– In The Beginning – There Was The Draft – #1

My youngest daughter, who is now on the backside of twenty-three, wants me to add a few stories about my time in the army. There are some I find humorous and that could be because they happened to me. You, on-the-other-hand, might find them boring. For my daughter’s sake, I’ll take that chance.

When my friend, Phil, and I decided to volunteer for the draft in 1966, the Vietnam war was just getting into high gear. The U. S. of A. was drafting, not only, into the U.S. Army but into the Marine Corp. as well. A fact that, at the time, we were unaware. We had no idea that we may, without our consent, be drafted into the marines.

Let me back up a couple of days to an incident that happened just prior to my induction date. I was out celebrating my soon to come stint in the army with another friend of mine from work. A mister Dale Dunbar. Quite a character in his own right and tough as nails to boot. He kept an old car sitting in the street outside of his parents house just to beat on. That’s right, to beat on. He would take out his frustrations on the car with his fists, his feet or whatever was handy at the time. This guy was, like I said, tough as nails but one of the nicest guys you would ever want to know. When he was happy, that is.

Anyway, when Dale found out I was going into the service, one of us suggested that we go out and have a farewell drink (or ten). Which we did in grand fashion. You see, Dale didn’t like the service. He wasn’t what you would call a team player and didn’t take orders well. Hell, he didn’t take suggestions well either.

Again, I digress. One day Dale and I were playing hooky from work and we got to talking about the service. Dale was emphatic about not wanting anything at all to do with military life and had heard from somewhere that if you got an Exhibition of Speed ticket, you would become exempt from the draft. This, even at my tender age of eighteen, I found a little bit of a stretch. The fact remained that Dale believed it and that was all that mattered.

As we were driving around in his 1958 Chevy Bel Air 2-door hardtop with a 348 V-8, three deuces and a three speed, we happened to pull up beside a Long Beach cop car with two of Long Beaches finest inside. Dale looked at me and said, “Watch this.”

As the light changed to green Dale revved that 348 to God only knows what and popped the clutch. My heart sank into my stomach and we were off. I looked back to where the cop car had been sitting and saw nothing but an ever-growing cloud of dense white smoke from the rear tires of Dales car. This was the true definition of Exhibition of Speed. It isn’t exactly speeding because you are not exactly exceeding the speed limit, yet. You are, however, exhibiting speed by burning rubber from a standing start.

Anyway, as we were pulling away from the light and depositing more smoke down the road, along with a fairly large patch of rubber as well, the cop car slowly emerged from the cloud of smoke with its red lights flashing and siren blaring. It was in hot pursuit, of us.

Dale turned onto a residential street because he didn’t want to make the chase too easy for the cops. He made a right turn then a left then another right and then pulled into some strangers garage who just happened to leave his door up and we waited for the cops to catch up so Dale could get his ticket and become exempt from the draft.

We could hear the cop car getting closer and I just knew we were going to jail. Dale got out and leaned against the trunk of his car. As the cops car rounded the corner, Dale started waving. They just ignored him and continued on by with lights and siren still blaring as they faded into the distance. Dale was not amused. To say he was pissed would have been an understatement of the highest magnitude. He started yelling and jumping up and down like a mad man right there in front of that strangers house and with his car still in the strangers garage.

When Dale was like that you were better off not laughing but, I couldn’t help it. I started to laugh. I think it was more of a nervous laugh if anything seeing how we weren’t arrested for evading. But, it was funny and finally Dale came around and laughed a little as well. He was still pissed though and I’m sure that car out front of his house got a real work-out that evening.

Anyhow, back to the night in question. Dale and I went out drinking and as teenagers, we all know that can never lead to any good. Tonight was to be no different. After consuming our fair share of alcohol, we decided to go to Oscars Drive-In on the traffic circle for a cup of coffee and something to eat. You know, so we could become wide awake drunks?

On the way, I happened across a little sports car with three sailors in it. As we were going around the traffic circle I, apparently ran them off the road or crowded them or something. Anyway it was my fault and I thought I should apologize. Dale didn’t think that was a good idea but, being me, I did it anyway.

There was a teen dance club right next to Oscars called the Cinnamon Cinder and I saw the sports car pull on to the street next to it so I followed. I pulled in behind the little car as the driver got out. There was another sailor in the passenger’s seat and one in the rumble seat or whatever you call that space back there.

I exited my vehicle from the driver’s side and went to meet the other guy halfway. Dale waited in the car.

Paul Newman said it best in -Cool Hand Luke- when he said, “What we have here is a failure to communicate.”

