Author: maxnhall

Submarine Games

Submarine Games

Crazy Ivan* anyone? Another Submarine story from my buddy, Bob Bishop**… It was mid-September, 1970. Our submarine, the USS Finback, had been commissioned way back in February, but we were still doing a number of exercises and independent operations to get additional sea time under our belt. On this particular exercise, we were to provide “services” to anti-submarine warfare (ASW) configured Navy patrol aircraft, to give them an idea of how to use their ASW gear and try to find a real live nuclear submarine. This exercise was to involve every ASW patrol plane on the US east coast, NATO members in western Europe, and one reserve squadron from Chicago (don’t ask me why there is an ASW squadron in Chicago).

The USS Finback (SSN 670)

In the Atlantic Ocean, that meant a complex organizational challenge for a lot of people. For each exercise, using radar and radio communications, we would vector a Navy Lockheed P-2 Neptune or P-3 Orion aircraft on top of our location so they could mark where we were. We would then submerge and maneuver. If they didn’t find us in 50 minutes (marking our location by dropping a transmitting sonar buoy), we would broach or surface, show them where we were, and they would then clear the area for the next plane to arrive at the top of the hour. We did this for 18-20 hours a day most days, for 4½ weeks.

During the exercise, we also did occasional helo transfers of a CO/XO from an aircraft squadron to our ship, so they could get a sense of what it was like to be on a submarine and how we operated during these exercises. I particularly remember one squadron XO, a Commander (I was a lowly Lieutenant, but was pretty comfortable with what I knew and no longer frightened by a senior officer), who came in the Control Room after midnight one night. I was the Officer of the Deck (OOD) – the officer on duty responsible for driving the ship, responding to emergencies and so on, unless the Commanding Officer came on deck to relieve me. I had the 0000 to 0600 watch and we were in the middle of conducting the ASW exercises.

We talked over a number of things he was curious about, and he watched as I/we went through a couple of the exercise cycles. Chatting after the third one, he observed “I think I understand your plan. You alternate going to port or starboard as soon as you submerge.” I responded, “Well, not actually”, and we walked over to the chart table. A piece of paper was taped on top of the glass top of the chart table. A mechanical device under the glass receives inputs of the ship’s speed and direction and moves a little light accordingly. Every minute the quartermaster puts a pencil dot where the “bug” (the light) was. As a result, you could see where the ship had been.

I quickly explained how “the bug” worked and showed him where we started the last run and where we ended up 50 minutes later. I then explained that the Captain gave the OOD the latitude to do whatever he wanted, so I decided to spell the Helmsman’s (the person actually steering the ship) name in cursive each watch. I think the letter I was on for that particular run was a “b.” The Lt Commander looked at me, aghast. “You mean, you don’t have a pattern, a routine?” “Nope,” I said, “It all depends on when I am on watch and who the Helmsman is. Although sometimes I use the name of the Stern Planesman or the Diving Officer.”

He walked quietly away, mumbling to himself.

During the 4 1/2 weeks of the exercise, not a single plane ever found us, even though they knew where we started each time. A discussion about the capabilities of ASW aircraft is a subject for another day, but I’ll leave it at this – ASW aircraft (including helicopters) vs. a US Navy nuclear submarine? Bet on the submarine, every time.

Bob in 1964, and then about 50 years later

Addendum:

– * Crazy Ivan references a maneuver sometimes performed by Russian submarines, and made famous in the movie. The Hunt For Red October.

⁃ ** My friend Bob Bishop graduated from the United States Naval Academy in 1964 and had several tours on Nuclear Submarines during the Cold War. At the time, Admiral Hyman G. Rickover, the founder of the modern nuclear Navy, personally interviewed and approved or denied every prospective officer being considered for a nuclear ship. The selection rate was not very high.

– This story is pretty much all Bob’s. All I did was add some editing assistance and publish it.

⁃ The USS Finback (SSN-670) was a nuclear-powered fast attack submarine. Bob was a “plankowner” – a member of the initial crew. He was the third officer to report on board.

⁃ You can read another of Bob’s submarine adventures here. It’s a compelling Cold War story. The movie, The Hunt for Red October, is child’s play, compared to what these sailors did on a daily basis. …The Comms Officer ran in and handed the CO the decoded message. The CO read the message, took the lanyard from his neck, unlocked the firing key cabinet, and reached in for the firing key. We were about to […] Continue at: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2021/06/23/we-knew-we-were-at-war/

The American Experiment

The American Experiment

I will turn 67 on April 10th. That’s a little more than one quarter of the 246 year American Experiment. In January, 1790, George Washington said, “The establishment of our new government seemed to be the last great experiment for promoting human happiness by a reasonable compact in civil society.“* I’m trying to decide how well Washington’s words have held up.

To me, the Constitution and it’s amendments are still a reasonable compact. After that, things are a bit more dicey. As a country, we don’t act particularly civil, or happy these days.

If you look at history, America and Americans have always been contentious, but we seem well past that these days. Civility has gone by the wayside in government, and often in society. Our Congressmen and Senators routinely insult each other and anyone who disagrees with them. Many also have no problem insulting their constituents if he or she disagrees with them. Hate is a word that often comes to mind.

It carries over to our society as well. If there is disagreement, many folk no longer know how to act civilly, or even worse, choose to act uncivilly. Rather than discuss, or ignore something, the preferred response is often to insult or belittle, often with vulgarity. Anyone attend a school board meeting lately? And it’s not just about politics. We fight about noise pollution, light pollution, how people choose to raise their children, shopping sales and parking spots. Our ultimate “right” appears to be the right to be obnoxious.

