. This was a hopeful sign….a sign that I was on the road to recovery. A few night’s later it was New Year’s Eve. Against my better judgment….well, a little bit anyway…..but at the urging of other volunteers, I had a sip….maybe a large sip….of champagne to celebrate the start of the New Year…..1967.

1967….. The start of a new adventure. Associate Chief of Party for Education.

As I said previously, for a couple weeks I was suspended in a state of limbo. There I was, finished with my old job….the new job looming just ahead. It was sort of like being locked out of my house…..just sitting there waiting for somebody to unlock the door and let me in. There was nothing to do except wait.

The outgoing Chief of Education was helpful….as much as he could be. He gladly explained the basics of the job, and gave me an idea of what lay ahead and what I was expected to do. Unfortunately, there was not a lot of on the job training. I was still “sick”. Accompanying him to his office or traveling with him to visit volunteer teachers was out of the question. I simply did not have the strength or the energy.

Let me recount a little incident that should have alerted me to what I would not come to realize for several more months. I was young; I was inexperienced; I was excited about my new job; I was eager to get started; I was certainly naive in those days. And, I was a bit blind. It was somewhat like walking out into the bright sunlight after being inside, maybe. It takes the eyes a little while to adjust to the brightness. Or, probably more accurate, it was like walking from the bring sunlight into a dark room, and slowly adjusting to the darkened conditions. Either way, I don’t blame myself for failing to recognize the signs immediately. Hey…. I was new at this; I had a lot to learn.

Our Chief of Party asked me to write down on paper my thoughts about my impending job. What was my current assessment of the work that was being performed by our volunteers? How did I intend to approach my new job? How did I think our job performance and our service to the schools could be improved? What changes did I recommend?

This was a reasonable request. The main reservation I had was that I did not want to write anything that our current Chief of Education could or would interpret as criticism of the work he had done. I certainly would not have liked for somebody to criticize my performance….to have second-guessed me…..to have nit-picked my performance….. even if only implied or inferred and not stated directly.

I told this quite frankly to the Chief of Party. He said he totally agreed, and anything I wrote would be kept in the strictest confidence….and would be considered as a professional assessment and not construed as any sort of personal judgment or critique. So I found an empty desk in the office and set about writing my thoughts about the topics he had suggested.

The document was 13 or 14 pages long. I still have a copy of it. Even I re-read it today, I am surprised at how clearly I understood the IVS organization after only a few months as a volunteer English teacher in Phan Rang. And, I am surprised to find that the observations and suggestions I made are in large part the same observations and suggestions I would make today…..more than fifty years later…..only probably I would be somewhat more emphatic today. There was nothing personal in the document. There is nothing demeaning or derogatory in the report…..unless they are implied…… The Chief of Party, as I said, assured me that it would be held in strictest confidence….that only he and I would see it. In reality, it was really nobody else’s business.

Some days or weeks later, I receive in the mail a large envelope from the IVS headquarters on Washington, D. C. Inside the envelop was the original copy of my report with a Post-It note attached, in my boss’s handwriting, saying, “Make 8 copies.” This obviously meant that he had also shared my writing with the other Associate Chiefs….and probably the regional team leaders. So much for promises. So much for assurances. I was not pleased. Fortunately the previous Chief of Education, my predecessor, had already gone back home. I never knew if he read the report or not. If he did…. I hope….and I am fairly confident….that he understood the purpose of the report. I am not sure why the people in the headquarters in Washington did not remove the little Post It note…..or even why they returned it. For the two years that I was Chief of Education, I had an excellent working relationship with everybody on the headquarters’ staff. The Executive Director also attached a note saying, “Excellent observations. Maybe a little bit idealistic. You have our support. Keep up the good work.”

The point I am trying to make….. This breach of trust should have been a warning sign….a foreshadowing….of what to expect during the next two years.

I am not going to go into great detail about my day-to-day activities. You are going to find them to be boring…..and they are mostly irrelevant anyway. Instead I am going to give you an overview of my life in South Vietnam…..as Associate Chief of Party for Education…..and equally as important, my life and impressions of Saigon and South Vietnam in general.

 

 

 

 

 

 

First of all, let me give you a brief explanation of what the International Voluntary Services (IVS) was and explain just a bit its intended mission. The publicity generated by the organization asserted its purpose as an “Agent of Change”. It was intended to be an organization of volunteers….idealistic volunteers, I suppose…..who would give two years of their life to spend in an underdeveloped country working side by side with its people to teach them new and useful techniques and methods and to assist them in improving their own skills to bring about a better quality of life.

Admirable. In theory, at least. The volunteers, both young and old….but mostly young….would live and work with the Vietnamese people, mostly in province capitals, because that is where it was most secure. They would work with local leaders in implementing simple, but meaningful, changes and reforms which would hopefully improve the standard of living and increase productivity. Volunteers would offer their services in one of three broad areas: Education, agriculture or community development. Education and agriculture were probably the two best defined areas. Community development was perhaps a little more vague and undefined….a bit more general.

As recounted in a previous installment of this blog….. As I sat in that 5th grade classroom while I was doing student teaching to obtain certification in elementary education…..trying desperately to stay awake….. I was idly leafing through a “Redbook Magazine”. I unexpectedly came upon an article whose title was something like “Voluntary Organization Offers Service Opportunities in South Vietnam”. Well…. Maybe those were not the exact words, but they are close enough. I snapped immediately out of my drowsy coma-like state….and I bolted wide awake. The article had my undivided attention. I knew at that instant: This was going to be my avenue back to South Vietnam.

I read through the article. Wow. It sounded great….something I was qualified….even born….to do. I jotted down the address that was given…..and hid the magazine the best I could at the bottom of the stack, hoping that it would still be there the next day. I don’t recall if it was or not. Looking back…. I wish I had been just a bit more dishonest and would have taken the magazine with me. If I had, trust me…. It would be among my most valuable possessions today. Over the years, I have searched and searched for the magazine. Back in the “old days”, I looked for it in the “Readers Guide” (Don’t worry about it…. If you are younger than 50 years old, you have no idea what I am talking about!)…..but I was never able to find it. Subsequently, I have searched the Internet many time….with equally disappointing results. Nevertheless….. I had the address of the headquarters in Washington, D. C. I sat down and wrote them a letter as soon as I got home.

The concept of “Agent of Change” sounded great….something I agreed with wholeheartedly. Vietnam needed to change….it had to change…. if it was to grow and prosper as a nation. And, what better way to approach the matter than at the grassroots level, where most lasting changes usually begin…..with the people.

And….. What better person than I? I had a degree in education; I had two and a half years of teaching experience; I was already familiar with South Vietnam…. I was their man!

When I returned to South Vietnam, it never occurred to me that anybody would volunteer for such a position for any other reason than the selfless desire to help the people in an underdeveloped nation. It never occurred to me at the time that accepting a job as a volunteer had anything remotely to do with the war that was being fought. There was nothing in the mission statement that mentioned the war. In fact, I thought that it was implicit that this was one of the factors that made us stand out…..that we were there to give our assistance and our expertise as volunteers regardless of the war….in spite of the war.

The previous installment detailed my experiences as a volunteer English teacher and also my experiences building the Peter Hunting Memorial Library. Now, let me give you a brief overview of my job description as Associate Chief of Party for Education.

Well…. To summarize…. To make it brief…. There was none.

I just sort of assembled a job description as time went along….and as issues came up.

My predecessor took me to meet the Vietnamese government officials with whom I would be coordinating. The Minister of Education….the equivalent of our Secretary of Education here in the USA…. was, of course, the main guy in the Vietnamese government with whom I would be working. He was in charge of administering the education system of the country. Off hand, I don’t recall his name. It has been too long ago. I could look it up, but, you wouldn’t recognize his name anyway. And, besides that… this position changed hands a couple times while I was Chief of Education. Being a government Minister in South Vietnam back in those days was sort of like playing a game of musical chairs….if you are old enough to remember that old party game. The Minister of Education had to approve all the placements we made in the country’s public schools. As I said in a previous installment, the public high school was the “official” job of the volunteer teacher. Any other duty beyond that was at the discretion of the teacher and the other organization.

And, for some reason that I never quite figured out, the Director of Sports and Recreation (a department within the Ministry of Education) had an interest in what we were doing. There were no organized school athletic teams. The only sports that I saw kids playing were pickup games of soccer and maybe some volleyball. They were not organized games…..and certainly not sponsored by the school. The games were just a bunch of kids with time on their hands trying to have some fun.

Most of the games I observed….and most of the kids who I saw in these pickup games were boys….and were not very organized. The kids sort of made up the rules to fit the situation. There may have been other, more organized games going on somewhere, and I just didn’t see them. For sure, however, there were were no organized, sponsored city league….or intra-country leagues. If there were, they were a closely guarded secret. But, then again….. There was a war taking place in the country.

All the guys with whom I had contact….and remember I was only in my upper-20’s back them….. I really was young once upon a time….were constantly asking me questions about the rules for baseball, American football, basketball…. I tried to explain the rules of these games, but I probably confused them more than I helped them. Someday just try explaining all the detailed rules of American football to somebody who has never seen a real game! It probably sounds easy to somebody who has never tried it. You will probably be rewarded with blank stares….albeit “polite” bland stares from the Vietnamese. And, then come the questions…. “What about this?” “What about that?” “Why do they do this?” “Why do they do that?” It was sort of like I felt when I attended my first professional soccer game in Berlin! When I was kid, we played “soccer” at recess. We would kick the ball as hard as we could downfield. The other team would kick the ball back toward our goal as hard as they could. This went on until the teacher blew a whistle and herded us back inside the school building. Much later in life….I found out this is not the correct ways to play soccer! Unlike my Vietnamese friends, however, I really don’t care much about soccer….and have no desire to be an expert on the rules!

There was another Ministry that had some interest in our organization. It was called the Ministry of Social Welfare…or Public Welfare, or some such title. I was formally introduced to its Minister, too. I don’t want to forget the Ministry of Youth…..actually also a division of the Ministry of Education. Although I do not recall much about this Ministry, I do recall that the Minister’s age seemed to be somewhat less than 60 or 70. That was a good sign, I thought.

There were other government ministries….ones with which I had no direct connection, but worked with the other two divisions of our organization, such as the Ministry of Agriculture and a Ministry, whose exact name I can’t recall, that was the contact point for our volunteers who worked in Community Development. It could have been the Ministry of Labor or the Ministry of Revolutionary Development…. Something like that.

In all these Ministries, we were received politely….almost with reverence ….in their well-appointed and sometimes opulent offices. The Ministers were all smiles, cordial, urbane… They were attended by subservient aids who silently and politely served tea…..and then disappeared. The conversation was always polite, somewhat stilted…and also somewhat uncomfortable. Being absolutely new to the job, I really had no idea of what to say….or even what I was expected to say. Mostly I just answered the polite questions…..and tried to respond graciously to remarks….sort of act like I really understood what was going on…..and I tried to always keep a smile on my face. Fortunately, each meeting lasted only a few minutes…..and after a lot of shaking of hands and lot of smiling and a lot of complimentary remarks, we were gone.

The only Minister that I really had a working relationship with was the Minister of Education, of course. He…..or somebody in his office….had to approve each of our proposed placements. During my tenure in Chief of Education, I don’t recall any of our placements being denied. As a matter of fact, it was quite the opposite. The Ministry of Education was constantly pressing us for more volunteer teachers…..more than we could ever hope to supply. And, why not? We were at least a partial answer to the shortage of teachers which existed in South Vietnam.

Even back in the 1960s, in an underdeveloped, war-town country like South Vietnam, every high school student was required to study a second language…..either French or English. For many years, as you may recall, a great deal of Southeast Asia was under French control. In fact, it was a colony of France, known as French Indochina. This domination of Vietnam lasted from 1858 until May 7, 1954, when Vietnamese forces defeated France at Dien Bien Phu…..a period of almost 100 years.

French influence pervaded South Vietnam….architecture, food, street and building names, language, customs, even education, plus little things like the kind of coffee they drink, the kind of bread they eat…. For decades, French was the only foreign language that was important. However, when thousands of American military and civilian personnel began to descend on South Vietnam like swarms of locusts….and hundreds, maybe thousands, of jobs began to become available….English suddenly became the most important language to learn. Learn English… Get a job.

Almost anybody can probably teach a foreign language, in theory, at least. I studied Spanish for two years in high school from a teacher who I am reasonable sure could not have carried on an intelligent understandable conversation with a native Spanish speaking person, even if her life depended on it. I am pretty sure that she could perhaps read some Spanish…..enough to teach a bunch of first time learners in a little high school in Kansas. And, none of us really cared. This was back in the early 1950’s…..and none of us were probably ever going to have an occasion to use the language in a real life conversation. I certainly never expected to, and for that matter, I never have!

At any rate, I was in fairly constant contact with the Ministry of Education….if not visiting or consulting with the Minister, then talking or conferring with one of the deputies or department heads. As I look back today, I am amused at the strikingly different way we dressed. I am sure it reflected differences in our cultures….or maybe even status. Very few of the people who worked in the same office building where I worked dressed formally. I mean it would be a special occasion that we would even consider wearing a jacket and tie to work. For one thing…. It was simply too hot and humid. Give us some credit… We were not very much into self-inflicted torture back in those days! When the temperature is in the 90’s or even higher….when the relative humidity is hovering somewhere north of 70 or 80%…..wearing a jacket and tie may not be the smartest…or most comfortable….way to dress. Nobody wants to spend the day in a cloth sauna….walking around with sweat dripping from his clothing and constantly wiping perspiration off his face. That is just the men. Who knows what it is like for the women.

Except for very special events, men simply wore a nice buttoned shirt and dark colored trousers. Well… We also wore shoes and socks! Most of the time, at least. On special occasions, we would wear a necktie….temporarily until we could safely take it off, at least. An event had to be fairly extraordinary before we would even consider wearing a jacket. The guys who worked in the office of the Ministry of Education….and the other Ministries, also….never failed to be attired flawlessly with a dark suit and tie. Many times I was tempted to ask them if they were just a little bit warm. “Take off that jacket! It is hot in here!” I never did. And, strangely enough, they didn’t even appear to be hot. They never seemed to perspire. Their clothing never appeared to be damp! On the other hand, they were acclimated to the climate. They were accustomed to the heat and the humidity. And, they never seemed to mind that we were wearing only a tie. They were probably thinking, “Those strange Americans.” Oh well….

So, the day finally arrived. The office staff threw a going-away party of sorts for the out-going Associate Associate Chief of Party. I think he was ready to leave….to go back home to whatever was a normal life for him. He had been in South Vietnam for three years…..one year as a volunteer teacher and two years as the Chief of Education. Unfortunately, there was no paid leave….no paid-for trips back to the USA….in IVS. We could go home….and then sign up for another two years, I suppose. In fact, I am sure that a few volunteers did that. Maybe not immediately after they got back home. But, no doubt some of them got back home….found it difficult to adjust…..maybe were unemployed with no prospect of a good job…..maybe facing the prospect of being drafted into the military staring them in the face…. Who knows? But, I am pretty sure that some of the former volunteers re-volunteered to go back to South Vietnam. This guy was not one of them, however.

The next morning, I drove him to Tan Son Nhut Airport on the western outskirts of Saigon, waited with him until his flight was announced, said good-bye to him…..and watched him disappear up the ramp into the airplane.

And, then…. It hit me. I suddenly realized that I was now the Associate Chief of Party for Education. I stood and pondered that thought for a minute…..then turned and walked back to what was now MY Jeep….and drove back to the IVS compound.

Let me tell you a little bit about the IVS compound, since it was to be my home for the next two years. The compound, and I suppose that is as good a name as anything, was located on the extreme western fringe on Saigon, in very close proximity to the sprawling Tan Son Nhut Airbase. Also nearby, and probably even closer to the compound, were large military bases or facilities of the South Vietnamese army and the South Korean army. Let’s just say that if you had never seen a military vehicle before…..you would not be able to say that after living at the IVS compound. They were ubiquitous in our area of town.

This compound consisted of two main houses, a few outbuildings, which served as homes for the people IVS hired to keep the compound up and running: housekeepers, cooks, groundskeepers…..maybe even a mechanic thrown in there somewhere. If I remember correctly, all of these people were members of two different families. The compound was sitting on perhaps an acre of land. There was ample vegetation…..a lawn, for example. But, in South Vietnam, there is vegetation everywhere. You can almost stand and watch the green plants grow.

Le Van Duyet Street ran in front of the compound. It was a major thoroughfare connecting points in central Saigon with the military bases which were located in the western suburbs. Since it was a major traffic artery, it was almost constantly clogged with traffic…..both military and civilian. Across the street from our headquarters were a series of small, locally owned businesses. Shacks, actually. In typical South Vietnamese fashion, the small stores or businesses were located in front, facing the busy street, and behind the stores were the owners’ homes….where they lived. Everything was pretty much in the open air. There was very little privacy, as we know it here in the USA. The last time I was in South Vietnam was in 1968. A lot has probably changed in that rather lengthy period of time….maybe.

At any rate, this is where the IVS Headquarters for South Vietnam was located. There were two sizable buildings on the property. The smaller of the two buildings was the location of our communal dining room and the kitchen.

The dining room was a large room which was large enough to seat perhaps thirty or forty people….maybe more….if they scrunched up a little bit. It was not what one could ….or would…..call Five Star dining, but it served its purpose. There were three or four long tables which crossed the room horizontally. Actually, they were probably multiple tables pushed together. I don’t ever recall seeing them without some sort of table cloth on them…..so they could have been about anything. At any rate, probably at least six people could sit comfortably in each side of the table. Only on rare occasions were the tables all completely occupied. The number of volunteer sitting around the table at mealtime was a fairly good indication of how many volunteers were in town and were milling around Saigon at any one time. It was possible that some of the volunteers were hanging out in other places, and were not eating at the IVS House. But, since the meals were dirt cheap, most of them were probably there. (Oh, yeah! You can be sure they charged us for our meal!)

Meals were always served “family style”……with all the food on the table….and passed around the table at the beginning of the meal…..just like we were one big happy family. There was only a limited…..or finite…..amount of food. “Take it while you can get it!” By the time each dish of food had made its way around the table, there was seldom much, if any, food left in the dish or on the plate. Second helpings were rare. Even though the food may not have been overly abundant, it was well prepared. Unlike our cook in Phan Rang, who persisted in using the little charcoal burner on the back steps, the cooks at the IVS House prepared the food on a rather traditional propane stove in an actual kitchen, although I obviously did not spend much time in it. Another good thing was that the food was always “well done”. Maybe this was done simply because this is the way the Vietnamese cook…..or maybe it was done to insure that all the germs, or as many as possible, were killed in the cooking process. There were no “special orders”. What you saw was what you got. Take it or leave it. On the other hand, I don’t recall any major outbreaks of food-related illnesses or other unpleasant bacteria associated maladies.

The remainder of the building was devoted to staff-housing and to the women’s dormitory. Unfortunately, I never had the opportunity or the occasion to become acquainted with that portion of the building!

The second main building also served two main functions. First of all, it was the “Headquarters” building……the building where the Chief of Party has his office, and also the Associate Chief of Party for Administration’s office was also located there. The “headquarters” was located in one large room. The Chief of Party’s desk was tucked away in the far corner of the room. Aside from his desk and a few accompanying chairs, there was a table which was used for conferences or meetings and there was also probably a filing cabinet. Everybody has to have a filing cabinet. It was not very impressive….nothing that would indicate that he was an “executive”……or even had much of a job. And, that is probably the truth. Of all the “chiefs”……education, agriculture, community development, administration…..he probably had the least to do of any of them. I never did figure out….and I was never quite sure…..how he spent his time….exactly what he did.

Included in this large, single room were two or three additional desks. IVS employed a secretary or administrative assistant, Kim Dung (pronounced Kim Zoom), for many years. She probably knew as much about the organization as any of the American employees knew. There were a couple spare desks, too, that were used sporadically by volunteers who might need a desk while they were in Saigon. Actually, I used one of these desks during the few weeks that I was in Saigon recovering from hepatitis and waiting to take over as Associate Chief of Party for Education. Of course, my office was actually in a USAID office building downtown, but this gave me a place to sit and try to keep myself occupied while I was waiting….at least, when I finally gained the physical strength to get out of bed for a few hours at a time!

Also located in this building were the men’s dormitory and additional rooms for permanent staff members. The men’s dorm was not very elegant, to say the least. As the name suggests, it was a large room filled with rows of beds. I never counted the beds….most because the thought never occurred to me, most likely…..but I am going to go out on a limb and estimate there were somewhere around 15 beds in the room…give or take a few. Our Chief of Administration was constantly reminding the guys to keep the place in at least a minimal state of neatness…..pick up your clothes, put them in your locker, make your bed, don’t throw stuff on the floor….. The place was never “neat”, but due to the constant urging and the constant threats, it was never out of control. Maybe just the kind of place one would expect with several young men thrown together. However, compared with the Army barracks I lived in….. It was a complete mess!

Across the hall from the dormitory, was the bathroom and showers. I took a shower every morning, but I rarely recall seeing anybody else in there taking a shower. Maybe they took a shower at night before they went to bed……or maybe…. Well, who knows what their personal hygiene habits were. I know that I did not miss the dorm after I had moved upstairs to my private room. When moving day arrived…. Believe me, I was packed and ready to move…..even if was only up a flight of steps.

The second story of the building was home to the Chief of Party, to the Chief of Agriculture, and to the Chief of Education….. That’s was me! We each had a room. There was another bath room and shower room….albeit smaller…..upstairs, too. My room…..the first to be encountered….was…..well, just another room. There was a bunk bed covered with mosquito netting, a small desk, a couple straight back chairs, a chest of drawers with a mirror…. And, that was it! It was not a room from a 5-Star hotel, but it was mine! Oh yes….. I almost forgot about the closet. That is obviously where I hung my clothing…..slacks and shirts and jackets.

I am trying to think back to those days. I don’t remember owning a pair of jeans…..but surely, I did. Most of my clothing was tailor-made by a tailor in Saigon. It was cheaper to have clothing tailor-made than it was to have Mother buy it in the USA and then pay the postage to mail it to me. Consequently, I owned mostly a wardrobe of made-to-order clothing. Sounds sort elite, doesn’t it? Actually, it wasn’t. It was merely practical….and more economical.

As time went by…..and starting almost immediately…..I began to add “enhancements” to the room. For example, somewhere I came upon an old bookcase. This came in handy because I joined the a Book-of-the-Month Club. By the time I received the accept/reject slip, it was usually too late to reject any of the books. Consequently, I began to build up a small library…..mostly of unwanted books. But, still they were books. Books that I could read…..books that I could loan to volunteers as they came in from the provinces and wanted something to pass the time. Many times the volunteers borrowed the books and simply took them back to their home out in the provinces. Sometimes they remembered to return them. Sometimes….most of the time…..they didn’t. No big deal. I seldom loaned books that I had not read. And, even as it was, the bookcase was filling up much too rapidly.

It didn’t take me very long to buy one of the supreme status symbols of living in South Vietnam: a shiny new reel-to-reel tape recorder! It was a rather large, bulky, heavy machine, but I didn’t care. It was the pride in owning one that counted. It was a stereo machine, with two speakers. I picked it up on one of my trips to Hong Kong. I wish I still had the receipt…..but I don’t. I am going to go out on a limb and venture a guess: I think I paid somewhere around $250 for it. Back in those days…..1966 or 1967…..that was a small fortune….probably a large fortune…. for me…..most people, probably. But, I was young. Maybe money didn’t mean as much to me back then. Back in those days, I paid cash! I didn’t even have a credit card. In fact, I don’t ever recall being in a place where credit cards were accepted. I mean…. Come on. This was South Vietnam. In the middle of a war. Most merchants were lucky if they had an old cash register. All transactions were cash….receipts were written out by hand….

The reel-to-reel tape recorder was my main source of entertainment during the time I spent in my room. The only problem was: There was no place to buy pre-recorded reel-to-reel tapes. I doubt if they even existed. Like most problems, though…. There was a solution. The Air Force library on Tan Son Nhut Airbase that had a rather large selection of pre-recorded tapes that were available to Americans living in South Vietnam. They had a number of tape recorders set up to transfer music from one tape recorder to another. Play their tape on one machine….record the music to my blank tape on the other machine. I would buy blank reel-to-reel tapes at the PX (Post Exchange), take them to the military library and record music on to them and take them home to listen to them.

As I look backward over the more than fifty intervening years, I almost laugh at the quality of the music that I once thought was so great! Even though the reel-to-reel recorder was “stereo”, it often certainly did not sound like it. There were volume controls for both channels. Although I messed with these two little knobs constantly, trying to equalize and regulate the sound, music still often only came from one speaker. But, at least, it was music. That is more than I had before.

Sometimes on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon when I was in Saigon and had nothing better to do, I would drive over to the Tan Son Nhut library to record some music. The library had an extensive list of tapes which were available to record. The problem was, however….of me, at least….that most of the tapes was music that I didn’t want…..or had never heard of. I recorded some Beatles tapes…..some Elvis (Presley) tapes…. I really wasn’t very much into either of these artists, though.

This was back in the era when Joan Baez and Bob Dylan were hot singers….especially with the group of people whom I saw every day. Up until then, I had never been much of a Joan Baez fan. Back then….in the mid-1960’s and early 1970’s, she was primarily, if not exclusively, a folk singer…..and specialized in performing a variety of protest songs…..opposing the Vietnam was….supporting a variety social causes, including the civil rights movement. These were simply not causes or issues that I felt passionately about in those days. In fact, I was actually a committed supporter of the Vietnam War. I felt that the United States was actually in South Vietnam to wipe out communism….and free the South Vietnamese people from the threat of a communist takeover….and to insure that they would live in a free and democratic country. The fact is: I more or less regarded Joan Baez as an arrogant, misguided, publicity seeking puppet of the radical students. Let me hasten to add: Over the years, I have come to understand her much better….to understand her motives and her objectives and her commitment to freedom and equality. Today I am a major fan of hers.

As for Bob Dylan: He was….and still is……an acquired taste. In my opinion he can’t sing…..most of his lyrics are gibberish, bordering on nonsense. He sort of “narrates” his songs in a nasal monotone. I have often felt that he was high something when he wrote the lyrics……and it helps to be high on something when a person listens to them! Maybe that has been my problem. In any event, I thought back then…..and I still think to this day……that his lyrics are arrogant, self-serving and are strung together in such a manner that anybody in even a slightly altered state of mind can make them mean almost anything they want. But….. He was awarded a Nobel Prize for Literature in 2016. Go figure…..

But…. Getting back to the story….. I recorded a lot of Joan Baez music in the Air Force library….and also some Bob Dylan music. Joan Baez’s music sort of grew on me….and I ended up being one of her huge fans….even to this day.

One of our volunteer teachers who was stationed in Saigon, made a suggestion to me for which I am perpetually grateful. She suggested that I check and see if they had any music by the Mammas and Papas. I had never heard of them….and quite honestly the name didn’t sound like anything I would be remotely interested in. But…. To please her….and because I had nothing better in mind….I checked to see if they were included on the list of tapes. Actually, I didn’t expect to find them on the list! The Mammas and Papas.? Were they even real? Had anybody ever heard of them? Much to my amazement…..closer to shock…..they had a couple of their tapes! I had obviously never heard them perform, and I was blown away by their sound! I was hooked at that very moment in time. And, I still am today…… more than fifty years later.

Another artist that I “discovered” back in those days at the Air Force Library was Ray Charles. He had been around for a while…..since the mid-1950’s….but his music just didn’t hold much appeal for me…..blues, jazz, soul. Even back then, I liked a lot of different kinds of music…..just not those kinds. One of our volunteers suggested that maybe I should listen to his country/western album. Country/western album? Ray Charles has a country/Western album? “What a strange combination that must be,” I thought.

But, out of curiosity and as a courtesy to the volunteer who suggested it, I asked the librarian if he had heard of the album. “Yeah!” he replied enthusiastically. “You are going to like it.” That hardly seemed possible, but I set it up on the tape deck…..and, Wow! I did like it! It certainly was not the typical country/western album…..not by any stretch of the imagination. But…. It was good! Songs like “I Can’t Stop Loving You”, “Born to Lose”, and “You Don’t Know Me” are still among my favorite songs even today. Probably is if not been for South Vietnam, I would probably have never even given these artists a second though. Wow! What a terrible thought. One or two of these singers are on every music CD I make today…..without exception.

This is the music that we listened to at night when volunteers came to my room to hang out. They liked it; I liked it. In fact, it was the only music we had to listen to. Since I had only two chairs…..straight back chairs, at that….people would sit on the bed, on the floor….wherever there were a few square feet of vacant space. Volunteers had a habit of bringing a bottle…..of something…..to drink when they stopped by. I am talking about alcoholic beverages…..not iced tea. Since they had no other place to stash the bottles, they usually just left them in my room….saying, “We will finish it next time.” Luckily the closet in my room was fairly large….and it was lined with shelves. When I left two years later to return to the USA, there were enough half-empty bottles to start a small, well-stocked liquor store.

One of the really nice features of the building I lived in was the large, open-air patio on the second level. It was not extensively used by the volunteers when they stayed at the IVS house, maybe because many of them were not aware it was there. Except for the permanent staff, who lived on the second floor, there was really no reason for the volunteers to be wandering around the upper level…..unless they had been invited there by one of the staff members. The people who had discovered it probably all agree that it was a pleasant place to sit in the evening hours when the sun was fading in the west and was not beating down unmercifully.

There was usually a major problem, however. Mosquitoes! After the sun had begun to set, the mosquitoes woke up and took over. And, they were relentless. I swear that they are ten times more abundant and more aggressive that any mosquito I ever encountered here in Kansas. Because of their relentless attacks, we began to think that all the mosquitoes were members of the Viet Cong. Mosquito repellent helped a little, but the only sure-fire defense against them was to simply give up and go inside. Even inside the house was not a safe haven from the mosquitoes. None….as in zero….of the windows had screens on them. I always had a ready supply of mosquito spray handy. And, that is why there were mosquito nets on the beds.

The IVS house was my home, but it was not my work space. My office was downtown in a USAID office building….on Hong Tap Tu Street to be exact. (with a few diacritical markings thrown in for good measure, of course.) The large, multi-storied building was home base to a variety of USAID functions. If I recall correctly, the IVS office was on the third floor. It was a large space. In fact, it occupied a good portion of the footprint of the building. Obviously, the entire space wasn’t occupied by IVS. We only had a “staff” of 4 or 5 people at our maximum. There was I, of course. And, in addition there was my secretary. (We had two secretaries temporarily.). There was my administrative assistant/interpreter, and also my Technical Assistant for the Saigon region. She was there only when she wasn’t visiting or assisting one of the teachers in the region or teaching classes herself.

IVS shared the space with two or three or four other educational organizations who were also under contract to USAID. Teams from Ohio State University and Southern Illinois University come to mind, although I am almost certain there were one or two others. To be sure, however, IVS was the only organization that was working directly with the high schools in South Vietnam. We were the only organization who placed teachers directly in the schools…..who actually taught in the schools…..who actually came into daily contact with students and teachers. We were the only organization who actually “got our hands dirty”, so to speak. The other organizations were there in an “advisory” capacity….or were involved in “planning”. Primarily, they were working more with various divisions of the Ministry of Education…..with administration…..and not directly with students and faculty.

Let me say, just to be clear, that my job was also involved working with members of the Ministry of Education and with members of the Ministry of Youth Affairs. I also spent the major part of my time out in the provinces working and coordinating with school principals and with teachers, not to mention our volunteers. And, of course, the volunteer teachers were involved exclusively in working directly in the classrooms instructing high school students and conducting other school related educational activities…..English clubs, private or semi-private tutoring, helping faculty improve their English, etc.

Anyway, our “office”…..or office space would be a more accurate description…..was located near the elevator….off to the left just a bit. Enough to the left that people did not have to walk through our “office”, but we were certainly the first group of people they met on their way to whatever their destination was. Being that close to the elevator was never much of a problem, although probably not an hour passed without somebody stepping off the elevator, stopping….looking around….and saying, “Where is……’s office located?” In that regard, maybe it is accurate to say that we sort of functioned as the Welcoming Committee for the entire floor. This didn’t bother me very much, because I wasn’t in the direct line of fire. Neither of my secretaries minded. They literally knew everybody on that floor. The Vietnamese secretaries….and all the secretaries were Vietnamese…..all knew each other and when they were not otherwise occupied, they spent a great deal of time visiting with each other…..trading gossip, I assume. Who knows? But, they always seemed up to date on that was going on in the other offices…..and I am sure the other secretaries were kept equally informed on what I was up to.

The IVS office was the smallest “office” by far, even though we probably had more “employees” that the other combined. (Although I wouldn’t testify to this in any court.) Our employees were dispersed out into the provinces…..and not concentrated in Saigon.
Our office consisted of a collection of about five desks, with chairs, of course….a desk for each of our staff. Each desk had a typewriter, which, I think, was located in a little compartment on one of the sides of the desk. Each desk also had a telephone. We had been allotted two or three lines or extensions, so more than one person could be talking on the telephone at any one time by pressing one of the buttons on the telephone. We are talking 1960’s now…..and we were still using the dial-up telephones. There was nothing unusual or strange about that: It was the only thing we had…..the only thing we knew.

There were a couple filing cabinets….a large storage cabinet where the secretaries kept various supplies……and a copy machine which was used mostly to crank out various letters, information, lesson plans, etc. for the volunteers. This era was still a few decades before the introduction of the computer. Life was hard! It would be to today’s convenience oriented people, at least.

When we…..I, my secretaries…..anybody….typed letters, it was not possible to tap a key with “Print” written on it…..or click “Save”. We made carbon copies….multiple sheets with carbon paper in between them. If we made a mistake on the original, not only were we forced to correct the mistake on the it, but we also had to correct the mistake on all the copies, too! Believe me…. This offered a great deal of incentive to slow down, think, be accurate….and get it right the first time. Thankfully, my secretaries were extremely good typists.

So…. We used the storage cabinet and the filing cabinet as sort of “room dividers”. Even so, all of us were in very close proximity to each other.

My “staff”, such as it was…..was very talented, very hard-working…..and very loyal. The first “staff” member whom I saw each morning was my driver. He would arrive on his bicycle about twenty or thirty minutes before my normal departure time. He would make sure the Jeep had gasoline. He would clean the windows. I have no idea where he lived. But….. He was always there….five days a week, waiting by my Jeep when it was time to leave to go to the office. He was always smiling, always in a good mood, always ready to take me wherever I needed to go.

The first couple months of my new job, our conversation was very rudimentary. He had picked up some simple English, so he was able to carry on a limited conversation…..and I was still in the process of learning to speak Vietnamese. But, through sort sentences….phrases, actually….and lots of smiling and gesturing, we always managed to have a pleasant, but sometimes…..actually, usually….hectic trip through the morning Saigon traffic to my office. As my fluency in speaking Vietnamese improved, we were able to communicate better. As was the custom….or accepted practice….in dealing with most Vietnamese people….I didn’t ask him a lot of personal questions….and he didn’t ask me. Our relationship remained “professional”….although always cordial and friendly.

My Jeep did not have turn signals… Or, it did, they didn’t work. My driver and I worked as a team, however. As we weaved our way through the tangle of the morning “to work” traffic, he signaled left turns or lane changes on the driver’s side of the Jeep, and I signaled right turns or lane changes on my side….the passenger side….of the Jeep. It was sort an “every man for himself” mentality, and surprisingly, there were few accidents. There were some close calls, to be sure! Especially in relationship to bicycles, motor bikes, “cyclos”, ox carts…. I think those morning drives to work did more to strengthen my nerves and toughen up my reactions than anything I had ever done. While I sat in the passenger seat, filled with anxiety and sometimes almost ready to experience a nervous collapse, my driver calmly and serenely went about his business of delivering me safely to my office.

After safely depositing me in front of the USAID office building, I am not entirely sure what happened. I went inside the building…..and he did whatever it was that he did. While waiting, the drivers would sit on the sidewalk outside the building socializing and playing some sort of game. However, the instant I walked out of the building to go to an appointment somewhere, my driver would jump up, make the Vietnamese signal for “Wait”…..scurry off somewhere…..and shortly return with the Jeep. I never did find out where he….and I assume the other drivers…..kept the Jeep. I guess I figured that it simply was not my problem. But, in a minute or two, there he was, sitting in front of the building waiting for me, ready to take me wherever I needed to go.

One of the really useful features about my driver was that he had already worked for previous Chiefs of Education. He already knew all the places where we were likely to go. He had already been to each of them dozens…..if not hundreds….of times. He knew all the shortcuts. Many times, I would find us driving through alleys or on obscure, almost impassible little lanes. For a while, this used to alarm me. “Where is he taking me?” “Is he secretly working for the enemy?” “Is a VC going to suddenly jump out of the shadows and shoot us….or at least, shoot me?” After a few weeks….when I found myself still alive and still unharmed….it finally began to dawn on me that the guy simply had a fairly extensive knowledge of Saigon streets….both major and minor…..and he was doing his job of getting me to my destination as quickly and as expeditiously as possible. I don’t think he was ever aware of my early doubts…or fears. If he had been, I am sure he would have been highly amused….or highly insulted. Or Both.

I have no idea how much my driver was paid. Or even who paid him: IVS or USAID. It never occurred to me to ask. They probably wouldn’t have told me anyway. He was no doubt paid enough to adequately support his family…..but that is probably about all. Each month every American was issued a ration card. We were allotted a certain number of cases of beer, bottles of liquor, bottles of wine and champagne…..and of cartons of cigarettes. We were allotted six cartons of cigarettes each month.

 

I used my full allotment of all the other items. Since I did not smoke, I never used my quota of cigarettes, though. I suppose I could have given my allotment to another volunteer who did smoke. But, instead, every month, I would go to the PX and buy six cartons of cigarettes…..and give them to my driver. He was overjoyed! He happy and grateful to receive them. Not only did he smoke, but I am sure that he re-sold these cigarettes on the black-market…..and probably doubled or maybe even tripled the salary we were paying him. In fact this was what I intended for him to do when I gave them to him. Not to belabor the point….. But, I thought this was the least I could do for his loyalty and service to me. Also….. Each year at TET (the Chinese New Year), I gave him a bottle of some sort of liquor. Somehow I doubt if he sold this, however!

During my two years as Chief of Education, I had two secretaries. They could not have been more different from each other…..in almost every way. Except for one thing they both had in common: They were both excellent secretaries, and they were both unusually competent, and like my driver….almost irreplaceable.

I “inherited” my first secretary…. So Tuc (again with the inevitable diacritical markings) (and Co meaning “Miss”) She was a petite young woman…..twenty-something-ish….unmarried, although with no lack of young men who were interested in pursuing her. She had ample opportunities to meet a variety of potential boy friends…..both South Vietnamese and American. By day she was a secretary; at night she lived an entirely different life. She was a singer in one of the Saigon nightclubs…..of maybe it was a bar. In Saigon…. There was not much difference. There was a very fine line separating the two….if there was, indeed, any line at all.

Co Tuc was almost always already in the office by the time I had arrived. Co Tuc was well….. a little on the flamboyant side. Always attired in a fashionable mini-skirt, often accompanied with black boots, she possessed a very bubbling personality….always smiling, always happy, always upbeat and outgoing. Qualities that not only make a good night club singer…..but also a good secretary. Every morning when I got off the elevator, she always greeted me enthusiastically. She always made sure that my day started on a happy note.

She rather short….even for a Vietnamese girl. She had long glistening black hair that flowed down over her shoulders. She wore glasses. Not just glasses, but large horn-rimmed glasses that never failed to draw attention to her face. One might picture horn-rim glasses as being a bit unusual….if not unattractive…..on a young woman. But, this definitely was not the case with her.

When I took over the job as Associate Chief of Party for Education, I had a lot to learn. Co Tuc was one of the people that I relied most heavily on. She “knew the ropes”, so to speak. She helped me ease into the job without making very many embarrassing mistakes. She had an excellent knowledge of the English language. Of course, she studied it in high school….and possibly college. But, no doubt she perfected a lot of it simply by using it. I can only imagine that she had ample opportunity to practice speaking and increasing her vocabulary by talking to hundreds of American military personnel in her nighttime job as a night club singer. She acted as a sort of office manager…..often anticipating what needed to be done…..and then doing it….or making sure that I did it.

