The forward observer signaled that the remainder of the squad could move ahead to the base of the hill. It was from there that they would attempt to stage a surprise attack on the three Soviet T-64 tanks on the other side of the hill.

The squad had been divided up into too two teams, each making their way to the rendezvous point before morning light. According to the squad’s commander, the unit’s goal was to knock out the tanks and free the inhabitants living in the cliffs above the valley.

Doc flopped down and wanted to pull all his gear off, but he knew that they’d be pushing forward in a few minutes time. Instead he refreshed himself with a mouthful of water from his canteen.

It didn’t take long for the order to comedown to move out. As if one body all 24 men stood and started scaling the sandy slope in front of them. Within half an hour both squads squatted just below the ridge which was line with a thick row of trees, only the lieutenant and a sergeant were in among the tree to have a look into the area below.

“We’re closer than I figured,” the lieutenant whispered to the sergeant. “We’ll have to creep in there one at a time.”

The sergeant made no reply.

Without warning one of the T-64’s coughed to life. It was deep rumbling sound that sent an unseen goat herd into a slight panic. There was the unruly bray of a donkey somewhere in the distance as well.

“Crap,” remarked the sergeant as he slipped over onto his back and pulled his field map from his vest. Then he added, “No way can we get in between them and the cliffs now with the camp stirring.”

He studied the map a few more seconds than repositioned himself on the ridgeline. Another tank’s engine chugged to life. It was shortly followed by the third.

“Where do you think they’re heading?” the lieutenant asked.

The sergeant waited a couple seconds before answering, “I don’t know but they’re moving off.”

Within a few minutes all three tanks rumbled off to the south of their original positions, disappearing around the bend of the poorly carved and heavily rutted trail. Soon the sound of the tanks faded away.

Two by two each team member cleared the ridgeline and proceeded towards the cliffs. The foreword teams encounter nothing of a camp as Intel had described. There was a small campfire that looked as if it had been used to cook on and to get warm by, other than that all that remained were some empty gas cans.

The remainder of the squads hurried through the site and soon found themselves at the base of the cliff, huddled under the immense carvings of three Buddha. It was obvious that these three statues, which were carved from the cliff itself, were part of a religious venue, much like a church or synagogue.

It also became clear that the reported village nestled in the cliffs surrounding the Buddha’s were almost uninhabited. There came a slight murmur from members of the two squads that “something didn’t feel right.”

Doc had learned to listen half-heartedly to these whisperings. Sometimes they meant something, other times they were nothing. It all depended on what Doc was feeling at that moment as well.

Currently, he was having a very difficult time hauling himself and the medical gear up the cliff, which seemed to be pock-marked with foot and hand holds. It fatigued him and made him curse under his breath, wishing he didn’t have the extra 70 pounds to lug around.

Doc finally found an open passage and scrambled inside. He flipped on his flashlight, what Marines referred to as a moonbeam, the red light showing an extraordinary amount of religious art work on the walls and ceiling.

After a quick look around, Doc unslung his gear, leaving only his butt-pack on as he knew it contained the most important medical gear. The rest was supplemental to the two squads. His back ached as he headed out the low doorway and into the early morning light.

The men had all found positions that offered both protections from enemy sight and the coming daytime heat. There, they waited to see what the next action would be in what many of them were say was a SNAFU’d operation, which was slang for, “Situation, normal, all fouled up.”

About ten hours later, there came a low rumbling sound that echoed loudly inside the many caves along the cliff. The three Soviet tanks were moving back into their previous night’s position.

Everyone laid still and watched as the tanks rolled into their camp and took up defensive positions below the Buddha’s. Two of the tanks turned themselves to face the heavily rutted roadway in either direct. The third faced the hilly slope the two squads had moved down earlier.

They formed a ringing defense and reminded Doc of the American Bison he had seen while stationed in Wyoming. The bison, commonly referred to as buffalo would backup into each other and form a defensive circle to protect their offspring and themselves at night from wildcats and wolves.

It was obvious that taking the tanks would not be hard once the crews slipped out of the heavy fighting machines and joined each other around the light of the fire they had built. It would be easy to creep up on the unsuspecting soldiers and dispatch them and their tanks.

However the order to move failed to arrive that night. Nor did it come the following two nights. Tempers were getting short and so were the c-rations as the 24 men waited to carry out whatever order their higher-ups gave.

It was the middle of the fourth morning when there arose a surprising amount of gun fire from the encamped tankers below. There was very little light and it was next to impossible to see what was occurring inside the encircled machines.