Apparently the driver of the sports car was not in an apologetic nor a communicative mood. As soon as I was within range, he let me have it. He knocked what was left of my consciousness into next week. The front seat passenger, not wanting to be left out, thought that he might as well get in on the fun so he grabbed something out of the back seat, proceeded out into the road and started smacking me on the back of the head with it.

Just for the record, this was all related to me a couple of days later by Dale. That night, everything was a bit fuzzy, if you know what I mean.

Back to my dilemma. Dale saw I was not going down. Just why, neither of us knew. It would have been better for me if I had gone down. It was like I was rooted in cement and couldn’t fall.

After Dale got done laughing, he decided to help. I guess the scene was pretty funny from his point of view. There was one guy in front punching me in the face knocking my head backwards and the other guy in back with a club or something knocking it back forward. Afterward, Dale said it looked like something out of a cartoon.

When the third guy decided to get out (his one and only mistake), Dale had FINALLY seen enough and came to my rescue. He grabbed the third guy mid stride, spun him around on to the hood of my car and hit him in the face. Just once and he went down like a rock. Then Dale took notice of the other two and made short work of them as well.

Dale helped me back to the car and, of course, I insisted on driving. I looked at Dale and the first thing I remember saying is, “Where did all that blood come from?” Dale said, “Don’t worry, it’s the other guys.” Then he said, “But all that blood on you, that’s yours.”

I looked down at my once clean light green sweater and matching green khaki pants and saw that they were in fact covered with blood and it was getting worse. I noticed that I was coughing up blood and there seemed to be something wrong with my front tooth.

Dale said, “We have to get you to a hospital.” “No way, I said, I’m hungry, Let’s go to Norms and get something to eat.” Dale looked at me like I had just lost what was left of my mind but then shrugged and said, “Okay, let’s go.”

It was after one in the morning, I was bleeding like a stuck pig and covered in my own blood, Dale was covered in someone elses blood and we were going to a very public restaurant in downtown Long Beach, California. What could go wrong there???

As we pulled into the parking lot at Norms, Dale noticed about three or four squad cars parked unmanned but ready for action. He said, “Maybe this ain’t such a good idea. Maybe we should go somewhere else.”

“No, I said, I want a Denver omelet and I want it here.” Again,Dale just shrugged and we went in.

To coin a phrase from the old Mad Magazine and Alfred E. Newman, to be exact. “What Me Worry?”

As we walked into the restaurant we headed straight to the rear where, low-and-behold, sat six or eight of Long Beaches finest at a very large circular booth. Not one of them looked up at us.

The wait staff, the cooks, dish washers, buss boys and the manager all gathered around us wondering what the hell had happened.

The manager or someone (not the cops) asked if there was an accident. “Are you two all right? Can we get you anything?” they all inquired.

The waitresses got wet towels and started cleaning me up some while Dale went into the bathroom to wash his arms and hands which were covered with someones blood.  We already knew where the blood on me came from.

The manager went to the table where the cops were sitting. They were already getting up and heading for the front of the restaurant to pay up and get out.

“Aren’t you going to do something for these guys? Take a report or something?” As far as I know they just paid up and left. They couldn’t get out of there fast enough. They didn’t want anything to do with us or any explanation of any sort. Out of sight, out of mind.

The manager, again, asked if we wanted or needed anything. I answered in the affirmative. I wanted a Denver omelet and a cup of coffee. The manager looked puzzled, then looked at the cook who smiled and said, “Coming right up.”

Dale and I finished our meals, which were on the house by-the-way, and then headed home. That was the last meal I had for some time that wasn’t a bit uncomfortable to eat. That front tooth thing was not just my imagination. It was all too real, as I was about to find out.

When we left the restaurant, I drove Dale home to his parents place in North Long Beach. I was living with my mom at the time and she lived in East Long Beach. So, being battered, bloodied and bruised and in no shape to be driving anywhere, I decided to drop in on Phil at his parents house which was less than a mile or so away.

When I got there I was met with gasps, ooh’s and aah’s and a million questions. Phil’s dad, who was FBI or something like that had the most questions. Phil’s mom and grandma wanted to feed me and Phil’s two sisters were just curious. Phil thought it was hilarious and all I wanted to do was sleep and forget the whole thing ever happened. Oh, and the other thing I didn’t want to do was tell my mom.

Well, the telling my mom part didn’t go well because Phil’s dad got to her first and told her I didn’t want to talk to her. This was only sort of true. I didn’t want to talk to her at that particular moment in time not ever like Phil’s dad made it sound. Mom and I finally did talk and resolved everything. She didn’t much care for Phil’s dad after that.