My other secretary, as I said, could have not been more different than Co Tuc. Her name was Co Hien…..or Miss Hien. She and Co Tuc were on opposite points on a compass. Co Hien was a seemingly demure, traditional Vietnamese young lady, who dressed and acted like a traditional Vietnamese young lady. Every morning, she arrived wearing an ao dai….pronounced sort of like “ow yi”….the traditional dress for Vietnamese women. The ao dai, for those of you who do not know….which is probably most of you….consists of long trousers, over which was a long flowing dress, split on each side at the waist with two flaps descending to the ground. Both of these styles are very appealing….one might even say they can both be rather sexy.

 

 

 

 

Co Hien was certainly more restrained….dignified, reserved, traditional, whatever the correct word is. She certainly was not the kind of young lady that I would expect to see in a night club or bar entertaining a bunch of howdy servicemen. But, as I would discover as time passed and I got to know her better, she had a highly developed sense of humor and was more “worldly” than the facade she presented to the general public.

She, too, could take charge in her own quiet and unobtrusive manner. She would normally have opened all my mail by the time I had arrived and have it sorted into different categories. A lot of the mail was simply invitations to various government events….social and official….and from both US government agencies and Vietnamese agencies. Both of these governments seemed to seize upon almost any excuse to have a ceremony or a reception or a cocktail party….or other social event.. Maybe part of this desire to entertain was that there were not a lot of things to occupy one’s time in South Vietnam other than hang out in bars and night clubs. Anyway, both of my secretaries seem to know which ones were worthwhile to attend…..maybe because they related to our work in the area of education or maybe just because there might be some important people in attendance.

Other mail usually included a constant flow of reports and studies and bulletins generated by both governments. Frequently there were requests for some sort of information relating to our work in the public schools….or reports or forms to be completed about our personnel. Whatever it was, the mail was usually in neat stacks according to categories.

Both secretaries almost always answered the telephone when it rang. For one thing, it was part of their job…..but even more important, if the call was from a Vietnamese speaking person, it just seemed more efficient and quicker and more reliable for them to take the call. It probably seemed a little more professional, too…..especially in the eyes of the status-conscious Vietnamese.

My secretaries answered a lot of the mail by themselves….after consulting me, of course……such as accepting or “regretfully” declining invitations…. Saying, “Yes…. The report (or information) will be returned shortly…. Yes, Mr. Darrah will be attending the meeting as scheduled…… Yes, Mr. Darrah will be happy to meet with you…..”

Normally, I would type first drafts of letters, etc……and then after they were proofread, my secretary would type the final draft to be signed and mailed. Yeah…. I know this seems a little bit redundant. The alternatives, however, were: a messy letter with lots or corrections or mistakes….or me writing the letter in longhand and then answering the constant question, “What does this say” (I think my handwriting is pretty good…..but many other people do not agree!)? All of my mail from IVS….either from the headquarters in Washington or from volunteers….was sent to the IVS office, and I was left to deal with most of that my myself. I had a typewriter in my room, and I answered the mail myself….or one of the secretaries in the office would type the letters for me.

In many ways, I think that Co Hien was better connected with the office…..and even within “the system” than Co Tuc was. For one thing: She was more “like them”….a little more “traditional” than Co Tuc. And, I have a feeling that her family may have been a little “better connected” within the system, also. Like I said, Co Tuc was well connected with the office, also. She spent her fair share of free time consulting, socializing or gossiping with the other Vietnamese secretaries when she wasn’t otherwise occupied. It would be impossible to choose which of them was better. They were both competent, resourceful, helpful, dedicated and loyal. And, I wouldn’t want to speculate what my life would have been like without either of them.

The other Vietnamese member of my so-called staff was Phap (high rising tone!). He was a fairly remarkable guy. I never did figure out how he pulled if all off. He was my administrative aid/interpreter; he was a medical student at Saigon University; he was a First Lieutenant in the South Vietnamese Army; and he was also married and had a young son. He, too, was an inheritance from my successor. He was a figurative dynamo…..constantly in motion…..constantly busy doing something.

He was technically a full-time employee…..but he seldom, if ever, worked a full day. This was part of his multi-tasking, something that he had apparently mastered thoroughly. Some days he would show up in the morning….already at his desk, busily engaged in translating a letter or document. Some days he would show up after lunch, eager and ready to do whatever was on the agenda. Often, he appeared nonchalantly wearing his military uniform. Sometimes he would walk in attired in the clothing he had been wearing at the hospital. In the beginning, I was rather startled at his unusual attire, but after a while, I rarely even noticed what he was wearing.

One of Phap’s main duties was to accompany me when I visited an office within the Ministry of Education. These appointments were almost scheduled in advance….and he never failed to show up on time. On these days, let me add, he was always impeccably dressed for the occasion…..most assuredly better dressed than I. When I first assumed the job as Chief of Education, Phap did almost all the speaking….in Vietnamese, that is. He had done this before, and he was an old pro at dealing with the often formality-loving, overly polite, always diplomatic South Vietnamese bureaucrats. But, keep in mind….Phap was a highly intelligent young man…..already an officer in the South Vietnamese army, studying to be a medical doctor…..and an assistant to an American USAID sponsored agency (that would be us!). He already knew their jargon. He just sort of fit in.

Back in the office, his main job was to translate the letters and documents which flowed in from various South Vietnamese ministries and agencies….whoever had sent something to the IVS Education Office. Nominally, he was also in charge of translating my letters and stuff into Vietnamese so the secretary could type it and get it mailed.

Phap was a good looking guy….very outgoing and very gregarious. He was anything but shy. He came from a “good” family, which, in general, meant that he received a very good education…..that he had never been part of the normal Vietnamese work force. I don’t think he ever had to worry….at least very much…..about money and such mundane things like that. He looked and acted like he had led a rather privileged life. And, Phap liked to have fun! Phap introduced me to some of his friends….sons of generals and government leaders. One of those people who he introduced me to was the younger brother of General Nguyen Ngoc Loan, the National Police Chief of South Vietnam…..and a close friend of the Prime Minister, Nguyen Ca Ky. This was the South Vietnamese general caught in the act of shooting a North Vietnamese prisoner in the head at close range….the photo that won a Pulitzer Prize…..and possibly was instrumental in helping to turn public opinion in the USA against the war. Anyway, the young guy….a soldier just like Phap…..seemed like a normal guy, and the subject of his brother’s notoriety never was discussed!

Phap and I rarely, if ever, hung out together. If he was not on duty at his hospital or not otherwise occupied with is military duties, he was at home with his wife and his little son. But he was always a good source of information on what was going on around Saigon. He was well “plugged in” to what was going on around town. Even Co Tuc consulted him on the Saigon nightlife scene. Of course, she was pretty much tied to the night club where she worked, but that didn’t stop her from being curious about what was going on around town. Phap always had a suggestion about some night club or bar that he thought I should visit. I rarely did…..but, I always appreciated his interest in my social welfare! He was also remarkably well informed on not only about what was happening in South Vietnam, but the entire world. I don’t know. Maybe he listened to the BBC, or maybe….probably…..he had access to Vietnamese language newspapers that I did not….or could not….read. Of course, he came into contact with a great many military and professional people each day, too. He was one of the few people…..American or South Vietnamese…..with who really seemed to know what was going on in the world.

Another valuable service he provided was as my “purchasing agent”. He told me early on in our relationship that I was being extravagantly taken advantage of every time I would buy something…..anything…..on the open Vietnamese market….the street and sidewalk vendors as well as the hundreds of stores and shops in Saigon. He suggested that when I wanted to buy something or when I needed something……just tell him, and he would buy it for….bring it to work….I could pay him….and I would be saving a lot of money. Who knows how much? Probably at least half of what they would charge me as a “rich American”. It really didn’t make much difference that I spoke Vietnamese, just the mere fact that I was an American meant that I was surely rich…surely naive….surely gullible….and surely stupid or greedy enough to pay whatever they asked. For most Americans, if they could get the vendor to lower the price even a few cents, they felt like they had scored a victory…..that they had outsmarted the Vietnamese…..that they had gotten a bargain. It can’t be to difficult to imagine why the South Vietnamese thought we were all rich, with an ample supply of money to throw around. It can’t be very difficult to imagine why the Vietnamese “liked” the Americans on the surface…..but, in general, held them in disdain in reality. And, now that I look back….. Maybe Phap was also charging me a “service fee”….. I would have never know it…..or probably have cared. But….. No, I am sure he wasn’t!
Over the intervening past five and a half decades, I have been consistently asked, “What did you do in South Vietnam for four years?” In previous blogs, I have discussed two of my jobs….Secretary to the Adjutant General, US Army Vietnam and English teacher/sometimes Library Builder….. in some detail. Let me give you a brief overview of what I did during the two years I was Associate Chief of Party for Education.

Surely there was a job description somewhere for the job. However, either I didn’t see it….or I have long forgotten what it was. I will do my best to reconstruct the highlights of the job, though. I suppose the most obviously item was that I was in charge of the education division of IVS in South Vietnam. Nominally, at least. In reality, however, I am not sure that anybody was ever in charge……or if anybody ever really knew what was going on. If somebody was in charge: It was I!

IVS never did have a flood of volunteers; it was more like a trickle. But in those cases when people applied to be a volunteer English teacher, filled out the application form, and completed the interview with somebody back in the USA, and were accepted into the organization…..and I suspect the main qualification was that they be a breathing human being…..their application form was forwarded to me for final acceptance.

The next step was placing them in a school somewhere in South Vietnam. This was never a problem. The Ministry of Education always asked for more English teachers that we could ever hope to furnish. I would consult with the Ministry to find out where….in which provinces….. they needed the teachers most. After receiving this information, I contacted the Team Leader in that province. The Team Leader would contact the high school principal and make arrangements for the teacher to work there, as well as arrange for housing for the volunteer. In many cases…..but not all…..there were already volunteers in the province, which simplified matters greatly. The new volunteer could merely move in with those volunteers. If no other volunteers were present, appropriate living arrangements would have to be made.

When the new volunteers arrived at Tan Son Nhut Airport, I was there to meet them and greet them and drive them back to the IVS headquarters where the Chief of Administration could take over and show how important she thought she was! And, believe me…. She was in her full glory at times like these!

The new volunteers spent approximately two weeks in Saigon attending orientation sessions, filling out various forms, taking additional language lessons….and just spending time becoming acclimated before going off to their individual assignments. During this two week period, most of the time was spent in additional language study, but I conducted several sessions on various topics, too. I tried to cover such topics as what to expect in a Vietnamese high school. Believe me….. Vietnamese high schools have…or had….very little in common with the high schools in the USA that they attended. I conducted some “role playing” scenarios of a typical teaching situation in a Vietnamese high school….mostly, because of logistics and overcrowded classrooms, it had to be the “repeat after me” method of teaching. Other sessions included involving students in activities such as English clubs or discussion groups, English classes for faculty members and even groups from the community who were interested in learning English. Then, there was the all-important topic of conduct within the school and the community. Almost none of the volunteers had ever been a teacher back in the good old USA. It was important that they know the kind of behavior and obligations they had to the school and to their community as teachers…..the kind of example they were expected to set and the high standards to which they would be held within the school and within the community.

After I had made arrangements with the Ministry of Education, the Regional Team Leader would usually escort the teachers to their schools, introduce them to their principal and them settled in their new home.

It was my job to “supervise” these teachers…..although this is a term that is used lightly since they were widely scattered around South Vietnam in the various province capitals. Each volunteer teacher was required to write a monthly report and submit it to me. In this report, they outlined their monthly activities, explained any problems they needed help with, made requests for teaching materials or other help they might need in their job and anything else they felt like writing about.

If a teacher needed additional teaching materials or ideas or support, I tried to supply them with whatever they needed. Sometimes I would send material with their Team Leader, if he happened to be in Saigon. Fortunately, there were courier flights going to most of the capitals on a fairly regular basis. I could always send the stuff to the USAID office, and they could pick it up there.

It didn’t happen often…..maybe only once of twice…..but, I did get unfavorable reports from school officials regarding the conduct of volunteer teachers. The ones I recall concerned a male volunteer becoming (or attempting to become) romantically….sexually….involved with a student…..and another complaint was that the volunteer consistently failed to show up for his assigned classes. In cases like this, either I would fly to his province and have a talk with the volunteer…..and whomever else was involved…..or the Team Leader would intervene. One time, I had a rather urgent complaint that one of our male volunteers had “exposed” himself to the class. This was one that I never did figure out. The guy angrily denied the claim….and the evidence was inconclusive in regards to what exactly happened. The school did not demand that he be withdrawn. So we….I, the Team Leader and the principal….. settled the matter by assigning him to a different class…..and telling him in very strong language to shape up…..and that we had better never, under any circumstance, receive such a complaint again. And, we didn’t.

I tried to make at least one trip a week…..often two trips a week….to the provinces to meet with the volunteer teachers….talk to the principal of the school….meet this the cooperating Vietnamese English teachers….and sit in on at least one class. At its peak, IVS had 72 volunteer teachers teaching in the provinces…..although the average number was lower than that, depending on end-of-tour dates compared with new recruits. Needless to say, I was able to visit each teacher a maximum of two times during my term as Chief of Education…..hopefully, once a year.

It would have been much more convenient, and it would have saved a lot of time and made my job easier, if I could have flown directly from one IVS location to the next location. It just didn’t work that way, though. I was solely dependent on the U. S. military and Air America for flights. Most of them…..almost all of them…..originated in Saigon and returned to Saigon. In some cases I was able to spend several hours before the flight returned to Saigon. In many cases, however, the flight was scheduled to return in only a few hours. Sometimes, in the smaller, less populated provinces, I had barely enough time to talk to the volunteer, meet the principal, observe a class…..and then rush back to the air base or airport for the return flight to Saigon. Who knows? In some cases, I am sure this was the way the volunteer preferred it! In the provinces with a large nearby US facility, it was much less hectic. Military or Air America aircraft were arriving and departing for Saigon on a much more regular schedule. It was possible to catch an early morning flight from Saigon…..and return on a flight in the late afternoon or early evening. In rare cases, I stayed overnight, although this was not usually the case. Usually their living quarters were rather limited in size. None of them had a real “guest room”, unfortunately. During those two years as Chief of Education, I racked up a sizable number of “frequent flier points”.

Back in Saigon, I spent a great deal of time gathering….scrounging….teaching materials of various sorts which volunteers had requested…..answering questions that volunteers asked…..making travel arrangements…..going over monthly reports and making suggestions…..filling out various requests for information from the Ministry of Education…..doing lots of “polite” public relations work….

So….. Basically, now you have the “Reader’s Digest” version of where I lived and what I did during those two years I spent in Saigon as Associate Chief of Party for Education.
As you read further in the next installment, you may begin to wonder if I am still talking about the same job. Let me assure you…… I will be. There were so many contradictions and so many exceptions and so many off the wall things that happened during those two years that sometimes even I wonder if it all really happened or whether I can really recall those those rather exciting…..but also confusing and often disillusioning….two years. But, as they say, “It is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth”…….or a reasonable facsimile thereof.

One more thing….. If you are wondering where all the pictures are….. Well, there are not very many of them. This is another little mystery. I put all 1200 pictures….slides that I had taken…..into a box….sealed it up with an over-abundance of tape…..put my mailing address in Sterling on it in a couple different places. I was assured repeatedly by the people in the IVS office that it would be mailed…. It would be taken care of….. Don’t worry about it…..

Well….. I took a two week trip through Cambodia, Thailand, down the middle of Malaysian Peninsula to Singapore….back up the eastern coastal side of Malaysia…..to Hong Kong…..to Japan to visit a friend…..and stopped in Oregon to visit another friend…..before continuing on home. I was traveling for at least three weeks. I was eagerly anticipating getting home again. Surely after three weeks the boxes that I mailed would be waiting for me.

Not only were they not waiting for me in Sterling…. They never did arrive! I never saw them again after leaving them to be mailed by the IVS office in Saigon. What happened to them? Who knows? Maybe this was my final disappointment or disillusionment of my three years in South Vietnam with IVS.

The pictures that you do see are the remnants of some slides that were on my camera when I left South Vietnam…..pictures that were developed after I returned to the USA.

For this blog….. Go ahead and use your imagination. Your mental image will no doubt turn out better than the actual picture. If so….. You are fortunate! I had to live through three years of reality!

Oh… And, I neglected to mention…. All this time I was also trying to build a library.

That is how I ended my last blog….. the one about my few months in Phan Rang. And, I think the word “try” is the key word in that sentence.

Shortly after I arrived in Phan Rang….It was probably the day I was transported there and dropped into the middle of things…..although I really can’t say for sure….I was told that one of my responsibilities would be to construct a public library.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The library would be a memorial to Peter Hunting. Peter was stationed in Phan Rang prior to my arrival. He was obviously a very knowledgeable young man, and he had become very well respected and well-liked. He was a member of the agriculture team, and in this capacity came into contact with many people during his tenure in Phan Rang. It was not at all unusual for people to ask me, “Did you know Peter Hunting? He was a good man.” In fact, it was a fairly common question during the time I spent teaching there.

Subsequent to living in Phan Rang, Peter was transferred to the southern delta region, also as a member of the agriculture team. It was in this region where he was killed….gunned down by unknown assailants….one morning while riding through the countryside in a Jeep. Of course, the people who killed him were never apprehended. If you want to read a fascinating account of his life in South Vietnam, his sister, Jill, has written a book called “Finding Peter”. It is well worth your time.

Peter’s parents contributed a sum of money to IVS to build a library in Phan Rang as a memorial to their son. The task of making the library to become a reality was passed on to me. Although this seemed to be more of a community development project, for some reason, the project became my responsibility. Maybe it was because I had already worked as a teacher for two and a half year here in Kansas…..in a real teaching job….and education and libraries are closely related. Or maybe it was because, at the time, the personnel in Phan Rang was in a state of transition. The agriculture volunteer was departing and the two new community development volunteers had yet to appear. Whatever the reason, it certainly was not because of my extensive background in construction.

Actually, I didn’t think much about the ramifications of the job I has just accepted. At the time, it seemed like an exciting challenge. And, it was. Like almost everything else that happened within the International Voluntary Services, there was little direction….few clear-cut lines of authority and decision making…..very little administrative support. This would have been fine with me….and I could have dealt with the problems which would certainly….and did….arise, and with the constant obstacles which had to be overcome on an almost daily basis.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The day that I was informed that overseeing the construction of the library would be my responsibility, I felt a sense of excitement. Why wouldn’t I? I was young; I was rather naive; certainly I had no prior experience in building anything. Well…. Unless one counts the end table, the telephone stand, some shelves and the stool that I built in shop class in junior high and high school…… or all the shelves that I have build over the years.  Also on my side were the facts that I knew how to read…..and that I was a frequent patron of the libraries in both Lyons and Sterling. Aside from that, I knew very little.

Basically, there were two issues involved in building the library: First of all, a building had to be constructed; and Second, the building had to be filled with books. There are other problems, of course, but those two problems were certainly basic. So…. As I began to make plans for the construction of the library, I made a list of the components that had to be accomplished. Things like, find building material, find a means to have the material transported to the construction site, find somebody to actually build the library, find books to put on the shelves, etc…..

You have to understand that back in those days….especially in a country that was fighting a war….there were no Lowes, or Sutherland’s or Menards….. In other words, “lumber yards” were difficult to find…..and certainly out in little province towns like Phan Rang.

To begin with, I had no control over spending the money the Hunting family donated for the purpose. Oh no…. Our chief of administration down in Saigon was not about to give up her power and control of the money…..not that money….or any money….even though she had zero participation or responsibility for constructing the library or making it a reality.

More than fifty five years have passed since the library was built. Looking back at these days is much like looking through a dirty rear view mirror. Most of the events are very dim and unclear, at best. I am not going to attempt to give a chronological account of the construction of the library. The memories in this blog are those which are vivid enough to stay on in the recesses of my brain for these past decades. These recollections, I am rather certain, are true…….and will, hopefully, give at least a glimpse of some of the problems, adventures and triumphs that comprised the endeavor.

The first problem to be solved was….. Where will the library be built? I met with the Province Chief and some of his staff. Of course, the American USAID (United States Agency for International Development) advisor in the province was in attendance. USAID, as I recall, made a very minimal….if any…..contribution to the project. But, in the spirit of the times, everybody wanted to have a piece of the action…..just in case the library happened to be a success. The Province Chief offered a choice between two parcels of land. One of the tracts of land was literally adjacent to the house where I lived…..and consequently also approximately adjacent to the Catholic high school. That is the site that I chose as the location for the library.

Our Chief of Party told me excitedly that he had enticed one of South Vietnam’s leading architects to design the library…..and that he had donated his time and talent to drawing the plans.

“Wow! That is great,” I said. And, I have to admit that it was indeed a generous and thoughtful gesture. However, when I saw the plans, the library that he designed was simply a building with one big room. Four walls, a roof, some windows and a door. That was it. It appeared to be a plan that any first year high school drafting student could have easily drawn. But, no big deal. At least, we had a plan.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next step was to hire a contractor to construct the building. Maybe the term “contractor” is somewhat misleading…..overstating the truth a bit. Maybe builder or carpenter would be a more suitable description. This was South Vietnam; this was a small town; this was the 1960’s; there was a war in progress. There was not much major construction taking place in Phan Rang…..non-military construction, at least.

Through some source…USAID, one of my teacher friends, or maybe somebody in the Province Chief’s office…..I located or was introduced to the man who was to become our builder. He didn’t drive up in his shiny new pickup with the logo of his company painted on the sides, nor was he wearing a shirt and cap with the name of his company embossed on them. He came riding a bicycle, dressed in overalls and a floppy hat. He spoke only the most rudimentary form of English. At the time, I spoke only the most elementary form of Vietnamese. Between his very basic English and my even less basic Vietnamese, we depended heavily on the assistance of the Vietnamese interpreter who worked for us three volunteers in Phan Rang. (This was the same guy who was with me on the frightening trip to the air base when the guy with the weapon jumped out in front of us….an incident recounted in an earlier blog.)

Out of this conversation we hammered out an agreement that he would hire workers, and that he would construct the library to our satisfaction. We would furnish all the building materials….except for the basic tools normally involved in constructing a building…..things like hammers, shovels, trowels, a cement mixer, etc. One of our Vietnamese secretaries typed a formal agreement setting forth the terms of the agreement. This agreement would come in handy later on when he wanted more money…..as we had anticipated. However, we had been warned….as if we needed any warning…..to pay nothing in advance. You work….and then we pay.

The US military….somebody at the Phan Rang Air Base…..and too much time has passed for me to remember the specific unit…..furnished a large truck load of sand and some bags of cement mix. They dumped everything in front of the spot we had chosen to build the library. Like everything else in South Vietnam, we noticed that the pile of sand was slowly becoming smaller……and we had not even begun construction on the structure. One morning, we caught a man shoveling sand into a wheelbarrow. “What are you doing? That sand doesn’t belong to you,” I said….probably shouted….at the man. “Put the sand back…… Now!”

After some discussion….arguing…..it turned out that the guy we hired to build the library had told him to help himself to the sand. He was probably selling the sand to him…..or using it for some sort of barter. We told the apparent thief that we were going to report him to the police for stealing the sand. Actually, I didn’t report him. Chances are it would have done no good, anyway. The police were at least as corrupt as the guy taking the sand.

Needless to say I told our “contractor” that we were going to deduct the cost of any missing building supplies from the amount we had agreed to pay him. He, of course, expressed great remorse and promised never to do it again. And, from what we could see…. He never did. And…..I will add: We never deducted anything from his fee.

The money that the Hunting family donated covered the cost of buying the concrete blocks that were used to build the shell of the building. Somewhere and somehow, the builder came up with the concrete blocks. I am pretty sure they were locally made….somewhere and by somebody. Nevertheless, he surprisingly bought a sufficient amount of them to construct the walls of the building.

From the funds that the Hunting family had provided, we….actually, the contractor…..bought the lumber that was needed to build the shelves which would hold the books, also tables where the patrons could sit, and other assorted supplies and equipment such as chairs and lighting and shutters.

Constructing the physical building was the least of our problems. Peter Hunting’s family had provided well for these necessary things…..with some help from USAID and the US military. The main problem in this phase of the construction was keep the guy we hired to build the library on task….to make sure he showed up for work on a regular basis, with sufficient workers…..and that he used the material properly. That is…. To build the library and not to sell stuff for personal profit…..which, I must add, was a commonly accepted, or at least a commonly practiced….mode of operation in South Vietnam during that era.

Even with all the problems and headaches, the physical construction was a relatively minor distraction compared to preparing the library for its intended use: that is to say, procuring books for the people to check out and read. And, even that does not state the problem accurately or completely. Finding “books” was a rather simply matter. All we had to do was make a trip to downtown Saigon to the JUSPAO (Joint United States Public Affairs Office) building. This was an agency set up by the United States Information Agency to manage information and, of course, propaganda, and “news” during the War from 1965-1972. Along with all the other information related activities and services, they had a huge “library” of books. Actually, it was more like a small warehouse packed with literally thousands of books……and they were all for free! Just come in and take whatever books you wanted. I was a regular visitor. I would spend an hour or two just wandering among the shelves and the boxes looking at the titles, occasionally reading a dust cover or leafing through a the pages to see what it contained. I rarely, if ever, took a book with me, though. Almost without exception, they were surplus or castoff books that publishers could no longer sell. Ninety-nine percent of them seemed to be old text books…..and college text books, at that. If they were not textbooks, they were technical books or highly specialized books. They were books that very few Americans…..including myself…..could understand. They were definitely not the kind of books that one would curl up in front of the fireplace and read…..or take with you to the beach!

 

 

 

 

 

And, of course…..and maybe most important…..they were written in English….not in Vietnamese. This really didn’t make a lot of difference to the IVS hierarchy…..which, I think only included one other person….my boss. To him these were free books….and a book was a book…..something to put on the shelves. This was the wisdom of the old, experienced expert who encouraged me to “just take the books”.

Even though I had only been in South Vietnam….in Phan Rang…..for a few months, I recognized immediately that this solution was foolish. Aside from the people who worked in the USAID and other US government offices and a handful of English teachers in the local schools, nobody spoke English….not beyond the most rudimentary elements. They certainly could not begin to read the books that JUSPAO was giving away……nor would they want to. As I said…. These were surplus books….books that somebody simply wanted to get rid of because they obviously could not sell them.

In addition to teaching in Phan Rang, I found it necessary to make several trips to Saigon in an attempt to find books….or a source of money to buy books. I think it was called “scrounging” back in those days. There was simply no money to buy books. IVS had no money to buy them; USAID apparently had no funds intended for this purpose. The military had been generous in donating some building materials, but they also were not in a position to give us any money to buy books. And, asking the Hunting family for more money was out of the question. They had already shown their generosity by donating money for the physical building.

The arrangements to build the library were made before I arrived in Phan Rang. I can’t prove it…..but I suspect that the Hunting family was assured that if they donated money to construct the library building, IVS would….and could….come up with the books. If, indeed, this was the arrangement, it had not been thought out very well. In the 1960s, it is doubtful if there were enough age appropriate and subject appropriate books written in the Vietnamese language to actually furnish a good sized library. Fortunately, our library was not a large one!

Book stores were not common in South Vietnam at in the 1960. There was no public library in Phan Rang, and none of the schools in Phan Rang had a school library. Even if there had been easy and ready access to books, the average, ordinary person did not have the money to buy books. The library we were building in Phan Rang was a unique facility. It would be a service that few, if any, other towns in the country had access to. The entire concept of building a public library was to introduce reading as a means of learning, a source of information and a form of pleasure and relaxation. And make it available for free to the residents of the town.

I was in daily contact with several teachers in the school system. They were excited about the prospect of their little town having a public library…..a place where they….and their students….could go and actually find books to read. For free! And, written in Vietnamese! None of them objected to having a few English language titles included in the library…. Sort of a “foreign language’ section….. a few English titles and even some French titles. But, this library was intended as a “Vietnamese” library.

As I mentioned previously, I made several trips to Saigon to develop contacts and to search for books or for funding to buy books. Begging for money is never a pleasant pastime….at least, not for me. This basically was what I was doing, however.

There were several non-profit charitable organizations operating in South Vietnam during the war years. Catholic Relief, Save the Children, CARE, Red Cross, Asia Foundation and a charitable arm of the Mennonite Church come to mind. This is, by no means, a complete or comprehensive list of such organizations. There were dozens, maybe even hundred, more.

Each organization basically had its own special interest, its own target demographic or group…..or mission…. that it was sent to serve. Not many of them were simply general charitable or philanthropic organizations. I clearly understood this. It didn’t make my job any easier, but I did understand it. Before each trip to Saigon, I would send a letter requesting an appointment to talk to a representative of its organization. I always stated what the purpose of the meeting would be. There was no point wasting a trip for nothing. In some cases, I received replies telling me quite frankly that they were unable to provide money for purchasing books. It was not their mission. These were dead ends. I was disappointed, but at least I knew in advance not to bother meeting with them.

However, I was able to arrange an appointment with each of the listed organizations. Some of them showed more interest than others. All of them took my proposal and promised that it would be considered. What more could I ask?

Nobody in the IVS office in Saigon displayed much interest or concern about the library. The organization had zero interest in making any contribution toward its completion. And, there was definitely no intention of offering any monetary support. The only time I can remember even a slight interest in the project were the times that the Hunting family inquired about the progress. Their inquiries were never directed or passed along to me. Actually, nobody in the Saigon office…..and this boils down to the only two IVS people who worked there….knew anything about the library. But that apparently did not deter them from giving an “authoritative” answer.

As I look back, I can see clearly that the mere fact that they were completely uninformed about any detail of the construction, progress or funding of the library was not going to prevent them from answering questions from the Hunting family…..and giving the false illusion that they were intimately involved in each detail and each step of its development. Since I had no idea of what information was being fed to the Hunting family, I really have no idea of what their feelings were toward the progress being made.

In the meantime I had developed a few promising relationships with a couple non-profit charitable organizations in Saigon who were interested in providing either books written in Vietnamese or donating money to buy books written in Vietnamese. These two organizations were CARE (Cooperative for Assistance and Relief Everywhere) and the Asia Foundation. Their mission was more general than most of the others, and their money less targeted toward specific expenditures as required by their organization’s mission.

In the meantime, major changes were looming in my life.

Sometime in the fall of my first year….and only…..year of teaching in Phan Rang, I began to notice a definite change in my physical condition. Each day I began to lose energy…..to feel tired and worn out….depleted, one might say. In the beginning, I didn’t pay much attention to these feelings. I simply chalked it up to overwork and the results or aftermath of my rather over-busy schedule. I thought that I was working too hard and too much. I was trying to do too many things, and it was all catching up with me.

It seems that I just could not say “No” when a school or an organization or a friend or acquaintance asked me to teach an English class or form an English club or help them “improve” their English. At the urging of English teachers and their principals, I was teaching in all four of Phan Rang’s high schools: the public high school, which was my primary job; the semi-public school, a public supported high school, but for the second-tier students; the Catholic high school; and the Buddhist high school. In these high school, I was teaching 25 or 30 classes a week….often racing from one school to the other to maintain a rather crazy, disjointed schedule.

During this time, I also was sponsoring a couple English clubs (if one can properly call them that). At the urging of the chief of police, I formed an English class for the town’s police force….which was made up of a room full of policemen who had the maturity of special education kindergartners. I assumed my former colleague’s job of working with the National Voluntary Service….a public service organization for young men and women similar to and patterned after our own International Voluntary Service.

In addition to these teaching activities, I was also working on the library, trying to make it a reality. This meant frequent weekend trips to Saigon to meet with the contacts from the organizations I mentioned earlier. And, yes…. I even tried to maintain some sort of social life, if one wants to use the term loosely. I had a few friends among the people I worked with….especially English teachers and principals. I also had friends about my age….and, please remember that I was actually a young man then!…who worked for USAID. We spent time hanging out in our free time….especially at the beach, which was basically the only comfortable place to meet and hang out.

At first I wasn’t very concerned. I tried going to bed a little earlier at night…..getting a little more sleep….. Then, a lot earlier. This didn’t seem to help much. My usually healthy appetite began to disappear, never a good sign for me. I found myself having to lean on the podium while I was teaching….either that, or just remain sitting at my desk for the duration of the class. It was almost impossible to remain standing without some sort of support. Then came the nausea….actually it felt like I had a metal softball in the pit of my stomach. Finally, I could barely get out of bed. I just lay there, feeling miserable, feeling sick, my body hurting….with no appetite.

My two station mates were concerned. But, what could they do? Our cook/housekeeper would come up to my room….shake her head and say, “You must eat something.” But, I couldn’t. I was just too sick.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Finally, after about a week….a week of lying in my bed just sleeping and doing nothing….I started to feel a little better. Well enough to rouse myself from bed, get into my Jeep and drive to the USAID compound to see a military doctor. He looked at my eyes….and then said, “Step out on the front porch. Take off your shirt. Turn around and let me see your back.” Then he said, I thought, rather casually, “You’ve got hepatitis.”

I was rather startled. That possibility had never occurred to me, but it made sense. Contracting hepatitis was sort of rite of passage in South Vietnam. Thousands of soldiers and civilians who served or worked there had suffered from it. It was fairly common. Nobody really considered it to be a big deal, especially considering the common unsanitary conditions that existed there at the time. “What should I do?” I asked the doctor.

“There is nothing you can do except go home and rest…..and do absolutely nothing,” he told me. “Don’t eat any fried food. And, don’t drink any alcohol.”

“Can I go lie on the beach?”

“You can lie on the beach all day, if you want to. Just don’t go into the water or do anything else while you are there.”

I drove back to our house and told our housekeeper. She immediately fixed me some breakfast and told me to go back to bed. I think she was relieved to know that I was going to live a little while longer. The doctor had told me not to go back to work for a few weeks. I was pretty much prepared to just sit around the house and read and talk to my station mates when they were not working…..and to spend time at the beach with friends. There were not a lot of choices….. No TV, one radio station (Armed Forces Radio). There was a theater in town, but it showed only movies in Vietnamese and Chinese. I couldn’t drink any alcohol, so hanging out in a bar didn’t make much sense.

That day while I was at the USAID office, they informed me of some good news….exciting news….that brightened my spirits and probably renewed my positive outlook on life. I received the news that one of the orgnizations was donating a sizable amount of money for us to use to purchase books for the library. I was elated…..and I almost forgot that I was sick! The news was relayed to me through the USAID office, since we had no telephone in our IVS house in Phan Rang. They were happy for me. They knew how hard I had been working…..and worrying…..to locate money to buy books. They also understood the concept of “What is a Library with No Books”!

Before returning to our house, I stopped by the office of the Deputy Province Chief for Administration….a good friend of mine…..and told him the news. He, too, was happy and excited. The completion and opening of the library in his province was also going to make him look good…..and “face” is everything in the Orient. He pulled out a bottle of bourbon and a celebratory drink, an immediate and major violation of the doctor’s orders. But… It was only a tiny sip! A major problem has been solved…at least partially. A major hurdle to opening the library had been cleared.

Later that day, the senior American in our province…..the head of the USAID office…..stopped by the house to tell me they were evacuating me to Saigon…..and that an airplane had already been reserved for the flight. This news startled me more than learning that I had hepatitis. Evacuating me to Saigon? Why? Having hepatitis was not a big deal…. Not if you followed the doctor’s orders.

Nevertheless, the evacuation information was apparently not given to me as a suggestion. It was more in the form of “Get your bags packed and be at the air base at 7:00 tonight.” On the other hand, I was rather excited and flattered that “they”…..meaning, I had no idea who made this decision…..would charter an aircraft just for me. The sense of feeling important faded when I arrived at the Phan Rang Airbase. Also waiting there were the USAID director and wife and another ranking American.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Since they are evacuating you to Saigon, we figured that we may as well ride along,” he told me. It didn’t take me long to put the pieces of this coincidence together and figure out that they wanted transportation to Saigon for themselves…..and what better excuse to commandeer an airplane than to “evacuate” a “seriously ill American”.

My boss met me at the airport, which, in itself, was a mild to moderate surprise. On our drive back to the IVS house, he casually asked me if I would like to become the next Associate Chief of Party for Education. More about this later…..

Not long after I had arrived in Saigon to “recuperate”…..and to wait for the out-going Chief of Education to leave, I was sitting at the table in our common dining area waiting for lunch to be served….talking and listening to the chatter and conversation of the other Saigon staff members and of the volunteers who had come to Saigon for some reason or other. I was still quite new in the organization, especially as an administrator. The vast amount of my time was spent in Phan Rang where I had been assigned. I really didn’t now most of the people at the table, personally at least.

Before the meal was served, our Chief of Party entered the dining room, and with a slight smirk on his face, looked at me…..but, of course, was speaking to everybody at the table, and announced in (what was to become) self-righteous voice, “Well, you can tell the (international charity organization) that we don’t want their money. Everybody knows they are working with the CIA.”

Most of the people at the table didn’t know what he was talking about. I doubt if any of them knew that I was building a library in Phan Rang. Most of them didn’t even know who I was at the time…..or what I was doing….or where I was from. But, now…. They obviously knew that I had accepted some money from the CIA! And, looking back, I am not sure why the Chief of Party chose the dining room…..and lunch….to make his announcement. Maybe to make himself look good? To sort of feed his Ego? To reinforce his anti-war, anti-Johnson feelings?

There wasn’t much of a reaction to his pronouncement….except for maybe a slight murmur. Nobody knew what he was talking about. But… I knew! I knew very well. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Naive me!  “This renowned international organization is controlled by the CIA?” (It wasn’t….and isn’t, of course!)

I immediately recognized that we had just lost the most important source of funding which was available to us….one which I no longer had the time….or the desire….to deal with any longer.

A couple days later, I used my open-ended air transportation pass to catch a flight to Phan Rang. One of the volunteers met me at the airport at the Phan Rang Airbase. I told him of the decision….or ultimatum….that had been handed down. He took me to the office of the Deputy Province Chief for Administration so I could tell him the bad news. He was at first puzzled….then angry. “Why didn’t he ask us first? It is going to be our library? We don’t care where the money comes from. We don’t care if the CIA wants to give us money. We welcome it. Where are we going to get the money?” I was embarrassed…..and I felt very badly about the situation. It was indeed a huge setback, and I had no answers.

Before catching a flight back to Saigon, I stopped by the USAID office and told them. They offered their sympathy, but there was really nothing they could do…..or probably wanted to do. It was not their problem.

I also told a few of my friends in the schools that I worked in. They were probably the most angry and upset of all. They had counted on the library. They had told many people in the town about it. People were anticipating its opening in a big way. The best answer I could offer was that the remaining volunteers would do their best to find alternative funding.

One of the strange….and ironic….twists in this affair is that probably 90% of the people I knew in Phan Rang……and even later in Saigon…..were convinced that I was working for the CIA…..and the IVS organization was merely my “front” or “cover”. Some people….teachers and students, mostly…..even asked me directly if I was working for the CIA. Come on now…. What other American would come to South Vietnam….live in a typical Vietnamese house….eat Vietnamese food….hang out with Vietnamese people….learn to speak the Vietnamese language….drive a vehicle provided by the USA government…..have free access to the Province Chief and be good friends with the Deputy Province Chief….have unlimited privileges of riding on USA aircraft….

Yes, in their mind, there was no doubt about it. When I denied it, they would just smile. “It’s OK….. I will keep your little secret.” It wasn’t until later when I had been working in Saigon as the Associate Chief of Party for Education that I would learn that some of leadership’s personal beliefs and biases took major precedence over the needs and desires of the Vietnamese people.

As I said…. This realization would….and did….come later. As for the immediate situation…..the completion of the library…. Well, there was little more that I could do. I was living in Saigon. I had a new position. I no longer had the time or the will to continue with the library. A new volunteer had arrived in Phan Rang. He did not have any assigned duties yet. This was a good project for him….to initiate him into the community….to give him something to work on.

