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James Hamilton, M. D.

Oral Health

Good advice, Mike 🪥!

😁

Jim

Michael Boulware

Michael McLeod

Forgive me if I've shared this before.

It's a poem that helped inspire me to pursue an occupation I loved, that being journalism.

I never met Robert Frost but he gave me the advice that put me on the path I chose for myself when I read this poem many years ago..

Such a gift that man had: it's poetry, but upon reading it you feel more like you're a kid, sitting on a davenport in your jammies in your grandparent's living room, and your grandpa's reading you a story before sending you off to bed.

Here's a good example, and one of my favorites among his many beautiful poems. And I truly believe that reading this poem when I was young played a role in my decision to "unite my avocation and vocation" and choose a workaday path that I would love.

I like how arftully yet humbly he sums up the weather. that was frost through and through: brilliant, but so down to earth. And I love how he phrases his admission that beating the crap out of those logs is therapeutic for him, helping him to work out the frustrations of his day, whatever they were.

Two Tramps in Mud Time

• • by Robert Frost (1874-1963)

     

• Out of the mud two strangers came
  And caught me splitting wood in the yard,
  And one of them put me off my aim
  By hailing cheerily “Hit them hard!”
  I knew pretty well why he dropped behind
  And let the other go on a way.
  I knew pretty well what he had in mind:
  He wanted to take my job for pay.

  Good blocks of beech it was I split,
  As large around as the chopping block;
  And every piece I squarely hit
  Fell splinterless as a cloven rock.
  The blows that a life of self-control
  Spares to strike for the common good
  That day, giving a loose to my soul,
  I spent on the unimportant wood.

  The sun was warm but the wind was chill.
  You know how it is with an April day
  When the sun is out and the wind is still,
  You’re one month on in the middle of May.
  But if you so much as dare to speak,
  A cloud comes over the sunlit arch,
  A wind comes off a frozen peak,
  And you’re two months back in the middle of March.

  A bluebird comes tenderly up to alight
  And fronts the wind to unruffle a plume
  His song so pitched as not to excite
  A single flower as yet to bloom.
  It is snowing a flake: and he half knew
  Winter was only playing possum.
  Except in color he isn’t blue,
  But he wouldn’t advise a thing to blossom.

  The water for which we may have to look
  In summertime with a witching wand,
  In every wheel rut’s now a brook,
  In every print of a hoof a pond.
  Be glad of water, but don’t forget
  The lurking frost in the earth beneath
  That will steal forth after the sun is set
  And show on the water its crystal teeth.

  The time when most I loved my task
  These two must make me love it more
  By coming with what they came to ask.
  You’d think I never had felt before
  The weight of an axhead poised aloft,
  The grip on earth of outspread feet.
  The life of muscles rocking soft
  And smooth and moist in vernal heat.

  Out of the woods two hulking tramps
  (From sleeping God knows where last night,
  But not long since in the lumber camps.)
  They thought all chopping was theirs of right.
  Men of the woods and lumberjacks,
  They judged me by their appropriate tool.
  Except as a fellow handled an ax,
  They had no way of knowing a fool.

  Nothing on either side was said.
  They knew they had but to stay their stay
  And all their logic would fill my head:
  As that I had no right to play
  With what was another man’s work for gain.
  My right might be love but theirs was need.
  And where the two exist in twain
  Theirs was the better right — agreed.

  But yield who will to their separation,
  My object in living is to unite
  My avocation and my vocation
  As my two eyes make one in sight.
  Only where love and need are one,
  And the work is play for mortal stakes,
  Is the deed ever really done
  For heaven and the future’s sakes

David Mitchell

Back to the movies for a moment.

For a long boring evening I decided to watch Braveheart with Mel Gibson as lead actor and director. It's one of those epic films (I guess) that I had never watched all the way through, and I had a whole evening to kill.

And yes, it is loooong!

Anyway, there is a part where Rob Bruce (another historic Scottish hero) comes into the story and betrays William Wallace (Gibson) in a key battle. That seemed odd to me so I looked it up.

