Another part of my childhood is gone forever. Mrs Lois Ahrens, my Cub Scout Den Mother from 1963-65, passed away on March 14th at the age of 92. On hearing the news, I was transported back in time to the joy of Tuesday afternoons, and Den meetings in her home. I also thought about the lessons we learned.
Mrs Ahrens, our Den Mother for Den 1
On Tuesday afternoons, the teachers at McKinley School in Ottawa, Illinois had conferences and as a result, we kids were released early. At eight years old, for me and many of my buddies, that meant heading to a Cub Scout Den meeting. I was a member of Pack 50 and belonged to Den 1, under Mrs Ahrens.
Those meetings are mostly a blur now, but I do have a few distinct memories. Many of the meetings were in her basement, where we engaged in some sort of craft project – maybe making a birdhouse out of popsicle sticks, or something similar. I also remember “field trips” to places of interest around town. At various times we were led on tours of the local newspaper, “The Daily Republican Times”, and a local bread bakery. I think there was also a trip to the grave of WD Boyce, the founder of the Boy Scouts. He is buried in Ottawa.
Den 1 of Pack 50 in 1964. Top row: Kenny Ahrens, Terry Johnson, Max Hall, and Dave Engel. Bottom row: Brian Eastman, Dion Sartorio, Pat Hale and Joey McGinnis.
We also had early teachings about honesty, doing our best and being prepared. I don’t suppose we thought of them as lessons at the time, but they helped lay a foundation for my life. We didn’t know what mentors were then, but looking back, that’s what Mrs Ahrens was, and a very good one at that.
Eventually, I moved on from Cub Scouts to Webelos, and then Boy Scouts. Mrs Ahrens and her family moved away from Ottawa a few years later, but I never forgot her, or the lessons she imparted to us. After fifty-some years, I still remember her, and the fun times we had in Den 1. The flood of good memories have somewhat offset the sadness I felt, upon learning of her death.
Those days were long ago, and now with her passing, the Scout Leaders of my youth are all gone. Not only Mrs Ahrens, but Harry Mayberry, our Pack 50 leader, Harry Nangle the local Police Chief and our Webelos leader, and Don Willy and Farrell Brooks, my Boy Scout Leaders. Collectively, they formed a part of who Max Hall became as an adult – an important part. I remember all of their names and the impact they had on me as a child and young man. I’m lucky to have known them, and had them in my life.
Mrs Ahren’s obituary stated in part:
“ Lois Rita Ahrens, affectionately known by all as ‘Honey’, born January 13. 1929, was called home to our Heavenly Father … on March 14, 2021… Honey, who was a wonderful and caring mother, grandmother and great grandmother and as sweet and kind as her nick-name suggests, leaves behind many family members and friends who will long remember her heartwarming smile, contagious good will, and joyful laughter … In lieu of sending flowers, the family invites you to honor Honey’s life by sharing a laugh and smile with a friend, hugging those you love, and remembering all the lives so tragically effected by the pandemic.”
I do remember her smile, good will, and laughter. You may not have known Mrs Ahrens, but I’m sure many of you knew someone like her, whether in Cub Scouts, Brownies, or another youth group. I ask you to join me in honoring their memories “by sharing a laugh and smile with a friend, and hugging those you love…” I think she, and they, deserve that much.
Addendum:
• Mr Ken Ahrens, Lois’s husband, was my Little League coach a couple of years later. Our team, The Yanks, won the City Championship under him in the summer of 1966 or ‘67. His son, Kenny, seen in the group picture above, was one of our pitchers and had a helluva pitching arm…
• Thanks as always to Tim Stouffer, Howard Johnson and Mark Dunavan for their thoughts and inputs to this blog. Tim and Howard were both four months younger than I, and as a result, they didn’t join Cub Scouts until four months later. They were both in Den 2, under Mrs Stouffer, but remember Mrs Ahrens as well. Mark went to a different grade school, but had memories of trying to hit pitches by Kenny Ahrens in Little League Baseball…. 😉
This winter sucked. We didn’t have much snow, but the three ice storms we did have, made travel treacherous, even if just walking to the barn. Of course, I’m not only talking about the weather.
A Long Cold Lonely Winter …
Covid and Covid isolation continued to hold sway over most of us. Then, as the vaccine became available, we were all scrambling to find some way, any way, to receive a shot. They even had a name for us: We were Vaccine Hunters. The slow pace of the rollout was maddening.
We also had that failed, inept insurrection thing back on January 6th. THAT didn’t cheer anybody up. In fact, it made many of us despair for our country.
To top it all off, we have several good friends dealing with serious health challenges. Some, with life and death health issues.
All of these matters combined to cast a pall over this winter. There was a hint of melancholy, at least at our house. The Winter of our Discontent, indeed.
Whether the opening line of Shakespeare’s Richard III, or the title of the 1961 John Steinbeck book, the words “The Winter of our Discontent” aren’t promising. Neither the play, nor the book are particularly cheery. Richard III is of course filled with political and familial intrigue, death and murder, while Steinbeck’s book “The Winter of our Discontent”, examined moral decline in America. Both have more than a little in common with this past winter.
So, how do you fight against a winter of discontent? It could have been all too easy to just try and survive – stay cooped up, become cheerless, and drink too much.
One of the ways we fought it was with Comfort Food. And more specifically, comfort food in the form of soups and stews.
We made and ate more stews and soups than usual this past winter. Actually, I think we had them a couple times a week all season long. Several were old favorites. Others, we made for the first time, and some of those quickly became new favorites. We warmed ourselves with our meals, as much as with the wood stove in the family room. Here’s a list of the assortment we had:
Those soups and stews provided comfort in many ways. Certainly there was the warmth they gave in the bowl and the simplicity of eating a one pot meal. There was also the ritual and pleasure of making them. For me, that brought a bit of relaxation. A few hours in the kitchen, surrounded by the wonderful smells from the simmering pot, along with the warmth of the stove itself, is not a bad way to spend a cold day. I also think their bursts of flavor and color countered the grayness of the season. They furnished a bit of light in the darkness of midwinter, if you will.
Winter Warmth, Clockwise from upper left – Cuban Black Bean Soup, Butternut Squash Soup, Cauliflower Soup with Rosemary Croutons, Split Pea Soup with Ham, Beef Stew with Cognac and Mustard, and NightCrawler’s Chili
This winter, like all winters, will end. Saturday, March 20th, is the first official day of spring. Although I know we still have some cold, and possibly snowy, days ahead of us, the weather is already turning. Additionally, Cathy and I have both received our Covid shots, and it appears the distribution floodgates are finally opening for all who want the vaccine. Soon, we will all get there.
Among our friends with health issues, some have improved, and others are holding their own. They too are getting Covid vaccines and we hope to see them soon. Unfortunately, two classmates, one from West Point, and one from high school did pass away. We are “at that age” now, where death happens more frequently, but it doesn’t make it any easier.