My involvement with the library had ended. I returned to Phan Rang one or two more times to take care of some details involved with my teaching responsibilities. The schools in Phan Rang were left with no IVS English teacher….and I felt badly about it. It took a couple trips to pack and transport my belongings to Saigon. In the meantime, I had a brief relapse in the hepatitis recovery. The doctor was very emphatic: Stay at home! Period.

Yes…. The library finally opened. And, apparently there were some books on the shelves. Most of them were donated by JUSPAO. They were predominately the castoff books that the publishers wanted to get rid of. But…. They were books.

I was not able to travel to the “grand opening” of the library. The new guy was ostensibly in charge of the library now. Somehow, the Chief of Administration woman ended up being the Big Dog….making a speech, turning over the keys, presumably acting like she had build the library single handed. But, that is OK. All the people in Phan Rang knew the history of the construction. I doubt if they were fooled.

I began to receive “Thank You” messages in the mail….and even a couple telegrams….from people in Phan Rang….teachers, principals, parents, students….thanking me for the effort I had put into making the library a reality. That made me feel good.

If you are wondering what happened to the library…. I really have no idea. The following year….1968….the year of the TET Offensive….was the “beginning of the end” for South Vietnam. I heard, on good authority, although I have no real proof…..that the library was taken over by the South Vietnamese army and was being used as a barracks to house military troops. I don’t know if this is true or not. I never returned to Phan Rang again. The three volunteers who were stationed there were removed because of security concerns. A short time later, the Viet Cong overran and occupied Phan Rang. There was no reason to return.

The project started out full of hope and in anticipation of creating a lasting monument to Peter Hunting…..and to providing the town of Phan Rang with a library that would be a source of pride and opportunity for the students and people who lived there. It would, in addition, would have been a lasting gift from Peter’s family….and would have been an indication of the IVS’s mission in South Vietnam….as agents of change and peace.

I was naive back in those days. As I left the sleepy province capital and moved to Saigon, I would become wiser, and I would learn that things aren’t always as they seem, that Americans, who matter who they are, were there largely to further their own self-interests….and the line between their self-interest and the desires and welfare and desires of the Vietnamese people are not always the same.

But….. I tried; I did my best. It was the first….and last….library that I have ever built. One is enough.

PART ONE: FLYING TO PHILADELPHIA

It was the trip that was almost “the trip that never happened”……the trip to visit Fayez and his wife. Even after having gone there and after arriving back home, it still seems just a little bit surreal.

In the first place, I never expected to receive a serious, credible invitation for the visit. Sorry, Fayez…. There were the occasional little gestures, little hints of an invitation. “Why don’t you come and visit us?” These “invitations” were always abandoned at that stage, however. There was never any sense of insistence….or persistence.

Yeah, I admit, I am pretty much assimilated into the culture of the USA and our way of doing things. Saying, “Why don’t you come for a visit sometime.” or “Stop by the next time you are in town.” or “We should get together again sometime.” are really only our way of being polite. They are part of our “polite culture.” I am not going to say we really do not mean it when we say things like that. But, our culture more or less accepts that we say things like this because it is courteous. It is a form of social nicety….. Sort of like saying, “How are you?” or “How is everything going?” Come on now…. Do we really want an answer? Do we really want a detailed explanation of someone’s health? Of course not. We are just being polite. “How are you?” is almost a figure of speech. Just like, “Stop by sometime when you have time.”

If I…..or almost anybody else….wants somebody to come and visit, even if just for a drink or for lunch, we are going to say something like, “What are you doing tomorrow night?” or “What are you doing next Wednesday night?” or “Do you want to meet for lunch on Thursday?” Something specific or concrete.

Asking to visit somebody in their home is even a little more sensitive….especially if you have never been to their home before. People are busy. It is rarely….if ever….socially acceptable to simply drop in on somebody without their prior knowledge or even their approval. What if they have other guests? What if they have other plans for that night? What if they are going to bed early that night because they have to get up early the next morning? …… Or, What if they simply do not want you to come. Period!

OK…. Now…. Let’s translate that into an overnight visit….or two days……or two weeks. At this point, things start to get serious. I realize that just because I am retired and have more freedom to arrange my time as I want…..this may not…and probably is not….true of most people. I belong to a couple international hospitality organizations. I often welcome people into my home for short periods of time. Strangers….people whom I have never seen before. The vast majority of these visitors….strangers….are very interesting and appreciative people. Sure… I have had my quota of weirdos. But, even they usually appreciate the hospitality. Most of them don’t even realize they are weird! On the other hand, they probably are asking themselves, “Man, who is this weirdo that I am staying with?” At any rate, I always have the option of accepting the guests that I want….when I want…..and for as long as I want.

In that respect, the guests that I accept from the hospitality organizations are not imposing themselves on me. I have advertised for them…. and I have willingly accepted them This is a little bit different from me telling Fayez, “Hey, I am coming to visit you for a couple weeks!”

Thus….. After three or four of the general….generic….invitations, I decided to test his level of sincerity. “OK… When do you want me to come?” This was my way of giving him a way out….a semi-graceful way out, at least. He could have said something like…. “Oh, maybe sometimes when I have some free time.” (Which, translated into Fayez’s language would mean “Never”.) Or he could have said, “I will let you know.” (Which, also translated, means “Never”.)

However, instead of saying either of these things, he immediately started suggesting some possible times. Or maybe it was just one possible time. Nevertheless, a definite, concrete time was agreed upon. I would arrive on Friday, August 13 (certainly an auspicious day in our society) and would depart on Tuesday, August 17.

With those dates decided upon, I waited for a message saying, “Sorry…. Our apartment complex burned to the ground last night so we don’t have a room for you.” Or “We had an earthquake and all the transportation into and out of Philadelphia is suspended indefinitely.” Or “Our apartment complex doesn’t allow visitors from Kansas because they are so vastly superior to the people of New Jersey, and they intimidate us by making us feel inferior.”

Fortunately, none of these possibilities materialized…..and it began to appear that I was headed for New Jersey to visit Fayez and his wife.   They were living in a town called Mt. Laurel, part of Greater Philadelphia.

Most of my friends were happy that I was able to go. They know that I like to travel….and they are aware that it has been a long time since I have been able to go somewhere. The main questions that my friends here in Kansas asked were, “Will his wife be there?” And “Will you get to meet his wife?” And “Will you be able to talk to his wife?”

“I don’t know,” I told them. “Ask me when I get back.”

All I was concerned with was just getting there…..and getting back.

Anyway, getting back to the story….. I delayed buying a ticket. I was not sure that I could actually pull it off…..the trip, I mean. Back in the “old days”…..even ten years ago….. I thought nothing of flying to Germany once a year. In fact, it was an exciting adventure. Usually, however, back then somebody drove me to Kansas City International Airport….delivered me to the front door, so to speak…..and also came and picked me up and drove me back home again. After I retired, I could usually spend three weeks in Germany. Having somebody take me to the airport was more of an economic thing than a “convenience” thing…..considering it costs $7.50 a day to park in the long-term economy parking lot! Remember…. Beryl is poor! On the other hand, I have to admit, it was pretty nice to simply get my suitcase out of the trunk and walk inside.

For about a week, I vacillated back and forth, trying to consider if I wanted to face the stress of traveling by myself. A lot of you know that I have literally traveled around the world….twice! I have about twenty trips to Europe….alone. Not a problem. I didn’t even think twice about it. But… That was back when I was young(er). Back in those days, nothing frightened me. Trips like these were not daunting at all. Also….But…. Back in those days, I was stronger…. I could walk better….see better…..react faster. And, I was probably just a little bit crazy….if you know what I mean.

I wanted very much to make the trip. I was eager to see Fayez again. It was a rather scary commitment. Finally, I decided. What the heck! And, I searched online for a direct flight to….and from….Philadelphia. I figured that if I got lost in the airport or in the wrong terminal or in the wrong parking lot ….or at the wrong airport….. Well, surely somebody would find me and ship me back home. I arranged for the Indian couple who live in the townhouse next to mine to pick up my mail. I told Kelly, our manager, that I would be gone for four nights. I told my friend Jason….and Sam…. Surely, if they didn’t see me around for a couple months, somebody might start checking on my whereabouts…..maybe.

Friday about 10:00 in the morning, I put my suitcase and little carry-on bag in the car and took off for the airport. Unlike the route from Ozawkie, the trip to KC from Topeka is entirely interstate highway. Topeka is slightly further away…..but faster. I arrived at Parking Lot A…..the lot that serves American Airlines….around 11:15….plenty of time to spare, since my flight didn’t depart until 1:50. I drove up and down the rows of cars looking for a space to park. Man…. Was everybody leaving Kansas City for the weekend? There weren’t any available parking spaces. I kept searching.

Finally, I found a parking space at the far end, next to the fence….and what seemed a few miles (but only maybe a long city block) from the bus stop. I was the only person waiting at the bus stop. I was glad. It gave me some time to rest…..and to decide if I wanted to retrace my steps to the car and drive back home! Here came the Blue Bus, the bus that serves Long Term Economy Parking Lot A. I lifted my suitcase….and more importantly, myself….onto the bus and sat down in the nearest available seat. “Which airline?” the driver asked.

“OK… This sounds promising,” I thought. As the driver wound his way around the vast parking area, other passengers got on the bus.

“Oh, NO!” They were all wearing masks! I had gotten on the bus without my mask. I almost panicked. It was too late to go back to the car and get my mask…. We were already well on our way to the terminal. “Maybe I can buy a mask at the terminal,” I thought. Or, if not, I would have no other choice but to get back on a bus….go back to my car and get mine. For the entire trip from the parking lot to Terminal A, I felt that every eye on the bus was focused on me……and they probably were. I felt that I may as well have been naked! Fortunately, as I got ready to step off the bus, some wonderful, beautiful, considerate, compassionate woman suddenly approached me and asked if I needed a mask! I could have kissed her! I could have given her every cent that I have in my savings account! Thank Heavens for kind people!

“Terminal A…. American Airlines!” the driver announced as the bus came to a halt. Everybody climbed down off the bus. I looked around. “What is this? Where is American Airlines?” I asked one of the baggage handlers. He pointed back the other direction. The driver, out of laziness or out of ignorance, had stopped a quarter mile from the American Airlines ticket counter. Another long walk…. Once inside the terminal….and in the general vicinity of the ticket counter, I felt like I was home free… I should have known better. Checking in was no problem. I had taken care of all the details in advance.

“Where is my gate?” I asked the lady who checked me in.

“It’s just down there,” she said pointing the way. And…. She was right. The gate was only a short walk away. However…. The line of people waiting stretched out almost into infinity! I kept walking….and walking…..and walking…. I was almost sure I would end up back in the parking lot! There was ONE security checkpoint for TEN gates.

This was when I started thinking, “Wow, I wish I had fifty thousand dollars so I could just charter a private airplane.” I didn’t…..so, along with the other five thousand people, I inched my way slowly toward the security inspection point. The worst part of this ordeal was the fact that there was nothing to hang onto or to lean against. I briefly considered hanging onto the person in front of me…..but I did not look forward to finding myself in the hospital….or unconscious on the floor…..or in a jail cell. Sometime later….maybe a birthday or two later…..I finally reached the security checkpoint.

Going through security was a breeze. I had already checked my suitcase, and my little under-size kiddie backpack contained only a book, a seat belt extender, and all the papers I had copied with trip information. The sign said, “Passengers 70 and over do not need to remove their shoes.” ….. Just a small benefit of being a very senior citizen. I told one of the inspectors that I had a pacemaker. She directed me to a sort of bubble- shaped contraption, which hopefully did not contain any magnetic waves. Another guard performed a half-hearted “pat down” and waved me through.

Finally….. All I had to do was sit down and wait for time to board the airplane. Fortunately, the TV monitor in the waiting room was tuned to CNN….and not Fox. The USA had just pulled most of our troops out of Afghanistan, so of course, this was the one and only news story being covered….as is usual with most twenty-four hour news channels. At least, I was hearing some “news” and not right-wing, political propaganda….like Fox’s “this is the way we wish it were” news.

Considering the amount of time it took to get from the parking lot to the terminal….and the amount of time I spent in the security check line….it wasn’t very long before we boarded the flight to Philadelphia. Aboard the airplane, I began to relax a bit. The two and a half hour flight went smoothly. While in flight, we were treated to a small bag of pretzels and a tiny paper cup of “the beverage of our choice”. Their combined value was probably somewhere around twenty-five cents! I ate the pretzels as slowly as I could…..attempting to prolong the pleasure of eating the hard, starchy, salty treats. The total elapsed time was probably an astounding fifteen minutes! A young Black woman sat next to me, in the window seat. She never looked at me or spoke a word to me during the entire trip…..except to say, “Excuse me,” when she apparently went to the restroom. So much for conversation to pass the time….

We actually landed in Philadelphia a few minutes before our scheduled arrival time. What a feeling of relief when the airplane touched the runway! “Ahhh…. Now I get to see Fayez,” I thought. I disembarked the airplane. I looked around for the baggage carousels. Not a baggage carousel in sight! Really? Usually, that is the first thing a person encounters after leaving the airplane. Not in Philadelphia. I asked an employee….probably a custodian….where I could pick up my suitcase. She pointed toward a door. “Just follow the signs,” she said. I went through the door. Sure enough. There were signs. “Baggage Claim”….with an arrow pointing the way.

“Oh, OK.” I went through the door. Another sign. “Baggage Claim”. Another arrow. Another door. Another sign. Another arrow. I was starting to become a little nervous. A little apprehensive. I began to wonder if this was some sort of trick! Maybe the people of Philadelphia had a rather strange sense of humor. I was starting to think, “Oh well, if I can’t find my suitcase, maybe I can get Fayez to take me shopping, and I will just buy all new clothes.” After a while, they would surely ship my suitcase back home.

But, finally, in a land far, far away, I opened the magic door. Eureka! Success at last! I had finally located the elusive, mysterious baggage carousels. I had expected to see the carousels rotating round and round….maybe with my suitcase as the last item to be claimed. For some unknown reason, I had arrived before any of the baggage had been unloaded. There were three carousels. Now…. Just figure out which one my flight would be using. There was no indication…. No flight numbers; no nothing. The only solution was to watch all three baggage carousels….just like everybody else.

Shortly after I arrived, the baggage carousels ground into action. Nervously, my eyes began to dart from one carousel to the next. OK…. Here came the very first suitcase. It was a maroon suitcase. It had two pieces of tape on each handle….a piece of pink tape and a piece of yellow tape. I stared at it again…. Could this be my suitcase? The very first one to enter the carousel? Surely not. I have never been lucky! But… It was my suitcase. A miracle. An anomaly! A fluke of nature. I happily grabbed the suitcase and headed toward the public waiting room…..the reception area….to meet Fayez.

But…. Wait a second. I looked around for a sign to point the way to the waiting room. There was no such sign. There were signs pointing to other concourses, to restrooms, to other gates…. But, No Waiting Room. No Public Area. Again, I became just a little panicked. What is this? Some sort of a trap…..a trap to keep passengers from actually entering Philadelphia? Maybe Philadelphia thought they had enough people without admitting a bunch of “foreigners”. “Maybe I should just buy a ticket and fly back home,” I thought. “Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea.”

I spotted a rather elderly, friendly looking securing guard sitting in the hallway. “Somebody is meeting me. Where do I go to meet him?”

He pointed to a door that said “Exit”…..logical enough. “Do you have everything you need?” he asked. “When you go through that door, you can’t re-enter.”

Yes….. Now I have found it. Fayez would surely be waiting on the other side of the door. What a relief! I felt myself relaxing….and the tension fleeing my body.

I eagerly opened the door. “What is this? Where am I? What did I just do?” I was not in a waiting room. I was outside! Outside…. with a locked door behind me. I stood for a few minutes just considering the situation…. Contemplating my options.

I decided the best plan was to call Fayez and tell him that I had arrived…..and explain to the best of my ability where I was located. The truth of the matter was…. I had no idea where I was! Literally. I had fully expected to end up in a waiting area…..and Fayez would be standing there, smiling (I hoped), and eager to welcome me to Philadelphia. However, now I was standing outside a locked door wondering where in the heck I was.

I could tell that I was in a loading zone….or a pick-up zone. And, that was about all I knew. I had no sense of directions….. no way to orient myself. I saw a sign that said “American” …..and a gate number. There was a bench almost directly beneath the sign. “OK. This is my best bet…..my only option.” Surely from that information, Fayez will surely find me……someday. Either that, or he will just give up and go back home and pretend like it never happened. And, I would be left homeless, wandering the streets of Philadelphia….sleeping under bridges…..begging for food. Or…. I could just buy a ticket back to Kansas City….and with the help of some therapy and maybe some intense hypnosis, block their entire ordeal from my memory.

Sitting on that hard metal bench, not having a clue where I was, I made a solemn, but firm, promise to myself: Never again was I going to fly in an airplane on a domestic flight.

After several phone conversations with Fayez…..and after maybe forty or forty five minutes, he finally found me, with his trademark smile. I could relax and start my long anticipated visit with Fayez.

PART TWO: FINALLY PHILADELPHIA

Yeah…. Believe me, the metal grated bench I was sitting on was getting uncomfortable. Steel is not the most comfortable surface to sit on, just in case you have never tried it. My back….and other parts of my lower anatomy….were getting sore. I was already somewhat frustrated by the trip. I was pretty sure I was in Philadelphia….and at the airport. Other than that, I really did not have a clue. Fortunately, the outside loading zone was semi-underground, so it was shaded from the unmerciful sun that was beating down that Friday afternoon.

I sat and watched as hundreds of other passengers whipped out their cell phones to consult with others….presumably people who were coming to pick them up. I watched as dozens of cars pulled up to the curb and the waiting passengers were greeted happily… threw their suitcases into the trunks of cars….. and drove off into the heat of the late afternoon. I continued to sit on the metal bench which could have well been discarded from a nearby torture chamber. I was starting to become just a little apprehensive…although never frightened. I thought, “Well, if Fayez hasn’t arrived by sunset, he has probably just given up and gone back home. I can always find my way back into the airport…..and buy a ticket back home.”

Actually, I really didn’t see Fayez when he first pulled up. It had been a year and a half since I had seen his car, and I really wasn’t sure what I was looking for. As for Fayez…. Who can ever forget that face….that ray of sunshine! My eyes were constantly darting back and forth, as I watched the never-ending stream of vehicles, coming and going, stopping to pick passengers and then departing…..only to be instantly replaced by other vehicles with a similar mission. My head felt much like it was automated: Swivel left; swivel right….back and forth. On one of the right-hand swivels, I caught sight of a silver car…a compact car. It did no good to look for a Kansas license plate, which would have been almost positive identification, because Fayez hand long since changed from Kansas plates to Missouri plates to New Jersey plates.

There was no way to mistake the guy who got out of the car, though. It would take more than a year and a half to change that smiling face. Ahhh now…. I became one of those people swinging his suitcase into the back seat (actually Fayez did it) and driving away….leaving behind the hundreds of other passengers still waiting eagerly….or nervously….or desperately…..for their escape from the confusion and disorder of the Philadelphia airport.

It was good to see Fayez again. Nothing really had changed. He was still the Fayez that I knew and remembered. Same sunshine smile; same, but an ever-changing black beard. Good old Fayez. Even the gap of about a year and half seemed to evaporate away. Suddenly, the trip became worth it.

It was getting late in the afternoon when the airplane landed in Philadelphia. And, it was much later when I finally maneuvered all the intricacies of the airport. It was approaching early evening by the time Fayez found me and we actually left the airport. Before driving to the apartment where Fayez and his wife live, Fayez gave me a sort of introductory taste of the city.

Aside from Washington, D. C, of course, and maybe Boston, Philadelphia no doubt contains more of our nation’s history than any other city. If our country has a birth place….or at least a home for its first formative years before it began to stand on its own two feet and begin to take its first few faltering steps, Philadelphia is where it happened. Maybe it didn’t grow up there…..but it at least spent its childhood there.

Before I had left to travel to Philadelphia, I sent Fayez a list of sites that were on my Top Ten list of things to see: Almost all of them dealt with our nation’s early history….aside from a couple art venues. I had never been to Philadelphia prior to this visit. It is pretty well known that Philadelphia had steadily declined in population in the past fifty years. In fact, since 1950 it has lost about 25% of its population…..the number of people having dropped from a little over two million to a present day population of just over one and a half million people. However, the metro area of Philadelphia is home to a teeming excess of six million people. And, that is a lot of people! Philadelphia once was the 3rd largest city in the USA. Now it ranks 6th.

On the limited, introductory tour, I was aware that we saw only the smallest fraction of the city. However, I did immediately recognize some of the major landmarks from the research I had already done….Independence Hall, Philadelphia City Hall, Constitution Hall, the Philadelphia Museum of Art….just to name a few. We drove through a couple university districts, through a large portion of “downtown”….and other places where I had no idea where I was. The drive was entertaining…..but it also gave me an opportunity to orient myself….to get a sense of direction. And, to all of you who were born and raised in the Midwest, you know how important directions are. I never learned right from left until I was in the Army!

One thing struck me as we were driving around….. Philadelphia is a rather pretty city. At least the parts we drive through. It was an enticing prelude or preview of the closer inspection we would make the following day. This short journey also helped to dissipate some of the frustration I had experienced earlier. It helped jolt me out of any feeling of sluggishness or weariness that the flight had induced….and all the accompanying annoyances and irritations it had engendered. If nothing else, riding with Fayez is exciting. Forget that expensive visit to an amusement park. Don’t even consider seeking your thrill with a ride on a roller coaster. You only have to slide into the passenger seat of any vehicle with Fayez as the driver. You can be assured that this experience will test your nervous system to the max! It will be an adventure you will never forget….with equal amounts of danger, thrills, precariousness, and risks. If you were feeling sleepy or drowsy. This is the cure. In fact, it may be several days before you will sleep again! Actually, I kid Fayez a lot about his driving….most of it unjustified!

So…. Now that I have been introduced to Philadelphia…..and now that I am wide awake….our next destination was to the apartment where Fayez and his wife live. It is not in Philadelphia. Their apartment is located in Mt. Laurel, New Jersey….across the state line and across the Delaware River, but still well within the Philadelphia metropolitan area. They live in a large apartment complex called Ramblewood Village. Ramblewood Village is set in a rather idyllic setting of trees and lawns far removed from the noise and confusion of Philadelphia. Although in close proximity to all this noise and confusion….as well as to the amenities and necessities of comfortable living…..their apartment is quiet and serene with green lawns and an abundance of trees.

With Fayez carrying my suitcase and little backpack, I followed him to their apartment. Only about a week before I bought my ticket did he reveal a bit of information that almost ended the trip before it began. Fayez opened the door to their apartment, and before me lay an obstacle which appeared almost as challenging as Mt. Everest…… A flight of stairs. Their apartment was located on the second floor of the apartment building.

Fayez had told me they were moving to another apartment, one which would be more convenient to his job and his wife’s college. He informed me that they had found an apartment which was located on the ground floor….two bedrooms. I don’t know if they did this so I could come and visit them…. It sounded to me to be very gracious, thoughtful. His consideration was very touching. Well…. At any rate, half of this description proved to be true: Their new apartment did indeed have two bedrooms. Back when I was a classroom teacher, 50% was not an enviable score!

One evening, during one of our regular twice-weekly conversations, he somewhat sheepishly….and probably reluctantly…. told me that the apartment they had originally wanted….maybe even been promised….had already been rented to somebody else. Thus, they were forced to rent an apartment on the second floor. Believe me…. This was not good news. Because of a rather advanced state of arthritis in my right knee…..and with a large dose of old age thrown in for good measure…. I find it very difficult to climb anything: mountains, ladders, trees…..and most of all, stairs.

The effect of this bit of unexpected news was rather similar to letting the air out of a balloon. The prospect of having to climb a steep flight of stairs was not part of the scenario that I had anticipated. Anyway…. Fayez unlocked the door to the apartment….and there it was: A stairway of about fifteen steps, disappearing upward into the Heavens above. As has always been true: Life is composed entirely of a series of choices.

At this point, I was staring into the face of two diametrical choices: Should I climb the stairs and face the prospect of falling down fifteen steps to the almost certain possibility of cracking my skull and ending up paralyzed for the remainder of my life with a broken spine? Or should I simply spend the nights sleeping in at the base of the stairs? I could have sat on the steps and read my book at night. Fayez could have brought some food down to me on a paper plate. In all likelihood, we could have carried on a conversation by shouting questions and answers to each other….as long as our voices held out.

With a feeling of great fear and sacrifice, I made the decision to climb the stairs to the apartment. Fayez walked slowly behind me…. To prop me up; to push me along; and to act as a cushion if I should fall. Actually, I climbed the stairs at least once a day. There was a strong, sturdy railing that I could hang on to. And…. The good news: I managed to live to write about the experience. Anyway…. As Fayez has always told me, “You’ve already lived long enough!”

As we were driving toward Fayez’s apartment, I was also wondering about some of the same questions people asked me before I made the trip: Would Fayez’s wife actually be there? Would she speak to me? Would she stay in the same room where I was….or would she avoid me? Would Fayez let me talk to her?

Fayez’s wife’s name is Maya. Well… That is not her real name, but it is what we agreed I could….and would….call her. I really do not know her given name. It is one of those names that people of the Western world….like me, for example…..are not supposed to be able to pronounce. But… It does start with the letter “M”. And, Maya is a name that I can pronounce….and she can pronounce. It is a name that I like….and that she likes. So…. To me, her name is Maya.

After I valiantly conquered the stairs, and having regained my ability to breathe and to talk again…. Fayez introduced me to his wife.

I was pleasantly surprised….not “surprised”!….but, you know what I mean. She is a lovely, pleasant, intelligent and articulate young lady. From the minute I met her, I knew that I would enjoy the my time with them…..and there would be no problems….cultural or otherwise. Knowing this, I immediately felt that I could just relax and have a good time.

Fayez gave me a brief tour of their apartment and then left me in what was to become “my room” for the next four nights. There really wasn’t much to unpack. The most immediate things I needed were the little “tablet” that AT&T gave me as some sort of reward when Sultan and I stopped in Reno, Nevada, to ask a question about my Internet service….and the book I had brought with me, my medicine…..and my glasses. The glasses were no doubt the most important of these items. There was really no need to unpack any clothing. I would be living out of my suitcase for the next three days.

My room looked out upon the “front yard” of the apartment complex…not that I had an opportunity to sit and look out. In comparison to my townhouse, which looks out on a parking area, the view from their apartment was green lawns and trees. Unlike my townhouse, which is usually busy with children playing noisily and enthusiastically in front of their homes, the scene outside their apartment was relatively quiet and serene.

There was not a lot of time to contemplate the setting or the scenery, though. It was approaching dinner time by the time we arrived at the apartment. It was only a few minutes later that Fayez announced that dinner was ready. Fayez had already told me that Maya is a great cook….and that I would be treated to come delicious food that she would prepare. He was correct.

That evening, Maya had prepared what I had long recognized as a typical Arab meal…..lamb, accompanied by rice and vegetables, plus a super-delicious salad. My taste buds were delighted. She also served some sort of beverage, similar….but not identical to….butter milk. It, too, was delicious in its own peculiar way. I was hungry, too. Other than a bowl of raisin bran that I had eaten at home early in the morning, the only other food that I had was a little bag of pretzels which was served on the airplane. I am sure that I ate my share of the food…..more than my share. It had been several months since I had tasted Arab food…..but neither my taste buds nor my stomach had forgotten. By the end of the meal, I had already ranked Maya’s culinary talents as equal to or even surpassing the extraordinary gastronomical talents of Fayez and Sultan. In any event, it certainly beat the little bag of pretzels I ate on the airplane.

 

 

 

The first evening we just sat around and talked. I was assigned to a desk chair….mostly because it was the easiest to get out of. Finally, it was time to call it a day. My bedroom was functional: a desk, a chair, and a bed with a surprisingly good mattress. The only problem that occurred…..and would continue to occur throughout my visit…..was that the blinds which covered the window got caught on something and would not close fully. I tried to “unstick” them, I only succeeded in knocking some stuff off the desk in the process. I gave up. “What the heck!” I thought. “If people want to stand and watch me undress…. Who am I to deprive them of their entertainment? The show would be well worth their time!”

After an unexpected good night’s sleep, I woke up around 8:00, fully expecting that Fayez had already been up for an hour…..and that I was delaying breakfast. There was no light shining under my door, and the apartment was silent. Finally, around 8:45 or 8:50, I got out of bed and headed to the bathroom to take a shower. One problem…. The door to the shower was locked. No big deal. I have read in several sources that Americans take too many showers….that taking a shower every day is not necessary. I washed my face, brushed my teeth and went back to my room to check my email and Facebook page.

After a leisurely breakfast of cereal, Fayez and I left the apartment around 10:30 or so for a day of sightseeing. Maya was spending the day with some friends. Back in the planning stages of the trip, I made a list of several places that I really wanted to see. Fayez readily agreed with my choices. A few of the places were merely “photo ops”, places that I figured would take 5 or 10 minutes at the most. Other places, such as the Philadelphia Museum of Art and the Constitution Center would take longer. Actually, I was concerned that maybe we were going to end up with a lot of free time on our hands at the end of the afternoon.

Philadelphia is one of the birthplaces of our nation…..if something can have more than one birthplace….ranking with equal importance with Boston and Washington…..and maybe New York City, if we want to stretch the point. The Declaration of Independence was drafted; the First and Second Continental Congresses met; our Constitution was signed. These are all cornerstones of our nation. Also consider, Pennsylvania was the foundation of true religious freedom in the USA…..not to mention that the very first Presbyterian Church (to which I belong!) was established in Philadelphia.

Free time was the least of our problems. In fact, there was no time to spare. This was my first visit to Philadelphia. There were many elements and circumstances that I had failed to factor into my advance planning…..all of them purely out of ignorance…..and innocence, I might add. First of all, we started our day a little later than I had anticipated. Also, I was not familiar with the length of time it took to drive from Fayez’s apartment to downtown Philadelphia….nor the effect the traffic would have on our trip…..nor the time it would take to locate each venue….nor the difficulty we would face in finding a place to park…..nor the time we would stand in line at some of the sites we visited.

The first attraction we visited was the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Fayez and I went to see the superior collection of art. Many…..probably most….people go there because it is the “Rocky” museum. I doubt if the vast majority of people ever go inside the building. The Philadelphia Museum of Art is the location of the iconic set of stairs where the fictitious underdog boxer trained in the movie of the same name. The movie, “Rocky” was released in 1976 and proved to be wildly popular….so popular that it developed into a series of films….all of which were greeted with poor critical reviews, but to wide acceptance from the movie-going public, who do not demand a lot of quality in their movie choices. I too admit, however, that I saw the original “Rocky” movie, although it was years later that I learned that the iconic setting for the famous staircase scenes were filmed at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

Those people who made a trip to this museum only to run up the stairs or to have their picture taken with the since famous “Rocky” statue, deprived themselves of a visual and important artistic treat. While the Philadelphia Art Museum may not be quite on the same level as some of the art museums in New York City and Washington, D. C., it contains some of the most famous and rare works of art, and it is recognized as one of the major art repositories in the USA …..no doubt about that.

As much as I would have liked to, entering the museum by the iconic front steps was not an option for me. We drove around to the “back” entrance, instead. I got out of the car to wait while Fayez went in search of another rare commodity: a parking space. The “back” of the museum is almost equally as impressive as the front entrance….minus the long flight of stairs. Not quite….but not too shabby. While I was waiting for Fayez to return, I took a few pictures, and then sat on even another uncomfortable bench. There is something about those metal benches in Philadelphia. I am not sure if they are built to accommodate or strengthen….or agitate a person’s back…..and even lower parts of the anatomy. Given the choice of standing or sitting, however….. I chose to sit. Fayez soon appeared, thirty-five dollars poorer. That was the fee to park in the museum parking lot. I am not sure…..but I think this may have been more than the price of an individual ticket to the museum. But, I suppose they had to keep their priorities straight: Money before art. With these preliminary steps accomplished, we put on our masks and prepared to feast our eyes on the beauty and elegance of some world-renowned art.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Philadelphia Art Museum is huge, rivaling the size of major art museums I visited in Berlin, Paris or Vienna. I can well imagine that several football games could have been played simultaneously…..or shall we say soccer, in deference to Fayez….within its walls. The building covered four floors, not including the basement level.

The museum would be impossible to adequately cover in one day. There were too many things to see. We had to prioritize our time. This was only the first of what we hoped would be several attractions we would see that day. Fayez’s first choice was to see older European masterpieces. I was most interested in looking at contemporary or abstract art, along with work by the more recent European and American artists. Fortunately, both of our preferences were adequately represented.

 

 

 

 

I will admit, however, that there was a distinct lack of contemporary and abstract paintings. This is probably because a couple other art galleries or museums are devoted exclusively to this genre of art. Both of these venues were included on my list of places I hoped we could visit.

 

 

 

 

Fayez likes the older European masterpieces.  While I  don’t “dislike” them, I do find them to be too dark….too foreboding….too depressing….for my personal taste. I simply do not relate to them. I lived the first ten years or so of my life without electricity, without running water, without natural gas, without a telephone…. And, I lived on a farm…. I prefer “modern”. I like living today. Living in the Medieval period of European history has never been on my Top Ten List of things to do. Even the peaceful, idyllic, pastoral scenes look spooky and threatening…..like something out of a Gothic murder novel. To me they seem to foreshadow all manner of evil and intrigue. Of course, this is certainly not their intention. But, still, these are the feelings they conjure up in me!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We didn’t have to worry. Happily, here were enough paintings to satisfy both our preferences. More than enough. If we had stopped and admired and contemplated and discussed each picture…. Chances are, we would still be there walking through the myriad of rooms and hallways, admiring the paintings and saying, “Oh, that’s a nice one!”

I never bothered to keep track of the number of paintings by each artist. In the vast collection, many world renowned artists were represented, however: Monet, Renoir, Rembrandt, Van Gogh, Cezanne, Picasso, Kandinsky, Chagall, Matisse, Rubens, and…and….and…. Paintings ranged from the subtle impressionism of Claude Monet, with his skillfully blended dabs of paint and genius illusions of light….to the strange and slightly weird works by Marc Chagall with his trademark little goats and other strange objects floating in the air and in other unexpected places….to the definitely eccentric and slightly unnatural paintings of Pablo Picasso. If I didn’t know any better (and I don’t), I would assume that Picasso was definitely smoking something illegal as he sat before his easel. Either that, or he most certainly needed a new pair of glasses.

 

 

 

Maybe the biggest disappointment for me was the apparent absence of paintings by American artist Jackson Pollack. The originality of Pollack’s “splattering” painting was what first attracted me to modern or abstract art way back when I was still a kid. There could have been a painting somewhere in the museum, and, if so, in our cursory inspection we overlooked it. We were, however, treated to works of other American artists such as Edward Hopper, Andy Warhol, Andrew Wyeth and Thomas Eakins.

Let’s talk about those early European paintings that Fayez wanted to see. Sure…. As I said, many of them are dark and foreboding….suggesting that evil is lurking somewhere in the shadows. However, on the other hand, this was the period of history three or four centuries before the invention of the camera. Today, if we want a picture of something or somebody, it is as simple as the click of a camera. And, perhaps unfortunately, with a camera “What you see is what you get!” A camera only records what is there. The camera can’t tell pretty from ugly…..but an artist can.

Centuries ago when the paintings hanging in the Philadelphia Museum of Art were painted, the one and only way of recording and preserving what a person looked like was to paint a picture. With today’s modern and instant photography, a person can have dozens of pictures to chose from. And, if everybody is like me…. They are going to choose the most flattering picture. Probably the same with you, too? Right? Well….back in “those days”, I can well imagine that if a person was going to pay out a rather large sum of money to have a portrait painted….a portrait of himself, his wife (or lover) or even his family…..he wanted that portrait to present the person to the very best advantage and in the very best visual appearance possible. Heck…. I would expect that if somebody painted a portrait of me today!

It has been suggested….even confirmed in most cases…..that the portraits we see hanging in art museums undoubtedly present the subject in the very best manner possible. Maybe that is not so different from modern day photo-editing techniques that are designed to accomplish the same objective! However, in the case of painting a portrait, the editing is done during the present….in the process….and not after the fact. Also, remember…. Only the affluent people….OK….the rich people….could afford to have portraits painted. And… Are rich people vain? I wouldn’t know. I have never had the opportunity to find out.

And, what about all those nude women? And, we think we have a fascination with nude women today? Nowadays, of course, the pictures of nude women are mostly photographs….mostly sexual in nature…..some unenlightened people would even call it pornography. And, of course, some of it….a lot of it….is. Stop and think. How many times have you driven down a public highway and have seen several nude women romping around? When was the last time you visited your local park only to find it overrun with naked women? Or, on that last stroll you took through the woods on our favorite walking trail? Was it abounding with girls completely without clothing?

Wouldn’t that be nice? Probably more people would visit their local park….and more people….men, at least….would take up hiking as a hobby. Even as a college history major, I am not sure how realistic these paintings are. Was this a normal part of social behavior back in those times? Were these people just not as prudish as some members of our society are today? Were these paintings somewhat realistic…..or were they a figment of the artist’s (wishful thinking) imagination? Who knows? Who cares? And, incidentally, I am almost sure were an equal number of nude males hanging through the museum.

At any rate, the Philadelphia Museum of Art has a generous number of nude paintings by highly acclaimed artists such as Goya, Matisse, Duchamp, and Manet. Even Picasso got into the act by painting his share of nudes…..although at first glance, a person may not have been aware of it. Unless you are also under the influence of whatever he was smoking at the time.

I had to fight to drag Fayez away from the nude pictures…..but, we had other places to visit. We had done a quick, but interesting and entertaining, walk-through of the museum. It was time to move on to other equally famous….and even more historical…..venues. There were a lot more things waiting for us out there in Philadelphia-land.

Back in Fayez’s car, we turned our attention from art to history. As pointed out earlier, Philadelphia is one of the most important cities in the history of our nation. I won’t go into any illusions or analogies now…. But, let’s say that Philadelphia was no doubt the “birthplace” of our nation…..and Boston, New York City, Concord and such places were…well, you know….what happens before birth can take place.

I had a list of historical sites that I wanted to visit. However, I had grossly misjudged a couple factors: We got a late start; the Philadelphia Museum of Art took longer than was planned (although I should have known that was going to happen); fighting Saturday traffic slowed us down significantly; and finding a parking space in downtown Philadelphia was a major problem.

It was already well into the afternoon when Fayez parked his car in a parking space about a block from the Liberty Bell. Finding the parking space was itself a major stroke of luck….almost like a Divine gift or reward. And…. parking on the street is a major bargain as compared to the excessive prices required by parking lots.

From the time that I was just a little boy, the story and legends and myths surrounding the Liberty Bell have been told and retold. It is one of those symbols of our liberty….of our freedom. As school kids, I am almost certain that we were fed a series of myths….the kind of story that kids are often told because it is easy for them to understand. As Kris Kristofferson would say, “Partly truth and partly fiction.” But, it is generally accepted that the Liberty Bell once hung in what is now known as Independence Hall and was used to call law makers to meetings. The bell cracked on its first use. It was recast….cracked again some years later. Its failed state of repair is what is on display today.

For some reason, I had always imagined that the Liberty Bell was on display out in the open…. in some historic park….properly sheltered and closely guarded, of course. The pictures that I have seen always show the Liberty Bell with buildings….Independence Hall, for example…..in the background. People were always gathered around it, admiring it, taking pictures….all the things a person does when viewing a famous monument. I can imagine that a vast majority of people who have not seen it in person have the same vision in their mind

It is a pity to shatter such patriotic illusions…..especially for my right wing Republican friends who know the Liberty Bell is important, but haven’t the vaguest idea what it is or what it stands for (like almost everything else in their life!) I was surprised and a little disappointed myself. The first day I was in Philadelphia….the day that Fayez was driving me around the downtown area, giving me an introductory tour…..I kept looking for a small, glass-wall pavilion with people crowded around. That, I had assumed, would be the Liberty Bell. Of course, I saw no such place…..because no such place existed.