Apparantly there was never such a betrayal, and in fact, historians believe the two men never met. 

So I ask myself, why on earth would you create such a major falsehood in such an important movie?

(You three readers can go back to something interesting now)

Joseph D. McCarthy

Mike, The best rates for thw Homewood suites inHilliard can be obtained IF someone in the committe calls, ask for Latasha, and sees about a Group rate or discount.  

Spoiler alert, Spoiler alert.  Dave is once again giving away the biggest film plot in Braveheart.  Way to go, now I don't have to watch the film.

David Mitchell

March Madness

You are probably all familiar with the young NBA star from France, Victor Wembanyama. He's 7' 4".

But Florida has a young player who is 7' 9"!

His name is Oliver Rioux 

Look it up.

David Mitchell

Did somebody say March Madness?

The same group of 6 of us - one Captain, 2 of us Warrant Officers - (alll 3 pilots) and 3 enlisted guys, played full court (partly pictured) basketball several nights a week off and on throughout the year. Great way to relax.

Michael McLeod

that picture reminds me of basic training.

and dave I know this is gonna break your heart but movies are make-believe.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ee6_xG788LE

David Mitchell

Interesting referrence - thanks Mike

James Hamilton, M. D.

Seeking the Shade 

Five does taking a siesta break.

Jim

David Mitchell

About a week back, Jack posted a great story about a mortar attack.

Here is an episode that cost us one of our best local "buddies".

MORTAR ATTACKS - A Regular "Visitor"

Life on Vinh Long Airfield was relatively secure - at times even boring. A property the size of a regional shopping center had a perimeter that was well manned with plenty of little two-story guard shacks (manned 24 hours a day) and several small towers along the more exposed south and east sides. Barbed wire was everywhere, and the one main gate was heavily guarded.

But we still had an unwelcome visitor every few weeks - always late at night – usual after most of us were asleep for the night. Sometime in the middle of the night, a few small teams of Viet Cong would set up mortar tubes in the open fields out to our southeast and send us their life-threatening calling cards. I never learned if they were the smaller 60mm or the larger 80mm tubes, but it didn't matter - they were scary as hell and could wreak havoc on humans or our parked aircraft on the flight line. A few photos throughout the book show the "Revetments" (concrete walls) between parking spaces to cut down on the splash effect of mortar explosions. They might hit one, but the spreading lateral damage was partly mitigated by the revetements.

          Looking down at the short end of our flightline - row after row of concrete "revetments".

It seemed like their usual target was our aircraft out on the flight line, but the noise was enough to wake us up and scare the crap out of us a few hundred yards away in our beds. I can recall jumping up in my underwear in sheer panic and scrambling down the hall of our hooch and into the bunker just ten feet from our back door. We would stand there in the dim light of a single bare bulb, listening to our Cobra gunships (a team always circling high above the airfield throughout the night), firing rockets down on those mortar tubes, as soon as they could detect the location of a flash from the tubes. It was usually over in ten or fifteen minutes, then back to bed.

The first several attacks scared the living crap out of me! I was quick to jump up and dash down the hall and into the bunker. But as time went on, I grew somewhat accustomed to sound and was slower to respond. I recall the last two times, someone actually had to come back in and wake me to get me up for my dash to safety.

TBC

David Mitchell

MORTAR ATTACKS - A Regular "Visitor" - conclusion

* I have edited out a portion that would not be suitable here. We once had a serious injury

On another of those occasions when they were aiming at the supply yard next to our hooch, we suffered no casualties, but we lost a valued member of the "Scout family".

There was a space outside our back door where we sometimes gathered in the evenings to relax  and chat outside. When we returned from our mission one day, we were blessed to find three ducks strutting around in this outdoor space. We fed them food crumbs and played with them. To our surprise and delight, they stayed - at least for a while.

