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David Mitchell

Very Cool Fred.

There are so many stories of the good deeds of Woody that it'ss too bad the way things ended. Mary and I had just returned with the kids from a Christmas trip to Columbus to be with our families. We had decided to come back home to Denver a few days before New Years. Sitting in our living room watching that game against Clemson and that shocking punch on the sidelines! I wasn't sure I'd seen it correctly at first. I was so stunned! And I remember turning to Mary and saying, "OMG, I think it's over". She asked me what I meant and I said something like "I think Woody's time is over. I think he's done." And he was. 

Mark Schweickart

This discussion of Woody Hayes prompts a different reaction from me.  I never knew of Woody's trips to Viet-Nam or children's hospitals, so I am pleased to hear that about him, because quite to the contrary,  I always found what I knew of him to be rather insufferable. Below is an excerpt about Woody taken from a follow up memoir I wrote (never published) about my college years. Maybe others will remember his after-game TV show quite differently. If I have this wrong, let me know. As I remember him, his notion of sportsmanship left a lot to be desired.

This Cinema department was not on a par with schools like USC, NYU, UCLA, or the AFI that were a pipeline to the higher end of film production. In fact it’s only real reason for existing was to serve what was really important at Ohio State—Woody Hayes’ football program. Woody wanted not only all of his games filmed, but also, all of his practices. He was a huge proponent of reviewing in detail all that had happened on the field. This meant that the school needed to have on campus not only cameras and cameramen, but also a film laboratory, and editing facilities. And of course, what Woody wanted, Woody got, at least in those years before later going on to embarrass himself and the school with his maniacal sideline antics. His twenty-eight year career of 205 wins, 61 losses, and 10 ties, came to an abrupt end when he went completely ballistic one day and rushed onto the field to punch a Clemson defender who had just intercepted an Ohio State pass in the 1978 post season Gator Bowl.

Steve, a friend of Mark’s from grade school and high school, was pursuing a career as a sports journalist, and had finagled himself a job as a utility assistant for the team. He often relayed stories to Mark about poor coach Hayes’ anger management issues—the way he would completely lose control and lunge at players during practice, requiring Steve and others to help pull the madman off the offending player. One day Woody, in attempting to exercise his own restraint, instead of doing his usual player lunge, pulled off his own eyeglasses and furiously tore them to pieces, breathing heavily and glaring at everyone around, daring someone to comment, which of course no one did.

Mark’s favorite memory of Woody was from one of the weekly Woody Hayes Shows which were broadcast after the game each Saturday night during football season. OSU’s arch-rival was always Michigan, and it seemed they traded victories year in and year out. This particular night’s show was a somber affair, OSU having been stopped on the goal line in the last minute, thereby giving Michigan the win.

The show was hosted by one of the local TV channel’s sports reporters. He would introduce the show, ask Woody a few perfunctory questions, and then bring on a few of the players for Woody to kibitz with. More often than not, Woody would talk to these towering mounds of manhood as if they were five years old.
Woody to his fullback: “And how do you carry the ball?” Woody tucked the ball into crook of his right arm and elbow as most running backs would. “Like this?”
Fullback to Woody: “No sir, coach, certainly not.”
Woody, tossed him the ball. “Show me how you carry the ball.”
Fullback: “Like this, coach.” He placed the ball in front of his waist, crossed his arms around the ball grabbing the two tips of the ball with each hand, and then bent over slightly at the waist to show the impossibility of the ball being knocked loose.
Woody: “That’s the way a fullback hits the line?”
Fullback: “Absolutely, coach.”
Woody: “So tell me what happened at the goal line today.”
Fullback: “I was in coach.”
Woody: “You mean you saw yourself and the ball pass the goal line, before you were thrown back?”
Fullback: “That’s right coach.”
Woody looked crushed. Almost unable to speak as he shook his head. Then he turned to his fullback: “Well despite what some people have been saying today, you are still my fullback.”
Fullback: “Thanks coach.”

And with that Woody returned to his seat behind the newscaster’s desk, rejoining the sports reporter host.

