Snow Satisfaction

In 1988, Cath and I enjoyed a ski vacation in the village of Ischgl, Austria, known for both its skiing, and its Après-ski activities. It also presented the opportunity to ski from Austria to Switzerland, as long as we brought our passports. As is usual, Cathy had the last word after we completed the run.

While stationed in Germany in the ‘80s, we took many ski vacations to Austria, sometimes for a long weekend, sometimes for a week. We often went with our friends Jim and Res to the Austrian town of Nauders on the Italian border. The skiing was great there and we enjoyed many fun trips with them.

***Good Times With Jim and Res on One of Our Ski Trips.***

In ‘88, Jim and Res couldn’t get away, so we decided to go on our own and try a new location. We eventually settled on Ischgl, a village in Austria’s Paznaun Valley with nearly 150 miles of groomed downhill trails. It’s also known as something of a party town with a multitude of Après-ski bars, clubs and restaurants.

We had a great time that week and the town lived up to both its ski and Après reputation. We would ski in the morning, have lunch and a bier at a restaurant on the mountainside, and then ski all afternoon. Eventually, we skied our way back to town and stopped at different places for a drink. Afterwards, we walked to our Gasthaus, cleaned up and went out for dinner, and maybe dancing later. Finally, we’d make it to bed, sleep like the dead, and then do the same thing the next day. It was wonderful, and an easy thing to do when in your early thirties.

***Cathy Catching Some Rays on the Slope at Lunch One Day***

We learned we could ski from Ischgl, across the border and into the duty-free town of Samnaun, Switzerland. As the crow flies, about 10 kilometers separate the two towns, but It’s farther when skiing. Looking at the map, the route was a combination of ski lifts and Blue and Red trails. (in Europe, Blue are considered easy and Red are intermediate trails). Although we didn’t need passports to enter Switzerland, we would need them to re-enter Austria. We decided to give it a go the next day and have lunch in Samnaun, before returning to Austria.

***Ischgl on the Right. Samnaun on the Left.***

It was a perfect day with a blue sky as we started towards Samnaun. Through a combination of skiing and a couple of chairlifts, we arrived at the red trail heading into Switzerland. As we descended, it was nice skiing, but then we came upon an icy, relatively steep cat-track, connecting on its far side to a steep descent to the village of Samnaun. Several people stopped there gathering their breath, before continuing. The mountain was on the right side of the track. On the left side, the ground dropped rapidly away into an unskiable valley. As we were watching, many people had problems on the ice and were falling, so some caution was warranted. We were about ready to go when someone came zooming down the slope from above, cut his skis into the snow and ice to turn onto the cat-track and… the skis didn’t grab the ice. Instead of turning, he shot off the side of the mountain, traveled through the air for about 40 feet, and then landed 20 feet below the trail in the snow. Hmmmm.

That caught our attention, particularly Cathy’s. The guy was OK, but now needed to find one of his skis and then climb back up the side of the valley to reach the trail. He couldn’t ski out from where he was.

We watched awhile longer, and then I said to Cath it was time to go. She disagreed and wanted to wait a little longer. More time went by and Cathy still wasn’t quite ready. Finally, I said something like “We can’t stay here, and we can’t go back up. The only way out is down the cat-track.” Eventually we started and slowly made our way. Cathy reverted to snow-plowing and her edges grabbed on the ice. After what seemed like forever, but in reality was probably two or three minutes, we made it past the cat-track. A few people were crashing and burning around us, but we had nary a fall. All that was left was the final descent.

We stood there congratulating ourselves and I pulled out my flask for us to share a short shot of brandy. I filled the cap about half full and handed it to Cathy. She looked in the cap and said, “Really? Do you think I could have a double?!” We both laughed and I filled the cap to the brim. She shot it down, handed it back, and took off on the final descent into Samnaun. After pouring myself a short one, I put away the flask and tore after her, eventually catching up. While the slope was a little steep, the snow was good and we arrived in town without mishap.

