Casey at the Bat

Just for fun, I thougth I'd introduce you to my buddy, the master builder of Al Gore's - (any many other's) -house. His name is Roger. That's him in the back seat (the "A/C"- Aircraft Commander seat) of the Cobra gunship. The co-pilot is squeezed into the tight fitting front seat. I flew in that front seat about a dozen of my days "off" - to spell the Cobra guys from hitting their Maximum monthly hours - all of us Scout (Loach) pilots did, since we didn't put up as many hours per month as they did. Let me just add that flying in the front seat of one of these when you are in a steep rocket dive on a live target with tracers coming back up at you will get our attention! Especailly when the ground weapon is a 50 caliber machine gun. The tracer rounds look like basketballs as they float up at you. Only had that experience once, and that was enough for this little mamma's boy! The front seat operates, and aims that tiny turret you see sticking out under the nose. It's a mini-gun with 6 rotating barrrels and a firing rate of 6,600 rounds per minute! It makes a deafening roar - no staccata sound, just a solid roar.

(BTW, Our "Loach" mini-gun ONLY fired at 2,200 rounds per minute but made almost as loud of a roar). Note: The lighting and shadows are hiding the side mounted rocket pods, which are controlled by the A/C - back seat.

- Roger is the most private person I have ever known. He is not listed in our phone book, doesn't often allow pictures of himself and prefers to be out at sea in his 44-foot Catmaran Sailboat that 20 of us helped him build in his back yard over 8 years. He has sailed the Atlantic (Bluffton to the Azores) in a 28-footer he built years ago with only one local fellow sailor. He once asked me if I wanted to sail around the world with him. Darn! I had little kids and a job. He had to cancel anyway.

Imagine the fun we had with radio calls with a guy named Roger. Every time you say "yes" or you agree to an order over the air, you respond with "Roger" (or sometimes "affirmative"). We often would wait for him to say "Roger" over the air, and one of us would come back immediately with "Roger, Roger". And sometimes several more guys would follow along and repeat it - like a bunch of stupid mocking birds - - (and we had 2 Rogers in the unit)

He was the best Cobra gunship pilot we ever had, but went into a violent refusal to fire during one of our night missions - in the midddle of the mission - and while in the air! Too long of a story to tell here, but it was a crazy night - and a dramatic confrontation on a remote runway (at "Sa Dec" along the Mekong) that I was certain was going to end in his bein g placed under arrest by our AMC (Air Mission Commaner) right there at 3:00 in the morning. But he was right, and he (a lowly Warrant Offier like me), convinced the "Brass" ignoramuses to let us stop the crazy, ineffective, and probably immoral night missions, and then he became the best maintenance officer (by far - and without formal Maintenece school) that we ever had. A self-taught mechanaical genius!

He is one of the weirdest guys I have ever known. We arrived in Vinh Long withing two weeks of one another (one class apart in flight school). I was the third youngest, and he the second youngest piltos in Comanche Troop (Company). We clicked as best friends from the first day. Funny because we are complete polar opposites. I refer to him as my disresepetful, foul-mouthed, irreverent, anti-everything, non-voting, left-wing, agnostic, angry Buddhist friend. And we love one another like favorite brothers!

(btw - I know these are a bit long. thanks for reading. just stuff that I hope some of you find interesting)

Roger in back seat (your right) -somewhere over the Mekong at about 2,000 feet - on our way home after a day's mission. Screen Shot 2018-07-06 at 11.58.58 PM

07/07/18 04:09 AM

#3472

Linda,

Thanks for sharing those pictures! Thirty deer in a mile - life in those Georgia mountains!

Dave,

Interesting story about your friend. Obviously a very skilled builder. I wonder if he was such a private individual prior to the war.

07/07/18 06:22 PM

#3473

Dave, I thoroughly enjoyed your last post about Vietnam. Not too long for me! Captivating. In fact, I’m going to print it off for a Toni Cardi, as she will enjoy it too. Thank you!

07/07/18 09:48 PM

#3474

Just so you know, Roger is a real person. That's him in his Cavalry hat, chewing gum, lined up for one of our periodic formations (probably some awards and decorations ceremony for some of the guys).

Can't you just see the straight-laced military attitude written all over him?

No?

Ha, I can't either. He could have cared less about all that "protocol" stuff.

And here are the local "paparazzi" waiting to "cover" the event for the "National Enquirer."