Reporter: “Well, coach, that was a tough loss today. What do we learn from this.”
Woody, looked straight into the camera and said, “Be bitter, my friend. Be bitter.”

David Mitchell

Kathy Burk (Thomas),

Hey girl! You are now officially "middle-aged". 

HAVE A BLAST!

Kathy Burk (Thomas)

“Middle age”, that,s positive thinking. Thanks Dave

David Mitchell

Sort of a long segway into a more interesting story - bear with me.

Saved this while we were enjoying stories of Big Sally, Military recruiters, and basketball:

Two weekends ago, I was celebrating not just my usual "double" (Birthday one day - St. Patty's Day the next), but a sort of a "triple". In addition to the magic number 70 and all that green, It dawned on me that it was 50 years ago this month that I had gotten off a long bus ride from "Fote Poke" (Fort Polk) Luuuzianna to a place in west Texas near the little town of Mineral Wells. "Fort Wolters" (which is no longer there) was to be my home for the first 5 months of "Primary" Rotary-Wing Flight Training. I was about to begin my life-long dream - to learn to fly.

I had cleverly (deliberetly) flunked out of the Univ. of Denver over an argument with my dad about joining the student flying club, and obtaining a pilots licence very cheaply. "But Dad, it's only gonna take $60!"  He said "No, not till your grades come up" and that was the match that lit the gasoline over a long distance phone call. I slammed the phone in our dorm room back on the hook and turned to my wonderful buddy and roomate, Steve Wells (an anti-war, liberal's liberal, and wonderful guy) "I'll show him that I can fly, and he won't be able to tell me what to do this time!" Steve just rolled his eyes, "Mitchell you're off your rocker." 

So I get home from school, 19 years old, in great health, and "flunked out". I'm on Uncle Sam's radar and I know it. So I find out from my visits to the recruiters office that I cannot fly in the Air Force without college. I cannot fly in the Navy without college, and I cannot fly in the Marines without at least two years of college. OMG! What have I done? So I find out about the Army's "Warrant Officer Rotary Wing" Training program for,,,,,wait for it,,,,High School Graduates!  I find a semi-honorable recruiting seargent, and after guiding us through all the test - and I mean ALL the many tests for flight school (before allowing us to sign up). So I am in and cannot wait to get in a cockpit. Any cockpit - yes, even a "rotary-wing" cockpit.

So we form up a new class with busloads of guys from basic training centers all over the country and we are now the "Green Hats" (our company (read "class") I.D. - as compared to the Red Hats, Blue hats, Yellow  Hats etc. (the other classes). And we were now W.O.C.'s "WOCs" - Warrant Officer Candidates. (and making $550/mo. We thought we were rich!)

Monday morning we are up at 5:00 - finished PT and breakfast and hearded on to our bus to our flight line - down the hill and across the highway. We are new to each other - maybe 5 days together as a class before we are formed into this bunch of "Green Hats". We are new to everything. We are nervous. We get hearded inside a building and introduced to our IP's (Instructor Pilots). It's a classroom full of small tables and chairs and a bunch of officers - a Major as "flight leader", and a bunch of young Captains, First Luietenants, and Chief Warrant Officers. They are all "returnees" from "over there". Combat expereinced pilots. We are split up - two students to an instructor and after being called to attention, we are all seated with our IP's. at each of the separate tables.

After about 30 minutes briefing, the first pairs (one student with IP) walk out onto the airfiled with a bunch of the funniest little helicopters you ever saw. Flying begins immedately. And the rush of excitemet is pounding in my chest!

My IP was one short, boyish-faced Captain named Larry Liss. Capt. Liss was a strict perfectionist - and harsh about it, but at the same time great about it. We must begin by learning to hover first. And to learn to hover is like the old trick of tapping the top of your head, while the other hand rubs a circle on your stomach, but about 100 times more compolicated. I struggled so hard with this that I was falling behind - and agonizing about it. I had gained 20 pounds in Basic (on THAT awful food? Yes) and was losing it all back as I sweat this confusing stressful period of training. Capt. Liss would reach over and pound his fist on the back of my helmet and call me a "Baboon". I was getting scared that I might not get this. We were almost a week into this and many of my classmates were getting it - while I wasn't. I had heard upper classmen say over and over that it's really hard, but at some point "the light comes on". My light hadn't come on and I was almost to the point of pannicking.