We took off our skis and found a nice looking Gasthaus. I don’t remember what we ate, but the bier we drank with lunch tasted awfully good. After lingering a while and doing a little shopping, we took a cable car back up the mountain. Following a short ski, and then an additional chairlift ride further up, we arrived at the border crossing into Austria, where we dutifully presented our passports.

Once through customs, we skied down the slope into Austria. We made a couple more runs, and decided to call it quits. It had been a tiring day.

We skied into town to a bar/restaurant we discovered earlier in the week, and after stacking our skis outside, walked in. The place was quite crowded. We found a small table, settled in, and ordered biers along with a couple of Poire Williams*, a French eau de vie (we called them Poor Willies).

As we sipped our biers, the band began playing and their first song was The Stones’ “Satisfaction”. We, along with half the crowd, jumped on the dance floor and started dancing in our ski boots. As we were dancing, the crowd, a mishmash of Austrians, Germans, French, Dutch, Italians and others from who knows where, were all singing at the top of their lungs “I CAN’T GET SNOW… SATISFACTION!” It was one of those perfect moments you can never replicate, but forever remains clear as a bell in your mind’s eye. To this day, I feel my boots hitting the floor in time with the music, hear the crowd singing to “Satisfaction” and see the look of laughter and love in Cathy’s eyes.

Eventually it was time to leave. We went outside to find our skis and make our way home. As we were standing there, Cathy grabbed her crotch with one hand and started pulling at her clothes. I burst out laughing and said, “What the hell are you doing?!” She looked me straight in the eye and answered, “I am adjusting my balls. I kicked that slope’s ass today!” With that, my wife threw her skis over her shoulder and started walking home.

Addendum:

Poire Williams is the name of a French eau de vie (literal translation – “water of life”), a clear brandy made from pears. Poire is the French word for pear, while Williams is the type of pear. In Germany and Austria, they make an equivalent bottling called Williams Birne Schnaps. Both are strong, and nothing like the peppermint schnapps we know here in America. Depending on the quality, you might either sip or shoot it.

Knowledge and Wisdom

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.

EYES … RIGHT!

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.”

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.

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.

***Chang ’78, Jolicoeur ’25, Mislinski ’78, Conroy ’24, Liu ’24, Foley ’78***

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/

Dad and Pearl Harbor

It was December 6th, 1941. Dad, Noble and other men from B Company, 60th Regimental Combat Team of the 9th Infantry Division had weekend passes. They left Fort Bragg, North Carolina that Saturday for nearby Fayetteville. They didn’t know it yet, but the next day their world would change forever.

That weekend, Dad was a little over 18 years old and had been in the Army for about fifteen months. The 9th Infantry Division reactivated in August of 1940, and Dad joined the unit in September of that year, at the age of 16.

***Dad (on the left) in 1941 in the Bravo Company Motor Pool.***

In 1940, the population of Fort Bragg was 5,400. One year later, there were 67,000 troops at Bragg and Fayetteville was on the way to becoming a military town, with bars, clubs, restaurants and everything needed to “entertain” the troops, for better or worse.

Dad and the other boys of Company B received their weekend passes that fateful weekend and probably left Bragg around noon. Typical weekend passes went from noon on Saturday to 6PM on Sunday. They usually rented a room or two to use as a base for their partying. Over the years, he told me about some of those weekend passes. Real food, beer, clubs, blues, jazz, dancing and trying to link up with girls. They’d party into the night, and then the next day, after a big breakfast, party some more until they eventually returned to Post. I heard stories about fun times in North Carolina (Fayetteville and Charlotte) in Tunisia and Algeria, and late in the war back in Washington DC. Let’s just say, Dad knew how to party.

For this particular weekend, he didn’t tell me about any of that. What he talked about was the return to Fort Bragg late Sunday afternoon on December 7th.

Dad and several others were returning to the Post in a cab. I think he said there was a formation at 6PM for accountability purposes, but maybe they just had to sign back in. He and his friend, Noble, had partied it up pretty good and were a bit hungover. As they neared Fort Bragg, two things happened. First, traffic was backed up to drive onto the Post – they were checking IDs or checking IDs more closely than normal. Second – the cab driver turned on the car radio.

