This coming Saturday a new brewery, Wort Hog, will open here in downtown Warrenton. I’m looking forward to it. What amazes me though, is that this is the seventh brewery within a half hour of our home – and we live in the middle of no where! There’s Old Bust Head in Vint Hill, and Backroom Brewery near Front Royal. Sperryville (population 342) has two – Hopkins Ordinary, and Pen Druid. Culpeper also has two – Beer Hound and Far Gohn.  

This doesn’t count the others located just a bit further away in Gainesville, Manassas, Fredericksburg, Stafford, or the several that are up in Loudon County. In fact, if I do a Google search for breweries within an hour of us, there are over 25, and that doesn’t include the ones in DC, or the near DC  ‘burbs. How is this even possible?!

Back to our local breweries… What I particularly like, is that every one is a bit different from the others and they aren’t in direct competition. Hopkins Ordinary is a nano brewery in the basement of a B&B. Pen Druid is capturing local wild yeasts to use in the brewing process and is doing some amazing sours and barrel aged beers. Backroom is located on a herb farm, and incorporates herbs into some of their brews. Beer Hound and Far Gohn are located within walking distance of each other, and you can drift back and forth between the two. Old Bust Head is large, and typically has the largest number of beers on tap – it also has food trucks on weekends.

And Wort Hog? It’s more than just a brewery. It’s a brewpub, with a full menu. The reviews from the “soft opening” this past weekend were pretty good. Will they hold up? I sure hope so.

The next time you come for a visit, as always, we will visit some of the local wineries. We still have our favorites, including Linden, Delaplane and Glen Manor, and there are more good ones every year. But don’t be surprised if on day two, our tours include visits to some local brewers – there are a number to choose from, and ALL are good.

           Top was our first dog.  Last week was the 20th anniversary of his death in 1997.  Some of you knew him, back in the day.  This was what we read, when we spread his ashes on one of our favorite hikes.

________________ 

           Top was a little over 17 years old when he died on January 2nd, 1997. He spent a little over 16 years traveling around the world with us, and lived in Germany, Georgia, Ohio, and Virginia. He visited, among other places, Austria, Switzerland, France, and Italy in Europe, and had multiple trips to Alabama, Illinois, and West Virginia here in the States. He understood two languages (German and English) and we used German throughout his life if we really wanted to make a point with him. 

            He loved the outdoors and liked to go on hikes. A year before he died, he was in good enough shape to do an eight mile hike with us, and in October of ‘96, he was still able to go two miles on a hike in West Virginia.

            He also loved to chase other animals. Deer, rabbits, birds, chickens, bees and flies (yes flies – he use to be able to catch German flies!) – it didn’t matter – if they were within his field of vision, he was after them. At one time or another, he brought to ground all of the above, and to this day he is still known as “Deerslayer” in some circles. He also liked to keep our neighborhood free of cats, although later in life he became friends with Vincent, our neighbor’s cat.

            He could be mischievous and gave us plenty of tales to tell later – stealing half a ham; eating a jar of jelly beans; opening the front door to let himself out; breaking through a screen window to wander the neighborhood; killing one of Uncle Eugene’s chickens; rolling in horse manure at the stable; eating the topping off of a cherry danish – after these or other similar incidents, no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t stay mad at him for long. How could you stay mad at your little buddy?

           Top was a good dog and a good friend. We will miss him, but already we are less sad when we think of him, and that is how he would have liked it. He was a dog that touched many lives around the world and brought joy to many people. His antics and actions have given us enough stories to fill a book and we will remember these and think of the good times we had together. He protected us over the years (or thought he was protecting us!) and tried to keep us safe from harm in many ways. He was our companion and was with us for most of our journeys through life, both literally and figuratively. 

            One of Top’s favorite hikes was to Tibbet’s Knob and that is why we brought him here. He liked this place and we hope that in the future he will once again chase the deer and the rabbits here, will bark at the hawks, and get into other dog-type mischief. We also hope that when we or our friends come here, we will take a short pause, remember the good times with him, and raise a toast to Top, The Deerslayer, our best friend.
 
 

 It was 2:42AM when I heard the noise. The bump; the boom; the whatever. I got out of bed and looked out the window. Nothing. As I tried to go back to sleep, I heard the sound of an engine whining, which stopped.

