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It had been a tough year. The bride and I were separated, I had lost my job , Mom passed away and I jus’ couldn’t handle anything else, so I literally ran away.

It was around 9 p.m. when I finally decided to pull off the road for the night and get some sleep. I parked my truck in at the rest area jus’ off I-40 and hiked down into a draw near some adobe ruins to set up my tent.

It didn’t take long for me to fall asleep after crawling into my sleeping bag. Generally I don’t sleep well in locations I’m not familiar with, however I was absolutely exhausted.

Sometime after darkness set in, it started raining. I didn’t realize how hard it was raining until my tent started filling up with water and even tried to float away.

I got out jus’ in time as a real gully-washer raced through the draw.

Both my tent and my sleeping bag disappeared as I clawed my way up the far side of the bank from where my truck was parked. I decided to duck inside the door frame of one of these crumbling adobes for shelter.

As fast as it started, it the rain stopped and soon I could tell it was safe to walk across the draw and up the bank to the rest area and my truck.  I took my time as I didn’t want to get stuck in the pasty mud that had rolled down with the gully-washer.

Midway across the now messy draw I had the feeling I was being watched. I looked back over my shoulder and nearly jumped out of my skin.

There was a human figure standing in the doorway of the half fallen adobe I had jus’ left.  I decided that instead of being careful, it was time to run as fast as I could to the well-lit safety of the rest area.

The next day I stopped at a local Walmart and bought a new tent and sleeping bag. I mentioned to the Navajo clerk what had happened and she told me I had encountered a witch, though she called it something I can’t even begin to pronounce.

I decided it would be best if I simply slept in the cab of my truck from then on.

In 1862, Congress authorized the Treasury to print $150 million worth of bills of credit and put them into circulation as money to pay government expenses.

They were printed with green ink and became known as “greenbacks.” By 1865, $432 million in greenbacks were in circulation.

The impetus for the creation of fiat money (greenbacks) to pay for the cost of the civil war originated in Congress, but President Abraham Lincoln was a very enthusiastic supporter:

“It would appear that Lincoln objected to having the government pay interest to the banks for money they create out of nothing when the government can create money out of nothing just as easily and not pay interest on it.” — The Creature from Jekyll Island, G. Edward Griffin

“Lincoln’s defiance of Lionel de Rothschild and his uncle James resulted in his assassination on the night of April 15, 1965 by John Wilkes Booth at the behest of the Rothschilds local agent named Rothberg.” — A History of Central Banking, Stephen Milford Goodson

While Goodson makes a bit of a leap in assigning blame without specifics to back it up, Booth was a British spy. He had also been a member of the Knights of the Golden Circle, which had a hand in the assassination. We also know that one million dollars in gold was sent from the Bank of England to the Bank of Montreal in Canada for funding a second civil war and that Booth knew the controller of that bank account.

We also know that the current U.S. Secretary of War, Edwin M. Stanton, covered up most of the facts about the assassination at the time, and it was decades later that some of these facts came to light.

The four of us loaded up into the car for the final drive to the vet clinic. It was the first time the old dog actually laid his head in Kyle’s lap and I recall thinking perhaps he knows this is the last time he’ll get to go “bye-bye.”

Inside the vet clinic, we were escorted to a private room where we sat on the floor with the old lab. Kyle and Kay pet and rubbed his belly while I brushed his flaky, dry brown coat.

It was harder on them to say good-bye than for me as I was staying with Chubbs until the very end. I believe he deserved to have his pack-leader by his side as he left this world.

He had been given a sedative and he breathed easier for the first time in months. I knew then I had waited longer than I should have to do what was about to happen.

My thoughts raced as the doctor pushed the final solution into my pet’s leg vein. I whispered, “I love you,” and told him he was “a good boy,” as I rubbed his chest and belly.

It took seconds for his big ol’ heart to stop beating. While I didn’t feel that, I felt, heard and saw his massive chest heave out that long, last and forever final breath.

The tears welled up in my eyes and washed down my face as I leaned over and smelled his fur. They puddled up, leaving wet spots on his ear and cheekbone.

I whispered, “I’m so sorry Chubbs that I couldn’t protect you from this.”

Then I lifted his lifeless form from the floor and laid him on the table. It was the last bit of dignity I could offer my best friend.

Time and again I have said God has a sense of humor. Here’s another case in point.

Yesterday I stepped out of my right shoe. That’s to say: it tore along the side and my foot popped out. I had to throw that pair away.

Then this morning I went to church and found out it was “Barefoot Sunday,” a program designed to aid the people of Haiti who are without footwear. The stage was filled with bags and boxes of shoes.

Then there was an invitation given to take the pair from off our feet at that moment and give them with a glad heart. And that’s exactly what I did.

The pair of tennis shoes I gave was never very comfortable anyway. I sat through the service, happy as a clam, with the knowledge they’ll end up on someone’s feet who will appreciate them more than I had.

About half way home it dawned on me—I don’t have another pair of shoes at all. Now I’m down to jus’ a pair of slippers, until I get to the store.

Every day after school, Adam and I would come home and look in the icebox.  As we grew into men with wives and children of our own, coming home for visits, we continued to look in the icebox. 

On one visit to see Mom, I committed a serious breach of civility.  I looked in the icebox before kissing her “hello”.

To Mom it seemed that I was more concerned with feeding my face than I was with seeing her.  And she let me know about it.

