R_____ looked at me and was on the verge of tears. “Oh Max, thank you so much. You are making me cry.” That wasn’t my intent. All I’d done was tell her that if she ran into problems, call me and I would help. It’s a shame what we have come to as a nation, when a person feels threatened by some of those around her.
Continue reading “R____”
We arrived at the ranger Station in Wrangell-St Elias National Park, Alaska. As we checked in for our backpacking trip to Dixie Pass, an older looking ranger eyed me. After a brief conversation, he asked, “Do you know what grizzly bear scat looks like?” I shook my head no.
Six months before meeting that ranger, Cathy turned 40 years old. We decided to celebrate her milestone birthday in Alaska the next summer and do some backpacking while there. Coincidentally, Cath’s sister Bonnie was marrying Don that June and they asked about coming with us for their honeymoon. We quickly said yes and started outlining the trip.
While we planned to visit several places, the highlight would be a four-day backpacking trip in Wrangell-St Elias National Park (WSNP). It is a vast national park that is the same size as Yellowstone National Park, Yosemite National Park, and Switzerland combined. Only Denali, also in Alaska, is a larger Park.
We specifically chose WSNP because of its remoteness. Unlike Denali, which has buses circling the park and regulates when and how people can enter the park, WSNP is a wilderness area with one 60-mile gravel road dead-ending at the town of McCarthy. I should mention that while McCarthy’s summertime population was 200, its winter population was just 13.
In the WSNP there were no trails, only suggested routes requiring map and compass skills. We eventually settled on a hike to Dixie Pass – a four-day, 28-mile round trip hike with 5,400 feet of elevation gain. The country was remote and about half the hike was above the tree line. It was also mosquito infested until you were above the tree line. Guidebooks suggested checking in and out with the Ranger Station at the entrance of the park for safety reasons.
After Bonnie and Don’s wedding in June of ‘96, the four of us flew to Anchorage. We spent a few days seeing some sites and getting acclimated to the near continuous sunlight. Eventually we made our way to WSNP and checked in at the Ranger Station.
We signed in and spoke with one of the two rangers working that day and told him of our planned hike to Dixie Pass. He gave us a few safety tips and talked about the fact there were both black bears and brown bears (also known as grizzly bears) in the park. While black bears are usually more timid and less confrontational, the grizzly bear was totally different. They could attack even when unprovoked.
The ranger pointedly looked at us and then asked, “Have you bought any jingle-bells for attaching to your pack to make noise, so the bear know you are coming?” I answered, “No, we planned to attach our drinking cups to the outside of our packs so they would make noise.”
“Ahhhhhh. Did you bring any pepper spray with you?” – “Ummm, no. Should we have?”
“Hmmmmmmm. Do you know the difference between black bear skat (poo) and grizzly bear skat?” – “No, we don’t. Could you fill us in?”
He kind of smiled, and then said, “Sure. Black bear scat is sort of brownish and fibrous. You’ll often see berries in it as well. And grizzly bear scat? Well, it’s similar to black bear scat, but it also has jingle bells in it and smells like pepper!”
A half second passed and then all of us, including the ranger, burst out laughing. He’d reeled me in like a bluegill in a pond.
After the laughter ended, he did share that in WSNP, unlike Denali, there generally were no bear problems. There were so few people in the park that when the bear smelled or saw humans, they generally turned around or went in a different direction. They didn’t really know what we were and would probably avoid us. If we did come across a bear, stay still or slowly back away, don’t run, and things would probably turn out fine.
We thanked him for his help and then drove down the gravel road awhile before turning onto a dirt trail for a bit. Eventually, we arrived at a small, cleared area. We saw a small sign pointing towards Dixie Pass. There were no other cars.
The hike itself was wonderful and everything we hoped for – beauty, silence, wilderness – Mother Nature at her best.
We definitely needed a map and compass to guide us, so both Boy Scout and Army skills came in handy. Mountains, valleys, creeks, draws, outcroppings … they all became important in identifying our route.
The mosquitos were horrible until we climbed above the tree line. A half mile into the hike, we needed our head nets and sprayed ourselves with 90% Deet. We used so much Deet, Cath’s running tights basically disintegrated when we returned home and she washed them.
The route challenged us. There were multiple creek crossings, some two feet deep, and places where we hiked over snowpack. We switched to Tevas or sandles several times each day to keep our boots dry. There was also plenty of rock hopping where you were using both legs and arms to scramble over the boulders. While not really dangerous, the trail wasn’t for the faint of heart.