NOTE: Seriously, this second photo is all pilots, standing off to the side and waiting for another "A&D" ceremony - and is comprised (left to right) of One dumbell Captain who comanded the Cobra Guns platoon (and played a lot of basketball with Roger and I), One super nice guy First Lt. and "Slick" Pilot, (holding movie camera, and who I have re-located after 49 years), One super nice guy gunhsip pilot and bible reading baptist (and Roger's Roomate), one tiny little Captain (almost hidden) who was my "Scout" platoon leader and one of the toughest guys I knew (shot down three times and "shot-UP" badly on the third one), one "Pure Norwegian Bachelor Farmer" from Minnesota and super nice guy "Slick" pilot, (holding his camera), and a few more I can't recall. This photo also probaly contains about 10 times - no, more like 50 times as many medals as were being handed out in the top picture! ("Awards and Decorations" ceremonies were monthly thing in most units - almost as regular as our monthly mortar attacks - LOL!)

Just had to throw all that all in.

07/07/18 11:12 PM

#3475

I really need to lay the microphone down for a while.

I'm just trying to make up for the fact that I have no photos of Al Gore's house.

07/08/18 08:10 AM

#3476

Dave - love it. And more to print for Toni to enjoy as well. Thank you!

07/08/18 03:02 PM

#3477

Morning Light

One of my bucket list goals is to try to capture images that correspond to verses and words in John Denver's songs. That means I often look for landscapes or wildlife photo ops that might fit with some of his lyrics. This can be done intentionally but mostly I find something in pictures when I review them that brings to mind his music. That happened today as I was editing a few photos of a fawn who was nesting in the shadows of a neighbor's house this morning.

I noted that as the sun was slowly moving toward its apex for the day it began to spotlight the head and shoulder of the little deer. These fawns will move toward more shade as this occurs so I was fortunate that it had not yet relocated before I got a few shots.

Of course the JD song that was going through my head was Sunshine on My Shoulders.

"Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy,

Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry,

Sunshine on the water looks so lovely,

Sunshine almost always makes me high."

Jim

07/08/18 08:11 PM

#3478

Jim - yes!!

07/09/18 12:41 AM

#3479

Jeanine Eilers (Decker)

Lovely thought, Jim. Thanks.

07/09/18 11:06 AM

#3480

Best yet in the fawn series, Jim. A virtual dap for your dappled composition.

07/09/18 03:59 PM

#3481

Frank Ganley

Its been a while since posting last, objecting to the idea that my good friend on the other side of the country, other side of the aisle but who always has my back and i his have been somewhat grouped by some as both frivolous and idiotic and whose main purpose is to entertain and as for me criticized for the advocating the use of marijuana, and misspelling. I have had enough time not to rant on it. I thank you all for the kind thoughts about my newest grandchild, kind and loving thoughts, thank you. Update nicole , my daughter, is doing just great. Esperanza, it hasn’t been turned down as of yet, is doing very well! She has a small hole in her heart which is getting smaller due to the Lord filling it with live and joy. She also has another challenge in that her aorta and another blood vessel are going backward around her esophagus which may or not have to be addressed till a little later if they start to tighten around the throat. Other than that the dr has assured us everything is great and if need be they’ll take care of it as she gets older. Jim thanks for the kind thoughts about my prowess of my golf game. For 30 years i have been a pga professional. I am a golf profession not a professional golfer. If i had chosen the later i would appear to all as a man suffering from rickets but by chosinging to be a club pro i need to lose weight. In regards to the us open it has always been held in the modern era, steel shafts, in the heat of summer as this makes it an ever more stringent test of game, mental pressure and stamina. A few years ago a tour player challenged the rule that you must walk. Casey martin took it all the way to the supreme court with justice scalia writing the ruling that”walking is not an integral part of the game”. But it was a very narrow ruling only effecting mr martin. He is now the head golf coach at stanford university , his alma mater. Sam snead who never won the open said if allowed to walk it would be stealing. Till the open in 1965 the open was played on threedays with the last day 36 holes. In 1964 ken venturi almost died from heat exhustion as it was played in the washington dc area and temperatures hovered in the 100s. Thank God as a club pro we can ride. One year in our chapter championship i was close to passing out from the heat. I lost almost 20 lbs in florida heat. Not fun but as they say, the examination is the same for all. Now according to some our current potus is unworthy, ill prepared to the extent of un and is also brass and stupid. Further than the truth is that statement. Graduating from the university of pennsyvania warton school of business with honors. Not easy and one of the most prestigious business schools in the country. After years of the same old same old way of doing the business of the government we needed a change of methods, years of no immigration policy, no changes in our tax laws and a change in diplomacy and president trump has no taste for the foot dragging and procastinating which was the modus operandi. He has made promises , kept his promises and will continue to do so through out his term. Those who question his behavior before he was president i could care less. Jim asked if we ever elected a saint , jimmy carter is as close as we can get . His only sin was in a playboy interview he had “lusted in his heart” a great human being but not the best president. With kennedy’s list of his grumags ( Italian for the other woman” , johnson with a long list of paramores, eisenhowers dailance with his driver, nothing ever said of nixon but then he was a man who couldn’t get laid in a house of ill repute no matter how much money he had in his hand. Stories of the bushes remain and then wild bill who never met a woman he didn’t want. He was at a washington party and flirting as usual when killiry told him” bill put you d#%k away you can’t f#%k her here. Was so morally decrepit ,rape charges still are on file. I understand some don’t like trump but why ? His administration is the most transparent in history. Want to know what he thinks or wants we know about it in his tweets. The mueller investigation, a witch hunt started by sczock who was inchage of clinton emails, and who has done everything to harm our president and inaddition lied about so many things. Lets stop this hate of a man who only wants america to be great again. Amen

