On a beautiful sunny day, sixteen of us attended the funeral of our brother, Eric Franks. The service was perhaps, more poignant, as it was the Friday before Memorial Day. It’s always bittersweet when members of the West Point Proud and Great class of ‘78 gather and say goodbye to a classmate.
At our 45th class reunion last fall, we held a memorial service for the 82 classmates who have passed away. This year, since January, at least ten additional classmates have died. The rate of our passing seems to have increased, but I suppose we are at that age. The youngest of us is 67. The oldest, maybe 71.
For those who pass away, a contingent of classmates typically attends the funeral services. Depending on when and where it is, there might be only one or two of us able to make it, or as at Eric’s, as many as 16 or more. It’s not only a last chance to honor a brother, but also an opportunity to spend time with each other and catch up in person. The sands drop through the hourglass more quickly these days and I think we all know it. Bittersweet indeed.
And so it was with Eric. Over the years, Cath and I saw Eric and his wife Robin at various reunions, or mini-reunions. The past few years, we also met them, along with our classmate Gus Hellzen and his wife Janice for an occasional beer or lunch on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. All three couples were married over 45 years ago in the weeks after our June, 1978 graduation. Our wives also made the journey through West Point and the Army.
B-3 Company-Mates and Wives at a Class Mini Reunion in 2022: Hellzens, Wells, Franks, Halls and Powells.
At the service, most classmates in attendance were from the MidAtlantic region, but some flew in from Alabama and Florida among other places. Classmate Brad Andrews, a close friend of Eric’s was one of two speakers giving a eulogy. He told stories of Eric from our cadet days and his time in the Army, including Panama. He talked about Eric becoming a renowned and pioneering Orthopedic Surgeon and the impact he had both on his patients and on other doctors. He also spoke of Eric having cancer and how it didn’t slow him down, even at the end of his life. At the end of his talk, he called the attending West Point graduates to attention and we rendered a final hand salute to Eric.
After the service, we gathered outside the church and a group photo was taken, something that has become a tradition at funerals, but also other times when some of us gather together to celebrate life and each other. The photos are usually posted to our class Facebook Page, or our email server. “Yes,” we seem to say, “we are still alive, celebrating our brother, each other and The Long Grey Line. Grip Hands.” At funerals in particular, the phrase “Grip Hands”, from the song The Corps* is more real and more important.
Class of 1978 at Dr. Eric Franks funeral in Salisbury, MD. L-R: Charlie Bartolotta, Max Hall, Bond Wells, Bob Rush, Craig College, Kevin MacCaffery, Kevin Beam, Bob Maszarose, Charlie Dixon, Adolf Ernst, Brad Andrews, Jack Paul, Hank Gillen, Chris Maxfield, Gus Hellzen & Jim Galloway.
Most of us eventually made our way to Robin and Eric’s home for lunch and libation. It was a lively time, with more laughter than tears as far as I could tell. We met with family and friends of Eric from throughout his life. At one point, Gus poured small glasses of WhistlePig** for all who wished to join us in a toast – “To Eric – Grip hands and be thou at peace. Proud & Great ‘78! Here’s to Eric.” And then, echoing from our formal events in the military (in an Army that was still mostly male in our early days), his second toast, “To the ladies!”
Eventually Cath and I said our goodbyes and left for the drive home. Along the way, we talked of the day and what a fine tribute to Eric it was.
During the drive, I also thought of some of the words Brad used in his eulogy for Eric. He quoted Samual Johnson, saying “To my question, as to whether we might fortify our minds for the approach of death, he answered in a passion, ‘No, Sir, let it alone. It matters not how a man dies, but how he lives. The act of dying is not of importance, it lasts so short a time.’ “
Our hearts are with Robin, their children Erica and Ricky, and with their families. Here’s to you Eric – You led a life worth living. Be Thou at Peace.
Eric and Robin
Addendum:
Here are the words to “The Corps”:
WhistlePig Rye Whiskey holds a special place with our class. If you want to learn why, you can read more here – We were on a mission to the WhistlePig Distillery in Vermont. Twelve classmates gathered to taste whiskey from five barrels. We would select two for the West Point Proud and Great, Class of ‘78 45th reunion this coming fall. We didn’t want to let our classmates down […] Continue here: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2023/05/09/__trashed-2/
Thanks to Gus Hellzen for the photo of Eric and Robin at the start of this blog. Thanks to Cathy for the photo of classmates at Eric’s service.
On May 1st of this year, The United Methodist Church voted overwhelmingly to accept LGBTQ clergy and allow ministers to perform LGBTQ weddings. It was a good day for my church and for all of us. Raised as a Methodist, I’m happy to see the church finally take this next step, although it hasn’t been an easy path getting to this point.
I grew up a Methodist. I was baptized in the church as a baby, confirmed in my youth, and received my Boy Scout God and Country award after working with our minister, Reverened Hearn, for nearly a year. I belonged to the Methodist Youth Fellowship (MYF) both in Junior High and High School. When mom passed away in 2017, her service was held at the same church I grew up in and where she and my dad were married in 1951. I believe our church was a part of my foundation, helping me grow into the person I’ve become.
Photo of my Methodist Church Confirmation Class in the ‘60s
John Wesley founded the Methodist Church in the mid 1700s and over time, it grew to become the second largest Protestant denomination in the United States. The church has focused on social issues from the beginning, including the abolition of slavery. The Methodist Church also promoted the idea of women pastors, who were officially recognized in 1956, earlier than most other churches.
Although the Methodist Church had openly gay members and ministers for quite some time, in 2019, delegates from around the world voted 438 to 384 passing what was called the “Traditional Plan”, which tightened the church’s existing ban on same-sex marriage and gay and lesbian clergy. Many of those that voted to tighten the ban were from overseas churches, particularly in Africa, and from conservative churches here in the southern United States. However, the writing was on the wall, and it was inevitable that change would come. As a result, in 2019 churches were also given a four-year window to choose to leave over “reasons of conscience” if they desired, and still keep their church property.
In the intervening four years, nearly a quarter of the nation’s roughly 30,000 United Methodist churches departed by the December ‘23 deadline. In Texas, more than forty percent of the churches left.
I prefer looking at the statistics another way. Three-quarters of the churches elected to stay and embrace love, and the future. The tally Wednesday to remove the 40-year-old ban on the ordination of “self-avowed practicing homosexuals” was 692 to 51. Embrace the future, indeed.
