Blog

My wife loves to bake. She had jus’ finished making a couple dozen chocolate chip cookies and she gave me one.

I am — after all — her official taster — when Kyle isn’t around.

Anyway, I had this cookie in my left hand and was getting ready to bite into it, when she asked if I’d like a glass of cold milk to go with it. I told her I would.

As she poured my a small glass, I was standing there with my hands by my side. Suddenly the cookie I was holding was snatched out of my hand.

When it happened I looked down only to find our dog, Chubbs licking his chops. He had devoured my cookie in one gulping bite.

“Hey!” I shouted at him.

Chubbs however was unphased by my scolding, as he stood there sniffing the air for the possibility of another one and wagging his tail with delight. It was the first and only time he proved himself to be a cookie thief — although he was known to help himself to an unattended sandwich or five over his lifetime.

I sure do miss that big ol’ brown dog.

At one point in my life I wanted to take from my military service what I had learned and apply it towards a degree in nursing. With that in mind, I took a part-time job working the graveyard shift at the local convalescent hospital.

It didn’t take very long to realize I was in over my head and would much rather be out in the streets as an emergency medical technician. It took a “nasty” incident to finally change my mind about my goal path.

Señor Sanchez was nearly one-hundred years old, sharp as a tack and very set in his ways. Often times I would go into his room and find him already dressed, sitting in his wheel-chair watching whatever he found of interest on TV.

One early morning I stopped in to ask him how he was doing and he asked that I help him to the bathroom. It was one of the few things the old man could not do all by himself — as arthritis prevented him from properly cleaning up afterward.

After getting Señor Sanchez to the toilet and seated, I stepped out of the bathroom to give him some privacy. After a few minutes he hollered for me to return, which I did.

As I helped him stand up so I could wipe his bum for him, I noticed his wallet laying on the floor at the base of the commode. I decided to pick it up as I started to pull his pants up.

Unfortunately — Señor Sanchez wasn’t finished going to the bathroom. Without warning, and jus’ as I leaned over to grab both the wallet and his pants, he had an explosive bowel movement.

He literally crapped on my head, in my left ear and down my shoulder. I helped him sit down to finish the job, handed him his wallet and exited the room.

My ability to stifle my gag-reflex has always been good — that is until someone else starts the process of throwing-up — which is exactly what happened.  As I was heading for the shower area, one of the other nursing aides saw me and lost everything in her stomach, which caused me to follow suit.

Meanwhile, I could hear Señor Sanchez snickering at the situation.

My friend Elizabeth Rose gave me a picture knowing that I’d enjoy the subject matter and the knowledge of who created the piece of work. The ink and water-color limited-edition is simply titled: “Iwo Jima.”  

The artist is retired Lance Corporal of the Marine Corps Erich Pichler. He lives in Reno and most everything I know about him, I found online.

Pichler was stationed at Camp Pendleton for boot camp. After earning his Eagle, Globe and Anchor pin,  he was stationed at Naval Air Station Pensacola, Florida, for 7251 School.

Later his permanent change of station was Marine Corps Air Station Yuma in Arizona. There, Pichler worked as an air traffic controller.

On October 6, 1996, Pichler was the passenger in an accident where the vehicle rolled at least three times. He suffered a traumatic brain injury and was in a four-and-a-half month-long coma.

The injury affected his entire body, especially his eyesight, hearing, speech and balance. When his condition stabilized, he was transferred to the Kentfield Rehabilitation and Specialty Hospital in Kentfield, California, where he had to re-learn all the basics such as walking, talking, and even swallowing.

He was released from KRSH in July 1997.

According to his online bio, “Erich has had a love of art since he was first able to hold a crayon. He won numerous awards in junior high and high school.  It has taken five years for him to be able to start painting again.”

It adds a new dimension to the old Marine Corps saw: “Adapt and overcome.”

While the world appears to be reeling over a supposed miscarriage of justice in the trial of Casey Anthony, who was accused of murdering her child, Caylee, another murder case has played out one final time in Texas.

A 38-year-old Mexican man has been executed for the rape-slaying of 16-year-old Adria Sauceda in San Antonio. Humberto Leal received the lethal injection in Huntsville Prison.

Leal was convicted and sentenced to death by a Bexar County jury. His punishment capped a flurry of appeals that argued he deserved additional court review of his case because authorities didn’t tell him he could seek legal help from the Mexican government when he was arrested in 1994.

President Barack Obama joined with Leal’s attorneys, arguing a delay was warranted so legislation covering cases like his could work its way through Congress. Former President George W. Bush did the same in a similar case back in 2005.

No one seems upset by the fact that a current President or a former President have been pleading to save a convicted murderer’s life. Even Nancy Grace remains silent on the subject.

Obama and Bush sided with the Mexican government, asking Texas to review the fact the illegal alien had not been given access to consular officers. Shortly after the execution, Mexico issued a statement of condemnation and said it had submitted an official protest to the State Department.