One day Captain Liss and I (maybe 5 or 6 days or so into this?) were on the outside pad (outside of a matrix of about 24 helicopters spread across this little field of heli-pads, and I was struggling - I mean REALLY struggling.  We were at about four feet and the ship was all over the place. I was tring to hold it level and steady (directionally) near the outer fence surrounding the property and doing terrible. I was stressed and Capt. Liss was getting angry. Finally he grabbed his side of the controls and put us on the ground - and hard! He looked over at me and said (all this over an intercome between us), "Mitchell, I've had enough! You're done! Get out!"  Off course I knew he didn't mean it litterally. WRONG! He reached over and unbuckled my seat harness, then grabbed the radio wire to my helmet and unplugged it - cutting me off of the radio and intercom. He was serious! I hesitated and stared at him but then he reached over and began to shove me out of my side of the cockpit. I was in shock! I got out and climbed down and was on foot walking back across the entire airfiled with all the other ships (classmates) hovering - which I had to walk past to get back to the little classroom building. I was humiliated and started crying (yes, Mama's boy always cried). I sliiped my sun visor down over my eyes to hide my face (as if anybody could see that far) and kept walking back across the field with Captain Liss hovering along behind me as I went. All I could think of was "What am I going to tell Mom and Dad?"  Fluncked out - AGAIN!

As I got about half way acros the field (Maybe 150 yards) Captain Liss lifted up over me and kicked pedal and landed in front of me, facing the cockpit back toward me. His arm came out of the cockpit and waved me toward him. I leaned in on his side of the cockpit to hear him speak over the noise. "GET IN !"  I walked around to the other side and climbed in. He hovered back out ot our position on the far edge of the airfield and told me to "take it" again. Only this time yelling at the top of his lungs at me "Now dammit Mitchell, YOU WILL DO THIS. Do you see that fence post in front of us? You will hold us steady on that post and you will NOT swing me. YOU WILL DO THIS NOW!  DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"  "YES SIR!"

Sometimes God is good in the strangest of ways. At that precise moment, my "light came on"! 

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* Now, If you have the patience to watch a full 45 minute episode of the History Channel this will be the single most ridiculous, insanely brave Vietnam helicopter rescue I have ever heard of ! (I have seen and been involved a couple doozies - but nothing like this!) *** you can skip ahead, the story doesn't begin to unfold until about 10 minutes into the video. Yes, sorry it is a bit long.

**And if you notice at just 3:00 into the video, a name appears in the story that you have been introduced to in my story. I found this a few years ago by sheer accident. Imagine my emotions when I heard the name of the third guy in the story. And I never knew this about him as my IP. I have since contacted him and chatted by phone. 

And the "insult" of the DFC's (a fairly high decoration) for a mission this courageous has become a story unto itself. Several US Senators have been trying to get the Pentagon to review this and upgrade to the Medal of Honor, which it deserves.  

David Mitchell

A photo of one of Captain Larry Liss' worst students - EVER!  

A "Green Hat" from Columbus, Ohio. That tiny thing behind me is a TH-55 (or civliian Hughes 300) - my first aircraft. The taped label on my helmet reads "STINGER", a nickname my classmates made me put on there because I was so out of control one day that I tipped the aircraft badly enough to break the "stinger" off of the bottom of the tail boom. The "stinger" was a curved metal bar designed to protect the tail rotor from ground impact. I think its' fortunate that Captain Liss was able to stand all this without getting sick or being driven to quit as an instructor pilot. I think it's also probably fortunate that I didn't kill both of us that first week!  

50 YEARS! HARD TO BELEIVE.  (not sure if I can get this photo to stick?)

James Hamilton, M. D.

David Mitchell

And a very Happy Birthday to NIna Osborn Rossi.  U go girl! 

I know my spelling has been beneath your standards but it were the thought what counted. 

