Riding High

Riding High

This one is for Ray Yourchek.


      More Letters From Paradise          
            Riding High
When I became sixteen years old, I quickly realized that you could get more girls to ride with you on a motorcycle than on a bicycle.  And there was the problem of her sitting on the handlebars, and me peddling like crazy.

So, I had to acquire some other means of transport.  I couldn't afford a motorcycle, but maybe a motor bike. It would be a step up.  I knew an old German couple that had an old motor scooter for sale.  So I parted with forty-five hard-earned bucks from my paper route.  Its new coat of paint covered the rust.  But it was mine.

It might not have been the best looking scooter, but it did get girls to ride with me.  Being hugged tightly around my waist was a nice sensation.

But I soon became tired of the scooter, and at long last after saving all I had I bought a real old well-used motorcycle. When I revved it up, it smoked like hell. The tires were well-worn, and the chain was sloppy.

But ah, the freedom that bike gave me. The speed, the deep roar of the engine, it was wonderful. And, it did get me many more girls. The faster we went, the tighter she would squeeze me.

It was about then that I got the bright idea that maybe I could attend the Police Academy and become a motorcycle cop. I applied, took some tests, and after some training, I would see my dream realized.

It was during my training period that something happened that I have never forgotten. I was riding in a police car with my mentor, when we caught a guy speeding. We got out of our car and the driver was asked for his license. The driver was very upset, and shouted, "In Germany ve had the Auto Bahn, and ve can go as fast as ve want!"    
     "This is California, and we have speed laws," my mentor said.   "I see from your license that you are from Essen."
     "Ja," the man replied. "Do you know Essen?"
     "No, but when I was in the Army Airforce, we bombed the hell out of Essen."  The driver said nothing more, and slowly drove away.

Upon graduation, I was assigned to bike patrol.  Is this a great country or what?  Here I was getting paid for riding a motorcycle.  Freedom to ride again, and this time nothing to fear about getting a ticket.

Many of the days on the bike were fine, except when it rained.  And if you think that it never rains in California, you have never lived there.  There were also flies and bugs in your mouth, if you forgot your helmet.

It was sometime later that I grew tired of chasing tail lights. But what really caused me to quit riding, was what happened. It was dark and I had just stopped a car for speeding.  Just as I came close to the car there was a big blast in my face, and a bullet passed my face.  I hit the ground, thinking that there might be another shot.  The driver of the car spun his wheels and quickly drove away.  Shaken, and with my ears ringing, I climbed on my bike to go after him.  And, then I thought, why in hell should I give him another chance?

Back at the station, the guys thought that it was funny, I didn't think so. Anyway, a car was later stopped with some bullet holes in it, and my story came to light.

About the time that I was thinking of getting some other line of work, when I received the offer from a friend. He said that I could get a job working for the Liquor Control Commission, inspecting bars. As I said before, isn't this a great country or what? Getting a job where you get paid to drink.

        Aloha
        Grant

Progress Report: MaiTai, aka Mr. Fuzzy

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 Progress Report Mai Tai a.k.a. Mr.Fuzzy

Sniffing feet A
Under feet A
Greeting people B
Greeting dogs (sniff test) A
Running away with door stop B
Shaking hands A
Peeing on paper A
Playing fetch with skunk or ball A
Warming bare feet and snuggling on couch A
Learning to "heel" when walking C
The really big news today is that Mai Tai graduated from Puppy Class. There was a class photo, and a certificate.Many dogs, and many distractions. We are very proud of him. The next class starts next week.

       Aloha
       Grant

Old Fears Recalled

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         Old Fears Recalled
The front page story in our local paper, "The Hunt For K-129", set my thoughts racing.  The writer, William Cole, tells how 40 years ago the CIA had a plan to raise a sunken Soviet submarine under the Soviets' noses. The complete story can be found in the book, "Project Azorian: The  CIA and the Raising of the K-129" by Norman Polmar and Michael White.

Briefly told, the Soviet submarine K-129 sank 1,800 miles northwest of Hawaii in March 1968.  The cause of the sinking is unknown.  The submarine carried a crew of 98, two nuclear-tipped torpedoes and three intercontinental ballistic missiles.  Each of the three missiles had l-megaton warheads with 65 times the destructive power of those used on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  The intended targets were Pearl Harbor, Hickam Field and Camp Smith, in case of war.