Now, back to our induction into the army thing. I really got off track that time, huh? We, Phil and I, were about to become G.I.’s. That’s Government Issue for you uninitiated types. It matters not which branch of the service you served in, Army, Marines, Navy, Air Force or the Coast Guard, when you are once sworn in you become G.I. – Government Issue.

I can’t remember just who dropped us off at the induction center in downtown L.A. or if we were transported there by a government vehicle. I guess it doesn’t matter. We arrived just the same.

All we had were the basic necessities. A change of underwear, socks and our toiletries in, what was called and AWOL bag. One small zippered bag with two plastic handles made of canvas. That would be all we would need until we reached out basic training unit. There we would be issued everything else we needed for the next two years.

Phil and I and the other inductees got our introduction to the military by standing in our very first of many lines just after entering the front door. There is a saying in the service, “Hurry up and wait.” Just about everything you do in the service is at the double time. In other words, you’re running. It’s double time here and wait in this line. Then its double time there and wait in that line. Then double time back to the first place to wait in yet another line. “Hurry up and wait. Hurry up and wait.” It’s the Army way of life.

After being poked and prodded through one line after another by everyone and his brother, we finally got to the dental part of the exam. The dentist took one look at my loose front tooth and the multiple cuts on the inside of my mouth, not to mention the ring of knots on the crown of my head and said, “We’ll have to declare you unfit at this time. We’ll have you come back when everything is healed.”

I looked at Phil, shrugged my shoulders and started to walk away when he reached out and grabbed hold of my shoulder. He looked at the dentist and said something to the effect, “Hey, we’re going in on the buddy plan. If I go, he goes.” Compelling argument, no? The doc must have thought so because he stamped my papers “Fit for Duty” and away we went. Phil smiled. I still found smiling a bit difficult.

When we got to the swearing-in part, they had us form two separate lines leading down a narrow hallway. There was a blue line on the left and a yellow line on the right. Phil was in the blue line and I was right beside him in the yellow line. We talked as the line moved forward and we noticed that there was a folding divider screen thing blocking the hall. The blue line was heading through a door on the left and the yellow through a door on the right.

As we got closer to the doors Phil said to jump over to his line. I didn’t see the point. We would both come out the other side after being sworn in so what’s the difference. After much conversation, I found someone who would let me crowd into the blue line. Phil was happy.

The closer we got to the doors the more we could hear grumbling coming from the other side of the divider. We couldn’t quite make out what was being said but we could tell that some of the guys on that side were not happy campers at all.

We went through the door four or six at a time, I think, raised our right hands and were proclaimed to be government property or, in the army, whatever.

The new recruits, of which I was now one, all slapped each other on the backs as we all exited back into the narrow hallway and resumed our positions on the blue line. It was then we found out what all the bitching and moaning was about. The guys in the yellow line, which is where I would have been if not for Phil’s insistence, were all drafted into the Marine Corp.

As Maxwell Smart would have said, “They missed me by.. that .. much!”

There was little time to relax after the induction center. We were loaded on board three or four chartered buses and headed north to the Beautiful Monterey Bay Peninsula. Which we would never see, by-the-way. There was a meningitis outbreak at Fort Ord and this restricted us to the training area only. There was to be no passes for us. And, we didn’t know it then but no liberty after basic training as well. There was a crunch on and they needed bodies quickly. Maybe that was a poor choice of words but, you get the picture.

It was a long but fairly leisurely bus ride but not many of us got any sleep. We were too busy thinking about the next eight weeks. What would it be like, the training and all? Would we make it or be washed out? Would we be tough enough? This was for real. We weren’t playing soldier and shouting bang-bang. This was going to be for all the marbles.

We arrived somewhere around 3 o-clock in the morning and then the fun began. We were introduced to our first D.I. (drill instructor) after exiting the buses to shouts and profanity like you can only imagine. They called us everything but human beings. Phil and I were R.O.T.C. (Reserve Officers Training Corp) from high school so this didn’t come as a complete shock to us. Others were not so fortunate and paid a heavy price. Push-ups at 3 a.m. on the wet tarmac in your civilian clothes is never fun but they learned. Some the hard way but, they learned. The D.I.’s mean what they say and you never, ever laugh at them.

