Ollie....

.... I mentioned a week or so ago that I had been enjoying sifting through old family photos with my Mother to try to find nice gifts for my Aunt who had lost her house in a fire....well, a few of those proverbial chickens have come back home to roost.....

.... in the course of selecting photos, I ran across quite a few where I had no clue as to who the photos were of... so, I bundled them up in a nice manila envelope and sent my Mother off with instructions to find out dustiest surviving ancestor to see if she knew anything about the people in the photos.... and all I can say is, be careful what you wish for..... here's the conversation - as best my Sainted Mother could remember it - as she relayed it to me a few days later over the telephone....

Momma: Lilace, I would like for you to look at these photos, if you don't mind.
Lilace: Certainly, dear, it would be my pleasure.
Momma: (handing the envelope of photos to Lilace)
Lilace: Well! Glory be! Now, would you just look at that!?
Momma: Hmmm? What? Oh, the photos from the graveside? I figured that must have been when Grandma Martha died, right?
Lilace: Oh, no, dear. This is a photo from the burial of my first son in 1937. See? There's Ida and Cheadle, and the rest of my brothers and sisters, and there's Willard. He was Willard and my first, you know. Only lived a couple of days.
Momma: Oh. I'm so sorry.
Lilace: (dumping the contents of the envelope into her lap.)
Momma: Do you mind if I make myself a glass of iced water? Do you want anything?
Lilace: No, honey, I'm fine.

Lilace: Well, will you look at THIS! It's Ollie! Your Father's eldest brother! Just look how handsome he looks in that suit!
Momma: That's Uncle Ollie in a suit? Where on earth did he get a suit from?
Lilace: Oh! He ran your Granddaddy's livestock business once he died. Your Father was just little when his Daddy died. And after his Mother died a few years later, your Father came to live with my Momma and Daddy back in Hiwassee.
Momma: I knew that he lived with Aunt Ida and Uncle Cheadle, but why didn't his big brother take care of him?
Lilace: Oh, honey, he was in jail at the time his Momma died, and as soon as he got out of jail he and his family lit out for Oregon.
Momma: Wow, I knew that he moved out to Oregon in the early 40s. But why Oregon? I've always wondered about that.
Lilace: Well, he was afraid of the ocean.
Momma: Afraid of the ocean? Then why move all the way from Tennessee to the west coast?
Lilace: I guess it was as far away as he could get from Tennessee without braving a boat to take him further.
Momma: Lilace, if you don't mind me asking, *ahem, why did Uncle Ollie want to get as far away from Tennessee as he could?
Lilace: Well, you know how all of your Daddy's kinfolk liked to drink, right? Well, one night the bigger boys were all sitting around drinking and talking - your Father was only about ten or twelve at the time - Ollie's Father-in-Law said something that Ollie took offense to, and Ollie hit him with an axe and killed him.
Momma: Good GOD!
Lilace: Yeah, well, you know how they get when they've been drinking. Anyway, they locked Ollie up for manslaughter for a few years. Evidently he didn't really mean to KILL his Father-in-Law, so everyone figured it was just some sort of accident. And as soon as he got out of jail, he grabbed his wife, his children, his Mother-in-Law, and they all skedaddled for Oregon.
Momma: Wait. He killed his wife's Daddy with an axe while in a drunken rage, and his wife & her Mother moved with him out to Oregon?
Lilace: Yep.
Momma: Wow
Lilace: Evidently the womenfolk figured that the old man had it coming. But Ollie wasn't one for waiting around to see what his Brothers-in-Law thought of the situation.
Momma: I'll bet.
Lilace: (holding the photo up to the light to get a better view) Good old Ollie. He sure does look nice in that suit and tie, doesn't he?
Momma: Yes, ma'am, he sure does. Almost makes it hard to believe that he's an axe-murderer, doesn't it?
Lilace: Awwww, honey, I'm sure it was an accident. Besides, they'd all been drinking.......

..... good God, Almighty..... honestly, you can't make this shit up, folks......

... and hey, the trick to GREAT genealogy is to wait around until your old relatives get just old enough to still remember, and just old enough to not give a shit about the waves they make.... because that is when all the really good family skeletons get unceremoniously unearthed.... heh.... Uncle Ollie the axe-murder...... I swear, my ancestors astound me....

YouTube.....

.... you know, I am a man who is quite naturally just 'aware' of things.... but having said that, I have to wonder just what software The Powers That Be are using to try to figure us all out.....

.... after logging onto my YouTube page earlier today, I was presented with the following videos as "recommended for you"...... behold, gentle rubberneckers..... and decide for yourselves.....

... first up, does anyone speak Italian?... I mean, WTF??....

... and then, next in line?... sure, my first car was a 1951 Mercury, but wow.......

... and then, YouTube offers up this.......

..... now, Waits?.... I'm down with him... all day long........ "don't you know there ain't no Devil, that's just God when he's drunk.."......... now THAT is the true heart of a philosopher........