Every man had his weapon at the ready, expecting the fight to suddenly shift from down below to the high points in the cliffs. Then, just as suddenly as the shooting had started, it stopped. And it grew quiet again.

The lieutenant sent two men down from their perches to reconnoiter the area. It was about two hours later that they returned to report that it had been a slaughter and that all the tankers were dead and many were mutilated beyond human form.

The officer called up the radio operator to send a message back to base. He was unsure of what to do next after having waited so long in the heat of the day and the chill of the night.

Doc did his best to watch the officer’s facial expressions, but if the words he was hearing were disturbing or helpful, the lieutenant’s eyes and mouth didn’t betray his feelings. Still Doc could not tell what was happening even after the officer handed the handset back to the operator.

Instead the Lieutenant turned and in a hushed manner spoke to the sergeant. The older man looked at Doc and motioned him to his side. “You and me are going down there, got it? We’re going to assess the scene, got it?”

Doc nodded his head.

The two men scrambled down the cliff side, each groping for the next finger and toe hold. Within minutes they were approaching the tanks with great caution.

Doc could see the outline of two men laying facedown in front the now lowering flames of the fire. He was following the sergeant in between the two tanks facing the opposite ends of the roadway, when the sergeant tripped and nearly fell. Doc grabbed onto the man and pulled him back before he could topple any farther.

The sergeant pulled out his moonbeam and popped on the red glowing light. He shined it at the ground in front of himself. On the sandy soil lay what had been a living, breathing man. His face was missing, peeled off and exposing the bone underneath.

Both the Doc and the sergeant fought back the urge to vomit at the sight. The sergeant held his light up and its red beam fell on the nearly destroyed bodies of several men. Each ad been mutilated in some various way and the sight was sickening to the two men.

Quickly, they retreated back the way they had come. It was obvious that whoever had done this could still be in the area and might mistake the two as Soviet soldiers. Neither man wanted to have the same fate fall on them.

They hurried back to the position in the cliff and reported what they had seen to the Lieutenant. He called up the radio operator again and told his commanders what had happened.

It was a very tense as the two squads hurriedly prepared to make their way down the cliffs. What had happened had made the rounds to every Marine who had been lodged in the cliffs. Many of them speculated about what had gone on in the camp but no one really knew for certain.

The units skirted their ways around the encircled tanks and proceeded out of the long valley by a different route. Two men had been sent back in order to destroy the three T-64’s before the sun came up.

By the time the three reports from the explosion reached the two squads, light was starting to crest the mountains in front of them. It was time to divide and move in separate directions once again.

Doc’s squad remained behind long enough for the two demolition experts to rejoin them. It would be another four hours before the 12 men would stop and bivouac for the night.

By noon of the next day, they were back among the familiar mountains and hills in which their base was located. And though asked about what he had seen that early morning by members of his squad Doc refused to share the gruesome details.

“Its bad enough I’m scared shitless about it,” he would later write in his private journal, “that I don’t think it would be a good thing for anyone else to have to think about it.”

It is hard to believe that the Federal Government can still manage to hire ‘meat-heads’ for key positions in its cabinet positions. On second thought—no it’s not.

Jus’ yesterday I was watching the news and I actually heard the Surgeon General of the United States say that he would support a law making the use of tobacco products illegal. Mr. Surgeon General, give us a break!

There are two major flaws with the idea of outlawing tobacco, aside from the knowledge that then only outlaws would have tobacco. The first one is that the Federal and State governments rely on the taxes generated by those tobacco products.

What happens to all the school programs when those coffers dry up? The inner city children will suffer from this ban.

Secondly, if tobacco is outlawed and only outlaws have it, then where will the Federal and State governments house these outlaws turned inmates? Not in my back yard, I hope!

That has already happened to me once in this lifetime.

Can we the people afford to have our already clogged court system clogged up any further with people suffering from nicotine fits? I don’t think so.

This is making an already dangerous situation even more dangerous. My wife suggested that if the craving for nicotine is that bad then people will have to use the patch.

My response was less than intelligent. I told her that was like putting a bandage over her mother’s pie-hole.

Tonight, I sleep on the couch.

While lying here in the most uncomfortably prone position imaginable, it occurred to me that this might all be a larger scheme. It could be that the Federal Government has a plan up its illusionary sleeve?

They may have the market cornered on the patch and therefore my worrying about the inner-city children is all for not. Silly me.