By 1940, AM radios were considered a standard feature in automobiles. The stations carried news, some radio shows and music. There weren’t lots of stations, and the programming wasn’t all that varied. This time however, the boys of Company B heard the words that would change their lives. An NBC announcer read the following statement, relayed earlier from station KGU in Hawaii:

BULLETIN: We have witnessed this morning the attack of Pearl Harbor and the severe bombing of Pearl Harbor by army planes that are undoubtedly Japanese. The city of Honolulu has also been attacked and considerable damage done. This battle has been going on for nearly three hours. One of the bombers dropped within fifty feet of Tanti Towers. It’s no joke -it’s a real war. The public of Honolulu has been advised to keep in their homes and away from the army and navy. There has been severe fighting going on in the air and on the sea …(There then was an interruption, followed by this) . . . We have no statement as to how much damage has been done but it has been a very severe attack. The army and the navy, it appears, now has the air and sea under control.

There is a five-hour time difference between Honolulu and the East Coast. The attack on Pearl Harbor started at 8AM and lasted about 90 minutes (not the three hours in the news bulletin). That means the attack ended about 9:30AM Honolulu time, or 2:30PM East Coast time. The Honolulu station was somewhat delayed in reporting the news, and then of course, in the pre-internet age, it took longer for stations in the Continental US to pick up the bulletin and rebroadcast it. My guess is Dad, Noble and the other guys were hearing this news around 4:30PM or so that afternoon.

What did they do at this point? Wait in the cab to drive onto Fort Bragg? Get out of the cab and run onto Fort Bragg? Leave the cab and start talking with the other gathering soldiers? None of those things happened.

Instead, they directed the cabbie to make a U-Turn and drive back to Fayetteville. They were going to hit the bars again, even though they would be Absent Without Leave (AWOL) and miss the evening formation. They knew instantly this was going to be a shooting war, training was going to get tougher and opportunities to leave Post become slimmer. They weren’t going to miss this chance for a last shebang.

***Dad and Noble in ‘41 or Early ‘42*** ***on a Different Weekend Pass.***

And of course, when they returned to Fayetteville, they weren’t alone. Soldiers were everywhere drinking and partying. I think Dad said he thought half his battalion was in town. They joined the crowd and partied into the evening. There was a great deal of talk about when and where they would deploy.

Eventually, they returned to Bragg late that night. According to Dad lots of guys had hangovers at morning formation on Monday, December 8th, but nothing was really done about them missing the evening formation. There was too much work to do.

On the evening of the 8th, President Roosevelt gave his famous “A Day which will live in Infamy” speech to a joint session of Congress. The speech was broadcast live by radio and attracted the largest audience in American radio history, with over 80% of Americans allegedly tuning in to hear it.

***President Roosevelt Speaking to Congress on Dec 8, 1941.***

Eleven months to the day later, on November 8th, 1943, the men of the 60th Regimental Combat Team, including Dad and Noble, landed on the beach under fire in North Africa at Port Lyautey, Morocco as a part of Operation Torch. The counteroffensive had started against the Axis powers in the European Theater of Operations.

When dad joined the Army in 1940, it was for a three-year hitch. It would be 5 years before he was honorably discharged in August of 1945. He took part in the invasions of North Africa and Sicily, where he was wounded and almost died. I think partying several extra hours on the evening of December 7th was probably justified.

— Never Forget —

Addendum:

In 1940, the population of Fort Bragg was 5,400. By the following year, it reached 67,000. Various units trained at Fort Bragg during World War II, including the 9th Infantry Division, the 82D Airborne Division, the 100th Infantry Division, the 2nd Armored Division and various field artillery groups. The population reached a peak of 159,000 during the war years. This past year, Fort Bragg was renamed Fort Liberty.
Here is one other Pearl Harbor blog I’ve done: The plaque is only a small one, over in front of The South Ottawa Town-Hall on 1st Avenue. The Hall is still used for occasional meetings, but 1st Avenue is pretty sleepy in that area, so I don’t know how many people actually ever see the plaque. When I walk by, the words always compel me to stop. And think. And remember … Herman Koeppe was 19 the day he died […] https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2016/11/30/never-forget/

Ochsenschwanzsuppe

In America, we often ignore cuts of meat used to make excellent dishes elsewhere – beef cheeks and pork jowl are two examples. Oxtail is another. When we lived in Germany, Ochsenschwanzsuppe (Oxtail soup) was a classic you rarely see here. It’s an OMG wonderful dish I’ve made a couple of times now.