Happiness, at a government or society level, is also in short supply. Our politicians at the national level wear a scowl much more often than a smile. How often do we see Ted Cruz or Bernie Sanders smile? As Americans, many of us are pretty much unhappy about everything – immigration, the news, the price of gas, healthcare, our neighbors with different views, Covid, not using Daylight Savings Time all the time, boomers upset with millennials, everyone upset with boomers, sports referees… No issue is too big or small to escape our ire.

What are the odds of smiles under those masks?

Some days, we appear to be Whiny America, forgetting we could be in Ukraine, or any number of troubled spots around the world.

We have had discord and conflict throughout our history, and certainly there were times worse than what we are experiencing today. The Civil War, The Depression, WWII, The McCarthy era, Vietnam and the upheaval of the ‘60s to name a few.

We have also fought over issues throughout our history. State’s Rights, Western Expansion, Slavery, Women and the Right to vote, Labor and unions, Civil Rights, Gay Rights, Individual versus societal rights, the place of Religion in America … the list goes on.

I was born in 1955. Fools long for the mirage of the “good old days” in the ‘50s, forgetting that we were fighting in Korea, the prospect of nuclear holocaust was real, Civil Rights hardly existed, and Joe McCarthy was trying to tear apart the country with outrageous lies in the US Senate. People forget Happy Days was a fictitious TV show, not American reality.

What makes today appear worse? Maybe the internet-connected-world shines a brighter light on the American Experiment, allowing us to see all of the dark holes that have always been there, but were previously hidden. Maybe it’s not worse. Maybe it’s just our time and turn to experience the tumult that is the American Experiment. Or, maybe our lives have become so otherwise comfortable, this is just the next level of angst over the American Experiment – my way, or the highway, with no room for alternatives.

Maybe, instead of looking at society, we can start by looking at ourselves first, and find some civility, some happiness and some sanity.

You would think each of us could control whether we are civil or not. We can try and take our hatred down a notch or two and find ways to engage civilly with those who are “different” from us. And if we can’t find a way to engage civilly, perhaps we shouldn’t engage at all, rather than becoming mime worthy caricatures.

And Happiness? Certainly a tougher question and each of us is somewhere different on the continuum between abject sadness and blazing joy. We all have personal issues affecting our state of happiness over time, but happiness is often found in the eye of the beholder. Indeed, some people who have the right to be upset about health issues, are happy because they have one more day upright. I think a lesson is there for all of us.

Maybe part of the question is whether we can find happiness without making someone else unhappy.

For me, as I’m about to enter my 68th year on this planet and in this country, I have two thoughts. One, I’m going to strive to maintain my civility, no matter the situation. As for happiness, while I know I won’t always be happy, I’m going to look for happiness where I can find it, in events both big and small. Whether an upcoming vacation, a negative test result, or a new flower blooming in the garden, I will seek out happiness, and let it infect me.

I have no doubt The American Experiment will continue for the foreseeable future. We are a resourceful nation and people, and our strength and good fortune have brought us to where we are today. Like many families, we Americans fight with each other. Is it too much to ask for a little more civility in our lives and fights? That might even help with our collective happiness.

Addendum:

⁃ * Washington penned these words in a letter to English historian, Catharine Macaulay, on 9 January 1790. The entire quote in that part of the letter reads: “The establishment of our new Government seemed to be the last great experiment, for promoting human happiness, by reasonable compact, in civil Society. It was to be, in the first instance, in a considerable degree, a government of accomodation as well as a government of Laws. Much was to be done by prudence, much by conciliation, much by firmness.” You can find a link to the entire letter here: https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Washington/05-04-02-0363 .

⁃ Thanks to my friends Tim Stouffer and Mark Dunavan who both provided thoughts and inputs for this blog.

– As always, thank to my friend Colleen for her editorial assistance. I remain a work in progress.

The Palette of Our Life

The Palette of Our Life

Through Cathy, I’ve gained an appreciation for the colors that make up the palette of our life. As an engineer, the journey hasn’t been a simple one. Sometimes though, you can teach an old dog new tricks.

Over the decades, the two of us have seen life through different lenses.

For me, it has usually been about form, and lines and precision. It’s hard for me to say whether I was always this way, or I became this way. Did my childhood background start me on the road to becoming a military officer, an engineer and a business leader? Or was it something that was self-reinforcing over time? Even in my hobbies, whether running, or reading, or photography, there was a certain precision… trying to reduce my times on a run, or capturing greater detail in a photo, there was a linearity to it. The gauziness of color didn’t really register in my brain.

For Cathy, her view is much more about color and the senses. This is most obvious in our gardens. While our gardens are made up hundreds of plants and flowers, and requires much hard work on her part, it is the flow of color over the seasons that defines them. There are constantly changing colors and hues. Only a fool, or an engineer, would miss them and their beauty.

A Redbud in the Garden Last Spring

For years, I didn’t get it, or understand it. Or perhaps even worse, I didn’t think about it.

And then about seven years ago, I retired. There are many great things about retirement, and most retirees will happily enumerate them to you ad nauseam. For me, the greatest gift is the luxury of time. Time to do the things you want, or time to do nothing at all and not feel guilty about it.

One of the things I started doing with my time, was taking care of the morning feeding of the horses. It was easy enough, and made me feel like I was contributing at home. There was also an unintended consequence.

After feeding the horses, while walking back to the house, I would notice little bursts of color in the garden. Why were flowers blooming in February? And then March? And then everywhere by May? Our hillside garden was awash in color, both from the flowers, and the many hues of green from the plants themselves. Now mind you, these colors and flowers were there for years, but it was as if I was seeing them for the first time. Cathy had created all of this, and I was blind to it.

Some Photos of Just a Few of the Flowers in Cathy’s Gardens

Thank God, we all have the ability to grow, even when we appear set in our ways. As spring arrives, I walk through the gardens looking at the new growth and colors peeping out. This year is different than the past. Our hellebores, crocuses and daffodils are blooming at the same time, when typically they would bloom sequentially. The engineer in me wants to understand why, but it’s not stopping me from enjoying this beautiful March we are having.