Even on this sunny Saturday afternoon, I still visualizing the same misconception as we were searching for the famous landmark. We knew we were in very close proximity when we saw buildings with names such as National Constitution Center, Independence Visitor’s Center. This was about the time that Fayez spotted our much coveted parking spot. He slammed on the brakes and immediately backed into the parking space. Fayez asked a vendor on the corner where the Liberty Bell was located. He pointed to the park across the street. Good luck….and maybe good fate…was on our side. We had found the right place…..and only a short distance away, too…..and parking on the street cost only a fraction of what Fayez had paid at the art museum.

As we approached the large public space, we immediately spotted Independence Hall across the street from the park, maybe a block away. But….. The Liberty Bell? There was no glass-wall pavilion surrounded by happy, emotional citizens! No…. It became apparent that it was somewhat more complicated than that. There was another ubiquitous line to stand in. So…. Again, we took our place at the end of another long line. Sometimes it seemed that Fayez and I spent more time standing lines than we did looking at whatever attraction it happened to be.

Instead of being out in the open, as I had visualized it, the Liberty Bell was located in yet another building….a museum, I suppose one could call it. There were four steps involved in the process of viewing the Liberty Bell: (1) Stand in a long line and inch our way forward. (2) Enter the museum with lots of exhibits which nobody seemed to be interested in. (3) Locate the Liberty Bell, which was at the very end of the long museum and (4) Stand briefly….very briefly…..in front of it and have our picture taken….and there was also a fifth step, I suppose: Leave the museum by another door and wonder if it was worth the effort.

Of course it was. At least, for any person seeing the Liberty Bell for the first time. There it was: Just a rather plain-looking bell with a crack in it. This in no way detracted or subtracted from its historical significance. We had just seen….and had our pictures taken standing in front of…. the bell which was made and first used before the Declaration of Independence was signed. That, in itself was rather special. We had experienced an icon of United States history. And, it was one of the very few attractions that was absolutely free….except for the time we stood in line to see it.

While standing in line to enter the museum which housed the Liberty Bell, a recorded message which played over and over, continuously, gave instructions on what to do when we entered the building: Most important of which was Always Keep Your Mask On, Even While Taking Pictures. One of the workers or museum attendants also walked up and down the line at intervals giving the same verbal instructions: Always Keep Your Mask On, Even While Taking Pictures! I don’t know…. I had no problem understanding those simple instructions. He spoke reasonably distinctly….pronounced his words clearly….didn’t stutter. Amazingly enough, however, once people positioned themselves in front of the Liberty Bell to have their picture taken…. What was the first thigh they did? Yes…. You guessed it. They took off their mask! Of course, the security guard immediately told them, “Put your mask on!” If the security guard is being paid for the number of times he repeated that command or warning…. He is probably a rich man! Let me quickly assure you: Both Fayez and I kept our masks on. We certainly cannot be counted in the legions of idiots who somehow apparently thought the warning did not apply to them. And, of course, Fayez looks much better when he is wearing a mask!

 

 

 

 

After Fayez and I each had our pictures taken in front of the Liberty Bell, there wasn’t anything else to do except leave. Mission accomplished. Maybe an hour of standing in line. Maybe five minutes….and that is being generous….in front of the Liberty Bell….and it was all over. We walked through the door…..and we were outside again.

While we were standing in line, we had ample time and opportunity to take pictures of Independence Hall. It was right across the street from the Liberty Bell. Those were straight-on camera shots, probably the most common and familiar of the pictures we see in the travel brochures. From outside the “back door” of the Liberty Bell Museum we were able to take photos of Independence Hall from a different angle. No matter which angle a picture is taken from, it is virtually impossible to capture it without city skyscrapers in the background. It is easy to forget that famous buildings such as this….buildings that once stood in undeveloped isolation….are now merely a part of the city landscape. They sometimes stand out starkly in contrast to our modern day buildings. This is true of many iconic buildings. For example, The Alamo is almost always photographed close up to hide the fact that it is also located in downtown San Antonio, surrounded by the same sort of modern high rise buildings. Even when Fayez and I visited Niagara Falls, I was somewhat amazed to find that while wild and spectacular, the falls is also surrounded by a maze of hotels, high rise apartments and commercial buildings. The old contrasting with the new…..

Time was starting to get away from us by the time Fayez retrieved his car and picked me up. Fayez again drove past Philadelphia’s famous city hall, which I think I already mentioned is the largest municipal building in the USA, encompassing almost an entire city block.

As we continued to drive, by some stroke of good fortune, we spotted the famous Philadelphia “Love Sculpture”. It was one of the attractions I had written on my list of things to see, but since it has little historical significance, it was toward the end of the list. But…. There it was! It was much smaller than I had envisioned from the pictures of it on the Internet. The fact that it was not physically imposing did not keep people from crowding around it to have their pictures taken…..a lot of them, no doubt, couples or lovers who had come to Philadelphia to see it without any thought or knowledge of the city’s great historical importance. Everybody is interested in his own thing, I suppose.

Fayez was getting tired. I could tell…. I was tired, too. But, I am accustomed to being tired….to hurting…. I could have pushed on…. It is what I always have to do. Just try to keep going…. But, he was right. We had been on our feet since 11:30, and the time was now approaching the 5:00 hour. It was time to take it easy for a while. Fayez suggested we find a place to stop for a drink…..a suggestion with which I fully concurred. After driving around a bit, Fayez muttered, “Wa-Wa”, a couple times. I wasn’t sure if he was singing a nursery rhyme….or saying something in Arabic, which he often does, maybe unconsciously. I had not heard the term before….except maybe when somebody was talking to a baby. He turned a corner, and pulled the car to a stop.
“Let’s go to “Wa-Wa’s,” he said. I was starting to think that maybe he had indeed over-exerted himself or maybe the sun was starting to affect his speech. Neither of these was the case….at least, I don’t think so. “Wa-Wa’s” is the name of a locally or regionally owned convenience store…..maybe something like Casey’s or Kwik-Shop here in Kansas. While I sat down at one of the outside tables, Fayez went inside and ordered each of us a cold drink and a muffin. I sat watching the people and the traffic. Although we were on the fringes of downtown Philadelphia, we were close enough to have a good view of the impressive city skyline. We finished our drinks and left before it dawned on me that I never took a picture of the little store that I had never heard of….the store with the amusing, unlikely name.

Before I departed on the trip, one of my friends had asked me to take a picture of the home stadium of the Philadelphia Eagles, one of his favorite professional football teams…..They are a team that I view with total indifference….unless they are play either the Kansas City Chiefs or the Denver Broncos….and then I am definitely cheering for the Chiefs or the Broncos! I agreed to take the picture if the opportunity arose. More or less refreshed by our short time out at “Wa-Wa’s”, we set off to take pictures of the final tourist destination of the day. We had driven past the stadium at least a couple time previously, since it is located just off I-95, which apparently is the highway Fayez takes each day as he drives into the city for his job. As is true with many cities with multiple professional teams, the home of all three of Philadelphia’s major professional sports teams….the 76’ers basketball team, the Phillies baseball team, the Eagles football team….. are all located adjacent to each other and share a common parking area.

Upon arriving at the stadium….Lincoln Financial Field….we discovered there was a Phillies game that evening, and there was a fee to enter the parking lot. Not wanting to pay another parking fee, especially just to take a picture, we opted to take a few pictures of the stadium from the street and other assorted nearby temporary parking locations. Personally, none of these professional sports teams excite or interest me. They are an important part of Philadelphia….and they….at least, the Eagles football team…..are important to my friend, Jason.

Our sightseeing in Philadelphia basically had come to an end. We had visited or seen five of the attractions on the list I had sent to Fayez prior to the trip. Five out of maybe twelve or fifteen sites….. That really is not so bad. The day would have to be placed in the “Win” column, to put it in sports language. First-time visits are usually interesting, and instructive and enlightening. As I was searching the Internet for things to do in Philadelphia, my fear was not finding enough worthwhile places to visit….that we would go through the list too quickly and be left with a lot of idle, unfilled time on our hands.

 

 

 

 

 

Although I should have known better, I neglected to consider such factors as heavy traffic and the endless lines. Sites which I had thought to be only quick photo ops, turned out to be major time consuming events….such as the Liberty Bell. I have spent time in several major cities and have faced the same problems and situations. How quickly I forget such circumstances. New city….new expectations…new excitement, but old results, old outcomes. Any rational person….(Is that I?)… should expect that a day in Philadelphia is only the beginning of discovering all it has to offer…..sort of like the preface to a book. The fact that I arrived on a weekend…..in the middle of August….did not work to our advantage, either. But…. If I had seen it all….done it all: There would be no need to return to continue the adventure at another time.

After finding and photographing the Philadelphia professional sports complex, Fayez said that we were going to eat in the best pizza place in the city. Well….OK….a bit of hyperbole, but I was looking forward to sampling what it had to offer. We made our way back to the center city in search of the pizza parlor. Again….just like our good fortune at the Liberty Bell….a parking space opened up directly across the street from our destination. We must have been doing something right that day.

Pizzeria Ventri is a quaint Italian-style little restaurant. Customers are seated at long communal tables instead of more traditional booths. The restaurant was doing a brisk business, but Fayez and I were able to find a mostly unoccupied table that offered a degree of privacy. The friendly waitress bought our menus and left us to consider what we would order. I was rather astonished and puzzled that this was apparently not as “Italian” as I had suspected. The menu was extensive, and they offered a wide variety of pizzas. On this lengthy menu was a myriad of Italian food, including a long list of pizza. Only one of these pizzas….only one….. contained meat. And, as our luck would have it….. That single meat was pepperoni. A pork product!

 

 

 

 

As I said, I was mildly amazed and bewildered at this situation. Italians are famous meat eaters. Is there such a thing as a vegetarian Italian? Surely, there had to be other, unlisted choices. The waitress assured us that the menu was correct: What you see is what you get! Fayez seemed to be content to order a spinach pizza. Not I. Even though I am not a big fan of pepperoni….I prefer beef….I ordered it as a last resort. And, Yes… The food was good. Our hunger was satisfied. We enjoyed our meals. All is well that ends well….. But, authentic Italian pizza with no meat?

We spent the second evening sitting on their cozy balcony, relaxing, talking and enjoying the beauty and solitude of the little forest that grows behind their apartment.

 

 

 

 

PART 3: BORDERS AND THE BEACH

After another surprisingly good night’s sleep, I woke semi-refreshed on Sunday morning. And, Fayez had remembered to unlock the door to the shower, which sort of helped kick start the morning. I awoke around 8:00….rather early for me. Again, I was the first person awake, so I messed around in my room, checking email, checking Facebook….doing all the important things without which we cannot possibly live a normal, fulfilling life….while I waited for the morning to come alive.

The three of us ate breakfast together….something delicious, but which escapes my memory at the present time. While eating, we set our goals for the day and devised a plan to achieve them. The only remaining desire….or goal….that I had was to have a picture taken of me in front of three state border signs…..Connecticut, Delaware and Maryland. Well, of course, that is besides visiting with Fayez and Maya!

“Sightseeing”, as such, had ended with the sites we had seen in Philadelphia the previous day. It was a productive day, especially considering all the unforeseen and uncontrollable factors and circumstances that I did not have enough knowledge or experience to consider. Fayez had mentioned the possibility of taking a bus tour of Philadelphia, much like the one we had taken in New York City a few years previously. This was an option, although we never really gave it much serious consideration. On a tour such as this, we would have seen many more “attractions”….but only from the outside. At best, it would have been a very superficial event.

Fayez and I opted to take our chances and see whatever we could on our own. Yes, it is true that we we only able to explore two venues with any degree of thoroughness….the Philadelphia Museum of Art and the Liberty Bell. There were also the brief encounter with Independence Hall, the quick, but adequate look at the Philadelphia sports complex and a fleeting view of Love Sculpture….but those were sufficient. Oh yes…. Let’s not forget Wa-Wa’s.

So….. Sightseeing was over. It was a new day. We were in pursuit of the two elusive state signs that we neglected to stop for during the previous trip. Although the matter was somewhat out of my control back in those days…..it does highlight an important point. Always take advantage of an opportunity when it arises. Believe me… It is so much easier….and less time consuming…..and less expensive….and less frustrating.

My philosophy of taking a trip….one by automobile…..is to enjoy it! Learn from it! Absorb it! Rejoice in the moment! Take it all in. Get lost in it… Make memories…. Why would a person even consider paying a large sum of money…..rental car, hotel rooms, food, campgrounds…..and then simply to get into a car and drive? If I wanted to do that, I can drive around Topeka for a couple weeks without stopping. To me, it makes no sense. Unless a person has a truly photographic memory….and maybe some rather strange and weird people do….the only way to capture these memories is to take pictures…..the more, the better.

Personally, I do not have anything that can be even remotely described as a photographic memory. But, I do have a camera….a digital camera. And, I can take almost an unlimited number of pictures…..of anything…..of everything. And, given this opportunity, why wouldn’t I? Why am I a thousand miles from home….driving through towering mountains or magnificent green forests or an enchanting, breathing beach. Surely I am not here just to keep my eyes on the never-ending ribbon of asphalt highway.

Anyway….. My suggestion…..goal…..for the day was to re-find and take pictures of the state signs we had neglected earlier. Today it would be Maryland and Delaware. For Fayez…. It was a trip to the beach.

The borders or state lines were not so far away, an easy drive from Fayez’s apartment. Fayez had located border crossings on state highways where we could easily and safely stop and take pictures of the state signs. Armed with Fayez’s calculations, we set off for the adventures of the day. I have no idea where we were….somewhere in New Jersey heading toward the Delaware border.

Actually, there was not a lot of see. The scenery was pretty. It was pleasant. There was more farm land than I had remembered seeing the last time I was there. The countryside we drove through looked much like eastern Kansas….maybe a few more trees, because the eastern part of the USA tends to get more rainfall than the Midwest. Overall, however, there were few, if any, authentic photo-ops along the way. Even I, who has been accused of taking too many picture, saw nothing that was really worthy of a photo. The journey did give us the time and opportunity to visit, which in itself, made the trip worthwhile….second only to talking the picture. The truth is…. I didn’t care where we were going just so long as there was a sign saying, “Welcome to Delaware” waiting for us somewhere along the way.

Our efforts were rewarded. After a while, maybe an hour later, we did indeed come upon such a sign….in New Castle County, according to the sign, if that means anything. Fayez pulled his car over on the shoulder, and we proceeded to take the long-anticipated pictures of the Delaware state sign. With that mission accomplished, we got back into the car and moved toward our next objective…..the Maryland border sign. One down….one to go.

 

 

 

 

Having successfully taken an appropriate number of pictures of the Delaware state sign, we turned our attention to Maryland, a state named after Queen Mary of England, as the song title goes. All of the details of where it was located and how to best get there were left to the capable judgment of Fayez, who was not only the official driver, but also the official navigator with is ubiquitous GPS device. Again, I have no idea of how we got there. In fact, I really don’t care. All I was interested in was getting a picture of the Maryland state sign….with me standing firmly in front of it. After perhaps another hour of driving through some very similar rural environment, our target was in sight. Again, Fayez pulled his vehicle to a graceful stop; we all got out of the car; we took the usual combination of pictures: The state sign alone, by itself; a few pictures of Fayez in front of the sign; a couple pictures of him and Maya……and most important, some pictures of me.

 

 

 

To some people, it might sounds rather frivolous to do so much driving in order to snap a few pictures of a state border sign…..maybe just a bit like “cheating”. As I may have pointed out previously, it was not simply a matter of driving to a state border, stepping over an imaginary line, taking a couple pictures and then leaving black marks on the highway on our way to the next state. Not at all…. We had driven through both of these states….from one end of the state to the other….on a previous trip, but had never stopped to take the pictures. So…. Make no mistake. We had already thoroughly visited these states.

With the snapping of the final picture of the Maryland sign, my objectives for the day had been achieved. From that point on, it was Fayez’s ball game, so to speak. Fayez wanted to go to the beach….so that is where we headed. Again, I had no idea where we were or where we were headed, although I assumed it was in an easterly direction, since being a former geography teacher, I was vaguely aware that the Atlantic Ocean forms the eastern border of the USA!

Again we drove through some pleasant idyllic rural countryside. Green trees, green fields of whatever it was they grow there, an occasional meandering stream…..some quaint small villages or towns along the way. This, as I recalled from earlier visits, was typical New England landscape. As we drove along, we had the opportunity to visit….just talk about anything that entered our minds. It was a satisfying few hours….a refreshing break from the constant and perpetual traffic from the previous day.

Our final destination was Wildwood Beach….in Wildwood, New Jersey. The drive to the beach was not much different from the other two destinations. It was another hour’s drive through more flat countryside….more lush green trees…..more verdant fields of crops….more towns and villages. As before, the landscape was pleasing, if not exciting. There was not a lot to see, not any reason to stop and take pictures….but for me, at least, it was something new…..a change….a different “feeling” than driving in Kansas, even if it was not more exciting. The conversation with Fayez and Maya continued to be engaging and satisfying, which in reality, was the reason I made the trip.

The closer we got to the town of Wildwood…..and the beach….the heavier and denser the traffic became. Fayez was maneuvering the car through the ever-increasing traffic in his usual “thrill-ride” fashion. When I ride with Fayez, there is never any reason to waste money on a roller-coaster or other carnival ride. His driving is far more breathtaking than any amusement park ride could ever be. Somewhere behind us we heard the distinct sound of two automobiles crashing into each other. Thank Heaven it wasn’t us. We kept on driving. Within almost a matter of a few second, policemen were speeding toward the accident. Nothing serious. A fender-bender…..the result of inattentive driving. She was probably texting or talking on her cell phone. Fayez kept pushing on toward our destination…..The Beach.

As we approached our destination…..the Wildwood Beach….traffic was chaotic. Wildwood Beach is not just a beach. It is a conglomeration of tourists shops, cafes, motels….and an amusement park. It was apparently a major social destination….a hang-out….an authentic tourist trap. There appeared to be something for everybody, whether one wanted to buy something, eat something or see something.

Picture the scene: It is a sunny Sunday afternoon. Hardly a cloud in the sky. The sidewalks were hustling with people. People picking their way through cheap….but not inexpensive…. souvenir shops, people eating the expensive food either at outdoor tables or walking down the sidewalk, peering into shop windows, people lounging on the sidewalks talking and laughing. Cars clogging the much too narrow street. Fayez, Maya nor myself were interested in any of the gaudy enticements. We had come to see The Beach!

Yet another parking lot…another parking fee. We found a parking space….not very near the boardwalk to the beach, but, on the other hand, not the most distant one. Maybe we were lucky to even have found a parking space. In a teeming mass of humanity like this, Beggars can’t be choosers, as they say. We got out of the car. Fayez started unpacking the trunk. Three folding chair and an umbrella. I offered to carry my chair. I want to help, but Fayez brushes me off. He will carry the chairs; Maya will carry the umbrella. It was probably for the best, though. The beach, like mountains, is always further away that it looks. Even the sidewalk to the wooden boardwalk which leads to the beach is longer than it appears.

We start the long walk down the boardwalk path leading to the ocean. The good thing: It all slopes slight downhill. I try not to think of the trip back up. About halfway down, we stop. I use the time to masquerade as a photo-op. But, we had already walked maybe a quarter mile…..and at a fairly brisk pace, although Fayez was constantly urging me to slow down…..slow down….. I do not like for people to look at me with pity or sympathy, “That poor old man!” The opportunity to rest for a minute was not wasted, though. It was a natural opportunity to take some pictures. Even old people take pictures…..maybe even more than young people. Older people recognize the importance….the value…..of pictures…. Not only in the present moment, but even more for their importance as a historical record….a nostalgic, sentimental reminder of memories made…..memories which can be shared with family and friends yet to come…..memories which might otherwise be lost to the passage of time and age. Time doesn’t stop…..or if it does, pictures may be the only way to “stop” it.

Nevertheless, I took the opportunity to take pictures of the beach and ocean in front of us, of the amusement park in the not-so-far distance, pictures of Fayez and Maya. All those things that I wanted recorded permanently….for me and for posterity.

We moved onward toward the beach. First, we opted to set up the chairs on the back fringe of the crowded beach, only to discover that our major “attractions” were an assortment of beach chairs, coolers, umbrellas…..and of course, the backsides of hundreds of other people. Surely, this is not what we came to beach to see….to experience. Soon we picked up our “equipment” and moved it to a much more favorable location. Now people could look at our beach chairs…..and at us….while we looked at the ocean.

Maya and I sat and watched Fayez as he waded out into the ocean to swim. There really were not a lot of options. It did give us a chance to talk and become a little better acquainted. Normally, when people go to the beach, their main objective is to go swimming….or to walk along the edge of the water…..or to play volleyball or some other game…..or to fly a kite, like Fayez did on our trip to the Oregon Coast. Another alternative is to merely sit on the sand or on a log that has washed upon to the shore and simply watch the ocean….the waves as they wash against the shore. This Sunday afternoon, none of those choices were available to us. So…. We just sat in our folding chairs and tried to keep our eyes on Fayez.

The beach seemed to stretch along the Atlantic Coast forever. And…..so did the mass of humanity that blanketed it. The beach was crowded….or whatever the superlative of the word crowded might be. If there was truly anything interesting about Wildwood Beach, it was the people who had come there to soak up some sun and play. It was, at the very least, a people-watcher’s paradise. Name a category of people….young, skinny, Black, Middle Eastern, tattooed, sun-tanned, families, single. There were women who could have could have been featured in Playboy. Girls who were so desirable that I could hardly take my eyes off them. And….an equal number of women who should have never even considered wearing a two piece swim suit…. The ones who should have stayed at home. The same could be said of the men, too. There were guys who obviously spent all their leisure time at the gym…..and those who thought the word “Gym” was only a man’s name. These guys should have stayed at home, too…..or at least kept clothes on. And, let’s not forget the kids…..running around, mostly unsupervised….here and here, with little regard for anything except their fun.

In general, the atmosphere might be described as controlled chaos….impersonal pleasure. The beach was a patchwork of chairs, coolers, umbrellas, backpacks, toys, blankets and towels. Maybe it is similar to dining as a very popular restaurant. There are no individual tables…..just long communal tables. You sit down wherever there may be a small empty space. You and your friends simply ignore the people sitting next to you. You go ahead and talk to each other….you eat…. You do your own thing, You pretend that the other people are not there. And, they do the same. You co-exist…openly, but yet anonymously.

There really wasn’t any way to really relax…..not with the noise, the close proximity of hundreds of people. At any rate, Maya and I sat and watched the people….tried to carry on a conversation….watched the single engine airplanes as they towed advertising banners behind them….watched the lifeguards as they blew their whistles, warning people who were venturing too far from the shore. My participation in the afternoon was all very passive….sitting, looking, taking a few pictures.

Mostly we tried to watch Fayez…..to keep an eye on him….as he drifted further and further from the shore. The lifeguards were obviously watching him, too. More than once, they blew their shrill whistles to warn him that he was venturing too far out into the ocean…..into unsafe territory…..too far from the beach. It was never clear to me if he actually heard them, although he did begin to inch his way back toward the shore. I was more than a little concerned. If anything bad had happened, there was nothing I was capable of doing that could save him or to prevent a tragedy. Only after he was close enough to the shore did I feel a sense of relief.

This scene…..this spectacle….was interesting to me. Fascinating, in fact. I took swimming lessons as a child and spent many afternoons at the swimming pool in my hometown of Lyons. At some point, I simply stopped swimming. Why? I don’t really know. Maybe it was because starting when I was in junior high school, I always had a job. I spent most of my time working. At some point in my adult life, I realized that I no longer could swim. Many people find this to be rather strange….maybe a little bit unbelievable. Trust me…. It is true!

But….I am no stranger to beaches. Back in my younger days, I spent almost every summer vacation on the Oregon Coast…..or the Northern California coast. I spent unnumbered days hanging out with friends in South Vietnam on the beaches of the South China Sea. I am no stranger to the northern German beaches of the North Sea and the Baltic Sea. I have even visited the nude beaches of the French Riviera and the college beaches of the Texas Gulf. Even though I can’t swim, the ocean fascinates me….It beckons to me. It has a mysterious, magical attraction which I can feel, but which I cannot explain.

There is no doubt that I was not prepared for what greeted us at Wildwood Beach. Yeah….I had heard about the crowded beaches; I had even seen pictures. Even those did not adequately prepare my brain for the scene at greeted us. Normally….in fact, always….the beaches I have visited has been pristine beaches, uncrowded, unencumbered by commercial enterprise….long stretches of sand, stretching uninterrupted for miles in both directions. They were ours to enjoy. We could walk, alone, without meeting another human being, enjoying the solitude broken only by the sound of the constant waves washing upon the sand….at high tide, pounding against the shore. But, yet, there was a stillness, a sort of peace that prevailed. Maybe the kind of peace that only nature can provide.

On the Oregon Coast, where I have spent the most time, there was never a thought of being interrupted or disturbed by other human being….let alone hoards of humanity seeking their day in the sun. At almost any point along the miles of clean, unblemished sand, we could spread a blanket or a towel and sit for hours undisturbed. Or we could find the shelter of a log that had washed ashore and find shelter and refuge from the constant, ever-blowing ocean breeze. There was never a danger of our space being invaded by outsiders. In fact….. They were seeking the same thing we were: solitude…to be undisturbed.

Even in the popular tourist areas such as Beverly Beach, north of Newport, Oregon, the definition of “crowd” takes on a new meaning. A “crowded” beach in Oregon could fairly accurately be described as a “semi-deserted” beach along most of the Atlantic Coast. Even in the most crowded of the north Pacific Coast beaches would be considered as empty or uninhabited along the Atlantic Coast. Part of the explanation of this phenomenon lies in the population of the two areas. Part of it….maybe a large portion of it….lies in the attitude and policies of the state governments. The Atlantic Coast is largely in the hands of private ownership. It is very commercial and profit oriented. Large, untouched stretches of beach or coastline are rare…..almost non-existent. The coastal property has been “developed”….which means it is lined with a myriad of profit-making establishments….restaurant, cafes, souvenir shops, food vendors. Plus seemingly never-ending rows of apartments, motels, condos, and rental properties.

In the Western States…..the Pacific Northwest States….California, Oregon and Washington….all coastal property is public property….readily available to the people….inviting them, enticing them….to stop and walk on the beach. Up and down the almost 1300 miles coastline, are hundreds of “pull-in” places, observation points, rest stops…..all designed for the convenience of people who want to stop and take pictures or for a relaxing picnic…..or as a starting point for a walk on the beach.

Take a look at the pictures. You can see the difference…..the contrast. Now…. Are you still going to ask why I much prefer the Oregon Coast…..or sun-bathing on the French Riviera?

The afternoon was not without its drama, though. At some point in the afternoon, the lifeguards started blowing their whistles frantically. They were motioning for everybody to get out of the water and back on the beach. I do not think it was a suggestion or an invitation. It was urgent; it was an order. We checked to make sure we could still see Fayez….that he had not disappeared from sight. He was still in the ocean….far from the shore…further than he should have been…. but, at least, we could see him. He apparently had heard the whistle and had gotten the message. He, too, began to swim toward the beach.

From watching the lifeguards, the swimmers and the people milling around the beach, we could see that the attention of the lifeguards was focused on a point further to the south of where Maya and I were sitting. The lifeguards on duty began swimming toward the point of the problem. We heard people murmuring, “Somebody is drowning….somebody can’t make is back to shore….somebody was caught in the under-tows…..” There was nothing we could do except sit and watch…..and hope that the lifeguards could reach the person in time…..that he would be rescued.

Time passed. It was obvious that people were becoming concerned….worried….. The noise level on the beach reduced dramatically and activity diminished to almost a standstill as people stood….or sat….. and watched the rescue efforts. We were relieved that it wasn’t Fayez. In a what seemed like an eternity…..but was only a few minutes, two rescue vehicles a came speeding down the beach….speeding as fast as one can when there are a few thousand people standing and walking around…..and when hundreds of small kids are running about, paying no attention or heed to what is going on….and their parents are not there to control them.

The two rescue vehicles stopped almost directly in front of Maya and me. Immediately, they unloaded a couple items which appeared to be much like surf boards. These were apparently some sort of rescue apparatus. The members of the rescue team immediately started swimming toward the victim. Activity was still at a standstill as people stood somberly and waited for the results of the rescue effort. When a signal was given that the man’s life had been saved, a cheer went up as they waited for the team to bring him back to safety……and the swimmers slowly and gradually started to reenter the ocean.

By this time, Fayez had gotten out of the water and had rejoined Maya and I. We discussed briefly our relief that a tragedy had been averted…..and that the guy was probably feeling extremely fortunate and grateful that the rescue team had reached him in time and had saved his life.

Whatever sympathy I was feeling toward the guy quickly dissipated as he walked past us laughing and joking with his apparent friends….like it was a joke….or something to be proud of. Maybe his was only laughing because of his great relief for having his life spared. I hope so. If he thought that he had done something that he could later brag about or turn into a macho ego trip event…..then the guy was not worth any of my compassion or empathy. He, in fact. Would simply be mocking the efforts of the rescue team that saved his life.

I was going to mention that he was a foreigner……but I decided not to!

The afternoon was approaching its final hours. Fayez may have gone back into the water one more time. The afternoon at the beach was essentially over. A large number of the people had already abandoned the beach by the time we folded the chairs picked up the umbrella that we never used and started the slow, arduous journey back to the car. The path to the sidewalk was uphill. Not a steep incline, but steep enough to make the effects of gravity very noticeable on my feeble body! Again we employed the old trick of “stop and take pictures” as a tactic to grab a couple minutes of rest before continuing on. The pictures I took returning to the car were in sharp contrast to the pictures I took while walking down toward the beach. By the time we left, the beach was more than half deserted. A Sunday at the beach. Tomorrow was a work day.

The sun hung low in the sky by the time we reached Fayez’s apartment. A decision was made to order some Indian food to be delivered to the apartment. This was probably a wise decision. Probably nobody was in the mood to go out and eat. I rewarded myself with a much-needed nap. By the time Fayez woke me, the food had been delivered. The evening was again spent visiting…..just casual conversation. The time was getting late. It was most definitely time to call it a day. And, it was a successful day. I got photos of the two state signs that I wanted so badly. Fayez got his trip to the beach. And, Maya? She got both of them.

Around 11:00 I retired to my room. It was still a couple hours before my bed time…..a couple hours before my brain is accustomed to shutting down, turning off its screen and going to sleep for the night. As I usually do before I go to bed, I checked the email….my Facebook page….news headlines. I read the book I had brought with me. Then, I got ready to go to bed….wondering if there was an audience outside the window with the partially open blind waiting for one last moment of entertainment and awesome pleasure to also end their day. Tomorrow was another day…..the final day of my short visit.

DAY THREE: THE FINAL OBJECTIVE….FINDING CONNECTICUT

Monday, my last full day visiting Fayez and his wife started like all the other days. I awoke around 8:00….I first, as usual. Fayez, Maya and I ate a leisurely breakfast on the balcony overlooking their own mini-forest that grows behind their apartment. The sky was clear, and the birds were singing as we sat and enjoyed the pleasant morning.

As had become the norm, the time was approaching, if not surpassing, the ten o’clock hour when Fayez backed the car out of its parking spot and pulled out into the morning traffic for our day of fun and adventure.

Only a single objective was yet to be achieved. Find and photograph the state border sign of Connecticut. Sounds simple….but it was more time-consuming that one might suspect. A slave or servant to his GPS, Fayez headed north toward the point where the border might be located. Personally, I probably would not have taken the that route. But, on the other hand, I know how to read a map. You older people will know what I am talking about.

For the benefit of the younger generation, let me tell you a little about them. You’ve probably even seen them. Maybe you didn’t know what they are, though. Usually they come in a rather large book, sometimes called an Atlas. They have several pages with strange lines and little symbols on the pages. You can expect to find numbers on the lines. The lines normally are of a variety of colors. No…. This is not to make the page prettier. The different colors indicate the kind of highway or road…..perhaps an Interstate highway, or a US highway, or a state highway…..or maybe even a county or secondary road. All of these little lines lead somewhere! If you look closely, there are names of towns and cities…..maybe even counties or points of interest. Those are the places the lines connect. You know….. Sort of like those Connect the Dot Puzzles.

These pages, called maps, were what people used for literally hundreds of years. And, do you want to know a strange fact? People used them……and rarely ever got lost! They worked pretty well, in fact. And, they are accurate. By looking at these little lines….and following them….you were sure to arrive at your destination, and if you are really clever…..like I am, for example…..you might even save some time by following the shortest lines!

But, something happened. Somebody….actually the United States government….developed what is known as Global Positioning System or GPS for short.  This revolutionized the way we travel…..or messed it up, depending on how you want to look at it. This sunny Monday morning, I can imagine that Fayez was obeying his “Master”….his GPS…..instead of obeying the real authority: ME and my map.

It wasn’t all bad. In fact, it turned out be a rather interesting day. For me, at least. We spent most of the day on I-95, or at least I think that was the name of the highway. If we had been using a map, I would probably know for sure.

In reality, the trip to find the Connecticut border was rather interesting. Here in Kansas it is rare….no, unheard of…..to spend a day on a six or eight lane highway. Not that anybody wants to do this…..but still it is rare. For me, it was rather fascinating and novel to ride in a car for a hundred miles with a couple lanes of cars to the right….and a couple lanes to the left. Cars behind….cars ahead. In other words, cars everywhere. For people on the east coast….and on the west coast, too, for that matter…..this is normal….simply a fact of life. In fact, one might say that it is life.

For people from more rural states….and Kansas is one of them….this cacophony of cars can wear on the nerves a bit. I can imagine that it would easily turn a small town Kansas driver into a nervous wreck. And, when Fayez is driving….well, it has the same results!

No…. I am just joking. Fayez was handling the traffic in a very cool and capable manner. Young drivers tend to handle heavy traffic better than older drivers. That statement has no basis in fact. I have no statistics or research to back up that claim. I am merely judging from my own personal point of view and experience.

I have lived and driven in several large cities in the course of my lifetime. I have lived and driven in Kansas City, San Francisco, Indianapolis….even for three years in Saigon, which could be the ultimate test of a person’s diving ability, not to mention the nervous system. All of this was back when I was young. Driving in heavy traffic didn’t bother me, mostly because it never entered my brain to let is bother me. I was “here” and I had to go to “there”…..so I got into the car and “went”. Simple as that. I don’t ever remember being intimidated by heavy traffic. Maybe I just figured the other drivers had as much right to be on the highway as I did. But, most likely…. I simply never thought about it at all.

Driving has been a way of life for me. It probably is for everybody who lives in a rural, Midwest state. It is virtually the only means of transportation. If you want to go somewhere…..You Drive! On my many trips and vacations around the USA, I insisted on doing all the driving. Mostly because I trusted myself more than I did anybody else. Simply put: I was the best driver.

As I got older, my eyesight started to fail. No…. I am not going blind. My vision is not as sharp….my peripheral vision was diminishing…..night vision started to fade dangerously….my visual perception decreased. Shortly after I retired….somewhere around 2007 or 2008, I made the decision to stop driving at night. Nobody forced me; nobody even suggested it. I just knew it was time….it was the right decision…..and the safe decision, for me and for all those other people driving on the streets and highways.

By the time Fayez and Sultan had become a part of my life, I was fairly content to simply let them do most of the driving. Although I remained by far the superior driver, it was just easier and more convenient to let them drive. I stopped driving in cities….or in any strange place where I had to make instant perceptual decisions. I decided to leave those driving tasks to them. Even though they were younger and less experienced and lacked the exceptionally remarkable skills that I had developed over the years, it was not so difficult to turn over the driving to them. My nerves have suffered because of this decision…..but I am still alive to talk about it.

Now…. Getting back to the story. The story of the trip was mostly traffic. Looming in the distance was the distinctive skyline of New York City, with its impressive display of towering skyscrapers. The division of Lower Manhattan and Upper Manhattan were clearly delineated. Fayez never told me that he planned to drive through New York City….parts of it, at least. Personally, I would have chosen another, less traveled route. However, the opportunity to say that I had been in New York City….again….was appealing, I suppose, even though I had sworn that I would never return to the city again.

We drove past the vast Newark International Airport, the airport and the departure point for many of my trips to Berlin. This was a first for me. I had seen the airport from the air….and certainly from the inside….but never from a highway. From a certain perspective, the airport looks almost as impressive from the land as it does from the air. Some of the super-long runways stretch out for more than two miles parallel to the highway. Others cut a perpendicular path. As we drove past….both going and coming…..an almost steady stream of aircraft were alternately taking off and landing. Just the sight of these anonymous take of these take-offs and landings made me nostalgic for another trip to Berlin.

But, for now, our objective was to locate a Connecticut state border sign. The state of Connecticut borders New York City to the north. Fayez kept pushing northward, staying on I-95, I think. But…. Who cares? All the highways look the same. From our previous trip to New York City in 2016, I was excited to recognize the George Washington Bridge which crosses the Hudson River and connects the state of New Jersey with the borough of Manhattan. Like many major vehicle bridges, the George Washington Bridge has an upper deck and a lower deck, each of which has multiple lanes going both directions. The upper deck carries traffic on four lanes in each direction. The lower level has a total of six lanes…..three in each direction. It is reportedly the busiest vehicle bridge in the world. And, obviously one of the slowest. We didn’t experience any serious delays, but driving was slow, and the bridge was clogged with vehicles of all kinds and descriptions.

It was a relief when we had cleared the bridge, which is more than four-fifth of a mile long….. not even close to what one would consider to be a “long” bridge. Once off the bridge, going in both directions, traffic speed picked up noticeably. We drove through endless blocks of humanity, packed into into a continual, monotonous conglomeration of apartment buildings. It was interesting; it was amazing; it was enlightening. But, most all, to me, it was depressing.

Having been born and raised in rural Kansas…..but also having spent a considerable amount to time living in cities around the world…..these faceless, anonymous, impersonal stretches of apartment complexes were completely alien to my perception of a good life….and the life I had lived….or even imagined. However, I couldn’t help but think that behind these upscale walls, behind these windows, there are families living what to them is a normal life….mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers, all carrying on a life that to them is familiar and comfortable. Somewhere in the city were an equal, or even larger, number of not so affluent apartments where life is not so good. There are apartments where poverty is the norm, where crime is rampant; where fear is a constant emotion. Driving through such places as this make me feel grateful that I live in Kansas.

So…. We pressed on….out of the inner city into the endless suburbs, into the less populated areas of the city. Still surrounded by the urban sprawl, we entered area of single family dwellings with a more hometown atmosphere. Our mission was to find the Connecticut border. Because of the urban nature of our surroundings, this objective was not as easy as it may sound. Had we been on an open highway….maybe a state highway…. in a less populated area, the border would have been easier to find. It would have been noticeable and accessible.

I am going to offer some pure speculation, but at this point I think our search had been reduced to trial and error. It appeared that our trials were meeting with more error than success. As for me….. I was a completely irrelevant onlooker. I had no idea where we were….not a clue. This was Fayez’s game…..to win or to lose. I am not sure what happened. Let’s call it winner’s luck. As we were preparing to back-track and try another approach….. Wonder of wonders: Standing almost directly in front of was…. Yes, a sign saying “Welcome to Connecticut”. For a brief second, we were all mildly stunned….like, we couldn’t believe our eyes. There was even a little parking area where we could stop and take pictures. Whether it was Good Luck or Clean Living, it didn’t matter. We happily took the necessary pictures….and started back to Mt. Laurel.

 

 

 

 

Fayez guided the car back to good old I-95, and we began to retrace our route back to where we started from that morning. The traffic seemed heavier on our return trip. Maybe it was because it was late in the afternoon and rush hour had begun….or maybe it was just normal traffic. The trip back to Fayez and Maya’s apartment seemed to take longer. The approach to the George Washington Bridge seemed more clogged with traffic. All six lanes of the highway were packed with unrelenting traffic, everybody doing his own thing….everybody going somewhere….everybody probably had the same goal in mind: Just Get There.