Then I distinctly hear a voice:

      “Ahhhhh! I’m hurt! Help Me!…….Help me”!

 What!? And again:

     “I’m hurt! Help me”!

I jump out of bed and look out the window. Holy shit! There’s a fire at the neighbor’s house. I throw on my clothes and run downstairs. Quickly, I dial 911.

      “Yes sir, what is the address of your emergency?” I give them my address, but then say, “but it’s not my house. It’s across the street on Swains Road”.  “Thank you sir. That’s already been called in. And what is your name?” I give them my name and hang up.

I throw on my coat, grab a flashlight and shovel and run out the door. I race through the woods on that side of the house, and I can see the fire quite plainly now. I get to Swains Road and there’s a car engulfed in flames at the bottom of the driveway across the street. 

 I call out: “Hello? Anyone there”? And then I see him moaning, sitting in the middle of the road. “Are you OK”?

      “I think I broke my fucking arm. You try and help someone, and this is what it gets you. Aaarrggggh, I think I broke my fucking arm”.

He’s near the burning car, and something is exploding in the car. “Buddy – can you walk? We need to get you moved away from the car. Is anyone else in the car”?

     “Aaargggh…I think I broke my fucking arm. No, I’m alone. Can you help me up? I can’t use this side”.

 I help him up, and we walk down the road about 20 yards. Suddenly, a police car arrives. The officer gets out, quickly assesses what’s going on, and comes over to us.

    “Hey. What’s going on”?

    “I think I broke my fucking arm”.

    “Lean against my car, an ambulance is on the way. What happened here”?

    “You try and help someone, and this is what happens. After I dropped him off, I was backing down the drive and hit those rocks. See them over there? The guy is homeless, and I was just giving him a ride home. I don’t really even know him. I think I broke my fucking arm”. 

About this time, the fire department shows up. I ask the officer if I can leave.  He needs to do something with the fire department, so he asks if I’ll stay and watch the guy for a minute. Sure.

 The fire department is dousing the flames, and gets it under control pretty quickly.  

 The guy with the fucking broken arm says to me: “is there anything left”?

     “What”?

    “Is there anything left of the car”?

    “Uh, not much. The frame, and it looks like one of the tires”.

    This gets a laugh. “One of the tires!? No kidding. That’s pretty good”!

We establish that his phone, along with all of his insurance information has burned up in the car.

The cop and a paramedic show up. The paramedic asks how the guy is doing.

     “I think I broke my fucking arm. Maybe in two places”.

I ask the cop if he still needs me. He says no, asks me where I live, and thanks me for the help.

I get home, and go up to bed. Carmen has left her bed, and is hiding under ours. Cathy hasn’t moved a muscle. I coax Carmen out, and put her back in bed. I take my clothes off and get back in bed myself. I look at the clock – it’s 3:27AM. Slowly, I drift off to sleep.

I’ve been thinking of Uncle Mick, who passed away last week. He was 90, and led a full life. He developed issues when he was 85, but until then, he was amazing. The Germans have a word for it – einmalig – One of a kind….

He was the youngest of the Hall family, and born in Southern Illinois. 3 older sisters, and 3 older brothers, plus a younger brother that died as a child; all are gone now. Gone, but not forgotten. The life they lived, particularly when younger, was much different from today. They were dirt poor, and grew up in the 20s, and then the depression of the 30s. It made them who they became as adults.

It’s impossible for me to think of Uncle Mick, without thinking of my dad at the same time. Dad was two years older, and basically, except for 4 years during WWII, they were together their whole lives. They complemented each other and fed off of each other. Laurel and Hardy, Simon and Garfunkel, Abbott and Costello, Mick and Keith….. They had nothing on Uncle Mick and Dad, or the stories they told.

We use to hear the stories at the kitchen table on Saturday mornings. The coffee pot was endless, as were the stories. You didn’t necessarily have to listen, but you had to be able to talk to be a Hall. Aunts and Uncles gathered around the table, telling stories of their youth, or the war, or later in life….Uncle Mick and Dad as kids discovering that Santa Claus was really Grandma…..Dad losing his jacket on a railroad car…..Dad joining the Army, and Uncle Mick joining the Navy….Dad wounded in Sicily…Uncle Mick on the beach at Normandy….parties in North Carolina….parties in New York….seeing their nephew Pooch during furloughs….getting hungover together after the war ended…..Mick and Dad buying a car together after the war….dad giving Mick advise about the bed springs at Aunt Ellen’s house (they were married two weeks apart and both went to Southern Illinois for their honeymoons)….the two buying a houseboat together…..