I’m sure we will have a few more warming winter soups and stews over the next several weeks. And while I’m happy for the sustenance they provided over the past four or five months, my mind is already turning to lighter dishes and meals. The days are growing longer and are not so dark. This winter of our discontent is ending. Spring, and the promise of renewal beckon and I am ready to embrace them. In the immortal words of George Harrison:
Addendum:
– Cathy and I had the good fortune to see the play several years ago at the Shakespeare Theatre here in DC. As with many Shakespeare tragedies, there was plenty of death, murder, political mayhem and family intrigue. If you get a chance to see it, I hope you do so.
– The Winter of Our Discontent was John Steinbeck’s last novel, and published in 1961. He borrowed the title from Shakespeare. It too tells the story of a family, with themes concerning the effects of social pressure, deceit, lying, corruption and death. Steinbeck stated that he wrote the novel to “address the moral degeneration of American Culture during the 1950s and 1960s.”
The friendliest strangers Cathy and I ever met were at a pub in the town of Blarney. It was during a long night on a short trip to Ireland in January of 1981. We had spent the day driving around County Cork, finishing up in Blarney, where we dutifully toured the castle and kissed the Blarney Stone.
Cathy kissing the Blarney Stone. Yes, that’s how you do it. Upside down, and backwards.
Afterwards, we found a B&B to stay in and then adjourned to a local pub for a drink or two before dinner. It was probably about 4PM when we entered and we were the only ones there. We sat at a small table and I went to the bar to order myself a Murphy’s Stout and Cathy an Irish coffee. It was a raw day, and after the chill of the castle, it was good to be inside and warming up.
Often times, I think the nondescript pubs and bars are the best ones.
A bit of time passed and as we were finishing up our drinks, a man came in, nodded in our direction and went to the bar where he ordered a stout. As he was sipping his pint, he turned towards us and said,
“Would you be American?”
I answered “yes”.
“Ah then, could I buy you a drink?”
Not wanting to turn down his hospitality we said yes, and joined him at the bar where he introduced himself as Conor. When Cathy ordered an Irish Coffee, he informed her he’d buy her a real drink, but not a made up one. We all laughed and she ordered a pint as well. We toasted and then talked about this and that.
A bit later, another man came in and joined us at the bar. Cath and I introduced ourselves to him. He then said,“Would you be American? Could I buy you a drink?” Of course we accepted. A bit later, a couple more guys came in, joined our group and the same thing happened. Our money was literally no good. As we drank another round, the pub started filling up.
By now it was about 7:30 at night and we still hadn’t eaten. We asked the bartender about dinner, but it turned out they didn’t serve food. At that point Conor recommended the pub across the street for dinner. We thanked him and told the group we’d be back in a bit. They laughed, said it was good to meet us, and it was plain they thought we probably wouldn’t return.
We crossed the street and entered the other pub. There was a wedding reception going on in the main room, so we slipped into the smaller adjacent bar and sat at a table. The bartender took our order for food and we both ordered some water. As we were waiting, an older man came in from the main room to talk with the bartender and then saw us and came over to say hello. We started talking and it turned out he was the father of the bride. He suddenly said “Ahhh, you’d be American. Would you like to join us at the reception? There’ll be dancing later”. We thanked him, and although he was insistent, we declined several times and said we needed to rejoin our friends back at the other bar. He bought a round of drinks for the three of us, and we proceeded to toast the bride and groom. As our food arrived, he said goodbye, and went back to the reception.
After finishing dinner, we paid and said good night to the bartender. Now, the smart thing to do at this point, would have been to return to our B&B, maybe have a whiskey with our hosts, and turn in. Instead, we proceeded back across the street, for just “one final beer” with our new old friends.
It had grown crowded in our absence. As we looked around, Conor called out and waved to us. We worked our way through the crowd and rejoined “our group” on the far side of the bar. Someone we hadn’t met before immediately bought us another beer. And so it continued for a couple more hours … “Ahhh, you’d be American. Can I buy you a drink?” Finally, around 10PM, I bought a round for about half the pub I think. There were cheers all around. I looked at the clock a bit later and it was 10:40. I thought to myself “OK, just make it to 11PM. The pub will close, and we can make our way home to the B&B.” (at the time, pubs closed at 11PM in Ireland. Nowadays, it’s 1130PM on weekdays, although Covid has currently shortened the hours.)
11PM came… and … they closed the shutters on the windows, locked the door… and … everyone kept on partying! Oh lord …
A little after midnight, the pub started emptying and we knew it was time to go. We said goodbye to Conor and our other new friends, with many handshakes, backslaps and hugs all around. Finally, we departed and made our way to the B&B.
At the B&B, we found the owner had put two rubber hot water bottles under our blankets at the foot of the bed. It was a toasty night’s sleep in more ways than one.
The next day, I felt way better than I had a right to. I suppose the hearty Irish breakfast helped. As we ate breakfast and drank our coffee, Cathy and I talked and laughed about the night before and what a great time we had. It’s amazing how quickly you can sometimes make friends when traveling. You start the night as strangers, and by the end, you are friends of sorts. Not life long buddies, but friends nonetheless. Over time, it’s certainly happened for us in other locales, and with other people, but that night in Blarney? I dunno. Maybe we gained the gift of gab from kissing the Stone, and maybe not. I do know it’s a night I’ve never forgotten.
Addendum:
That 1981 vacation was about ten days long. We spent the first five or six days in England, including New Year’s Eve at Trafalgar Square (London’s equivalent of Time Square for NY Eve at the time). We then spent five days in Ireland, including Dublin, and driving along the south coast past Waterford, eventually arriving in County Cork. Here’s a picture of Cathy along the Coast – I’m not sure why, but I really like this candid photo of her. She was 25 years old at the time.
The making of chili isn’t to be entered into lightly. Yea, anyone can open up a can of Hormel, or throw a a couple of beans and meats together, or add a bunch of hot and spicy sh!t in with some burger. Burning the roof of your mouth off is for amateurs. The real way to make a chili? It’s a combination of ingredients, time, love, and a sense of taste. Not taste itself, but a “sense of taste”. With that in mind, here is, in my opinion, a recipe for the world’s best chili.
Cathy recently wrote her recipe down as a contribution for a Chili Cook-Off our running group, MVH3*, has every year. The Cook-Off is in memory of a a member, Fernando (aka PoopDeck), who passed away from cancer nine years ago. He started the MVH3 Chili Cook-off fifteen years ago, and it continues to this day. Due to Covid, this year’s Cook-off was held virtually and included an online published cookbook. Here’s Cathy’s, (aka Nightcrawler’s) recipe….