I see color now, or perhaps a better description is I see more color now. Sure, I always saw the red, yellow and orange leaves of autumn, or the red white and blue fireworks on the Fourth of July, or a multicolored string of Christmas lights. Now, I also see the purple ground cover in a field in the spring, the mixed colors in a neighbor’s garden, the infinite shades of grey in the sky and sea on a cloudy day. I’m a better person for all of it.

On a Recent Drive to the Chesapeake Bay, a Sea of Purple…

I’m still Max and keep spreadsheets, to-do lists, and can be pretty anal about time. Happily, I’ve also gained an appreciation for color. I excitedly show Cathy pictures of her flowers and of the garden and she smiles at me. Even though she has seen those colors and flowers for decades, she’s a good partner and encourages me in my growing understanding of color, and of who she is.

It makes me feel pretty lucky.

The Black Death

The Black Death

The Black Death. That’s what we called it. Among us Plebes at West Point, feelings were strong, and universal. To this day, grown men shudder when they see a picture of The Black Death. How could a single book leave such a strong impression? What devilry was this? What book of spells could cause such consternation?

Yes, Grown Men Still Shudder when they See a Photo of The Black Death

Of course it wasn’t just any book. This book was “Modern Calculus With Analytic Geometry (Volume 1)” by A.W. Goodman. We never called it that though. We called it The Black Death, or sometimes The Black Plague. The book was black, but I suppose our title referred to the entire experience of Plebe (Freshman) math at West Point as much as anything.

The Black Death, in all it’s Glory

After Beast Barracks our first summer at West Point, it was a relief to get to the academic year. Unfortunately, we didn’t quite know was waiting for us. In addition to the normal Plebe challenges, Calculus was a required course for all, and provided our introduction to The Black Death.

This wasn’t just any old math course. There were several “attributes” that put the class  into the category of those things you never forget.  My classmates and I laugh about it now, but it’s still a bit of a nervous laugh.

First off, the class of ‘78 went to Plebe math five days a week, including Saturdays, with 90 minutes for each class. Prior classes attended Calculus class six days a week for 75 minutes per class and thought ‘78 was getting over, since it was only five days a week ;-).

In the class itself, we had normal homework, quizzes and tests. In addition, we suffered a unique form of torture called “The Boards”, also known as “Recitations”. A couple of days a week, the professor would call out “Take Boards.” We cadets stood up and each of us went to one of the blackboards that covered the walls in the classroom. The professor then asked us to work through a calculus problem on the board. It might have been one of the previous night’s homework problems, or it might have been the proof of some theorem. After several minutes, he called “Cease Work!” and then called on one of the students to walk through, or recite, their problem solution. Sometimes it was a cadet who had the solution mapped out perfectly. Other times? Well, other times it might be a cadet whose answer wasn’t correct. It could make for some tense/fumbling moments. Recitations had taken place at the Academy since at least 1869.

Somethings Never Change – Cadets “Taking Boards” in 1900

Of course that sly b@stard Goodman contributed to our pain. While there were often theorems in the book that provided the mathematical proof for the result, it wasn’t always the case. If there was ever a theorem in the book where it said “The proof is intuitively obvious to the casual observer”, you knew it would be a problem for the boards, or a quiz, or a test. For most of us, the solution was never “intuitively obvious”.

At the time, West Point was on a 3.0 grading scale. 3.0 was a perfect score. 2.0 was the lowest passing grade. If you scored a 2.5 on a quiz, you built up five “tenths”. If you scored a 1.7 on a quiz, that was the equivalent of an F and you were down three “tenths”. For those near the bottom of the class in math (or any course), the phrase “2.0 (pronounced “Two OH”) and go” became common. Basically it meant over the course of the semester (and year) you needed to finish with a 2.0 average. Any tenths over that were wasted.

We were quizzed and tested on a regular basis and over time, each of us fell somewhere on the spectrum between 3.0 and less than 2.0. Every few weeks, the math department reordered us cadets by current math class grade ranking. That is, those with the highest grade average, migrated to the “top” sections, while those with the lowest scores would migrate to the “bottom” sections. Each section had about 15 or 17 students. The theory was those in the top sections could cover more material, while those in the lower sections could receive the extra help needed. This reordering of the class on a regular basis was first implemented in the 1820s and was unencumbered by progress for the next 160 years.

The lowest section also earned the nickname “the ejection section” and the guy with the very lowest grade was in the ejection seat. My classmate Rick Steinke, was in the ejection section and ejection seat at various times. At the end of the semester and year, some number of cadets weren’t going to have a grade over 2.0 and one of three things would happen. Rick’s recollection – “That is where I was at the end of first semester, plebe year. Of the bottom 30, as I recall: 1/3 of us did not make it to the next semester (they were booted from the academy); another 1/3 were turned back a year; and another 1/3 went to summer school. I believe I was the only plebe who escaped unscathed, with just a couple of tenths to spare. Thanks to Captain Art Bonifas*, my first semester Professor, and Major Bachman my second semester P, I made it through. Also, Marty Vozzo, my roommate (and several years later, a math professor back at West Point), told me which theorems and equations I needed to memorize. Divine intervention, my brother.”

Rick DID survive the Ejection Section, and the Ejection Seat

Time passed, and we moved on. Obviously lots of Plebes did quite well in Calculus. Many excelled at it.