Somewhere along the way, Fayez decided to stop and eat. Was it a random choice….or was it a place he had been before? I do not know. That is irrelevant. We stopped at a place called Cava. The food was good; it was an opportunity to get out of the car for a few minutes; and it was a good restroom stop. With our basic needs satisfied, we got back on the busy highway and continued on our journey to the apartment. The basic items on my wish list had been satisfied. There was nothing left to do except go back home.

 

 

 

 

Although we only had one objective to accomplish, it consumed the greater part of the day. It was an interesting day. I was able to take the picture of the state sign; I got to experience riding on a packed urban highway; I got to visit New York City again….partially, at least; I had another opportunity to visit with Fayez and his wife. And…..and this is probably the most important: It demonstrated to me why I would never want to live in a crowded urban area. I could see very few redeeming qualities. For me, it is a good place to visit…..but not a good place to live.

Somewhere on the way home…..in Mt. Laurel, I think….we stopped at a Mediterranean restaurant and picked up some carry-out food for our supper. After the long day, I am fairly sure that nobody was in the mood to do any sort of cooking. Again, it was late in the afternoon when Fayez parked the car in the parking lot, and I again….for the final time….made the long, torturous trip up the stairs to their apartment.

DAY FOUR: FLYING HOME

My suitcase was already packed; I am always planning ahead. We sat on the balcony and ate breakfast, enjoying the waning minutes of our short time together. The time had arrived. I said good-bye to Maya, made one more unsteady trek down the staircase, put on my shoes…..and it was over.

Before I left Philadelphia, there were two more pictures that I needed to take. These were not on my original list. In fact, they won’t appear on anybody’s list….except mine! Somehow I neglected to take a photo of a sign that said “Mt. Laurel”. That is the name of the suburban town in New Jersey where Fayez and Maya live. It is one of those pictures nobody would ever think of…..until I realized that I would need it for this blog. And probably nobody who goes to Philadelphia would ever have “Wa-Wa’s” on their of must-have photo list. Tell me…. What sane person from Kansas can go back home without a picture of this strange, unique name? I will never see another of these little convenience stores until my next trip to the east coast. I needed the picture to remind me of where Fayez and I had sat after a busy day of sightseeing….and enjoyed a cup of iced-coffee and a muffin. With those two pictures duly recorded, I was ready to head for the airport.

The trip was a success….a real pleasure. I had gotten to do all the things that I had wanted to do….partially, at least. Certainly, my main objective by far was to see Fayez again…..and to meet his wife. This objective, of course, could never be adequately satisfied. But, the visit was awesome….and I am happy and delighted to be able to meet Maya, Fayez’s wife, and to now feel that she is also part of my “family”. When I talk to Fayez on Skype, I know where he is, recognize his surroundings. This makes the conversation seem more authentic or real or personal, however you want to state it. I better understand his life and his environment.

On the other hand, I have been introduced to Philadelphia and its historical significance, even if only in the a superficial manner. Now I am more informed…..more aware….more prepared for my next visit. And, fortunately, we already have seen and photographed the two sites with the longest lines. That, in itself, is an achievement. Fayez and I drove around enough that I have at least a cursory idea of the city and the local environment. I will no longer feel like a complete stranger in the city.

As I said, my dominate mission was to spend time with Fayez….and to meet and become friends with wife. Those two achievement were what made the trip a success.

Now….. There is another realization that dawned on me, too. A realization that will probably change my attitude toward travel: I am never going to fly to any domestic destination again. I have come to realize that flying is simply not worth the money or effort. The next time I visit Fayez and Maya in their home in the suburbs of Philadelphia, they will be meeting me and picking me up at a railway station.

The trip back to Kansas City was uneventful…..if one can classify standing in line for a security check….sitting in a waiting room for a couple hours…..and sitting in a cramped seat on an airplane…..arriving in Kansas City and being dropped off in the long-range parking lot a quarter mile from my car….and driving back home on I-70 during rush hour….as being uneventful.

It was a great trip. I recommend Philadelphia to you. You probably won’t get to see Fayez….but everything else is there waiting for you.

Somewhere back in the archives of this blog, I wrote about some of the goals I set for myself to accomplish. They were personal things…. No, I didn’t want to become President of the United States…although now I sort of wish I had. Surely, nothing or nobody could be worse than what we have now (Summer, 2020). And, I didn’t want to become rich. Come on…. We knew that was not going to happen. I worked in public education. And the odds of winning Mega Millions is something like 240 million to one…. Not exactly a good way to plan for retirement. No, I had no desire to be famous. Probably too many people know me already.

The things that I wanted to do were simple things…. Well, relatively speaking, anyway. They were activities that I hoped would enrich my life…make it more fun….more enjoyable…more well rounded. Let’s see if I can even recall what they were: learn to play racquetball, learn to play golf, run for a public office, become somewhat good at making stained glass, visit all fifty states..…

There were others, too. These are the ones that come to mind. Surprise, surprise…. I accomplished all of these. Sort of like….been there…done that. I mean…. Look at them. They are all rather simple. Also on the list…. I think they call it a bucket list today….was learning to play the drums. I am not talking about learning to play “a drum”. I wanted to have an entire set of drums sitting there in front me: maybe four or five snare drums, a bass drum, cymbals, a triangle…..the entire thing. And I would be sitting there behind them….really jamming out. Mr. Cool.

Also on the list was my desire to work with metal art…..to become a metal artist. Like make neat sculptures, statues, collages…. Just weld pieces of junk together….and the result would be a work of art to be admired by…. well, probably just I….but I hope….everybody.

Alas…. Unfortunately, I never accomplished these last two projects….these last two dreams….. At least, not yet! It wasn’t that I didn’t want to….or that I gave up….or that I became lazy or lost the desire. If I were still living on the Darrah Ranch in Ozawkie, you can bet that I would be doing both of them. Up there in the great outdoors, I had plenty of space. You know, like the old song says, “Give me land….lots of land… Don’t fence me in.”

Here at Darrah Tower….Space…. Proximity…. Neighbors…. Those are the problems. In Ozawkie, I had a garage and a covered patio that would have been ideal for welding. I could have welded away to my heart’s content, and probably would have never caught anything on fire….. Probably…. Maybe….. The drum set? Same thing. Well, I probably would not have put the drums outside on the patio. But the garage? Sure. The back bedroom. Why not? I could have shoved them to the side when Sultan or Fayez were there.

My front yard….and side yard….and back yard….I owned an acre and a half of land….would have been crowded with unusual and eye-catching metal sculptures. An artistic junkyard. Not only would I have welded stuff together….I would also have painted them. It would have been a colorful sight to behold….maybe even a tourist attraction. Who knows? My neighbors could have quit their jobs and set up concession and souvenir stands and made a fortune.

On the other hand…. I am not sure if Jefferson County has some sort of zoning law or junk yard law…. I could have donated my works of art to museums around the world. Surely, they would appreciate them. I could have sold them on the Internet. Just bring the money….and haul them away.

As for the drums…. Of course, I would have formed a band. I never got the chance to find out, but I can imagine that drums make better band instruments than they do solo instruments. Stop and think of the possibilities….there on my dead-end road. We could have formed all sorts of musical combinations: Beryl and The Hick-Hops; Beryl and the Redneck Band; Beryl and the Hayseeds; Beryl and the Country Bumpkins…. Well, you get the idea, don’t you? And, I hope that you noticed that I kept myself separate from the band…. I am none of those things. But, that’s the thing about playing the drums: It probably isn’t a lot of fun just sitting there banging on the drums all day long. There has to be other people around to join in.

At any rate, the point is: I could have taken up either of these hobbies had I continued to live at the Darrah Ranch. I already had found someone to teach me weld….several people, in fact. Welding machines, or whatever they are called, really don’t cost very much….if one buys a cheap one. And, you can bet I would have bought a cheap one….at least, not the most expensive. I have used soldering irons for years, so I think I already understood the basic principles. And…. I know plenty of farmers who would have gladly given me old “junk” that they would otherwise have to dispose of. In fact, some of these very people were among those who told me they would teach me to weld. And out there….. What could I burn down? Oh yes…. My house. More than likely, I would have done all the welding out on the patio, though. And, it would be rather difficult to burn the patio.

Here in Topeka at Darrah Tower, it isn’t quite that simple or uncomplicated…. I have neighbors….nice neighbors….living on both sides of me. For sure, the units are very soundproof. My neighbors never disturb me….never. And, I do not want to….and I will not….be the “bad” neighbor. Anyway, in our rather lengthy homeowners association contract, there is a clause about noise. I don’t know…. Maybe I should go ahead and buy a drum set. If I am lucky, the townhouses are soundproof enough that the sound will not be heard. Or maybe the neighbors will like my playing so much that they want to come over and join in. But…. If that is not the case: Are you in the market for a cool set of drums? Or, on the other hand, maybe I can form a “neighborhood band”….and we all get together a few times a week and make noise and annoy each other….and perhaps drown out some of the ubiquitous hip-hop, jungle noise which is the only music we seem to hear around here.

The welding and the construction of metal art? Just look in almost every high school industrial arts building. They have individual welding stations….and there is rarely, if ever, a fire. I am about 99% convinced that I can construct a welding station in the basement that will be perfectly fireproof…perfectly safe…. Well, 80% sure, at least. And, I am also 110% sure that I will be kicked out of my townhouse if the manager would ever find out!

So, for right now, at least, those two items on my “bucket list” have been moved to the bottom….down with playing the organ at the Mormon Tabernacle and touring with Willie Nelson and winning Mega Millions.

Still very much on the list is learning to make pottery…. Yeah, making things like cups, plates, bowls, vases and odd little statues. Stuff that just sits around the house on a shelf collecting dust….stuff that I can give as gifts to people “who have everything”. Yeah…. I would have no objection if some of them would some day show up in a museum or an art gallery….or find their way into a fine arts auction at Christy’s Auction House or Southeby’s…. May as well hope for the best.

Actually, believe it or not (and most people don’t, by the way), I tried it once….and it just didn’t work. That was back when I was working with stained glass….back when I would drive over to Holton High School once a week where my friend Judy Swisher taught me the basics….and then said, “Go do your thing. If you need help….just ask.” Well, I did my “thing” for ten or twelve years…and enjoyed every minute of it.

One night she asked me if maybe….perhaps….I would be interested in learning to make pottery. Sure…. Why not? Well…. OK. There was a high school kid….one of her art students….there helping a boy scout or girl scout troop make some simple pottery. She “volunteered” him to give me a lesson. Poor kid. He didn’t have a lot of choice. This guy was only a junior in high school. He didn’t even have his PhD in pottery making yet! After about 30 or 45 minutes, it became rather obvious that it was going take more than an hour for me to become a world-class potter. He said something like, “You like K.U., don’t you? Why don’t you just make the letters ‘K.U’.?” That sounded good enough to me! And, I can also imagine that he was also thinking, “….And this guy has a degree in education?”

 

 

 

But, that one failed attempt fired an interest in making pottery. The problem was….finding a place where I can make it and a teacher to teach me….a patient, long-suffering teacher. Back in the “old days” (and you may notice that everything took place in the “old days”) the Topeka-Shawnee County Parks and Recreation Commission offered a million pottery classes… Well, maybe not a million, but at least, two or three each session. I am not sure if it is due to a shortage of clay…or lack of teachers….or lack of interest. But, today they offer “zero”….that is 0….classes. However, I am going to keep looking, and with some good fortune, maybe I can move pottery making back up the list. I have even considered putting an ad on Craig’s List….or on Facebook… However, one never knows who is going to answer those ads. I am just slightly apprehensive that some weirdo will respond. I know enough weirdos without adding another one.

So…. After all these false leads….after all these disappointments…. Did I ever find a hobby? Was it just something that I had to settle on? Was it really something I wanted to do? Is it something that I am really good at? The answers are: Yes…No….Yes….and No…. “Good” is a relative term….very subjective…. rather personal. I mean…. I don’t want to brag. But, if you want to…..You are certainly welcome to do so.

Actually, I am not even sure when I became interested in abstract painting….modern art….impressionism…. Call it whatever you want. I really don’t. It has been a long time, though. Maybe it was the first time I saw a Jackson Pollock painting…or a Claude Monet….. For as long as I can remember, this has really been the only art I have really found fascinating. I remember back when I was in high school and college, one of my aunts used to buy the “painting on velvet” paintings. She used to show it to me….tell me how beautiful it was….almost with tears in her eyes. Things like flowers, sunsets, tigers…. And, she also had a thing about what were called “Praying Hands”. I certainly have nothing against praying hands. In fact, I am all for them. But….as an art form, it just doesn’t get me excited.

I had some friends….still have them…..who were so enamored with the “Precious Moments” figurines that they would actually drive down to somewhere in rural Missouri to the factory. Those trips were the highlights of their year. And, this couple were the “football captain and cheerleader” type. Again… That’s OK. Everybody likes what he likes. Oh…. By the way, he was the same person who came up to my car one day while I was listening to a Beethoven symphony and said, “How can you stand to listen to that junk?” I could have just as well replied, “It is a hundred times better than the low class, obnoxious, noise you listen to.” And maybe I should have added, “And, don’t you think Precious Moments figurines are a little bit…well, feminine….for a big tough football player?” But…. I didn’t. Everybody likes what he likes. Some people just have less respect for other people….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Well…. Anyway…. I am not a landscape, portrait, flowers, sunset, cityscape type of person. I have a camera….actually more than one….and I can take pictures of all that stuff….and good pictures, too. Just check them out under another section of this web page. If I want pictures of that kind of stuff….and I often do….I can go take pictures. No….. I like the kind of art that I have to create….that I have to imagine…that I have to feel…..

I bought the acrylic paint and the brushes and the canvasses (I started out on artist’s paper, though.) at least a year before I actually even painted my first brush stroke. I kept asking myself, “How hard can it be to make an abstract painting? I mean…. I can’t really make a mistake. I can just say that it was the way I had intended it to be. And nobody will ever know….or can ever prove….otherwise.” So I ordered a set of acrylic paints from Amazon. They come in tubes….at least, the kind I use do. There were probably 8 or 10 tubes….all different colors. At that point, I had nothing in mind to paint, so I just covered all the bases…..a little of everything…..colors ranging from (no kidding) white to black….and everything in between. I was prepared to paint everything from a blizzard to “Midnight Madness.” Except I still didn’t have any idea what I was going to paint.

 

 

 

 

 

The brushes? Not a clue. I saw a collection of brushes….also on Amazon….and figured, “There are a bunch of them, so surely one of them will be right.” On the other hand, maybe I should have just used my fingers…. At that point, that is the level I was at in my knowledge of painting. Kids do it all the time. Why couldn’t….or shouldn’t….I?

Maybe the biggest concern…..biggest puzzle is a more apt description….was “what kind of material should I paint on?”. Maybe I should have worried about what kind of paint to use. I didn’t even stop and think about that. Water colors? Messy….and it looked like it would be difficult to paint over, if I made a mistake. On the other hand, like I have said before…. Who makes a mistake with abstract painting? Will anybody ever know? Oil paint? Once I saw how much oil paint costs, I scratched that from the list immediately. There was tempera. That is what kids use….and I saw too much of that when I was teaching. The paint covered hands….and face….and arms….and clothing….. Not to mention the mess that it left behind, at least with kids. Paint everywhere….except where it belongs, in some cases. And, then I would need a place to hang it up to dry…. Yeah…. That is why I chose acrylic paint….mostly out of ignorance and economy and cleanliness.

Back to what to paint on. I have been to dozens of art galleries…. Famous ones. The Louvre in Paris….twice, for example, just to drop one famous name. I knew about canvass, wood, and all that stuff. All of that seemed so permanent….so expensive, especially for an amateur…..a beginner. I wasn’t eager to invest a lot of money in that sort of stuff until (1) I found out that I liked to paint and (2) I found out if I was any good at it. Well….I can tell you that I did like it. You can answer the second question yourself. I went to one of the local arts and craft stores just to look and see what is available.

As happens frequently with me…. As I was walking up and down the aisles, looking at this, looking at that….picking up this…picking up that….and putting it back down….art paper, canvass, poster paper…A kindly middle age woman….at least, I think she was trying to be kind….asked me if I was a painter. I told her that I was thinking about starting…. Then she proceeded to educate me on her views of how I should get started. She told me that she had been painting for several year….and that she used a variety of paints: water color, acrylic, oils…. I told her that I had already bought several tubes of acrylic paints…. “Good choice,” she told me. That sort of took care of that. She then showed me some “books” of heavy artist paper. Although that kind of paper was primarily intended for water color, she said that she strongly recommended that I start with it. “It will work just as well with acrylics,” she said. Like any obedient “student”, I thanked her for her kind, but unsolicited, advice, did as she told me to do….and bought a “book” of heavy art paper. So…. I went back home with a book of artists paper….maybe each sheet being 15×12 inches or something like that.

 

 

 

 

 

I had everything I needed to start my destiny as an artist. Almost everything….everything but the motivation and ambition to start. Quite frankly, I had no idea how to start painting. I watched a couple videos on You Tube. Well…I started watching them, but not for very long. They started explaining the theory and history of painting…. That is not what I wanted to know….or needed to know. Another explained how to mix paints to achieve various colors. That didn’t seem very relevant, either, especially when there are two local craft stores that sell approximately one million different colors….at least, it seems like it. I am 99% sure that I would never in a hundred years ever come up with the exact same color if I started mixing paint together.

So, I did what I am fairly good at doing…. I put the book of painting paper on the shelf with the tubes of paint and the brushes, and decided to “do it later”.

For me, just getting started is difficult….no matter what it is. My next concern….some people might call it an excuse….was: What am I going to paint? I had already made up my mind that I was not going to simply copy something. Not that I am good at copying that kind of thing. Chances are nobody would ever suspect that I had even tried to copy….even with the two paintings lying side by side. I am sure that I have less talent for copying than I have for simply painting something from my imagination. No…. My paintings were going to be original. That didn’t stop me from looking through dozens….maybe even hundreds…..of abstract paintings that have been posted online. And, of course, I thought about the countless paintings that Sebastian and I had seen while we were wandering through art galleries in Berlin and Munich.

 

 

 

 

 

You know, everybody jokes about abstract painting….how everybody and anybody can do it….how it looks like something a first grader painted. I certainly have heard….and probably made….such comments. Maybe to some extent it is true. However, when I sat down to paint, it wasn’t like that. Of course, I could have just slapped some paint on the paper or on the canvass, but that is not painting. I wanted my paintings to have some sort of cohesion…some sort of unifying factor….some sort of sense that it was actually a painting. And, for me, that is difficult. And, I know I have not achieved that level yet. I am still working on it. I think the hardest part of the painting is just getting started….where to start….what colors to use….what the first brush stroke is going to be….

I always have a “concept”. But, I think I am correct in saying that none of my paintings have ever…never….turned out the way I originally envisioned them. I inevitably ended up making major alterations. However, that doesn’t bother me at all. What was important is just getting started. Once the painting is started…..even, once the painting is completed…. I had a much clearer vision of what I wanted. Maybe it is sort of like writing a first draft of a story or an essay. Once something was been written on paper, the changes….the improvements…..the refinements….become easier and more obvious. After I have finished the “first draft” of a painting, I just leave it lying on the dining room table….my painting station. Every time I walk past it, I glance at it….or even stop and look at it….contemplate it. Or sometimes, I will go ahead and hang it on the wall in a place where I can see it. If I sit back and say, “Wow…. That’s not so bad.” I just leave it alone. But, usually, a time comes when I look at it, and suddenly I think, “Ah, ha. Now I know what I want to do.”

That is one of the advantages I have of not knowing anything about painting! I can just keep changing it until I come up with something I like. I never feel defeated….or discouraged…. I know I can just keep messing with the painting….experimenting….fiddling around with it….until I come up with something that I at least halfway like. I don’t have anybody to please except myself. In fact, right now there are three paintings hanging on a wall that I am going to change. I haven’t decided how. But, I am going to change them….. And, when I finish, not only will a person never recognize them….but they are going to look better. Some people may say this is cheating. I say it is making them look better…. Who can say when a painting is really finished?

It is not like a photograph. Once it is taken, that is it. It’s taken. Yeah…. One can Photoshop it….adjust the colors….crop it. Now…. That, I think, is more like cheating! Changing something that “is” to something that “isn’t”. A photograph is a definite thing. Take a pictures of building. There it is. It is real. It is a definite thing….a certain size, color, shape… at that point in time. You can’t change that. Somebody can come along later and paint it….tear it down….make it larger….. But, at that exact time… That is the way the building looks. That is reality.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now…. My imagination. It changes constantly. That is sort of what imagination is all about. And, that is what my paintings are all about…. They evolve… It seems to take forever to come up with a “concept”. It is sort of like getting into my car and trying to decide, “Where do I want to go?” or at least, “What direction to I want to head?” I have done this a lot during this coronavirus disease we are going through now. With so many places closed, I just get in my car and drive around….somewhere. Usually, the trip ends up with a purpose or a destination, but I often do not know what the purpose or destination is until I am well into the trip. Most of the time, it is an adventure, and I am satisfied with my afternoon excursion. I usually see things I have never seen before….go places where I would not ordinarily go…. I have never gotten lost…. I have always made it back home. Interesting…. This is most often also a description of the way I paint.

 

 

 

 

 

Before I started painting…..such as it is….I looked up all sorts of information on the Internet about mixing colors. That was pretty much a waste of time. Yeah…. I know, Bob Ross spent a lot of time mixing paint: a little of this….a little of that….. Bob Ross, however, was an artist. He knew what he was doing. On the other hand, I am just a painter! And, to me, at least, there is a big difference. Probably anybody with a tube of paint and a brush can be a “painter”. I think it takes something more special….like talent….to be an “artist”. You can bet that nobody will ever accuse me of being an “artist”. There would certainly never be enough evidence of convince a jury of that. Anyway, as I said, there are a million different colors of paint to choose from. I am not going to waste my time and effort mixing paint.

Finally, that fateful, momentous night arrived. I double folded a sheet of butcher paper and put it on the dining room table. I got a glass of hot water to rinse the brushes. I laid the tubes of paint in front of me. I put the brushes in a glass so I could have ready access to them. I tore a sheet from the tablet of artist’s paper. I took a deep breath. And, I made the first brush stroke. I had begun to paint.

I squeezed out a little bit of paint onto a makeshift pallet…actually a piece of an old book shelf. My first paintings were strictly the placement of colors on the sheet of artist’s paper. Actually, the very first painting featured the initials of a friend of mine, Fayez. As you will readily see, it is not very memorable…not very “professional”…..actually, not very good. It was a start. Now I knew what I was up against. All of those “anybody can do it paintings” became a myth to me. I found out in a hurry that it was more difficult that I had expected…..or imagined. Yes, anybody can “do” it if the only intention is to slash paint onto a canvass…..or in my case….a sheet of artist’s paper.

 

 

 

Now, I have been painting for more than a year. Do I still like it? Yes. Have I gotten any better at it? Well….. In my own opinion, the answer is “Yes”. And, I suppose that is the only opinion that matters. I don’t really know what other people think…..nor do I really care. This is “My” hobby. I do it for myself….not for others. I am the only critic that I listen to. Now that I think about it, nobody has told me that they do not like my paintings. They are probably too polite…..and do not want to hurt my fragile ego! Or maybe they are afraid that I will hit them over their head with one of the paintings. Who knows? Who cares?

 

As time as progressed and as I have become more comfortable painting, I have made some changes in my approach and method of painting. As I indicated, in the beginning, I squeezed a small amount of paint onto a makeshift pallet, and then took the paint from the pallet. This worked….and still works. Using this method, however, produces a “flat” or one dimensional painting. There is nothing wrong with this. In fact, it may be the most common way of painting. I have ever taken a survey or even paid a lot of attention to it. Certainly it is the most common method with water colors…..probably the only possible method.

Somehow, in a moment of inspiration or madness, one night I asked myself, “I wonder what would happen if I would just squeeze the paint directly onto the canvass?” I tried it….and guess what? I liked it. Applying the paint directly to the canvass creates a three-dimensional effect. There is more of a textured quality to the painting. Since acrylic paint can have more than one layer, this makes it easy paint over. Normally, now I lay down the basic colors first by applying the paint directly to the canvass, making sure that there is enough paint to create the three dimensional textured effect. Applying layers of paint on top of the bottom or basic layer does not diminish that effect.

After I have applied the initial basic layer of paint….or paints….to the canvass, I leave it to dry. Normally, I paint at night, so this usually means that the canvass simply lies on the table until the following night. I suppose I could sit there and wait for it to dry….. But, watching paint dry is not high on the list of most exciting….or useful….things to do. Mostly when I apply the “basic coat” of paint, it is green (for a field) or blue (for a sky) or some other basic element of the painting. Speaking for myself, it is much easier, less time consuming, and more practical to paint the large, more pervasive areas first. Since it is fairly easy to add multiple layers to acrylic, it makes more sense to me to paint the large, basic area of color first. After all, the ground is covered with grass….and the flowers grow out of the grass. The sky is blue; the gray clouds are below the sky. As for trees, well….the grow out of the ground and tower against the blue sky. It doesn’t make a lot of sense to paint the flowers….or the trees….or the clouds….first and then try to fill in the sky or the grass around them. At least, in my hopefully sane mind it doesn’t.

 

 

 

 

There is a problem with painting multiple layers, however…..one that I was not aware of and that I had never even thought of. Actually, it took me a while….and I am talking two or three paintings….to realize or understand. Well… I still don’t understand it, but at least, I am aware of it.

Always when I start painting a new picture, I use bright colors….happy colors….nice blue, green, yellow, red, orange…. I like bright, colorful, upbeat pictures. I like pictures that are pleasant to look at….uplifting, and maybe even inspiring. Never mind that my paintings are abstract. They can still be cheerful and satisfying.

A lot of people ask, “What is that supposed to be?”
“I don’t know? What do you want it to be?”

 

 

 

Actually, it isn’t supposed to be anything! It is just a painting. It isn’t my job to tell you what “it is”. I am content to let it be anything you want it to be. When I start an abstract painting, I don’t say stuff like, “I am going to paint this….or paint that…..” What would be the use? The painting rarely, if ever, turns out the way it started anyway. In my case, I would probably tell myself, “OK, today I am going to paint “A joyous day at the beach.” Believe me…. By the time I finish the painting, it would look more like “A night in a spooky forest!”

Getting back to my original point….. Like the sun suddenly breaking through the clouds, it dawned on me that the more layers I use…..even layers of bright, cheerful colors….the darker the painting becomes. It doesn’t seem to matter how sunny or cheery the colors are….. The more of them that are layered on top of each other, the darker the painting is going to become. It took a while for this to finally sink into my brain, but once it did crack my cranium, it proved to be a useful lesson. I also found that the colors become darker when the paint is applied directly to the canvass…..as opposed brushing them on from a pallet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When you look at the examples of my paintings, please take this into consideration! No…. I was not angry at the world. No…. I was not in a bad mood….. No….. I was not subconsciously expressing any dark hostile feelings! I simply kept putting too many layers of paint, one on top of another. In some cases, I was probably trying to “lighten up” the painting. Instead, I kept making it darker. I suppose this sort of supports the old saying, “Too much a good thing is often not so good.” Or something like that. I think part of the problem is that sometimes, I simply do not know when to quit….to let well enough alone.

There is another lesson I learned purely by accident. Yellow is by far the most difficult color to wash out of a brush. Yellow brightens up almost any picture. Why shouldn’t it? We color the sun yellow. We color flowers yellow…..and autumn leaves…..and ribbons…..even baby chickens. For that matter, we often refer to cowards as being “Yellow”, although I have not painted anything like this yet. Yes…. Yellow can be a very useful color. As I painted more and more pictures, I got to the point where even though yellow is a “friendly” color, it rapidly became my enemy….or at least, a color with which I was not on very friendly terms. It is much like one of those people who always smiles at you, always seems friendly to your face….but you later find has been spreading gossip behind your back.

 

 

 

My first paintings were very primitive. Yeah…. I suppose one could say even child-like. I had no idea what I was doing….probably still don’t….so I just sort of randomly put paint on paper, so to speak. A little bit of red here…. Some blue there….a bit of orange over here….maybe a dash of black…. As painting became more “familiar” I became more comfortable. I didn’t say I became better…..just more comfortable. I tried to arrange colors in a semi-pleasing manner….pleasing to me, at least….but still always in a more or less random manner. Some of them looked pretty good….some not so good. I have never thrown away a painting. I have painted over some of them….these are probably the ones that look so dark!

 

 

 

After a while, I made the audaciously bold choice to paint some rather abstract semi-landscapes. I really didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t let that stop me, though…. With a lot of experimentation….and a lot of over-painting….I finally was sort of like Brigham Young when he said: “This is the painting!” I actually gave a couple of them away… No, I did not have to pay somebody to take them. They actually asked for them. Of course, I am not sure they actually realized they were paintings of landscapes, however. It is OK with me that both of them are probably being used to frighten away strangers….or mice. At least, they are being put to a good use.

One day I thought, “Ahhhh… I wonder if I can paint some abstract flowers?” Everybody likes flowers. Even I like flowers…. I like them in nature, but not in paintings. I have a camera. I can take pictures of flowers, if I want to…..and I do not! But, abstract flowers? Sure. Why not? Abstract flowers do not grow in nature. I can sort of make them any kind of flower I want. Which, translated, means: They probably really aren’t flowers at all. Even better. Then nobody can tell me they have never seen that kind of flower before. Of course not, stupid! They are “abstract” flowers. I was reasonably pleased with the results. And, remember: I am the only audience I have to please.

 

 

 

I am not about to sit around all day and paint flowers. A couple paintings was enough of that.

Maybe you can see that I was getting a little bored. I wanted to branch out….maybe combine a little bit of realism with the abstract. I started thinking. What else am I capable of drawing. It has to be something simple, something very basic. The truth of the matter is, as the old saying goes: I can’t even draw flies! “You know,” I thought, “Maybe I can paint a picture with sailboats. How hard can it be to draw a simple little sailboat?” The results weren’t half bad….and again, I am speaking as an audience of one. In fact, I was encouraged. Maybe I will make a career of painting little sailboats. Sailboats in the ocean; sailboats in a lake; sailboats in a pond; sailboats in a river…. The possibilities are endless.

Another of my misguided ideas was to paint pictures of barns….or old houses. Same difference, except for a couple windows and a door…..and maybe a chimney. Actually I tried this. My mistake was that I got overconfident. I was starting to think that maybe I could actually draw a real picture! I gave the first barn picture to a friend for Christmas. I hope he knows it is a barn…. He looked rather puzzled when I gave it to him. I began to think: I can do better than that. So, I painted another “barn” picture in which I was going to correct all the “mistakes” I made in the first one. But, the old urge took over again. I simply could not let well enough alone! I added a little paint here….a little there…. I added a field…..and some flowers….and a path….and a little of this…..and a little of that….just to cheer it up, make it a little “happier”.

Yeah…. You are right. The more I added, the darker and gloomier the picture became. Actually, the finished product looks like it could be an illustration in some horror movie….or an Edgar Allen Poe story…..or maybe a dark Gothic novel…. I had intended it to be a pleasant, bucolic picture….a picture of rural tranquility and bliss. Instead, it has a dark, even sinister quality. This is one of the paintings that is probably a candidate for “repainting”. Or maybe I will simply add a couple werewolves or wild animals in the background and let it be.

One would think that I would just give up on the barns and move on to something else. But, No. Not me. “I am going to get this right even if I have to paint a dozen of these.” People have sometimes said that I am stubborn. I prefer to think of it as determination or perseverance. Those words sound better. Nevertheless, I started painting another barn picture. This time I took all the colors that I thought could possibly be interpreted as “dark colors”, put them into a box and put them away….out of sight. I was left with only pastel colors to work with. This painting, I was firmly determined, was not going to be another sinister Gothic-type painting.

And, I am pleased to say, it wasn’t. But, on the other hand, it looks very much like it could have been painted by a fourth or fifth grade student during recess on a rainy day. I was tempted to go find the darker paint….and touch it up….obscure it a little bit….make it look less like a “picture”. But, I didn’t. I hung it on the wall. This picture is also an excellent….and likely….candidate to eventually be painted over…..or at the very least, I might try to “abstract” it a little bit. In the meantime, if people ask about it, I will tell them that my ten year old great-great nephew painted it…gave it to his parents…..they didn’t want it…..so they gave it to good old Uncle Beryl!

Even though I was not ecstatic with the results of the paintings, the effort that I spent with the barns and the flowers and the ships was a valuable lesson. The lesson? Don’t waste time trying to do things that I already know I had no talent or aptitude for. I think I got a little over-confident….or maybe a better word would be arrogant….and just assumed that the talent or the ability to actually paint “things” would somehow magically appear. If this was the case, I certainly proved it to be a false assumption. I can throw a football. But can I become an NFL quarterback? I can put a bandage on a cut. Does that make ma a doctor? I can build a bookcase. Maybe I can become a construction engineer? No…. All of these are rather far fetched assumptions. Believe me…. None of them will ever happen.

That’s OK. I am going back to my “roots”, so to speak. I only “planted” the idea about painting two years ago. It is one of those fast-growing “plants”. I told you in one of these chapters that while I was in South Vietnam, a plant or little tree might be a twelve inches tall one day….and the next day is might be a couple feet tall. I don’t know if this illustration entirely fits….. Probably not. But I am going to use this analogy for my painting. It is also true that if you plant a rose bush, it is going to always be a rose bush…..and it is not miraculously going to turn into an oak tree. So, I don’t know why I thought that all of a sudden I could start drawing “pictures”. It just didn’t happen. From now on I am going to stick pretty close to painting abstract stuff….or expressionism….. or modern art….of whatever one wants to call it. When I want a picture of something, I will take it with my camera.

There are a couple things that I need to do if I am going to continue painting. One is to get another, more suitable, place to paint. Right now the painting supplies and assorted paraphernalia have invaded and occupied the dining room table. It is a good thing I only use the table for one meal a year….Thanksgiving dinner. I am hoping that someday I can remedy this by moving the painting operation to the basement. First, however, I have to vastly improve the lighting in the basement. Currently the amount of light in the basement closely resembles that of a medieval dungeon. Adding some additional lights….and some electrical sockets…. Would make the basement a suitable art studio…..just in case anybody ever happens to call me an artist. Plus, a sink with running hot water will also be necessary. With some good fortune, both of these improvements could happen.

As it is, there is a double layer of butcher paper on the table to protect it…..and a table cloth, of course, which is stained with paint. There is paint on the chairs, too. With some hard work and a good cleaning product, chances are good that the paint can be removed from the table and chairs. Sandpaper can always be used as a desperate last resort. I can’t say the same thing for my clothing, however. Back in the beginning, it never occurred to me that I might get paint on my clothes. It was something that I never considered. Painting a picture is not exactly the same as painting a house. But, I was wrong. My black t-shirt has several colorful reminders of my carelessness on it. “The paint will probably wash out when I do the laundry,” I thought. That was wishful thinking for sure! Acrylic paint may be water soluble when it is still wet….on a hard surface. Take it from me: It is not water soluble when it is painted on cloth. I learned that the hard way. No big deal. I will simply use this t-shirt as my “painting shirt”. Yes…. That was a rather resourceful idea. A resourceful idea only if I can remember to wear that shirt when I paint. But, sometimes, I didn’t. Absent mindedly, I would sit down at the table and start painting only to look down a few minutes later to see that I had gotten paint on the shirt I happen to be wearing. I would silently….or sometimes out loud….say a few choice words. But, the damage had been done. Guess what? Now I have another “painting shirt”! After accumulating three “painting shirts”….paint splattered shirts…. and a few more that have almost become painting shirts, my brain has finally awakened sufficiently to remind me to change shirts …..or condemn myself to constantly looking like some sort of dirty old man who doesn’t own any clean shirts. Another alternative, I suppose, would be to hang the shirts on the wall and make them part of the art work….and believe me, some of them look almost as good.

There isn’t a lot more to say. For as long as I enjoy doing it, I will keep painting. It is an interesting and enjoyable activity….and there is a tangible result. I may not like the result, but nevertheless I have a product to account for my efforts. As I have explained, if I am not happy with a painting, there is always a second….or even a third….opportunity to alter it and hopefully transform it into a form that does satisfy me. You have heard the old saying, “If once you don’t succeed, try, try again.” In this case, it really works.

One unforeseen problem….other than ruining shirts….has sort of cropped up. Maybe it really isn’t a “problem” in a negative sense. It is still a matter that I had not anticipated in advance. Do the math….something that I neglected to do: Let’s just suppose that I were able and willing to paint one picture a day. That would man I would paint 365 (and 1/4, if we want to be technical!) pictures each year! Can you imagine that? I can….but I don’t want to. Or, to scale it down a bit, let’s suppose I would paint one pictures each week. That is well within a reasonable possibility. I would be producing 52 paintings each year. That is still a lot of paintings. In fact, it is still too many paintings. As you can imagine, there is no way that I can deal with 365 paintings. Fifty-two paintings? That is only theoretically one seventh of that total. Still…. I would have to own a mansion to display all those pictures. No…. I would have to own a large gymnasium with no windows…..or a building with almost endless hallways. If you passed sixth grade math, you are already starting to see the problem. Consequently, I have had to scale down on the number of paintings. Since I plan to live about twenty more years, I could potentially have more than enough paintings to supply a good sized art gallery.

Back when I was still living in Ozawkie, my vision was rather small. I bought one book of artist’s paper, ten or twelve tubes of paint and a few brushes. I had no idea it would mushroom in the conglomeration of painting supplies that I have today. I have never taken the time to count, but I estimate that I have somewhere around seventy-five or eighty tubes of paint. I buy canvasses in packs of 5, mostly because they are cheaper. At the time I am writing this, I have a reserve of three packages of canvasses….. fifteen total. Brushes…. I have no idea. Maybe twenty-five or thirty. On the other hand, there is nothing like being prepared.

When I speak of canvasses, of course, I am referring to pre-stretched, already framed canvass. I don’t buy a big roll of tent canvass or anything like that. So far, I have only used 16×20 inches canvass. These seem to be manageable, and maybe most of all, they are available…..and they are relatively inexpensive. Someday, if I get really brave….and motivated….I may move up to the next size. And, I have no idea what that size will be. Of course, that adds to the problem I mentioned earlier. If having too many 16×20 canvasses is a problem…. What would I do with even larger ones?

But, I am optimistic. We know that artist, Grandma Moses was in her seventies or eighties when she started painting and gained fame as an artist. In fact, for several years, her paintings were a hot commodity. Owning a “Grandma Moses” was a much sought after status symbol. For you younger readers….or for you uncivilized art non-lovers….check it out. You’ll see. Of course, Grandma Moses painted folk art. That’s OK… No big deal.

I am hopeful that maybe someday, maybe I will become the “Uncle Beryl”……of abstract art. Yes, I know that I said that the only person I try to please with my paintings is myself. That is true….and will always be true. But, surely it is true that if I like them….. other people will like them, too. I am a fairly typical person….maybe a little more discerning or sophisticated than some people. So, if, by chance, you happen to be walking through an art gallery or art museum….let’s say in New York City or Paris or London….or even Kansas City….it is possible that you may stop suddenly and exclaim, “I have seen that painting before! That is an ‘Uncle Beryl’!”

Then you can turn to the person next to you and say, with an air of superiority, “I know that guy!”

If you happen to be one of those fortunate, chosen people who have already received a painting as a gift, my advice is: Hold on to it….at least until you are ready to retire. Then you can sell it and live in luxury during your senior citizen years.

Until that time arrives, however, I will continue to press on, turning out abstract paintings. Until I can find a good pottery class, at least.

Yes…. For a kid who vehemently did not want to go to South Vietnam…. And, let’s face it, back then I was a kid, even at the age of 23…..things surely did take a drastic, 180 degree spin in the gravel….or jungle, might be a little more accurate description. As you may have read in the previous post, going to South Vietnam was not at the top of my list when it came to my favorite dreams. I missed an opportunity for one of the medical officers to “enhance” my health records; I was turned down for a well-intentioned, but ill-conceived, effort on the part of my superiors at Ft. Benjamin Harrison to get me a direct commission as an officer in the Adjutant General Corps. Yeah…. Miracles happen. But, these schemes were probably beyond the limits of miracles.