Nightcrawler at Work
Nightcrawler’s Tasty Chili
1. Grab an onion and dice it, put it in a frying pan with a little olive oil and sauté it.
2. Add a pound of hamburger and a pound of ground sausage. Buy your ‘burger from the local grocery story, but drive to Roy’s Market in Sperryville, VA for their homemade spicy breakfast sausage. While in Sperryville, stop at Pen Druid Brewery for a couple of beers. If time permits, also stop for a pint at Hopkins Ordinary Bed and Breakfast Aleworks. If you have had too much beer, inquire at Hopkins Ordinary if they have any rooms available for the night.
3. Add diced Jalapeños, bell peppers and Serranos to taste. Hopefully you have saved peppers that you grew in your garden last summer in the freezer. Since you probably didn’t mark the freezer bags with what is in each, grab the ones that, by looking at the unmarked bags, you know are the hottest.
4. If you have been frying all this stuff in a skillet because you weren’t thinking ahead, pull out your big pot and put it on the stove next to the skillet. Empty the skillet of onion, burger, sausage and peppers into your big pot.
5. Add to the pot, three 15 oz cans drained black beans. If you forgot to buy black beans, use whatever color you have and tell your husband this is a new and improved version of your already great chili.
6. Add one can of cream of mushroom soup (without adding water), one 10 oz can Rotel diced tomatoes and chilis, and one 28 oz can Cento whole peeled tomatoes undrained.
7. Add one small can spicy V-8. While doing so, remember it’s been a while since you’ve had a Bloody Mary. Go find vodka, celery salt, Worcestershire Sauce, hot sauce, pickle juice, a dash of beer, horseradish, a squeeze of lemon juice, and another can of spicy V-8 and mix over ice. Add a pickled okra. Sip, and add a bit more hot sauce to the Bloody.
8. While drinking your Bloody Mary, continue to cook.
9. If the chili seems too thick, add a bit of beef broth, or some of the leftover beer you used in your Bloody Mary.
10. Add to taste paprika, cumin, salt, pepper.
11. Add some Piri-Piri Chilli Seasoning you bought in South Africa, when traveling there with friends Magoo, Garfield and Mellow. Since you finished your Bloody Mary, open another beer and remember what a great time you had with the boys in Africa, and wonder how your liver ever survived.
12. Break out of your reverie and add your favorite hot sauce to the chili to your taste. Then add a couple more shakes, because you know your friends alway awards extra points for some heat.
13. Taste test many times while simmering for two hours. Drink another beer to enhance the cooking experience.
14. Serve yourself a small bowl of chili to “make sure it tastes OK”. Add a sprinkle of parsley or cilantro, sour cream or yogurt, or diced raw onions and some shredded cheddar cheese. ENJOY along with the beverage of your choice.
15. When your partner comes home later, and tells you how wonderful the house smells, look at him/her and laugh. Then say “Sorry this is for dinner tomorrow night. You can’t have any today”.
As with many soups and stews, if you can, resist the urge and wait a day before eating the chili you just made. It’s guaranteed to be better.
—
For you purists out there insisting chili has only meat and spices, with no beans or tomatoes, get over it. This is America, by God. I’ve had great chilis with only chuck or ground meat, with meat and beans, white chilis with chicken, green chilis with pork and even a vegetarian chili that was pretty tasty. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a “Tito’s Vodka Martini” drinking Texan, who insists Chili can only be made with meat, and no beans or tomatoes.
Addendum:
• * MVH3 stands for the Mount Vernon Hash House Harriers. Cath and I have been members since 1990. Our official motto (along with other Hashes around the world) is “Beer drinkers with a running problem”. Our particular Hash group has aged a bit, and probably half of us are now walking the trails, rather than running them. As to the names PoopDeck and Nightcrawler, after you’ve done several trails with the group, you earn a nickname the group thinks is suitable for you.
• Special thanks to Cathy, my wife of 42 years, for sharing her recipe. This is pretty accurate, except for all the beer drinking. I should also say Nightcrawler rarely shares her recipes, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she left some secret ingredient out of this one. As with many great cooks and their dishes, this recipe was never written down. The other thing I’ll say is she is not rigid, and her recipes always evolve. It would be interesting to taste this chili and compare it to the ones she made 40+ years ago when we were first married.
I sometimes envy those who see the world in black and white. For me, I often see shades of gray. Next week, March 2nd is the 82d anniversary of the release of the movie Stagecoach in 1939. The iconic western teamed John Wayne and director John Ford for the first time, and made Wayne a star. This milestone made me think about The Duke, and how my views of him have moderated over time.
The Duke was without a doubt one of my boyhood heroes. Watching his movies on TV, you always knew who to root for, and the “good guys” were sure to win. When we were old enough to make it to the theater itself, my buddy Howard and I never missed a Duke movie – whether The Sons of Katie Elder, True Grit, Big Jake, The Cowboys, or one of the other dozen or so movies he made during our youth, we always went (between 1963 and 1973, Wayne starred in 19 movies). We often memorized favorite lines from some of the movies. To this day, my friends Howard, Mark, Tim and I can recite word-for-word a memorable quote from Duke in Big Jake (“Now you understand. Anything goes wrong, anything at all – your fault, my fault, nobody’s fault – it won’t matter – I’m gonna blow your head off...”). Hell, Howard and I even wrote him letters and received autographed pictures. We didn’t do much to separate the man, from his legend and the characters he played.
John Wayne’s Response to the Letter I Sent him
It wasn’t all blind worship. In 1971, Wayne did an interview with Playboy. I can truthfully say I bought the magazine for the articles that month. Sure, the “Twelve Pages of New York Bunnies” might have been interesting, but what I was really excited about was the “Candid Interview with John Wayne”. While the interview was pretty good overall, there were also some disturbing quotes, and they have not aged well. To a 16 year old fan, they were an eye opener. I don’t think my buddy Howard and I could quite match the words with the man who purportedly said them. His comments on Blacks and Indians were offensive then, and now they come off as shocking. Candid indeed.
Yes, I did Buy this Copy of Playboy for the Interview with John Wayne, not due to the Potential Allure of “Twelve Pages of New York Bunnies”
If you read any of the other magazine articles about him at the time (Look, Life, The Saturday Evening Post – I bought them all if they had an article about Duke), there wasn’t a whiff of racism. In fact they were quite the contrary and positioned him as a man of honesty and integrity. Was the Playboy interview somehow out of context? Or were the other magazines covering for him? They still presented him as complex, but without the sharpness of the Playboy interview.
John Wayne – Memoirs of a G-rated Cowboy (maybe)
Over time, as I grew into adulthood, I learned more about Duke and not all of it was flattering.
He probably starred in more “patriotic” films than anyone; however, when WWII started and the likes of Clark Gable, Henry Fonda and Jimmy Stewart were serving overseas, The Duke stayed home (two deferments) and made more movies.