The story continues to tell how the CIA interested Howard Hughes to became involved.
The billionaire Hughes was always interested in projects, such as designing a bra for Jane Russell, in the movie "The Outlaw." He also built the "Spruce Goose," created TWA Airlines, and held many flying records. Just to name a few of his many interests.


Hughes had built a ship named the" Glomar Explorer," which would raise the sunken sub. The ship had an open center like a swimming pool without a bottom.  Giant steel claws would pick up the submarine.  Soviet ships nearby were told that they were only mining minerals on the ocean floor. They fell for the ruse, but one of the claws failed and sent most of the sub to the ocean floor. Recovery items consisted of six sailors, two crushed nuclear torpedoes, and some documents. When the ship anchored off Maui, the front page story reported that they had been exploring mining the ocean bottom.

The U.S. interest in Russian subs was not new to me.  Long before the event written above, I was serving aboard the USS Tarawa, a WWII aircraft carrier, our interest was in Soviet submarines.  Our ship was paired with the USS Wasp, also an Essex WWII aircraft carrier.  Each ship in turn would leave our port, Quonset Point, R.I., and spend the next 30 days at sea. We cruised 300 miles offshore, from Halifax, Nova Scotia, to Mayport, Florida.  Back and forth, launching  twin-engine sub hunter aircraft.  Sonar Buoys would be dropped, fins would open, slowing the descent to the water. When in the water, a paper tape holding down a spring loaded antenna would break,  causing the antenna to stand upright.  A microphone would descend into the ocean depth.  Now, a pilot flying above, could tell the direction the sub was taking.  And then, drop a depth charge.

One time we had just returned from 30 days at sea, and we were tied to the pier, across from the USS Wasp, when it happened. A fire had broken out on their hangar deck, many were injured, and  we watched as black body bags were carried off the ship.

As a result of this accident, we who had just finished 30 days at sea, were ordered back out to sea. Helping to keep America safe.

      Aloha
      Grant

Progress Report MaiTai aka Mr. Fuzzy

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Progress Report-Mai Tai a.k.a. Mr. Fuzzy

Sniffing feet A
Warming feet A
Under feet A
Coming when called B
Visiting vet B
Friendly when meeting other dogs A
Being combed and brushed B

Mr. Fuzzy now has a sheep skin car seat, in which he can view the traffic, or lie down and snooze. He submits to being combed and brushed, as long as he can chew on the brush handle. Peeing on paper on the lanai continues. Tonto takes him down early in the morning to the dog yard. I often follow this with a long walk along the Ala Wai Canal.
He has been to several puppy classes and has learned (more or less) to sit, lie, heel, and stay. Tonto is teaching him to sit and shake his paw. Only a couple of weeks left in the puppy class. We think we will enroll him for the next advanced class. He continues to give us great joy.

         Aloha
         Grant

My D Day

June 6, 1944 is now being remembered once again.  The citizens of Normandy, France, and dignitaries from around the world will again gather to pay tribute to the many brave men who lost their lives in freeing France from the Nazis.

My father was one of those G Is who waded ashore. His group of men landed behind the first assault wave, and thus escaped the slaughter of the men landing in the first wave.

So, I have a great interest in the D Day landings.This no doubt led me to what later happened.

I was teaching in a small high school where the superintendent of school believed that all a good teacher needed was a piece of chalk. And that is just all I had to teach a class in Military History. It came about this way.  A fellow teacher and football coach, who had once been a 2nd Lt. in the Army, had the bright idea for a class in military history. What he did in his class, I had not a clue. Long story short, he lost football games, and left the school district. That is where I came in. I was told to teach his class. And, remember, I only had a piece of chalk. What was I do do?

I decided that I would have my students thoroughly research the D Day landings, and that we would build a scale model of a section the the landing area.

So it was off to the library every day for some time. Notes were taken. Photographs were Xerox copied. One student managed to find a free 8x10 sheet of plywood.The art department was raided for for paint and brushes. Plaster of Paris came from somewhere. Thin sheets of balsa wood and glue came from a hobby shop. Very small plastic soldiers came from there too.

In time, the English Channel was painted with its dark depths, and the lighter tones as the water became less deep. The water had six foot waves that day, and this was reflected in paint.

Meanwhile some of the other students were building two landing craft, complete with numbers seen in photographs. Other students were working with creating the landscape, and German gun emplacements. The sand beach with all the steel obstacles were built and painted.  Many of the plastic soldiers were painted, some cut off short to make it look like they were wading.  It was very realistic-looking. Our scale was 1/72, and a tenth of a mile of Utah Beach.

