Tuesday, 17 November 2009
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Friends Found, Places Recalled
I lived in the Panama Canal Zone from June of 1971 until May 1972. During that time I became good friends with the two fellows pictured below......
Larry sent this picture, it's a couple of years old
That's Jerry on the left, and Larry on the right. I have seen neither one since we were teenagers.I lost contact with everyone I left behind in the Zone. I knew only that Larry had joined the Air Force, and Jerry the Army.
Then I got a bright idea, why not do a google search on their names? I know, original it isn't. Anyway Larry's surname is less common than Jerry's, trust me, and I got a hit remakably fast. It turns out that Larry manages an e-mail group consisting of ex-CZ brats, mostly kids of FAA personnel who lived in Cardenas Village. I could not have found a better source of info without time-travel capabilities. I have caught up with so many people in the last few days that my head is reeling. Maria, my girlfriend for a time when I lived in Cardenas married another guy who lived there at the time. They now reside in Tennessee, where David, a recently retired Air Traffic Controller, writes 'speculative fantasy fiction' novels. Here is his website for anyone interested in checking his stuff out.
Sadly, another good friend died of a heart attack. Yet another, who became a lawyer, lost his leg in a car accident. I know, most lose their soul after passing the bar. And Larry had kept up with Jerry, who lives about a hundred miles east of him. As both live in South Florida, I hope to get together with them sometime next year. Might have to make a week of it, to catch up on 37 years. Obviously, they have seen each other since then. Coincidentally, both have Panamanian mothers, and Jerry is related to two past Presidents of Panama.
I got news about more than the Canal Zone. I got Jerry's e-mail addy from a guy, Steve, who lived in the Zone back in the day, but who now lives in Yakutat, Alaska. I lived in Yakutat 50 years ago, when I was 5-6 years old. We traded anecdotes; I told him how the airstrip would get flooded during rainstorms and freeze over, creating an ice-skating rink a half-mile long , that lasted until a plane was due to arrive. Then the FAA guys had to bulldoze the ice off to one side of the strip. He told me how Yakutat has been discovered by fishermen, who try their luck in the Situk River. The town is overrun with anglers from the 'lower 49' when the steelhead trout are running. When I was there, we would go to the river on a truck adapted to ride the railroad that led from the Situk River to the cannery in Yakutat.
Steve sent me the last two pictures....
Mount St. Elias, which straddles the US-Canadian border, as seen from Yakutat.
This was FAA housing when I lived here in 1959. Steve, the photographer, lived there
in 1971. He stayed on after his dad was transferred, and works for Alaska Airlines.It's never too late to try to renew auld acquaintances, but don't wait, or it will be too late to succeed.
Friday, 13 November 2009
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A Minor Blues, between chapters
From Jack's notes on the case.
Found in box marked D. Outlaw, in Mrs. Outlaw's storage shed:
12 wire recording spools
notebook titled Trans-Plantation Blues cont. lyrics and recording notes
1 handbill for appearance of SpoonDog & DogMen @ Shade City Supper Club
bill for recording time- 27hrs $540, marked 'overdue'
1 pen knife
1 splicing tool?
several gum wrappers
2 cigarette butts
1 pic of band
1 pic of Delano, Frank, another white guy, &old black man ID's unk. in front of car make unk. Hudson?
1 set western elec. headphones
Monday, 09 November 2009
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That's MY Corner!
My camera isn't suited for taking nighttime shots, but I had to try when a Great Blue Heron and a Black-Crowned Night Heron jockeyed for the best fishing spot last night. Fish were attracted by our floodlights as we stood by for weather in Michoud Slip, I took all these photos from the wheelhouse, except for the last shot, wherein you just make out the Blue Heron flying off after seeing my clumsy approach on the deck.
A rare moment this, seeing two herons of different species sitting together.
The Blue started shaking his head in an attempt to scare the Night Heron away. It worked.
The Great Blue Heron's corner as long as he wants it, or until...
....a certain flat-footed wheelman scares him off before making sure the camera was ready.
Sunday, 08 November 2009
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ROLLIN' UP THE RIVER
The Mississippi is running hard, due to heavy rains up north. We were coming upriver as I took these shots, making a phenomenal seven tenths of a mile an hour. I tried running up the west bank, but the current was so strong on that side that we stalled out. So I made it back to the eastern side (the New Orleans side) of the river, and ran northbound in the slack water close to the bank.
The Domino Sugar Refinery in Chalmette, just south of New Orleans. It is celebrating its centennial this year.