He took part in creating the conservative Motion Picture Alliance for the Preservation of American Ideals (the MPA) and was elected president in 1949. He became a strong anti-communist and a vocal supporter of the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) that eventually led to the rise and influence of Senator Joe McCarthy. Wayne was an advocate for Blacklisting writers and actors who had any connection to the Communist Party, even if during their youth.
And yet…. he may have tried to enlist during WWII, but was threatened with lawsuits by Republic Pictures if he left. Over the course of his life, he raised awareness of the plight of Native Americans. His three wives were all Latina. While he made the pro-Viet Nam war movie The Green Beret, he also felt America should either be in the war to win it, or get out and cut our losses. He grew disgusted with Nixon and his “enemies list”. Although a Republican, he strongly supported Jimmy Carter in returning the Panama Canal to the Panamanians. He was awarded the Congressional Gold Medal in 1979 by a Democratic Congress, and posthumously received the Presidential Medal of Freedom from Carter in 1980.
Duke was fearlessly honest in his opinions and that is certainly worth admiring. There was no hypocrisy or trying to shade things both ways. You knew where he stood. As a result, he was a polarizing figure for a long time, sometimes for the right reasons, sometimes for the wrong ones.
Wayne, as with much of American history itself, was complicated. Part of me wants to say you should pick your heroes from real life, not from Hollywood Heroes. But among real life people, who isn’t also flawed? Whether Thomas Jefferson and slavery, Abraham Lincoln and his comments about Blacks, or Martin Luther King JR and his multiple infidelities, we are all, after all, only human and a product of our times. We all know some flaws are greater than others, but I’m not sure I’m the one qualified to sit in judgement of anyone. I think Jesus was right in John 8:7 – “Let him who is without sin among you, be the first to cast a stone…”
While I continue to enjoy the old Duke movies today, I also remember they are fiction. My buddies, Tim, Mark, Howard, and I still have discussions about them. We occasionally rate our favorite Westerns and where Duke’s work falls in those lists. They are wide and rambling conversations/arguments, including everything from Stagecoach to Blazing Saddles, and more recently, Tarantino’s The Hateful Eight. Wayne’s The Searchers and Eastwood’s The Unforgiven are always near the top of the heap. My top two? John Wayne in The Man who Shot Liberty Valance, and High Noon with Gary Cooper. Both are moral tales, although for different reasons. Interestingly, The Duke couldn’t stand High Noon. He figured no real Marshall would ever act the way Gary Cooper’s character, Marshall Will Kane, did. He might also have disliked the movie because the Screenwriter was Carl Forman. Foreman had been a onetime member of the Communist Party and declined to identify fellow members to HUAC. As a result, he was labeled an “uncooperative witness” by the committee, and later Blacklisted in Hollywood. I should also mention Carl Forman did serve in the Army during WWII.
On June 11th, 1979, John Wayne died. At the time, I was stationed overseas with the Army in Germany. We were on day three of a week long exercise, and deployed near the Czech border. Word came in over an FM link from Battalion Headquarters that Wayne had died. My Platoon Sergeant, Paul Teague, and I briefly talked about the Duke, and then went back to work. We needed to redeploy our platoon to a site a few Klicks away – a Soviet attack (in the exercise) was considered imminent. There was no hero, real or fictional, who was going to give us advice or tell us what to do. As is often true in the real world, we had to solve the problem ourselves.
Addendum:
⁃ For years, John Wayne’s grave was unmarked. He wanted the phrase “Feo Fuerte y Formal”, which translates to “Ugly, Strong, and Dignified” on his tombstone. His family was afraid of people stealing things, as often happens at Hollywood gravesites and didn’t have anything marking the grave for 20 years. Eventually they did put up a marker. Here’s the quote on the gravestone: “Tomorrow is the most important thing in life. Comes into us at midnight very clean. It’s perfect when it arrives and it puts itself in our hands. It hopes we’ve learned something from yesterday.” Wayne used the same quote in the Playboy interview in 1971 with this line added – “As a country, our yesterdays tell us that we have to win not only at war but at peace. So far, we haven’t done that.”
⁃ Thanks to my friends Tim Stouffer, Mark Dunavan and Howard Johnson for their inputs to this blog. As with almost all of our discussions, I gained new insights, thoughts, and ideas.
⁃ Also thanks to my niece, Tami Harmon, who has a Bachelor of Arts degree in Film Studies from The Ohio State University. She provided some additional thoughts and comments about differentiating movie stars from the characters they play.
⁃ It’s worth noting that in several of his movies, John Wayne played complex characters with issues of their own. Watch The Searchers, or The Man who Shot Liberty Valance for two anti-hero heroes. If you don’t come away from those movies conflicted, you just aren’t watching. Liberty Valance has a memorable line towards the end of the movie, which also seems to apply to views of our sometime “Heroes” – “This is the West, sir. When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.”
Since my younger days, I never cared much for Bourbon. When I started drinking at around 17, it was mostly beer, or maybe a bottle of Boones Farm Wine if we could score it. When it came to whiskey, there were always a couple of guys pushing it, but we generally stayed away from it – too drunk too quick…
And then someone introduced us to a drink called a Blue Blazer. A Blue Blazer (for us) was a shot of Southern Comfort you lit with a match, and then drank in one swallow. Howard and I had those a couple of times and thought they were great. We also introduced our friend Dale to them, and decided to have a bit of fun. Instead of one shot, we poured him two and lit it. As he tried to swallow the drink, he couldn’t get it all down and coughed up some blue globules of flame, which we all thought was pretty funny. At some point, we outgrew Blue Blazers and the hilarity of watching a friend spit flaming liquid out his mouth.
The Three Innocents, Max, Howard and Dale, along with a not so innocent Blue Blazer
I also remember trying Bourbon and Coke, or Jack and Coke (it sounded cooler) several times in high school and then later at West Point. In my memory, the bourbon we used was generally Jim Beam, although I could be wrong about that. In any case, I didn’t like it. Jim Beam or Jack Daniels, it didn’t matter. It just never tasted good and as a result, I stayed away from whiskey. I also tried a Bourbon and Ginger (Ginger ale) at some point, and it was even worse.
Years passed. I learned to enjoy brandy when we lived in Europe, but still stayed away from whiskey. If I drank whiskey at all, it was in an Irish Coffee.
In 2005, Cathy started a job at Great Meadow. For those of you living here in Virginia, you know it as the site of the Gold Cup, one of the premier Steeplechase Horse Races in the country. The Great Meadow Foundation itself is involved in many charity events, particularly related to preserving open space, and holding equestrian events. As a result, they hold several activities to attract donors or raise money through silent auctions and other means. Cathy typically worked these happenings, and occasionally asked me if I wanted to attend. I usually couldn’t go because of my job, but finally on one occasion, the fates collided and my schedule opened.