Sign Outside my Old Church Back Home. **
“We’ve always been a big-tent church where all of God’s beloved were fully welcome,” said Bishop Tracy Smith Malone, the new president of the Council of Bishops. She called the vote “a celebration of God breaking down walls.” *
After the votes, some attendees gathered in a circle to sing a Methodist song that has become a refrain for many LGBTQ Christians. “Draw the circle wide, draw it wider still. Let this be our song: No one stands alone.” *
I spoke with a friend, Bob, who I grew up with. Bob still lives back home and goes to our old church there. He told me that at last week’s service, as communion was offered, the minister made an extra point of saying everyone is welcome to take communion. Everyone.
Yes, I grew up a Methodist. I’m proud of what the Church did this month. God’s love is alive and with all of us. Let this be our song – no one stands alone.
++Feel free to share this blog.++
Addendum:
Thanks to my friend Bob, back in Ottawa for reviewing this blog and providing some input. We had some texts back and forth on what was going on in the Methodist Church in general, and more specifically in my old church there. Bob is a true person of faith and I respect him, and his opinions.
* These two paragraphs were modified from a New York Times article on the recent vote.
** Photo is from 1st United Methodist Church of Ottawa, Il Facebook page.
Dear God, I ask that you guide me, so I do not become a bitter old man. There are so many of them these days. Angry at women, angry at youth, angry at our country, angry at you. Their’s is a seemingly endless list. Often, they appear angry at everything except themselves. Do not let me become that person.
God, I know in our youth, we laughed at angry old men. We didn’t see us becoming them, and yet so many have. They look back with fondness to the “good old days”. I look back, and I’m not sure I see the good times they long for. Which years are they talking about? The depression in the ‘30s? The 400,000 American Soldiers or 75 million who died during WWII? The Korean War, threat of nuclear escalation and racial segregation of the ‘50s? Vietnam along with the racial and civil strife during the ‘60s and ‘70s? The market crashes in ‘87, 2000, ‘07 and 2020? September 11th, 2001? Our recent decades of war in Iraq and Afghanistan?
Lord, I know the world isn’t perfect. We all have problems in our lives. I have problems in my life. Still, I try to see the passing beauty and goodness of each and every day. Why do others choose not to see this? A sunrise or sunset … Flowers … A flock of birds passing overhead … A playful pet … The sounds of nature … The crack of a bat at a baseball game …. There are so many things to be thankful for.
Instead, their hatred, frustration and self-censorship consume their minds, allowing no other sights or sounds to enter. Indeed, my own voice must sound like a clanging bell or siren to them, not penetrating their consciousness, only infuriating them all the more.
God, why do we now have a nation of Howard Beales*, old men who are mad as hell, and aren’t going to take it anymore? Are they not aware Howard was not only “mad as hell”, but also just plain mad? It was network TV for Howard. For the madmen of today, we see it not only on TV, but in their Facebook posts, tweets, messages and email exchanges with those of us who were their friends.
Thank you for listening Lord. I know you are busy. Please help and guide me. Allow me to keep balance in my life. Maybe you could also shine a little light for others as well. Help them also regain some balance. As I learned from the Cadet Prayer years ago, “Kindle our hearts in fellowship with those of a cheerful countenance, and soften our hearts with sympathy for those who sorrow and suffer.”
I ask this in your name,
Amen.
Addendum:
* For those of you who don’t recall Howard Beale, here’ a link to the key scene in the movie, “Network”, which was released in 1976 (according to at least some people, part of the good old days). Mad Mr Beale takes to the air waves and, well you can see for yourself here if you’ve forgotten the scene https://youtu.be/GFzlm9wQ4MI
The photo at the top of the blog is from “Praying Hands”, a pen-and-ink drawing by the German painter and theorist Albrecht Dürer. Completed in 1508, Wikipedia says it is “the most widely reproduced depiction of prayer in the Western World”.
My walking companion for the past nine years is sidelined. Carmen needed surgery last week to repair a ruptured ligament in her left rear leg. We went down this road with a previous dog, Holly, and are familiar with the journey. It doesn’t make it any less distressing for the three of us.
Carmen in Happier Times.
Yep, nine years of walking together came to an end about ten days ago. Our neighbors haven’t done a good job of managing their dog Kylie and keeping him under control*. I actually like Kylie. He’s a Golden Retriever and friendly enough. The problem is, after two years they still don’t keep Kylie at home. They “think” they do; the reality is something else and Kylie wanders. Ten days ago, we found him in our yard again playing roughly with Carmen and jumping on her. It wasn’t done meanly, but he outweighs her by 25 pounds. I sent him home, and then noticed Carmen limping. That night the limp worsened and the next morning, she wouldn’t put weight on the leg. That’s when we went to the vet.
Evaluations, tests, X-rays … the results came back. She needed surgery for a torn ligament in her leg. We were lucky there was a cancellation for another patient and scheduled her surgery for the following Wednesday.
X-ray of Camen’s Knee, and an Explanation of the Surgery.
The first morning after the doctor’s initial evaluation was a challenge. I took her outside on a leash to do her business. She gave me a look as I put on the leash – “Well, this is strange.” As she did a three-legged hop down the driveway, she became visibly upset and stopped in her tracks when I diverted her onto the grass to potty. “What?! What are you doing?! We ALWAYS walk to the barn in the morning!” I had no way of explaining this was for her own good and I was just looking out for her. After she finished, I carried her back towards the house, before putting her on the ground. She dutifully hopped into the house on her three good legs.
She’s a good dog, and a brave dog. I hated seeing her hop around as a tripod before the surgery. There were no complaints. Just the sad look in her eyes when I left the house without her to go for a walk, or to clean the horse stalls. I knew she’d happily try to three-leg-hop for two miles with me if I let her. She doesn’t understand, of course.
Wednesday came and the surgery went well. She had a procedure called a TPLO**. Our surgeon, DR Nicholson let us know, “Carmen did great!” Bringing her home, the first day was tough for all three of us. Carmen was out of it and mostly slept. We were able to get her to drink a little water and take her pain pills with a little peanut butter, but that was it. She didn’t want to stir and we didn’t force it. Finally, it was time for bed. She was sleeping so soundly, we didn’t take her out.
Knocked Out the First Night.
I slept on the couch that night, and her bed was nearby. Around 3AM I woke and sensed something. I looked to my right and Carmen was sitting up, looking at me. After putting her leash on, I carried her outside and gently put her down. She tripodded a bit and then urinated. She hopped a dozen steps or so, and then poo’d as well. I carried her back inside, gave her a treat and some more water and we shared a look. That’s when I knew she was going to be OK.
