Places Along the Way----Super Bowl 4

I was privileged to have attended Enterprise Jr High during my 7th grade year. My dad was in Vietnam and we were made to leave Ft. Rucker (families couldn’t stay in Post housing if the service member was in a war zone, imagine that) and moved to Enterprise. EJHS is lovingly remembered as ‘Old Junior’ after the emergence of a newer Jr High across town, Dauphin Jr High.
I remember that Christmas I received a bugle as a gift. My best friend in 7th grade, Mike Tindol lived about a 3/4 mile away, up College St. I remember calling him on the phone, asking him to go out in his front yard and listen for my bugle. I blew, he heard, he called me on the phone and told me. Life was good.
Pop served his second tour in Vietnam, came home, and as Army life would have it, orders came. Ft Leavenworth, KS was his next assignment, Command and General Staff College, a one year assignment. So off we went, again I would adjust to a new environment, new school, but adjust I would. 8th Grade would be an inner city school in 1969.
Army families also adjust to the place that Uncle Sam places them. We were not far from Kansas City, MO, home of the KC Chiefs. So we became instant Chiefs fans as they completed an 11-3 season, beating the hated Oakland Raiders in the AFC Championship. The Chiefs, earning a spot in Super Bowl IV, were 13 points underdogs to the mighty 12-2 Minnesota Vikings. KC surprised the Vikings and America by defeating the Vikes 23-7.
I still remember the names: Coach Hank Stram, QB Lennie Dawson, Kicker Jan Stenerud, Mike Garett, Buck Buchanan, Curly Culp---every time things went the Chiefs way, I blew the bugle. We lived in an Army issue duplex, with another family living on top of us. I blew the bugle; they banged on their floor (our ceiling) with broom/mop handles. They were instant Chief fans too. It was all great fun. Cinder block living at its best.
We were fortunate to return to Ft Rucker and Enterprise schools after that year. I was even more fortunate to be able to attend a great school system for my 9-12 grade years in a community that I love to this day. The teachers, students, always made me feel welcome---I never recall being looked down for being an ‘army brat’.
During my year as a Kansas City Chiefs fan, ‘Old Junior’ burned to the ground. The local folks said the flames could be seen from miles away. I have read accounts of many citizens of Enterprise standing silently, watching the flames and crying; ‘Old Junior’ was formerly Coffee County/Enterprise High School and it seems everyone in the small southern community had a connection to that building.
Being an ‘Army kid’, I picked up where I left off. Classes were held in the National Guard Armory, The Boy Scout Hut, wherever we could assemble until a new building could be completed. I’m sure some kids never even realized I was gone for a year.
The bugle was relegated to a closet for many years. Tarnished and old, I pulled it out from time to time and blew it until my lips puckered. It still sounded great. I always thought about my ‘experiment’ with Mike Tindol, Christmas, 1968. The air was right, the humidity was low, the sound of the bugle traveled well. Much like the bugles over the years at Ft. Rucker, AL and Ft. Leavenworth, KS.

Life Along the Way--- DC Metro, August 2015

Observations from the Metro: (DC's subway)

People cram on the trains and immediately disappear into a black hole of silence. They read, play some kind of game akin to Candy Crush, but rarely talk to one another. Most will look away if you establish eye contact. I'm sure it is a defense mechanism from the hard knocks and weird people in a big city.

Their faces simply say, 'I'm tired. I'm beat'. Their faces are blank, stoney, drab.

Today, I noticed a young black professional woman offer her seat to and older black woman. And immediately, a white man about my age got up and offered his seat to the young woman. The two women, seated beside one another, conversed freely and the man stood beside them holding on to the top rail, smiling at times, as his act made him part of this small cell of compassion and kindness too.
Eph 4:32---Be kind to one another.