On the appointed evening, I showed up at the Great Meadow Summer House. I saw Cathy and gave her a kiss hello, and then said Hi to her boss, Leslie. After a couple minutes of chit chat, they went back to work, and I headed to the bar to order a Gin and Tonic.
As I stood in line, I noticed three older ladies in line ahead of me. I was 50 at the time, and my guess is they were all in their 70s. I recognized one of the them, Pat, and said hello. She introduced me to her two friends and the four of us started talking with each other, while waiting in line.
Finally, it was our turn to order.
Pat looked at the bartender and said “Bourbon, neat please”.
Friend One said “Manhattan up, please.”
Friend Two looked at the bottles behind the bar and said “Makers Mark on the rocks please.”
All eyes turned to me. I have to admit, I panicked a bit. In front of these three septuagenarians, there was no way I was going to say in a wimpy voice “Yes, I’ll have a Gin and Tonic please.” Glancing about, I succumbed to self induced peer pressure, deepened my voice a bit and said “Yea, um, I’ll have a Makers Mark on the rocks, please.”
The bartender brought the drinks and I paid for all of us. We took our drinks and drifted over to a nearby open space to continue our conversation. When we arrived, Pat raised her glass, and said “Cheers!” We clinked, and as I raised the glass to my lips, I remember thinking, “God, Hall, what the hell were you thinking? I hope this isn’t as terrible as I remember.” And then something happened.
I took a sip, and…… what? I took a second sip. This was pretty tasty! I could learn to appreciate these! As our conversation ended a few minutes later, I wandered over by myself to contemplate why I suddenly enjoyed bourbon. As I was thinking, I ordered a second Makers Mark on the rocks. Much like the Grinch in How the Grinch Stole Christmas, “I puzzled and puzzled ’till my puzzler grew sore…”
Suddenly, it hit me. I had probably never disliked bourbon! What I disliked was Coke. The Coke brought tooooo much sweetness to the drink. Bourbon has an inherent sweetness to it. The additional sweetness of Coke (or Ginger ale) sends it over the top, or at least it does for me.
And that’s how I began to drink bourbon. Over the years since then, I’ve tried many types of bourbon. Usually with a bit of ice, although occasionally neat. Through my friend Wayne, I’ve had the opportunity to try, and gain an appreciation for, many different bourbons, whiskeys, and whiskies, to include the Holy Grail, Pappy Van Winkle. I’ve also migrated back to bourbon mixed drinks, although I stick with the classics – an Old Fashioned, a Manhattan, occasionally a Boulevardier, or if someone else is making them, a Mint Julep.
I just don’t let a Coke bottle anywhere near my drink.
Addendum:
• In 2005, the current Bourbon Craze hadn’t really started yet. Here in Virginia, there were always bourbon drinkers, particularly among people in the horse industry.
• As a side note, I’ve noticed my last three blogs have all been drinking related. Maybe it’s Covid, maybe it’s the time of year, or maybe it’s just that I enjoy a drink (or two). In any case, I’m going to try and take it one blog at a time and get off this kick.
Riding a bicycle with a keg of bier mounted on the front of the bike is harder than you might think. It becomes progressively more difficult if you are riding the bike in a parade, providing glasses of bier to people you pass, and also occasionally sampling the bier yourself.
In 1987, when our German friend, Berthold, asked me to march in the local Fasching Parade, I was honored. Fasching is the German version of Mardi Gras and is a big to-do, particularly in the Catholic regions of the country. We had attended numerous Fasching Parades and parties during our first tour in Germany, but I had never actually been a parade participant.
Here in the States, we celebrate Mardi Gras on Fat Tuesday, the day before Ash Wednesday and the start of Lent. In Germany, the Fasching parties always occurred on RosenMontag (Shrove Monday), two days before Ash Wednesday. During our first tour in Germany, I learned the wisdom of taking a vacation day on Shrove Tuesday. Let’s just say the Germans know how to party on RosenMontag, and I may have over-served myself on occasion.
In the spring of 1987, we had lived in Rheindürkheim for almost a year and a half. We’d started to integrate in the little village and had several local friends. One of those friends was Berthold, who later became our landlord.
Berthold had an idea for the upcoming Fasching Parade, and he asked me, and our mutual friend Michael (pronounced Mish-I-Ell in German) to join him. Rather than just dressing as clowns, marching in the parade and throwing candy or trinkets to the crowd, we would hand out something the crowd actually wanted – Bier. Michael and I looked at Berthold and we both started to smile.
The problem was how to haul the keg with us. We talked about using a wagon, or a hand truck, either of which would work. Berthold had something else in mind. We would mount the keg on a bicycle. The front of the bicycle. The overall effect of a clown riding a bike with a keg attached did seem to elevate the comedic effect we were looking for.
Berthold built a small wood platform we could mount on the front of the bike. It would keep the keg steady (well, steadier) as we rode.
The big day came, we mounted the platform to the bike, set the keg on the platform, and then tied the keg to the bike. More importantly, we tapped the keg. It was a local bier from Worms, called EichbaumPils (Oak Tree Pils). I have to say, it tasted pretty good that morning.
Berthold, explaining the finer points of balancing a keg of bier on a bicycle to me
It turned out the operation truly was a three-man job. One to ride the bike, one to help keep the bike and rider steady and upright, particularly when slowing or stopping, and one to pour and hand out the biers. We practiced a bit, and were ready for the big parade.
The “big parade” is perhaps, a bit of an overstatement. With about 1,000 people in Rheindürkheim, you were either in the parade, or lined up along the street watching. We walked the bike on some backstreets through town to where the parade started by the Catholic Church. When we arrived, there were floats from a Gasthaus or two, marching groups, a butcher shop on wheels, the local Fasching club, a band, assorted schools and civic organizations, people dressed as clowns… and us.
We were an immediate hit. Several people who were participating in the parade came to our bike for a glass of bier to go. The parade started, and off we went down the Main Street of town. Things were moving so slowly, we generally just pushed the bike, although we all got on the bike and did circles around a couple of the floats a time or two – purely in the interest of generating anticipation in the crowd. Of course, there were also those in the crowd who were generous, and traded shots of schnapps for one of our biers… 😉
The parade eventually came to an end. We hadn’t killed the keg, so the three of us each had one more bier. By then, I wasn’t feeling much pain. I took the route of prudence and went home for a nap. The Fasching Party that night was starting in only a few more hours and I needed to rest up.
Monday, February 15th is RosenMontag this year. While I have no plans to ride a bicycle with, or without, a keg, I will raise a toast to Berthold, Michael and our other friends in Rheindürkheim.
Interestingly, WordPress just informed me this is my 200th Blog. When I started this 5 years ago, I didn’t know how long I’d stay at it. I’m happy to say that I still enjoy the writing, and like the challenge of improving, so, will keep this going, at least for awhile.