... YouTube, eh?..... what the HELL must I have been searching for them to think those videos should be recommended for ME?.. except for the Waits tune, of course......

Moons.....

.... while out in search of nachos this past Friday, I flipped on the car radio and was surprised to find it tuned to the University of Tennessee's station....... obviously allowing The Missus to pilot Blanche every so often is a bad, bad thing.... since I am SURE that my little ride is a fan of ZZ Top and AC/DC...... anyway, after a few snippets of classical music finished, a caramel-voiced fellow lit into some poetry... it was one that I had not heard before, and I enjoyed it very much..... so much so that, when I pulled Blanche into the driveway, I sat in the car contentedly listening until the gentleman finished his reading.....

.... so, since I am in a sharing mood today, here it is..... it seems to be meant to be read aloud... and slowly.... quietly, almost...... I do hope that you enjoy it as much as I did.......

Complaint by James Wright

She's gone. She was my love, my moon or more.
She chased the chickens out and swept the floor,
Emptied the bones and nut-shells after feasts,
And smacked the kids for leaping up like beasts.
Now morbid boys have grown past awkwardness;
The girls let stitches out, dress after dress,
To free some swinging body's riding space
And form the new child's unimagined face.
Yet, while vague nephews, spitting on their curls,
Amble to pester winds and blowsy girls,
What arm will sweep the room, what hand will hold
New snow against the milk to keep it cold?
And who will dump the garbage, feed the hogs,
And pitch the chickens' heads to hungry dogs?
Not my lost hag who dumbly bore such pain:
Childbirth at midnight sassafras and rain.
New snow against her face and hands she bore,
And now lies down, who was my moon or more

.... I don't know.... it just struck me as earthy honest, and heartfelt....... and that most of us truly don't know what we have until it is gone..... or, perhaps instead, that we should spend more time telling those that are our moons just how much we care for them while they are still orbiting..... so to speak.....

.... either way, I enjoyed it...... and it is always nice to learn something new... .

Water....

... so, I've been reading (and enjoying) this site called "Shit My Drill Instructor Said"..... and I swear, the memories that all Marine recruits share are hilarious.... well, hilarious NOW, of course... at the time?.... yeah, they probably weren't so funny.....

.. anyway, I was reminded today of a fellow in my platoon who had the most unfortunate name..... his name was Wannamaker.... and I believe that he was from Boston, if memory serves....

... I arrived at Parris Island at the very end of May 1990...... so, I was there all of June, July, and August - months that provide coastal South Carolina a taste of what the surface of the Sun is like when it is pissed..... most of the month of July was "black flagged", as I recall, and the heat was causing recruits to drop like flies..... as a result, our Drill Instructors made us drink a canteen of water every morning while standing on line, three canteens of water - one right after the other - after evening chow, and another canteen of water before bed.... it wasn't just a lesson in hydration, they also used the water as a "training tool"....

.... for instance, after evening chow when we were forced to drink our three canteens?.... everyone puked.... everyone.... hell, we'd just had a big dinner, cleaned our rifles, shit, showered, and shaved.... we each had two canteens that we'd been issued.... both full of water at all times..... it's simply a question of doing what you are told to do... no matter what the consequences...

..... after chugging both canteens down with a count out of "one!, two!, three!", we were all ready to heave.... and for those staunch souls who didn't puke just then, the order of "double-time to the head and fill those canteens!" would surely induce the vomiting..... it's hard to keep from puking when you're running after drinking that much liquid..... but, inevitably, some didn't..... so, the third canteen of water usually did the trick in convincing the stalwarts to puke as well.....

... I wrote here once about hitting my "Heavy" DI mid-chevrons with a lettuce & water laden stream of vomit, if y'all remember..... he was pacing by me from right to left as I finished my second canteen....

... anyway, this wasn't supposed to be a post about puke..... my ability to digress is increasing as of late, I guess....... but, no.... this post was supposed to be about Recruit Wannamaker.....

.... see, one of the side effects of drinking three quarts of water in two minutes before going to bed is, well, that you are going to need to have a tinkle before morning..... and a very, very serious tinkle it will be.....

.... the problem is, you see, that once lights are out, no recruit is allowed to go to the head... and indeed, it is the Fire Watch's duty to make SURE that you are all snug in your little beds until morning..... and it was under such circumstances that poor Wannamaker's name became the bane of his existence....

.... once we'd finished our vomitfest and field day'd the barracks, we were ordered to bed at attention.... and we lay that way for our protestant prayer, our catholic prayer, and our Rifleman's Prayer were all finished, and until told to "adjust"... after that, the lights went out and we were allowed to go to sleep.....

