My sister, Deirdre, was in sixth grade and had been released from class for recess late in the afternoon. At that time jus’ past the swings and slide on the playground of Margaret Keating School, was a large tire that the kids used for a game called king-of-the-mountain.

Deirdre writes, “I suddenly found myself king — but it was short-lived as the eighth graders were released. It was like a slow motion dream and I didn’t even see it coming, then wham!”

Mike Triplett knocked Deirdre off the tire, whereupon he became king of the mountain. Deirdre landed hard, her right leg tucked up behind her. 

The fall broke the growth plate of her Fibula; however no one realized it at the time as neither her leg, ankle nor foot swelled up. Because of this she wasn’t taken to the doctor for days.

Mom and Dad went back and forth over the need to see a doctor for several days. Mom eventually won as the pain became nearly too much for Deirdre to tolerate.

Once in Dr. Kasper’s office, Mom and Dad learned that had they delayed the visit another week, Deirdre’s growth plate would have healed in the wrong position, leaving her foot pointed downward, leaving her with a severe limp.

Dr. Kasper recommended Deirdre see a specialist as soon a possible. Because of this, we made a couple of trips to Grants Pass, the closest specialist in the area.

As it remains, Deirdre’s right leg is slightly shorter than her left, which is only noticeable when she really walks fast or runs.

Grandma’s house sat vacant for nearly two winters after her death.  It had been a house that her husband and father had built many years ago and everyone in the family felt it was a shame to see that house sitting empty and quiet.

Soon it was decided that the house should be repaired and rented out.  To that end the two of us showed up and started hammering and sawing where needed.

The wet weather had caused a leak in the roof which had run down the interior wall.  The wall was made of a dried plaster and had started to flake away, so that’s where my step-dad Delmar and I decided we should begin working.

First we tapped out the beams.  Then we took our hammers and began knocking holes in the white, powdery plaster.

Crash — Delmar’s hammer had struck a glass object.  It had shattered and he immediately stopped working.

I did too.

Both of us attempted to look inside the hole to see what Del had struck.  We couldn’t see anything as it was too dark. 

So Delmar pulled another chunk of plaster out from the wall.  With it came small pieces of broken glass and a large leather pouch.

“Oh my,” exclaimed Delmar as he bent over and picked up the leather pouch.

I was stunned —my brain turned the leather pouch over and over and was thinking of hidden treasure as Del unrolled it.

The pouch was very old and had started to turn to deteriorate in several places as it was unrolled.  But with each unrolling, it revealed more and more.

It held a cache of arrowheads and spear tips as well as old coins.  Delmar immediately recognized these as belonging to a local tribe, as he had spent many days off and vacations hunting for arrowheads in Northern California and Southern Oregon. 

I could tell he was exited by the find.

The coins were old ones; late nineteenth and early twentieth century. The collection included a few silver dollars and a couple of buffalo nickels as well.  We agreed they were probably minted about the time the house was built.

However the most unusual object to my eye in that leather pouch was the handbook.  It was worn yellow-brown with age, had mold growing on its back cover, however its red printing was clearly visible.

The wording inscribed on it read, “Constitution and By-laws, Hupa Tribe, Number 146, of the Improved Order of Red Men of the Hunting Grounds of Eureka, California, 1903.” 

I held the booklet in my hand and read it out loud. 

Delmar was on his knees looking at the arrowheads and spear points, when he looked up and asked, “What did you say?” 

I repeated what I had read.

Del stood up and shook his head and said, “Hupa 1903.” 

He held out his hand and I laid the booklet in it.

“That’s what it says,” I grinned.

Dell thumbed through the small book, “I can’t believe it,” he started, “this was hidden for a reason.”

“Why?” I asked.

Delmar paused, stroking his bearded chin, “Back when your Grandma was youngster it would have been illegal for an Indian to own a business or a home near town.” 

He stopped and looked thoughtfully at the book then quickly leafed through it once more, “I figure she hid the fact that she was Indian,” Delmar concluded. 

Then he handed the book back to me.

Del walked outside to his truck and brought back a cardboard box.  I assisted him in loading all the hidden treasure into it, and then we got back to completing the task at hand.

Later that evening I sat at the dinner table with Mom and my step-dad looking over the items.  Each object was laid out on the white table-cloth. 

The arrowheads and the spear point numbered a dozen as did the coins.  The booklet and pouch sat by themselves.

Mom cleared her throat, “I had always heard that your Great-Grandpa George had married an Indian.”  She paused, “I think he did and then set about covering it up as it probably hurt business.” 

She smiled at me. 

“These seem pretty important,” she continued after a moment as she held up one of the pieces of obsidian.

Delmar was busy looking in one of his many books on the subject of arrowheads and spear points.

“I can’t seem to find anything like them,” he finally said as he raised his head and snapped the book shut.  “Whatever they mean is probably lost to us,” he sighed.

I picked up the little paperback book as this was the true treasure to me.

“To think Grandma went to her grave guarding this family secret,” I said as I slipped the booklet into a plastic freezer bag.

“I’ll bet you that’s been tucked away in that wall since 1913; the year that house was built,” Del said as he nodded at the items on the table.