Cocktails. There are a lot of choices. Today, let’s talk about just two – The Martini and The Manhattan. I know, I know. There are many others – some of my personal favorites include classics like the Old Fashioned, the Margarita, the Daiquiri, and the Negroni. And then of course there are other great drinks such as a Bloody Mary at brunch, a gin and tonic in the summer, or a Grapefruit Crush at a beach bar. But, let’s stay focused people – The Martini vs The Manhattan.
Where do you land in the drinking world? Light? Or Dark?
I suppose the Martini is the sexier of the two. Baltimore-born satirist H.L. Mencken called the Martini “the only American invention as perfect as the sonnet.” And we all know about James Bond and Martinis. Of course, what he mostly did was create controversy. Shaken vs Stirred. Gin vs Vodka. And then he tried to have it both ways in Casino Royale with the Vesper, which includes gin AND vodka. Make up your mind Mr. Bond.
No Martini discussion is complete without a controversy about how much vermouth. A little? A little less? Or maybe just wave the vermouth bottle over the glass? My favorite description of a very dry Martini is the one called “A Montgomery” which has a ratio of gin to vermouth of 15:1. It was named after WWII British Field Marshall Bernard Montgomery, who allegedly was so cautious in battle, he would not attack the Germans without a troop advantage of fifteen to one. Thank heavens people are more reasonable about vermouth now, and know it’s not a bad thing. Go ahead and add some. I think you’ll enjoy it. If you don’t use any vermouth, just remember you’re only drinking an iced glass of gin or vodka.
And finally, how do you garnish your Martini? A lemon twist? An olive? Make it dirty and add a little olive juice as well?
Let’s face it. The Martini is ALL about choices. If you want to have a fun argument with someone, just ask them how they make their Martini. Like fingerprints and snowflakes, it would appear no two people’s recipes are ever the same. As an example, my friends are all over the place on Martinis – vodka shaken, and up with a twist for one; vodka on the rocks with a smidgen of vermouth and two blue cheese stuffed olives for another; and gin, stirred and up, with olives galore for a third.
A Gin Martini, Up, with a Twist
By comparison, the Manhattan is a solid citizen with only a few choices. Use rye or bourbon, pick a red vermouth, and decide what kind of bitters you want to add. If you’re a purist, it’s rye and Angostura bitters, but you can live life on the wild side and go for bourbon instead of rye. As for bitters, we have a whole great big world out there now. Yes, Angostura bitters are great, but you can also go with Orange Bitters. If you live in the Virginia Piedmont, you might also visit the Whole Ox Butcher Shop*** in Marshall and pick up a bottle of Smoked Cherry Bitters from Artemisia**. Artmisia’s Bitters make a slightly different, and mighty tasty Manhattan as well. By the way, while at The Whole Ox, you should pick up a couple of steaks to grill, while enjoying your Manhattan.
The garnish? A Maraschino Cherry. Please don’t use the nuclear red ones. Buy the real deal. If you want to get adventurous, express an orange peel over the top of the drink. (At The Occidental in DC, the waiter will singe the orange peel with a lighter before expressing it over your drink).
A Manhattan, Up
One final choice, or controversy, for both the Martini and the Manhattan – Up, or on the Rocks? Personally, I like mine up, but many, including my wife Cathy, enjoy their’s on the rocks. Having said that, Cath’s a heathen about Martinis as far as I’m concerned. Not only does she have her Martini on the rocks, she also uses vodka instead of gin… ;-).
Which is better, a Martini, or a Manhattan? I suppose that’s a personal choice. Some go light, some go dark. Me? I go both ways. I don’t think there is any rhyme or reason to it, I just enjoy both. I started out several years ago with Martinis, but lately, it has mostly been Manhattans. I’m pretty sure it will change back soon enough. By the way, for me, it’s not seasonal, and usually, not dependent on what’s for dinner. It’s (mostly) a nightly decision around 6PM. Some evenings, I even surprise myself with my choice.
It’s now February and we’ve had some winter weather. People are bored and waiting for spring. Between winter and Covid, we are all surviving on comfort food. Maybe it’s time to add to your comfort, and do some cocktail sampling as well. Take your pick – Martini or Manhattan; Vodka or Gin; Rye or Bourbon; Shaken or Stirred; Rocks or Up; Olive or Lemon Twist. Try them out and make a choice… or two. Hell, I’m not here to judge.
Cheers!
Here are the recipes I use:
Martini
2 1/4 oz Gin (Beefeater or Gordons)
3/4 oz Dry (white) Vermouth – usually Martini and Rossi for me
A bit of olive juice (I like them only slightly dirty)
Olives for garnish
– Add the gin and vermouth to a shaker. Add a titch of olive juice. Add some ice, and shake for about 30 seconds.
– Strain into a chilled cocktail (coupe, Martini or Nick and Nora*) glass.
– Add an olive or three.
A couple of notes:
1. Yea, I know shaking breaks with tradition, but I like the little ice crystals shaking puts in the glass.
2. If you are retired and have the time, you can stuff your olives with blue cheese occasionally. It adds a nice salty flavor. (Another non traditional touch, but I love them).
3. I’m on something of a low dairy diet these days, so I often swap out the olive juice and blue cheese olives for a dash of orange bitters and a lemon peel expressed over the drink after you pour it into the cocktail glass. I still shake it. It’s an incredibly pure tasting drink.
4. It’s worth pointing out that my own taste in Martinis has evolved over the years. When I started out, I wanted them extremely dry (“Bartender, just look at the Vermouth bottle, and that will be enough”.) I migrated over time to about a 5:1, and have been at my current 3:1 ratio for a few years now.
Manhattan
2 oz Rye Whiskey – either Bulleit or Old Overholt
1 oz Sweet (red) Vermouth – I prefer Noilly Prat or Dolin
A Couple shakes of Bitters – depending on the night, Angostura, Orange, or Smoked Cherry
A Maraschino Cherry for garnish
– Add all liquid ingredients to a mixing glass.
– Add ice to the glass (more than you think you need).
– Stir the drink for about 30 seconds.
– Strain into a chilled cocktail ( coupe, Martini, or Nick and Nora*) glass.
– Garnish with the Maraschino Cherry.
A couple of notes:
1. Bitters are critical to the drink. The choice of bitters is up to you, but if you want a classic, use Angostura. If you are in a bar and they try to make you a Manhattan without bitters, just move on.
2. I know I already mentioned this in the text, but for the Maraschino Cherry, use the real deal if at all possible. They are about 500% better than the nuclear red ones you can buy at the supermarket. The originals are from Luxardo, but there are also other good brands online, such as Bada Bing, and Woodford Reserve.