We finally arrived at Dixie Pass where there were gorgeous views in all directions. We lounged around, ate lunch and took some photos. Although it was June 30th, we were snowed on while hiking back down from the pass.
On the 3rd morning around breakfast time, we did have a distant encounter with a brown bear, but the ranger was right. When the grizzly smelled us, he turned in another direction and gave us a wide berth. We were probably 75 yards or so away and watched him from a hillside. Still, I have to say it elevated my pulse.
Eventually, we finished the hike and our grand adventure ended. It was both a beautiful and challenging hike – one of those life events you never forget. For me, the story is never complete without also talking about the ranger, the jingle bells and the pepper spray. I laugh to this day when I tell the tale, and it always gets a chuckle.
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.
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.
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.
Addendum:
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.
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.
“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.
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Addendum:
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.
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.
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.
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.
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…
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.
Rest in peace Tim. I love you.
Addendum:
Here are some previous blogs featuring Tim:
Years ago my friend Joe said, “When I turned fifty, God shared all the knowledge and wisdom of the world with me. When I turned sixty, God told me I should share that knowledge and wisdom with the rest of the world.” Thinking of any number of older pontificators we both knew, we chuckled. I’ve thought about it more seriously since then – from whom have I gained knowledge and wisdom?
Of course, knowledge and wisdom aren’t exactly the same thing. According to the Oxford Dictionary, knowledge consists of “facts, information, and skills acquired by a person through experience or education”, while wisdom is “the quality of having knowledge, experience and good judgment”. Those definitions are close, although not exact. Looking at the two, knowledge is necessary, but not sufficient to have wisdom. There’s that little thing called “good judgement”. I also note the word “age” is in neither definition, and while perhaps, unexpected, I think that’s good. I know some people who were fools when they were young and have remained fools their entire life. It’s almost as if they have an anti-wisdom gene in their DNA.
I’ve thought of my own life and how I’ve obtained knowledge and tried to gain wisdom. Reading books or online resources, experiencing life and listening to others seem to be the three primary ways I’ve learned about life. To keep consistent with the “from whom have I gained Knowledge and wisdom” question in the opening paragraph, I’m only going to talk about listening to and interacting with others today. Certainly, the other two thoughts are important, but short of writing a thesis, I think it’s a bit hard to tackle all three in one short blog.
My parents were a big influence on me, not only as a kid, but throughout adulthood. I think back to the important lessons I learned at home as a child, and also to the advice they gave me over the years. Sometimes I listened, and other times not. Later in life, I also remember a conversation on the phone with dad one day. I was considering a job change and asked for his advice. There was a pause, and then he said “I think this is above my pay grade. You have to make this decision on your own.” Sometimes, wisdom is knowing when to say nothing.
When it comes to learning from others, I along with many of us, have practiced this inconsistently over the course of my life. As a young man, I certainly listened to “older” folk, but I was also guilty of the arrogance and certainty of youth. Who among us hasn’t experienced that combination of youthful passion and fearlessness? I alone KNEW the right answer! Sometimes I was right, and sometimes I failed. But where would we be without that youthful exuberance which has brought so much innovation? Who else has the courage, desire and tirelessness to challenge the status quo?
Growing into middle age, I continued to gain knowledge, and I hope I was gaining wisdom. Moving into leadership positions in the Army, business world and with other groups, I was frequently asked to impart my knowledge and/or wisdom across multiple subjects. I certainly listened to others, but as George Bush infamously stated, I became the “decider” on any number of issues. I believe I made my share of good decisions. There were also errors and poor recommendations along the way. I can think of more than a couple of choices I’d like to have back. Maybe if I’d listened a bit more to others … but of course, you can’t go back.
And now? I mostly retired 10 years ago. Today at 68, I sit on the cusp of elder time. Unlike my friend Joe, as I become older, I’m less sure God gave me any of the knowledge or wisdom of the world. Still, I often DO feel compelled to share what I have with others.
With that in mind, there are two things I’ve learned about myself I want to share.
First, for my peers, don’t let the complacency of old age settle in. You have to keep learning. If you don’t, you grow stagnant and might as well die. Never. Stop. Learning.
Second, and this is for everyone, the true wisdom I’d share is no matter your age, don’t constrict your interactions only to a group of people your own age. There is a wealth of knowledge and wisdom out there and you can learn at all ages from people of all ages. Don’t deprive yourself of the chance to find this out. All you need are open ears and eyes, and an open mind. Most importantly, an open mind.