After the harrowing, amusement park like landing at Tan Son Nhut Airport, I stepped out into a world that I felt I had been looking for all my life. It was sort of like meeting my best friend….whom I had never met before. Or….. To put it in the words of John Denver, “Coming home to a place I’ve never been before…..”

As the end of my military enlistment stealthily crept up on me, I was looking forward to simply getting out of the army and going back home. Of course, I had never intended to make a career in the military. Under ideal circumstances back in 1962, I would never have enlisted in the army. In fact, I probably didn’t have any intentions of ever leaving Rice County…..unless it was to move to Hutchinson! Sadly, back in those days, my career goals….not to mention my long-range personal goals…..were not very ambitious. I started out teaching in a two room school house. The move to a four room school was a big step upward in my eyes. And…. To land a job in the Hutchinson school system would have probably seemed like the pinnacle of success. Oh…. I don’t know. Maybe in time the desire to become a principal might have become the crowning achievement of my life.

On the other hand, while I was working for Dillons back during my high school and college days, my fondest ambition was to become the manager of a Dillon store. I was perfectly content working there: working at the cash register, stocking shelves, trimming produce, marking groceries…. I liked the people I was working with; I liked meeting and talking with all the customers….. I just liked the job, in general. Once I got the hang of things….and, let’s face it, it didn’t require a PhD or anything like that….I was good at it. There was a kind of satisfaction knowing that I was a valued employee….that I was doing my part in running the store efficiently….in making money for the Dillon family, who owned the corporation at the time.

I would go to work after school or on Saturday, do my job, and leave. That was it. No fuss; no muss. The only time I had to work overtime was when we did the quarterly inventory on a Saturday night after regular store hours. And… Counting all those cans and boxes….all those thousands of cans and boxes and packages….. Man… That was fun! Maybe I just liked to count! Or maybe I was not too bright back in those days! We would start counting as soon as we closed the doors and locked them…. And, we counted (and counted….and counted….) until probably 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning….

I am not sure why we didn’t start earlier. I mean…. What difference was it going to make if we sold a few cans of corn or a couple boxes of soap in the meantime? Actually, I am still not sure exactly why we even took inventory. They still do it, I guess, so it must serve some sort of useful purpose. As for me….. We got paid for doing it…. Time and a half…. Overtime, I think it is called. Wow…. A fortune. When I started working at Dillons in 1952, I made 60 cents an hour. For those six hour or so that I took inventory, I was making 90 cents an hour. Move over Bill Gates….

My boss’s name was Chet Dobyns. He was sort of a dour guy….short, just a little on the rotund side. At first he was a little bit intimidating. But, I found that he was actually a pretty funny man, when he wanted to be. After a while, when I got to know him….or when I got accustomed to him….I actually liked him. And…. He liked me, too. But, as I think (and hope) I have done all my life, I did a really good job for him.

I nagged him for months to change my title from…. Well, now that I think about it, I didn’t really have a title. Anyway, I wanted him to grant me the title of “Assistant to the Manager”. Now…. Come on. That is benign enough. Probably back then, I thought it had a few (desirable) attributes of prestige and grandeur. Everybody who worked in the store knew each other intimately. Our jobs were all pretty much chiseled into stone. There were only about a dozen employees total. And…. We all knew….understood quite well…..that Chet’s wife, Velma, really ran the store. And, she didn’t even work there. But, she always showed up around closing time, after she got off work at her job…..which was bookkeeper at a local ice cream manufacturing plant, I think. She would descend on the store…..and take charge of counting the money, balancing all the stuff…..and trying to make a good impression on the district supervisors, if they happened to show up. When Velma was around, everybody was on his best behavior.

I am digressing, though. One afternoon, I showed up at work, and Chet said, “Come over here. I have something for you.” Joy and excitement leaped into my heart! Oh….My wish had come true. He gathered all the employees who were free….and then….He handed me a Dillon ID pin that said, “Beryl Darrah, General Assistant.” Thanks for nothing. But, on the other hand, I am sure that it could just as well have said “General Pain in the Ass.”

But…. As said in another blog: Dillons did not give me college scholarships so I could waste it working for them. I moved on to my next dream…..to be a teacher. The army sort of put an end to that dream, for a few years, at least……with a free, all expenses paid trip to Saigon.

As my days in the army began to dwindle down, I began to give some thought to my future…..what I would do when I got back home. I had already told my sergeant-major that I did not want to reenlist. And, I didn’t. My old boss from back at Ft. Benjamin Harrison had become the military attache to Turkey. He sent a message telling me that he would like for me to be his NCO aide-de-camp. I was flattered that he wanted me to come and work for him. This was an enviable job….a job that most career soldiers would have given their left arm for. Just think of all the important people I could meet. All the important meetings and receptions I would accompany him to. And, my living quarters? I doubt if I would have been living in a dark, musty army barracks.

But… Turkey? This was back in 1965. Turkey? That did not have the exotic tourist appeal that it has today. I thought of it as more of a violent, lawless third world country….a place where I didn’t particularly want to go. Certainly not a place worth reenlisting for three more years. I turned down the offer. This, of course, was one of the things for which I would kick myself and berate myself for years to come. Oh well….

I arrived back home in Sterling sometime during the second week in September. I had already enrolled for the fall semester at Sterling College….through the mail. There was little….probably none at all….down time after I arrived home. College was starting immediately after I arrived. This was back in the “good old days” when colleges did not start until the middle of September….vastly different from most colleges today.

My plan….the grand plan for my life….was to return to college and become certified as an elementary teacher. I was already certified as a secondary teacher in American history, US Government, English…..and social studies…..sort of a catch-all certification that covered a wide variety of subjects….probably including brain surgery, if they had needed such a teacher! But, remember…. This was back in the days when there was a severe teacher shortage, for some reason. Upon completion of this certification, my job options would increase dramatically. Yeah…. I would be all set (as we said back then), ready for a bright future…..ready for the rest of my life.

Excited and eager to learn, I became a college student again. I enrolled in 15 credit hours of course work: Elementary Methods; Art for Elementary Teachers; Arithmetic for Elementary Teachers; Play Activities; and Elementary Student Teaching.

I am not sure what I was expecting. But…Man, these classes were boring! Not only boring, but irrelevant. Not only irrelevant, but worthless. When I look back on this semester, I think that I had simply grown and matured far beyond the man I was in 1960, when I received my bachelor’s degree. I think that back then….right after I had graduated from high school…..I had no concept of college…..what is was supposed to be like, what to expect from it. I had never been to college before. What did I know about it? I lived at home. My high school friends were still my “friends”. I had very little interaction with the other college students other than those who had graduated from Sterling High School Most of them were studying to go into some form of Christian ministry. And, there is nothing wrong with that. In fact, it was admirable.

After I graduated from college, I got a job teaching…..eventually two jobs, in fact. So I had already had two and a half years experience as an elementary teacher. It wasn’t like I had just crawled out from beneath a rock. I had stood in front of a class, taught them, planned the lessons, graded the papers….everything that a teacher does. All of what I was “learning” in these courses was pretty Mickey Mouse stuff….freshman stuff….. It took me less than a week to figure out that I actually knew more about teaching that any of my instructors knew. For one thing: I had actually taught school; they had not.

The head of the education department….the department was composed of two professors, neither with an earned doctorate…..was still there. Probably the last time she actually taught in a classroom was back in the early part of the century. Oh yes…. She was a good woman; she meant well; she tried. But, she just didn’t know what was going on inside a real classroom. She was sort of like the spinster school marm back in “The Little House on the Prairie” days. And….. She taught the elementary methods class.

Art for Elementary Teachers was a night class. I honestly thought the professor was gay. I was just a little nervous around him. It turned out that he wasn’t gay…..At least, he got married and had a child. But, he was also living….and teaching…..in the dark ages. He had one idea of art…..and to him, that was it. His way….or… Well, you get the idea. Creativity had no place in his classroom. Everybody did the same thing….and in the same way: His way. Oh, come on…. How many elementary teachers are artists? How many elementary students are artists….or even want to become artists. The point of elementary art is to teach and to foster and encourage creativity at an early age….not to train artists of the future. But…. Not in his classroom.

The class in Math for Elementary Teachers? Oh, wow. What can I say? Apparently something had happened in the three years that I had been out of the classroom. Two and two were no longer four. Ten times ten were no longer one hundred. For that matter….it seems that a five was no longer a five….or thirty was no longer three tens or two fifteens….. In fact, I really have no idea what they were. I struggled through the class…..base 10, sets, sub-sets…. I got a B….. Ask me how: I have no idea. Probably cheated! Were they actually teaching this bull in elementary classrooms? Who came up with the idea? My theory was that it was the textbook publishers. “Let’s come up with some crap that nobody understands. We can change all the textbooks….and make a fortune.” Fortunately, by the time I got back into classroom teaching four years later, it had been long forgotten.

That brings us to Play Activities. It was supposed to be a new “fun”, non-competitive, self-expression form of physical education. It was taught by some female kid….she had to have just graduated from high school…. No, more likely she had just graduated from Sterling College; this was her very first job; she was working for a salary of an indentured servant (like most of the professors were); and she was probably screwing one of the deans! Anyway, she is the only one of my college teachers that I actually clashed with. What she was teaching was so unrealistic, so utterly ridiculous, far fetched that it bordered on something from the Twilight Zone. And…. I told her so. I had already taught for two and a half years in an elementary school. I told her that no kid….boy or girl….who was halfway normal…..was going to fall for any of it. Why would a kid be interested in doing through all sorts of weird gyrations when he or she could be playing flag football or running a race or playing on the swings or shooting baskets on the outdoor court? That was no doubt a mistake. She never liked me from that point on. Oh well….. I didn’t like her either.

Ahhhh….. That brings us to student teaching. My neighbor girl’s (and remember, I was living in Sterling) boy friend had gotten a job teaching 6^th grade in Nickerson, a small town about ten miles from Sterling. He agreed that I could be a student teacher in his classroom…. Bless his heart. He had less teaching experience than I had.

So…. There I was. “Practicing” what I had already been paid to do for two and half years. My supervising teacher….the boy friend of my neighbor girl….. wasn’t, in my opinion, the most inspiring teacher in the world. After all….. He was teaching 6^th grade. How inspiring can that be….even under the best of circumstances. I doubt if very many…..if any….students were ever inspired by my rousing lectures to my 6^th grade classes, either. In general, the typical 6^th grade lesson does not fit into a category that can be called inspirational. 9 X 9 = 81. Use an auxiliary verb with the participle. The heart is the organ that pumps the blood through the body. The capital of France is Paris. Yeah…. That kind of stuff will never be made into a movie.

Since I spent a lot of time “observing”, that meant I had to spend a lot of time just trying to stay awake. I spent a lot of time just looking at my wristwatch! I spent a lot of time just trying to amuse myself…..trying not to fall asleep and falling out of my chair. No….really. The guy was not a bad teacher. He was a friend of mine. But, come on…. He wasn’t doing circus tricks or telling funny jokes or shooting half-court shots with a basketball.

No….. I think the entire thing was my fault. I was realizing that I probably knew from the very minute I stepped off the airplane in Wichita: I missed South Vietnam, and I wanted to go back. I didn’t miss the military; I missed the country….the people…..the laid back culture. I started searching for ways to go back to South Vietnam…..without reenlisting in the army, which I also came to realize was maybe what I really should have done.

This was a few decades before this thing known as the Internet came along. Finding a job in South Vietnam was obviously going to be a challenge. Quite frankly I doubted if it was even possible. Where did I even begin? There were no “job boards” back in those days. There were no advertisements in the Hutchinson News seeking civilians who wanted to go to South Vietnam. Certainly the Sterling College Placement Bureau didn’t have anything like that.

My only hope was to look up the addresses of all the non-government organizations, write letters to them asking about job opportunities….and then sit back and wait for a reply. Like I said, this was back when the Internet was only perhaps a wild fantasy in some science fiction story. There was, however, a publication called “The Readers’ Guide to Periodical Literature” which was an index of articles appearing in the most popular and important periodicals. It was found in virtually all libraries…..and still is, insofar as I know. I had to look up articles by their published date…..then search for them in the “magazine stacks”…..usually located in a poorly lighted, dark, basement with no windows. This was cumbersome and time consuming. Not to mention sending out a letter of inquiry….waiting for the reply…..filling out application forms….waiting even longer for a reply….. The chances of landing a job by this method was probably somewhere between zero and nothing.

But…. I think I must have been living a good life. Luck….good fortune….or something….was on my side.

I was sitting in the classroom….”observing”…..trying to stay awake. I was leafing through a magazine….”Redbook Magazine”, to be exact….as a distraction. I have no idea what Redbook Magazine was doing in a 6^th grade classroom. Maybe these kids were more advanced that I had assumed they were….or certainly a little more sophisticated. At any rate, I was sitting there leafing through the pages of the magazine….trying to be as subtle and unobtrusive as possible….when all of a sudden it hit me. If that magazine would have had fists, it would have smashed me in the nose.

Suddenly, I was wide awake. There in front of me was an article about an organization that I had never heard of. It was exactly what I had been looking for….even though I didn’t even know it existed. I knew the instant that I saw the title of the article that this was going to be my ticket back to South Vietnam. According to the article, there was an organization called The International Voluntary Services (IVS) that was composed of idealistic volunteers. They were working in the fields of education, agriculture and community development. The word that jumped out at me was “education”. And….the article went on to say they were always looking for “volunteers”.

I knew then….deep in my heart…..that I would be going back to South Vietnam…..with the International Voluntary Services. However, I didn’t tell anybody about my plan. I decided to wait until it was really THE plan. I copied the address of the International Voluntary Services from the magazine article. I “hid” the magazine somewhere (and I don’t remember the exact place) where I was pretty sure nobody would take the magazine. It never occurred to me to simply ask if I could take the magazine with me….and I was too honest to simply take the magazine without asking (bragging… Yes, I was an honest person, even back then!)

That evening I sat down at my ancient old typewriter and wrote a letter asking for an application form. In about a week, I received the application form in the mail….remember, this was long before there was even a hint of the Internet. I filled out the application immediately and mailed it back…..and waited hopefully….and eagerly….and expectantly…. In another week or ten days, a letter came from John Hughes, the personnel director of IVS. I ripped the envelop open….probably fortunate that I didn’t tear the letter apart in the process. Of course, if this would be happening today, chances are the entire process would have been accomplished in a couple days….instead of almost three weeks.

IVS was interested. An interview appointment was arranged in McPherson the following week. McPherson is about 40 miles from Sterling. I was super excited….but also super nervous. I had very little background or knowledge of this organization. For all I knew, all the volunteers had PhD’s or were “experts” in their fields. Maybe they were all experienced foreign service officers…. I was pretty young and naive back then. After all…. All the people who were applying were volunteers. Why would a person volunteer for a job they could get paid to do? I was still pretty confident….and I still “knew” that I would be going back to South Vietnam.

What should I wear to the interview? The only interviews I had had were….well, my job at Dillons. And, that wasn’t exactly what one would call an “interview”. My only other interviews were for the teaching positions. In all of these jobs….including the one later in Valley Falls….they were selling the job to me! That was how severe the teacher shortage was. Nevertheless, I did the only thing I knew to do. I put on a suit and tie…and hoped for the best.

I don’t remember who interviewed me. I am guessing that he was a former volunteer who lived in McPherson or close by.  And, I don’t recall where the interview was held. Probably a local cafe. I do remember that the guy who showed up to interview me was not much older than I was. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt with some sort of logo on it. So much for professional standards! Fashion was certainly wasn’t going to be a factor in getting this position. He obviously was not a professional interviewer. We talked for a while….not about anything in particular. I asked him more questions that he asked me. I left the “interview” knowing that I would be teaching English somewhere in a provincial school….somewhere out in the boondocks. I was surprised to find that we would actually be given a “living allowance”. All I had expected was a place to live and maybe a few bananas….lots of rice and lots of tea! And…. The latter two things definitely came true.

As the interview….the meeting….came to a close, he told me that he was definitely going to recommend that I be accepted….and he thought my chances were excellent. (Actually, I think everybody’s chances were excellent!) As I drove back home, I was a happy camper. Sure enough, in about another week, I received a letter telling me that I had indeed been accepted. Hey….. High Five! I am going back to South Vietnam. And…. You said I couldn’t do it!

I decided that maybe it was time to start letting people know. Some people, of course, reacted with shock. Why would anybody want to go to South Vietnam voluntarily? Especially somebody who had already been there…. They probably thought I had gone crazy….probably suffered some sort of “war injury” while I was there…. (Just fighting off the women!) Maybe I was eligible for some sort of psychiatric treatment. (People have always thought that!) I had the feeling that some of my friends were probably talking behind my back: “Poor Beryl. There must be something wrong with him.” (No…. Not really.) A couple of my friends asked, “What’s the deal? Do you have a woman there?” (Well…. Not yet, anyway.)

Actually, my family was less surprised. They all knew that I had liked South Vietnam….and wanted to go back. I think they were rather astounded that it happened so quickly. None of them tried to talk me out of it…..other than saying things like, “Why don’t you just get a job teaching here in the USA?” or “It’s dangerous over there. Are you sure you want to go back there?”

Next came the process of preparing to leave. First there was the passport. I had never had one before. But, I got one. Then there were all those shots….the immunizations and inoculations…. I felt like a human pin cushion. I had been through all this before having received dozens of shots while I was still in the Army….and the old needle holes were still there.

My recollections of a lot of details have faded from my memory. I really have no idea how I got to Washington, D. C. None, whatsoever. The only thing I recall for certain is that for some reason, I landed in Baltimore. I didn’t even think that was unusual. That is how little I knew about what was going on. Somehow I got from Baltimore to Washington, D. C. And, somehow I found my way to the IVS headquarters.

You know….back in those days, nothing seemed to bother me. I just did stuff….and somehow everything seemed to work out. As I look back on those “Sterling” days, I often marvel that I am still around to tell about it. I did a lot of stupid things. Not bad things…..just stupid things. I took a lot of chances….did too many things without stopping to think of the consequences. I acted impulsively….spontaneously. I wasn’t insane or anything like that. I didn’t jump out in front of cars….or rob banks….or even wrestle alligators. I just “did” things….especially if it sounded or looked like fun. Maybe it never occurred to me that I was risking my health or well being. And, even back then, I looked upon myself as being sort of a coward. Maybe being so naive….such a country hick….that I didn’t recognize the potential results of some of the things I did…. Who knows? Maybe it was good, in a rather perverse way. At least, I didn’t expend a lot of energy worrying about things….

Yes…. You are right, if you are thinking that something rather drastic happened somewhere along the way……between the years when I was a (very) young man…..and now. I doubt if there are many people that I know who would ever accuse me of being spontaneous or doing things on the spur of the moment. If someone would file a charge of “spontaneousness” against me in court, there would never be enough evidence for a guilty verdict in any court in the world.

Nevertheless, somehow I made it to Washington, D. C. Somehow I found the IVS offices. Details….details…… The personnel director greeted me profusely….and soon I found myself being shuttled off to a hotel somewhere in close proximity of the World Health Organization. I remember, because this was one of the only things I could see from my window. This was no doubt a good location for the hotel, too. The place was so run down and dirty that I suspect there were diseases hiding all over the place….and probably few right in the open where we could see them, if we knew what to look for. If we got sick….. Well, the World Health Organization was right next door! At this point in my young life, I was hadn’t had a lot of experience staying in hotels….unless an army barracks passes for a hotel. And, believe me…. It doesn’t. But, even I knew that we were staying in a cheap, sub-standard, run-down building where IVS was probably renting rooms by the month at a fairly insignificant fee.

My roommate’s name was Robert Walker. I really don’t remember much about him. He was assigned to the agriculture team. I do remember, however, that we would lie on our beds, talk….and listen to Nancy Sinatra sing “These Boots Are Made for Walking”…..still one of my favorite songs. We rapidly drifted apart….especially after we arrived in South Vietnam and were dispersed to our various stations. In fact, once we got to South Vietnam, none of us rarely saw each other again. Our paths never seemed to cross. I would try to find Robert….except, I am not sure he is still alive. If he is….well, let’s face it: He is a rather elderly gentleman now. Plus….and this is the main reason: Do you have any idea how many Robert Walkers there are in the USA today? If not….just look in one of the online telephone directories.

Nevertheless, Robert and I got along well. We went got up, met the rest of our group, caught a bus to a large drug store, ate breakfast….and went to our language school. You are probably asking…. Ate breakfast in a drug store? Oh yes…. This was very common back in those days. Almost every large drug store had a “lunch counter” that served simple meals. These were popular places to eat for the morning rush hour crowd….and the lunch hour, too, for that matter. Yeah…..good old Walgreens is not what it used to be.

We spent the remainder of the day…..five days a week…..in school. We studied “Teaching English as a Foreign Language” at George Washington University in the morning. The afternoons were devoted to learning the Vietnamese language at the Foreign Service Institute.

The purpose of the course we attended at George Washington University was to instruct us the principles and methods of teaching English as a foreign language….more specifically to the Vietnamese students we would soon encounter. To be more specific, the class was offered to those of us who were destined to be English teachers in Vietnamese schools. The agriculture and community service volunteers went their separate ways to learn something that might be useful to them during their stay in South Vietnam.

This was the one….and only….class I ever took in this skill, so I am not really very qualified to give an enlightened appraisal of the course. I can only imagine that it followed accepted techniques…or best practices….in the field at the time. After all it was being conducted by George Washington University…..a university of considerable prestige and respect. Basically, the method we were taught was the “repeat after me” system. And…. It is exactly what it says…..rather like teaching a parrot to talk. The teacher says a word….or a phrase…..and then the students repeat it. “Model it” is the professional term, I think.

I was the only person in my group….a rather small group after the ag and CD people had been separated from us…..who had ever taught school before. I caught on to what was happening almost immediately. I mean…. Come on. How difficult can it be to say, “My name is Beryl” over and over the or twelve times? Or “Where do you live?” Or, “Duck…. Somebody is shooting at you.” (“Get down” would probably be a better term to use. To a Vietnamese, “duck” is something that quacks.)

But….. We spent six weeks….four hours a day….learning how to do it. Oh, I am sure there were some other things thrown in along the way just to make it a little more interesting and to make us feel we were getting our money’s worth. But, to summarize it in one sentence….. That is what we did. And…..I know you are not to believe this….a couple of the guys had problems with learning it. Since we didn’t have any foreign students to work with, we did a lot of play acting: We and the instructors were the “class”. Yeah…. It did get a little boring, for me, at least. But, I was a “good student”…..the star of the class, in fact! (See illustration.) And, the “teacher’s pet” too, I might modestly add.

In the afternoon, after we had eaten lunch…..probably at the same drug store….we all assembled at the Foreign Service Institute for our classes in the Vietnamese language. Actually, these classes were not a lot of fun. They were necessary…..and we understood that….but they were not something any of us looked forward to.

Vietnamese is not the easiest language to learn. It is a tonal language with five distinct tones. Let me see if I can remember all of them: There is the even tone with no intonation; there is the low rising tone….the low falling tone….the high rising tone and the high falling tone. That’s five, isn’t it? If you have ever wondered why languages like Chinese or Vietnamese sound so “sing-song”…. Well, wonder no longer. And the multiple tones are the reason why. But, don’t ask me why most Orientals speak in what seems like a nasal voice. I have no idea. That is a mystery for somebody else to figure out. I am pretty sure that none of us Americans spoke in a nasal, sing-song voice.

All words in the Vietnamese language have only one syllable. Strange…. Stop and consider: one syllable, one word…and five separate tones. And, I think I am correct in saying that many of their “words” are actually short “phrases” in the Vietnamese language. At any rate, it is a tricky language to learn. If you are not accustomed to the five tones….and what American is, unless they are an opera singer…..everything becomes very confusing in a hurry. Before I started studying Vietnamese, I don’t think I ever thought about it. I guess it never occurred to me about the “tones”. I suppose I just thought “that is the way they talk”. We found out in a hurry that there is a reason for that “sing-song” language they spoke.

In case you are wondering how to know which tone to make or how to pronounce a word….. There are little marks over the vowel that indicates the sound. Maybe you don’t think it makes any difference which tone to use. Well…. Let me tell you. It does! The same one syllable word can….and does….have five different meanings, depending on the tone. Let’s just say that the Vietnamese language is not a “natural” language for an English speaking person to learn to speak. And….. We haven’t even talked about the sentence structure, the verb tenses, the masculine and feminine noun and pronoun forms….. And, I am certainly not going into that here. Find a linguist, if you want to know that badly.

Just like we teachers were learning in the mornings at George Washington University, the method of teaching was the “repeat after me” system. I don’t know…. Maybe that is the only efficient way to teach pronunciation of a foreign language. We call it “modeling”. One thing that I am sure of, however, sitting for four hours “modeling” the Vietnamese language was pretty boring…..if not mind numbing. There were times when I…..and I am sure most of our little group….found it difficult to stay awake. I always wondered if it would have been better to start out the day learning Vietnamese, when our brains were still awake…..when they were still functioning in a semi-alert mode.

Like I said, the Vietnamese language classes were conducted at the Foreign Service Institute….a highly reputable institution. The actual teaching of Vietnamese was done by native Vietnamese. Vietnamese women, to be more exact. We were told….by somebody….they were wives of Vietnamese diplomats who were serving in Washington, D. C. at that time. These women knew what they were doing. I suspect that some of them may have been teachers back in South Vietnam….maybe on the university level. And, like most Vietnamese…. They were really nice women. Probably too nice for their own good. I think they found it difficult to use the word “No”. or “That’s wrong.” or “You guys are terrible!” or “You guys are never going to learn to speak Vietnamese.” Instead…. They just smiled at us and said, “Let’s says it again.” And again….and again….and again…..

There were two American ladies who were obviously in charge of the language classes. I wouldn’t swear to it under oath, but I doubt if either one of them spoke a word of Vietnamese. They were probably linguists of some sort. They did their best to explain the intricacies of the grammar…of the verb tenses….of the sentence structure….. Details that pretty much overwhelmed us.

Just like our morning session in “Teaching English as a Foreign Language”, we had nobody to practice on or with. So, just like we did then, we practiced on each other. Talk about the blind leading the blind. Yeah…. And, for the sake of honesty and full disclosure….. We also practiced with the instructors. In order to compensate for the lack of opportunities to practice, we were encouraged to go over to the State Department building and practice in their language lab at night. The State Department was within easy walking distance of our hotel. Perhaps three nights a week….and I am almost sure it was no more than that….my room mate and I would walk over there and spend some time.

In the basement of this sprawling building there was a huge language laboratory. I am assuming that this is where all U.S. personnel who were headed to an overseas assignment came to study or practice the language of their individual countries. And, in general, it was a very busy….if not popular….place, with people of all descriptions sitting behind tape players with their headphones on, practicing their language….just like we were. I have pretty much forgotten the details. Remember, this was back in 1966. But, the format on the tapes were much the same as we had been taught. A voice on the tape player said a word…. We repeated the word…. It said it again. We repeated it…. Etc….. Of course, there was no positive or negative feedback, but it did give up the opportunity to hear the word pronounced correctly, and it gave us the opportunity to “model” the word. Of course, we could go back and repeat words as often as we wanted.

Let me make it clear…. This was not our preferred way to spend an evening. But, on the other hand, it was useful in hearing and modeling words in setting that we could control….and without any interruptions….and we could proceed at our individual pace. Another advantage of spending these evenings in the State Department basement studying Vietnamese was that by the time we got back to our hotel….. Believe me, we were probably already half asleep and ready for a good night’s sleep. No need for anybody to sing us a lullaby.

For me….and I think it would probably be a unanimous opinion among our group….language training was not my favorite memory. We all knew that it was necessary if we wanted to survive our South Vietnam experience. Even with eight weeks of intense language training, we were miles away from any hint of fluency. But….a start is a start. “What is your name” “How much does that cost?” “Where do you live?” “What in the heck am I doing here?” ……or maybe, even more important, “Are you a VC?”

One guy who started out in our group never made it. In fact, he dropped out after less than a week. Poor guy. We were all pulling for him….trying to encourage him….trying to help him. I don’t remember his name. He was from Texas. We couldn’t help but like him. He was outgoing, friendly, funny. He was a cowboy….and he looked like a cowboy. He showed up wearing cowboy boots, a western style hat, blue jeans and a western cut shirt. The only thing he didn’t have was a six-shooter strapped around his waist. The Vietnamese would have loved him. He looked like he came straight off the ranch….and I am sure he probably had.

There was a problem though. He also talked like a cowboy! His Texas drawl was straight out of Hollywood. It was cool. The first day of language class it was apparent that he had a problem. He simply could not handle the five tones of the Vietnamese language. He just couldn’t….no matter hard he tried. Yes…. The Vietnamese would have love him….but there was no way they would be able to understand him. He talked with a southern Texas drawl. There was absolutely nothing sing-song about his voice! For a couple nights, we tried to help him, but to no avail. His voice just wasn’t suited to learning a language like Vietnamese. The guy understood this. Rather than prolong his frustration, which I am sure he probably thought of as failure…. He just packed up and went back home. We missed him, but we all understood quite well why he decided to quit. I am sure he was super successful helping people in another way, however.

To be sure, most of my day was devoted to the classroom….studying how to teach English as a foreign language and to learning the Vietnamese language. And, some evenings were devoted to study and practice in the language lab in the basement of the State Department building.

Despite these mandatory obligations, we still had plenty of time for ourselves…..in the evenings and on weekends. The rooms in the hotel where we stayed did not have a TV set in them. Actually, I am surprised they even had a bed. I mean, this was a cheap hotel. Maybe they were trying to toughen us up for our life in South Vietnam. No…. I am sure IVS was just cheap! So, obviously, we did not sit around in the evening watching TV at night. Sometimes, but not very often, we had some “homework”. Mostly, I think we just sat around and read or talked to each other. And, I can imagine that we went to bed quite early.

Once or twice a week, we used money from our “living allowance” to eat out…..always walking, I might add….or taking a bus. As I look back…. Maybe sometimes it is good to be young and naive and totally unaware of what was going on. Washington, D. C., at that time and probably still is, one of the most dangerous and crime ridden cities in the USA. And, here we were…. Out walking the streets at night like, probably thinking Washington, D. C. was one of the safest cities around. After all, it was the nation’s capital. Surely that meant it was safe. Nevertheless, we were completely not aware that Washington, D. C. was a dangerous city….especially at night. I am sure….positive….that I would not be walking the streets of Washington these days. Wow…. I would never consider walking the streets of Topeka at night….anywhere….

Nevertheless, nothing bad ever happened to us….not even a scary situation. Maybe there is safety in numbers. When we ventured out at night, there were always five or six of us. Perhaps we looked so tough that people thought we were a gang! At any rate, one of two times a week, we “went out” to eat.

Somehow…and it had to be a lucky accident or coincidence….we came across a steak house that looked pretty high class, at least from the outside. It was called  “The Black Angus”…..or something like that. With a name like that, it would have to be pretty good, wouldn’t it? “Yeah, let’s go in and check out this place.”

Well, indeed, it must have been a pretty exclusive place. We didn’t even make it in the front door. A superior-acting waiter or maitre d’ or somebody stopped us at the door and politely, but icily, informed us that in order to enter, men must wear a jacket and tie! Ohhhhh…. This was more high class than we had suspected. This was a place for the upper class of society…..not for us poor peasants just off the farm. We were embarrassed….at least, I was. I had never been refused entrance to a restaurant….or anywhere, for that matter….unless it as that one time I got thrown out of the girls’ locker room! Just kidding. We were dressed presentably….slacks and buttoned shirt and a jacket. What’s wrong with that? I guess we could call it my initiation into the world of “fine dining”. That night we had to settle for something a little more ordinary. Maybe we went back to the drug store. Who knows? Anyway, we didn’t let a little thing like this discourage us. Just to show them that we were “high class”, we all returned the following night, dressed like diplomats and spies. They didn’t bat an eye. They led us to a table….just like we may have been senators or congressmen. Hey…. This is fun. Sort of like Halloween. We got dressed up on our “costume”….and they fell for it. Actually, we went to this restaurant probably once a week for as long as we were in Washington, D. C. I don’t think we ever saw any important people. If we did…. We didn’t know it. And…. Who knows? Maybe we were the most important people there.

On weekends we mainly went sightseeing. We would just hop on a bus and ride to a central spot. Then we would get off…..and walk….and walk….and walk…. We saw a lot of important buildings….. We saw history…. Aside from the regular museums, we visited the Capitol Building more than once. Back in those days….early 1966….we were pretty much free to roam wherever we wanted. At least, nobody stopped us. We wandered through the halls and corridors of the nation’s capital freely. And, not just us….everybody did. I am sure we saw places in the Capitol Building that nobody can ever see today….except for the senators and representatives and their staffs. Those were the good old days….before our nation was gripped by the fear of terrorism. There were always armed guards walking around, but they seemed more protective than threatening.

One of my favorite buildings was the National Archives Building. Wow…. The original Declaration of Independence….and the Constitution….and the Emancipation Proclamation…. This was heavy stuff…..exciting and sobering. We walked leisurely through more museums that I can remember…..just looking….just passing time…. There was so much to see…. It was sensory and intellectual overload. And, don’t forget the monuments and memorials: The Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial, The Jefferson Memorial…. And all those government headquarters buildings, such as the Pentagon, the Supreme Court Building, the US Treasury Building, the Department of Justice (once Bobby Kennedy’s domain), the FBI (still under the tight control of J. Edgar Hoover)…..and, of course, The White House. We never got to go inside the White House, but walking past it was routine. We saw everything….. Arlington National Cemetery, Georgetown, the National Mall, Union Station…..

Yes…. We saw it all. Leisurely….no hassle…..no concrete barriers….no body searches….. It was more like, “Come on in and look. You are an American citizen. This all belongs to you!” What a sharp and vivid contrast from today’s world.

But…. Alas. Nobody in my group had a camera. I have no idea why. As for me…. This was long before I had developed an intense interest…an almost obsession….to take a picture of everything I see. Maybe you also noticed that nowhere in the list of sites and attractions that I listed will you see the word “art”. Wow…. Does this tell you something? I was a different person back in those days.

Today….. Well, since somewhere around the time I moved to Valley Falls….I have taken somewhere around 40,000 pictures. Admittedly, some of these pictures are duplicates….being saved in more than one folder. That, I think, is still a lot of pictures. Thank you… Thank you, digital photography. The truth is, however….. I had no pictures….zero….nada….pictures of anything I did in Washington, D. C. Eight weeks of sightseeing….eight weeks of wandering all around Washington, D. C…..and not a single picture. I guess this must be the “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” story of my life when it comes to taking pictures…. Now, I am definitely “Mr. Hyde”. Wasn’t he the good one?

And art? Why didn’t I go to art galleries? Don’t even bother to ask me. I have no idea why. Really. Back in those days, I had absolutely no interest in art. I probably didn’t even know it existed. I am sure I was never exposed to it….and that may explain a lot.  As they say, “You don’t think about stuff you have never heard of.” I think I first started to become interested in art while I was living in Saigon. But, more about that later on.

Needless to say, I wish I would have had a camera while I was in Washington, D. C. I didn’t. And, there is no point of worrying about something that cannot be changed. Although, according to one of Einstein’s theories, isn’t it at least theoretically possible to go back in time? Someday when I get bored, maybe I will give it a try.

To say the least, the time I spent in Washington, D. C. was basically not wasted. I didn’t lie in my bed and sleep….or sit in a bar and drink…..or go to a pool hall and play pool and games all day.

Usually on Sunday, I would go to church. From the late fifties through the early sixties, I attended the United Presbyterian Church….mostly because one of my good friend’s dad was the pastor of the church in Sterling…..and probably for no other reason. I continued that habit while I was in Washington, D. C. I chose to attend the New York Avenue Presbyterian Church….the church that Peter Marshall made famous. The church was a considerable distance from my hotel…..probably a good thirty or forty minute walk. The route I took to church took me down Pennsylvania Avenue, directly in front of the White House. This was a walk that I never got tired of. I would walk the couple city block, stopping often to gaze through the iron rail fence that separated the White House grounds from the sidewalk. There were always other tourists there also looking though the railing….except they were usually taking pictures. Everything was peaceful. There were a few armed policemen standing or walking around. They, quite frankly, looked like they were bored. There were no confrontations with the police. There was no shouting, “Stand back” or “Don’t take pictures.” or “Get away from the fence.” And….. There were certainly no concrete barriers or barbed wire or armored vehicles blocking streets or the view.

One Sunday I was walking to church. I was walking on the sidewalk past the White House. I was walking toward the east, so my head was turned to the south so I could see the White House as I walked along. For some reason I happened to look up, and there walking the opposite direction, toward the west, was one of my old college professors. We saw each other at almost exactly the same instant. I am not sure who was more shocked…..him or me? Both of did sort of a double take….like we were not really sure what we were seeing….and if it were really true. After hesitating for just a second, I smiled and said, “Hello, Dr. Jones. What are you doing here?” And, I am sure he probably said the same thing to me…..although he probably didn’t call me Dr. Jones. He was in Washington, D. C. attending sort of conference…..and was on his way to a different church. It was sort of a happy coincidence, I suppose. It is not very often that two people from Sterling, Kansas, meet each other…..anywhere outside of Sterling, that is….certainly not in Washington, D. C.

The eight weeks in Washington, D. C. was either pretty exciting….or it was pretty boring….depending on what we were doing. I hate to say it, but the time we spent “learning” was pretty boring. Yeah…. It would have taken a rather extraordinary teacher to make something like teaching English as a foreign language exiting….and an even more fantastic teacher to make learning Vietnamese exciting. So…. There is nothing unusual about that opinion. I don’t think either of those subjects were even meant to be exciting.

The hotel was completely unremarkable….and unmemorable….. No TV in the rooms, no bar or dining room or game room…. It was a place to sleep and take a shower….and nothing else. What made the time I spent in Washington, D. C. interesting were the “extracurricular” activities….those things we did in our free time: all the public buildings and monuments….the museums….the parks….the endless walks we took… The places we were able to eat. We took in some movies. We looked through book stores….large department stores…. We even went to Ringling Brothers’, Barnum and Bailey Circus….. The Greatest Show on Earth. I fell asleep about five minutes after the show started…..but at least, I can say I was there.

The truth was….. I was eager to get back to South Vietnam. Language training finally came to an end. IVS had about a week of “cultural” and “educational” activities planned for us. I had already satisfied my appetite for culture. I wanted to go to South Vietnam.

They looked at me with shock and horror when I asked if I could skip the week activities and fly straight to Saigon. Poor John Hughes, the personnel director at the time, practically sputtered with astonishment and amazement. Maybe nobody had done this before. Nobody had ever wanted to do this before. It just wasn’t done that way. We innocent, naive, inexperienced people just could not do this by ourselves. I mean….the war…the violence….the shooting….the mean streets of Saigon….the VC…..the VD….

After I managed to convince him that I had already spent a year in Saigon, that I knew city well….that I was familiar with the taxis, the cylos….that I was able to take care of myself…. And, after I sort of stretched the truth a little bit and told him that I had friends that I wanted to visit….that I wanted to visit my old army boss….. All of which was true, except I didn’t get around to doing any of it….. He finally agreed to buy my ticket and send me on my way. Oh yes…. He also had some things he wanted to send along with me…. You know… As long as I was going that way and was in the neighborhood.

So, a few days later, I happily landed at Tan Son Nhut Airport…..good old Tan Son Nhut…. Oh, how I missed you.

I checked into a hotel in downtown Saigon and spent a couple days just enjoying being there again…..walking around downtown….taking a taxi here….riding in a cyclo there… I really didn’t know anybody. I missed hanging out with my friend Ursel. Somehow it just didn’t seem the same. I considered going to see my old boss at Tan Son Nhut, but I figured that getting on the airbase would be more of a problem than it was actually worth. Strange, random civilians just didn’t show up at the front gate very often…..Tan Son Nhut was not a tourist attraction back then.