My classmate Joe Spenneberg, returned to teach math at West Point a decade later, from ‘88-‘91. By the time he returned, Goodman was gone, as were The Boards. The cadets still attended math five days a week, but only for an hour at a time. Also, classes were no longer “reordered” on a regular basis. The course work changed some as well – instruction started with “discrete math”, before migrating to integrals and “continuous math”. In Joe’s words, “The jump between discrete and continuous was key. We told them to imagine that the discrete step is infinitesimally small, which introduces the concept of the limit which is essential to being able to define a derivative …” as Joe was recently explaining this to me, I fogged over about then ;-).

Joe also told me a total of nine or ten of our classmates DID return and teach math at West Point.  To the best of my knowledge, as a class we never ostracized them. 

I’m sure Mr. Adolph Winkler Goodman, who died in 1989, had no idea about his effect on Plebes at West Point. I don’t think it mattered if you were a star man (top 5% of the class) or a goat (bottom of the class), everyone called it The Black Death. Yea, we laugh about it now, but it was pretty serious stuff then. Looking back, it was one of those commonalities that united all of us. You don’t think about a math class uniting people, but I sure think The Black Death did so for us. The only other class with a similar effect was boxing, but that’s another story for another time.

As I was working on this blog last week, I had a dream one night.  I was back at West Point, and you guessed it, in math class.  It was finals and I was in the classroom with several classmates.  Time was passing and for some reason, while I had a copy of the test, I couldn’t find my paper to write my answers down.  I knew the answers, but I couldn’t find the piece of paper to write them on. Classmates started finishing the test and leaving the classroom AND I still hadn’t started.  I was trying to ask the teacher for help, and getting no response…  

I woke up in a sweat.  Looking around, I was in my own bed, with Cathy sound asleep next to me.  I settled back to sleep and chalked it up to one last gift from Mr Goodman and The Black Death. 

Addendum:

⁃ * The name Captain Art Bonifas might sound familiar to you. After leaving West Point, Captain Bonifas was stationed in Korea. In what came to be known as “The Korean Axe Murder incident ”, Bonifas was bludgeoned to death by North Korean soldiers in an international border incident in August of 1976. The world was pretty tense for a couple of weeks after his death. You can learn more about the incident here: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Korean_axe_murder_incident

⁃ Special thanks to classmates Rick Steinke, Joe Spenneberg and David Fitzpatrick, who contributed both content and editing to this blog. All three were involved in teaching and Higher Education after their time at West Point. Rick is a former Harvard National Security Fellow, and later served as the Associate Dean at the George C. Marshall European Center for Security Studies. Joe and David both returned to teach at the Academy, and Dave continues to teach History at Washtenaw Community College in Ann Arbor, MI.

– If interested, here’s a blog about my first two hours at West Point: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2017/03/18/first-two-hours-at-west-point/

⁃ For some additional history about West Point and Math, you can try this article – Mathematics Education at West Point: The First Hundred Years: https://www.maa.org/book/export/html/116851. Founded in 1802, West Point was the first engineering school in the United States, and had a uniquely technical curriculum for its time. The first two years of the curriculum was dominated by mathematics. The information in this blog on the history of “Taking Boards”, and the reordering of the class on a regular basis were both documented in this article.

⁃ You can learn more about the restructuring of math instruction at West Point in the late 1980s and early 1990s here: https://www.westpoint.edu/sites/default/files/inline-images/academics/academic_departments/mathematical_sciences/Math/v04_issue1.pdf

Baseball’s Hubris

Baseball’s Hubris

(With apologies to Ernest Lawrence Taylor).
Oh, somewhere in this favoured land the sun is shining bright,
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light;
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout,
But there is no joy in Baseball, the fans are all locked out.

Of course Taylor’s poem, Casey at the Bat is a classic. The famous last stanza is a monument to hubris:
…
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout,
But there is no joy in Mudville – mighty Casey has struck out.

Unfortunately, the billionaire owners and millionaire players are fighting over money again this year. Like the Mighty Casey, their hubris knows no bounds. They need to be careful, or they too might strike out.

Who doesn’t have a seat at the table? We fans.

I’ve been a baseball fan since I was a kid. Although I started as a White Sox fan like most of my friends at the time, I’ve been a Cardinal fan since ‘64, when they won the World Series and my father convinced me of the error of my ways.

I was a Cardinal Fan, but Played for the Yanks in Little League

I’ve remained a Cardinal fan, but I’ve also followed other teams over the years. Truth be told, I love live baseball. I may take a nap watching a game on TV, but in the ballpark? I love it. There is nothing like being at the ball park. The excitement, smells, and sounds. Having a beer and a brat. The roar of the crowd. It’s a very nostalgic feeling.

Busch Stadium in Saint Louis. Note the Arch in the Background.

Over the years, I’ve attended live baseball games all over the country. Certainly the Cards, Cubs and White Sox back home, but I followed several other teams as well.

Many folks hate the Yankees, however, when I was at West Point in the ‘70s, military personnel could attend games for free and I went to a few. The military wasn’t particularly popular then, and their gesture has always stayed with me. When we moved to DC in ‘89, there was no local baseball, but the Orioles were just up the road. Cath and I attended the occasional game at the old Memorial Stadium, and then when they built Camden Yard, we bought a mini season ticket plan with friends.

When the Nats came to DC, I became a season ticket holder with three other friends. They were great seats, right behind home plate. We kept those tickets for their first two years at RFK stadium, and then they jacked the prices up, and we let them go.

Several years later, I joined another group of four guys and have been attending Nats games ever since. I saw the All Star game in ‘18 when it was in DC, and made one of the World Series games in 2019, when they won it all. I still root for the Cardinals, but I’m as much of a Nats Fan as a Cardinal Fan these days. Don’t tell my dad – he’d probably roll over in his grave… 😉

Posing with the Nats’ World Series Trophy

I love baseball.

