Category: random

We should have never been inside the old, abandon house, but then again the back door should have been locked. It was reportedly haunted, but I wouldn’t stick around long enough to find out.

The DeMartin’s house sat vacant for years facing the beach that also carries the same name. And while I won’t tattle on who was with me that afternoon, I come out the loser on a bet I should have never taken.

Not only was it old smelling inside, the floor creaked as I walked across it. Worse yet, up stairs it was dark and drafty – which set the stage for what would happen next.

As I came down the stairs that lead towards the front door and the large open living room to the side, I heard a noise behind me. I turned jus’ in time to see my friend racing towards me.

Needless to say I nearly jumped out of my skin as I screamed and took off running towards the back door. That’s when I saw the figure in front of me – my reaction was to lash out with a punch.

The ensuing noise led to more confusion and to more fright as I raced out of the house and back to the trail I had jus’ hiked. Once I stopped and gathered myself, I realized it wasn’t a ghost I had jus’ tried to hit.

Rather there was a more earthly explanation; I had seen my own reflection in a piece of glass. I felt really stupid when my buddy finally came outside to check on me – laughing because he had never seen anyone so scared before.

The swirling, blowing snow made for a confusing pattern as the Bluebird headed west out of Nebraska and back to the Air Base. The sun had already set and the darkness seemed to add to that confusion.

Everyone aboard the bus knew the trip home would be long and boring. Many had drifted off to sleep as the vehicle crept up one rise and eased its way down another in the rolling plains of the Cornhusker state.

It was somewhere before 11 p.m., headlights cutting through a heavy snowfall, the driver slowing for every turn, every dip and every hill, taking care not to allow the bus to slide; Deanna was leaning against me, sleeping as well as she could.

On the other hand, I was unable to sleep. It was a force of habit from childhood, having never been able to sleep in a moving vehicle.

Instead, I simply watched out the window. There was nothing to see, but the quick flashes of white flakes as they flew by my face.

Off to my left I noticed something different in the pattern of the snow as it fell. It was ghostly apparition that seemed to appear out of the darkness and fade as quick as it had come forth.

It took a few seconds for the shape of the figure to register in my brain. When it did, I shouted for the bus to stop.

Senior Airman Toller looked up into the mirror above his head at me as I struggle to get from my seat to the front of the vehicle. As the driver, Toller worked the pedals and gears to slow the bus down even further.

“What the hell?” he asked.

“I think I saw someone trying to flag us down,” I responded.

Toller has a puzzled look on his face as he said, “I didn’t see anyone.”

He eased the shift stick into first gear and glided the bus to the shoulder of the road. It came to a stop with a hiss as the brakes grabbed firmly at the wheels.

Within seconds I was out of the bus and trotting back to where I thought I had seen the mysterious figure. At first the swirling snow caused me to feel confused and I started to doubt myself.

But jus’ as I was prepared to give up and return to the bus, ready to admit I was simply seeing things, something ahead of me moved side ways. The movement was slight — but enough to cause my eye to follow it.

By this time others aboard the old Bluebird had clamored from the bus in an effort to both stretch their legs and to see what it was I was looking for. They milled around in the tail lights of the vehicle.

The movement I had seen drew closer until I could see it was man. The figure was clothed in a short sleeve shirt and light pants and looked to be terribly cold.

“Hey!” I yelled.

The man stopped as if he was uncertain he had actually heard a voice. This gave me a chance to get to him before the snow could obscure my vision any further than it had.

“We’ve had an accident,” the man called out as I stepped closer.

“An accident” I repeated.

“Yes,” the man said as his teeth clattered from the cold.

I turned and looked towards the Bluebird and called out against the wind, “There’s an accident!”

It took a few seconds before anyone reacted. Finally several team members trotted over towards the sound of my voice as I continued to call out to them for assistance.

Leaving the man with the first of those who responded, I headed towards the far edge of the roadway. I was trying to find the crash site.

To my surprise it wasn’t a car or truck, but another bus. I couldn’t tell whether I was looking at the front of the vehicle or the rear of the bus as it was covered in layer of snow.

Cautiously I felt my way along the side of the vehicle, looking for a way into the bus. Finding a slight gap in the vehicle as I slid his hand down the left side, I located the passenger door. 