Port & Ship Service dock, just north of the Domino Refinery.
These boats take supplies and crew to and from ships transiting the harbor.
The river pilots also use these boats to get back forth from the boats they guide upriver to their respective docks, wharves, and anchorages.
This military chopper landed on the levee, and the house behind it looks none too happy about the situation.
Look under the chopper, and you can see two guys walking up the levee to get on board
Take-off after boarding passengers. The copter was on the ground for maybe 10 minutes.
We probably made 600 feet northbound progress in that time.
Tuesday, 03 November 2009
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With Crimes Like These...
Don't listen to the Libertarians, ignore them and others who complain about the number of laws in America. We don't have too many laws, we have too small a number of crimes.
That is apparently the reason Congress passed a bill containing 'Hate-Crime' legislation. It doesn't make it a crime to hate, so all you right-wing radio hosts can breathe a sigh of relief. What it does is make it a crime to beat somebody up because you hate their religion, lifestyle, race, or facial piercings. For example, you could always be arrested for beating up an Inuit. Since the fifties, anyway. However, if you attacked him because you don't like the blubber-munching wife-traders who leave their old people on an ice floe to be eaten by polar bears, you get an extra charge. If you don't care one whit that the iglooists can't make up their goddamned minds, and settle on ONE word for 'snow', then it's still simple battery. You just felt like hitting somebody, and Nanook was too busy warming his hands in fresh road-kill to defend himself. You get out in a year or two, Nanook has a story to tell his grand-kids. Beat up a Hungarian because his paprika-stained long-overdue-for-a-trim mustache pisses you off, however, and you are now looking at a couple of extra years in the big house, giving your sweet roll to Big Jake. Plus, he'll take your dessert at mealtime.
Some people are against these new laws, their reasoning being that a crime is a crime, no matter why it was perpetrated. Proponents point out that motive matters in murder trials. Kill someone because they cheated on you, you get 5-15. Kill someone for their social security check, and you get anywhere from life to the electric chair. That's unfair, say I. Does it ever matter why someone robbed a bank? Nossiree, Bob. Whether you took money from the till for food. medicine or tickets to the Super Bowl, you get the same sentence. Say hi to Jake for me, willya?
But the argument is moot at this point. The law has been passed. Haters have seen their rights impinged. And the cat is out of the bag(putting a cat in a bag in the first place is a 'pet crime', BTW), insofar as hate-motivated criminal deeds are concerned. We can expect more such laws, creating new charges for our case-clogged justice system to deal with. Laws such as:
Happy crimes-You tore down the goal posts at the stadium after your cross-town rivals folded like corn-stalks under a UFO? Don't tell the cops you did it out of sheer joy. You fired a gun in the air during your daughter's wedding, and the bullet landed in an old lady's shoulder twelve blocks away? If you confess that you did it in a fit of exuberance because now someone else has to feed her and pay to fix her car every time she ignores the 'Check Oil' light for too long, here come the Feds with extra warrants and tasers. And the 'Happiness Management' classes are a real downer.
Wait crimes- You've been in line at KFC for 30 minutes, only to see the last piece of Extra Crispy disappear into a bucket for some jerk at the drive-thru? I don't blame you for jumping the counter and pistol-whipping the manager for having only one cashier during rush hour. It needed doing, but now you are gonna 'wait' a while longer.
You sat for an hour in the little 'waiting room' at your gastroenterologist's office? While you listened to him talking to a drug salesman just outside the door about last night's game(..and then we tore down the goalposts! Sweet!)? Don't steal the roll of adhesive tape. Don't slice the cushions on the examination table. The Seinfeld-Chinese Restaurant Bill should be in effect by the time you read this. Hard to believe, but the medical care in prison is even worse than on the outside.Late Crimes- Sorry you're late? You're gonna be even sorrier soon, pal. Mark my words.
Author's note: No Inuits were harmed in the writing of this essay.
Monday, 02 November 2009
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AN UTTER DAY IN MOBILE BAY
The last four pictures were shot by our capable deckhand, Chad. Let's hear it for a job well done!
These seagulls just flew off of the barge we are pushing. There must have been two hundred taking off at once.
When I went to check on the Great Blue Heron from a few days ago, his little cousin walked out from the same bushes in which the big guy had been hiding. This is a Lesser Blue Heron, and for my money the prettiest of the wading birds.
There were a lot of boats out in Mobile Bay today, and most people were doing as well as this fellow.