.... around three in the morning - nearly ever morning - I awoke with my bladder literally bursting at the seams.... I'd slowly raise my head and check where the Fire Watch was on his rounds, and when the time was right, I would slide off my top bunk and slink over to the wall..... we were garrisoned on the second floor of Kilo Company, 3rd Battalion's brick building..... I'd hide between the windows until the time was just right..... and then, drawing upon the ancient skills of my distant Cherokee ancestors, I would ease myself along the wall until I was three or four beds away from where MY rack was....

.... and over the course of three or four minutes - and depending on frequency of the Fire Watch's ploddings - I would stealthily piss out of the second story window every morning rather than risk the fury of a Drill Instructor for being caught in the head after lights-out....

.... hey, it worked for me.... and I always figured that if someone on the first floor caught a whiff of the smell, they'd blame the recruit four beds to my right anyway...... heh.....

... but alas, poor Wannamaker..... honestly, I don't know what his deal was.... either he was a very heavy sleeper, absolutely terrified of what the Drill Instructor might do to him if he were caught in the head, or just wasn't smart enough to think of peeing out the window, but every morning in July and most of August, he pissed himself while on line for the morning count-off..... I swear to god, every single morning...... just like clockwork, Wannamaker would piss himself....

..... I'm sure that the DI's EXPECTED us to overcome, adapt, and improvise.... that was the purpose of our training!.... me, I pissed out the window..... others snuck to the head and peed very, very quietly.... others?.... hell, I have no idea what they did, but they certainly must have done something!...... because it was only Wannamaker who gently pissed himself at attention each morning at 4:45......

.... after the second instance, he was called "Watermaker" for the rest of his time on the Island.....

.... this is all of no consequence, of course, just simply the wanderings of my mind after reading about "getting out of the rack and getting on line" today..... and yeah, we all had nicknames assigned to us by our Drill Instructors..... mine was "Diamond"...... maybe one day I'll tell that story as well.....

... but, god damn, at least my nickname wasn't Watermaker....... still, though, he graduated with the rest of us "orignals" from Platoon 3072..... we started off in May with 72 recruits.... and graduated in August with 41..... including 11 pick-ups..... my goodness, what a time.......

Journeys.....

.... a few days ago I found myself out on the patio reading deeply from General Gibbon's book Adventures on the Western Frontier... the tropical heat that has plagued us here recently has slaked a bit, and the shade of the dogwood trees make for an excellent locale during a late-afternoon reading.... especially whilst waiting for dinner and the cocktail hour to arrive..... the flagstones and gravel seem to remain cool with only the slightest of shade.....

.... I'd been given the book as a gift years ago, and had read it cover to cover immediately..... it is beautifully written in a dairy type of style, and it truly is a view of the American West that is unique..... any history fans out there, I highly suggest you pick up a copy....... it's definitely worth the effort due to its honest depiction of one man's experiences with the Sioux, Cheyenne, and Nez Perce....... something that most of today's history books are woefully lacking in..... and certainly something that you will never find in Hollywood, either..... it's like all the greatest of stories, you only truly know what went on when you talk to (or read about) someone who was actually there - boots on the ground.... or stirrups, as the case may have been....

.... it is odd, I guess, but I sought it out from the shelf specifically because of something that I noticed on my little day-planner calendar from The History Channel a few days ago.....

.... here, check this out....

August 20 Friday

1804: Corps of Discovery suffers its only death.

The Corps of Discovery, led by Meriwether Lewis and William Clark, suffered its first and only death on this day in 1804. Sergeant Charles Floyd, a native of Kentucky, was among the first to join Lewis and Clark on their journey to the Pacific Ocean. By the end of July, Lewis and Clark reported that Floyd had become ill. He died in the early afternoon and was buried on a high bluff overlooking a tributary of the Missouri River. The expedition's two captains named the stream Floyd River and the hill Floyd's Bluff.

... I re-read Gibbon's book and was amazed at his description of "following Lewis & Clark's" footsteps through the Rockies..... how he'd found their old camps - some 70 years old - and could still make out where they had discarded tins, and built their campfires..... and I read on about how he and his men marveled when they first saw Yellowstone......

.... and yet the land was still dangerous and laden with discovery - even last late as the 1880s..... hell, I guess it still is now, if truth be told....... but here is the twist, folks....

.... Lewis and Clark set out in 1803..... and they mapped their way all the way through the Rockies to the Pacific Ocean..... two years they were gone..... through an unknown land full of Native Americans, bears, blizzards, mountain passes, rand iver crossings too many to count...... and out of their entire party, only one man died on that awesome adventure..... and his death was most likely due to disease, and not the local flora, fauna, or freak accident...

..... I'm sorry, but I sit here now in awe that so many intrepid adventurers could spend two years roaming a dangerous, unknown landscape, and all return safe and sound - save one.......

.. how many of us now could do such a thing?.... pick up a rifle, shoulder a pack, and set off from Pittsburgh towards points unknown, reach the Pacific Ocean, and return across a continent again?......

.... well, according to Wikipedia, this hardy fellow was up to the task a good few years before Lewis & Clark, but still...... what a journey........