We created a small space just for them. We were able to salvage one half of a barrel shaped “shipping cannisters" (from one of our little "Allison" Loach engines). We sunk that into the ground and filled it with about fifteen inches of water. We also replanted a small nipa-palm tree - maybe five feet tall and propped a large wooden box on its side for shelter from the rain. And someone managed to "requisition" (stole) some small sections of very short garden fencing - supposedly from in front of the Officers Club. I never did find out who did that. We used the fencing to enclose the entire "complex" making about a six by-six-foot "home".

Two of the ducks left in a few days but one of them stayed and stayed - maybe a month or two. We named him "Choy". "Choy Duc" in Vietnamese means something like "Goddammit." Weren't we clever? We fed him and held him and played with him every day when we came back off the flight line.

But on one of those mortar attacks - the ones dropping on that supply yard – Choy decided to relocate to a safer neighborhood. We never saw him again.

We were distraught!

                     You can see three ducks just inside the fence at right.

Michael McLeod

You guys had a lot more to beware of than ducks, dave.

I appreciate your discretion when it comes to relating the things you had to deal with in the service -- and count my lucky stars that I lucked out and wound up with a desk job for the duration. Scariest duty I ever had was cleaning the latrines.

. 

James Hamilton, M. D.

Hmmmmm...

Something to think about as we consider moving back to the Buckeye State in the future:

🤔😀, 

Jim

Michael McLeod

you really thinking of going home, jim? I've entertained that notion myself.

James Hamilton, M. D.

Mike McL

Yes, we are probably going to be back to Ohio as that will be best for us as we approach our eighties. Janet's family is quite large and will be more able to help us if ever needed. Even though the thought of such a move is daunting it will probably be the best option.

Jim

Michael McLeod

I'm kinda jealous of you moving back home Jim.

Florida has a lot of great newspapers and I've had a good career down here at two of them and yes the sunny weather is generally delightful although the simmer of summer sucks. It's like the worst Columbus August I can remember, extended for four months. Looking forward to hearing from you as you enjoy your return. 

John Jackson

The news today is that Trump has presented Iran with a peace plan.  If the Iranians accept it (which they said today they would not), Trump will stop the attacks and all will be well.  The sad thing is that Trump’s current demands were largely agreed to by Iran in 2015 when they accepted the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action that the Obama Administration negotiated.  This agreement wasn’t perfect and didn’t give the U.S. all it wanted (sometimes you have to choose between the good and the unattainable perfect), but Iran agreed to get rid of most of its nuclear material and agreed to limit enrichment of any material it retained to a level far below what is required for nuclear weapons. Iran also agreed to regular inspections  to make sure they didn’t cheat.  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iran_nuclear_deal

But Trump, in his infinite wisdom, tore up the agreement in 2017 and Iran proceeded to move forward with its nuclear ambitions.  So today we are waging what should have been an unnecessary war that has resulted in the deaths of 13 U.S. service members (and how many more once we put boots on the ground, as seems likely), is costing the U. S. $1.5 billion per day,  and has raised the price of gas by a dollar a gallon (if we're lucky).  All because Trump wanted to play the tough guy in 2017 and has now allowed Israel to goad him into a war that only Israel really wanted.

Heck of a job Donald!

But, as usual, the Borowitz Report says it far more eloquently than I ever could:

Trump Says Intelligence Played No Role in His Decision to Start War

WASHINGTON (The Borowitz Report)—Confirming the suspicions of many in the international community, on Monday Donald J. Trump revealed that intelligence played “no role” in his decision to go to war with Iran.

“People keep asking me about intelligence,” he told reporters on Air Force One. “I made this call with no intelligence whatsoever.”

“Quite frankly, every decision I’ve ever made in my life I’ve made without intelligence,” he boasted. “Intelligence is for losers.”

Trump added that “I don’t trust people who have intelligence, which is why I love Pete.”