We both slept in the next morning. After feeding the horses, I returned and a while later, Carmen stirred. Cath and I both greeted her and she gave us a small tail wag. A brief walk outside to do her business, then some water, a little food, and more pills.
Later, we looked at each other again. It was time to start rehab and so we did. She tripodded out for another pee, and then we did our first Physical Therapy (PT) session – a five minute walk. Two more PT sessions followed that day. Also, we now had to occasionally use an Elizabethan Collar*** to keep her from licking her stitches.
Carmen in Her Elizabethan Collar.
She slept through the next night and in the morning, we walked to the barn. Well, I walked and she hopped. She was happy back at the barn and sniffed around. We fed the horses and returned to the house. Our first PT session of the 2nd day was complete.
Doing PT.
Time passed and by day three post-surgery, she was more normal and more alert. PT continued and she put more weight on her leg. It was a warm February day, and what she really wanted was a chance to lay in the sun like the old days, pre-injury. We both spent some time soaking up rays.
Sometimes, a Little Warm Sunshine Helps as Much as PT
Over the next several days, Cath and I both spent time exercising Carmen. We do our three sessions a day religiously and you can see her improving. She is using the injured leg more as she walks. As a patient, her attitude is great. We should all be so enthusiastic when we need to do PT after injuries or surgery.
And so it begins. The first week is in the books. We have goals and checkpoints along the way – the three-week mark; the 6-8 week time period; three months… With hard work, good luck and God’s grace, Carmen will be “normal” in five to six months.
Right now, we’re taking it one day at a time.
Addendum:
* After the first vet visit, I had a not particularly pleasant conversation with Kylie’s owner. He was “surprised” Kylie was still coming to our place and was sorry (I called bullshit – Kylie is at our place at least once a week and visits other neighbors as well). I told him he needed to control Kylie – A fence, an underground fence, or only letting Kylie out when he was with him. If I saw Kylie on our property again, we would have an issue. He agreed. Of course, Kylie was on our property again two days later. I let the owner know if I saw Kylie again, I would call animal control. He assured me they are putting in a fence and for now, Kylie wouldn’t be outside unless tied up. We’ll see. I don’t hate Kylie or hold him responsible. I do put blame on his owners. It’s never good when your dog needs to go through surgery. It’s a bit sad when it was avoidable. Too little too late, as they say. Maybe I should have been an ass about Kylie earlier.
** TPLO Surgery – You can’t really repair a dog’s ligaments. Instead, they now do something called Tibial Plateau Leveling Osteotomy (TPLO) surgery, a major advancement in the treatment of ligament rupture. “This surgery changes the angle and relationship between the thigh bone (femur) and the shin bone (tibia). The overall intent of the surgery is to reduce the amount the tibia shifts forward during a stride. This is accomplished by making a semicircular cut through the top of the tibia, rotating the top of the tibia, and using a bone plate to allow the tibia to heal. This realignment of the surfaces within the knee (stifle) helps to provide stability during a stride and helps to reduce future joint inflammation and osteoarthritis. By carefully adjusting the angle or slope of the top of the tibia, surgeons can create a more normal configuration of the knee joint and reduce mechanical stress.” You can learn more here: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tibial-plateau-leveling_osteotomy
*** I like “Elizabethan Collar” or E-Collar so much better than “Cone of Shame”. No need to make fun of them when they are vulnerable.
The last time I saw Tim, I was back in Ottawa for my Brother-in-Law Jack’s funeral. I didn’t know it would be the last time, although I suspected it might. Mark, Howard and I were invited to Tim and Renee’s home for a lunch of Mooseburgers, with Tim serving as grill master.
Cath and I had visited Tim and Renee a few weeks before, while in Ottawa for my 50th high school reunion. After flying into Chicago, we stopped by and spent a few hours at their place in St Charles. It was good to catch up. They were supposed to make the reunion as well, but couldn’t. At the time, Tim was a 4+ year pancreatic cancer survivor, but things were going downhill the last couple of months prior to the reunion.
When Jack died of brain cancer a couple of weeks later, I returned for his services and to see my sister Roberta. I called Tim and Renee to see if we might get together, and I think Tim came up with the idea of the group lunch. Old buddies, Mark and Howard were invited and both quickly said yes. The five of us met on the 14th of October.
Tim, Howard and I have known each other since before kindergarten. Mark came on the scene around 5th grade and we have all been buddies ever since. As to Renee, Tim and Renee met through Cath and I in the early ‘90s. What started as friendship turned into love, and they married.
Tim and Renee’s Wedding.
The lunch was a good time. Renee made some wonderful appetizers and our conversations were wide-ranging. Yes, we talked about Tim’s cancer, but we also talked about the Bears and the White Sox, and as is inevitable when together, retold stories from our youth and good times together over the years.
After a while, Tim shuffled out to the grill and cooked the Mooseburgers. They’d brought the ground moose back last summer from their annual vacation to their place in Maine. I believe a cousin shot the moose and gave them some of the burger. Renee let us know that although he was weaker, Tim insisted on cooking. The burgers were great, and cooked perfectly. There was more talk and Tim, his voice somewhat raspy, eventually grew tired. It was time to go. We hugged Renee, fist-bumped Tim and said our goodbyes and “I love you’s”. Mark drove north to Wisconsin, while Howard and I headed south. It was the last time all of us were together.
Mooseburgers
Tim and I continued to text almost daily after that. The last one from him was on November 8th, when he congratulated me on the Virginia election results. After that, the link went silent. Cath and I stayed in contact with Renee and others, and knew Tim’s condition was worsening. Late on the night of December 4th, Renee called and let us know Tim passed away. After talking a while longer, I sent our love her way and hung up the phone. I silently cried dry tears.
I’ve known Tim for about 65 of my 68 years. Tim…June…Junebug… There are so many stories. Although I know there are groans in some quarters when we re-tell them for the 1,000th time, they still bring a smile to my face. In my mind, rather than a film, I see thousands of snapshots of our times together. The number of actual photos is more limited. Unlike now, back in the day we didn’t have the technology, or the desire, to capture everything going on. I think our lives are a little richer for that.
The “snapshots” of those times blur together. Some of the memories are blurry as well, while others are crystal clear. They span two continents, several states and seven decades.