Of course, many hear the word Schwanz, and immediately think of the Mel Brooks film, Young Frankenstein and the scene with Inga (the great Terry Garr) using the pseudo-German word schwanzstucker*. I can assure you, there is no schwanzstucker in this Ochsenschwanzsuppe. 😉

***Young Frankenstein – Worth Watching Again, Just for the Schwanzstucker Scene!***

In today’s world, what we are really talking about is beef tail, but I’m going to stick with Ochsenschwanz, or oxtail, which is what it was called when we originally learned about it in Germany. Plus, it sounds cooler.

***Oxtail; You Can Actually Order it in a Butcher Shop These Days.***

Oxtail is high in protein, has abundant collagen and is a source of healthy fats. With the high collagen and connective tissue content, oxtail was made for long, slow cooking in dishes such as this soup. It’s a great winter dish. I’ve learned from friends who also cook that it is core to many other ethnic dishes as well. As an example, my friend Antoine Freche says, “Oxtail is the preferred bone source when creating a “silky-smooth” broth for Vietnamese Pho. Oxtails are best since they contain more collagen than a regular beef bone. The collagen is what makes the broth silky-smooth.”

I have to agree with Antoine. The broth in this soup is wonderful. It is a different flavor than a typical beef stew and packed with umami**. Silky and smooth are both great descriptors, but so are tasty, delicious and “OMG this is so f’in good!” I’m already thinking of ways to use this broth for other dishes – it really is that outstanding.

This recipe combines a rich beef and vegetable broth with paprika and pepper to add some bite, along with sherry and cream to round it out. It’s finished with a roux. It takes a while to make but is sooooo good. If you don’t have quite enough Oxtail, add some chuck steak, or some other roast to make up the difference.

Traditionally, Oxtail soup is served as a first course in Germany at restaurants or special events. They have two main versions of Oxtail Soup there – one is a clear broth with beef bits, the other is a “gebundene” (bound) version and is a little heartier. This recipe is a gebundene soup.

***Ochsenschwanzsuppe – This is Soooooo Good, and Packed With Umami.***

While the original version of this recipe was for a first course, Cath and I have it as a meal. With some bread and a small salad, it’s hard to beat. If you want to add a little to it for a main course, cut up a carrot or two and simmer with the sauce in the final 1/2 hour. As with most soups and stews, it’s better the day after you first cook the broth. The meal is certainly guest worthy, but I won’t judge if just you and your partner eat it by yourselves over two or three days. By the third day, it will be mostly just broth left, but that doesn’t matter. You’ll still be marveling at how tasty it is.

Addendum:

* Here’s the scene from the Mel Brooks film, Young Frankenstein. It’s a great scene with Inga (Terry Garr) using the pseudo German word schwanzstucker. Gene Wilder’s reaction is classic: https://youtu.be/QuHw5ivCs1A?si=_nb9DdTWr1rlTXF1
** Umami is a fifth category of taste in food (besides sweet, sour, salt, and bitter). For me, the best description is one of savoriness, or perhaps earthiness. Umami means “essence of deliciousness” in Japanese.
Pork Jowl is sometimes considered traditional in Southern Cooking, particularly in a pairing with Black-eyed Peas for good luck on New Years Day. You don’t see it cooked that way much anymore, with folks substituting fatback, or bacon instead. It’s also used in Italy to make Guanciale, a cured meat considered essential for an authentic pasta carbonara.
I have a heavenly recipe for Beef Cheek Daube (stew) that is served over saffron risotto. Like oxtail, it is full of collagen. The first time I made the dish, two of our local grocery stores said there was no such cut of meat as beef cheeks. I ended up going to our wonderful local butcher shop, The Whole Ox, who knew immediately what I was talking about, and got the cheeks for us. The recipe is so good, we once served it on NY Eve.