07/10/18 09:27 AM

#3482

I'm sorry, Frank. But until you post professional level photos of darling wild animals you have zero credibility here.

07/10/18 11:04 AM

#3483

Mark Schweickart

I think we need to go back to our earlier agreement to refrain from posting our political views here. As I blurrily turn on my computer in the morning and take a sip of coffee, I much prefer a sense of comaradarie evoked, not a desire to strangle someone, to help wake me up.

07/10/18 11:23 AM

#3484

I'm with ya, Mark. In that spirit I'm posting a poem.

If you went to a catholic college and were an English major, you were going to be introduced to this poem. Using the word "dapple" in my compliment to Jim about his deer photos reminded me of it.

Hopkins was a Jesuit priest and a brilliant poet. His usage of language is so lush and inventive - and in this case, devout. He is watching a bird and is thrilled with its flight and writes this poem comparing its beauty, its ability to be both corporeal but majestic, to the notion of Christ coming down to earth to sacrifice himself. He doesn't come right out and SAY it, this being a poem, but it's suggested by the wording - I especially love the word "gall," which I think was the term used for a drug potion that they administered to Christ as he suffered. Haven't looked that up to check on myself, just going from memory, so correct me if I am wrong. It's just dropped in there, as an isolated hint of what he is really talking about,

"Sillion" means dirt. That's one word that is very important to understand. There is a line at the end of the poem that says "sheer plod makes plow down sillion shine" and it means when people are plowing fields in the rain, the earth shimmers. It's yet another reference to something on earth being miraculous - as Christ was when be became human. He was a dude like any other dude yet brought forth the miracle of salvation. So Hopkins believed. This poem is really a prayer.

I just remember being so enthralled by his language, by the passion of it. And of course you could take that word, passion, in more than one way in this context.

Certain things I ran across in college have stayed with me. This poem just touched me so much and went a long way towards pushing me to try to do as much as I could with language. Hopkins expands the possibilities with this poem.

The Windhover

Gerard Manley Hopkins, 1844 - 1889

I caught this morning morning’s minion, king-

dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding

Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding

High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing

In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,

As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding

Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding

Stirred for a bird,—the achieve of; the mastery of the thing!

Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here

Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion

Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!

No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion

Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,

Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.

07/10/18 09:14 PM

#3485

A Story in Stills

Dap. Thanks, Mike, I think that will be the name I call this little fawn. Despite the fact that the Department of Wildlife frowns on residents naming these critters - for fear that humans will try to pet them - I tend to give them names but I also give them their space.

Late this afternoon when Janet and I returned from lunch with some friends, I saw Dap nesting once again in the shadows of a neighbor's home. I fetched my camera and wanted to get in a few frames before momma would return. As luck would have it when I was hidden from her view she did indeed return and, well, the rest is shown in a series of still pictures.

Jim

07/11/18 10:59 AM

#3486

Jim, your photos are lovely! I love seeing nature “up close and personal”.

07/11/18 11:11 AM

#3487

Mark Schweickart

Thank you Mike for the Hopkins poem. It was nice to see a post that offered something quite different to think about this morning, not to mention challenging--albeit perhaps a bit too challenging. It sent me scurrying off to Google explications of this bizarre word-fest you threw at us. I appreciate the poem more now that I have read through a couple of decipherments on line. It is also nice to hear that something like this has stayed with you all of these years. It obviously imprinted itself rather dramatically on your young soul way back when. However, not to sound too pedestrian or curmudgeonly, I have to say that I much prefer poetry that comes to us, less as a puzzle needing special keys to unlock its beauty, and more as language that washes over us with a more immediate, understandable sublimity.

But a refreshing way to start the morning, to be sure, So thank you for that.