I can turn the kaleidoscope of those decades in my mind and several pictures emerge – earning my God And Country Scout award in ‘68 with Tim and Howard; Tim, Howard and Mark serving as groomsmen for Cathy’s and my wedding in ‘78; multiple visits by Tim and Howard to our home in Germany in the ‘80s; introducing Tim and Renee in the ‘90s and then they married; ski trips to West Virginia in the ‘90s and 2000s with Tim never leaving the cabin; wonderful Bordeaux Dinners at Tim and Renee’s home near Chicago in the 201Xs; all four couples together at Camp Kishauwa in ‘22.
Tim, Howard and I Receiving our God and Country Awards.
I turn the kaleidoscope a second time and different pictures emerge – in the 60s, Tim and I in Boy Scouts sharing a tent at Camp Kishauwa; the Ottawa Gluttons eating team at OHS in ‘73; shipping a keg of bier from Germany to Tim in Chicago in ‘86; visiting Tim and Howard at their iconic Chicago apartment on numerous occasions in the ‘90s; New Year’s Eve dinners at the farm with Tim and Renee in ‘99 and the 2000s; Cath and I visiting Tim and Renee’s beloved Maine for a vacation; endlessly talking and texting about politics and history during Covid.
At Howard and Tim’s Apartment in Chicago in the Early ‘90s.
I rotate the kaleidoscope again and more memories race through my mind – Mrs Finkeldye’s first grade class; drinking biers at the Butler’s House in our high school years; church youth fellowship; Tim saving me from the MPs in Germany; Tim sleeping on the couch with our dog, Top; Tim and Renee with Cath and I skinny dipping in Lost River; Tim and Renee at the Hash; Tim, Howard, Mark and I decades ago on a New Year’s Eve at 3AM in a picture forever frozen in time – all of us young, with our whole lives in front of us…
New Year’s Eve 1978.
There were no photos taken of us at the Mooseburger lunch. We didn’t need or want any. What I’ll remember is the fellowship and love of old friends spending a few hours together. I’ll always remember that lunch. Always. The memory of it will spark a kaleidoscope of images – an endless stream of snapshots in an infinite number of combinations.
In the ‘80s when we lived in Germany, several family members and friends visited us. To “help” them overcome jet lag, we made sure the first couple of days were action packed with eating, drinking and activities to keep them occupied. It almost proved one friend’s undoing in 1987 […] Continue here: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2023/09/12/tim-and-bobbys-visit/
The night wasn’t supposed to happen. As a matter of fact, in today’s post 9-11 world, it couldn’t happen. They never would have made it through security. But in 1991? Yea, my buddies Howard and June sprung me from O’Hare Airport during a layover, and we had an unexpected night in Chicago. It was July 2nd, 1991 and I’d been in Omaha, Nebraska running tests on the President’s “other plane” for […] Continue at: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2021/06/30/an-accidental-night-in-chicago/
This slightly blurry photo from New Years Eve, 1978 captures Mark, Howard, Tim and me. We are, perhaps, slightly inebriated. Our youth has passed, and our adult lives stretch in front of us. Looking at the picture now, 42 years later, I think about our friendship and the transience of […] Continue at: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2020/12/27/old-friends-dunny-howard-june-and-ben/
Every once in a while, something happens, or somebody does something that makes the idea of “The Long Gray Line” real to us West Point graduates. Sometimes it’s an event affecting the world. Sometimes it’s a death. Sometimes it’s only something small. One of those small things happened at our recent 45th class reunion.
A month or so ago, we had our West Point 45th reunion*. It was a wonderful long-weekend seeing the Academy and more importantly, catching up with classmates. A few days after the reunion some of my classmates were exchanging stories online, when one of them asked if anyone else noticed during the parade honoring our class, one cadet staff element maintained “Eyes Right” as they passed our entire class.
A side note for those who have not served in the military. Everyone knows what a salute is, from one soldier to a more senior officer, or soldiers saluting the flag as it passes, or is raised or lowered. When there is a parade in the military, as a unit marches past the reviewing stand while carrying their weapons, it’s impractical/impossible for the unit to salute, or present arms to the reviewing party. Instead, the commander calls out the command, “EYES…RIGHT!”, and the entire unit, except for the file of troops on the right side of the unit, turns their head at a 45 degree angle and looks at (salutes/honors) the reviewing party as they march past (the right-hand file of troops continues to look straight ahead, ensuring the unit remains on the line of march). Once the entire unit is past the reviewing party, the command “READY…FRONT!” is given and the soldiers snap their heads back to the front. This is a form of saluting (honoring) the reviewing party while on the march.
Back to the story…
During our reunion, a Saturday morning parade was held in our honor. There were about 300 or so of us who dutifully lined up to the right of the reviewing party, which consisted of the Academy Superintendent, his Command Sergeant Major, the Commander of the 7th Infantry Division, and his Command Sergeant Major. Two of the four Cadet Regiments (eighteen companies total) took part in the review. After Ruffles and Flourishes and the Star Spangled Banner played, the command “PASS…IN REVIEW!” was given and Corp of Cadets began their march past the reviewing party and then our class.
Proud and Great ‘78, Lined up for the Parade Review
By happenstance, I was near the front and left side of our class line, fairly close to where the reviewing party was. We could hear the various staff elements and companies give the command EYES RIGHT as they arrived in front of the reviewing party. Then, after the staff element or company passed completely by the reviewing party, the subsequent READY FRONT command was given. Coincidentally, the READY FRONT command was given just before or after where I was standing, depending on the timing of each commander.
My buddies, Steve, Jay, Gus and I all noticed they were doing EYES RIGHT only for the reviewing party. Someone may have even joked about us not being salute worthy, but someone else pointed out it would be pretty tough, and almost impractical to carry an EYES RIGHT for the entire length of our class, spread out over perhaps forty or fifty yards.
Cadets Passing By Us, Already at the READY FRONT
Eventually the parade ended and after pictures, we headed off for lunch and the football game, and no one thought anymore about the parade.
Well, almost no one.
Joe Mislinski and a few other classmates who were at the end of our class in the reviewing line noticed one staff element held their EYES RIGHT the entire time. It was only after they passed the last member of our class that the commander gave the READY FRONT command. Joe was intrigued and got to work trying to find out who this particular commander was.