Fortunately for me though, Adam arrived about the same time.  He gave Mom a hug and a peck on her cheek and said, “Hello.”  

Then he proceeded to the icebox.  As he opened it, Mom yelled at him, “What are you looking for in there?” 

Her eyes were on fire.  And if she could have spit fire I’m certain she would have done that too.

Adam looked at me because he knew that I had done “something wrong” before he had gotten there and Adam was certain he was catching the blame for it now. I just looked down at my feet.

“Well?” Mom shouted.

“I was looking for penguins,” Adam calmly replied.

In complete exasperation Mom turned and walked away.  I had to fight off a chuckle. 

As for Adam, he shrugged his shoulders, and continued to look for penguins.

The Continental Airliner landed and taxied up to the gate. Within moments everyone was deplaning including me. As I walked down the companion way, I could see the sign. It read “Tommy Darby.”

Tulsa has the largest airport near Muskogee. I wasn’t going to Oklahoma for fun as I had jus’ gotten word that my father had jus’ had a severe stroke and was not expected to live.

My old man and I hadn’t spoken in at least 12-years, though we had corresponded a few times. So to get a call out of the blue from a woman claiming to be my father’s wife, was something of a surprise.

He had not mentioned having gotten remarried. And I didn’t know what to expect.

In fact, I was struggling with the idea of Dad at deaths doorstep. Plus, it still had not fully sunk in that I now had a half-sister.

It was my birthday as quickly made my flight reservation. The next day I headed out, the same day the doctor would be kind enough to list as my father’s date-of-death.

As I looked at the sign, I followed the arm downward until I could see the face of the woman holding it. It was my father’s wife and my step-mom.

My first thought was, “Oh, crap. Dad married a woman younger than me.”

Later, I found out Jere was four-years older than me, but it didn’t make me feel any better.

It was the Fourth of July and I had only been on station three days, when Dave Barber and I were invited to go shoot off some fireworks. We were packed into one car and it’s trunk was loaded with lady-fingers and salutes.

What started out as lighting off fireworks denigrated into an all-out free-for-all, as we were throwing lit firecrackers at each other. And it didn’t take long for someone to get hurt.

Dave was on his knees, bent forward, holding his face after being hit in the eye with an M-80 firecracker. The ensuing explosion blasted the lens out of his glasses.

We ended up rushing back to the base, and the hospital. Once there, Dave was hurried into the emergency room where the doctor examined his eye.

It took a while, but the doctor eventually declared Dave’s eye undamaged.  He told us Dave was luck he didn’t get his eye blown out of his head.

Then he added: “You ought to get your brains examined, too.”

Putting my foot in my mouth and saying inappropriate things has always been a forte’ of mine. I was working at KONE with Paul Stewart when he had to set me straight after I opened my fat-yap.

The day before I had purchased a brand-new car; a Hyundai for $6,000. I was feeling pretty happy with myself and I came into the radio studio as if I were walking on clouds.

Paul and I were discussing my purchase when I started bragging about how I had managed to get nearly $900 shaved off the over all price of the vehicle. I said: “I jude them down nearly a thousand-bucks.”

He looked at me over the rims of his glasses and responded, “I’m a Jew.”

My heart felt like it had come to stop. I hadn’t ever thought of the term as, “Jewed down.” I had always thought the term was spelled after St. Jude, the saint of hopeless causes and that’s what I told Paul.

He explained that I had it all wrong in both spelling and in orgin. Then he told me what the term actually meant.

Without hesitation, I told him I was sorry for making such a slur towards his faith. Paul was gracious enough to accept my apology.

It was obvious I still had alot of learning to do.

Adam Maynard Darby, 46, passed away on January 25, 2010, in San Francisco, California. He was born on August 4, 1963, in Sacramento, California.

He attended school at Margaret Keating Elementary and graduated from Del Norte High School in 1981. Adam served honorably in the U.S. Army as a Ranger.

Adam is survived by his wife Kelly, his son, Jace, and daughters, Jasmine and Lynda. He also leaves behind two sisters and a brother and their families.

It’s hard to believe I had not spoken to my brother Adam since I had to call the Washoe County Sheriff’s Department and have him removed from my home. It started the second day he was visiting us for the first and only time.

Adam had been drinking all day long. He brought booze and finished what booze we still had in our cupboards. Eventually, his mood shifted from being a nice guy to a man with a lot of anger and hostility towards me and my family.

He threatened sexual assault on my bride and our roommate. The threat scared Mary so badly that she locked herself in our bedroom. The threats escalated to violence as Adam tried to choke me out.

Luckily, he failed and that’s when I told him to leave.

At first, he wouldn’t go, then I called the law. He told me that if he stepped out of my front door, he’d never talk to me again and that I could consider myself to be ‘brotherless.’

I told him to go before he got arrested and ended up in prison. He was a two-time loser in that department.

Yeah, ‘tough love,’ is hard and it is made harder still by the things in life one cannot control. I had no control over Adam’s death and I have no control over those withholding information about his passing.

All I can do is forgive them and myself and continue living a good and decent life. It’s the only way I know how to honor my younger brother.

I’ll miss my younger brother all the rest of my life…

The cowpuncher pulled on his chaps,
Then he cinched up on the straps.
That commenced the real fun
As he pulled them undone,
‘Cause his gut decided to prolapse.