We had formations, shots, tests, more formations, more shots, more tests, we had gear issued and carried it forever, we were assigned temporary quarters and shown how to make a bed the military way (we were not allowed to sleep in them however), more formations and, I think, more shots, another formation, there may have been some food somewhere in that mix but don’t quote me on it and then we were allowed a couple hours of sleep before we were assigned to our training units up on the rock.

I know, I know, that was one hell of a run-on sentence but that was the way it felt back then. One never-ending sequence of events that went on and on forever. And that, my friends, was just the beginning!

I’ll tell you more later. But, until then, thank a soldier for his service. That goes a long way, trust me.

Have a great day!

– Thinking? – Who’s Thinking? –

Sometimes I wonder, after reading or re-reading what I have just written, what, exactly, was I thinking when I wrote that??

I am, almost, never tempted to trash anything I have written because, at the time, it reflected how I felt about a certain subject whether it be a person, place or thing. You know, the Noun family.

I’m a believer in God but sometimes I sound like the quintessential atheist and I’m not at all. I like to ask questions and get answers, that’s all. I like to stir up a good conversation once in a while. Have a little debate on certain subjects and see what you and others think, you know? How else do we learn?

I’ve tried having these discussions in bars and I think we all know how those turned out. The rule of thumb is, “Never discuss religion, politics or sex from a bar stool.” Now, I can almost understand the first two, religion and politics but the third, sex. I mean, come on.

As for politics, everyone who knows me is pretty sure I’m a moderate republican and they would be correct. This does not mean that I agree with everything the republicans say and do. That would be a democrat. They agree with everything their party does and says because they are told to. “Think not for yourself when your party can think for you.” It’s statements like that that make the ban on politics in barrooms a little more understandable.

Yeah, I like stirring the pot, getting people a little worked up, so-to-speak. I find they are much more interesting to talk to when they’re a little fired up. As long as I know when to stop stirring. We don’t want things getting too out of hand, now do we?

Really, all I wanted to do was get you to read this so you might want to go back and read some of my other stuff so we can discuss those as well. I’m wordwon and I have a blog under “Opinions and People” and this one under “Life and Times”.

I once complained about not getting enough comments to my blogs and then I received one saying, and I quote, “People are supposed to comment?”, end quote.

My succinct answer, “YUP!”

Have a great day!

– Basket-Weave Reindeer-

Basket-weave reindeer

On fresh melting snow

With Christmas now over

And nowhere to go

Santa’s retired

For a long winters sleep

The covers tucked under

His rosy red cheeks

The elves start their planning

For next Christmas eve

When Santa, once more

On his sleigh will he leave

On Dasher, on Dancer

On Vixen away

We all get to rest

Until next Christmas day.

HAPPY  NEW  YEAR ! !  One and all.

12/30/09 – Ed B.

– Basic Training – Army Style – #2

September 6, 1966

I had just been drafted into the United States Army for a two-year stint. Was I going to war because we had a doozy going in Southeast Asia. Vietnam, to-be-exact. Would I get duty in Europe or, maybe, Korea? Would I be stationed state side? I mean, there were jobs enough for everyone. The military establishment was growing by leaps and bounds and only a relatively small portion would be combat troops. Most would be support or logistics, right?

First things first. We had to successfully make it through basic training or it was all a moot point, correct? It was make it or go home with a less than glorious discharge.

No one wanted to go home with a medical discharge that would state you couldn’t keep up with the other guys for whatever reason. No one wanted to go home labeled a trouble maker and get a dishonorable discharge. That stays with you forever. And, certainly, no one wanted a Section 8. Psychologically unfit for duty. Man, who would want to get stuck with that one?

Yeah, well that was the extreme. Once you went through the battery of tests, both physical and mental, the military was pretty sure they got it right. If they, for some strange reason, missed something, it would show up eventually. Unfortunately, sometimes it showed up too late. You can diagnose the problem and still lose the patient.

The basic training company that Phil and I went to was D-1-1. That’s D- Company, 1st Battalion, 1st Training Brigade and we were the 1st platoon.

Since Phil and I were both ex-R.O.T.C. in high school, the D. I. or Drill Instructor gave me the temporary rank of Sergeant and Phil the temporary rank of Corporal. This afforded us the privilege of sleeping not in the squad bay with all of the rest o f the troops but in separate rooms.

There was one room for the guide-on bearer, Buzz Sheridan, the only National Guardsman in the whole company, who was also a temporary sergeant and me, the acting platoon sergeant. Then there was a separate room for the four squad leaders, Phil McWilliams, Richard DeLucca, Clarence Champion and, I’m sorry I forgot his first name but his last name is Cruz, who were all acting corporals. They were, and I hope still are, a great bunch of guys.