One Staff Element Held Their Salute Until They Passed our Entire Class
Another one of our classmates, Bob Greenwalt, videoed the entire parade. Joe watched the video and eventually was able to determine the staff element who retained their salute was the commander and staff of the 2nd Battalion, 2nd Regiment. Through a chain of several cadets Joe knows, he was able to track down the 2nd Battalion Commander. It turns out, he was out that day and the cadet in charge for the parade was Cadet Lieutenant Paul Conroy, class of ‘24. Joe wrote him an email asking if he indeed was the commander for the parade that day and if so, thanked him – “I’m sure you thought it was a small thing to do, to honor us in that way, but it really meant a lot. Thank you, it really warmed our hearts. Grip Hands!”
Cadet Lieutenant Conroy and the 2nd Bn, 2nd Reg Staff holding Their Salute
A bit later, the reply came back from Cadet Conroy – “As the stand-in for the commander, I was responsible for giving the commands “Eyes Right” for my staff to salute and “Ready, Front” for them to drop it. I admit my gesture was not premeditated; it just did not seem right to order my staff to drop their salutes until we had passed all the officers, current or retired, who had served our Army. I waited to call “Ready, Front” until myself and my staff had passed the class line. I could not look behind me, but I assume my entire staff held their salutes as well.”
Cadet Conroy’s Reply
After another exchange or two, Joe and Cadet Conroy arranged to link up in person at the upcoming Army Navy Game. Unknown to Cadet Conroy, Joe had a small gift for him and the Battalion staff.
Finally, it was the day of the Army Navy game. If you ever get the chance to go to one, I urge you to do so – it’s a day of pageantry – Cadet and Midshipman march-ons, flyovers, parachute drops, and of course the game itself. No, they aren’t Michigan, Texas, Alabama or Washington vying for the National Title. But that’s OK. These two teams – the passion, the emotion, the rivalry, the ties that bind these two schools. Yes, Michigan and Ohio State have a great rivalry. But when the Army Navy game is over, and the players graduate, these men and women take on joint duties and responsibilities, risking their lives for this great nation.
West Point March-On at Gillette Stadium in Foxboro, MA.
During the game, Joe and Paul texted and arranged a location to link up at the end of the first half. The score was 10-0 Army at halftime when classmates Joe, Paul Chang and Jeff Foley made their way to the bowels of the stadium where they met with Paul, and two of the members from the Battalion Staff – Firstie (Senior) Allen Liu and Cow (Junior) Timothy Jolicoeur. Tim is who originally caught the eye of many of my classmates as he is the one in the photo holding the hand salute the entire time. Three of the cadets, Justus Gabriel, Jake Pinuelas and Wesley Anderson couldn’t make the meeting. Wesley is on the West Point Marathon team and was one of the cadets who ran a game ball from West Point to Gillette Stadium.
As my classmates spoke with the cadets, Joe mentoned how he, Jeff and Paul were there on behalf of our entire class. They gave each of the cadets a Class of ‘78 coin. “Coining” is something done in the military (and some other government organizations). When you “coin” someone outside your unit, it is considered an honor and is because they have done something of value or importance to the unit. The way it’s done is in the form of a handshake. The coining party holds the coin in their right hand and extends the hand for the handshake. The parties shake hands and the receiving party takes the coin after the handshake. For West Pointers, it’s particularly meaningful because of lines from one of our most treasured songs, “The Corps” and the act of “gripping hands”.
The Cadets were surprised and happy. My classmates discussed how meaningful their gesture was for us as a class and how many of us noticed it and remarked to each other about it. They let them know there was chatter about it on our class Facebook page and the class unanimously agreed it was a great idea to do this meetup and present them with the coins.
Class of ‘78 45th Reunion Coin.
There was a bit more small talk, and then all headed back to their respective seats for what turned out to be an exciting second half. If you didn’t see the game, Army won 17-11 after stopping Navy on the one yard line with three seconds left in the game. These games are always thrilling and you shouldn’t leave your seat until they are over. Army has won six of the last eight games between the two Academies. Their margin of victory in those six wins? 36 points. Total.
So that’s the story. Cadet Lieutenant Conroy will graduate from the Academy in another six months and join The Long Gray Line. “The Long Gray Line” is often talked about in the abstract, but every once in a while, you experience something that makes it real and personal. In the future, I’m guessing if Paul Conroy runs into a member of our class in a bar or restaurant, or some other place in this far-flung world of ours, his money will be no good. Sometimes it’s the little things that make a difference and you notice. The Class of ‘78 noticed on this occasion.
Thanks to you Paul Conroy, and the 2nd Battalion, 2nd Regimental Staff for going out of your way recognizing the Proud and Great Class of ’78. We wish you good luck and Godspeed on your journey with the Army and throughout your life.
Addendum:
In a side note, classmate Paul Chang has an interesting connection to Paul Conroy – “Paul Conroy and my youngest son were classmates at the same grade school in San Antonio (Keystone) before we moved to Massachusetts 13 years ago! His mom and I worked together at the Med School and they lived close by. Another classmate from that grade school also went to West Point – Isabella Sullivan, who is one of two West Point Rhodes Scholars this year!”
Credit goes to classmate Billy Harner for the photo of our class lined up for the parade. It’s used in both the lead in to the blog, and again in the text.
Photo of the West Point march-on at the Game was provided by my good friend, Rudy Crespin, who was in attendance at the game. Rudy is a Naval Academy graduate from the Class of ‘87.
The two photos of the Cadet Conroy and staff were extracted by Joe Mislinski from the video provided by Bob Greenwalt.
Thanks to classmate Rick Makowski, who provided the coins for free from his merchandising company.
Thanks to classmates Joe Mislinski and Gus Hellzen, along with my wife Cathy for providing editing assistance with this blog.
If interested, here is a link to Bob Greenwalt’s video of the parade. There’s a bit of chatter going on throughout the video, which is also a bit cool. Cadet Conroy and staff come into view at 21:40 and it’s clear that they didn’t do a READY FRONT when everyone else did – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HMCKT8QXodE
* Here’s a link to the blog about the reunion itself: It was raining as I left our West Point 45th reunion last Sunday. I took the longer, slower route home rather than drive Interstate 95. Tired and emotionally spent, I didn’t trust myself on a route that would have more traffic. I knew I would be thinking about West Point, the reunion and my classmates […] Continue here: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2023/11/01/grip-hands/
Do you know the best way to develop your wine palate? Drink more wine. I believe Cath and I have that covered. We began drinking wine together (legally) in 1974 when she started working for the FBI in DC. Seriously. We’ve had more than a couple of bottles together in the past fifty years.