Eventually, both had kids, and we became a part of some of the stories. I remember them sitting together at our High School Football games, but they always sat in the visitor section, where they’d cheer for OHS….Uncle Mick cutting my hair for years (he learned it in the Navy)…..dinners out….drinks out….going to Naplate for chicken….Uncle Mick with some get rich quick scheme…..

I moved away to West Point, and then the Army. We’d get back on breaks, or later, on leave, and Saturday Mornings were always there at home, drinking coffee. Uncle Mick and Aunt Marge stopping by – What was new in the Army? What was happening in Germany? Had I taught those Russians a lesson yet?……Later, I was out of the army and working in industry. One of my projects was the Pentagon Renovation Program. When I was home, Uncle Mick inevitably asked me “Have you straightened things out at the Pentagon yet?” Always with a laugh, always with a smile…

After dad had his stroke, he recovered, but not all the way. I asked Uncle Mick to make sure he checked in on mom and dad, and that they were OK. He did so religiously, and continuously. He probably already was going to, but it was nice to know….

And now, he’s gone. The last of that generation for our family. Uncle Mick and I had a special relationship, one that I can’t quite explain to others, but I will never forget it. He was an amazing man, the best friend and brother to my own father. I will mourn him, but more than that, I will remember him, and honor him for the rest of my life.

On a recent trip home to Ottawa, I took a couple of sunset pictures of the old railroad bridge over the Illinois River. After walking home, I showed them to mom.   

She said “Oh, those are nice! Did I ever tell you about the time dad and I had a date on the top of the railroad bridge?”  

I answered “No mom, you didn’t. But I’d sure like to hear about it.”

It was the fall of 1949 and mom graduated from Ottawa High School the previous spring. She and dad started dating in the summer of ’47, and would marry in May of 1950.  

One day, dad told her they were “Going to do something special” for their date that night, and he would show her the best sunset in town.

Early evening came and dad picked mom up. He didn’t own a car yet, so they walked. They made their way from Chestnut Street across the west side of town, finally arriving at the north side of the railroad bridge. Mom said “What are we doing?” Dad answered “Going out on the bridge.”

Mom wasn’t thrilled about going on the bridge. There were gaps between the railroad ties and you could see the river below. Dad finally convinced her to walk on, and slowly they made their way to the center of the bridge. When they arrived at the center, a head popped out of the bridge tender’s hut. Mom thought “uh oh“. Then a voice called out “Hey Bill! Come on up”.

It turned out my dad knew the bridge tender, Wally Halm. They both played local baseball, and were in the VFW together. Mom and dad climbed the narrow stairs up into the hut and once there, they watched the sun set, which seemed extra pretty that night.  A few minutes later, Wally received a call from a barge on the river. He needed to raise the center section, so the barge could pass underneath. (Back then, there were several trains a day using the bridge, so it normally stayed in the down position. Today, there are only a couple of trains a day, and lots more barge traffic, so the center section stays up, and only lowers when a train comes).

They stayed in the hut while Wally raised the center section. The barge spotlight appeared and slowly it moved up the river towards them. Finally, the barge passed underneath, and he lowered the bridge. Mom and dad said their goodbyes to Wally and dad helped mom down the stairs to the tracks. Eventually, they made it back to shore.

A couple of weeks later, my Grandpa Grubaugh pulled mom aside. Grandpa was the Roundhouse foreman for the Burlington railroad, and generally knew all train related things going on in town. He asked “Were you out on the railroad bridge a couple of weeks ago!?” Mom ‘fessed up, and grandpa said “Don’t you ever do that again!” Mom said she wouldn’t, but never did find out how Grandpa knew.

Mom and dad never did go back on the railroad bridge, but 67 years later, she remembered both the date and the sunset like it was yesterday.  

Never Forget….