I’m sorry, also, that I was unable to keep track of the guys in my first ever military outfit. I had the guys each write their names on our platoon picture but, unfortunately, it got lost some years ago. Phil found his and sent me a copy which I now treasure. Unfortunately, his does not have the names on the back as did mine.

I remember some of the guys by name if only by their last. I remember all of them by their faces. All the young faces that stare back at me through time. My own included.

We had quite an eclectic group in our platoon. It covered the gambit from highly educated to high school to drop out, both out of school and, since it was the sixties, from society in general. All-in-all, they were the best platoon going.

When it came to awards, we, the 1st Platoon, got the ones that counted. Physical training #1, marksmanship #1, drill #1, basic combat skills #1, anything and everything …….. except house-keeping. Try as we might, house-keeping just wasn’t our thing. Taking the big picture into consideration, I think everything else we exceeded at was of far great importance. In the long run, that is.

Anyone who has won a battle with a broom and dust pan, raise your hand!

There are many guys who, like I said, I remember by their last names or by their faces alone but there is one guy who will always stay with me because he was quite a character.

He was a tall skinny black kid with glasses who was naturally funny and, in general, a joy to be around. He was not, how should I say, well-coordinated. The young man I refer to is Huey Walton and, Huey, if you read this or someone you know tells you about it, I mean this in the most endearing of terms. Believe me.

Huey went on a few of our first training outing and we, his squad leader, the drill instructor and me, noticed that Huey was having trouble negotiating some of the obstacles and wasn’t handling the calisthenics very well either. Marching was not his forte and a distant runner with pack, he was not.

The drill instructor suggested that perhaps Huey would be better off on K.P. (that’s Kitchen Police for those of you not initiated), permanently. He was going to bring our over-all score down and those 1st places are important to the D.I.’s as well as to us.

So, if there was nothing physical about the days activities, Huey would come along and watch a movie or take a class. But, should anything physical be required, Huey would be relegated to K.P. for the duration.

As the eight weeks of  basic training continued, Huey saw very like of the actual training but was becoming quite good in the kitchen not just at washing dishes and clearing tables but at cooking as well. I guess the cooks took a liking to Huey, which, as I said earlier, was quite easy to do. Huey, on-the-other-hand, hated K.P. and everything that went with it. He could hardly wait for graduation day so he could go to his permanent duty station and away from that blasted kitchen.

Soon enough graduation day came. Parents, wives and friends came for the event. We all dressed in our dress greens and marched out to the parade grounds. Heads held high and really strutting our stuff, we were all so proud I’m surprised the brass buttons stayed on our tunics.

After the ceremony was over and all the good-byes were said, the Platoon Sergeant gathered us all together in the squad bay to give us our orders. Phil and I signed up for airborne and took special P.T. (physical training) every morning before the rest of the company even got up. Then, we would do the regular P.T. with the rest of the company. What was called “The Daily Dozen”. I was in great shape then.

Anyway, when I got my orders I expected to go infantry. Surprise, I was going to be a cop. Military Police School, Fort Gordon, Georgia. Phil was going to Fort Gordon as well but he was going to be a radio operator or Signal, as it was called.

The list went on and on. Some of the guys went to infantry, some to armor, artillery, transportation and then there was Huey Walton. Huey, who hated K.P. with all his heart and soul. Huey, who was looking forward to no more than just getting out of this company and on to somewhere else. He didn’t care where just anywhere but here. Huey was going nowhere. The powers that be had made him a cook and, to make things worse if that is even possible, he would be staying right there at D-1-1.

That was the last time I saw any of the guys in my training platoon, except for my close friend Phil. I have often wondered how they are doing today. If any of them became casualties of the war that lasted way too long. Even though I may not remember the names, they were and are very important to me.

I remember one incident in particular that happened the last week of basic training. I had a disagreement with our D.I. in training, Sgt. Keyes and he demoted me to guide-on bearer. He made Buzz a squad leader and put Clarence A. Champion, a now former squad leader, in charge of the platoon in my place.

Buzz handed me the guide-on and I took my place to the right of the first squad leader. Champion took my old spot in front of the platoon. When the command was given to bring the formation to attention, Champion did an about face to face the platoon, came to attention and waited to echo the command given by the first sergeant. The first sergeant called the company to attention and each platoon sergeant repeated the command for his own platoon. Platoons 2 through 4 snapped to attention like a well oiled machine. First platoon stood rigidly at at ease. The only people to come to attention was Champion and myself. The rest of the platoon didn’t budge.