And so, while I continue to learn much from my friends and peers in their 50s and 60s, I also continue to gain wisdom from friends John, Bill, Nancy, Irv, Malcom, Bob and Kathy among others in their 70s and 80s. Our nieces and nephews who are in their 30s and 40s are a constant source of joy and education about things both large and small. I continually gain new insights and ideas from our friends Mila, Raagni and Morgan, all in their 20s, and all of whom seem wise beyond their years. Lana, our 18 year old niece, makes me think, and raises new concepts and thoughts for me to consider. A couple of months ago, I even learned more about modesty and good manners from Kaeden, the 11 year old grandson of a friend. Of course there are many, many other people I could name here, but you get the idea. Making it personal also makes it more real. Who are some of the people of all ages in your own life you learn from, or maybe more importantly, could learn from? Never stop learning from friends and people of all ages. Never.
I realize this blog has rambled, and I apologize for that. With the year 2024 starting soon, I hope you will commit to a life of gaining knowledge and wisdom. Sample broadly from the learning choices offered. My wife is fond of saying “Every time an older person dies, it’s like a library burning down.”, and she’s right. Don’t miss the opportunity to learn from your older friends and family members before they are gone. Listen to their stories. But also allow time and openness to drink from that endless fountain of youthful exuberance. No one has a corner on knowledge and wisdom. No one
Addendum:
In my younger years, I never did “New Year’s Resolutions”. To be honest, I still don’t. But, as I’ve become older, I seem to do a bit more reflection this time of year. Maybe it’s because I have more time to be reflective, or maybe it’s because I have less time left in my life – I’m not sure which. In either case, I wish you the Happiest of New Years and hope you can take a few minutes to reflect on your life. See you in 2024.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 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.
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.
Addendum:
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.
Our old friend Tim visited us several times while we were stationed in Germany. In 1987, he asked if he could visit and bring his friend/work buddy Bobby along. They planned to visit us, and then tour parts of Germany, Austria and Northern Italy, eventually arriving back in Germany for Oktoberfest in Munich. We of course said yes and looked forward to their arrival.
They flew to Dusseldorf one morning in September and then took the train to Worms where we picked them up. Tim recently recalled the train paralleling the Rhein River for part of the trip, when all of a sudden the train shook a bit. He looked out the window and saw two F15s flying low, following the path of the Rhein as well.
After arriving at our home in Rheindürkheim, we ate lunch. Tim and Bobby may have slept for a couple of hours, although I don’t remember for sure. Later, we gave them a tour of town and walked along the Rhein River. That night, we went out for dinner at a local Gasthaus (pub) called Sportheim. We knew the owners, Vroni and Wolfgang well, and Tim knew them from a previous visit. It’s safe to say they greeted Tim like a long lost relative. It was a great evening and Bobby joined right in. We spent several hours at Sportheim and after many biers and wines, eventually made our way home. We may have drunk a brandy or schnapps, before making our way to bed and a good night’s sleep.
The next day, amazingly, none of us were the worse for wear. After a hearty breakfast with some good German bread, sausages and cheese, we drove around to show Bobby the area. We went into Worms, the city where Martin Luther made his famous statement “Heir stehe ich” (here I stand) before the Imperial Diet in 1521. Basically, it’s where and when Protestantism started.
That evening, we had a special treat in store for the guys. The Rheindürkheim Feuerwehrfest (Fire Department Festival) was going on in town. There were about 1,000 residents in Rheindürkheim and a majority of the adults would be at the Fest. It was a classic German wein festival with a huge tent, oompah band, dance floor and lots of adult beverage.
We made our way to the fest, found some local friends and settled in. Of course we drank our share, and ate brats and other German food, such as curry wurst or roast chicken. We also listened to the music and took turns dancing with Cathy and some of the other ladies in our group. It was a great time. Eventually it was getting late, and the fest was coming to an end. We were going to head home when one of our German friends, Michael, told me several people were going to an after party at the Zenit, basically a local Navy VFW club and wanted to know if we wished to join them. I’d been to Zenit several times and immediately said yes. For Tim and Bobby, it’d be an even greater look at the local culture. Cathy, always the wisest of us two, declined and said she was going home. We left the fest and after dropping Cath at home, walked to Zenit.
Now Zenit was actually a dry-docked ship that was turned into a club. Rheindürkheim, was on the Rhein River and traditionally, most young men of the town served in the Navy instead of the Army. That’s why their “VFW” club-equivalent was in a ship.