Addendum:
• *Nick and Nora glasses are typically slightly rounded Martini glasses. They are named for the characters Nick and Nora Charles in the classic movie from 1934, “The Thin Man”, starring William Powell and Myrna Loy. The movie is a great comedy/drama, and I highly recommend it. A word of caution: Don’t try to keep up with Nick and Nora’s cocktail drinking throughout the movie – you’ll never make it. BTW – The movie is based on the noir novel by author Dashiell Hammett. You may know him as the author of The Maltese Falcon.
• **Artemisia is a local farm and vineyard not far from where we live in Virginia. Owned by Kelly Allen and Andrew Napier, they have established a local food CSA and are starting a vineyard. They are also making four different varieties of bitters, including the Smoked Cherry Bitters I mentioned here. I should mention they do ship, and also, demand is high. You can find more about them (and order their bitters) at this site: https://www.artemisia.farm/ .
• *** The Whole Ox is a wonderful local butcher shop in Marshall, VA. In addition to hand cut meats, and housemade sausages, they carry some hard to find cheeses, interesting wines and beers, and a few other items, like Artemisia Bitters. You can find more about them here: https://thewholeox.com/
About a month ago, I heard this Gulf War story from Christophe Ames. I’ve cleaned it up a bit, but that’s it. It is his story and history. The story is both a sad one, and one of heroics. More than anything, it’s a true story. Here is Christophe’s narrative…
Today is the 30th anniversary of what I now consider the first day of my true adult life. The time of innocence is only a memory now. A few days after the deaths, as we stood in formation in Hangar Bay 1, aboard the USS Saratoga CV-60 in our Dress Blues, there wasn’t a dry eye aboard. We stood at attention for the reading of the names of the fallen and laying of the wreaths in the water.
That’s when it finally hit me, exhaustion abated, adrenalin subsided, my brain allowed me to think instead of only reacting. Boyish ignorance was never again to be of solace to me at the realization I was not “invincible”. I thought time might dull my recall, but as I think of it today, the memory is clear as a bell.
Christophe Michael Ames
…It’s Zero dark hours on 22 December 1990, in the port at Haifa, Israel. It was my first deployment on the Saratoga during Desert Shield/Desert Storm. Airman Brent A. McCreight, Petty Officer Michael L. Bellevue, Petty Officer Mike Bray, and myself among others, had been further inland and were working our way down to the Israeli shoreline. Brent ALWAYS volunteered for the mission, but I had also asked Michael to go with us on that fateful night.
We were to rendezvous with three small egress boats piloted and crewed by Israeli Nationals. They were to take us out of the harbor, into open water and back to our ship. It was a moonless night, very cold, and the seas were rough.
The first boat filled and departed. As the second boat boarded, they only had two spots left and there were four of us from the unit. A debate ensued on who would stay. The third boat was delayed and had not yet arrived and none of us wanted to leave anyone behind. We knew the third boat could be canceled.
I spoke up and said “Brent and Mike have seniority so you guys go. Bray and I are best equipped to stay on shore in case Boat 3 doesn’t make it before dawn breaks.” At that, they boarded and departed.
After hunkering down under tarps and debris on the dock to protect us from the weather, the third boat finally arrived. We loaded the remaining sailors and departed. The seas just outside the breakwater were so rough, we actually caught up to the other two boats which were fighting to make it to the fantail aft of the carrier. Outside the harbor in the open waters, the current and waves picked up fiercely.
As Boat 1 was attempting to moor and off load people on the Saratoga, Boat 2 was in a tight holding orbit. As we approached, we were getting ready to start a wide orbit. It was pitch black and the Saratoga was at minimal lighting. All you could see of the small boats were the faint nav lights bobbing up and down in the waves.
Then it happened. The middle boat, Boat 2, went up on a wave and then just disappeared, gone in an instant. There was no warning, the lights were there one second and gone the next.
By the time we fought to get to the site of the capsizing, Boat 1 had turned around to assist, but Boat 2 was gone. It sunk so quickly, all hands aboard went under instantly. There wasn’t anything we could do except search and rescue. We were listening for survivors calls against the noise of the stirring seas and roaring wind. We didn’t know it yet, but many of the sailors went to the bottom with the boat.
There was nothing normal about what was happening. They weren’t even our boats. They were Israeli boats and crews who were familiar with the seas. Hardly any of us was wearing life jackets, let alone our normal issued life vests with chem lights.
We pulled survivors and bodies from the water. MAA3 (MAA is a Navy Military Police designation) Delwin Delggado jumped from the top deck of the boat into the cold dark waters for his shipmates. He selflessly saved seven people before succumbing to the icy waters, making the ultimate sacrifice.
Bray and I pulled aboard survivors and even performed CPR on one, until we hit bingo fuel (no fuel) in our boat and had to head back. I never saw Brent or Michael alive again.
The next few hours turned into days. I was the first one offloaded while I was giving CPR to a shipmate. I’ll never forget the person who grabbed us both, hauling us aboard. As the boat pitched and rolled in the 3-5ft swells, the fantail seemed as steady as a pier. The man who hauled me out was the EOD Diver, who also ran the hangar bay calisthenics.
He looked like the SEAL Senior Chief from the movie “GI Jane” played by Viggo Mortensen. I immediately recognized him because I’d attended most of his workouts. He hadn’t really ever invited us non-divers, I’d just show up every day, form up in the back and then try not to puke. Over time, I recruited a couple of other non-divers to come with me. After awhile, there were a bunch of us and the good natured ribbing began. We brought towels to lay on the deck because the divers didn’t share exercise mats. He’d see us coming and say, “Here come the Airedales & they brought their towels, because if they came close enough to the water they will dissolve… Bunch of sugar britches.” When we formed up with them, he’d look at me and say, “HI SUGARCUBE keep up the pace & try to stay dry.”
… That night he was half in his dry suit and a kapok (a kapok is a rudimentary military life vest), strapped to the fantail landing. He was perfectly timing his pulls, as he yanked guys off the small boats while they pitched and rolled. We picked up my fallen shipmate and put him over my shoulder, as I leaned over the side of the wildly moving boat. The Sr Chief and some medics hauled the two of us aboard. The medics grabbed the guy and took him to the Medical Bay. I’m not sure who he was, and I never knew if he made it.
I didn’t follow them. I turned and looked at Senior Chief and he said “Strap in SUGARCUBE and lend a hand” as he commenced to putting safety straps around me. A Boatswains Mate manning the boat lines threw me a Kapok. I suddenly realized the medics that had helped me off were now away and attending to my injured shipmate. Senior Chief was the only one left and needed help getting other sailors onboard. We unloaded the rest of Boat 3 and then Boat 1. The last living sailor was finally hauled aboard. 21 sailors, friends, and brothers in arms were lost that night.