Sergeant Keyes was so mad I thought he was going to rupture an artery. He stormed up to me saying, “What’s the meaning of this. Binkley, you’re in real trouble this time.” I told him I had nothing to do with it. It wasn’t my fault.

He turned to Champion and said “Get this platoon to attention NOW!”

Champion was flustered to say the least but he gave it another try. Still, the ranks didn’t move. They remained at ease as before. You could start to hear snickering coming from the other platoons who were trying to see what was going on. I even saw a couple of the other D.I.’s choking back a smile.

Sgt. Keyes was livid and yelling at the platoon to obey Champions order to come to attention. Still they didn’t move. Finally, Sgt. Keyes came back to me and said, “Binkley, you get this platoon to attention right now or else.”

“Yes Sgt. Keyes.” I replied and stepped out in front of MY platoon. I said something like, “Men, there has been a change in command and you must follow Sgt. Champions orders.” I followed that with, “1st Platoon, Attention!!” You could have heard a pin drop after that platoon came to attention. It was perfect.

I turned to Sgt. Keyes, saluted and said, “1st Platoon is at attention and awaiting further orders.” I didn’t wait for an answering salute because I didn’t think one was forth-coming. I just returned to my new station as guide-on bearer and came to attention myself. There was a short round of applause from the other platoons which was soon quieted by their D.I.’s.

After the formation was dismissed, one of the D.I.’s from the 2nd or 3rd platoon, a Sgt. Smith, came up to me and said, “I have never seen that before in basic training. Such loyalty is rare even in combat.” then he said, “I would be proud to have you in any unit I commanded.” and he shook my hand.

Yes, it was only the beginning. It was just the start of my two years in the service but it was a grand way to begin. There will be more.

Remember a soldier if you know one. They’re always thinking of you.

Have a great day!

– Masters of the Universe –

That’s us you know. We are the masters of the universe aren’t we? I mean, if we are the only inhabitants of the vast universe out there, we must be the masters of it, right? That’s what theologians want us to believe, isn’t it?

How arrogant of us to even consider such nonsense. How could we be masters of anything past our own atmosphere? We are virtual prisoners on our own planet. There are around six billion of us worldwide and the majority have never been on an airplane let alone gone into space.

The few that have been into space haven’t gotten beyond our own moon. It will be another hundred or so years before any human will venture outside our own solar system if then. Some masters of the universe we are.

There are millions of galaxies. Billions of stars. Multi-billions of planets and yet we are supposed to believe we are alone in this vast, unexplored universe? That God created all of this just for us to look at and admire from afar. Hog wash.

We are one of but billions of such planets in millions of galaxies rotating around billions of stars and some, like Earth, are populated with beings that may or may not be like us. We are a carbon based life form. What if there are life forms based on some other element? Beings that thrive on gases that we would find poisonous? An atmosphere that we would find unbearable but, to them, it’s comfortable and they are right at home there. What makes us so important that God would give us a vast universe to live in and not let us explore it? He already knows we are a curious sort. Just ask Him about Eve and that damn apple.

No, I don’t care what you say, you can’t justify us being here all alone. It makes no rational sense to even consider it. God could have given us just the Milky Way galaxy and we would have been fine with that. He didn’t need to create millions and millions more. But, what if he needed to create more because he created more beings to inhabit them. He spaced them out far enough where we couldn’t interfere with their development and they couldn’t interfere with ours. Starting to make a little sense here?

Maybe each galaxy has an Earth like planet with beings in different stages of development. Like little petri dishes scattered hither, tighter and yon. God looking after his cultures in their different stages of growth. The grand experiment called life.

Of course, those experiments that don’t do well will ultimately be discarded. Only the ones that flourish will be allowed to survive. How do you think we are doing in that mix? Have we learned more than our ancestors or are we mired in wet cement? Have we refused to learn from science and are we still prisoners of out-of-date thinking?

God placed a great deal faith in us and, for the most part, I think we did pretty well. We have, however, fallen short when it comes to the bible. That neat little book we can tuck under one arm and carry where we wish. Or, like in the service, we had a small version we could carry in our fatigue shirt pocket. These were and are convenient but even the bigger ones are incomplete. If God were to have given us the whole story of how He created the universe and how He created man, the Earth and all that inhabits it, well guess what, it would take a library to hold all the volumes necessary to explain it all and that would just be the tip of the iceberg.