Cranberries à la Dad

Thanksgiving, that truly American holiday, is approaching and started me to thinking about Dad and his Cranberry Sauce. It’s a great recipe filled with bourbon, cranberries, shallots, orange zest and memories. I love the fact that I get to spend a little time with Dad whenever I make it.

***Cranberries, Bourbon, Orange Zest and Shallots…***

Growing up in the Hall house in Ottawa, Illinois, Thanksgiving and Christmas were nearly identical meals – turkey, dressing, oyster dressing, mashed potatoes, candied sweet potatoes, corn and green bean casserole. The desserts – pumpkin pie, mincemeat pie and if we were lucky, strawberry-rhubarb pie, were all made by my Aunt Marge, a wonderful baker. Sometimes we would have a cherry pie from Aunt Diane – the cherries were from a tree in her yard. For snacks ahead of time, there were black olives and pickles (when young, my sisters put the olives on the ends of their fingers and then ate them off). There was cranberry sauce served as well – sliced out of the can.

I remember both meals as large loud affairs – Grandma, uncle Don and aunt Diane and their kids would be there. Various uncles or aunts stopping by for a slice of pie and cup of coffee after their own meals. Roberta and Tanya’s friend Marsali would inevitably stop over. Later when we were older my buddies Howard and Tim stopped in for a drink (to settle the stomach) after their own dinners.

Both meals were delicious and mostly made by mom. The kitchen was her domain. She often joked she actually spent more money on the oysters for the oyster dressing than she did on the turkey, and that’s saying something. I never thought to ask why we had exactly the same meal for both occasions and was somewhat shocked when I later learned other families served steaks or some other non-turkey meal for Christmas.

Everything for both Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner was homemade – except for the cranberry sauce. Growing up in the midwest, I think that was fairly typical – canned cranberry sauce, sliced into equal, perfectly round slices.

***Sliced Cranberry Sauce. Please, No Judgement.***

That changed one year, probably around 1984 or so when Dad retired from work. After he retired from the railroad, mom continued to work another seven years until she reached retirement age. As a result, Dad took over much of the cooking at home.

Cath and I were home for Christmas that year and dad had a surprise for us – homemade cranberry sauce! We all oohed and ahhhed over those cranberries and how good they were. Now mind you, mom was still making the entire rest of the meal (with help from my sisters by this point in time), but Dad now had his contribution as well. I think it came from a Bon Appétit recipe he tweaked slightly.

And so, Cranberries à la Dad became a part of the tradition for both Christmas and Thanksgiving.

***Mom, Dad and I around the Time He Started Making his Cranberry Sauce Recipe.***

It’s carried on at Cath’s and my home for Thanksgiving as well, although these days, we are having Thanksgiving with friends at their homes as often as not. The recipe is easy to follow, and cooks quickly. Still, I enjoy the few minutes it allows me to spend with Dad. As I smell the bourbon reducing and hear the snapping and popping sound of the cranberries opening, I reminisce and think about the good times we enjoyed with Dad over the years. It’s not a bad way to spend a half hour or 45 minutes.

***You can Hear the Cranberries as They Sizzle and Pop While Opening.***

Here’s the recipe. You have plenty of time before the big day to buy the ingredients. I usually make it the day before Thanksgiving while sipping on a small glass of bourbon, but the morning of works as well, if there’s room for you in the kitchen. For a chunkier look, don’t let all of the cranberries burst. Cranberries, bourbon, shallots, orange zest and memories – it’s a recipe that works.

Addendum:

Thanks to my sisters, Roberta and Tanya, for their input to this blog. It’s always great to share memories with those you love.

Developing A Wine Palate

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.

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.

“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.

Grip Hands

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.

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 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.

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/

Eight Years

I started the blog “Live Life Exuberantly” eight years ago this week. I didn’t know where this journey would take me, but I’m somewhat amazed – 341 posts later, and it’s still going. One of the many things I’ve learned about myself along the way is that I’m more of a storyteller than a writer.