Finally, while I do not smoke and as a child I detested having to go down to the corner market to get my parents cigarettes, it is the free right of every-of-age U.S. Citizen to decided for themselves what legal substance they put into their body. It is not up to my government to restrict that when they do not have the power to do so.

Please take a look at the so-called ‘War on Drugs’ and tell me if the government has the power to enforce any new laws regarding ‘substance abuse’ and that is what a ban on tobacco would be. And you and I will have to pay for it somehow.

While visiting the Veteran Administrations Hospital for my annual physical, I got off on the wrong floor. I promptly got lost. I must admit that I have never been very good at finding my way around in government buildings.

It was the third floor where the door to the elevators opened and I instinctively stepped off without looking at what floor I was on. I was supposed to go one more floor up.

However it would be fifteen to twenty minutes before I would discover this.

Wandering up and down the corridors of this building, I searched for the set of offices that I needed to visit. I had been to them before, one year ago, so I knew they existed; however I could not remember what they looked like.

And to me all governmental offices look the same anyway.

As I searched for the office numbers, I came to the Chapel. Every VA Hospital has one.

It was here I also discovered the only telephone on the floor. I lifted the receiver and started to dial the number to the clinic that I was by now already late for, when I notice a man seated in the chairs of the Chapel.

I could hear him crying.

Gently I hung up the phone and quietly I walked into the seating area and sat down beside him. He had both hands over his face and was softly weeping. I leaned over and whispered, “Brother, are you okay?”

He looked at me and said, “Yeah, I am.”

He paused to catch his breath. He obviously had a breathing problem.

He explained that as a baby he had an accident that had broken his nose and had caused him pain throughout his life. Several times he had lost jobs because he could not catch his breath and now at 70 years old the doctors had discovered the problem and were going to be able to fix it for him.

“I cry because I’m happy,” he said.

It was hard for me to stop crying as I lay my hand on his should and asked if we could pray together for a successful operation, quick recovery, joyful life and a gracious God. He thanked me and said, “God bless you,” as I left to make my appointment.

Those words made me feel heroic.

After my doctor’s appointment, I dropped back down to the third floor and the Chapel. The man was gone and I had expected him to be.

So I rushed off to speak to the Chaplain. I wanted to tell him what I had done. I followed the signs that had arrows pointing to his office. I searched for nearly half an hour and could not find his office. I had to get back to work, so I left.

It was later the next day that it occurred to me what had happened. I was relating the tale to friend when this thought crossed my mind: I wanted to tell the Chaplain what I had done, when in truth, I had done nothing at all.

It was the Holy Spirit that had done it. And it was also the Holy Spirit that had blinded me from seeing the Chaplains office so that I did not go barging in, make a fool of myself claiming to have done something that I had no right to claim.

Now, I am left wondering if I met a Vet on the third floor or an Angel in the Chapel and if it really matters anyway.

The buzzer sounded but the rider did not get off. The pick-up men rushed over to assist him off the back of the bull. But still he stayed on the beast.

Suddenly the cowboy came off the back of the bull. His hand still caught up in the strap.

The bull shook him like a rag doll. Still the ride could not get loose.

The pick up men tried to get him undone. The bull fighters ran back and forth attempting to get close enough to undue the limp form attached to the spinning bulls back.

The bull raced across the open arena and smashed his left side and the cowboy into the railing. Then he dashed back and smashed the rider into the other side of the arena fence.

The medical crews were all along this fence. They had stood and watched in agony as this helpless cowboy continued to be thrashed about by this ton and a half monster.

As he passed by the medics he blew snot their way and raked the slats with his razor sharp horns.

Still the pick-up men and rodeo clowns could not get the man untied from the bull. The animal charged off to the other side of the rodeo grounds.

Then he changed directions. He spun back and forth and still the cowboy remained secured to the animal back.

On his third pass at blowing snot and raking the fence post, I decided to do something. Rodeo rules prohibit the involvement of anyone not hired to do what I was about to do.

Pulling out my boot knife, I flung myself over the fence and side ways over the bulls back. The bull spun to his right, the side I was on.

I felt his black and white horn touch him in the back, however I was too far in for the brute to hook me.

The rag doll cowboy was hanging from the bulls left side. I started cutting away at the rawhide that held him.

Suddenly the bull was spinning to his left. He shook his head as he leaped into the air on each successive spin.

His skin slipped underneath Doc as he struggled to hold on. Then he spun to his right again.

His horn struck me in the right lower back just above my hip. It felt like a two-by-four had just been broken over my body.