So, what did He do?  He condensed it. He gave us the Readers Digest version. He shortened it and made it simple for our fore-fathers to understand and knowing that eventually we, as a society, would become more wise to the sciences He figured we would be able to fill in the blanks by ourselves.

Now, earlier I asked you whether you thought we were doing okay or not. Whether we were an experiment worth keeping or would He deem us a failure and discard us. Like the culture in a petri dish, if it fails to grow, why keep it?

He has given us the tools to learn and grow. He expects us to figure things out on our own. To see and try to explain the complexities of life. What He gave us in the bible was a starting point not the end. He must be shaking His head at those who refuse to see the light. Who block their eyes from the truth and refuse to listen to logic.

It is impossible to explain anything by saying, “You just have to take it on faith.” That’s the easy way out. That’s like saying, “God gave us a brain not to think with but to agree with the guy on the pulpit on Sunday.”

To each his own but I can’t help but believe that God has to be a little disappointed in His flock if they don’t question some things and turn themselves into a very large group of bobble-heads.

That’s My opinion and you are welcome to it.

Have a nice day!

– Another Christmas Past –

It’s amazing how the mood changes in just a few days after the big event. All the wrapping paper has been collected and relegated to the trash bags waiting pick-up on Monday. The cards are hung with care or stacked on a table somewhere soon to meet the same fate as the wrapping paper. Well, maybe a few will survive. A few very select cards at best.

The tree, if once alive, is now starting to show signs of drying and the needles are starting to accumulate faster as each day passes. Guests that once were a joy to have are becoming a little less like guests and a little more like intruders. Not to be mean but it’s always nice to get back to some sense of normalcy when the shine has worn off the holiday spirit.

It’s time to think about those gifts you received and, especially, the ones you didn’t. You opened them and were so surprised and happy when you really were thinking, “What in the world am I going to do with that?” or “There’s no way I’m going to be seen in public wearing that thing!” It’s about then you start to think of  ‘re-gifting for next year’. Just don’t forget to label it so it doesn’t go back to the original gifter. How embarrassing is that?

Then you have the gift or gifts you didn’t receive. You thought you dropped enough hints to the right person or people and yet, you didn’t get it. What, are these people idiots. And your husband or wife, as-the-case-may-be, there is absolutely no excuse there. This isn’t like sports people. There isn’t an “Oh well, there’s always next year!” Because next year it will be something else that you wanted that they will have forgotten. It’s a never-ending cycle and it rarely if ever turns out the way you wanted. That’s why shopping for oneself is so important throughout the year. What’s so hard to understand about that?

Then, there’s your presents. The ones you spent so much time on getting just the right things for everyone on your list. It’s, “Did you see the look on her face? I just know she hated it.” or “Some people are so ungrateful. Next year he gets coal. If I can find it. Where do you get coal anyway?”

Yes, it’s over for another year or whenever it is you start your Christmas shopping. The frustration of finding just the right thing for those special someones in your life or, at least what you think is the prefect gift for each. The fun of receiving the perfect gifts selected just for you and having all those wonderful people traipsing through your house for three or four days. Ah, the sheer joy that is Christmas. Maybe someone else will have it at their house next year? Yeah, that could happen.

Well, have a happy but safe New Year. Crack open that bottle of champagne and have a spare on ice. Toast the arrival of 2010 and pray for a better year for all.

HAPPY  NEW  YEAR  EVERYONE ! ! !

We’ll talk again next year.

Ed B.

– TOO SENSITIVE? – PERHAPS –

I’m not referring to a toothache or a sore spot. I’m referring to feelings. Mine, in particular. I find I notice them a lot more since I’ve gotten older.

I used to say, “Oh no big deal. I’ve got broad shoulders. I can take it.” Well, I still have broad shoulders and a round belly to go with them but I seem to bruise easier than before. They aren’t bruises that you can see unless you’re looking for them. They lay just under the skin and the only mark they leave are superficial at best. The psychological mark they leave is something different altogether.

I know my daughters, and everyone else who cares to read this, are now going to know how truly thin skinned I have become but, maybe that’s not so bad after-all. I am very confident in my masculinity so that is not a problem and I am into my sixties now so I have earned the right to express my feeling if I want to. And, I want to.

My daughters and I have had not the best of relationships for the past many years and this is mostly, if not all, due to me and my absenteeism. As a father, I have failed miserably but as daughters, my girls have exceeded all expectations. I thank God every day (I know they don’t think so, but I do.) for them and their unconditional love. This is something I have barely earned, do not at all deserve but they most graciously give.