As we arrived, we made our way to the bar and bought a couple of biers. I nudged Tim and pointed out a picture hanging in Zenit. Tim’s a history major and I thought his eyes were going to bug our when he saw who it was – Admiral Karl Dönitz*, supreme commander of the German Navy during WWII. Dönitz also took over the German government after Hitler killed himself and it was he was who actually surrendered to the Allies in May of ‘45.
We had a good time at Zenit. The party was eventually winding down when our friend Hans approached me. He and his wife Inge were having an after-after party at their home and wanted to know if we wanted to stop by. Their home was actually on the way back to our house and I again immediately said yes. We joined a group of 15 or 20 people and dutifully walked or stumbled to Hans and Inge’s house.
At Hans and Inge’s there was no oompah music. What was playing on the stereo was the soundtrack from the movie “Dirty Dancing”, released earlier that year. I remember chuckling about it at the time.
I believe they served coffee and dessert for those who wanted it. I also distinctly remember Inge walking around with a bottle of homemade schnapps and pouring people small glasses/shots. Schnapps in Germany is nothing like the sweet stuff we think of as schnapps here in the States. It’s similar to Italian grappa or French marc and can definitely have a rough edge to it. She asked if we wanted some and of course we all said yes. Bobby didn’t yet know about real schnapps. We all toasted with a “Prost”. Bobby took a small sip and may have actually turned green. He looked around and saw a nearby plant, where he discretely poured the remainder of his schnapps.
A bit later, Inge came back by, saw Bobby’s empty glass and refilled. It. At that point Bobby looked at the glass and then leaned into Tim and said, “Tim, I don’t know that I can do this for the whole two weeks.” ;-).
We left a short time later and walked the 3 or 4 blocks home and immediately went to bed.
The next morning, everyone was moving a little slowly and there were probably a couple of hangovers among us, or at least there should have been. I also know this – Tim and Bobby were no longer suffering from jet lag. ;-).
They would leave us a day or two later and head south by train. We linked up with them in Munich for Oktoberfest about ten days later and they told us tales of their travels and the good times they enjoyed. At Oktoberfest itself, other than Cathy throwing her shoulder out on a rollercoaster ride with Bobby (another story, and no, alcohol wasn’t involved), we had a grand time.
Addendum:
The Corps Has… Every West Pointer knows the phrase. When we were Cadets, we laughed at it, and thought it untrue. As Old Grads, many of us use it, and believe it is true. “The Corps Has”, short for “The Corps has gone to hell” is a grad’s way of saying “Things aren’t as tough now, as when I was a cadet.”
The academy was founded in 1802 and is the oldest of the United States’ five service academies. The phrase “The Corps Has” has no doubt been around since 1803. Every class, once they graduate, seems to think those after it have it easier.
A friend from the class of ‘64 reminds me regularly (half in jest, but only half) that as Plebes, they stayed at the Academy their whole first year, and couldn’t go home for Christmas break like we did.
Friends from my Class of ‘78 regularly bemoan the fact that current cadets no longer have meal formations three times a day like we did.
I think you get the drift. And that doesn’t even get into how the whole Plebe System has changed over the years. The Corps has gone to hell. Although for as long as it’s been going to hell, you’d think we’d logged enough miles to get to hell and back by now. ;-).
Recently, on June 26th, ‘23, the class of 2027 had their first day at West Point, more commonly known as “R” Day (Reception Day). That evening, I posted a picture of a whiskey Old Fashioned I was drinking on our class Facebook page and offered a toast to the class of ‘27. They will graduate 49 years after we did. I don’t care how much easier it may have become; one thing I know for sure is you never forget your first day at West Point. It may become blurry, but you won’t forget it. Ever.
In the comments to the post, one of my classmates, Joe Mooney, brilliantly suggested having a “The Corps Has” Old Fashioned, by using WhistlePig whiskey in it. Our Classmate, Dave Pickerel, was one of the founders and the Master Distiller at WhistlePig Distillery. I started thinking about it. How would I make/what would go into a “The Corps Has” Old Fashioned?
After some additional thought and a few practice rounds, here’s my version, with explanation, of a “The Corps Has” Old Fashioned*.
Ingredients
Instructions
1. Add a sugar cube to a rocks glass. These days, most recipes for an Old Fashioned start with a teaspoon of simple syrup. To hell with that. Since we are Old Corps, we are going to start the way the original Old Fashioned started – with a sugar cube.
2. Shake 2 or 3 dashes of the Smoked Cherry Bitters** onto the sugar cube. Why Smoked Cherry instead of the Angostura Bitters called for in the original Old Fashioned? The Smoked Cherry Bitters add just a bit of haze to the drink. Sort of like the haziness of our memories of West Point. (If you can’t find Smoked Cherry bitters, look for another smoked bitters, or use regular Angostura.)