The plaque is only a small one, over in front of The South Ottawa Town Hall on 1st Avenue. The Hall is still used for occasional meetings, but 1st Avenue is pretty sleepy in that area, so I don’t know how many people actually ever see the plaque. But when I walk by, the words always compel me to stop. And think. And remember.

 “DEDICATED TO HERMAN KOEPPE. – WHO IS STILL AT REST IN THE BREAST OF THE U.S. BATTLESHIP ARIZONA – REMEMBER PEARL HARBOR”

Herman was 19 the day he died. A member of the Ottawa High School class of 1940, he also joined the Navy in 1940. The USS Arizona was his first, and only assignment. He was a ship’s cook and Petty Officer Third Class.

Was he serving breakfast that Sunday morning? Did he have the day off, and was he sleeping in? When the bombing runs started, did he move above deck to help defend the ship? We don’t know, and we never will. His life was cut short, along with 1,176 other crew members of the Arizona that day. Of the 2,403 that died from the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, almost half were on the Arizona.

The Arizona was hit 4 times that morning. When it sunk, only a few sailors were able to get off the ship. It went down with the crew, and everything on board. In fact, while the crew remains buried with the ship, fuel is still seeping out of the wreckage, 75 years later.

Interestingly, Ottawa, an Illinois town of 16,000 in 1941, had 3 people die at Pearl Harbor. In addition to Koeppe, Marine Cpl James McCarrens, 24 was also on the Arizona that day. And Seaman 1st Class Robert Halterman, 20, died when his ship, the USS Oklahoma was bombed. To recognize the three, the local Ottawa VFW Post was recently renamed to honor them – Halterman-McCarrens-Koeppe VFW Post 2470.

This year is the 75th anniversary of the 7 December, 1941 attack on Pearl Harbor, a day that has lived in infamy. I hope we take time to remember not only the historical event, but also the individual lives that ended that day. Herman Koeppe and the other 2,402 sailors, soldiers, marines and civilians that didn’t live to see the rest of their lives.  

Pearl Harbor. Never Forget.  

Old Roy….
My Grandpa Hall, by today’s standards, was an alcoholic. Grandpa was known as ‘Old Roy’, and he loved his Irish whiskey. While he had a ‘colorful’ life, he and Grandma had a rough life, and I’m sure the drinking didn’t help. Old Roy’s ingenuity, when it came to getting whiskey, brought both chuckles and tears to the family over the years. We often tell the happy stories about our family histories, but this isn’t one of those stories. It is however, a true story.

Grandpa was born in 1887, and wandered around more than a bit in his young life. We were always told that he was in the Army during the Spanish American war, but that took place in 1898. He actually was in the army, but not until around 1904, and was stationed in California. After his tour of duty, he returned to Illinois, and married my Grandmother in 1909. You would think he settled down then, but what he actually settled down to was drinking

Grandma didn’t like it when Old Roy drank, as it always caused some kind of problem. So, he became sly about it. In the 30s, he worked as a logger for the coal mines in Southern Illinois. They cut down the large trees used to stabilize the walls and roofs of the mines. Roy would give my cousin Pooch (his grandson) a couple of dollars, and tell him he could keep the change if he would buy some whiskey and get it to him by 10AM. Pooch of course, had to keep it secret. So Pooch would go buy the pint and ride his bike into the woods to make the delivery. Grandma couldn’t quite figure out how grandpa went to work sober and came home tipsy. I’ve always thought in retrospect, how is it no one was killed while cutting down the trees?

In the 40s, they moved to Ottawa (my hometown). Everyone said Old Roy was very talented, great at working with his hands, and could do anything. Instead, he worked odd jobs, did day labor during and after the war, and for awhile, was the janitor at the Roxy Theater. On paydays he would often disappear for a day or two, and go off on a bender. When he returned home, sometimes there was payday money still left, but as often as not, it was gone. Grandma washed and mended clothes on the side to make a little additional cash.

After World War II ended, my dad got back to Ottawa, and one day saw that Grandma had a black eye. She tried to lie about it, but dad knew what happened. He found Old Roy and decked him with one punch. He told him if he ever touched his mother again, he’d get hit worse. Grandpa never did hit grandma again after that.   