And now? Now, I just don’t get it. The 2020 season was lost due to Covid. The first third of the 2021 season only had limited seating, again due to Covid. You would think the last thing anyone would want now, is an impact on the 2022 season, and yet, here we are. The first two series of the season are already cancelled, and they are about to cancel more.

I won’t pretend to understand the intricacies of the current negotiations. What I do know is that they are continuing to lose fans. Greed never looks good, and to this fan, that’s what it looks like. Greed on the part of the owners, and greed on the part of the players.

It’s true fans don’t have a seat at the negotiating table. Ultimately though, fans DO have a vote – they can vote with their pocket books. It seems to me that both the owners and the players could learn something from Casey’s hubris.

This fan of baseball for the past sixty years is considering his options for the future.

Addendum:

– Special Thanks to my niece, Tami Harmon, who provided several suggestions for this blog. A life long Cubs fan, she knows quite a bit about baseball.

– Casey at the Bat was originally written in 1888. You can find a link to the complete poem here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45398/casey-at-the-bat

– UPDATE: Two days after this blog was originally published, the two sides reached an agreement. I’m sure this write up is what pushed them across the line. ;-).

Sunrise or Sunset?

Sunrise or Sunset?

Sunrise, or Sunset? Which do you favor? Both can be equally beautiful. Both can be equally colorful. Both are fleeting. It’s a bit deeper than just color and beauty though, isn’t it? I enjoy them both, but if I could only pick one? Not an easy question to answer, but I would probably say…

It’s easy to say you must be a morning person to see the sunrise, although I think that’s a bit of a cop-out. For myself, I wake up at approximately the same time all year long – about 6:45-7:00AM. That means in the dead of winter, I see some gorgeous sunrises. For the rest of the year? I’m out of luck, unless traveling or something. Virtually all of us are up at least occasionally at sunrise. Maybe not often, but at least occasionally for travel or work, or something else going on, so let’s take the morning person argument off the table.

Many photographers and photography sites seem to favor sunrise – better light, or at least cleaner light I suppose. Maybe that’s true, but to my naked eye? I don’t see the difference.

So what is the difference? Maybe it’s more metaphysical and less about color and light.

Who doesn’t like sunrise and the start of a new day? Poetry and quotes are filled with “wisdom” on this subject – The symbolism of darkness going back to light. The chance to pursue new opportunities with a clean slate. The promise of a new day and all that entails. The stillness of a new morning, that perhaps gives us the chance to think clearly and cleanly, almost as if the morning dew washed away our cobwebs from the night. This is stuff that reaches out to our core and there are elements of truth in all of it.

Sunrise at Rohan Farm one day this winter

Ah, but sunsets… They provide a close to the day and our activities. They let us take a small pause as we watch the setting sun, reflect back on the day, and maybe think about what did, or didn’t, happen that day. And if we are with others? I’ve learned over the years that for me, nothing says fellowship, like drinking a “sundowner” with friends while watching the dying light of day. That shared feeling of quiet and peacefulness is pretty wonderful. The warmth of those feelings often extend into the evening hours. And of course, most of us see many more sunsets than sunrises over the course of our lives.

A Sunset in Africa last fall

As I think about it now, the feelings I experience at sunrise and sunset are different. I hadn’t thought about it before, but it’s real and it’s true. I guess I’d sum it up as thinking about new beginnings versus a time of reflection. How do you choose between those two versions of truth?

This is, quite frankly, too much thought about things that happen everyday. And of course, we don’t generally talk about, or remember those sunrises and sunsets happening in the rain, or the fog, or on a cloudy day. Most of us will experience 20,000-30,000 sunrises and sunsets over the course of our lives. I think it’s OK that not all of them are “perfect”. 😉

So which is it for you? Sunrise or Sunset?

For me,

Unity?

Unity?

Remember right after September 11th happened, when former President Clinton said “The attack on The Twin Towers was genius, and Osama bin Laden is pretty savvy.”? Yea, I don’t either, but that is exactly what Mr Trump is saying about Putin and the situation in Ukraine right now.

Still Buddies, Evidently…

I understand the difference between an attack on New York City and the Pentagon, and an attack on Kyiv. Also that those attacks are not equivalents. Having said that, Putin and Russia are an existential threat to the Western Alliance in general.

It is interesting to watch the current commentary coming from some on the right about Joe Biden and the situation in The Ukraine. I contrast it with America when September 11th happened.  No one blamed Bush.  Instead, as Americans, we unified behind him.  Remember those first couple of years after the attack?  We were all Americans, not Democrats or Republicans.

Twenty one years later? It appears to be all about politics.  

Mr. Trump, has tried to posit that this attack has taken place because Joe Biden is weak. In 2001, no one tried to say George W Bush was weak and that is why al-Qaeda attacked. Why? Because we united against a common enemy.

And it’s not just Mr Trump yapping away.

Tucker Carlson and his fawning over Putin has shown himself to be a good imitator of Charles Lindbergh and his love affair with Adolf Hitler before WWII. His whole speech about Putin never hurting him and never wronging him was great theater, but missed the mark and displayed a lack of understanding. Tucker, the former hawk, is also now a peace loving man – we don’t need to do anything in Ukraine according to him.

Former Secretary of State, Mike Pompeo? He and I are both alumni of the same institution (West Point), but that is about all we have in common. He too has praised Putin: “Putin is very shrewd. Very capable… I have enormous respect for him”. He has since walked back his comments, but the damage was done.

Russian State TV is showing video clips of both Pompeo and Carlson praising Putin and using it for reinforcing the invasion of Ukraine. There’s some good Americana for you.

Nothing says love for America, like helping out the Russians

Yes, McConnell, Graham and others have condemned Putin and provided some supporting comments for President Biden. Unfortunately, Hawley, Cruz, Vance and the rest of Trump’s BoyToys continue to whine and try and have it both ways. I wonder if Senator Cruz would modify his stance some if the Russians tried to help Mexico reclaim Texas? Texas belonged to Mexico after all, and I’m sure there are a few Texans who would rather belong to Mexico.