07/11/18 11:33 AM

#3488

Peggy, Jeanine and Mike,

Thanks for the kind comments on the pictures. I certainly enjoy taking and sharing them. I'll continue to follow little Dap until the spots fade and all the yearlings begin to look alike. By then it should be aspen leaf changing season and my camera will be busily focused on that drama!

Jim

07/11/18 04:46 PM

#3489

Mark:

Yeah Hopkins takes some effort but the trick of making that comparison fascinates me.

Anyway check out Billy Collins then.

He writes poetry that is both pithy and much easier to latch onto.

He is a former US poet laureate who lives down here. Got to know him a bit. Great guy.

07/12/18 11:41 AM

#3490

Mark Schweickart

Carrying on with Mike's theme, let me welcome one and all to Bullwinkle's Corner. Today I will offer an explication of a poem that we all know and love, but one, I will argue, generally causes us to miss its point: The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost. I think the general reading of this poem concludes that this is a celebration of having the courage to go one's own way, to march to a different drummer, as Thoreau would say. However, is that indeed what is being said? Let's look:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

The key lines to note are the ones that contradict both the poem's title and our the basic understanding of the poem, and these contradictoring lines are:

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

Why would he emphasize that the paths are the same, and then conclude in the last verse that he took the one less traveled by?

I think the point Frost is making is not a solemn pronouncement glorifying the rugged individulistic temperment, but rather he is making fun of how we will perceive ourselves in old age. He is saying that in ages and ages hence we will look back over our lives and with a sigh, we will congratulate ourselves for being brave enough to have marched to a different drummer, to have taken the road less travelled by, while in truth all we did was make a simple choice to go left or right, when neither choice was particularly brave or non-conforming.

I know, for myself, now that I am at an age of ages hence, I am often guilty of this. I like to think I made non-connformist choices that made all of the difference -- but hey, as Frost would ask, who are you kidding?

07/12/18 12:18 PM

#3491

Mary Margaret Clark (Schultheis)

Hmmm... Well, we all still have a few "miles to go before we sleep".

07/12/18 12:51 PM

#3492

As I am heading to Cleveland tomorrow to watch my beloved Yankees play, I will offer this poem that needs no deep thought!! (just perfect for moi!!).

Casey at the Bat

by Ernest L. Thayer

The outlook wasn't brilliant
for the Mudville nine that day;
The score stood four to two
with but one inning more to play.

And then when Cooney died at first,
and Barrows did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons
of the game

A straggling few got up to go
in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal
in the human breast;

They thought if only Casey
could but get a whack at that--
We'd put up even money
now with Casey at the bat

But Flynn preceded Casey,
as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a lulu
and the latter was a cake;

So upon that stricken multitude
grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance
of Casey's getting to the bat

But Flynn let drive a single,
to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despised,
tore the cover off the ball;

And when the dust had lifted,
and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Johnnie safe at second
and Flynn a-hugging third

Then from 5,000 throats and more
there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley,
it rattled in the dell;

It knocked upon the mountain
and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey,
was advancing to the bat

There was ease in Casey's manner
as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey's bearing
and a smile on Casey's face.

And when, responding to the cheers,
he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt
'twas Casey at the bat

Ten thousand eyes were on him
as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded
when he wiped them on his shirt.

Then while the writhing pitcher
ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye,
a sneer curled Casey's lip

And now the leather-covered sphere
came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it
in haughty grandeur there.

Close by the sturdy batsman
the ball unheeded sped--
"That ain't my style," said Casey.
"Strike one," the umpire said

From the benches black with people,
there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves
on a stern and distant shore.

"Kill him! Kill the umpire!"
shouted some one on the stand;
And it's likely they'd have killed him
had not Casey raised his hand

With a smile of Christian charity
great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult;
he bade the game go on;

He signaled to the pitcher,
and once more the spheroid flew;
But Casey still ignored it,
and the umpire said, "Strike two."

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands,
and echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Casey
and the audience was awed.

They saw his face grow stern and cold,
they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey
wouldn't let that ball go by again

The sneer is gone from Casey's lip,
his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence
his bat upon the plate.

And now the pitcher holds the ball,
and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered
by the force of Casey's blow

Oh, somewhere in this favored land
the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere,
and somewhere hearts are light,

And somewhere men are laughing,
and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville--
mighty Casey has struck ou

07/12/18 12:58 PM

#3493

Kathleen Wintering (Nagy)

Great deer pics, Jim! it really must be fun to live in your neighborhood! We back up to the Illinois Prairie Path an we have deer, but not the great sightings you get in your backyard! Kathy W.

07/12/18 01:25 PM

#3494