When finished it was a masterpiece. Classes from neighboring buildings were brought over to look at it.  One of my student's father worked at Ford.  And so, Ford Motor Company donated glass to cover it. And we were informed that our D Day model would be placed in the lobby of the the high school.

When summer was over, and it was time to return to school, I found our D Day model smashed to bits, in the trash room.

That was the first semester of Military History. For the second semester, I decided that much could be learned from a study of the war crimes trials at Nuremburg. Again, nothing but a bit of chalk. Students researched the crimes of the Nazi men on trial. Then role playing became the order of the day.  Other classes visited us to witness the trials. I now think that maybe the superintendent was right when he said all a teacher needed was a piece of chalk. The following year the subject was not being offered.

          Aloha
          Grant

Memorial Day circa 1946-47

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            Memorial Day
The following poem was written many years ago, and I always thought that it should be printed somewhere.

            Memorial Day
            ca. 1946-47
Year after year the pattern remained the same.
It never seemed to rain on Memorial Day.
It wouldn't have dared.
Red, white, and blue crepe paper
would be woven in and out between bicycle spokes.
Streamers from handle bars looked nice too.
The few old veterans of Cuba
picked their way up the center of Main Street
surrounded by flags and men who had recently returned from Europe and the Pacific.
There may have been a Civil War veteran or two to lead the parade in a car.
I think so, but I don't remember for sure.
But I do remember that Jake was always there.
Jake said it was awful hot in those blue wool uniforms and that the bacon became rancid in the heat.
He never mentioned if he had killed a Spaniard.
There was a scramble for the hot brass shells
as they were ejected by the firing squad at the cemetery.
Why we wanted them, or what we did with them afterwards, I don't recall.

         Aloha
         Grant

Calendar Painting

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         Calendar Painting
Last evening while looking at the picture on the calendar hanging in the bathroom, I was reminded of other calendars.

Years ago while the snow had covered the road, and before the coming of the snow plow, I suddenly felt that I needed to go to the grain elevator, and have some corn ground for my chickens.The December day was dark and dreary, as I fought my way through the drifted snow. Upon my arrival in the  office of the grain elevator, I found a group of farmers huddled around the oil stove, warming their hands, and discussing what a difficult time they had in getting there. And on the counter there was a large bottle of whiskey, some paper cups, and  a large pile of rolled up calendars. The calendars were very large with bold printed, black and red numbers. No pictures, just advertisements for farm products. I sipped my whiskey and joined the farmers at the stove.

In December, I am given a calendar from the service station where I always take my car. It is only about four by five inches. No pictures, but only phone numbers, and the promise of good service.

I am very particular about the selection of my  calendar. It must have country scenes, and always a snow picture for December. These calendars are often hard to find, and so must be ordered. I remember reading somewhere that the French painter Paul Gauguin, painting in Tahiti, painted a snow scene as his last picture.

This month I felt that the picture was rather blah, so I covered it with a picture from an earlier calendar. There are several which are hidden behind the current calendar.

I like this painting very much. It shows a young boy with his back to the viewer. He holds a fishing pole in his hands. And he is fishing in a shallow stream. Near him are poplar trees. The artist has done an excellent job. He has pictured it just right. It is as if I had posed for the painting so many years ago. But the artist could not paint the deep silence, nor the smell of the poplar trees. Although I know it was there.

The painting does not tell the whole story. For the boy had left the house with his fishing pole, and had walked the path through the tall grass to the stream. He passed the log shed where Patsy, the cow, had once lived, and down the hill to the log dam. He walked  a bit down the stream and begin to fish, as seen in the painting.  He caught a small trout out of season, and returned with it to the house for admiration.  Next, he cut off the head of the trout, and slit its belly to empty its contents. The fish had pink flesh, because it was a native trout, not a planted one.    The boy then rolled the fish in corn meal, and placed it in a hot cast-iron frying pan. The pan had just fried some bacon. This is exactly how Hemingway  cooked his trout, in one of his short stories. When the trout was cooked, the boy opened the fish, and with his thumb and index finger, pulled away the back bone along with the ribs. He then sat down and enjoyed his fish.

This is the painting on my calendar this month. What picture is on yours?

        Aloha
        Grant