David Mitchell

Jim, (and apologies to all for my hogging the Forum space lately)

Thanks for the comment. You sort of struck a nerve with me here. I would like to add a comment about a very sensitive and widely misunderstood topic in the military - what we call  "Awards & Decorations". "Medals" to most of you. During my period in the Army the awarding of any kind of citations (Medals) varied from unit to unit almost like night and day. There is a huge inconsistency in this matter, and many people were undesrvedly awarded something, while many others were never given the credit they deserved. I think it still goes on today - it's a judgement call administered by human beings in an imperfect world.

I flew in a squadron with three compnaies who were flying high risk "in-your-face" missions every day. The number of commendable incidences were many and often. Sometimes unbeleiveable - even in a few cases bordering on the ridiculous!  But we were sort of a young and crazy bunch who never gave that stuff much thought. Our reward was mostly the excitement of the free-wheeling flying style we used and the extremely close commradery of our buddies. And yes, truth be known, that powerful "rush" from the high level of risk. We were usually told that an action was "not good enough" to waste the guy's time (the guy at HQ whose tasks included "awards and decorations" paperwork) or that they were already "too busy" with other awards paperwork to "get to it now".

I was involved in a pick-up of one of our own Loaches that had been shot down and the circumstances were about as hair raising and CONFUSING as you could imagine. The moments on the ground hovering around (maybe 5 to 10 minutes max, but seemed like forever!) trying to locate and get the two downed crew members on board was complicated by sevearl things - one of which is about the last thing I expected. Other than the downed ship being on fire, and some automatic weapons fire comming at us off our left door from about 80 yards away, and two crewmen we couldn't even find at first - I had a comanding officer in my right seat who should have been at the stick, should have been running the mission, should have been sitting straight in his seat with his mirophone plugged in and his seat harness fastened - but was instead smoking in the cockpit, unbuckled from his harness, kneeling upright and turned backward in his seat, and then when it all hit the fan, going berserk screaming and moaning in a wild panic!  (His whole story is quite interesting - he left us for "LBJ" - Long Binh Jail, after several more incidences, in the middle of the night, under heavy sedation, in a straight jacket - the poor guy had serious "issues")

Meanwhile our other Loach pilot (one of my best buddies named Jack Abbott, who himself was shot down 5 times) also landed next to me and the downed ship, "frictioned down" his controls, got out of his ship, and ran around to stick his face in the cockpit of the burning ship -  thinking he could rescue the guys in the cocokpit, which was empty by then - (the pilot and observer had both gotten out and run). After some other "issues" we got them both on board and got us all out of there.

Someone from HQ made a point to come tell Jack and I that they "could not write this up" because there was no way to do the narrative without someone realizing that Major "J" had been "temporarily incapacitated" and would be considered derelict in his duty as that day's "Air Mission Commander". That simply would not do.

I consider Jack Abbott's action that day to be nothing short of a Sillver Star. He knows it, and I know it, and Bob Tow (our downed pilot buddy) knows it. I guess that's all that really matters. 

** But Jim, here is a shocking point. I learned at my reunion about 3 yeras ago form a couple of older guys who were among our "boy Captains" at the time, that that same "Awards and Decorations Officer" had gone home after his 12 month "desk" tour of duty as the single most decorated officer in our squadron - even though he had never flown a single mission!  "Too busy to write it up" - I guess so!

My apologies to all - - (I have left out so much here it may leave questions, but I have been hogging so much space on the Forum lately I had to omit a lot of detail.) 

p.s.  If you detect a note of bitterness in this you are correct. I am a guy who has much greater respect for the common foot soldier - those guys "on the ground", slogging through the "paddies" (the Jimmy Clarks, the Al Judys the Kevin Culls, Clare's brother - and some of the sons of our own class) than for most of the high brass (two exceptional Majors and one wonderful Lt. Colonel excluded). And I suspect the general public has no way of distinguishing the "medals" one sees on the left breast pockets of many soldiers. I would like to point out that most of the medals you see are meerly commendations for locational assigments, periods or units of service, etc. Very few are medals for valorous actions. Many of the high ranking officers you see who wear sixteen dozen rows of medals have absolutely no awards for "Valor" at all !  Many of these are people who have simply served long and varied careers - often behind a desk, but may never have tasted a single moment of combat.