3. Add the Teaspoon of warm water to the glass. Muddle the sugar cube until it dissolves in the bitters and water (TA-DA! No simple syrup needed. 😉 )
4. Add the Rye and stir. Why WhistlePig PiggyBack Rye? First, as I previously mentioned, our deceased Classmate, Dave Pickerel, after a stint as the master distiller at Makers Mark, was one of the founders and the master distiller at WhistlePig. Every bottle of PiggyBack actually has his birth and death years on the neck of the bottle (1956-2018). Also, it’s Rye, not bourbon. Rye is spicier than bourbon, which is generally sweeter. While there were some sweet times at West Point, I’d have to say overall the experience was more on the complex and spicy side. It certainly wasn’t for everyone.
5. Add the ice. Stir until chilled.
6. Use a lighter or a match to singe the orange peel a bit (note, I said singe, not burn). Express the orange peel over the glass and then drop it in. Stir a few more times. Why singe the orange peel? It adds a little smokiness to the peel when you express it. It doesn’t change the drink…much. But somewhere in the background it adds a touch of something you can’t quite place, but think you remember. Not unlike that first summer at Beast Barracks, the memory of which seems clear and hazy at the same time.
7. Raise your glass in remembrance of our fallen classmates and toast the Corps of Cadets.
The Corps Has? No, not really. Every year young men and women report to West Point at the start of summer. I suspect those four years always have been and always will be a challenge. The demands and tests evolve, but are always there. Thank God there are still those today who answer the call.
Addendum:
I recently received another email from my friend Bob in Ukraine: “Last night the air raid alarms went off about 2:30 am. We were hoping the attack was only another wave of the Iranian Shaheed drones, as the defenses are normally stopping 100% of those. But when the text of the warning came to my wife Vita’s phone, it was a major missile attack. The attack was targeting Kyiv directly.”
This is the second blog I’ve written about my friend Bob Pitts who lives near Kyiv, Ukraine. A link to the first blog is in the Addendum.
Bob’s email continued: “Six Kh-47M2 “Kinzhal” missiles were launched from six MiG-31K aircraft. The Kinzhal is Putin’s hypersonic missile that he has bragged about as being unstoppable. Making statements about it as some secret Russian technology America and the West can’t match.
BUT – Every one of them was shot down in the air, so I imagine there is some serious nervousness in the Kremlin right now. Someone has to go and tell Putin his magic hypersonic missiles are no longer effective – and also tell him he just wasted many millions on this attack. (They don’t have many of these left in stock to begin with). Before last night’s attack -> no one had been able to stop the Kinzhal missiles.
In addition to the Kinzhals, 9 Kalibr cruise missiles were launched from ships in the Black Sea, and three land-based missiles (S-400, “Iskander-M”). All of them were destroyed by the air defense forces of Ukraine.
The sound of the missile being hit was deafening- our windows and doors shook. The attack came from the South and so the defenses hit them near our town. Thankfully not directly over us, as there are reports of damage from falling debris.”
I can’t quite imagine the heart-pounding you must feel going through an attack like that. And of course, some version of this has been happening for over a year now in Ukraine.
Throughout it all, we need to remember people also live their lives. In Bob and Vita’s case, that included celebrating their eighteenth wedding anniversary about a week after the big attack. They’ve lived in both America and Ukraine during those eighteen years and have been in Ukraine for the past two years.
For their anniversary, they celebrated at Cafe’ Mimi in their hometown of Brovary, just outside of Kyiv. Katya, the chef/owner of Cafe’ Mimi made them an American carrot cake using Vita’s recipe – Bob says he has “had carrot cake all over the US and in many other countries and THIS one was the best I have EVER eaten -> better than my grandmother’s.” 😎
We see stories of sharing life and love during the dangers of war over and over in both the real world and in fiction. The great novels “Doctor Zhivago” (Pasternak), “For Whom the Bell Tolls” (Hemingway), “A Time to Love and a Time to Die” (Remarque), or “From Here to Eternity” (Jones) showed us those love stories in fiction, but I like to think Bob and Vita’s story in real life gives them a good run for the money. Life goes on, even amid the struggles of wartime. Sometimes, all you really need is to be with the love of your life and enjoy a slice of carrot cake.
We should all celebrate life as lovingly as Bob and Vita and remember to focus on what is truly important.
Addendum:
Live Life Exuberantly 