Abe Lincoln was right. “A house divided against itself cannot stand.” When we cannot unite against a common enemy, I fear for the future of our country.

Feel free to share this blog.

Addendum:

– Special thanks to my good friend, Tim Stouffer, who made several contributions to this blog.

Lariat Advance

Lariat Advance

The call came at about 3:40AM in late February, 1979. I answered the phone, “LT Hall.” – “Max, this is Captain Ward. A Lariat Advance Alert was called at 3:25AM this morning.” – “Got it sir – on my way.” I called my Platoon Sergeant, Paul Teague to notify him, and kissed Cathy goodbye, with a “See you when I can”. I was out the door for the drive to Hindenburg Kaserne by 3:50AM.

We lived in the little town of Helmstadt, Germany, about 15 minutes from Hindenburg Kaserne (Barracks, or Army Post) in Würzburg. My mind raced on the drive to the barracks.

LT Hall in 1979

This was my first Lariat Advance. I’d joined the 123D Signal Battalion, 3rd Infantry Division in January of ‘79. A Lariat Advance was a US Armed Forces Cold War mobilization alert in Germany. The thing was, you never knew if it was a drill, or in response to a real world situation. If just a practice, it might be called off after a couple of hours. BUT, you could also deploy and link up with the unit you supported (2nd Brigade, 3ID in my case), or even deploy to your General Defense Plan (GDP) location. For my platoon, that was near the village of Hof, and the Hof Gap on the the Czech/East German border. The Hof Gap was considered a major Armor Route for a Russian invasion of West Germany. The pucker factor increased significantly if you deployed there on an alert.

My unit, B Company, 2nd Platoon, was always the first unit scheduled for departure, as we had farther to go. We would depart two hours after the alert was originally called. In this case, we needed to be lined up at the Kaserne Gate and ready to go at 5:25AM.

Main Gate, Hindenburg Kaserne

I arrived at the Kaserne a few minutes after 4:00AM. As I climbed out of the car, I promptly locked my keys in the car. “D@mn!” I stood looking at the car, shaking the door when one of my squad leaders, Sergeant Santos ran by and called out – “Yo, L.T. (Pronounced Ell-Tee), what’s up?” – “I locked my keys in the car.” He stopped, looked at me for a second and then said, “Forget ‘em. We’ll get them later – we gotta go!”

He was right, of course. I left the car and ran to the Company HQ and checked in with the CO. Next, over to the Armorer, where I picked up my .45 pistol, and finally, I ran back outside and over to our Platoon Bay. It was probably about 4:15AM.

Sergeant Teague had also just arrived and he gave me a status report. About 80% of our troops were on the Kaserne, with the others expected shortly. We then looked at our vehicles’ status. Our platoon had around 20 vehicles in all – a combination of jeeps, a 2 1/2 Ton truck (the Deuce) and several Gamma Goats. Gamma Goats were six wheeled vehicles that could, at least in theory, perform off road much like a tank, or other tracked vehicle. We needed to determine which deadlined vehicles could be made readily available, by cannibalizing* other deadlined vehicles. We agreed that of our four deadlined Gamma Goats we could maybe get three ready, and still make the 5:25 departure time.

A Gamma Goat, with Comm Shelter

The next half hour was total chaos. By then, all of our troops but one were on the Kaserne and had picked up their weapons. We continued loading both personal and platoon equipment into our vehicles. Cases of C-rations were loaded into the Deuce, along with other supplies. Two of the deadlined vehicles were fixed, but we were still having problems with the third. Somewhere in there, we received word we would deploy to Kitzingen, and link up with 2nd Brigade’s HQ elements. It was now 4:55AM, a half hour before departure.

Suddenly, a feeling of great calm and clarity settled over me. The world seemingly slowed down. Sergeant Teague and I agreed it was too late to fix the last vehicle and to hell with it, we would roll with what we had. We held a quick meeting with our three section leaders and strip maps to Kitzingen were passed out for each of the vehicles (remember this was all pre cellphones or google maps). We lined up the vehicles in the motor pool and proceeded to the gate, with my Jeep in the lead. Sergeant Teague was in the last Jeep at the end of the convoy. At 5:15, we were at the gate where the Battalion Commander, Colonel Swedish and Command Sergeant Major Johnson greeted us. We spoke briefly and they wished us good luck.

5:25AM came, and we rolled. The rest of the day passed in a bit of a blur. Google maps says the drive from Würzburg to Kitzingen takes a half hour, but at convoy speed, it probably took us about an hour. We arrived and I reported in to the 2nd Brigade Operations Officer (S3). Then, as is often true in the Army, we sat and waited. And waited. I stayed in touch with the Brigade S3, and also with my Company Commander via FM radio. After a couple of hours passed, we received word it was a drill, and perhaps another two hours later, we were released and returned to Hindenburg Kaserne.

The drive back took another hour. Once back at Hindenburg, we offloaded all of our equipment, washed our vehicles, and then topped all of them off with fuel, so they were ready to go. Cannibalized parts were returned to their original vehicles. A weapons count was done by the armorer, and it was verified all weapons were turned in and accounted for.

I reported to Company Headquarters that all recovery tasks were completed. Once all three platoons were finished, Captain Ward let me know we could dismiss the troops, which I did.

By now, it was late afternoon or early evening, and my keys were still locked in the car. I started thinking about how I was going to get home, when Sergeant Santos came up. “Hey L.T. Let’s get those keys.” – “Sure, how are going to do that?” Ramos just smiled, and then pulled a Slim Jim** out of his jacket. Two minutes later, the door was open, and I had my keys. I thanked him, and decided right then and there, I didn’t need to know why he owned a Slim Jim.