At that moment the cowboy fell away and I found myself pitching backward with a handful of leather in my hand. I heard a dull thud as I felt my body drop into the soft loam.

My instincts took control of my mind and body and I immediately started to crab-crawl backwards and out of the way.

The bull dug at the earth where I had lain. The bull-fighting clowns moved in as they now had two victims to save from the raging beast.

The bull was spinning to his right, digging at the air and then the ground with his horns. I continued to roll away and crawl to escape him.

At first I thought I was closer to the fence and safety than I really was. I had been nearly in the center of the arena and still had six more feet to go before I could roll under the fence and out of the arena.

One of the bull-fighters raced in front of me. He passed with in inches of the bull and those razor sharp horns.

The bull tracked on him. He followed this with a leaping spin to his left which carried him away from me.

Looking over my left shoulder to see how far from the fence I was, I rolled to my left and started to get up when I heard more than felt, a terrifying pop come from my left leg. The bull was standing on my Wranglers.

The bull was looking at the clown. In less than a second he was off and charging the clown and I was free to move towards the fence and safety again.

The searing pain that followed was so intense that I could no longer hear the crowd any more. Time slowed down to a crawl as I laid there and looked at my left leg seemingly growing longer as I dragged myself to the fence.

On my belly now, I had a hand on the lowest fence rail when the other medics yanked me under the fence. The bull was being head by a pick up man and they came tearing down the line right where I had been lying.

My head was swimming in pain. My left leg hurt even worse and my lower back throbbed.

The medical crew immediately cut my dirt-filled Wranglers off as well as my snap button shirt.

Slowly, I rose up to look at my leg, which looked to be half a foot longer than his right. I could see my knee cap appeared to be missing.

There was a large lump in the middle of my thigh and I concluded the thigh bone must be broken. I wiped my brow and discovered fresh blood matted over with the rich brown dirt of the arena.

My hands were skinned as was my right elbow. A traction splint was put on the battered leg and I was taken to the hospital, where I was given a shot of morphine to help with the pain.

“You’re pretty lucky,” said the Doctor when I finally came too. “No broken bones and only a bruised kidney and displaced knee cap.”

It took me three-days to recover from my battering. As for the rag-doll cowboy, he was treated for unconsciousness and ended up riding again the following day.

“If only they had a pain reliever for injured pride,” I repeatedly told myself.

For years, as a Catholic school student, I was taught that the man who betrayed Jesus to the chief priests and elders in Garden of Gethsemane was a traitor. I don ‘t believe it is the churches fault that this is what I eventually learned. I think that it is what I heard and as a child it is what I took to heart.

It’s been years since I took first communion, was confirmed, or have asked a priest to hear my confession. I
know now that I can speak to Jesus directly. I can tell him my trespasses and be forgiven without having to make an act of contrition.

Please do not think that I am putting down the Catholic faith, because I am not. How a person comes to know Jesus is between that individual and Jesus. All I ask is that individual remain open-minded and open-hearted enough to receive new lessons in their walk of faith .

During my years following my first communion, I studied towards my confirmation. This is where a child passes into young adulthood within the tenants of the faith . We were asked to think quietly for about 15 minutes about a saint or an apostle that we would like to have represented us as our confirmation guide . (I must politely submit that some of this has been lost on me through the years.) I requested the apostle Judas Iscariot.

This shocked the priests, as they had never heard of such a thing.

They told me that I could not take Judas as a confirmation guide as he had hanged himself after betraying Jesus. I tried to argue the point that Jesus was a forgiving God and knew all along that Judas would betray him and selected him as one of the original disciples anyway.

I further pointed out what John 13:27 says, ‘…and after the morsel, Satan entered into him. And Jesus said to him, “What you do, do quickly.”’

Finally when I added that Jesus called Judas ‘friend’ even after the kiss in the garden, the brothers of the order lost all sense of themselves and shouted me down .

In the end they won the battle and I was forced to select another saint or apostle, though for the life of me I cannot recall who it might be as Judas Iscariot has remained on my mind all these years later. The Padres at Saint Joe ‘s Catholic Reform School failed to win the war .

The Lord that I pray too every morning and every night, whose word I read so that I can maintain it in my heart in times of weakness and trouble and in happiness and joy is a forgiving God. Therefore I believe whole-heartily that
Jesus forgave Judas Iscariot even though he was weak and hanged himself.