Then I chuckled, “Mom, do you remember how Grandma always called me her little cowboy?”

 She smiled again and nodded her head at the memory.

“Well, it turns out Grandma’s little cowboy may have really been a little Indian,” I finished.

Shortly after Mary’s father passed away, she and her siblings got together for a week and packed up the old man’s home. The four children decided to split most everything like the furniture, pictures and art.

However, a number of books including school texts, compendiums of family history on her mother’s side and a bunch of bibles, where left unclaimed. I told my bride to bring them home with her so I could leaf through them.

I happen to love old books.

In one of the bibles, presented to Gertrude Alberta Blodgett, from Mr. and Mrs. S.M. Blodgett, October 7, 1909, I discovered a note made in pencil, “U.S. President there.” While it caught my attention, I was really drawn to the date of August 24, 1927.

The entry goes on to read, “Be of good cheer — John 16-33.” It finishes with, “The ____ at Hermosa, July 24 1927, President there.”

Since the bride’s family is from the San Diego area, I started my research looking through the records of the City of Hermosa Beach for a reference to a presidential visit in 1927. I found nothing.

Then it occurred to me: My father-in-law was from Rapid City, South Dakota and his middle name was Blodgett. Duh! So I quickly searched for Hermosa, South Dakota and found what I was hoping to learn.

In 1927, President Calvin Coolidge made a trip to South Dakota and stayed in a game Lodge in Hermosa. He also established offices for himself and his staff at the high school in Rapid City.

During his visit, Coolidge dedicated Mount Rushmore and welcomed guests like Charles Lindbergh. The President and First Lady Gracie Coolidge eventually returned to Washington D.C. in mid-September.

While it may or may not have been Gertrude who penciled the notation found in the border of page 697, the Book of St. John, in this 100-plus year old bible, I thank them for the connection to the past and to our American history.

There are times when something simple can cause me no-end of concern. Take for example this story…”

For the last two or maybe three weeks I have been fighting a losing battle with a chair from the dinner table that seems to move on its own. It suddenly started doing this after I removed the center leaf from the table.

I had come to believe we had a poltergeist in our home.

Daily, I would move the chair back under the table, next to where the other chairs are and then somehow, someway it would end up next to the couch some 4 or 5 feet away. Then on other days it would be moved only three feet to in front of the kitchen island.

It left me perplexed.

I finally put the leaf back in the table just to make the ghost happy again and so it would leave the chair alone. It seems to have worked.

This morning all four chairs were right where I left them last night. Then my wife says to me as she is heading out the door, “Thanks for putting the leaf back in the table for me. Now I don’t have to move the friggin’ chair around jus’ to read the news paper.”

She really frightens me sometimes.

One of the things I used to dread about going to Margaret Keating School when I was in the eighth grade…our teacher, Mr. Tom Brown. Not only did he scare me, he also tended to scare others in the class.

Case in point was the early afternoon a girl in our class fell asleep. Marisol Azzopardi had been listening to Mr. Brown drone on about one subject or another and she finally became a victim of a trance.

She had her head down, looking at the teacher as her eyes finally failed and went close. Mr. Brown saw her slip into her sleep state almost as soon as it happened.

Without missing a beat, he walked across the class room and slapped the top of her desk as hard as possible with his open hand. The loud pop jolted Marisol awake immediately and it left her bug-eyed with fright.

Most everyone in class laughed, happy it wasn’t they who had made the mistake of falling asleep. And while Marisol appeared to take the event good-naturedly, I was more than shaken, fearful to blink worried he’d think I had dropped off to catch a few Z’s.

Not fun or funny!

Kyle called to tell me he had spoke with 9-1-1 because he believed our neighbors, Mike and Bridget Smith were being robbed. He said he was worried as one of the robbers had looked right at him as he watched the man come and go from the house a couple of times.

I was stuck at work and even had I been able to leave the station, I still would have had a half hour to travel before getting home.

Having taught Kyle from an early age how to use a rifle and handgun, he had gotten out my pistol and loaded it. He set it on the arm of the couch and remained by the window watching the three men ransack the home.

I believe this was a wise move on Kyle’s part.

Unknown to him, the police were also watching the house as it was being burgled. They were hoping catch the thieves not only in the act, but in a place that was a little less congested or populated.

I pulled into the driveway a few minutes after the robbers had driven away.

Sparks Police Sgt. Greta Woyciehowsky and Washoe County Sheriff deputies were already on the scene, securing the house and the evidence left behind. Kyle was still inside our home, waiting for me as I had instructed.

We when over to the Smith’s together, to speak with officers. They took Kyle inside the house and had him fill out a statement, while I return home to call Mike at work, to let him know what was happening.

Eventually all three of the burglars were busted, but not until some gun-play. As the trio sped north on U.S. 395, the driver of the car tossed a pistol out of the vehicle, where it discharged, and fired back into the car, striking the driver in the leg.

Sometimes justice comes in unexpected forms.