A Slim Jim – Need your car door opened?

With Russia and the Ukraine in the news, I was thinking about that first Lariat Advance. Forty years ago, we were concerned about, and prepping for war with, the USSR. After The Berlin Wall fell in 1989 and the Cold War ended, I thought those days were behind us, at least for Europe. With Mr. Putin’s current aggression, that no longer seems the case. I’ve been thinking about an Intelligence flyer that came out, right after The Wall fell, warning us about the long term goals of the Russians:

“We will Smash them with our clenched fist.”

It is no longer Communism against capitalism, but it is still Russia versus the West. Sometimes the more things change, the more they stay the same. I’m wishing Godspeed and safety to all of our troops.

Addendum:

• Cannibalize – If a vehicle was determined to have a safety issue, or something major wrong with it during operations or an inspection, it was put on the deadline report and the appropriate parts were ordered. You were not allowed to drive deadlined vehicles, until they were repaired. In the event of an alert, you “Cannibalized” one of the vehicles to remove parts to put in the remaining vehicles. It might be something as simple as a brake signal bulb (safety feature), or something more serious like a transmission problem. Cannibalization was frowned upon, as you could literally reduce one of your vehicles to a pile of parts in order to fix other vehicles. That one vehicle would stay on deadline forever. This is why we were to return cannibalized parts to the original vehicle when we returned to the Kaserne.

• **Slim Jim – For those unaware, a Slim Jim is a slender device used to break into a car by fishing down the side of window and into the door for the locking mechanism.

Talking to the Animals

Talking to the Animals

I’m no Doctor Dolittle, but I do “Talk to the Animals” here at Rohan Farm, and do so on a pretty regular basis. Most mornings, we have conversations, although they tend to be a trifle one sided, at least in a verbal sense. Still, I think we have a pretty good understanding of each other.

It starts when I wake up in the morning. Carmen, our dog, will stir and I’ll ask her if she had a good night sleep. She doesn’t answer, and instead does a couple of “downward dog” yoga stretches while waking up and looking at me. Eventually, we are both awake and go downstairs and out the door.

At the barn, I greet our horses, Katy and Stella, with a good morning, and ask them if they had a restful night, and whether there were any visitors to the barn. They tend to just look at me, and the look says “Where were you? It’s time for our breakfast!” On cold mornings, when there’s some ice in their buckets, I’ll also ask if they were warm enough during the night. Of course they were, but it seems a friendly thing to ask. While getting their food, I keep a bit of chatter going about the beautiful sunrise outside the barn, or the new snow on the ground, and aren’t they going to be surprised when they are turned out. They respond by stomping their hooves, or scraping the bars on the stall doors with their teeth, wanting to know where the hell breakfast is. Eventually, I give it to them, and things quiet down, while they munch away.

Katie and Stella – “Where’s my breakfast!?”

Now, it’s time to feed our cats, Stan and Ollie, and I again greet them with a hello and ask how their night was. Lately, it’s been fairly cold, so we’ve allowed them to sleep in the heated tack room, rather than the barn itself. They purr and wrap around my legs, or rub up against Carmen as they wait for breakfast. I’ll ask them if they heard Momma Cat out in the barn last night. Momma is a cat whose owner moved away, and we have seemingly adopted. Cathy frequently sees her, but she is quite shy around Carmen and me and we rarely do. As I leave the barn, I call out a loud hello to Momma Cat, and noisily put some food in a bowl in the hay area for her. Of course, she is nowhere to be seen.

Carmen and I then return to the house for our own breakfasts. As we enter the mudroom, Carmen immediately sits in front of her dog bowl. She hasn’t barked, or said anything verbally, but she might as well have said “OK – you fed everyone else, now it’s my turn. And don’t even think about making your coffee before feeding me.”

Tail wagging, Carmen’s ready to eat…

After a couple cups of coffee and small breakfast, it’s time to go back to the barn and let everyone out.

The cats go first, and I remind them to come back at dinner time, if they want to sleep in the tack room. Otherwise, they are on their own. I tell Stan to watch out for our other neighbor’s un-neutered male cat that sometimes comes slinking around the barn looking for a handout. Stan and he have a history, so I figure a word of caution can’t hurt. I also remind Stan doing a walk-about for a week or more in winter is probably not a smart thing to do, but he ignores me whenever I tell him this.

Ollie and Stan after breakfast on a recent morning

Finally, it’s time to put the horses out and I take a few flakes of hay to the nearby paddock. While in the hay area, I note that Momma Cat has already eaten most of her food, and disappeared back into the hay. I say hello again, and call “Here kitty, kitty, kitty…” a few times, but get no response

As i put Katy’s grazing muzzle on, I tell her I’m sorry she has to wear it, however, it’s for her own good, and as a pony, we don’t want her developing health issues from overeating. After taking her out, I return for Stella, who has waited patiently. Leading her to the paddock, I usually just tell her to enjoy the day, and remind her not to pick on Katy.

Katie (in the grazing muzzle) and Stella

With that, it’s back to the house, and the rest of my day.

The thing is, I think Dr Dolittle had it slightly wrong when he said “Oh, if I could talk to the animals, just imagine it …” Talking “to” the Animals is easy. I mean, I do it every morning. It’s talking “with” the animals that is harder. While “Talking to” and “Talking with” are often used interchangeably, they aren’t quite the same, are they? “Talking with” implies a conversation between two or more. “Talking to” can imply a one way, or one sided conversation, or perhaps even a lecture.

I guess it’s not that different from people in that regard. Talking to people is easy. Talking with people is what’s hard, and these days, with the fences everyone puts up, getting harder. We all know people that are great talking to, or at you, but maybe aren’t so good at the listening and understanding part.