Caylee’s death may go unpunished — a Florida jury has found Casey Anthony “not guilty,” — and this has left people screaming for justice. Meanwhile justice has been meted out to a convicted killer and no one is bothering to question why U.S. leaders would want to halt this lawful execution.

This is the real miscarriage.

One of the ways we could tell a Technical Instructor was nearby, was from the sound of the metal heel taps they wore on their boots. A sudden tap, tap, tap as they strode along the barracks was a real attention getter for we recruits.

However one fellow in our flight learned how to imitate that sound by simply snapping his fingers. No one knew it until one evening after lights out, when everyone is supposed to be in bed, except the person on guard duty.

Several guys were in the shower area, shining their shoes, breaking the rules to avoid breaking the rules for not having them properly polished. The person on guard duty also happened to be the same guy who could imitate a TI with the click of his thumb and middle finger.

The guard decided to walk past the showed area, snapping his fingers. The sound echoed through out the barracks and guys scattered left and right, rushing to make it back to their beds before the instructor busted them.

At least one guy busted a toe in the stampede.

Naval Air Station Fallon is known among the locals simply as “Fallon NAS,” but few are familiar with the airfield’s real name or the man for whom the field is named. In fact, the airfield represents a memorial to a WWII naval aviation hero and recipient of the Congressional Medal of Honor.

Lieutenant Commander Bruce Avery Van Voorhis was born in Aberdeen, Washington, January 29, 1908. Shortly thereafter he moved with his family to Fallon, where he spent his childhood.

Van Voorhis attended school at the Oats Park Grade School. He later graduated from Churchill County High School in 1924 where his classmates knew him as “Clint.”

A 1929 graduate of the U.S. Naval Academy at Annapolis, he earned his pilot wings in 1931. Van Voorhis served with numerous aviation units stateside and overseas.

He reported for duty to Bombing Squadron 102 as Plane Commander of a PB4Y-1 at the height of conflict in the Pacific during WWII. Van Voorhis died on July 6, 1943, near Hare Island in the Western Pacific.

After a 700-mile flight alone, he launched successive bombing and strafing attacks on Japanese ground installations, destroying a radio station, anti-aircraft emplacement and at least four enemy aircraft in the air and on the water in six successive attacks. He was caught in his own bomb blast and crashed into a lagoon, ending his life.

The Naval Air Station Fallon was dedicated in his name November 1, 1959. At that time the 14,000-foot runway was one of the longest in the world and remains the longest in the U.S. Navy.

In 1956, 13 years after Van Voorhis’ death, a destroyer escort was launched bearing his name with the official Naval designation of DD-1028 from the shipyard in Camden, N.J.  The vessel was in service for 17 years, including the Naval blockade of Cuba in 1962, before being decommissioned ten years later.

In 1982, then Nevada Governor Robert List issued a proclamation designating May 31 as LCDR Bruce Avery Van Voorhis Day in the state. In November 2010, the Nevada Aerospace Hall of Fame inducted Van Voorhis into its Hall of Fame.

Four Iowa-class battleships were built during World War II including the USS Missouri, the keel of which was laid on January 6, 1941, at Brooklyn Navy Yard. Her armament included a main battery of nine 16 inch guns and twenty 5 inch anti-aircraft guns.

There were five mounts on each side with two guns in each. When she was modernized in the 1980’s four of the mounts were removed and were replaced by Tomahawk missile launchers, leaving only 12 now.

This has led to a tenuous connection between the great vessel and the state of Nevada.

The Missouri was launched January 29, 1944, and commissioned June 11, 1944. She was assigned to the Pacific Third Fleet and steamed into Pearl Harbor on Christmas Eve 1944.

The USS Missouri was part of the force that carried out bombing raids over Tokyo and provided firepower in during the battles of Iwo Jima and Okinawa. During the war’s final month, the “Mighty Mo” served as Admiral William “Bull” Halsey’s flagship for the Pacific Third Fleet.

The Mighty Mo secured its place in history as the site of Japan’s unconditional surrender September 2, 1945, thus ending World War II. The ceremony for the signing of the surrender was conducted by General Douglas MacArthur.

But her story does not end there.

The Mighty Mo’s main battery firepower became a legend in Korea, with her nine 16 inch guns hurling 1,800-pound shells as heavy as Volkswagens over 23 miles in defense of U.S. land forces at Inchon. Nearly thirty years would  pass before her next return to active duty.

In 1955, the Missouri was decommissioned and mothballed at the Puget Sound Naval Shipyard. However in 1986, the USS Missouri was recommissioned after undergoing an extensive modernization and refurbishment.

In 1991, the Mighty Mo was deployed to the Persian Gulf during Operation Desert Storm. The Missouri’s final operational mission occurred December 7, 1991, when the battleship led the way into Pearl Harbor marking the 50th anniversary of the attack that dragged America into World War II.