Chad took this series of shots of the former Andrew J Higgins, a US Navy oiler, that was used to refuel aircraft carriers and the aircraft aboard them. It has been sold to the Chilean Navy, and after undergoing repairs and re-furbishing, it will set sail with a Chilean crew in February of next year.
The ship has been in mothballs for 13 years, and it was deemed more economical to tow it fron Suisun Bay, California, through the Panama Canal, and into Mobile, Alabama, than to crew it up and sail under her own steam. Sounds fishy to me. Quieres una límon, Chile?
That's the Mobile skyline in the background. The ship has been renamed the AO Montt.Bon Voyage
-
A MINOR BLUES, Chapter XXVII
CHAPTER 27
In which Jack Moonlight's search for an old bluesman's secret life is seemingly hamstrung even as he learns more from a new source. Delano's past catches up to him, and Frank's threatens to. Here is a link to chapters posted thus far.
The two women did not even notice when Jack took their tea glasses to
the kitchen. Marisa was saying something about Delano's last concert
before he disappeared, then Jack was in the kitchen with her niece,
Dinah, who was preoccupied with stirring a pot of beans on the stove."I should have a banjo." He said to her back.
Dinah looked around, puzzled, then she smiled. "My grand-dad used to
sing that to me. Always made me laugh when we were in the kitchen
together.""Did he strum an ol' banjo?"
"Not hardly, but he did play a mean set of drums. Played with Deleon for
a while.""Did he ever talk about those times?" Jack asked, sensing an outlet for
some of the questions he had for her aunt."Some." Dinah seemed happy with the state of the beans, and took over
from Jack the task of re-filling the tea glasses. "He said Delano was
more than a blues musician, that they had been working on some songs
that were gonna shake things up some.""Shake things up, how? Musically? Politically?"
"Both, and more, according to Grampy. They called him Shaggy back then,
'cause he was restless, and couldn't bear to sit still long enough for a
haircut." She picked up the tray with the glasses. Grampy played on
Delano's biggest hit, 'What's My Name'. Check the cornbread while I take
the girls their tea.""Sure thing. I remember that song. It's like nothing else he ever
recorded."Dinah was halfway out the door. She turned her head to reply. "It ain't
every night he had a nervous breakdown, either. Check that cornbread
now, stir the beans, I'll be back to tell you what Grampy told me."
---------------------------------April 20, 1950
The old Buick bounced down the poorly maintained alley, and stopped by
the back door of the Right Spot. The driver got out and walked around to
meet Shaggy, who was off the stoop and looking into the back seat."So you found him. Where was he?"
Tommy sighed. "In the studio, sleepin' in the control room. He gonna
need a bump. I had to carry his ass out to the car.""Damn right I need a bump. A line the size of a road stripe will do,
thank you." Delano sat up and opened the door, taking the folded-up
paper from Shaggy as he did so."Hurry up and do this, Spoondog. Then get in there. Lucky I got the
manager to give us a second chance, after your no-show last night.""Who the hell's the boss 'round here? Tellin' me to hurry up." Delano
pulled out a razor blade, and proceeeded to chop the white chunks into
two parallel lines.Shaggy patted his pocket. "Who's got the coke? Jes' hurry it up, son.
That crowd is ready to dance or fight."Tommy tugged at Shaggy's sleeve. "Let's get on in. I still gotta tune
up." He wasted a pitying look at Delano, who was busy licking the last
granules off the packaging.Alone now, Delano re-shuffled the snowy powder one last time. When the
lines were of of a satisfying equality, he reached for a rolled dollar
bill in his jacket pocket."What are you doing, mister?"
Delano looked for the source of the question, found it when he switched
from looking around to looking down. There, standing by the car, was the
prettiest young black girl he had ever seen. All of six years old, a
pink ribbon in each of her pigtails that matched the dress she wore, and
which set off her smooth chocolate-colored skin perfectly."I'm not doing anything, honey."
"You are so!" She laughed, and pointed at the roof of the car.
"What's that?""That's medicine, sweetheart. Headache powder." Delano wanted to do the
lines, but couldn't bring himself to do it, not in front of such innocence."You don't have a headache, mister."
"No, you're right, honey. I don't." Delano looked around. Someone was
missing this little girl. If they weren't, they didn't deserve her.He looked back down, and saw a doll in her left hand that he hadn't
noticed before. It looked oddly familiar.
"Who's that, little missy?" he asked, hoping to change the subject.She flashed a winning smile as she said, "This is the German you
killed."Delano wasn't sure he heard right. "Say that again, honey?"