On the third day in Saigon, I decided that I had better pay a visit to the IVS office, if for no other reason than to deliver the two or three large envelops that I had been asked to give to them. I flagged down a taxi….showed him the address that I had written down. The driver muttered something to himself…and away we went….on my way to another adventure in South Vietnam.

Of course, I had never been to the IVS offices before, and I had no idea where they were located. In my mind, however, I had them pictured somewhere near downtown in a rather nice office building. After all, the organization was being fully funded by the United States government through USAID….the United States Agency for International Development. No wonder the driver was muttering to himself. We took off from the hotel, which was located in the center of downtown and headed west….and we kept driving west. When Horace Mann said, “Go West, young man. Go West.” I don’t think this was exactly what he had in mind. I was a little concerned that the driver had no idea where the place was located and maybe he was lost. Or that he was really a VC agent, and I was being kidnapped and would certainly be held for ransom.

After what seemed like an interminable drive, the driver finally smiled triumphantly as he pulled into the driveway. I said one of the few Vietnamese phrases that I knew at that time….and which seemed appropriate, “Cam on, ong.” (Thank you, sir.) I asked him how much…. “Bao nieu?” He said something in Vietnamese….something which I did not understand. He could probably tell by my blank look that I had no idea what he said, so he held up some fingers. I have him some money….which I knew was too much. But, what the heck? He was obviously pleased. At least, he didn’t try to hold me up for more money. He smiled, said good-bye….and drove away.

There I was standing front of the IVS headquarters….somewhere in Saigon. Somewhere I did not expect to be. But the logo on the old green Jeep sitting in the driveway said, “International Voluntary Services”. Who was I to argue with that? So, I walked to the door…..and went in.

I am not kidding! It was like the world just stopped spinning on its axis. Just like the picture had frozen on the TV set. Just like the batteries suddenly went dead! I walked in….and it looked like everybody simply stopped what they were doing in mid-motion….and looked at me. I am going to take a wild guest that not very many Americans….although I could have been English, Canadian, French….or even South African….just walked into the office randomly. Everybody just….well, stared at me. I finally walked up to one of the desks and said something like, “I am a new volunteer. I just came to say Hello to you.”

Something very similar to bedlam broke out….. On a small scale, of course. There were only about 5 or 6 people in the office. Again….and I am not exaggerating…. I was bombarded with questions: “Who are you?” “How did you get there”? “Where did you come from?” “You can’t volunteer here in Vietnam.” “You have to volunteer in the USA, and then they make the decision.”

I wanted to shout, “Just shut up and listen!” But, of course, I didn’t. Nobody had bothered to tell them that I was coming early. Or maybe they did, and the word simply had not gotten to them yet. It took mail about two weeks to get from the USA to Saigon back in those day. And, maybe using the telephone was too expensive…. I don’t know.

Anyway, I explained to them that our training in Washington D. C. was finished, and I had asked if I could come over early. That, of course, started a new round of questions…..most of them beginning with the word “Why?” “Why did you want to….?” “Why would you want to?” “Why did they let you?” “How did you get here?” “When did you get here?” “Where are you staying?”

Somehow I was getting the idea that these may not be the people that I would want to have answering 9-1-1 calls… Or maybe I would. They certainly asked enough questions. I was surprised by all the confusion that I caused…..and a little embarrassed…..and a little bit annoyed.

I handed the envelops that I had been entrusted with to one of the guys…. The only women were apparently the secretaries….sitting behind one of the desks. He turned out to be the Chief of Administration. At least, when he saw the envelops, he calmed down a bit. Obviously, the people in Washington, D.C. knew who I was.

Then the concern…..and confusion…. turned to where I was staying. “Oh, you shouldn’t stay in a hotel. It is not safe. You don’t know your way around. You might get (take your choice)…. Lost, kidnapped, killed, swindled….”

“Where are eating? What are you doing for money?”

“You must stay here where it is safe….where the food is safe….where the water is safe….”

“Why didn’t you call from the airport, and somebody would have come to pick you up?”

Call from the airport? Give me a break. I had no idea what their telephone number was. As a matter of fact…..I really had no idea where I was….really. It is a good thing that I had an honest taxi driver.

I told them that part of the deal I had discussed in Washington, D. C. was that I would come here and not bother anybody….or cause any unnecessary problems or inconvenience. I would just stay in a hotel until the arrival date of the rest of the volunteers. Really, all I wanted to do was deliver the envelops to them….and meet them….and then get out of their way.

They were amazed when I told them I had already spent a year in South Vietnam. And, even more shocked when I told them that I had just been discharged from the Army. This organization was not famous for attracting ex-military personnel….in fact, as I was to learn very quickly, it was the exact opposite.

They….and when I say “they” I am talking about the people at IVS, whom I had met only a few minutes earlier….insisted that I should come and stay at the IVS house. Well…. They were sort of my “boss” now. I agreed to go get my suitcase and move in. They even dispatched a driver to take me to the hotel. I am not sure if they were just being “nice”, or whether they wanted to make sure I would return.

So…. Now I was back in South Vietnam….and I was “officially” part of The International Voluntary Service.

Far from being located in an office building in downtown Saigon, the IVS headquarters was located on the outskirts of Saigon on Le Van Duyet Street (sorry there are no diacritical markings.) not so far from Tan Son Nhut Airbase. Also in the immediate vicinity were a South Korean military base, a South Vietnamese military base…..and the Saigon horse racing track. Le Van Duyet Street was a major thoroughfare basically lined with small shops, stores, assorted businesses, and markets. Similar to the downtown area…..if it was for sale, you could probably buy it somewhere along Le Van Duyet Street. Just a huge Walmart….only out on the sidewalk. Only, I am pretty sure there were things for sale on the sidewalk and the little kiosks and the market places that you would never find at a Walmart.

Many of the owners of these various businesses lived in their stores….in the back, upstairs…. For many, I am sure it was a life of mere subsistence….with multiple generations crowded into small rooms….no personal space, few, if any luxuries, except maybe for a TV set. It seems that somehow a surprising number of people were able to come up with a TV.

Just like the rest of Saigon, it was a busy street, full of all the interesting collections of vehicles that I had become accustomed to seeing in Saigon…. Automobiles, motor scooters (not motor cycles), cyclos, both with and without motors, bicycles, buses, military vehicles…Jeeps, two and a half ton trucks….even tanks, and the ubiquitous taxis. There was even an occasional ox cart, thrown in for good measure. And, we can’t forget the walkers, the strollers…. The streets and the traffic had the appearance of chaos, but yet somehow it worked. It is all a matter of perspective, I suppose.

The IVS headquarters was located on the north side of the street. There were two large buildings: The “main” building, the building that actually housed the headquarters and the men’s dorm, and another building which contained the dining room, the kitchen and the women’s dorm. The two buildings were connected by a covered walkway. This covered walkway was useful during the frequent rains. On the second level of the headquarters/men’s dorm building were living quarters (translations: private room) for each of the permanent male staff. Although I never checked, I am assuming there was a similar arrangement for the women on the upper story of the dining room/women’s dorm. I am just assuming this….and reporting “hear-say”. Because in the two years I lived there, nobody ever invited me to “inspect” it. On the second level of the men’s dorm was a large open-air terrace or patio….or whatever the correct name is. It was a pleasant place to sit at night…. Or it would have been, had it not been for the mosquitoes….the ever present, ever hungry mosquitoes…

So….. As I was saying, a driver took me to the hotel where I was staying, I collected my belongings….and moved to the IVS house. I really do not recall long I was there. The remainder of the volunteers showed up….. We had more language training….. I am sure there were indoctrination sessions….of some sort…..but most of that has long been filed in a subconscious “inactive” file somewhere in the basement of my brain.

After about two weeks, I suppose…..because, like I said, that short period of my life has been blocked from my memory…..and it really isn’t important anyway….we were called in….somewhere…..and told what our assignment would be. Although there is no picture in my mind of the event, I am assuming that the current Associate Chief of Party for Education would have been the logical person who told me.

While I was attending Vietnamese language training in Washington, one of the Vietnamese instructors kept urging me to try to be assigned to Ca Mau, in the very southern part of South Vietnam…..way down in the delta region not far from the South China Sea. She extolled the beauty of the land, the kindness of the people, the productive rice paddies….. What she failed to “extol” was the fact that this was one of the most dangerous regions in South Vietnam. I am not sure…..but maybe she didn’t like me as much as I thought she did! Perhaps this was her way of getting revenge for some secret grudge she was holding against me.

At any rate, Ca Mau was not in my future…..then or ever. If I could have chosen my own work station, it would have been in Saigon. But, that assignment, I would gradually become aware, was an assignment which was exclusively awarded to females…..maybe because it was considered a relatively secure place to work. We did have one guy who was stationed in Saigon…. Sam Delap, who would later become one of my best and long-lasting friends. He was a science instructor….the only one employed by IVS. He operated a mobile science unit that sort of rotated around some high schools in the Saigon area. My assignment was in Phan Rang, the capital of Ninh Tuan Province, located on the central coast of the South China Sea, about halfway up the Vietnam peninsula.

One day I packed my belongings, which had probably never been unpacked…..and said a sad good-bye to Saigon. I was accompanied by the Region II Director for IVS, Gene Stolftfuz, as I made the journey to my new home and work station in Phan Rang. This was the first time I had been anywhere in South Vietnam outside of Saigon. And, believe me, Toto, “We are not in Kansas any longer.”

I was looking forward to arriving in Phan Rang, a place that I had never heard of…..a place that I couldn’t even visualize in my brain…. Having never been outside of Saigon, my vision of South Vietnam fell into one of two categories: primitive villages in the mountains which were constantly being attacked by the VC…..or primitive villages in the delta which were constantly being attacked by the VC.

My knowledge of South Vietnam mostly came from watching the news on TV….even while I was stationed in Saigon in the Army. Yeah…. Watching the occasional TV program….and also reading the coverage of the fighting and other hostile activities in “Stars and Stripes”, the military newspaper. And dealing with reports and updates that appeared daily in our office while I was the secretary to the Adjutant General. As I said somewhere in a previous blog, in the early days of the war, I drafted letters to each of the parents of soldiers who had lost their lives in some sort of military related action. And, there were, of course, the stories told by soldiers who were stationed in remote outposts in the Highlands…..and also in the Delta region. Most of these stories were probably slightly exaggerated, but still, they didn’t exactly encourage me to take out a government loan and build a house in either of these regions.

Both of the visions seemed exciting; both of these visions seemed dangerous. Both of these visions turned out to be wrong.

Up to this point in my life, the only type of aircraft on which I had flown were commercial passenger planes. Now that I think about it, not only were they passenger planes, but they were all jet airliners. All other types of aircraft only existed in movies, on TV and in magazines. Keep in mind that I was basically a “country boy” from Sterling, Kansas.

We boarded an Air America plane…. A two-engine propeller driven aircraft. Instead of heading straight for the South China Sea like we did when I was entering and leaving South Vietnam during my Army days, we headed north over a South Vietnam that I had never seen before. No reason was ever given….maybe because I never thought to ask….why there was no immediate steep ascent into the sky. It could have been that the aircraft in which we were flying was not capable….powerful….enough to accomplish such a feat. Or, more likely, that was a military maneuver….and we were now in a civilian aircraft.

Once aloft, it occurred to me that we were flying at a remarkably low altitude, and again I am comparing to the only other flight I had taken in South Vietnam. I am sure we were well beyond the range of any small weapon fire….like a rifle, for example. Yet, on this first flight, I was apprehensive about my very immediate future! Gene kept telling me to relax. I tried my best to follow his advice. It didn’t help matters that a couple times he tapped me on the shoulder and pointed out the window. “See the helicopters over there? They are firing down into the jungle at something.” Sure enough, two or three Army helicopters were circling a target somewhere down in the jungle and appeared to be firing a massive amount of ammunition upon it. Maybe this was not the most favorable thing to see on my first flight. But, our Air America plane was flying at a much higher altitude than the helicopters, so we had a good bird’s eye of the action. It was interesting and exciting, I suppose, but I kept a close watch for any shells or bullets that might happen to come through the floor of our aircraft.

We landed at the Phan Rang Air Base, home of the 101^st Airborne Division. Somebody must have picked us up. At least, I do not remember hitchhiking the five or six miles into town…..or walking, which would have been even more memorable, probably. I think I would tend to remember getting shot at!

It is sort of strange how little, but important, details such as this can be blocked out of my memory. But, I have no recollection….not even a fuzzy inkling…..of my arrival in Phan Rang. One would logically think that this would be crystal clear in my mind. After all, for me, it was the beginning of a new and very different life.

In all probability, we were met at the air base by my new station mate, Robert Hargreaves. I do remember Robert….Bob….quite well, though. He had a very distinctive mustache…..that was a feature one could not miss. He was medium height, was a thin guy; he had a shock of dark hair and wore glasses. He made me feel welcome immediately, which I appreciated.

After depositing my suitcase at my new home, Gene lost no time in taking me to meet the principal of the public high school, which would be my primary assignment. I don’t remember his name, but he was a rather diminutive fellow….probably only middle age, although he appeared to be older, perhaps because of the horn rimmed glasses he was wearing. He appeared to be delighted to meet me…. Yeah…. Why not? A free teacher? Who is going to turn that down? I don’t think there had been an IVS English teacher in Phan Rang prior to my arrival. If there was, it was before this principal’s tenure. He was rather tentative about my teaching schedule, but said to come back, and he would have everything arranged.

Also that day, Gene took me to the USAID (United States Agency for International Development) compound to introduce me to the senior American representative, who incidentally, was a former volunteer for IVS. After than introduction, Gene took me back to the IVS house. Bob and I gave him a ride back to Tan Son Nhut Airbase where he would catch the plane to where ever he was headed.

On our ride back to our house….my new home….I got to know a little bit about Bob. I found that he was from California and had a degree from the University of California in poultry science. He was nearing the end of his two year commitment to IVS and planned to return to the USA. Before joining IVS, he had been active in the civil rights movement, having participated in various marches and protests in the South.

Back at the IVS house, he did his best to make me feel welcome. I really have no idea where the house was located. If somebody would guarantee me a million dollars to go find it today… I would be a poor man. For one thing: When Gene and I got off the airplane at the airbase, I had no idea where I was. I had no sense of direction….and it stayed that way for the duration of my time in Phan Rang. In fact, in this strange environment, my directions were 180 degrees wrong! The sun came up in the west….and it set in the east! For weeks it drove me crazy; I mean absolutely bonkers. But, nothing that I tried ever changed it. Finally, I just resigned myself to it and accepted it as normal. I mean…. Does it really make any difference where the sun rises?

For me….and I do not know about other people….the way I see…or perceive…. something the first time is the way it stays forever. And, unfortunately, that first day in Phan Rang, getting my sense of directions straight just didn’t occur to me. A big mistake on my part. Actually the same thing has happened in Berlin. On my first trip there in 1995, the exchange student that I was with seemed very nervous about riding city buses. He always preferred to ride the subway. I am not sure why. Maybe he thought buses were dangerous so soon as the reunification; maybe he thought they were too slow; maybe he just liked riding in the subway.

One afternoon…..a rainy afternoon with no sunlight….we took the subway to Check Point Charlie….a major historical tourist attraction in Berlin. Like it usually happens, after I ride in a subway, when I got out and walked up the steps to the sidewalk, I had no idea where I was. But…. There in front of us was Check Point Charlie. Success! I have been back to Check Point Charlie many times in the intervening years. We always take a bus….I insist on it. Everything is fine during the bus ride. I know my directions. Everything looks familiar. All is well with the world…… Until…. We reach Check Point Charlie. Then, instantly, in a split second, everything reverts back to that fateful day in 1995 when I walked up the steps from the subway. I had no idea where I was on that day….and (if I didn’t know better), I wouldn’t know where I was now. After I get back on a bus….and have ridden for only perhaps a half block….everything falls back into place again.

It is rather strange how the mind works…..my mind, at least. I was born and raised in central Kansas. The land is laid out in squares….sections of land. At every mile, for all practical purposes, there is an intersection. It is all logical. And…. The sun rises in the east and it sets in the west. We know and experience this from the time we are born. So….It is only logical for us to say things like, “OK. Go two miles east….a mile north…and then a mile west.”

Anyway, one day….and I am not really sure how long I had been there….it suddenly struck me that my directions were turned around 180 degrees. And, from the time I arrived in Phan Rang until I was transferred to Saigon, the sun came up in the west and went down in the east! Yeah….. That is a long way to go to explain why I really have no idea where I lived in Phan Rang!

Getting back to the story, though….. Maybe the most important thing, he showed me my bed….where I would sleep. Again, I do not have even a dim recollection of the rest of the house. I know that it was a two story house….quite small and rather disheveled….and dimly lit. Of course, it had electricity and running water (at least, I am pretty sure it did). It seems to me that we spent a great deal of our time sitting in the kitchen. Fortunately, I had brought some books with me…although I am not sure why. Maybe I had a premonition that this might be my only leisure time activity.

Of course, there was no such thing as a TV set…..not even a small one. This was a Vietnam long before there was TV in the provinces. Even if we might had had a TV, the all the programs would have been in the Vietnamese language. I do not recall if the Armed Forces TV Network had been established or not. Even if had…..why would they be furnishing it to the residents of Phan Rang? Maybe to the Phan Rang Air Base….but certainly not the town.

I did, however, have my trusty transistor radio…..my only real luxury. The only problem was: I couldn’t receive any English language stations….not even Armed Forces Radio. Again, I can imagine that the signal came in loud and clear on the air base…..but not in town. And…. Why should we? Fortunately, my little battery powered transistor radio had a one or two short wave bands on it. On a good night, I could pull in the Voice of America from the Philippines. However, the only justification I can think of for listening to the VOA would be if I were suffering from insomnia and trying to fall asleep. It was largely what today we would call “Talk Radio”….and then its programs were definitely tailored to its audience…..propaganda intended for the Filipino people. One thing is was not: A rock and roll station. Or a country music station. Or a classical music station. Not by any means. It was just boring commentary. The same was true of the BBC World Service….only it was more boring that the VOA….and with a British accent.

Late at night….never in the daytime….there were a few English language stations lingering out there on the short wave bands. They tended to fade in and out. What else could I expect with a little radio powered by a couple 2-A batteries? I was really never sure where the stations were located? I mean…. Who speaks English in Southeast Asia? Or… Were they even coming from Southeast Asia? I am not sure. At any rate, it was comforting to hear somebody speaking English on the radio. The music they played? It was strange music….music that I had never heard before or have never heard since. Except for the English language…and even the language was not being spoken by native Americans….everything about these stations was strange. But, yet, I would turn on my radio at night, pull out the little antenna…..move it around until I got the best reception possible.

One very vivid recollection I have of that rather dismal house occurred one night only a day or so after my arrival. There were two small bedrooms upstairs: one for Bob and one for me. Bob consistently went to bed earlier than I….and was apparently slept rather soundly. I would sit on my bed, pillows behind my back and a lamp with a dim bulb shining over my shoulder. I would often review the lessons that I would present the following day…..or just sit there and listen to the strange programs on the radio. One night, shortly after I had turned off the lamp to go to sleep, there was an explosion. It almost propelled me from my bed. Then it was followed by another equally earth-shaking explosion…..and another…. “Oh, Wow!” I thought, not knowing whether to grab my clothes and run….to get under the bed….or hide in the closet. Or just to go outside and surrender….and become a prisoner of war.

I waited for the next round of explosions….but they never came. I fully expected Bob to coming running to my room, shouting something like, “We’ve got to take cover. Grab your stuff, and let’s get out of here.” But…. Nothing. I didn’t even hear him turn over in his bed. Surely, he had to have heard it. It was an explosion…. You know? I am not talking about a gunshot…. I am talking an explosion that would have easily destroyed our house. I sat on the edge of my bed for what must have been several minutes….expecting to hear sirens….jeeps and tanks rumbling through town….return gunfire. Instead, I heard….. Nothing. Silence.

The following morning, you can better believe that the first topic of conversation when I went downstairs was, “Didn’t you hear those explosions last night? What’s going on? Weren’t you scared? Where did they come from? Were we being attacked? Bob sort of chuckled, “I didn’t hear them….but were there three of them?”

“Yes….and they sounded very close.”

“Oh, almost every night around midnight, the local militia fires three or four artillery round off into the distance…..just as a sort of warning to the VC (Viet Cong). I don’t think anybody is really out there, but it is just sort of a way of saying, ‘We are here waiting for you…..so keep away.’ I don’t even hear them any more.”

It was always rumored….and who am I to argue?….that our province, Ninh Tuan Province was perhaps the safest province in South Vietnam. It was the birthplace….the ancestral home….of President Thieu…..and also his brother, who was reported to be a top general for the North Vietnamese army….theoretically his arch enemy. So, there was a sort of “gentlemen’s agreement” to simply leave it alone. Neither of the generals wanted to harm their ancestors, their graves or their common home. Lucky us. I have no way of knowing if this was true, although I know that the Ninh Tuan Province was scarcely touched by enemy activity until the TET Offensive.

This helped allay some of my fears of these regular midnight artillery incidents….but it took me a few weeks to simply fall asleep and ignore then, like Bob did.

My main source of news in those months I spent teaching in Phan Rang came from the “Stars and Stripes” newspaper, which always seemed to be available at the USAID headquarters. Mother would send me newspapers occasionally, but that was only for local gossip, not national or international news. I suppose one could say that I took at least one-third of Timothy Leary’s advice to “Turn on, tune in, drop out.” During the time I spent in Phan Rang, I just sort of “dropped out”…. But, that decision was made for me. It didn’t require any conscious effort on my part!

I still kept up a rather active correspondence with family and friends….sort of my lifeline to the outside world. I wrote letters to Mother, to high school friends, to relatives….even to friends that I had made while in the Army. Believe it or not….. They actually wrote back, at least from time to time. To my family and relatives….and even to most of my old high school friends….I was somewhat of an anomaly. Sort of that creature to be pitied….and humored….and, no doubt, to say, “Thank Heavens, it is him and not me.” Most of these people felt sorry for me what I went to South Vietnam in the military. When I returned to South Vietnam voluntarily…. They thought I was crazy!

I woke up the next morning….my second day in Phan Rang….and Bob said, “Come on. Let’s go eat breakfast.” Bob had made a deal with a little cafe for a meal plan. It was probably a standard thing. I don’t know. We paid a fixed fee, and we could go there and eat the standard “meal of the day”. It really was a pretty good arrangement, insofar as I was guaranteed of three meals a day. This certainly was not a three or four star restaurant….and it was not listed in the Michelin Guide. In fact, if it were, it would have had zero stars…..maybe Minus Zero stars. However, the food was sufficient….always rice, of course. Rice for every meal, including breakfast. Also some sort of meat….of some sort. Don’t ask; don’t tell. Chicken or pork, in all likelihood. A vegetable. Some bread….French bread, always. And, that was it. For a fixed monthly or weekly price. No…. It was not “all you can eat”. A waiter brought the food to you. When it was gone…. It was gone. But, it was sufficient. Bob always said that they gave the foreigners a little more food because we are bigger people. However, as long as I ate there, I didn’t have to worry about going on a diet! And, maybe that is why I continued to weigh l45 pounds during my tenure in Phan Rang.

There came a day when I thought if I ever saw another grain of rice, I would go bananas…. Stark raving crazy…. Even looking at rice could bring on a feeling of nausea. However, there was nothing else to eat. Even if I had chosen to prepare my own food at the IVS house…..Yeah, like that was ever going to happen……about the only thing on the market was rice. So, out of an instinct for survival, I had no choice but to continue to eat rice. And….Life has a strange way of dealing with things. When I came back home to live three years later…. What did I miss the most? You guessed it: Rice. Ironic, isn’t it?

I have no recollection of ever eating a meal in the house where Robert and I lived. Why would we? We had a pretty good deal at the little cafe. It was so much easier….and probably cheaper….than preparing meals at home. We didn’t have to bother with the daily chore of buying food, for one thing. We had no refrigerator that I can recall. There would have been no way of preserving the food, so it would have indeed been necessary to go out and buy food on a daily basis. Neither do I recall any sort of cook stove….or a stove whatsoever, for that matter. If we did have a stove (that I have forgotten about), it would have been a bottled gas stove, and I would have surely remember taking the portable tanks to have the refilled. We would have no doubt have cooked our food like everybody else did…..In the back yard or back porch on a charcoal cooker. Neither of us had time to do that.

Insofar as I can remember, Phan Rang did not have a Walmart store….or a Dillons….or a Quick Shop! In fact, there was nothing that resembled what we think of as a grocery store. Instead there were a series of open air markets and food stalls and kiosks, usually specializing in one food product or at least one type of food product. For example, there were vegetable markets, meat markets, fruit markets….. These markets could have been impromptu markets, part of a larger “farmers’ market” sort of set up spontaneously. Or in many cases, they were semi-established wooden stalls or kiosks, owned and operated as family businesses…..and many times in set up in front of their living quarters.

Of course, too, there were the necessary bread vendors….almost always French bread. Remember, South Vietnam was a colony of France for many years, and the French influence lingered long after the French were expelled. During my entire three years with IVS, I do not recall ever coming into contact with sliced bread….the kind of sliced bread that is a staple food of our lives here in the USA. One thing about the bread: It was always advisable to buy bread first thing in the morning. The bread vendors opened up their little stand early, and when the last loaf of bread was sold…. Well, Tough luck. It was gone.

On many occasions, either Bob or I would buy a loaf of bread and take it home to eat. Those long loaves of bread were beyond delicious. They would have been a meal in themselves. Hard and crusty on the outside, melt in your mouth texture on the inside. At least, while they were fresh. Along with the ubiquitous rice, bread may have ranked second as a staple food of South Vietnam.

There is only one time that stands out in my memory of eating meals….at least evening meals….in the house where Bob and I lived. As I recall, Bob was gone for a few days. He had no doubt made a trip down to Saigon for some reason. He could have gone down to pick some baby chicks….or some seed…..or medicine that farmers needed….. Anyway, he wasn’t there.

On my daily visit to the USAID office, somebody told me that somebody from the Phan Rang Air Base was trying to get hold of somebody from IVS….and it was very important. They gave me a telephone number…. And, Yes… We did have telephones! I called the number and was connected with a colonel who was obviously somehow in charge of food service….or maintenance…..or health and sanitation…. He said that he had heard that the International Voluntary Services had good relations with the farmers in the province.

“OK…..”

He would really appreciate it if we could use our contacts and influence to help the Air Force Base…..

“OK….”

They were accumulating a large amount of garbage from the mess halls (dining halls), and it was becoming a genuine problem. Could I possibly help him out….

“OK…..”

Could I please drive over the air base and meet with him? He would explain the problem to me….

I told him that I had a two hour period the following day that I had no classes. Yes… I would drive over and meet with him at 2:00 in the afternoon…. Sorry, I mean 1400 hours!

He thanked me several times and told me how much he appreciated it.

The following afternoon I got into my Jeep….the old World War II surplus Jeep assigned to me….and made the five or seven miles trip over to the air base. I managed to find his office in the obstacle course of buildings. Wow…. He was the commander of one of the air wings at the base. Must be important, I thought to myself as I walked into the office and identified myself. I must say, it was sort of novel for me….walking into a commander’s office to be greeted by a guy that used to be “ME”….back when I was in the Army.

Anyway, I told him my name and that I had an appointment with the colonel. The poor guy was confused and maybe embarrassed. Nobody had told him of any appointment. “Are you sure you have the right office?”

I assured him that I had talked to the colonel on the telephone the previous day and we had agreed to meet at this time. “He’s out flying right now. I am sure he will be back soon, though,” the guy said. (I call him” the guy” because I do not know his official title.) “Why don’t you sit and wait for him?”

I kept looking at my wristwatch nervously. I was scheduled to teach a class at 3:30. I had to be there. At about 3:00, I told “the guy” that I had to leave….that I had another appointment. He was not happy…. Now it was his turn to be nervous. He probably was not used to people walking out on a colonel….a commander.

Personally, I think fifteen or twenty minutes is long enough to wait for a person….anybody….especially when both people have previously agreed to a definite time. I didn’t leave out any sense of disrespect or arrogance. I left because I had a commitment to teach a class at 3:30….and if I didn’t show up, there would be nobody there to teach them. How many times did you walk into your English class….and find that the teacher simply had not shown up?

I stopped by the USAID office later that day after the class had finished. The colonel had left an urgent message for me to contact him. I called him. I told him that I had to leave because I was obligated to teach. He was very apologetic, somewhat sheepish….and I think I detected a trace of panic in his voice. I agreed to meet him the following day. He assured me….strongly assured me….that he would be in his office ready to meet with me.

It turned out that the mess halls (dining halls) at the airbase were accumulating an alarming amount of discarded food….food thrown away or not eaten by the airmen. I don’t know what his says about the quality of food they were serving…..although I always found that the food in the Air Force mess halls was consistently higher quality than that in the Army. (What does that say about the quality of food served by the Army?) Anyway, disposing of the food was becoming a major problem for the Air Force. The amount of food, combined with the consistently hot temperatures, were ideal conditions for attracting various rodents in large numbers….not to mention the millions of mosquitoes, flies and other insects. And….. The food was also producing an odor that seemed to waft over the Air Force base.

The colonel….the commander of something….said he had been advised that the International Voluntary Services worked with local farmers. Would it be possible that they might be interested in using the food to feed their animals….especially their pigs? If so, they were free to come and get it…..as much as they wanted…..as much as they could carry…..and take it away. For free! All they had to do was come and get it…. Just Come on Down!

I told him and I would check around and see what I could find out. I mentioned it to a couple of my Vietnamese contacts….who in turned mentioned it to some farmers he knew…. Wow. Were they interested! This was a virtual gold mine for them. Free food for their livestock. And…. Who knows? Maybe for their families, too! I never saw the colonel again. However, about a week later, an Air Force Jeep dropped off a couple large boxes for me at the USAID compound. Each box contained 24 boxes of C-Rations….the well-preserved, already prepared, ready to eat food that military personnel carry with them to eat when no other food is available.

Surely you have heard the jokes about C-Rations….. Or maybe not. Anyway, many military personnel do find them to be of the same quality as a hot, home cooked meal….. Not the kind of food that their mothers served them. As for me? I was delighted! I had a month of free food! And, for those of you who know me are well aware that I don’t make much of a distinction between food. Any food that I do not have to prepare…..or buy….is good food. Just set it in front me me….. And, I am happy. And…. Those are the only days that I actually ate meals in the IVS House that Bob and I lived in.

My primary placement in Phan Rang was the public high school. However, only a couple days after I arrived in Phan Rang, Bob (and also the people at the USAID office) to me that other high schools in the city were also interested in having my services as a teacher. This was fine with me. I was only assigned two or three classes a day at the public high school, hardly enough to keep me busy….or even justify my presence in Phan Rang.

There were at least three other high schools in the town, aside from the public high school. There was a so-called semi-public high school, a Buddhist high school and a Roman Catholic high school. They were all interested….if not eager….to have me teach in their school.

Although sometimes it was difficult to decipher the rules and precise reason things happen in Phan Rang, supposedly the public high school was open to those students who among the higher academic achievers. There was, at some point, a qualifying exam which students took, and the results of that exam determined who was admitted. I have no doubt that this is true. But, on the other hand, I also strongly suspect that the position that the student’s parents occupied in the community….both financially and politically….may have been of equal importance in the admittance process. Of course, I have no way of actually proving that assumption, but, South Vietnam, being what it was at the time, this would be a logical conclusion to draw.

I can also imagine that the public high school was probably assigned the better teachers, too….although saying that is probably an oxymoron.

The semi-public high school was the home of what I can assume was the “second tier” students…..both in the terms of the entrance test scores….and the social and economic and political status of their parents.

I am not sure where the students in the Buddhist high school came from. They must have been seriously off the charts….and I mean dropping off the bottom…. no matter how one looked at it. They were what was left over at the bottom of the barrel.

The students at the Catholic high school were obviously children of members of the Roman Catholic Church. Students at the Catholic high school paid a fee or tuition to attend the school, so I am going to go out on a limb and say that almost anybody who had the money to pay the tuition may have been accepted into the school. Although, again, I am not going to swear to that under oath.

As I said earlier, I met the principal of the public high school the first day I arrived in Phan Rang. He was a slightly built man….and by slight, I mean very thin and rather short, even by Vietnamese standards. He was middle aged, although it is often difficult to judge a person’s age once they reach a certain point in life. He wore thick, horn-rimmed glassed….and appeared to be very intellectual. And, like almost all Vietnamese, he wore sort of a perpetual smile. I saw him the first day of school when he introduced me to the other English teachers….the Vietnamese “English teachers”. After that, I do not recall ever seeing him again. We obviously did not become best buddies.

The principal of the semi-public high school was a much younger guy….maybe somewhere around my age, if not a couple years older. He was a personable, friendly man, and spoke quite good English. His family owned a store in “downtown” Phan Rang. I would stop on occasions to visit him. Like most other store owners, he lived in the back of his store. His wife and other family members operated the store while he performed his duties as principal. He is the only principal that I would call a “friend”. He and his family were always appeared to be happy to see me when I could stop to see them. They would rush to find a chair and to serve me tea. His wife also spoke passable English, so I was able to carry on a conversation with them. I normally only stayed for a few minutes. They asked me far more questions about my life and the USA than I asked of them. They longed to go to the USA some day. I hope their wish came true.

The principal of the Buddhist high school and a young-ish guy, too. But, I never got to know him very well.

The principal of the Catholic high school was a priest…. Probably no surprise there. He was a friendly, intelligent man….and very supportive of my teaching efforts. He spoke quite good English, too. He had other duties, too, aside from being the principal of the school…..like being a priest, for example. Our paths never crossed outside of the school. In fact, I doubt if he ever left the school/church compound very often.

Of course, I agreed to teach English classes in each of the four high schools. And, it did not take me very long to give each of the schools….the public high school, the semi-public high school, the Buddhist high school….a rating or grade. Here they are, in the order which they are listed: Near chaos; chaos; and beyond chaos. The Catholic high school was in a class of its own. It was actually a fairly well run school with a focused faculty and orderly, purposeful classes.

The discipline in the public high school was acceptable. A trip to the principal’s office could potentially result in some dire consequences….including suspension or expulsion. There would be no problem replacing a student who had been suspended. And, the “shame” and embarrassment that would result from such an expulsion would have been a difficult pill to swallow for the parents and family…..and also for the student. In general, it was not a huge problem to maintain control in these classes. I had the impression that expulsions were few and far between, however.

The semi-public high school. Well….we are on a downhill slope here. As I said before, these students were the “almosts”, the “not quites”…..maybe what in basketball terms we would call the “bench warmers”. It was more difficult to maintain their attention.

The Buddhist high school. Oh, wow! Sometimes I wondered why they were even there….or how they got there. Most of them, it seemed, had very little interest in getting an education…..much less learning to speak English.

The classes in all three of these high schools were vastly overcrowded. Here in Kansas, a class of 25 or 30 is considered to be an unreasonably huge class. In the first place, the classrooms simply are not constructed that large, which means that the students are packed into an abnormally small space. As most teachers know, there is no way that a teacher can give adequate individual attention….or hardly any attention at all….to thirty students. Stop and think: If a class period of 50 minutes long, that means an average of one minute per students. And…. What if I decide to teach? Where is the time for actual teaching? For instructional time? Yes…. Thirty students are simply too many to teach with any sort of positive results. And, I haven’t even talked about discipline, grading papers and all that good stuff.

In all of my classes in Phan Rang, in the three high schools that I referenced, thirty kids would have been on the low end of the spectrum. I taught a couple classes with upward of fifty…even sixty students…..and they were packed into the room, literally standing room only.

Never did I have the feeling that the chaos in the classrooms was aimed at me. In fact, some of the biggest “trouble makers”….and I do not use that word in a mean sort of way…..were the kids….mostly, if not exclusively boys…. who were the friendliest to me outside of class….who went out of their way to smile and wave when they saw me outside of the classroom…..downtown or while riding their bicycles…. No, I think the problem was a more generic or universal problem. They did not like school; they saw no purpose in school; they did not want or like to study English….they saw no need or reason for it. In other words, they were being forced to do something they did not want to do. They saw no future benefits from it. Is this so different from kids anywhere?

Another problem was the lack of textbooks and the lack of teaching tools. I am not certain about the other classes, but insofar as the English classes were concerned, we….and I mean IVS….and ultimately USAID or JUSPAO (Joint United States Public Affairs Office) provided the English books. There were not enough books for each student. Each English classroom has given a certain number of books. The books stayed in the classroom. They had to. They were used by the next class. Consequently, students were not permitted to take the book home to study. If the class happened to have more students than the number of books that were provided, two students had to share one book. It was not an ideal situation. As one might expect, books gradually disappeared as the weeks went on. Who know what happened to them? Carried out of the classroom by mistake? Stolen? Fortunately, however, we were sometimes able to replace the books….so the process could start all over again.

Let me give you a brief glance into one of my typical classroom sessions. We used the “repeat after me” method of teaching. This was the same method that was used in Washington when we were learning to speak Vietnamese. Basically, it was the only technique I was familiar with. And, I was one of the very, very few “teachers” in the organization who had a degree in education or who had actually taught in a classroom prior to arriving in South Vietnam. The other people who were members of the education team had never stood in front of their own class and taught their own students.

Why were they there…..teaching English in a Vietnamese high school? Remember, this was back in the 1960’s. They were volunteers; they were not salaried. It was before it was considered proper or mandatory to have a degree or certificate in teaching English as a foreign language. I had a degree in education and I had already taught for two and a half years, but I was not certified in TEFL. These young people were idealistic; they were eager and willing to serve; they were cheap. In fact, none of the positions or jobs in the International Voluntary Services really required any special education or training.

Getting back to a typical day…. I would show up at the assigned time and to directly to the classroom(s) that had been assigned to me for the particular class. I was dressed casually….certainly a jacket and tie were not necessary. Shortly before the final bell rang, the students began to file into the classroom…. Well, most of them showed up on time. Before the sat down….assuming there were enough seats…..they would take a book from the stack on my desk. When it appeared that all….or most….of the students had arrived, I would welcome them by saying something creative like, “Good Morning, Class.” Or “Good Afternoon, Class.” In unison, they would reply, “Good Morning, Teacher.” And…. Then, we were off to the races.

I would ask them to turn to the page the day’s lesson started on. And…. I wrote it on the chalkboard behind me. At that time, my grasp of the Vietnamese language was not very good, to say the least. Fortunately, their books (and my teacher’s edition, also) was written in both English and Vietnamese. For the remainder of the class period, we did the “repeat after me” thing. And, let me add, these lessons were generally “fill in the blank” type lessons.

Some days the lesson might concentrate names of things…. of nouns containing the name of an item of furniture: “This is a(n) ___________.” a chair; a table; a lamp; a bed; sink…. Other days we would learn names of animals: “This is a(n) _____________.” a dog; a cat; a cow; a horse; elephant.

Other times the lesson taught verbs. “The boy and girl are ______________.” playing, walking, running, swimming, talking, eating.

We also introduced prepositional phrases. “The dog is ____________. under the table; on the chair; in the yard.

Well, you get the idea. Maybe you also get the idea that I was never able to carry on a deep or meaningful discussion with any of my classes. Their grasp of English and their skill level was simply not developed sufficiently to exchange anything except the most basic ideas. I can imagine that there were a few students who were advanced enough to express rather complex ideas….but this was certainly the exception.

You are probably wondering why I have not mentioned the Catholic high school. To me, the Catholic high school sort of stands in a class of its own. In my opinion, it was the only high school in town that truly offered an “education”. From the beginning, I recognized they had a sense of purpose. One of the first things I noticed was that the school had a structure to their classes….to their method of teaching…..to their discipline….to the dedication….and maybe even the education…..of their teaching staff. It was certainly more “business like” than any of the other high schools where I taught. From the very beginning, I could tell there were firm expectations….not only of the students, but also of the staff.