Not only do I have the arguments that used to attempt to persuade the priests with, but I also have a glimpse of Judas• remorse and a timeline of events leading up to his death and then Jesus’ death .

Let’s look first at the mind of Judas as the gospels show us . Once he discovered that his act of betrayal had led Jesus to be condemned to death he felt so terrible that he tried to return the 30 pieces of silver to the chief priests. {Matthew 27:3)

Unfortunately the chief priests not only failed to see Jesus as the Messiah, they failed to help Judas when he admitted that he had sinned by handing over an innocent man for trial. The chief priests told Judas that it was his responsibility. (Matthew 27:4)

Judas responded by throwing the 30 silver pieces into the temple and left. (Matthew 27:5) Perhaps Judas, who had witnessed many of Jesus’ miraculous works, was trying to force Jesus to lead a revolt against the Roman Empire.

However did not work. With nowhere to go and no one to turn too and a complete lost of faith, Judas Iscariot hanged himself. And so we are left to assume that he burns in a fiery Hell forever.

Yet if one should take a look at the time line there is more to look at than the simple events. The idea that Judas Iscariot died prior to the living Christ weighs heavily into the picture from a theological point. (Matthew 27:5)

Christ died for the trespasses of the world. That means he died for Judas’ trespasses as well. Therefore, Judas is in heaven with our Lord, Jesus Christ .

Yet , there is that point about Judas Iscariot having committed suicide. My grandfather used to say that, “People think that like a coin the truth has two sides, not so because a coin has a ridged edge and you have to look there too for the truth.”

It has taken me years to understand many of the things he used to say. He was telling me to check everything before making a final conclusion .

To this day I have not stopped examining and I keep discovering biblical nuggets of truths. Between A. D. 63 and 70 , a Gentile Physician named Luke wrote a letter to Theophilus about the death of Judas Iscariot.

He writes, ‘With the reward he got for his wickedness, Judas bought a field; there he fell headlong, his body burst open and all his intestines spilled out.• (Acts 1:18)

As Judas hanged himself, the branch he selected did not hold his weight , broke and he fell. So much for suicide.

Lastly, I believe that Judas Iscariot is the unsung anti­ hero of the New Testament. It is easy to over look the fact that Jesus chose this man to be one of his 12 disciples.

But we are always reminded that Judas Iscariot betrayed Jesus every time .we partake of communion. What has become real easy to forget is that all the Apostles abandoned Jesus .

And like Judas, they all misunderstood Jesus’ mission. They thought he was there to over thrown Rome, when he was there to save the man from sin.

If it was no t f or his courage to step away from the table and go to the chief priests and elders in the first place
we may all. still be waiting for the first coming of Christ. Jesus knew what was to happen, not only to himself but what was going. to happen to Judas.

I think Jesus; my Savior had it in his heart to save Judas Iscariot as well. The one thing we will never know until we stand before our creator is whether or not there was a request for forgiveness or not prior to Judas 1 death.

As a Christian, I do not condemn or judge him. I hate the sin but love the sinner.

Of course, I am still not certain that Judas Iscariot would not have been a suitable guide for my confirmation . Perhaps I needed more instruction that ‘pick a saint or an apostle.’

My wife’s brother and sister-in-law were kind enough to bring up a trailer load of antiques and papers from Southern California. These are antiques that have been in my wife ‘s family for nearly a hundred years, if not more.

Needless to say we are excited to have them in our home. I am especially excited because I have my own set of dressed drawers for the first time in nearly twenty years. That means no more digging through her undies to find my missing socks.

Boy-howdy!

We also ended up with many of the family journals and diaries. These books hold no real value for anyone else in the family but me as I am the resident historian and story-teller.

I am slowly and carefully leafing my way through these books and discovering many hidden tales. I will get to these multi paged gems in a few moments.

There is really something about the smell of old furniture and old books that I really like. It reminds me of the fact that thing with true intrinsic value really do last.

Memories are also in the same group. They too have their worth.

It was just after one in the morning when the Outside patrol officer radioed in that he had discovered a man, unconscious and bleeding from his head, laying in the rock embankment between parking lots one and three. It was New Years Eve Night, unwanted but not wholly unexpected.

I responded to the patrol officer, “10-4, unit 95, I’m rolling REMSA, all units standby.”

Picking up the telephone, I pushed the tone button at the same time. I repeated the information so that all other officers on duty would be aware that an emergency was in progress and that radio traffic would be limited to emergencies messages only.

Then I dialed 9-1-1, telling the dispatcher on the other end of the telephone the situation he had.