"My doll wants to know why you kilt him. He says you didn't have to. He
says you kilt others, too."The doll looked at Delano. Blood was running from a tear in the fabric
on the side of its head."I got other dolls, too. A mexican doll, a boxer doll, a Spoonbill
doll. That's a funny name. I got a Lucius doll....""Girl, stop it! How do you know all that? Who are you? Is your Mama in
the bar?""Others died because of you. Is that why you take the 'medicine'? Go
ahead mister, snort it up.""Snort it up, man. People are gettin' up and leavin'." Shaggy and Tommy
were in front of the back door. On the step behind them was one large
and angry manager."I was talkin' to this little girl. I think her people are inside." He
saw his bandmates look down beside him, back at him, then at each other.
both shook their heads; the manager just glared.Delano looked down. The girl was gone. He looked back down the alley. He
saw a shadow disappear around the corner. There was a squeal of tires
and a clatter of voices."No! She's been hit! And he ran towards the road.
The manager, one Mr. Boone, spit the remainder of his cigar into a
pothole. "Five minutes, kiddos. He's on stage in five minutes, or I sue
for breach of contract."Shaggy reached Delano first. He was staring at a car full of white kids
verbally harrassing a hooker. There was no little girl that Shaggy could
see. He put his hand on Delano's shoulder. "C'mon man, we got a gig to
play.""She was there...she knew things...".
"Yeah, man," Shaggy said sadly as Tommy caught up.
"We gettin' a new singer, Shag." He panted, "That's all, we gettin' a
new damn singer.""Not now, Tommy. Just let's get him onstage." Shaggy looked at Delano,
who'd started crying and shaking. "And hope for the best."
------------------------------------"So he gets onstage, all confused. Didn't know what name he was using.
He'd forget words and just scream the rest of the line. And the crowd
ate it up, Grampy said. They were ornery, drunk, and ready for a party.
Their response seemed to urge Delano on, or make him more agitated.Then he stumbled into the wires, and unplugged Tommy's bass, and he fell
down and curled up in a ball. Grampy got the crowd to clapping, and he
told Anthony, the rhythm player, to play on out while they wrapped a
blanket 'round poor Delano and led him off the stage."Jack played the song in his head as Dinah related her Grandad's story.
The way the instruments dropped out made sense now.
"So they were recording the band that night?""That was pure luck. Some man from the Smithsonian was in town doing a
project, adding to the field recordings they had made years ago. The guy
thought it would be nice to balance it out with what us city Negroes
listened to. He gave the tapes to Shaggy, thinking they were no good.
Shaggy had been watching Delano in the studio, though, and he and Marisa
worked on it some, and made a decent record somehow. They shopped it
around to some regional stations, and then it went national. They dealt
hard with the record company, and kept the rights, Just like Delano
always done. So Shaggy and Marisa made a bit, and Delano made a lot. For
those days, anyhow.""Then what happened to Delano?"
"Aunt Marisa was telling Nancy when I took out the tea. But I can give
you the long and the short of it. They took Delano...."Jack's cell phone began it's tinny ring. He took it out and looked at
the number. It was his client. He held up a hand to Dinah. "I have to
take this, sorry." Hello Melissa. I've been trying to reach you. I'm in
Augusta with good news. Oh? You okay?In California, sitting on her barstool, Melissa Harshbarger poured
another three fingers of scotch in her glass. "No Jack, I am not too
okay. When were you going to tell me that Daddy was a gangster? When you
were sure? Well, I'm sure, detective. I took your advice, and went
through the old medical records. I found a box containing a report from
some tri-state police inquiry. It's preliminary, but it says he was
involved in killings and whores, Jack. And, and...", She stopped, blew
her nose, took a sip. "And that nice Delano, with his thoughtful letter,
he was a snitch. Yes, he's mentioned in the report, so is his death. I
don't care, Jack. I don't want to know any more. Send a bill, please, I
will pay you through Friday. No, I don't want a god-damned report. I
know more than I wanted. I'm sorry I started this, so, so sorry."On the other end, Dinah listened to Jack. She got the gist, he was off
the investigation, Delano was presumed dead. She waited until Jack hung
up. "I guess that was a surprise.""Yeah, like having a trap door open. I wish she had been sober. I want
to know more about that report she mentioned."Dinah pulled the cast-iron skillet containing the cornbread out of the
oven. It was homemade and smelled heavenly. She rubbed a pat of butter
on the browned crust as she spoke.