After Cathy moved to DC in 1974 to work for the FBI, I’d visit from West Point for the weekend. If we were doing a “special” night out, we’d always order a bottle of wine. I think we felt more like adults. Now mind you, neither of us owned a car, and metro wasn’t here yet. We’d take a bus from her apartment to Old Town Alexandria and usually go to The Wharf, one of the nicer restaurants in town. After a seafood dinner and bottle of wine, we’d dutifully wait for the bus and take it back to her apartment. ;-). A taxi was out of our price range.
Our real wine education came after we married and were stationed in Germany in the ‘80s. Yea, we drank a lot of good German bier, but we drank our fair share of wine as well. Not only dry German and Austrian whites, but also French, Spanish or Italian reds when we traveled to those countries. Spending nine years in Europe significantly broadened our exposure to what wine could be.
Cath, Dad and I at a Weinfest in Germany around 1987.
Returning to the States in ‘89, we discovered California wines, which we’d pretty well ignored before then. Cabs, Merlots, Zins and eventually Pinot Noir’s – Our taste buds grew once again and sometime in the ‘90s we installed our first wine rack, which held about 110 bottles.
After moving to the farm in ‘99, we renovated the kitchen around 2005 and put in a wine cooler – we could store 250 bottles in it, which seemed like a pretty reasonable number. Except it wasn’t. And so…
In 2011 we discussed putting in a wine room with a separate chiller. To be honest, I think Cathy was feeling a bit guilty about the money we were spending on her horses and she readily agreed we needed a cellar. Of course, she would benefit from the cellar as well. And so, we bit the bullet and installed it.
The Wine Cellar – Not quite at Capacity.
Our cellar holds around 950 bottles, although if you wanted to stack cases on the floor, you could add another 200 or so. I’d point out this is a drinking cellar. This isn’t a cellar for storing trophy wines. Everything in the cellar is meant to be consumed … over time. It’s stocked to our tastes. You’ll find sparkling wines, Virginia wines from a couple of our favorite vineyards (Linden and Glen Manor); California Pinots, Merlots, Cabs, and Zins; French, Italian, Sicilian, Spanish, South African and Portuguese reds; whites from a number of locations in the States and France; and some dessert wines. There’s a bottle of Georgian wine in there somewhere (the country, not the state). There are a couple of bottles from the late ‘90s, and then probably just about every year from 2000 to the present. We like the cellar and we like the inventory. We enjoy putting a dent in it with friends.
Wine Tasting in South Africa.
Now here’s the funny part. Although the cellar is ostensibly mine, Cathy has a palate that blows mine away. She’s much better in blind tastings at guessing the grape and where the wine is from. She recognizes the flavors and can talk about them. And if a wine has turned bad or is corked? She can tell just by smelling the wine before she’s even taken a sip. These days, when we go out to dinner and order a bottle of wine, I usually just tell the waiter or sommelier to let her taste the wine. She’s really good.
I suppose we’ve consumed thousands of bottles of wine over the last fifty years – at home or in restaurants; on picnics and vacations; at wineries; and of course with friends and family. There are lots of good memories associated with those bottles and gatherings.
Good Memories. Always.
“In vino veritas”, is a Latin phrase that means “In wine, there is truth”. The truth is we are still improving our palates, one bottle at a time.
Cathy says life is too short to drink bad wine. I think I agree.
It was raining as I left our West Point 45th reunion last Sunday. I took the longer, slower route home to Virginia rather than drive Interstate 95. Tired and emotionally spent, I didn’t trust myself on a route that would have more traffic. I knew I would be thinking about West Point, the reunion and my classmates.
And of course, that’s what happened. The reunion, mixed with memories of West Point and my time in the Army cycled through my brain. Was it really 45 years since we graduated? It turned out the answer was yes.
Due to health issues, Cathy didn’t make the trip (she’s OK). It was a tough choice for her not to go to this reunion, but it was the right decision. Having dated since high school, and marrying each other right after my graduation from West Point, she too made the journey through my time at the Academy and in the Army. We’ve known many of these folk for nearly fifty years and together we have attended every reunion since the fifteenth. If I were to pass away, she would be welcomed with open arms by my classmates at any event, and they would help her in any way they could.
On October 25th, the day before the official start of our reunion, someone noted online the conditions were a bit nicer than 40 years previously on the same date. That was the day Operation Urgent Fury, the United States intervention in Grenada began at dawn. Several members of our class* were in the 82D Airborne Division and a part of the operation. It was a reminder that although we were “Cold Warriors” against the Russians, many of our classmates spent time in combat around the globe.
CPT Marion Seaton in Grenada. “We Were Soldiers Once, and Young”.
I arrived early Thursday afternoon and the weekend passed in a blur. The reunion hotel was a little over an hour from West Point. With 500+ attendees, there are no hotels at West Point or in the immediate vicinity large enough to host a gathering of our class. As is always the case at these five year reunions, not unlike our days at West Point, they are jammed with activities. We joke about it of course, but it’s true. I’m doubtful many other college reunions have days starting at 6:45AM. ;-).
After arriving, I found Tony Matos, who had just arrived from New Hampshire. As importantly, Tony brought the 312 bottles of WhistlePig Whiskey we were going to distribute to classmates. Regular readers of this blog will recall that a group of us did a tasting at WhistlePig in Vermont last spring and bought two barrels (you can read about that tasting and why we did it at the link in the addendum). We dutifully transported the cases of whiskey to our distribution room and classmates started picking up their bottles. All were gone by Sunday morning.
The Successful Conclusion of Operation WhistlePig.
By Thursday night, things were in full swing. Around 300 classmates (about one third of our living class members) along with 250+ spouses, partners and family members were there. Dinner, drinks, and for some of us, cigars ensued. My time was divided between dinner with several of my company mates and then circling the rooms seeking out other old friends. Handshakes, hugs and toasts, along with conversations occurred several times – How are you? … Where’s Cathy – is she OK? … Do you remember … whatever happened to … where are you now … we have to do better at staying in touch … Eventually I made my way to bed and a restless night’s sleep.
On Friday morning, we boarded buses for West Point. Our destination was the Cadet Chapel. Our first event, and for me one that has grown increasingly important, was a memorial service honoring classmates who have passed away. At our fortieth reunion, 50 classmates were so honored. This time the number was 82, including my company mate Dan Zimmerman. At the fortieth reunion, Dan sat with Cathy and I at the memorial service. This time, his name was one of the 82 called out loud. I thought a lot about Z-Man during the service. I have to say, the meaning of “The Long Grey Line” has changed, grown and become more real with the passage of time.