Life Along the Way----Cross-dressing Bathrobes

Another Christmas Story/Observation , 2015

As many of you know, Annie and I have one son. Everything in his 'raisin' revolved around male dominated sports, or activities like hunting and fishing (I know a lot of ladies like these activities too, but just giving some perspective here. We weren't going to American Girl parties or cheerleader tryouts.) I wonder how I would have done with a girl. Especially a teen aged girl. I'm thinking we were given a boy for a reason and the reason might have might been me!

I usually take a few hours before Christmas to do a little shopping, just me, to purchase a few things of my own choosing for family members. I think it is important for my family to have a few surprises, even if they are small.

I walked in Belks today, bombarded by the sites and sounds of Christmas: the upbeat 'Sleigh Ride Together With You' music, Christmas trees, garlands, all the glitter. I am not going to decry these things; in fact, they usually take me back in time and I remember the glorious days of holidays past at Ft. Rucker AL, driving around in a faded blue '62 Ford station wagon in awe of all the Christmas lights on all the normally mundane Post Quarters.

Observing life around me is a hobby, as many know.
This happened several steps into the large department store. The music, the garlands, the trees disappeared and I zeroed in on a dad around 40, and his tweener daughter in the women's section. The dad was wearing a woman's white terrycloth bathrobe, right there in front of Plastic Santa and everybody else. He was doing his best, helping his daughter decide in reasons known only to them, if it would be a good fit for Mama.

The whole thing was comical and sweet; he slumped over trying to mimic his wife's size, tied it at the waist, obedient to his daughter's wishes. He was grinning, she was laughing, and of course I broke out in a smile. It created a Christmas memory for them and just another fun observation of human behavior for me.
I wonder if I would have done it. Not having experienced a daughter, I just can't say. But I can say I wished that particular dad a Merry Christmas in my mind and I melted back to the December Christmas lights, Ft Rucker, 1967.

People Along the Way----Jack's and WW2

I have been a fan of Jack's Hamburgers since I was a kid. It is the anti- McDonalds and Burger King. All fast food burgers are pretty much the same, but the big red circle with the Jack's logo seems to still draw me. I wore the Jack's paper hat in Grad school, as a grill cook in Auburn. Annie and I were newlywed students and while I was flipping burgers, she was cleaning rat cages in the Biology Dept. Life was good in the Married Student Projects, as we called it, in 1978. $103/month rent and the Langdon Hall Free Show. Everything we ever needed.
Jack's drew me in, somewhere around the Calera exit on I-65, on the way to the Magic City today. I ordered my standard small burger with fries---ok, two small burgers with fries. I sat down in a booth and lost myself in my phone, like so many people do now. Surrounded by a number of truck drivers and a sweet senior citizen in a Jack's uniform roaming the dining area asking, "Need anything, hon?", I was in hamburger heaven.
The booth behind me was suddenly occupied. I heard an elderly female voice:
"I'm going to the restroom, don't let anyone sit in my seat and eat my food!", she said playfully.
"Wash my hands while you are there!" was the reply from the man. The lady laughed.
I finished my burger(s), let the sweet senior in the Jack's uniform bus my tray and got up to refill my Diet Dr Pepper for the rest of the trip to Bham. As I turned back around, I saw the gentleman, a trim, healthy man wearing a WW2 Vet baseball cap. My love of American History compelled me to talk to him.
"Sir, could you tell me where you served?"
"Sure, I was in the Pacific. It wasn't that bad."
I knew I was talking to one of the Greatest Generation, knowing 'the Pacific' in WW2 was a tough slog for all. He was being humble. I am well acquainted with the horrors that all branches of service endured fighting the Imperial Army and Navy of Japan. Yet, like many boys of that day, they kept their horrors secret and dealt with their pain internally.
"Were you in Vietnam?" he asked.
"No sir, I was too young by a few years, but my dad served two tours there."
"Glad I didn't have to go there. Your dad didn't get Agent Orange, did he?"
"No sir, he and my mom are doing good."
He noticed my name badge and asked what I did for a living and I told him. At that point his wife returned from the restroom. I knew I was talking to a couple who were full of sweet southern charm, so I joked, "I asked your husband if I could steal your food!" She laughed, sat down, and said, "Just don't take my fries!"
"He works for Rehab, helps people find jobs."
"Well, at least you know where to send me when my mind is gone!" she replied laughing.
"You know, he's going to be 92 soon", she said to me proudly.
"You are kidding me!", I replied, yet in my mind I had already done the math. Anyone wearing a WW2 baseball cap is in their late 80's or 90's. He actually looked like a man in his 70's.
"Y'all get on with your lunch, and thanks for sharing your story, sir. Pleasure talking to y'all!"
"You be careful out there, and thanks for helping folks," he said. A voice disappearing from the landscape of America at the rate of 430 a day. (I lost my good friend Jim Rice last week, a WW2 Navy vet who survived kamikazes and the worst typhoon that the Navy ever endured.)
This is life in Alabama. My encounter may seem like small talk to many, but it as deep and thick as a wet red-clay dirt road to me. Our people, all races, all ages, become permanently stained in your soul like that same red clay on a white tee shirt. These chance encounters are not shallow in my life. They are part of my fabric, part of why I am proud to be an Alabamian.