Once I knew an ambulance was on its way I returned to the main console and brought the outside unit up on camera. I zoomed in until the officer and the body lying in the rocks filled the small viewing screen.

By this time a supervisor had shown up and he was attempting to wake the unconscious man up to move him. However the injured man would not wake up.

“Command to Adam-2” I said, “REMSA is enroute. E-T-A less than five off of Mill Street.”

The supervisor responded, “10-4, be advised that guest is 10-56.”

“10-4”, I commented, making a note in the log that Adam-2 was on the scene and detected the presence of alcohol on the man’s breath.

As I glanced up I saw the supervisor turn the man’s head from one side to the other. The sight caused me to cringe.

Stepping down on the microphones remote button, I spoke as calmly and as authoritatively as I could, “Adam-2, secure the guests head and neck for possible spinal cord injury.”

The supervisor pulled his hands away from the man and moved to his feet just as the ambulance arrived on the scene. I shook his head from side to side, feeling a wave of disgust well up inside.

I continued to watch as the paramedics placed a c-collar on the man and rolled him over on his side as gently and carefully as possible to slip a hard board under him prior to moving him onto the gurney and then the ambulance.

Jus’ as the ambulance was pulling away from the scene, the first shifts watch commander walked into the dispatch room. He was a portly man with sad sack eyes, a waxy pallor and very little hair.

On his rolled up sleeve he wore the striped of a sergeant.

He shuffled as he walked up behind me as he spoke in a bellowing voice, “We don’t give medical directions here, got it?”

It as much less a question as a command.

“Yeah, I know that,” I answered. “But you’d think our boss would know enough not to move the head and neck of an unconscious man especially, one who is bleeding from the face.”

The Watch Commander stood there momentarily stunned. He was not used to subordinates getting in his face.

Then he responded, “I don’t care, we don’t give medical directions, period. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir, you made yourself very clear,” I replied.

The old man never said another word to me as he turned and shuffled out of the dispatch room. With that I turned around and wrote down what he had said and why I had done what I had done.

Adolf Hitler arrested the Rothschilds in Germany in 1933, Austria in 1938, and France in 1940, seized their assets, and removed Germany from the Rothschild-owned banking system, turning Germany into a superpower.

On Saturday, March 12, 1938, Hitler dissolved the Nathaniel Rothschild Foundation, ending the German, French, and Austrian branches of the Rothschild central banking system and placing Germany back on the gold standard, usury-free. He arrested Rothschild at the airport in Aspern, Austria, seized his banks and assets, and only after lengthy negotiations between the family and National Socialists did they agree to release him upon payment of what today is the equivalent of $21,000,000 in ransom.

The Rothschild family is still suing to reclaim what Hitler took from them.

The Rothschild family had attempted to infiltrate America through its banking system from the first days of America’s founding but were blocked in 1835 by President Andrew Jackson.

Ultimately, they gained control of the U.S. financial system through the Federal Reserve Act, signed into law by President Woodrow Wilson on Tuesday, December 23, 1913, creating the Federal Reserve System, the central banking system of the U.S.

Years ago there was a book called ‘You’re okay, I’m okay.’ I don’t know who wrote it, nor do I care, because after I read it the first time I believed it was all a bunch of hooey and I still do.

It was a book designed to help boost the readers self esteem.

For a long time I thought I had a terrible self esteem problem. I felt I did not measure up to other people’s standards. I viewed other people, seemingly unscathed by their actions regardless of how those actions might have affected others, as okay emotionally.

I spend a great deal of time attempting to emulate these persons. I wanted desperately to be as successful as they were and have all the nice things they owned and still sleep well at night.

However I have never been able to get those nice things because I have always operated from the desire to do what was right even if it was not the best thing for me. It left me frustrated until now.

Life long Humboldt County resident Evelyn Chism passed away September 24th, 2004, at her home in Fortuna after a short illness. She was born June 19th, 1926 in Ferndale to the late Joaquin and Mary Martin and graduated from Fortuna Union High School.

Evelyn worked at St. Joseph Hospital for over 30 years. After retiring, she became a full time homemaker.

She leaves behind her husband of 57 years, Don Chism, her children, Dennis and Eileen Chism, Betty and Lester Phelps, David Chism, Chris Chism, and daughter-in-law Rita Chism. Evelyn was preceded in death by a son, Bill Chism, grandson, Barry Phelps , and sisters and brother, Mary, Olivia, Aurora, Ruby, and Jack.