The Missouri was decommissioned for a second time in 1992 and was struck from the Navy’s ship registry three years later. By August 1996, the Navy had approved the USS Missouri Memorial Association as caretaker for the battleship and Pearl Harbor as its final resting place – making it official May 4, 1998.

At present, the Mighty Mo’s U.S. Naval Gun Factory 355 resides at Nevada’s Hawthorne Army Depot, where much of the older material’s taken from the vessel during modernization has been stored and is currently being turned into scrap metal. Factory 355 holds its own place in U.S. history – as it bore witness to the formal surrender of Japan.

One of my fondest memories of Independence Day happened in Crescent City in 1976. It was the 200th Anniversary of our nations founding, but that isn’t the only thing that made it special.

Michelle made it special, too.

She was a year or two younger than me and we knew one another from high school. That entire Sunday, the two of us spent the day walking around Beach Front Park.

We never held hands, locked arms or even kissed. Instead we did something far more intimate: we talked and laughed.

I’m telling this for a purpose.

No one would know about this except her and I — save for the fact that jus’ shared it. What “it” is — is a memory, something that we all have, but few of us share with others.

The reason I’m bringing this up is tha fact that not all of us will leave behind stone and metal monuments with our names inscribed up it. Not all of us will be able to establish a foundation or a trust in our name that will last through the years.

But what all of us can do is spend a few minutes everyday or even once a week, writing down some of the things we recall, those moments in life that were special, our thoughts, etc. It doesn’t matter if your grammar or spelling are perfect, the idea is to set down these things that will disappear with our passing onto paper.

And maybe — if you’re brave and willing — you can post them to an online journal created by you. It’s jus’ a thought.

To keep this in perspective — I have yet to convince my bride, my son or any of my friends to start and maintain this activity. So don’t feel alone if you come to the conclusion you’re not interested in such a project.

There used to be a water tower in the area of U.S. 101 and Wonder Stump Road. I know this because one of my best friends in high school used to live out by it.

I won’t mention his name as I don’t want to cause any problems for him.

He, myself and another guy used to climb up the water tower, to the catwalk and paint the named of girls we liked on the side of the tank. While the ladder to gain access to the tower was about 30-feet off the ground, we found an ingenious way to get up there anyhow.

We avoided the ladder and free climbed the legs. Sometimes we would race one another to see who could get to the cat-walk first.

I won only once that I can recall.

The structure has undergone some changes over the years including legs that are a smooth surface now and the removal of the old cat-walk. These gradual  modifications actually started shortly before I graduated from high school.

One day we discovered the authorities had put up cone-like guards around the legs, much like one would do to keep a squirrel from invading a bird feeder. We wandered around the tower for a few minutes finally concluding it was pointless to try climbing it.

But still we had all this paint with us, as we had plans to blazon the names of our current crushes on the side of the tank again. So we concluded that the only thing left to do was paint an old tractor in a nearby field.

I wonder what the farmer thought when he saw his green John Deere was now a bright blue and yellow.

It was a scouting trip to see the Giants play at Candlestick Park. School had jus’ let out and we we’re going to get to see Willie Mays in action.

Seven of us kids piled into Captain Kelly’s station wagon for the nearly 400 mile trip to the Bay Area. I sat in the very back of the car, in the seat that faced backwards.

After traveling all day since before dawn, we pulled in to the main gate at Hamilton Air Force Base. We spent the night in one of the many old open barracks for the night.

The following day, we pack ourselves up in the station wagon and the “short trip” into the city and the ball park. It took us nearly an hour to find the entrance to the parking lot, to get parked, enter the stadium and locate our seats.

For me, much of my time was spent wandering around the ‘Stick, watching all the people and sometimes watching the baseball game against the Philadelphia Phillies. I also gorged myself on hot dogs and soda pop.

Finally, when my feet got tired, I returned to my seat and started watching the game. I have no idea what inning it was – but Willie Mays was at the bat – and thought he never got to first base, he did hit plenty of foul balls.

Like I said, I wasn’t paying much attention and while I heard the bat hit the ball, I had no idea where it went. Within a second or two though, I realize the foul-tip was coming right at the section we were sitting in.

It was like a slow-motion dream, everyone around me jumping up, reaching for the baseball. But somehow though and very much to my surprise, the ball ended up landing in my hands.

I was the envy of everyone around at that moment.

After the game, as we were heading for the parking lot, I stopped and bought a replica baseball bat as a souvenir. Once at the car,  Captain Kelly promptly took it away from me, fearing I’d use it on one of my fellow scouts.

I got it back after we returned home.

As for the baseball foul-tipped by Willie Mays – I think Adam and I used it in a neighborhood game.  Eventually, it was lost or forgotten, never to be seen again.

The replica bat, though, I managed to keep ever since. And incidentally – the Giants beat the Phillies, three-to-one that day.