Memorial Service at the Chapel.
After the service, my buddies Jay, Steve and I, along with many of our classmates, walked the half mile from the Chapel to Ike Hall, although I also noticed there were more classmates taking the provided buses. Age catches up with all of us at some point. At Ike Hall we had lunch, along with a class meeting and a presentation by the Supe (Superintendent), before eventually busing back to the hotel.
At the hotel, Tony, Gus, Bob, Bill and I resumed distributing the remaining WhistlePig bottles. Classmate Al Aycock was distributing bags of coffee – the beans spent time in one of our empty whiskey barrels before bagging. We repeatedly received thanks from classmates for the arduous journey we’d made to Vermont for the WhistlePig tasting the previous spring. ;-).
After a short fifteen minute nap, it was time to get ready for the formal dinner that evening. More good food, drinking, talking and dancing. Perhaps because this was day two, things were slightly slower than the night before. It wasn’t as rushed and more faces were familiar now.
Random Pictures From the Weekend.
Saturday morning came early. We boarded buses for West Point at, wait for it … 6:45AM. Yes, you read that right, 6:45 in the morning. It was for a good reason – Two regiments of the Corps of Cadets were having a parade at 9:00AM, and our entire class was a part of the reviewing party. I remember as a cadet having parades and passing in review for old grads during their reunions. To put things in perspective, in the fall of 1977 our Firstie (Senior) year, the class celebrating their 45th reunion was the Class of 1932. Yikes! Back then, while waiting to pass in review, we made jokes about the OLD GRADS and of course could never see ourselves on the other side of the parade ground in the future. I’m sure the same thing was happening on this Saturday, but I have to say they looked squared away when they marched past us.
The Corps of Cadets, Passing in Review.
The Army football game that afternoon was a forgettable loss, but something happened later that left a strong impression on me. After the game, Clem, one of my company mates and his wife Nancy hosted a post-game tailgate and several of us B3ers stopped by for a beer. Three Yearling (Sophomore) cadets were there as well – members of the Class of 2026. Talking with them and listening to them made me feel good about our future, and the future of this country. If they are any indication of the quality of current West Point cadets, we have nothing to worry about. The United States Army, and our Officer Corps are in good hands.
The last evening was special. There was no official event that night, and I was invited out to dinner by Jose Morales, one of the alumni from the Whistle Pig tasting in the spring. There were perhaps 18 of us at the dinner . Some I knew, some I didn’t. It didn’t matter. We were all one big happy family, talking, laughing, telling stories, eating and drinking.
One Big Happy Family at Saturday Night’s Dinner.
The next morning, I left for the drive home around 8AM. I’m not big on long goodbyes and wanted to hit the road. I spent the next six hours driving in the rain and thinking about the weekend. I wasn’t just thinking about the details of the weekend itself, as I recounted here. I was also thinking about this special brotherhood I have the great good fortune to be a member of. As time goes by, I cherish it more and more. I think we all do. It’s hard to explain to others who haven’t been a part of it.
We members of the West Point class of 1978 share a special bond that has only grown stronger with the passing of time. Yes, we still tell the old stories from cadet days, or our time in the Army, but it’s more than that. Those stories only represent the surface of our commonality. We rose to the call of Duty, Honor, Country as cadets and during our time defending this nation. Most of us have found ways to contribute to the greater good, even after our time in service to our nation ended.
As Plebes, we were required to memorize many things. Some mundane, some of no apparent use, and some that were important. One of those requirements was the song “The Corps”. As I grow older, the song’s lyrics speak to me more directly than when I was a cadet and first memorized them. We all know our time here on Earth is limited and we all need to make the most of the time we have. Grip hands indeed.
The Corps
Addendum:
* Classmate Marion Seaton provided the photo from Grenada. In his words, “Chuck Jacoby, Brent Holmes, Dale Tatarek and I were having the time of our lives on a little spice island 40 years ago this week. We were all part of the 82nd Airborne’s mission to secure the Island of Grenada. I was the C Battery 1/320 (Airborne) Artillery Commander. We were chuted up to parachute with our equipment into Grenada. Our original plan was for the 105 howitzers to be dropped from the C141B on the first pass and we would jump on the second pass over the Drop Zone. The jump would’ve been dangerous, certainly due to the hostile fire, but more importantly, because of the dispersion of the equipment and troops onto the ground. There was a huge body of water to our left and the Ocean to our right. We would’ve lost a lot of jumpers and equipment. Lucky for us, The Rangers jumped the day before from C130s below 400 feet. They secured the Drop Zone, so we were able to fly in rather than jump. Over the course of the battle, Charlie Battery fired 152 rounds in support of the Division and Rangers.”
Marion, A Bit Before his Unit’s Jump into Grenada was Cancelled.
Dale and Jan Hamby were in charge of this reunion overall and did a great job. While a host of people worked with and for them, our class owes them a debt for the wonderful time we enjoyed. Dale’s comments after the reunion were pretty spot on: “Personally, we are determined to do a better job staying in touch with those we were able to reconnect with this weekend. We hope you will too. The reunion reminded us how important these connections are, and life is just too short not to make them a priority. Besides that, it was so great to relive cherished memories that our kids don’t want to hear about for the 50th time!”
Here’s the blog from our whiskey tasting at WhistlePig: “We were on a mission to the WhistlePig Distillery in Vermont. Twelve classmates gathered to taste whiskey from five barrels. We would select two for the West Point Proud and Great, Class of ‘78 45th reunion this coming fall. We didn’t want to let our classmates down” […] Continue here: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2023/05/09/__trashed-2/
As I walk and wander through the nearby woods this fall, I find my mind wandering as well. It is autumn in the autumn of my life and I feel the passage of time. Death and decline are both more evident, and not quite the strangers they once were.
A Walk in the Woods on an Autumn Day.
It is not my own death I contemplate or fear. I have made peace with who I am, what I am, and where I am. I’ve had a good and lucky life with little to complain about. When my time comes, I hope I have the courage to accept my blessings and be thankful for the life I’ve lived.
Rather, it is the death and decline of others that I’ve been dwelling on during my walks. I think of friends or family members taken too soon and though they are now at peace, those of us left behind in this world feel the sadness and emptiness of their passing. What we wouldn’t give for one more hug, one more smile, one more drink together, or one more conversation.
For some, death has come suddenly and unexpectedly. For others, we have marked their decline, whether from old age, cancer, or some other disease. Fighters all, they eventually succumb, whether after months, or a decade. And for some lucky few, they live a good life into old age before peacefully slipping away.