Upon further consideration, I think it is easier to communicate with the animals. I may do most of the verbal talking, but the interchange and understanding that goes back and forth is pretty good, at least in comparison to some people I know.

Addendum:

⁃ While I do the morning feeding at the barn, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention Cathy does 90% of the animal care on the farm. Afternoon feedings, stall cleanings, horse healthcare and a myriad of other horse and animal maintenance chores are all under Cath’s purview. While I can’t say whether she talks more or less than I do with them, her understanding of their wants and needs is infinitely greater than mine.

⁃ Carmen is the smartest dog we’ve ever had and a GREAT communicator. Here’s a blog she wrote about a year ago: My name is Carmen. I’m about 44 years old now, and in my prime. Some guy named Shakespeare once said every “dog will have his day.” I think every day is my day, and I […] Continue at: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2021/04/07/whosagooddog-carmen/

Grad School, and Learning to Cook

Grad School, and Learning to Cook

Embarrassment is what started it. Well, embarrassment, a class in Stochastic Communications and Trout Almandine. In 1984, I started learning how to cook, largely after being embarrassed at a friend’s house on a Sunday afternoon.

Last week, I published a blog about cooking a German dish, Erbseneintopf (Split Pea Soup) in 1982, and I received notes from several friends asking if that’s when I started learning to cook. The answer was no, that didn’t really come till later.

It’s true Erbseneintopf was the first recipe I collected, but as to cooking, my skills were limited. Yea, I could do steaks, brats, and burgers on the grill, but not much else. Cathy did the vast majority of cooking for us, and that (from my view point) seemed to work out fine.

Things changed in 1984.

The Army, in it’s infinite wisdom, sent me to Grad School to pursue a master’s degree in Electrical Engineering. I was in the Army Signal Corps and they were looking for engineers to help with the new field of Computer Networks. We all take the Internet and computer networks for granted now, but back then, it was brand new, except for some research networks like The Arpanet, a DoD funded network.

Captain Hall, The Future “Cook”. The Photo was Taken During my Time at Grad School.

As I started my graduate program, something quickly became obvious. My math skills were rusty and needed work. I’d studied calculus, differential equations, linear equations, and probability and statistics at West Point, but that was several years before and I’d forgotten most of it.

In the fall of 1984, I was required to take a class in Stochastic Communications – it was a theory class about how communication systems act in the presence of noise, and was very math heavy. A friend of mine, Gerry, was also taking the class and we often studied together to understand the math.

One Sunday afternoon, Gerry was at my house and we were working through some tough problems. At some point, I said, “Hey, feel like some dinner? How about if I order us a pizza?” Gerry agreed, and I ordered a pizza from the Pizza Hut just down the road. When they delivered the pie, we took a break and had a beer with our dinner. Eventually, we resumed our studies, and then quit an hour or two later.

Nothing Says Fine Dining Like a Pizza from Pizza Hut…

A couple of weeks later on another Sunday afternoon, we were studying at Gerry’s apartment. Eventually, we were getting hungry and Gerry said “How about a break for dinner?”, to which I readily agreed. I expected him to pick up the phone. Instead he said, “Come on, let’s go to the kitchen.”

We arrived in the kitchen and after opening a bottle of wine and pouring two glasses, he proceeded to the fridge where he pulled out some trout filets and asparagus. He then brought out some almonds, garlic, and God only knows what else from his cabinets. What? Was he actually going to cook a dinner?

Gerry spent the next half hour or so preparing the meal, while we continued drinking and talking. He toasted the almonds, sautéed some garlic and eventually pan fried the trout, while sautéing the asparagus in another pan. Half an hour later, it all came together on our two plates with the almonds scattered over the trout and the asparagus served on the side.

Trout Almandine with Asparagus on the Side – a Treat from my Friend, Gerry.

Holy Cow! A real meal, and a great one. I believe I was in a bit of shock. Thinking back to the Pizza Hut pizza I’d served two weeks before, I was also a bit embarrassed.

On the way home, I thought to myself, “What the hell is wrong with this picture? A bachelor comes to a married guy’s house and has delivery pizza from a chain restaurant for dinner, while the married guy goes to the bachelor’s house and has a gourmet meal!?!?” Right then and there, I decided I needed to learn how to cook.

And so, my cooking journey began. Cathy still did most of the cooking, but I started cooking some as well, especially on weekends. I’d find different recipes to try and slowly expanded my repertoire. I also started collecting cookbooks, some basic, some focused on specific cuisines. I went through bread and muffin phases, German and French phases, Vegetarian, Stir Fry’s, and eventually Indian curries, among other recipes.

Just a Few of the Couple Dozen Cookbooks I Now Own

I found I enjoyed cooking, and I started to cook decently, but man, was I a messy cook. I knew nothing about “Mise en place” (prepping things ahead of time), or cleaning as you go. While I could turn out a great meal, the kitchen was a disaster. Cathy’s mom said something to Cath about it one time, and Cathy basically told her to be quiet, I was at least cooking some of the meals now. 😉

Eventually I retired from work around 2015, and and over time, started cooking my share of our meals. I also learned about Mise en place and cleaning the kitchen as I cooked. It only took me about 30 years to learn those two basic lessons. Better late than never, I guess.

So, that’s my story. Who knows, If I hadn’t been rusty in math and in need of help, maybe none of this would have happened. You don’t always know what will send you down a different pathway in life. I’m glad I discovered this one.

Addendum:

⁃ Strangely, there is no Trout Almandine recipe in my collection of recipes. I never asked Gerry for it at the time. If I’m making it now, I use a variation of a recipe I found online. C’est la vie…

– Gerry went on to get his PhD in Electrical Engineering – he was a smart guy about many things. Unfortunately, over the years, we lost touch with each other.