Is it time to get back to basketball - or the casting ponds ?

Lawrence Foster

Mary Margaret Clark (Schultheis)

No worries Dave for "hogging" the forum.  Without your stories and those of some of the other guys, the rest of us would have no reason to log onto the website.  It helps us all to stay in touch.  I, am jumping on board here with a different kind of story.  It isn't just my story, it belongs really to all of us, as you will see should you decide to view the 5 minute video.  It seeks to put Holy Week in proper perspective.

https://youtu.be/PSAxU33QhNA  

David Mitchell

Mary Margaret,

Great video!

He sounds like he just stepped out of a Marked Men For Christ weekend retreat. When the power of Christ's love hits you, and you begin to grasp the reality that HE came to free us from "religion", it's life-changing! 

Galations Chapter 5 - Wow!

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Another sweet new movie - whcih I'm sure some of you will avoid like the plague, is "I Can Only Imagine" from the blockbuster Contemporary Christian song of the same name about 15 years ago by the group "Mercy Me". The film on the surface is about his journey through a difficult life to the time when he writes the song. But it's much deeper than that. It's really a story about forgiveness and restoration. I went as a favor to a friend, expecting a nice little amatuerish production about a song I liked, but was surprised by how good the story, and how well done the film was!  

p.s. Is is just me? Or has the Forum login slowed down to a snails pace?

James Hamilton, M. D.

Mark Schweickart

Dave - That video you posted back on post 2943 was truly exceptional. What an amazing story, and the editing was remarkable in the way it incorporated what must have been stock footage with actual footage shot by one of the participants. And the stock footage was amazing. You had to wonder, "Who the hell had it together enough to be shooting a camera during all of this chaos?" In those days, it wasn't as if you could just whip out an I-Phone to get the job done.

Sorry you had to live through situations similar to that, but thanks for posting this video.

David Mitchell

Mark,

Several of us had little old 8mm movie cameras, but like you say, it was hard to use them while in flight. I gave mine to my observer a couple times but have lost both rolls of the only two that we shot from the cockpit - shame on me. We did have one observer - a young Sergeant Klark (perhaps our best observer) who carried a move camera in the cockpit every day. He filmed a lot of stuff, but he got shot in the mouth one day in a nasty shoot down that took about 45 minutes to get he and Capt. Bill Pond picked up. I think I couned 28 bullet holes in the cockpit of their ship when they slung the twisted thing back onto the airfiled maintenance yard (for salvage).

(Billl Pond was one of the faces in my reunion article posted way back - he was shot down 4 times as I recall, most often with the same Sergeant Klark, his personal favorite observer)  

We normally got picked up within minutes by our own C&C ship. So that 45 minute "extraction" was one of those extraordinary situations we would occasionally find ourselves in. I was not in the air that day. But we were told by our other guys that it was a real bad one. The shoot down was right between two North Vietnames Companies, and not very far apart - very complicated - very messy!

We realized years later that Klark might still have all that film, but just as one our pilots who had located him was plannng to get together, his sister called to inform him that her brother had died of a heart attack. I got in touch with that same sister shortly thereafter. I got around to asking her if they still had any of John's stuff - and I mentioned the movie film specifically. She replied, "You mean those little yellow Kodak boxes full of plastic rolls of movie film?"  I almost of burst out my answer "Yes". She said, "Oh yes, we've got boxes full of them somewhere, but we can't seem to find them lately."  I have met her and begged them to keep looking. It's been 3 years. They would be treasures beyond any value to the rest of my group. 

Timothy Lavelle

I am passing along a warning I received from the League of Birthday Organizers that Oversee Massive Years (LOBOTOMY). When you turn 70, you will automatically hear from these folks about the does and don'ts of celebrating your birthday. Reading their directives, I had some questions for them as follows:

1) Is there any problem inviting old friends from Alabama to come here to Washington since they are likely coming here for the legal marijuana and great seafood?

2) Do you see any problem with smoking reefer and drinking heavily for a full week celebration, while trying desperately to keep up with slightly younger old friends? How about LSD?