"I met Frank once, when I was a little girl. He and Grampy were doing
something with wires in the workroom out back. He did not seem like a
gangster. They were unhappy about something to do with the music they
were playing, but I thought it was real good. Of course, I was maybe
seven then."She uncovered the beans, and once again the wonderful aromas filled the
room. Jack gratefully accepted her offer to stay for dinner."Don't mention it. It's the Christian thing to do, you and Nancy bein'
unemployed and all. After we eat, we can check out that back room. Some
of Delano's stuff is still boxed up in there."
---------------------------------------June 3, 1950
Mitch wiggled his toes in the tepid water. "I feel like a kid again." He
said as he drew his rod back and set the hook in whatever had been
stealing his bait.He and Frank were sitting on the edge of the dock at the lake house.
Between them a stringer of bream and catfish dangled in the water. Both
were wearing straw hats to ward off the summer sun."Kids got problems, but they can just forget them for hours at a time."
Frank let out a sigh. "I wish I could."I don't know if Danvers is coming at you sooner or later, Frank. But
it's one or the other.""Can you get me a copy of that report?"
"Frank, I am violating everything I believe in just telling you this.
No, I couldn't if I wanted to. Danvers has told everyone not to talk to
me. Looks like you got a bite." Mitch put a fresh worm on his hook and
cast his line out a good fifty feet. "A couple more, and we'll have
enough for dinner for the four of us." Francesca had brought a friend
from college. Frank was polite to her, but his mind was on other things.From the shore behind them came a cough. They turned to see Titus
stepping onto the dock."You two look like a couple of shines, fishin' barefoot in them hats."
"Titus!" Frank stood up and shook Titus' hand. "Bein' white can be a
drag sometimes. Not that you would sympathize.""Right, Frank. Bein' lynched is so much easier than doin' the lynchin'.
Makes me sympathetic as all hell." Titus nodded to Mitch as he pulled a
letter from his pocket and handed it to Frank. "I thought you might want
this right away. It's from Delano's wife."Frank took the letter, saw 'Urgent' written twice on the envelope.
Fearing the worst, he tore it open and began reading.Mitch spoke first. "What is it, Frank? What's happened?"
"Looks like I need to make a trip to Augusta. Gotta get Delano out of
the pokey again.""Can I go with you?" Mitch asked. When Frank gave him a quizzical look,
he added, "As a concerned friend, not a cop.""Yeah, but I wanna go right after dinner. Titus, you'll stay for fried
fish?""Damn straight, Frank. And let me have that pole. I'll show you
peckerwoods how to catch the big cats. You know," Titus mused
dramatically, I've never been to Georgia.""Well, hell, old man. It's a big enough car." Frank picked up the
stringer of fish. "I'll get started cleaning these, while you two make
some more orphans and widows."
---------------------------------------
Thursday, 29 October 2009
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A Bird In The Bush
I was in the crew change truck with Boudreau(yes, the iconic star of all Cajun jokes is our driver). We had just pulled up to the spot where we were to meet the boat when this fellow hopped away from us, and tried to hide in the bushes.
He is a Great Blue Heron, stands about four feet tall, and has a wingspan of six feet. I think his left wing was broken, as he did not fly away. He appears to be holding it away from his body in an awkward manner. If I see him tomorrow (we are standing by for weather), I plan to call Louisiana Game & Wildlife, and see if there is anywhere he can be taken where he can be looked after.
Tuesday, 27 October 2009
-
From the Writer's Block
I could barely manage to caption these pictures, much less work on A Minor Blues. Maybe by this weekend, I'll get back into the story...
I think this vine is called Moonflower
This was drawn and signed by Hal Foster, creator of 'Prince Valiant
A friend on Guam carved coconut shells as a hobby. This piece is at least 48 years old.
He had one shell with four birds sitting on it.
The giraffes are from Tanzania. The dish was a parting gift to my Dad when he transferred from
Panama to Key West in 1973. The dish depicts a turtle god with an alligator's head. It is inspired
by the Coclé Indian culture, circa 350 a.d.
This campaign button might be worth a buck or two to some collector.
Our wedding picture. To the far right is my Canal Zone driver's license and our graduation photos.
Monday, 26 October 2009
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Beach Poem #2
WHEN THE BEACH IS MINE
I like my beach best just after sunrise
night wind gently slips away
early laughing gulls suffice
as heralds of another dayI like my beach best when it's just me
and a figure far to the south
throws a cast net expertly,
circle perfect like a mullet's mouthI like my beach washed in pastel hues
soft shadows stretching to the dunes
muttering wavelets scrub my spoor
Chesire footprints fade once more
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