Certain things get caught in my craw and I jus’ can’t seem to cough them up. One is this Nevada news item:

“Nevada lawmakers will be able to workout during the upcoming legislative session thanks to new exercise equipment installed in an empty office on the third floor of the state’s legislature building. The two treadmills, two stairmasters and two elliptical machines come at a cost of $30,000 dollars to taxpayers.”

News item number two:

“Governor Brian Sandoval has released the salaries of some of his staffers. Chief of Staff Heidi Gansert will earn just under $125,000, Dale Erquiaga, Senior Advisor and Communications Director, about $120,000, Press Secretary Mary-Sarah Kinner around $75,000, with the governor making $141,000. The amounts are before factoring a 4.6 percent reduction, the amount state workers lost in 2009 when required to take a day off each month without pay.”

Meanwhile, the base-pay for a sergeant in the United States Marine Corps is only $26,638. Remember, these are the men and women charged with humping around Afghanistan and Iraq, wearing body armor and 80 pounds of equipment in all sorts of weather, day and night, and being shot up on a near-daily basis.

It appears it pays well in Nevada to be a professional politician. No wonder the state has a $3-billion budget shortfall.

The Denny’s was fairly empty at the time I entered and sat down for a cup of coffee and a burger. That’s because it was somewhere between morning breakfast and noon-time lunch.

Shortly after I sat down and ordered my meal, in the door came a man I knew only by the name, Red. He had with him, his ever-present dog, which was allowed into the restaurant because it acted as a service-animal, as Red had epilepsy.

As I sat eating, I casually watched Red as he moved towards one of the seats located at the  front counter. Usually, his dog would lay down next to where he sat, but this time the dog jus’ stood there.

Without much notice, Red suddenly stiffened up and fell backwards into the aisle between the counter and a booth. He was having a seizure.

Immediately, I asked one of the waitresses to call an ambulance and I went over and knelt down by Red. There wasn’t very much I could do for him at the time other than speak gently to him.

However his seizure event became progressively worse. As his thrashing about became more violent all I was able to do was protect him from striking his head on either the floor or some nearby object.

Within minutes the Del Norte County Ambulance Service pulled into the parking lot. One of the EMT’s to come through the door was Chuck Hartwick.

Chuck and I had gone to high school together. We also studied martial arts and emergency medicine after school most nights and I considered him to be a renaissance man long before the term became popularized.

It wouldn’t be the last time I would see Chuck as he worked the ambulance. One early morning I was near run over by a woman, who had been broadsided and in a panic, stabbed her foot down on the gas pedal.

Instead of running me over, she slammed into a retaining wall designed to protect a building near Highway 101. The impact snapped her right ankle in such a way that the injury became a jagged, open wound.

It was Chuck who arrived with his partner driving the ambulance. Together, we packaged the woman up for transport to Seaside Hospital, where doctors were able to save her foot.

But the most interesting time I worked with Chuck was when we were Juniors in high school. Someone said that a girl was laying on the floor in the girls bathroom of C-Hall, bleeding.

I went into the bathroom and found she wasn’t jus’ bleeding, she was having a baby.

Chuck arrived soon after. Needless to say I was happy to see him.

The ambulance soon arrived and they loaded the girl up on a gurney and rushed her to the hospital. All this time later, I cannot recall the girl’s name.

Unfortunately, Chuck passed from this life into the greater-life, February 7, 2011. He would have been 52, September 2nd.

University of Nevada Las Vegas president Neal Smatresk says the school is on the brink of financial collapse. He claims Governor Brian Sandoval’s proposal to cut nearly $48 million from the schools’ budget could force it to declare financial exigency, a move compared to declaring bankruptcy.

However, Nevada university regents gave Majestic Realty, the developer behind Staples Center in Los Angeles 150 days for exclusive negotiations on plans for a 40,000-seat football stadium on campus of UNLV. Majestic Realty also own the Silverton casino in Las Vegas.

The deal allows Majestic and UNLV to work out a plan with authorities including Clark County and aviation officials. It also allows time to seek state legislation to make the campus a special district so taxes generated there can be used to support the project.

There is a disconnect somewhere in all of this.

Prior to renaming my weblog the more amiable, “Once Upon a Wednesday,” I had called it, “The Wedekind City Manipulator.” I did so as a take off the “Wabuska Mangler,” a Nevada newspaper that never really existed, but was invented by Sam Post Davis, then editor of the Nevada Appeal to help boost sales of Carson City’s leading newspaper.

This was my first article for, “The Wedekind City Manipulator.”  Somedays I wish I had kept the title.

A former mining town, Wedekind City is about two miles north of Sparks and a mile or so south of Spanish Springs on Nevada State Route 445, commonly referred to as the Pyramid Highway. The area is named for George Wedekind, a German immigrant and Reno piano tuner, who found gold ore in the area around 1896, starting the Reno Star Mine.

The mines name was later changed to Wedekind after a rich ore strike was made. Soon a small town sprang up around the digs and a U.S. Post Office was established July 09, 1902. As the mine went bust, postal service to the town was discontinued March 15, 1905.

Today, Wedekind City is simply a footnote in Nevada’s otherwise colorful history of mining, cowboying and tourism adventures. All that remains of the once bustling town is a mined-out, grass and sage covered hillside.