3) Will I ever be normal again?

The answers came back from Lobotomy Inc., the parent company. I'll quote what they said: 1) It's your funeral, er, uh, birthday. 2) Are you completely flippin' crazy? Alabama people are known for overindulging old people like you into an early grave. 3) You never were normal so it is unlikely you ever will be.

When I replied to Lobotomy that only Brits use the term "flippin'" they offered to change the name of the company to LOBO-TIMMY for just one day.  Very weird people...but...deply caring of the ancient among us.

I should note that these answers from them came back AFTER the week long party that I am trying very hard to wake up from. We found Peruvian food (Ceviche) outside Portland and viewed Mt St Helens through an outside snowstorm and an inside smokestorm. We are banned for life from Pike's Market for playing football with a flounder. Some other remembered events are just not possible...they could not have happened in this dimension. I received lovely wishes from wonderful Watterson women and good dudes.   The Bama Boys are gone so this house is no longer surrounded by a SWAT Team. We are busy with plans for the 80th! Party On.

Janie Albright (Blank)

OI have been communicating with the classcreator admin about the slow response time of the website. They are having server problems as we have all figured out. They seem to get it fixed then there are problems again. I loaded fairly quickly this time so I’m hoping they are getting it resolved. 

Keep posting! I love all the stories! Happy Easter and Happy Spring! I will be back in Bexley on April 10.

Ps  I just tried to load a quick clip of the passion play or live reenactment of the stations of the cross from Friday here in Vallarta and it’s laboriously slow so they have work to do. I’ll hold off  on video 

James Hamilton, M. D.

Typical of Colorado Springs in early April, the temperature when we came out of 7 AM Mass this morning was a cold 24 degrees, totally overcast with a low ceiling of thick clouds and fog obscuring Pikes Peak and the Front Range. My thoughts were that this would present an excellent photo opportunity as the sun climbed higher and the clouds would start to fade into a mist below the mountains. After arriving home I quickly changed clothes, grabbed my camera, drove over to Ute Valley Park and hiked to one of my favorite viewpoints. Unfortunately, the weather pulled a cruel April Fool's joke on me and by then all that remained was a gorgeous blue sky with no ethereal mist or clouds. It was now up to 25 degrees and beautiful but not the landscape I was seeking. I stood in the cold and decided I was not going to get skunked.

When the grand landscapes are not there I opt to go for more intimate landscapes - concentrating on small details surrounding me. There are several rock formations within the park that are of interest and I found one that seemed fitting for this Easter morning. Cropped appropriately this scene reminded me of what those who came upon an empty tomb some 2000 years ago may have viewed. He is risen! 

A happy Easter to all,

Jim

David Mitchell

Nice shot Jim!  How ominous?    And Happy Easter to you too.

(and yes, He IS!)

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Broken World        (just had this rolling around in my head for two days and thought I'd write it out)

Okay, so, let me get this straight.

You’re telling me this guy comes on the scene from a tiny backwater town, in a remote part of the country where they all talk with funny accents. He’s dressed like a beggar, and he’s even a bit on the homely side.  He has no money. He has no formal education, other than some traditional stuff his Rabbi taught him as a boy, and some carpentry skills he learned from his dad. Oh, and he’s getting the hang of “fishing” (with nets that is). He has no degree, no union card, and no membership in any clubs. He does not play either guitar, saxaphone or harp. He has no political affiliation, and he has never even made a call in to a Talk Radio station – not once.  The guy doesn’t even have his real estate license for Pete’s sake!

But he’s got these 12 buddies that he sort of picked up along the way, and for some odd reason they think he’s cool! They follow him around like puppy dogs and start to think like he thinks. But he scares them a little. He seems to want to hang out with some creepy folks – Prostitutes, and Lepers, and God forbid, tax collectors. Yikes!

But then is gets even more weird.  He tells his buddies they should “love their enemies”, and something about wanting to “give them a new heart”. He even starts forgiving people’s sins, and talks about a Father who is crazy in love with us – every last stinkin’ one of us.  Really? 