Dogs Along the Way---Adventures in the Woods

I had a buddy at Ft Rucker during my 6th grade year named Jimbo. He was one of the cool kids and was among the first to convince his military father to allow him to grow his bangs out. He developed that 'bangs flick' that was so popular in the 60's and of course all of us boys who still went to the PX Barber for the military cut were quite jealous.

Jimbo and I spent a great deal of time in the woods around the housing area at Ft. Rucker. Four Mile Creek ran through the Post and we seemed to gravitate to the water or the tiny tributaries bleeding off of the main artery. One summer day, we ventured off and took his dachshund with us. I remember she was a solid red but for the life of me I cannot remember her name---it was something like Roxie, so that is what I will call her.

The 60's were such a different time. All we had to do is tell our parents that we were going to the woods, and that was enough. No cell phones, no bug spray, no checklists of what to watch out for, just, 'bye'. We spent the day frolicking in the water, oblivious to the South Alabama dangers of water moccasins and other assorted critters. Roxie seemed to enjoy the fun, keeping up with us at every step.
Jimbo and I were gone for probably 4 hours and realized that we had no idea where we were. It was one of the few times of genuine fright, as we were completely and totally lost. Roxie was dirty, dragging her poor belly along the pine strawed trails and red clay. If you have ever been in the deep woods in Alabama in the summer, you know the misery of the stagnant humidity and blistering heat. Still, she trudged along, clinging as close as she could to us as we wandered through the hardwoods and southern pines.
We figured that the best thing to do is look for the largest patch of blue sky, as this would indicate some kind of clearing. This led us to what I call a 'jeep trail', two ruts that indicated wear by an Army vehicle. At that point we knew we would at least get 'somewhere'.

That somewhere eventually led to civilization...halfway across the Post. We knew exactly where we were and how far we would have to walk to get back home, which added another hour. We eventually made it, Roxie still dirty and wet, following close at hand along the busy roads.

Thinking about it now, I chuckle to see how everyday life in 1967 would create a major crisis in 2016. 2 boys and a dog missing for 5+ hours! But I suppose what remains unchanged---while culture, mores, rules, do change---is the dedication of a dog. Just thinking about this little dog: by our side the whole time in the Alabama sauna, we never once picked her up, felt sorry for her; she was just 'with us'. Through the woods, once we found 'civilization', walking beside the busy roads. It never occurred that we might need a leash.
No real significant moral to this tale. No 'we got our butts whipped' for being gone for so long, for taking a short legged dog off on an all day adventure, etc. That was just our life. The only question I remember my Mom frequently asking and getting all bent out of shape was, "HOW did you get so dirty?" Which brought on the 12 year old boy's Pavlovian respone, "I don't know." No review of the day, no dramatic lost in the woods story.

I do remember Jimbo telling me that Roxie slept the whole next day. Then she was ready to go again. A member of the pack.
That's just the way it was.