My first blog, “Why Live Life Exuberantly”, (a link is in the addendum) was published on October 19th, 2015. It was 300 words long and a reaction to a number of health issues or deaths several friends and family members were going through at the time. Looking back now, I think it was an attempt to start something new in life, partly to show myself I was still alive, and maybe growing.

Since then, it’s been a strange journey. There is no discernible overall theme with the blog such as cooking, or politics, or history, or current events. In fact, it has been all over the place, which I think is both a strength and a weakness. I don’t attract people who want to focus on one subject only, whether it’s new recipes, or the latest fulminations about our current political environment. That “focused space” seems to be where most bloggers/writers are these days. This blog is pretty much the opposite, covering whatever happens to pique my interest at any given time.

Topics have included family history, Dad’s time in the Army, my time in the Army, Covid, our travels in Africa, racism, drinking stories, guest blogs from a couple of friends, current events, politics, our pets, baseball, cooking and food, Germany, Ukraine, random thoughts, friends and a host of other topics. I keep telling myself I’m going to cross reference them by general topic someday, but it hasn’t happened yet.

My 340 previous posts have generated around 83,000 views from over 60,000 visitors over the past eight years. I’ve written close to 400,000 words during that period of time. When the blog started, I averaged a post every two weeks or so. Now, I push something out on a weekly basis and average 150-250 views/post. The best ones have generated over 1,000 views. The less read, around 60-70. Those are pretty small potatoes compared to “real” bloggers. They mostly write daily and have thousands of views for each post.

My blogs with the lowest number of views tend to be cooking or baseball write ups. It’s funny, I know they aren’t going to be viewed/read much, but I can’t help myself from writing several of those over the course of a year. Sometimes a blog I think will have minimal viewing ends up exploding, while others I’ve poured my heart and soul into generate only minimal interest.

That last point led me to an observation about this effort – I’m writing as much for myself as for others. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’m glad people read the blog and I track the statistics – but for me, a big part of the pleasure is in the writing. And, while I believe my writing has improved over the years, I know I’m not a particularly gifted writer. Ernest Hemingway and Toni Morrison can rest easy in their graves. Having said that, I do think I’ve inherited a bit of my dad’s ability to tell a story.

When we were kids sitting around the breakfast table on Saturday mornings, there would inevitably be uncles or aunts visiting and drinking coffee. Dad was great at telling stories from his childhood during the depression, or his time in the army. It didn’t matter how many times you heard them, he had a way of making them fresh, or funny, every time he told them. We’d sit there laughing as we heard for the tenth time how he and Uncle Mickey learned there was no Santa Claus. He was a natural storyteller.

Telling stories. Yea, I think that’s what I mostly do, and I thank dad for that gift. Some of these stories write themselves, and my fingers can barely keep up with my brain. Others, well, others take time and thought and struggle. The path isn’t always clear and I write, rewrite, throw away, and write again. I think I enjoy that struggle. It’s a challenge and makes me feel alive. It’s a bit like trying to solve a problem and I know I sometimes do a better job of solving the puzzle than others.

In all of this, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention my friend Colleen and my wife Cathy. Colleen has reviewed virtually all of my blogs for the past few years with edits and suggestions. She’s a real lifesaver. And Cathy? She keeps me grounded and has no problem saying, “What the hell are you thinking here?” Or, “Really? You’re going to write about that?”

I have no idea what the future will bring for me, or for “Live Life Exuberantly”. My guess is as long as I’m having fun, I’ll keep writing. And whether you are a regular, occasional or first-time reader, thanks for joining me on this journey. If you are a routine reader, I’m guessing the randomness of my topics is something you find interesting. I hope, at least occasionally, you find something that makes you smile, or makes you think.

Peace.

Addendum:

Here’s a link to the very first blog: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2015/10/19/why-live-life-exuberantly/

The Bears Den

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

max's occasional blog about life

Tag: #memories

Snow Satisfaction

Knowledge and Wisdom

EYES … RIGHT!

Dad and Pearl Harbor

Ochsenschwanzsuppe

Cranberries à la Dad

Developing A Wine Palate

Grip Hands

Eight Years

The Bears Den

Menu