I’ve thought about that last paragraph a bit. How do we measure time’s passing, and how do we measure time passing in our relationships with others?
If I do die suddenly, whether tomorrow or in five years, I would tell my friends and family do not mourn me. Instead, keep my memory alive, tell stories about me or drink a toast to me. I’ve had a good life. Don’t be sad at my passing, but rejoice at the life I was able to live.
If I fall into decline, for whatever reason, I pray I have the grace to continue to love and treasure those around me, no matter my fears of what is coming, or the pain I am in. I know that caregivers often suffer as much, or more than the person they are giving care to. I hope that I am able to continue to love and appreciate those doing their best to help me. I know that is sometimes a difficult thing to do.
And if I’m one of the lucky few who live well to a ripe old age before peacefully slipping away? If my old friends, my wife, my family were to precede me in death, I would want to honor each of them and keep their memory alive. I also know I would want to continue to live, and grow, and celebrate each day. To go for walks, talk with other friends, stay active, and challenge my mind and body to the best of my abilities. I think that is how I could best honor them, until my own time here on earth ends.
Walking in the woods on an autumn day – it’s funny where your mind sometimes goes. Two thousand years ago, the Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius* said, “Accept the things to which fate binds you, and love the people with whom fate brings you together, but do so with all your heart”. I think his words still ring true.
Addendum:
⁃ *Marcus Aurelius in current times may be best known as the Emperor in the Movie Gladiator who is killed early in the film and gives Rome to Maximus, played by Russell Crowe. If you want to know the real Marcus Aurelius, I suggest you pick up his book, Meditations. It is a short read and filled with wisdom.
The Bears Den in Naplate, Illinois is a great little dive bar. I mean that in the best sense of the word. It’s an older place and hasn’t been updated in years. On a recent trip back home to Ottawa, we stopped in on a Sunday afternoon for lunch and Bloody Marys. We all should have such a good local place.
Naplate, a town of just over 400 people, probably has more restaurants and bars per capita than any town in America*. They are all small local places. Some more bar oriented, and some more food oriented. All have their devoted fans and regulars from Naplate, or the surrounding area. Over the years we’ve enjoyed several of them, including Casa Mia, Annie’s Hideaway, and of course, The Bears Den.
The Bears Den – It’s Been Around Awhile.
A few years ago, a really bad tornado ripped through Naplate and parts of Ottawa and Naplate were destroyed. Although Naplate restaurants were ordered closed in the immediate aftermath, The Bears Den stayed open providing food for the folk doing the cleanup and damage control. They were giving back to the community in a big way.
A couple of weeks ago we were back in Ottawa to see family and go to a reunion. We spent Saturday night with my sister Tanya and Brother-in-Law Shawn and on Sunday morning were discussing what to do. Cath previously mentioned possibly going to The Bears Den for Bloodies, and we all quickly agreed that was a great idea. It had been a few years since we were able to stop in there and we were looking forward to a good time. Shawn, the smart one among us, checked to see what time the Bears were playing that day. When they are on TV, it’s standing room only at the Den, and we wanted to avoid that. Fortunately, the game didn’t start until 3PM.
We arrived just after noon and easily grabbed a table. Several people were there, but it wasn’t crowded. The Packers were on TV, so there were both cheers and catcalls, depending on what was going on. The waitress came over and we ordered our Bloodies with sidecars. In Illinois (and maybe across the Midwest) a sidecar is a small beer, typically 7 ounces, to go with your Bloody Mary. At the Bears Den, they brought you a can of beer, and a 7 ounce glass. On Sundays, they have “build your own Bloody Mary” for $3, but we opted for the bartender to make ours.
Lunch at The Bears Den with Tanya and Shawn.
Drinks arrived and the Bloodies were as good as we remembered. Our waitress asked what we would like to eat. For me, there was only one thing to order – their Sausage Sandwich. You can have it with peppers, or cheese, or any number of other combinations, but I just ordered it with pickles and onions. It’s like a burger, but made with 1/2 pound of sausage instead. As my buddy Howard says “It rivals the pork tenderloin**as the best area sandwich. The difference? You can order the tenderloin at lots of places, but only The Bears Den has the sausage sandwich.” Shawn also ordered one, while the ladies opted for a BLT and a ribeye sandwich. One of the great things about The Bears Den is they have a decent menu, especially considering the small size of the place and the size of the kitchen.
The food came, and all I can say is, man, I love that sandwich. It was sooooo good. Yea, it didn’t help my cholesterol any, but that’s OK. In fact everyone’s sandwich was good. I think Cath’s BLT was the biggest I’d ever seen, and Tanya’s Ribeye sandwich was great. The table grew quiet for a while as we concentrated on our food. Eventually, we ordered a second round of Bloodies and Shawn had another beer.
Good Food All Around, but Man That Sausage Sandwich!
At some point, our nephew and niece Casey and Ann stopped by with their kids and we were able to catch up with them for a bit, but eventually, it was time to go. Hugs all around in the parking lot, lots of I love you’s, and we headed south to my sister Berta and her husband Jack’s place.
I know it’s a bit crazy to write about a dive bar in the middle of Illinois, when we don’t even live there anymore. Still, it’s good to have things and places you know you can count on. The Bears Den is one of those places. If you are ever near Naplate, I highly recommend it.
Addendum:
The “Bears Den” has no apostrophe in it, and I have written it that way throughout this blog.
* My friend Howard Johnson notes that Naplate was a factory town (the former Libby Owens Ford, now Pilkington,). The shift workers all converged on the Naplate bars when their shifts ended, keeping them busy 24 hours a day back in the day. That’s a big reason such a tiny village has so many bars.
** One of the great meals you can find in the corn-belt of Indiana, Illinois and parts of Iowa is a breaded pork tenderloin sandwich. They are crazy good and something that many people who move away from the area crave, and always have when they return to Ottawa. If you are closer to Chicago, or in Wisconsin, an Italian Beef Sandwich is just as loved.
Pork Tenderloin Sandwich at The Court Street Pub in Ottawa.
The Bears are having a rough stretch in football lately and lost 14 straight games before beating the hapless Commanders last week. The Bears Den remains crowded for their games. In general, the fans are still loyal, but getting restless. One of my buddies, Mark, a diehard Bears fan, sent me this meme after I mentioned we were at The Bears Den for lunch:
Live Life Exuberantly 