Michael McLeod

John Jackson

Don’t forget No Kings tomorrow – I’ll be at my local protest.  Make it known that you think all that’s happening - Gestapo ICE tactics, crazy election fraud conspiracy theories, covering up sexual abuse of teenage girls by powerful men (Democratic or Republican) and waging a war of choice against Iran (which has starved the Ukrainians of the weapons they need to defend against the Russians) - IS NOT OK.

Joseph Gentilini

 We will be at one of the local No Kings protests tomorrow also. It is important.  joe

David Mitchell

Mike,

I was introduced to smoking by about 5th grade by my best buddy Tommy Litzinger. When I found out that some other buddys, Kevin Ryan and Mike Haggarty, also smoked, that was very cool. I figured what was good for them must be good for me.

But one day in 7th grade, a group of about six of us were all having a smoke together (down under the bridge on Rustic Bridge Road, in Old Beechwold) it occured to me that I didn't actually like it. I ficked my cigarette into the creek and neve smoked again.

My dad - a physician who's patients were mostly Allergy and Asthma cases - was a chain smoker (unfiltered Camels as I recall). I once saw old movies of Dad lighting a new cigarette off of the short end of another cigarette. I could hardly beleive what I was seeing.

He once had a visit with a long-time patient who was not going to live much longer, but who refused to give up smoking. After he left Dad's offfice, Dad grabbed his pack of cigarettes off his desk and schredded the entire pack and threw them in the trash. He never smoked again.

I wish my mom had done the same.

David Mitchell

Speaking of grade school "adventures", I wonder if anyone remembers receiving the "Brown Scapular"?

It was a soft material with two little prayer scenes on two litle felt rectangles having to do with Our Lady of Mount Carmel. It was worn on a soft string necklace.

We were getting ready to receive ours one afternoon in 3rd grade. I believe it was Mrs.Maisel (?) 3rd grade class which was right across the hallway from the school side entrance to the church. Yes, the ugliest church ever - built to be a gymnasium, but served as a "temporary" church for about 25 years. 

I had askd Mrs Maisel if I could be excused to go to the rest room and she said "no". Too many kids had just asked her and I guess I was one too many. In a few minutes, we all filed out of the classroom and through the the church side-door. (the church and the school shared a common wall) We knelt in silence for a while waiting for Father Foley (the scary, violent one) to join us. I was growing "nervous". When he arrived he gave us some instructions as to how the proceedure would go. More time waiting - more "nervous".

Finally, we were lined up kneeling at the alter rail and Father began the ceremony - reading a series of prayers at each person one at a time - and of course - at the far end of the altar rail from me. I began to squirm as I knelt there waiitng. When he got about three kids from me, I could not hold on any longer. I sprang from my place and ran back to the side-door into the school hallway, down the stairs to the basement, and into the boys room.  

I was too late.

I managed to wet my pants thoroughly and was panicked as to what to do. I could not go back upstairs and be seen, so I decided to hide in the space that led to the back of the furnace room. I hung out there for quite a while until our assistant pastor (Father Tague I think?) came into the boys room entrance and gently called out to me. I finally came out from behind the furnace at the far end of the boys room.

I felt humiliated but he gently talked me into coming out and joining him in the Rectory (right next door) He escorted me into a back office and seated me at a desk while he called my mother to explain why I was not on my way home with our neighbors carload of kids. She arrived shortly to drive me home alone.

And I have made it this far without my Brown Scapular.

Michael McLeod

I gotta go with my mother's rhubarb pie and ben and jerry's Americone Dream ice creme in a tie as my favorite desserts. I mean the sentimental edge goes to mom so I guess that would be the tie breaker..

Michael McLeod

on a whole other front here's one of the, let's just say more colorful stories I wrote back in the day, towards the end of my Florida magazine-writing days. 

https://www.sun-sentinel.com/1993/08/15/juilliard-graduate-master-cellist-crack-addict-prostitute-bonnie-hartman-was-a-rising-star-in-the-world-of-classical-music-until-the-new-york-fast-life-landed-her-on-the-streets-of-delray-beach-smokin/