I realized the bus was facing the roadway with its massive rear-mounted engine hanging off of a cliff face.

Prying opened the door, I could see the driver still strapped into his seat, he looked to be dead or unconscious. I felt for a pulse, learning the man was still alive.

Huddled in the first three rows were several people. Some were standing while others sat in the large backed seats.

It didn’t take me long to direct them to carefully exit the bus. I calmly reassured them there were rescuers outside waiting to help them to a waiting and warm bus.

Jus’ when I thought the bus might be empty, a beam of light cut into the dark. I gently moved towards where I had seen the light, taking care to feel for the bus if it should start to shift due to my weight.

“Hello,” I called out.

“In here,” a small elderly female voice responded.

Looking in the direction of the voice, I could see very little as I moved downward along the sloping aisle way.

“Are you hurt?” I asked.

“No,” returned the voice.

“Can you get out of your seat,” I said more than asked.

“I’m stuck,” the woman’s voice calmly stated.

“Over here,” a man’s voice cried.

“Stay put,” I directed, adding, “Help’s on its way.”

Backing out of the bus the way I had come aboard, I stepped into the night, to find the wind had stopped blowing and a light snow was falling.

“I’ve got more survivors aboard,” I called to the several figures moving along the edge of the roadway above me.

“What do you need?” someone called out.

“I need lights, blankets and first-aiders,” I responded.

Climbing back on the bus, I checked the driver once again. He was breathing and he had a good heart beat, but he had a large bump on the left side of his head and I could see the glass of the driver’s window was cracked.

Feeling for the keys as they hung in the ignition, I turned them off, then back on, discovering the battery had been drained. It told me the crash had happened sometime ago.

“Hey,” a voice said behind me. It was Technical Sergeant Ron Best.

Quickly, I told him to come on board as gently as possible, because it felt like the bus was unstable and could slide off the face of the cliff at any moment. Best followed my advice.

We concluded we should remove those closer to the door first, working their way towards the back of the bus. The driver was the first to be lifted and passed along the human chain outside the vehicle.

Slowly, but methodically, we worked our way toward the back of the bus, to find two more injured people and the woman who called out saying she was trapped. We turned our attention to the woman after evacuating the injured.

She had been in the lavatory when the crash occurred. She was unhurt and able to push the small flashlight she had in her purse under the door of the bathroom, letting me and Best know she was there.

The woman was grateful to be rescued.

She was wet from the waste that had dumped out onto her and she was cold. It didn’t take her long to start suffering from the effects of hypothermia.

Once she was free of her entrapment, Best escorted her to the doorway and off the bus. As he turned to head down the aisle towards me, the bus jerked violently.

The bus was slipping backwards, threatening to tumble off the cliff. For a moment it felt as if it would not stop.

“Get off the effing bus, Ron, now!” I shouted.

“Not without you!” he shouted back.

“No!” I shot back adding, “If she goes, better only one of us is aboard. Besides you’re closer to the friggin’ door — so get out while you can!”

Best backed his way off the vehicle. He knew I was right and besides he’d be in a better position to help if the bus did fall from the cliff.

Minutes later I appeared at the vehicles door, dragging a large, overweight man. There were a number of hands to help remove him to the waiting bus up top.

Then I worked my way back down the now steep incline of the bus aisle. I had one more man to get too and it would take all my strength to get him out of the severely angled vehicle.

Unfortunately the man was in the far right corner of the bus as I looked downward towards him. He was pinned behind what remained of a mobile bar.

Using the small legs of the bus seats, I climbed down to the man. I could feel his pulse was thready and I knew he wouldn’t last much longer without greater medical intervention.

Carefully, I removed the cans of soda and bottles of beer and liquor from the rolling cabinet. As soon as I felt the box was light enough to be lifted, I toppled it over on its side.

A swell of panic filled my stomach as I realized what I had done. I looked for a way to escape the bus if it should start to slide.

With the jolt of the mobile bar crashing on its side, came a rocking sensation. The bus was moving but not sliding backwards.

Climbing over the seat behind my position, I violently kicked at the window. It cracked then fell away.

With its removal came a wall of snow and dirt. The exit I had hoped for was blocked.

So I moved to the other side and smashed the window with my foot. The window gave way in one huge pop and cold air-filled the bus.