In the late 40s he developed TB, and was confined to a sanitarium to “get well”. Aunts and uncles would visit, and the kids would have to stay in another room and look through a big window at him. Grandpa would always wave and yell greetings to the kids. Later, Old Roy broke out of the sanitarium and the police found him in an apartment with a “lady friend”, drunker than hell. The police took him back to the sanitarium, with him cussing the whole way.

When he was old enough to get Social Security, he collected his first check and promptly moved out on Grandma Hall. He was going to live the high life downtown. About a week later, he moved back home, the money all spent.

His health continued to get worse, and at some point he was confined to the hospital. His children were called, and told he didn’t have much time left. My dad and two of my uncles (George and Mick) went to see him. They were talking among themselves, and grandpa told my uncle Mick he had something to tell him, could he lean closer? Uncle Mick leaned in, and Old Roy asked him to bring some Irish whiskey. Uncle Mick popped up and told his brothers “let’s go. If he wants whiskey, he’s not dying right now”. They left, and sure enough, grandpa was later discharged from the hospital.

Eventually, my Uncle Dave turned his garage into a little apartment, and Grandma and Grandpa moved in there. The one condition was that Grandpa had to give up drinking. He agreed to, and mostly did. His health was quite poor at that point, and he didn’t have many years left. He died in 1961, at the age of 73.  

My Grandma Hall was a saint. She didn’t drink and was something of a religious woman. One of the things people always said was that “they didn’t know how she put up with Old Roy”. It was a different time then and people did what they had to, to get by. They were married 51 years when he passed away. I have to believe that there were definitely lots of good times in those 51 years, and listening to the stories from dad and my uncles, I know there were. But there had to be a lot of hell as well. 

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I’d like to thank my cousin Janice Connell who provided some of the stories for this blog.

Dad, Me, and the ’82 World Series…….

The World Series for this year is over, and the Cubs have won. I’m thinking about my nieces and how they must feel as forever die-hard Cub fans. You remember this stuff over a lifetime, especially something like game 7 of this series. You think of fans/family/people in the past. And you remember things that were going on in your life at the time of the Series. I’m sure they will all be telling this story for years to come.

As a Cardinal fan, we’ve had many memorable series over the years – both wins and losses. I remember the win in 2006 and the great 2011 series. As a kid, ’64 and ’67 cemented me as a Cardinal fan for life. And I remember the losses as well – Lolich and the Tigers in ’68, and the “tarp incident” in ’85 among others. But the Series I remember the most, is probably the one I know the least about – 1982. This is a story about my Dad, me, and the ’82 World Series.

In 1982, I was a Captain in the Army, and stationed in Germany. I was a Company Commander in VII Corps. At the time the Cold War was very much alive, and having alerts and deploying to the West German/Czech border was a monthly occurrence. And this was also the post-Viet Nam Army, with prevalent drug and alcohol abuse problems. 

The Cardinals were in the Series with the Brewers. In Germany, we were six hours ahead of StL time, which meant a 7PM start was 1AM in Germany. You couldn’t get it on TV, and the morning paper, The Stars and Stripes, was a day behind. You would get the scores on Armed Forces Network (AFN) radio, but no details.

In any case, on October 20th, 1982, Cath and I went to bed. Around 4AM on Oct 21st, the phone range. Now in 1982, if you were a Company Commander in the Army in Germany, a 4AM call meant one of three things. Number 1, you were going on alert and maybe heading for the border; number 2, one of your troops had been arrested somewhere, and you had to go pick him up; or number 3, a family member in the United States had died, or had something serious happen.

I ran to the phone. 

     “Captain Hall, sir”…..

     “THEYWONTHEYWONTHECARDINALSWON!”

     “Hello? What? Say again?”

     “THEYWON!THECARDINALSWONTHEWORLDSERIES!” 

     “THE  CARDINALS  WON  THE  WORLD  SERIES!” …shouted Dad.

And that’s how I found out the Cards won the ’82 Series, 6-3 in game 7. We talked another 5 minutes or so, said our goodbyes and said we loved each other. I went back to bed for about an hour, before getting up to go in to work.

I’ve thought about that call over the years…. Baseball as something that binds us….The love between a father and a son….A memory I will never forget. 