Since this was a private school, they could be more selective in who attended. I am not sure that all the students were Roman Catholic. It just never occurred to me to pose such a question. Although I never asked, I can imagine that the students paid a tuition to attend the school. I can also imagine that the school required a rather rigorous entry test. It also seems reasonable to assume that if parents are paying a great deal of money…..tuition…..for their child to attend the high school, they would expect equivalent academic results. If this were true, the school and its administration probably had the full support of the parents. On the other hand, since the Catholic high school was clearly the most “elite” of the town’s schools, most parents were probably eager to do anything they could to make sure their child or children stayed enrolled. And, the two major points of consideration in his regard would have been to maintain an acceptable grade point average…..and to stay out of trouble…. and not risk the consequence of being kicked out of the school. Again, I have no actual proof, but I suspect that many….if not most…. of the students came from the more affluent families of Phan Rang.

The time I spent teaching in the Catholic high school was a joy compared to the hours I spent in any of the other three schools. Classes were not overcrowded. Nobody ever had to stand in the back of a classroom. There were sufficient books so each student had one. The classrooms were always clean. The students were polite.

Shortly after I arrived in Phan Rang….in fact, within a couple months….Robert’s two years came to a close, and he left to return to the USA. However, upon his departure, two new volunteers were assigned to Phan Rang. This necessitated finding a new, more spacious place to live…..a house large enough to comfortably house three people. Through my contacts with the USAID office, I located a newly built, larger house, which, in fact, was located adjacent to the Catholic high school. So, for all practical purposes, the Catholic high school was located almost in our front yard.

As a matter of fact, I could have walked to my classes at the Catholic high school. But, I am almost sure that I didn’t. Probably because I had other commitments, things to do and places to go immediately after my classes.

I remember quite clearly the first day I taught at the Catholic high school. The principal introduced me to the other faculty members and then took me to what would become my classroom. The students were already sitting at their desks waiting for my arrival. The principal greeted the students, and they….in unison….returned the greeting. Then he introduced me….going into a rather lengthy discourse, most of which I did not understand. I am pretty sure he was talking about me, though. The students kept glancing at me….more or less in unison….at regular intervals. I couldn’t help thinking that he was threatening them with some very dire consequences….including serious bodily harm or even worse…. if they didn’t behave themselves….

As for me…. I just stood there rather helplessly, but trying to look serious, stern….yet friendly, helpful and “teacherly”, all at the same time. When he finished talking, the students all stood up, clapped their hands and said what I hope was, “Good Morning, Teacher.” I smiled at them. The principal sat down at the back of the classroom….and I said something like, “I am glad to be your teacher. My name is Mr. Darrah,” turning around to write my name on the chalkboard behind me. “I am looking forward to a good year. If you need extra help. Please ask me. Now, open your books to page one,” turning around and writing “Page 1” on the chalkboard.

“Now…. Repeat after me……”

After about five minutes the principal got up and walked quietly out of the classroom, leaving me alone.

At the end of the class….and I don’t think I was assigned to teach the first class of the day….there was a short break or recess. Most of the faculty members headed toward the teacher lounge. Just the fact that the school had a lounge….more of a room with a large table surrounded by chairs, plus a refrigerator and a couple storage cabinets…. says something about the school, I think. Most faculty members approached me, smiling, and introduced themselves to me. After all the formalities were over, we all sat down. One of the teachers….and they were about equally divided between teachers dressed as priests and “civilians”, men and women, although there were probably slightly more men than women….opened the door of one of the cabinets and produced a bottle of bourbon. I was shocked, to tell the truth. Never before….and never again since teaching in that Catholic high school….have I ever seen a bottle of liquor in a teacher’s lounge. Each teacher….priests, men and women….poured a bit into a paper cup. When the bottle reached me….I was not sure what I was supposed to do. I didn’t have a lot of time to stop and consider the situation. The next teacher was eagerly waiting for the bottle to be passed on. So…. In the interest of harmony and good will, I poured a sip into my cup….and passed it…..just like it was something I did everyday in my former school in the USA. Man…. This was a custom that I could get used to in a hurry. I couldn’t help but think that it may have been the faculties of the other three high schools that really needed it even more, though! Who knows? Maybe this might be a good custom to adopt in the schools here in the USA. It might be a step in developing more relaxed and calm teachers.

Another custom that I learned to like was each morning, a student brought me a cup of water…. You thought I was going to say bourbon, didn’t you?…..and set it on my desk. I was never sure if they did this for all the teachers or not. I hope so. For one thing, all of them deserved it. And second, I certainly did not want to receive any special treatment, even though I was not Vietnamese.

Compared to the other three high schools where I taught, discipline in the Catholic high school was great. Just the fact they had some discipline was noteworthy in itself. Maybe one of the contributing factors was the fact that the fact that the classroom was not overcrowded. Each student had his own seat….and his or her own book. One of the major factors in discipline problems in the other schools….other than apathy and the fact they probably didn’t want to be there….can be attributed to the fact that in some cases the students were packed into the classroom like sardines. I am (again) not certain, but I had a feeling that perhaps many of the other classes….the non-English classes…. were not so packed with students….that they were packed into my classroom simply because I was the only native speaking English teacher available. If this was true, the administration was not doing the students a favor…..nor me. I can imagine that very little learning took place in those jam-packed classrooms.

At the Catholic high school, however, my discipline problems were minimal…. And, ask my former students: I am rather strict when it comes to goofing around in class or not paying attention. A sharp look….a raised eyebrow….or a slight negative shake of my head was usually all it took to get the offending students’ attention and get them back on the straight and narrow path. I do not want to imply that I conducted my classes like a prison guard. Kids are kids. And, interaction between them is bound to occur. As the old saying goes: “Choose your battles carefully.” If minor stuff was going on….and it was not disturbing the class….often I simply chose to ignore it. I mean…. These were not “bad” kids. And, as one would maybe logically expect, 99% of the time is was the boys who were “misbehaving”.

However, on more than one occasion, the principal would suddenly swoop into the classroom, seemingly out of nowhere, grab a boy….or two….by the back of his neck and practically drag him out to the parking lot…..a parking lot covered by thick gravel….and order then to kneel in the gravel. Often he would leave them there, kneeling on their bare knees on the gravel in the blazing sun until I began to wonder if I should go rescue them.

Let me briefly describe what happened. In most South Vietnamese schools….all that I worked in, at least….the rooms open directly to the outside. Schools were built in an “L” shape or a “U” shape. Because of the heat and the lack of ventilation, I assume, there were no interior hallways. All the rooms were entered from the outside. A rather wide sidewalk served as the “hallway”…..an exterior hallway. A sloping roof extended out over the sidewalk, shielding the classrooms from the sun….and the rain. And, it provided the needed air-flow to keep the classrooms bearable. There was no such thing as air-conditioning in those days…..not in South Vietnam, at least.

The principal, who, as I indicated, was a priest….maybe even the chief priest, I am not sure…..was a mid-size middle age man with ever so slightly buck teeth. He always wore a dark color flowing garment, probably an indication of his rank or official position. His jet black hair was always slicked back. He, like most Vietnamese, seemed to wear a perpetual smile. As you have no doubt been warned: Don’t be fooled or misled by the smile on an Oriental’ face. It often conveys nothing…..

During irregular intervals, the principal would walk up and down the sidewalk that ran the entire distance of the classrooms, sometimes stopping to peer in briefly, but most of the time just seemingly passing by. On occasion, however….out of nowhere….he would strike! Before I hardly knew what was happening, he would suddenly appear in the classroom with absolutely no warning. Apparently, while walking past, he had observed some kid (and, by kid, I am talking about high school age boys) misbehaving or not paying attention. Woe be unto them! I mean…. He sometimes scared me half to death, so I can’t imagine the fear he must have inflicted on the unsuspecting boys.

No…. He never beat them or anything like that. But, stop and think. Put yourself in the position of the boys. Here you are, wearing shorts with your knees exposed. You find yourself kneeling in a gravel driveway….gravel, crushed rock….in the hot sun and 15 or 30 minutes. Come on, now. I don’t even like to get down on my knees to change a tire or look under the car. The point is: The students knew they were expected to behave in class, to show respect to the teacher and give their attention to learning. Set standards, enforce those standards consistently and uniformly….and the students will obey and meet the standards.

As I said, after Bob’s term had expired, and he left the organization, we gained two volunteers…..Jay and Charles. Both of them were members of the Community Development Team. The house where Bob and I lived was totally inadequate to house three people. Actually, it was probably in adequate to house any human life. Although I do not recall any exact details of the house, I certainly remember it well! To me….in my convoluted sense of directions….it was located as the southeast edge of Phan Rang. In reality, it could have been located almost anywhere….such was my sense of directions at that time and place.

I can recall Bob sitting somewhere….probably at the kitchen table….smoking is ubiquitous pipe and reading a magazine called “Commonweal”. It is a magazine….and I think it is still being published….published by the Roman Catholic Church….and leans toward the liberal side of issues. It was apparently his favorite magazine. I have no problem believing this. Bob, himself, seemed to lean a little to the “left” on most issues. He sometimes would entertain me with stories of his experiences following various civil rights marches and demonstrations back in the USA before he joined IVS.

His specialty was poultry science…..chickens. In fact, I think his degree….or at least the emphasis of his degree…..was in poultry science. He worked with area farmers to demonstrate the value of raising chickens, and he was constantly ordering various medicines for the chickens to keep them healthy and disease-free. I was never able to accompany him as he made trips into the nearby countryside to help farmers, but he talked about his work a lot. It was easy to see that he was well-known and respected by the local farmers. We could scarcely enter our little restaurant without being approached by a farmer, either for a serious discussion….or just a friendly chat.

As we walked around the town, it was obvious that for the most part, chickens simply ran free…. No packing chickens into little pens in that part of the country! I was never sure how the owners of the chickens could identify their chickens from the others. But…. That was not my problem. It seemed that no matter where we went, there were chickens. To me they were sort of a nuisance….stepping over them or around them…..or the mess they left on the sidewalks. Yes, to me a “chicken” was simply a “chicken”. But…. Not to Bob. A “chicken” was a “CHICKEN”! Chickens meant something to him. This explains why he was known around the area as “The Chicken Doctor”. He could pick up a chicken and tell me things about that chicken that I would have never thought possible. Probably more than I really wanted to know! No matter how many times I looked at a chicken….any chicken….I could never empathize with a chicken to the degree that Bob did…..if any at all.

After Bob left and I had two new station mates, we moved into a larger, new house. As I indicated earlier, this house was located adjacent to the Catholic high school, a rather short walk from the main street of Phan Rang…..not that I ever remember walking from our house to the main street, though. Who is going to walk when you can drive?

I am pretty sure that I found the house through come contacts at USAID. The house was considerable larger than the house that Bob and I occupied. It was a two story house. The downstairs, as I recall, had a kitchen/dining room, plus a living room. Upstairs were the bedrooms. Chuck and I shared one of the bedrooms, and Jay’s bedroom was on the other side of the upstairs, along with the room for the cook/maid whom IVS employed. It was a rather strange architectural design. Although Jay’s bedroom was just beyond a wall, there was no access to it from the upstairs. If we wanted to visit his room, it was necessary to go downstairs, through the kitchen into the opposite side of the house and then walk up a separate stairway. I suspect that the house was built as a duplex, probably intended for two different families. Although…. Who knows? Maybe not. Maybe the architect simply forgot to add a door connecting the two rooms upstairs. But… Why did he add a door downstairs to connect the rooms? Or maybe whoever built the house simply misread the plans (assuming there were some plans) and failed to add a door when the house was constructed. It will remain one of those great unsolved mysteries of life, I suppose.

Nevertheless, the house was new and it was brighter and lighter and more spacious than the house where I have lived previously. Another stroke of luck was in the form of a lady whom IVS hired as a cook/maid to work for us. I have no idea where she came from. I suspect she simply came with the house. In my recollection (and you have already seen how reliable and extensive that is!), she was….well, just always there. She was an older lady. I have no idea how old she was….and I do not even want to venture a guess. She had worked in a similar position as a maid and cook for a…or some?….Catholic priests. So, in that regard, she came to us highly regarded and qualified. She was invaluable to us! She prepared our meals, cleaned the house (although it ever got to the point where it was “dirty”), did our laundry, and probably took care of all sorts of little jobs that we were not aware of. I shudder to think what our life would have been like without her.

She was paid directly by IVS….not by us volunteers, thank Heavens. The money was sent to us by courier through USAID channels or the mail….or some such means. This was certainly long before Internet banking, money transfers, debit cards….and all the financial resources we have today. I simply handed her a sealed envelop containing the money. And… That was that. However, it was our responsibility….we three guys….to buy our food from the living allowance that we were given each month. Each of us contributed an equal amount of money each month which she used to buy our food.

Her method of preparing meals was “traditional”, to say the least. There were some food items our cook could buy, and they would “keep” for a period of time without spoiling or molding, or any of the other things that can happen to food in a hot, humid climate. But, primarily, she would go to the market every day….often twice a day….and buy the food she would prepare.

Almost everything was prepared on our back porch…..more of a concrete slab right outside the backdoor. There was a table in the kitchen/dining room area….even a kitchen counter. But, this was not the way she had traditionally done it. Old habits are difficult to change…..some even impossible. Why change to something new when the old way works just as well? If it ain’t broken….don’t fix it. Or…. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks. She sort of proved all of these old sayings. Our meals were consistently delicious. Maybe not delicious in the American definition….but they were always tasty and nutritious and satisfying. We all survived…..and thrived.

One of our volunteers somehow arranged for an electric refrigerator and a propane stove to be installed in our house. No doubt he used his USAID or perhaps military contacts to procure these appliances. These are two highly desirable and sought after appliances….normally found only in the homes of upper class families…..a real status symbol. All three of us guys thought our cook’s face would light up….that maybe she would even physically embrace us….and then run out to tell all her friends of her good fortune. All of her friends would crowd into the kitchen, touching and admiring the two sleek modern conveniences.

But….No. It wasn’t exactly like that. Yes, she smiled. Yes, she thanked us profusely. Yes, she listened intently as we explained their usefulness and how to use them….although with a perplexed and rather bewildered look on her face. But…. No…. She rarely used them. In fact, I don’t recall her ever using the propane stove. She much preferred to cook and fry and bake and simmer and stew the food on her little charcoal stove on the back steps….and that is what she did. We probably asked her a couple times why she didn’t use the modern stove. She probably just smiled….and went about doing things her way.

I think she did learn to use the refrigerator, however. To a limited extent, at least. Maybe we convinced her that it was the practical thing to do. Maybe she realized that some of the modern appliances can be useful…..maybe make her life easier and more pleasant. Surely, it was more convenient and less work to be able to put left over meat and vegetables…..along with other food…. in the refrigerator and use them later. I think she started to understand the value, the usefulness…and perhaps the “magic”….of being able to store perishable food. I can sort of understand her reluctance or hesitation….if not outright refusal…..to use the propane stove. I would have probably been the same way! Besides, we volunteers would have had to buy the propane, so maybe she was doing us a favor.

Water was always a problem….no matter what we used it for: drinking, cooking, bathing, washing. Clearly, the water supply in South Vietnam was not safe….anywhere! At our house in Phan Rang, we had “running water”. We had a sink and a faucet that water spilled out of. (How’s that for ending a sentence with two prepositions?) The only problem was: The water was contaminated. I mean…. If one were to drink it as it came out of the faucet, some sort of very unpleasant…and potentially dangerous….. sickness was almost sure to follow.

For our drinking water, we solved the problem by (1) boiling our drinking water and then (2) filtering it. We had a large container. I am not sure how to describe it. I do not have a very scientific mind, and I just sort of trust that things will work out OK. Apparently they did. However, I think it looks somewhat similar to the picture shown here. And, again, I am not sure…..but I think we boiled the water even before we put it into the filter. Or, maybe my mind and imagination are doing some wishful thinking. Anyway, for thing is for sure, we did not drink water straight from the faucet. Even our ice cubes were made with the filtered water. Believe me…. Freezing water does not kill germs or bacteria! Maybe this is the reason we drank so much pop…and beer….and other bottled or canned products while we were in South Vietnam.

Our housekeeper/cook was a real gem. She took care of us willingly and with great devotion. We sort of adopted her….and she sort of adopted us. We left the operation and details of the house to her. She cooked our meals, cleaned the house, did our laundry, and did the shopping. We more or less just lived there! Her dedication and efficiency enabled us to do our respective jobs and not be burdened or preoccupied with all the domestic details.

One little semi-amusing detail that I remember: Jay, one my housemates, had a rather droll sense of humor. He tried….in vain, I might add….to teach our cook to call out, “Eat it!” when it was time to eat. Neither Chuck nor myself had the nerve to intervene in his amusing, but devious, little scheme. Fortunately, she suspected that what he was trying to teach her was not an appropriate….and certainly not the normal….way to call people to the dinner table. She never did adopt his suggestion….much to her credit. Poor Jay…

Our “bathroom” was in a separate little building….right outside our back door. Our shower consisted of a large concrete “tank” and a bucket to scoop up water to we could pour it over our body. And, let me add that the water was constantly covered with hundreds, if not thousands, of mosquitoes. What else could we expect in a constant tropical climate?

Speaking of tropical climate…. You may think I am exaggerating or joking, but one could almost see plants grow! A plant or tree that was five inches tall one day could well be a foot tall the following day. It was actually sort of spooky. I spent far too much time checking out the growth of various plants we had growing around our house. But, if you are from Kansas, so would you. Plants simply do not grow that fast around here. It is not very difficult to understand why a jungle can simply swallow up anything in its path, if not controlled.

You know….. Now that I think about it, I have no idea who was in charge of mowing the grass and stuff like that. It wasn’t any of us. It must have been whoever owned the house. We didn’t have a “lawn” in the sense of what we think of here in the USA. Plants just grew. It was inevitable.

As I said, there were three of us guys who worked in Phan Rang and lived in the same house. Two of them were on the agriculture team, and I was on the education team. I really have no idea what they did. We rarely, if ever, talked about our work. There were too many other things to talk about. We never brought our work home with us, so to speak. Since I had been around the longest, I was appointed….or anointed….to be senior person in our household. This didn’t consist of much, actually. No crown; no throne; no bodyguard….. My main responsibility was that I got to pay the housekeeper/cook. And…. I got to drive the Jeep. The other two guys had Vespa motor scooters. Actually, the motor scooters were much more practical and most of the time, they were more maneuverable. Their motor scooters were brand new; my Jeep was some sort of surplus left over from some previous war…..and even though we always won our wars. I think the Jeep “lost”!

A typical day for me in Phan Rang went something like this: Wake up….Take shower….Eat breakfast…..Go teach (somebody, somewhere)…..Come home….Talk to my station mates…..Go to bed. If that sounds pretty routine…. You are right. That is pretty much what I did. There was no outside entertainment in Phan Rang that I was ever aware of. Schools in Vietnam did not typically provide a variety of entertainment for the community like American schools do…. Things like ball games, concerts, school plays…. Schools in South Vietnam were a place where a student went to learn….and that was it. Any idea that the school existed to provide entertainment for the public was unheard of. There were no athletic teams. Even today, this is largely an American concept. There was no school orchestra or band or chorus. There was no drama class.

Neither my team mates nor I spent any time in the local bars at night. In the months that I spent in Phan Rang, I never even went inside a bar. If we wanted to drink, we simply bought some beer, took it back to our house and drank it. As I think back, I never recall anybody even suggesting or inviting me to go to a bar. The streets of Phan Rang were mostly deserted after the sun went down. Of course, we had no TV. Even if we had been lucky enough to have had one…. What would we watch? A bunch of poorly made Vietnamese programs? Or equally bad Chinese or Japanese movies (with subtitles)?

When I finally got home from work in the late afternoon, I was usually so tired that I didn’t feel like doing much. As the days and weeks went by, I gradually began to take on other “jobs” outside of the schools. The local police force asked me if I would teach them English one or two nights a week. Of course, I agreed. It always helps to be friends of the police in an underdeveloped country. I did this for a few weeks. Let me tell you something. Even my worst….most unruly….students at the Buddhist high school were model students compared to most of the policemen in that class. I am not sure what you would expect of a class of policemen…..but I somehow expected them to be disciplined, mature, serious, eager students. Find an antonym or opposite for each of those words, and you will have a pretty good description of the class.

Teaching….or trying to teach….this group of policemen gave me an eye-opening insight to the state of public servants in South Vietnam. From the very beginning, there was nothing but chaos. To be sure….and to be fair….a few of the policemen…..and they were packed like sardines into one of the high school classrooms….were serious students. They sincerely wanted to learn to speak….or to improve their English language abilities….speaking, writing, reading, understanding. These serious students….these policemen…..were in a distinct and small minority, unfortunately. Most of the men….and, of course, they were all men….came to socialize, to have fun, to talk to their fellow policemen….to clown around. For me, at least, observing this level of behavior….not only observing, but experiencing it first hand….did not do a lot to enhance my opinion of their professionalism.

After a few weeks, I gave up and dropped the class. It was really no big deal. I simply found that I did not have enough time in my schedule to accommodate them. Most of them probably didn’t care or maybe ever realize that the classes had ended. Or maybe they though the classes had ended because they had become proficient in speaking and understanding English. At any rate, for the remainder of my time in Phan Rang, policemen continued to smile and wave happily to me when we happened to meet.

Another incident also stands out in my mind after all these years. IVS furnished an interpreter for each team….every team that wanted one, at least. Our team in Phan Rang had at least a couple different interpreters while I was there. The first one, of course, had worked almost exclusively with Bob as he went about his responsibilities of meeting and helping the farmers of the area. He quit shortly before Bob’s term was up. I am not sure what happened to him. When Jay and Chuck joined me, we hired another guy who was to be our interpreter. Chances are he was referred to us through the USAID office, who came into contact with a lot more people that we did.

He was a rather unpleasant young man….and I don’t think I will get any disagreement from Jay or Chuck…..but he spoke English quite well. Neither Jay nor Chuck liked him very well. I think that he got off on the wrong foot, so to speak, in the very beginning. For some reason, he seemed to be under the impression that he was hired to work for me…..not them. I am not sure how he got this idea. Actually, for the most part, I really had little use for him. It was Jay and Chuck who worked with people from the general public a lot more than I did. And, that meant they were working with people who probably did not speak very fluent English…..if, indeed, they spoke English at all. We soon got that misunderstanding taken care of…..although the damage had probably already been done.

One day he happened to be with me, however. We were on our way somewhere….no doubt doing something in connection with the library that we were building. We were driving on the road that connects Phan Rang with the air base. It is a narrow road. I wouldn’t exactly call it a highway, although it probably was. As one will find everywhere in South Vietnam, vegetation….trees, bushes, tall grass….lined both sides of the road. Vegetation is almost inescapable in South Vietnam.

I was driving the Jeep, when all of a sudden a Vietnamese soldier jumped from the tall vegetation maybe fifty feet in front of us. He was standing in the middle of the road, brandishing a rifle. Actually, he was pointing the rifle straight at us. He was covered with blood. Not only was he shouting at us…… I didn’t understand a word he was saying, although I was pretty sure he was not inviting us to eat dinner with him….he started walking toward us….the rifle still pointed directly at us.

Never before in my life….and never since….had I had a loaded weapon pointed at me. Several thoughts raced through my mind, chief of which was, “Well, this is it. I wonder what it feels like to be shot?” The second thought….maybe more of an instinct than a thought….was to push on the accelerator and run him down….or at least, get out of there. Actually, my heart was racing so fast that I probably didn’t know what I was thinking. I pretty much knew that flooring the Jeep….pushing down on the accelerator and trying to make an escape was not going to work….not with a surplus Jeep from the Korean War or maybe even World War II. There was certainly no way I could outrun him…..or his rifle.

To be sure, I was terrorized. I had no idea who the soldier was….whose side he was on….what he was saying….what had happened….what he was going to do. Of course, my first thought was that he was a VC (Viet Cong). I mean…. They all looked alike. And, why would a friendly soldier being pointing a rifle at me….an American who was basically fighting the war for the country?

So….. I slowed down to a crawl. He came along side the Jeep, still pointing the weapon, and began to say something….gesturing….pointing…. All I could do was sit there and fear for my life….and wonder what it would feel like when the bullet first entered my body….or if I would feel anything. My interpreter sat beside me rather calmly….maybe too calmly, I thought…..and listened to him. After a couple minutes, he turned to me and said something like, “It’s OK. Let’s go.”

“It’s OK???” “Let’s go???” What’s going on here? As I slowly….or maybe it was rather quickly….drove off, I asked what was happening. What did the guy say? What did he want? It turned out that the poor soldier….and he was a South Vietnamese soldier….had wrecked his motorbike….and it was lying somewhere back in the bushes. He wanted….needed….a ride to the hospital back in Phan Rang. Our interpreter told him that we were busy….just to wait….an army vehicle would be coming along sometime.

I was furious! I had just been frightened half to death…I think my hands were still shaking a half hour later….and now we were refusing to take a wounded soldier to get medical treatment. Wow! This was my entire purpose for being in the country…..to help them. And, that certainly was a very real and tangible way that I could have helped. Obviously my interpreter didn’t feel much obligation toward his fellow citizens, though. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I told Jay and Chuck about it. The guy was gone the next day! On the bright side, though: When somebody asks, “What was the scariest moment in your life?” I have a ready answer.

It would be difficult to place a value on the friends I made during the few months I lived in Phan Rang. It is difficult to be dropped off in a strange place….a place where I didn’t know anybody….a place where I was just starting to learn a new language….a place where nothing was familiar….a place where I had nowhere to turn for companionship or advice. Of course, I knew my team mates, but they were basically in the same situation as I when they first arrived. The first few days…..or even weeks….can be rather lonely. And little things can seem much bigger than they really are. All I could look forward to was doing my job….and then going back to a rather dark, uncomfortable house….a house with no radio, no TV, no American newspapers or magazines; no telephone….. I don’t want to over dramatize it, but in the beginning, it was somewhat lonely and uncertain, even being surrounded by scores of kids, teachers, USAID employees, team mates….and other assorted people.

Fortunately, I started making friends soon. South Vietnam….and Phan Rang…..was full of friendly, welcoming and accepting people. Maybe a person might think it is strange that my best friends were not teachers. And, to be honest, I think it somewhat strange, too. One might think that these people would be a ready-made group of friends. A person might think: He spends all day with these people….these teachers….so these would, of course, be his best friends. In reality, I did not spend all day with these teachers. They were there at the school; I was there at the school. However, our paths did not cross that often. They were in their classroom; I was in my classroom. My schedule was sporadic. A class here; a class there. I came and went. I was never there all day, some times not even for a few hours. Except for the Catholic high school, there were no teacher lounges. When I arrived at the school, I would check in at the office, just so they knew I was there, and then went directly to my assigned classroom. When I finished teaching, I left and went to my next teaching assignment. I never spent the entire day in the same school.

I did have a few friends who were teachers…..not close friends….buddies…..but friendly enough that we talked to each other frequently. The only close “teacher” friend that I had was the principal of the semi-public high school. As I said before, his family owned a business in downtown Phan Rang. He told me where their business was located, and invited me to stop by. I don’t even remember what they sold. I did stop and see them….fairly often. I got to know him and his wife and his kids and some other assorted relatives quite well.

When I was in their home….located behind their business…. invariably the first thing that happened was that a cup of tea appeared almost like magic, along with perhaps a Vietnamese pastry of some sort. Both the principal…..his name was Choung (sorry I can’t include the diacritical markings)…..and his wife spoke very passable English, so we were able to communicate fairly easily. I suspect that part of the reason they like for me stop and see them so often was each time I went to their home, they received a free English lesson. That’s seems fair. I got a free cup of tea and a pastry.

The assistant province chief also became a good friend. The actual province chief was in military officer, of course. He was a colonel in the South Vietnamese army. I knew him and saw him regularly…..mostly at the USAID office, although there were a few times when I had a reason to go to his office. He spoke English….but he was far from fluent. It was always a good idea to have my interpreter….or a South Vietnamese USAID employee….with me when I had an occasion to meet him on an official basis. Like most Vietnamese, he smiled a lot. Actually, I have no idea where he lived. But, wherever it was, I am sure it was a fairly nice place…. And, I am sure it was well protected.

Getting back to the assistant province chief. He was a civilian, probably in his 30’s. He also spoke English quite fluently. He had spent some time in the USA. Maybe we became friends because he was very curious about the USA. He wanted to know all about the latest news in the USA….. the movies, the sports teams, the music…..and also he was curious about the growing protests against the Vietnam War. He told me stories about his brief visits to the USA. Sometimes, I think it was his dream to come here and live…..and I hope this was the case.

The assistant province chief took care of most of the “minor” public relations obligations in the province…..especially anything having to do with education. Many times when he was visiting schools out in the province….distributing supplies, presenting awards, dedicating buildings, etc…..he would invite me to go with him. We always traveled by helicopter, of course. We would make the trip. He would present whatever he had to present, sometimes he would introduce me, and then we would get back into the helicopter and fly back to Phan Rang. At the time, I felt like a minor celebrity, but looking back, I can imagine that I was sort of a symbol….maybe a token American….a reminder that the USA was supporting the war effort. Whatever…. I was always glad to accompany him.

As long as I was in South Vietnam, I was pretty much willing to go along with anything…. Try anything…. Do anything…. One time, however, I drew the line! The assistant province chief decided to throw a surprise birthday party for me. It was either my 27^th or 28^th birthday. And, it really was a surprise! I totally did not expect it. I was lured to the provincial headquarters under some pretense. That was not difficult at all, because, as I said, I was accustomed to working rather closely with the office. I walked into the office to find a rather large group of people assembled….people from USAID and people from the schools and the province office.

“What are all these people doing here?” I wondered. Then they began to sing “Happy Birthday”. To tell the truth, I was probably not even aware that it was my birthday. Those days sort of went by without any sort of fanfare……except maybe a couple birthday cards that would arrive either a week early…..or a couple weeks late. There was a birthday cake….from somewhere…..and a couple gifts….and lots of congratulations. “Ahhh…. This is pretty nice,” I thought. Then we sat down to eat a mini-banquet that had been prepared for the occasion. There were toasts…. I gave a little speech…. Then the meal was served! That is when I drew the line! The main entree….or at least one of them…..was some pickled, unborn baby chickens! They were considered a very desirable delicacy in South Vietnam. But, they were not for me. Just looking at the dead baby chicks almost made me sick. There was no way I was going to eat them….or even taste them. I mean….. Little baby chickens….unborn….with little feathers on them….. The assistant province chief was very disappointed. Maybe I had created an “international incident”……a serious breach of protocol….. But, I didn’t care. I graciously let somebody else eat mine. It was probably the assistant province chief!

The assistant province chief was a good guy. I enjoyed his friendship. We remained friends until I left Phan Rang and moved to Saigon. After that, as usually happens, we sort of lost touch with each other. If I had been older….more mature….I would have probably made more of an effort to stay in touch. But….. I was young. I moved to Saigon. Phan Rang sort of became a thing of the past.

My best friends…..my real friends….while I was living in Phan Rang were just ordinary people….not teachers or government official from whom I could potentially profit. No…. They were mostly just guys that worked for the USAID office and members of a South Vietnamese voluntary organization which happened to be patterned after IVS. The friendships I formed with the guys who worked at the USAID office were fairly natural, easy to come by friends. I saw them almost every day of the week….and making friends with them came pretty easily. The guys from the South Vietnamese National Voluntary Service came a little later….but just as easily. My former station mate, Bob, had worked closely with them while he was the agriculture representative in Phan Rang. Not only had he been working with them to improve agricultural techniques in South Vietnam to bring about changes that would make production more profitable and prosperous, he had been giving them English lessons for quite some time. When he left, they were obviously left without an English teacher. They came to me and asked if I would consider taking up where Bob had left off and become their English teacher. I stepped in and filled the vacuum. They were making good progress….and they were very happy and grateful that I agreed to continue the lessons.

From the beginning, they were aware that I had little or no expertise in agriculture….nothing that would benefit them, at least. I had been raised on a farm, but I had not yet achieved the level of “expert” when we moved into Sterling when I turned 13 years old. The fact that I was not able to assist or advise them…..or even work with them….in the area of agriculture or community development was not important to them. They were all eager to improve their English language skills. There were eight or ten of them….including a couple girls, if I recall correctly. I liked them immediately…..and it was one of the better choices I made.

All of these guys….both from USAID and the NVS….were just regular guys. The association with my friends from both of these groups made life in Phan Rang much more pleasant and enjoyable. Not to mention, I am sure we both learned from each other. All of these guys were speaking at least at a low conversational level…..some were better than other, though. All of them certainly spoke English at a much higher level than I spoke Vietnamese! One might say that our friendships were all mutually beneficial, insofar as learning a new language was concerned. At all times, each of us carried a little pocket English-Vietnamese….or Vietnamese-English….dictionary with us. These little dictionaries got us through a lot of rough spots….and they were invaluable to us in our communication with each other. This was decades before cell phones and automatic translators. We learned our language “the old fashioned way” to paraphrase an old commercial. I was rarely, if ever, without my little dictionary. In fact, I still have it….two or three of them, in fact.

All of us were in our twenties at the time. And, there are certain things that all guys in their twenties are interested in….and talk about. We were no different. Of course, we both asked a lot of questions about each other’s respective country….its customs, it laws, its people, its government, the war…. But, it didn’t take long to find that we also had common interests that all young men seem to have…. Sports, cars, movies, popular music….and, of course, women and sex. You didn’t think I would leave those two out, did you? If you are wondering why we didn’t sit around all day and play video games…. This was decades before anybody had ever heard of a video game. And, I am pretty sure we were all better off because of that fact.

Unfortunately, South Vietnam was at war, so our choice of activities was limited….very limited. As a product of small town America, I was used to driving to Hutchinson for an “exciting” time. Yes…. When you live in a town like Sterling, Hutchinson was a pretty exciting place to go…..even if all we did was drive up and down Main Street and stop at McDonalds for a Big Mac, some fries and a coke…..all of which cost somewhere less than 50 cents. In Phan Rang, I suppose Nha Trang would have been our “Hutchinson”. The distance between Phan Rang and Nha Trang is about 60 miles. That is enough distance to be shot at….oh, let’s say…..5 times! Obviously, there was no way we were going to drive to Nha Trang.

We made do with what Phan Rang offered, instead. We sat in the little pho (there is a diacritical mark above the “o”) stands and eat the traditional Vietnamese snack and drink a beer. Most likely, however, we went to the beach. The South China sea was only a short drive…..and a relatively safe drive….from Phan Rang. We would take our transistor radios and some food along with something to drink. Maybe the beach wasn’t as clean as we (at least, I) would have liked it to be, but there were trees close to the beach. It was an ideal place to spread out some towels…..sit and talk and listen to music….and occasionally walk the short distance to the water.

Immediately adjacent to the public beach was a beach for the 101^st Airborne Division….separated by rolls of razor sharp concertina wire…..and complete with armed guards. Back in those days, the military wasn’t very inclusive! But, at least, just the mere proximity made us feel a little safer. It was here, to a large extent, that I started to “extend” my proficiency in the Vietnamese language. Unlike some other nationalities with whom I have dealt….Germans come to mind….they never laughed at my mistakes. They just kept urging me to repeat a word until I finally got it right. Of course, they were expanding their English speaking ability, too. All of this….and we also spent a relaxing time just chilling….and talking.

With my friends from the National Voluntary Services particularly, we often spent time exploring the Cham temples….ruins from past centuries. Many times they also invited me to their compound….located somewhere a few miles outside Phan Rang….to eat dinner with them. I was always impressed….and amazed….how their entire team pitched in to create a simple, but very delicious, meal. And, I remember, most of these people were young men, except for or three girls. Whenever I could, I always brought some food with me….even though they always protested that I was their “guest”. That worked the first couple times, but after that, I more or less felt like I was part of their group.

On a few occasions, time sort of got away from us. Darkness quietly, and unexpectedly, crept in. I certainly was not brave enough to drive back to Phan Rang by myself….even after a few beers. I may have been young and impulsive back then….but not crazy. On the nights when this happened, what other choice did I have? I spent the night in their compound. It took two or three times before I was able to get a good night’s sleep. This compound was sort of out in the boondocks, so to speak. I lay awake, waiting for a VC to barge in and either shoot me….or take me prisoner. They laughed at my fear. But being four or five miles from nowhere….no streetlights, or lights of any kind…..just pitch darkness….and an eerie silence out there…. Any slight sound brought me to full alertness… I guess I just had an instinct for self-survival. Here I am though…. We can assume that all my fears were for nothing.

The nights that I spend at the NVS compound, we made enough noise talking and laughing and clowning around that our presence was no secret. If there were any VC out there lurking in the darkness, they must have decided that we were not worth their time and effort. At some point, someone or two or three of the group were bound to get out a guitar and start singing….sometimes even songs that I knew.

I am going to take a wild guess and say that my friends from the National Voluntary Service were probably better educated than my friends who worked for USAID. Most of the NVS volunteers were college students…..maybe even a few graduates….and my friends from USAID were not. On the other hand, the USAID friends spoke better and more fluent English because they spent the day working with Americans, if for no other reason. No matter what, I liked them all, and they, together, made my months in Phan Rang much more pleasant and happy and meaningful.

Of course, my only reason for being in Phan Rang was to teach English. And, believe me….. I did teach English. In the four high schools, I was solidly booked for the entire day. I was teaching about 35 hours a week between all of the schools. I met with the National Voluntary Service a couple times a week for probably a total of four to six hours total. I sponsored a couple English clubs in the schools…..a couple hours each week for each club. As I mentioned earlier, I taught a class of unruly policemen a couple nights a week. No doubt there were other classes, too, that have been forgotten or misplaced in my memory.

If all the hours were totaled, the number of hours spent teaching of some sort would probably total up to around 50 hours a week. It is very difficult to say “Yes” to one group….and then say “No” to another group. Generally speaking, if somebody asked me to teach English…..I simply said “Yes”. Although it is true that most of these classes were simply “Repeat after me” type instruction, there was still a great deal of planning that was required. There was homework to be read and (gently) corrected. Plus, just keeping track of each class’s progress was at times complicated. “Should we go back and review this section?” “Do they need additional instruction on this?” “Why aren’t they learning this as quickly as I think they should?” All of these kinds of questions required time to figure out.

The end of the first semester was coming to an end. I was starting to feel the effects of all the long hours. What were all the other teachers doing? Were they working so many hours? I had no way of knowing what others were doing. I had no yardstick to measure by?

More and more I looked forward to free time that I could spend at the beach….or climbing among the ancient ruins of the ancient Cham temples.

One day I noticed that I was feeling sick….rather nauseous….I was simply worn out. I could hardly force myself to get out of bed. Going to school and standing in front of a class took all the resolve and energy that I could find. I found myself leaning against the chalkboard, clinging to my podium….even sitting at my desk barely able to stir.

“I’m working too many hours,” I told myself. “I am going to have to cut back.” But, before I could put that wish into reality, I woke up one morning. I felt terrible; every muscle in my body ached. It felt like I had something the size and weight of a small cannon ball in the middle of my stomach. I was simply not able to get out of bed. I asked my station mate if he would stop by the school and tell them that I would not be at school that day.

“A day of rest is all I need,” I assured myself, “and then everything will be OK again.” It wasn’t, though. I continued to lie in bed the next day….and the next…. Our cook would come upstairs and say things like, “You must eat something.” I couldn’t eat anything. Looking at food of any sort almost made me sicker. “You must go to the doctor,” she would urge. She would shake her head and look at me pleading that I do something. I simply could not. I struggled downstairs to go to the bathroom….and take an occasional drink of water. But, food? No way….

On about what must have been the fourth day, I determined to find out the problem and so something about it. By that time I had started to realize that the problem was something more serious than overwork. Give me some credit for having a few brains. I struggled out of bed….I was starting to feel a little better….took a shower in our mosquito infested makeshift shower….drank a cup of coffee….ate a piece of toast. I got into my Jeep and drove to the USAID compound to see the Air Force doctor.

Oh… And, I neglected to mention…. All this time I was also trying to build a library.