And if that isn’t enough, he starts giving blind people back their site. He heals a couple sick people – and get this – he raises an old buddy from the grave!  Whoa!  --- (And some people actually saw this ???)

Crazy, right!

Well pretty soon it all turns ugly. By now he’s scaring the kids - I mean, the “Big Kids” downtown. These guys in charge think he’s up to something and they get really nervous. They are in charge of the “Law” and all the “Rules”, and keeping everybody and everything in order - but this guy is not playing along. He actually referred several times to a “higher authority” than Rome – and that means Trouble (Trouble, Trouble, Trouble - right here in River City). They are watching him like a hawk, hoping he’ll make some little misstep and they will nail him.  Oops – poor choice of words.

So they finally nab him and put him into a mock trial in front of some spineless governor/judge and an angry mob. The charge is some trumped up thing that sounds like “crimes against the state” or something like that - just for talking about trying to live a better life - trying to love your neighbor – and about forgiving your trespassers. But technically, he’s broken some rules, so he’s gotta pay.

And did He ever pay!  Wow, those Romans don’t mess around. They executed Him in their own special “Roman” way – a way of advertising to any onlookers just what would happen to those who got in Rome’s way – Crucifixion!

But get this, while he’s hanging there, with arms probably pulled out of their shoulder sockets, lungs stretched into a position to bring about suffocation, which is about to induce heart failure, he still had stuff to say.  He actually called out to his Father to let all these angry, cold hearted, bullies off the hook, because he thought they “didn’t know what they were doing”.  Are you kidding me?

And then right near the end, he utters the words, “It is Finished!”

Something tells me he didn’t just mean, “I’m about done (dead)”, or “Holy Week is over”, or the “prophecy is fulfilled”. But it could have been something more – maybe  about “The Curtain is torn” (that huge curtain downtown in the big Temple).  Apparently, this might have meant something like the “Old Law is Finished”.  

Hard to figure out what would possess a man to do something so foolish. Unless ,, Unless, He cared more deeply for someone than any other person in history. And was willing to give anything for them.

But who?  Who could have “deserved” this much love – this great a sacrifice?

So that was about all she wrote.

Uh, well, not quite.  So there’s more?   Okay, now this is about to get really ridiculous.

It seems that after a couple days his friends discover that his dead body is not where it is supposed to be. Word gets back to the Governor’s office and he is in a panic state because he knows some of this guy’s fanatic followers have stolen the body so they can claim that he rose from the dead (absurd, right?), and that would really mess things up for the Governor - and also for those guys who are “in charge” of everything.  They're thinking social insurrection - mobs - riots.  Just imagine.

I could go on, but the story gets so crazy that nobody would ever believe it.

I am left with something I cannot seem to get out of my head (or my heart). Just a few days before his trial, he was out to dinner with his drinking buddies and said something about, 

  "A new command (different from the old rules) I give you:                                                                Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.”

Good thing He was talking to them – and not me.    Right?

I mean that stuff would never work in today’s broken world.

Or would it?

Dave Mitchell

Bluffton

April 1^st, 2018

David Mitchell

And then there was the one about my great grandfather who was a magician. He could walk down any street in downtown Boston and turn into a Bar.

Timothy Lavelle

Hey Frank Ganley,

Sorry I missed your call. Thanks anyway.

Trump still sucks. But you knew that....

Jeanine Eilers (Decker)

And I know that.

David Mitchell

Yeah, but now he's got competition from Ted Nugent

Michael McLeod

Horse walks into a bar, sits down and orders a beer. Bartender says: Why the long face?

Timothy Lavelle

Excuse me, could I have some help here??

I got an (urgent) message from a friend who is a doctor. He is very concerned about our use of the word Forum.

Please, could someone with a brain, and a memory that still works, advise us of the plural form (in Latin) of Forum? I am going with "Forae" because adding "ae" to any word is my 'go-to' for Latin translation. Also for Greek translation. Also French and Icelandic. For Arabic I go with the standard of saying the word again in English but this time I clear my throat mid way through the word. Try it and you too can speak Arabic like a native. BUT for the doctor's sake let's get him this Latin word meaning the plural of Forum.