It was an exit.

But rather than scrambling out of the bus, I returned to the injured man. I decided to use the window as a way to get him out of the vehicle.

It took me a couple of minutes to apply dressings to the man’s cuts and gashes. There was nothing however I could do for the man’s severely angled left leg.

“It’s an injury we’ll have to deal without side,” I said to the still unconscious man.

Slowly and with all the effort and strength I could muster, I lifted the injured man upward and onto the seat back near the window. My arms ached from the fatigue as did my legs, but I refused to stop until I was sure the man would be freed of the bus.

Once I had the man in position, I climbed through the broken out window. The cold was biting as it cooled the sweat trapped against my body.

“Down here,” I shouted.

Several lights were directed on me as I struggled to pull the man free of the window frame. Three people were by my side within moments, helping haul the man up the hillside.

Throughout the early morning hours, I helped direct first-aiders in caring for the victims of the crash. And jus’ as the sun was starting to stream its light over the far horizon behind the Bluebird, fire-rescue and ambulances arrived onto the isolated scene.

I finally got the chance to look over the edge of the cliff.

What I saw left me amazed. The terrible fall I had envisioned was nothing more than a five-foot drop.

I chuckled about it all the way back to the Bluebird.

Soon we were back on the road heading home to the Air Base. Within minutes I would fall asleep for the first time in my memory while traveling in a moving vehicle

The first sawmill in Del Norte County was established in 1853 in a gulch near the intersection of Third and C Streets in Crescent City. The machinery shipped from Pomona and it was F. E. Watson who built and operated it for R. F. Knox & Co. of San Francisco.

Much of the lumber was hauled over Howland Hill from Mill Creek. To transport the logs, loggers used “two large wheels about twelve feet in diameter, with an axle between and a long tongue, on which the logs were loaded, and partly dragged and wheeled by oxen.”

The mill was enlarged and relocated in 1855 to the corner of G and 7th Streets. It was destroyed by fire in 1856, and some of the equipment was salvaged by a Mr. Kingsland who used to build a small mill on Elk Creek.

Meanwhile, W. Bayse built a water-powered mill on Mill Creek. And while the road over Howland Hill was improved, the cost of transportation was too high and Bayse soon went bankrupt.

Finally, a horse-powered mill operated briefly near where the Elk Valley Mill subsequently stood. It was not considered a good investment and soon shut down.

There was also small sawmill at the Waukell Agency on the Klamath in 1859, but its production was reserved for the government. Jus’ a few miles away, after all, was Fort Ter-Waw which housed Company B, 4th Infantry, U.S. Army.

But it was further north, where A. M. Smith built his mill on Smith River, where it was later spanned by the bridge built by the Crescent City & Smith River Railroad. The Fairbanks Brothers also opened a small mill near Smith River Corners. Later, N. O. Armington became interested in this undertaking and a grist mill was added.

It is in the Smith River area where a number of clashes took place between settlers and indigenous peoples — namely the Tolowa. Generally, speaking, the Tolowa came out on the losing end of these battles.

Historian A. J. Bledsoe recounts in his book, “The History of Del Norte County,” about 50 Indian settlements were destroyed along the Smith River between 1855 and 1863. However, recent archaeological evidence shows his figures were off as much as 100 settlements.

He has been criticised for misrepresenting the figure — but it must be pointed out, many of the 100 settlements not listed were not know about at the time. In fact it wasn’t until the early 20th Century that archeologist rediscovered many of these places.

What’s also from missing from Bledsoe’s account are references to paying for Indian scalps. But a semi-annual Statement of Audit printed in the Crescent City News, February 16, 1894, shows the county paid out $50.20 in 1893 for bounty on scalps.

Then there’s the letter L. F. Cooper, who had served as a Del Norte county board supervisor as well as district attorney, sent his son August 26, 1895. In it he told him not to bring any scalps to Del Norte County as the county was no longer paying for scalps taken in Siskiyou County.

In fairness to Bledsoe though, his recollection is missing this information because the book he authored was printed in 1881.

The accident happened sometime in the early morning hours, jus’ north of the Trees Motel. The vehicle Cathy Dunlap was in drifted off of Highway 101 and slammed into the trees lining the road.