With the Cubs win, I’ve been watching the posts on Facebook, and not surprisingly, many referred to a father, or mother, or brother, or friend who had passed away, and they were sure that special someone was celebrating in heaven. I know all the Cub fans will celebrate, remember and cherish the win this year, just as much as I’ve remembered that call in October, 1982.

Coulda…

Shoulda…

Woulda…

Yep.  They lost it in 5 games to the Dodgers.  They would have done better if Strasburg and Ramos hadn’t got hurt.  They should have had better base running than what Werth and Harper demonstrated.  They could have had a different outcome if they’d just scored one of the three times they had a man on third with only one out.  

But they didn’t.  Some people (not particularly smart people) around here are talking about a curse.  You want a curse?  Visit the Cubs or Red Sox – They know what a curse is.  This was no curse.  It was a game 5 loss to a team that played a little bit better and smarter than we did.  Both managers did a great job of making their decisions and rolling the dice.  When was the last time you saw a closer throw over 50 pitches?  But that’s what the Dodgers did with Jansen.  And it worked.  

Then Kershaw in the 9th? On one day’s rest? One out, two on, and Murphy coming to the plate. WOW! Talk about excitement. My heart was going like a trip wire…Right up until Murphy popped out. Difo striking out was almost anti-climactic….a boy facing a man.

We’ll be back next year, and I like where we are.  There are a few changes that need to be made, but I think Rizzo will get it done.

Oh, and for all of my Cub fan nieces and cousins back in Illinois- good luck against the Dodgers.  I think you will take them in 5 or 6.

When I arrived at the stable at Fort Meyer on Thursday morning, it was dark and rainy. The ceremony wasn’t until 7:15AM, but it takes a while to get on an Army post these days, so I arrived early. Phil Godfrey, who I had gone to high school with, and several other members of the Old Guard Association had just arrived as well. Most had served in the Caisson section of the Old Guard back in the mid-70s, and were going to make a special presentation that morning to the current members of the Caisson Platoon. In a side note, one of the Association members present was Andy Carlson, who led the riderless horse  (It is called the caparisoned horse) at JFK’s funeral in 1963.

The Caisson Platoon is made up of the soldiers and horses who provide the escort for soldiers and veterans as they go to their final resting place at Arlington Cemetery. On this day, like most days, they have been up since 4:00AM, getting their horses and equipment ready for their detail that day. There are two teams, and each team provides a final escort for up to four different funerals on any given day. This day would be no different, and both soldiers and horses were all business. The horses had been fed and groomed well before we arrived. They were now being bridled and saddled.

Before the 7:15 ceremony, we had the chance to talk to some of the platoon, while trying to stay out of their way. For many of the younger soldiers, this is their first assignment in the Army. For the Noncoms, most have 7-12 years in the army and It was interesting to hear their histories. If they were in 7-8 years, that usually meant 3 tours overseas in either Afghanistan, or Iraq. If they had served 9-10 years in the Army, most had at least 4 tours between Iraq and Afghanistan. This assignment at Ft Meyer was their “down” or more relaxing tour.

While most of the funerals they work are for WWII and Korean veterans, there are an increasing number from the Viet Nam era, and of course, some from our current conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan, the wars where the NCOs from the Caisson Platoon have served as well.

The ceremony took place, and a presentation was made of the new belt buckles the Association had commissioned. Phil spoke, as did the battalion commander, the Colonel, and the Sargent Major. The buckles are nice, and they recognize the history of the unit. They will become a permanent part of their uniform. I think they were appreciated.

After the ceremony, the soldiers went back to work and finished harnessing up the horses. They then led them to the two waiting caissons, and after a brief inspection, they were moving off to the first of the 8 funerals they would escort that day.  They do this all year long – rain, sleet, snow, high heat and humidity….  They are there, doing their jobs and honoring the fallen. 

I felt honored to be at the ceremony, and have nothing but the deepest respect for these soldiers. I almost felt embarrassed at the workload they are putting in, not only to guarantee the safety of this great country of ours, but also to help us honor our fallen soldiers and veterans. I know we talk about the World War II generation being “The Greatest Generation”, but these soldiers of today are second to none. We should count ourselves lucky that they are willing to sacrifice so much for us.

God bless them, and this great country of ours.