I heard a soft, purposeful, immediately recognizable voice behind us say, “OK Senior Chief you can get ready to go get my boys.” Senior Chief replied “Yes sir” and mumbled, not so quietly under his breath, “It’s about time.” I turned and saw Captain Mobley, who had been close behind us the whole time. Later the OOD would say the Captain was at the Bridge moments after the man overboard alarm was sounded and then immediately went to the fantail once he heard the boats were coming in.
It came out later that the Captain had to stop Senior Chief and his SAR swimmers from just jumping in the drink as soon as they heard the “man over board” alarm. Until they knew what had happened and exactly where, going in dark with no specific direction and under a possible threat would have been disastrous. They would have most likely just added to the victims list. If that happened, no one would be left to go in after the SAR Swimmers or anyone else. The Captain made the right call, the hard call.
After our two boats were unloaded, they suspended boat operations to evaluate what happened. I went up, changed to dry clothes and headed back to the fan tail. That’s when I saw Brent one last time in the Hangar Bay. I positively identified his body and made a silent promise to NEVER forget him and to make sure EVERYONE else got back aboard. I said my goodbye and headed Aft.
Dawn broke and I arrived at the fantail which, at this point, was roped off and secured except for the small quarter deck entrance to the fantail ladder. I beelined straight there. Right as an MAA was motioning to stop me, I looked past him and said in a loud voice “Captain Mobley.” I looked at the MAA and said, “Excuse me” and walked right past him and up to the CO who was talking to the XO, and Admiral Boorda. I looked at all of them, and then right past them. Never stopping, I said with a nod for each, “Sir, Sir, Sir.” I proceeded past them and down the ladder to the landing.
I suited up and strapped in as if I’d been ordered to a duty station for the impending arrival of the first retrievals of the day. No one asked any questions. There wasn’t anyone from the earlier crew, because Senior Chief was now coordinating diving operations. They were retrieving our shipmate’s bodies still trapped in the sunken boat more than one hundred feet below.
I didn’t leave the fan tail for almost two days.
I ate brown bags in between boats unloading. Senior Chief and his crew retrieved all but one of our shipmates. We pulled every sailor’s body off those pitching and rolling boats until everyone was back aboard. Senior Chief and I saw each other a couple of times that day during his required out of water time between dives. He came over and checked on me, and made sure I had food and people to help for the remainder of the time…
…The next time I saw Senior Chief was a few weeks later before a work out. He didn’t raz me as usual. He read my name tape and from then on, he only called me “Ames.” Everyone else was teased except me. He actually asked me to lead some of the workouts when he was not available. We exchanged brief pleasantries, but never spoke of that night.
The last time I saw him was a year later when I was promoted to Petty Officer and he said, “Hey Ames, I see you got your crow. It just proves even a blind squirrel gets a nut every now and again.” He was the last to “tack” it on, he grabbed my arm, raised it up high…and then hit me in the stomach! He said, “Divers hit DEEPER.” Not being a diver, I didn’t realize at the time the honor he bestowed upon me.
That night we lost 21 Sailors and Brothers in Arms. A part of me never left that Fantail, that Harbor, that Hangar Bay. A large part of me was forged on the Saratoga, especially that night. I think of my shipmates often and have survivor guilt to this day. I was the one who had asked Mike to go. What if I hadn’t? What if I had picked someone else? What if I went on Boat 2, or Bray had? Would I have somehow survived, would he have, or would I have succumbed to the same fate as my friends? What if…What if…but I digress…
Mike and Brent – Rest In Peace
I had the opportunity to meet Brents family the summer of ‘15 at his Memorial. It was deeply meaningful for all of us and helped me immensely. This year, thirty years after the event, is just as vivid and memorable. The bite is just as deep, although now a little less sharp.
I’m keeping my promise from more than a quarter of a century ago. My shipmates, you are NOT forgotten. You fulfilled your duty, and we have the watch now. Fair Winds and Following Seas My Friends, My Shipmates, My Brothers. “Until we meet again in Valhalla, in the house not built with hands, but eternal in the heavens.”
USS Saratoga CV-60 Desert Shield/Desert Storm Memorial
_____________
A list of those fine young men who gave their Last Full Measure that night:
BELLIVEAU, Michael L., 24 years old, Lakewood, Colo.
BROWN, Christopher B., 19, Leslie, Ga.
BROWN, Darrell K., 19, Memphis, Tenn.
CARRINGTON, Monray C., 22, North Braddock, Pa.
CLARK, Larry M., 21, Decatur, Ga.
DELGADO, Delwin, 26, Jacksonville, Fla.
FLEMING, Anthony J, 25, Buffalo, NY
FONTAINE, Gilbert, 22, Spring Valley, N.Y.
HUYGHUE, Wilton L., 20, St. Thomas, Virgin Islands.
25,000 plus National Guard troops will be in our Nation’s Capitol on January 20th, Inauguration Day. This doesn’t include the National Guard troops deployed across our country at state capitols on the same day. All of this is to prevent the violence and insurrection threatened by right wing extremists.
The Insurrectionists of January 6th, might have a harder time on January 20th
People have noted the size of the contingent in our Nation’s Capitol is larger than the combined number of troops we currently have deployed in Afghanistan and Iraq (5,000 as of January 15th, 2021).
For me, there is another number that puts this deployment in perspective – The Battle of Yorktown in 1781. It was, in essence, the final battle of the American Revolution, resulting in American Independence. With a combined American/French force of approximately 18,000, General George Washington defeated the 8,000 troops under Lord Cornwallis in October of 1781.
The surrender at Yorktown, after seven years of war
Think about it. In the battle that determined American Independence, there were approximately 26,000 troops between the two sides together. America is now deploying nearly that number itself, to guarantee extremist rabble doesn’t act out it’s fantasies.
The cost to defend and ensure American democracy is never cheap. It was not in 1781, and it is not 240 years later in 2021. That we need 25,000 troops, not to mention untold numbers of law enforcement personnel, to ensure a peaceful transition of power in this country is both sad and appalling.
What is equally as sad, is that no one expects anything to change for the foreseeable future. Whither next America?
As a footnote to history, it’s worth noting that after the Battle of Yorktown, Cornwallis refused to attend the surrender ceremony, saying he was ill. Instead, his deputy, Brigadier General Charles O’Hara, led the British Army on the field that day. The official treaty between Britain and America would not be signed for another two years.
The Loser, in more ways than one, Cornwallis
Addendum:
• Thanks to my friends Tim Stouffer and Mark Dunavan for our discussions on this topic. Tim, who knows more about history than anyone I personally know, first made the comparison to Yorktown in our discussions and helped me flush out this blog.
• The official treaty between Britain and America, “The Treaty of Paris” was signed on September 3rd, 1783.
• Our Constitution was not ratified until June 21st, 1788.
Live Life Exuberantly 