Dad said Cathy, who had turned 20-years-old the month before, had died on impact. Whether that was true or he had jus’ told me that to make me feel better, I never knew.

It was later in the day when he informed me that he and I were going to go clean up the scene. It was something Dad had me doing since I was nine years old.

We drove by the site but since there wasn’t a turnaround close by, we had to go to the old sawmill and drive back to it. Dad turned on the fire-rigs flashing lights and we climbed out, put on our gloves, and opened the paper bags we used to place things in.

There wasn’t much in the way of personal items like there can sometimes be in a traffic accident. A car or truck flips over the windows break and objects get ejected and sometimes lost in the activity of trying to save a life.

There was a blush compact and a hairbrush as well as a shoe, all picked up and placed in one of the bags. I was down below Dad scanning the ground when I found a few drops of blood.

I asked Dad, “What do you want me to do?”

“Scatter it as best you can,” he answered.

So I spent the next couple of minutes trying to erase any sign of the blood by kicking the stones and dirt with the toe of my tennis shoe. Then for some reason, I looked up.

Gently waving in the air, hanging from a fracture tree branch was a twist of blond-like hair. At one end I could see, what I can only describe as a tag of skin, hanging from it.

My heavy work gloves wouldn’t let me get a hold of the hair, so I removed my left one and pulled the strands from the tree’s branch. I rolled it around between the tips of my fingers and thumb for a second and then stopped.

It was like a hot shower had jus’ washed over my face – tears were streaming and I felt so warm I became sick to my stomach. I had jus’ realized that Cathy, a girl I knew and had gone to school with had been killed and I was holding what remained of her.

Dad was quick to come down to me. He took the hair from my hand and placed it in a plastic bag as I stood there crying.

To this day, I’ve never passed that spot in the road without recalling that memory or of Cathy.

“I think I jus’ saw a ghost,” Julio said as he walked into the newsroom.

It caused me to flash back to a couple of weeks before, when Paul came to work at his regular time. I was putting the finishing touches on my top-of-hour newscast when he sat down in his usual spot.

Once I was done with the cast, I left the control room and returned to the center console to continue working. That’s when Paul said something – but I didn’t quite hear him.

“What did you say?” I asked.

“I hope I didn’t do something to cause me a problem later,” he responded.

Puzzled, I asked, “What are you talking about?”

Paul explained, “I walked into the break room and in front of the soda were a bunch of aluminum cans arranged in the shape of a cross.”

I stopped what I was doing, “Are you kidding me?”

“No,” he answered.

Mind you, I was the only person in the building the last two and a half hours — and it wasn’t me who set the can’s up like that. Now Julio was standing in the newsroom, obviously shaken by what he’d witnessed.

 “I saw someone walk through the hallway and into the conference room,” he said, “But when I went to see who it was – nobody was there.”

Boogie looked at me as I asked, “What did this person look like?

“Tall and skinny,” Julio relied.

“Okay,” Boogie interrupted, “I’m getting goose bumps jus’ thinking about this.”

“Well,” I returned, “That fits the general description of whatever it is we’ve been seeing.”

“What are you talking about?” Julio wanted to know.

“Both Tom and I’ve seen the same thing,” Boogie answered, “So welcome to the club.”

Boogie has seen the skinny man at least three times, I’ve seen him twice and now Julio has seen him. What the skinny man is or why he travels the radio station hallways, no one seems to know.

It was during my banishment from Margaret Keating School and while attending St. Joe’s that I learned about William Sydney Porter. He’s better known by nom de plume as O. Henry.

Now I had heard of O. Henry and knew at least one of his short stories, that being, “The Gift of the Magi,” but I didn’t realize he was known for this kind of Genre – the twist ending. O. Henry’s stories are famous for their surprise endings, so much so, such an ending is often referred to as an “O. Henry ending.”

Porter was born September 11, 1862, in Greensboro, North Carolina. His middle name at birth was Sidney; he changed the spelling to Sydney in 1898.

Later he moved to Texas where he worked in a bank, was accused of embezzlement and lost his job but was not indicted. From there he wrote and drew for a publication he started called “The Rolling Stone.”

In less than a year the publication failed and he returned to working in the banking industry. However he was caught embezzling and charged with the crime.

But before he could be brought to trial, he fled to Honduras.  Then he learned his wife was dying, so he returned to the U.S., where he was immediately arrested.

In short order, he was tried, convicted and sentenced to five-years in the Ohio State Prison. He was eventually released after serving only three-years, due to good behavior.

Porter’s most prolific writing period started in 1902, when he moved to New York City.  While there, he wrote 381 short stories.

By 1908, his health started to deteriorate and it affected his writing. He died June 5, 1910, of cirrhosis of the liver cirrhosis, complications of diabetes and an enlarged heart.

From O. Henry – or rather William Sydney Porter – I discovered a simple twist, coupled to a health dose of humor, makes a story interesting in the end. Furthermore, he’s a prime example of overcoming failure, maintaining a personal goal and eventually finding success.

Our falling out started shortly after I went to work at KNSS. He left the station about the same time and went to work at KROI.

Dave Barnett and I hadn’t gotten along for a number of years afterwards. Finally in 2000, I went and asked why was so pissed off at me.

When I started at KNSS, I decided to use a catch-phrase I’d been hearing for three or so years by another disc jockey in Eureka. “Dingy-Dandy-Dancin’,” Dana Hall was the morning talent at KRED at the time I left the coast and headed for Nevada.

Since I was nearly 400-miles away and I liked the catch-phrase, I tried it on the air — but it jus’ didn’t fit my personality, so I dropped it. Dave heard it and it felt slighted,  believing I had stolen it directly from him.

Evidently Dave used a similar catch-phrase, but I didn’t know it at the time. I explained this to him and apologized for the difficulty it had brought, to which he accepted.

Unfortunately — the damage was done and we never spoke again after that.  And now — well, now — it’s too late to rectify the situation, as Dave passed away July 9th, 2008.

Nevada’s unemployment rate held steady at 13.4 percent in September as jobless figures fell in other states. The September figure is a drop from a year ago at 14.9 percent.    

State employment department economists say 10,000 jobs were added, but most were seasonal and the net job gain was closer to 1,800.  Governor Brian Sandoval says the stabilizing numbers are a good sign but officials still need to work to spur job growth and re-training.    

The Las Vegas metropolitan area continues to post the highest jobless numbers, with 13.6 percent unemployment last month, compared to 12.6 percent in the Reno-Sparks area and 12.4 percent in Carson City.  Nevada lags behind the national September jobless rate of 9.1 percent.

But the state’s GOP leadership has bigger fish to fry, as the chairman of the Republican National Committee is urging Nevada Republicans to delay their caucuses by three weeks to February 4th. RNC Chairman Reince Priebus says in a letter that changing the date will benefit Nevada in several ways, including giving it a more prominent place on the nomination calendar.      

Several Republican presidential candidates and the state of New Hampshire are furious over Nevada having scheduled its contest for January 14th. They argue that would wedge New Hampshire’s primary too close to Nevada’s voting and Iowa’s caucuses, which are slated for January 3rd.          

My first reaction is wanting to tell New Hampshire, the RNC and any boycotting Presidential candidate to piss off — but I’m think better of this. Instead state GOP leaders ought to move the caucuses so they end after all others. This would place Nevada right on par with being dead-last in the nation with employment as well as its highest-in-the-country foreclosure rate.

Jus’ a suggestion, since arguing over caucuses isn’t bringing jobs to Nevada either.

Mom was baking cookies and had jus’ set the metal baking sheet on the counter to cool before lifting them off. Her last words were, “Be careful, it’s hot.”

Evidently, Deirdre wasn’t listening,  more focused on the cookies than what Mom told her and Marcy. Without hesitation, other than to check to be certain Mom wasn’t looking, Deirdre took a bite.

Mind you, she didn’t lift one of the cooling cookies from the sheet –- no -– she bit the cookie as it lay on the sheet. This was followed by the most painful scream a five-year-old could manage with a mouthful of hot baked goods.

Within seconds the evidence of what had happened was plain to see on Deirdre’s face as both her upper and lower lips were swollen with blisters. Mom took her to the kitchen sink and started applying cool water to her burn,  followed by some ice cubes and later a trip to Seaside Hospital.  

As for me, I recall looking at the sheet, with a perfect bite mark in one of the cookies, then — like a dutiful brother — laughing.