It is for this reason that I feel bad yet compelled to write this. It’s partly tongue-in-cheek and partly serious so, here goes.

It was Christmas 2007 and we all were sitting around my oldest daughter and her boyfriends place (now husband) trying to decide what kind of computer dear ole dad needed so we could all keep in closer touch with each other, send pictures and stuff. You know, all that stuff you used to have to do via snail-mail.

Well, dear ole dad got his computer and things went well for a while. Then, something happened. Dad would e-mail and wait and wait and wait for replies. It was sometimes hours, then days, then weeks and then, ….. not at all.

It seems texting entered the picture and I don’t do that. What is a boy to do?? I ask you. I’m technically challenged. It’s taken me this long to get just relatively comfortable with my now two year old computer and I’m still challenged by that on a daily basis.

I know we can’t go back in time but can’t we just agree to stay on one medium for a while longer? Like e-mail, computer style. And, with that thought in mind, can we answer just a bit quicker. It doesn’t have to be long winded like mine but I like to know if you read what I sent.

This is MY personal opinion and you are all welcome to it.

Have a great day!

– IT’S CHRISTMAS TIME –

I have been thinking about Christmas for well over a week now. Okay, maybe longer than that and I’ll be darned if I can think of anything truly uplifting to say about it. All the uplifting things have been said at infinitum and most of them are about Saint Nick, the Christmas tree or all the presents under said tree.

Let’s see, what else have we. We have the stockings hung with care, the milk and cookies for Santa, pre-assembling the toys for Christmas morning (So simple a child can do it! They say.), out-doing the neighbors decorations (Who can waste the most electricity over the holidays? And the winner is……) and, oh yes, those presents. How many and how much? Some Christmas trees I’ve seen look more like a window display at Macy’s not someones front room.

People, I think we’ve lost our focus here just a bit. I think it’s time to remember just what it is we are supposed to be celebrating and it is not how much we can bolster the economy over the holidays while sending our own personal economic situation right down the toilet.

If we thought a little more about the kid in the manger and a little less about the guy in the red suit and his flighty reindeer maybe good things would start to happen. If we thought more about giving to others and a little less about giving to ourselves a new kind of Christmas joy may creep into our hearts. If we thought about all the blessings we have right now and be happy with those and, yes, maybe a little less, perhaps the less fortunate would end up with that which they truly need.

I am not a wealthy person and never have been. I am not as generous as I am trying to sound now either. I am as guilty as anyone but I am willing to change. I know we have to change our way of thinking and the way we do things in order to effect change for the good.

We like to call ourselves a nation of givers. People who care for the world in general. A people who lend a helping hand to others even before we help our own and, there in lies a flaw. If there is not a national disaster we aren’t too concerned with the general welfare of our own less fortunate who are needing for the basic necessities day in and day out. We have to put aside our prejudices, forget peoples lack of education, forget the fact that they are unable or incapable of supporting their families and just help.

Like it or not, we are all Americans. We all live under the same flag, in the same country. Regardless whether they live next door to you (And who knows what their neighbors are really going through until it’s too late.) or in a hovel in the hills of Appalachia, we need to set aside that which we think now and reach out and help all of our neighbors near and far.

Thank God for your blessings. Think of the Christ child on Christmas day. Do something nice for a stranger and do it with a smile not only on your face but in your heart as well. I think you’ll like the feeling.

Merry Christmas and a safe and Happy New Year!!!!

We will talk again next year.

Ed B.

– Stupid Is As Stupid Does –

I was just thinking about the intelligent people I know and the really dumb things they are capable of. This brought about a question in my wandering mind.

What makes an intelligent person smart? And, is there a difference?

The simple answer is…….. Uh yeah, there’s a difference!!

I guess you might say that I am as capable as anyone at working a crossword puzzle. I’m smart enough not to try and do the New York Times crossword after Wednesday. They get harder as the week progresses. Knowing a lot of answers to a crossword doesn’t make me smart but, knowing my limitations and when to stop, that’s another story.

Remember the, now, famous line from one of the Dirty Harry movies? Clint Eastwood looked at someone he had been pursuing and said, “A man (or woman) has got to know their limitations.” Good words to live by.

I’ve known doctors, lawyers and successful business owners who can run circles around their competitors and colleagues as well. They have degrees up the ying-yang and still they will throw their money into video poker machines until the cows come home. Hundreds and, on occasions, thousands will disappear into the slot. They call it recreation. I call it poor judgment. Yes, they are intelligent when it comes to their chosen profession but not smart enough to recognize they may have a problem and know when to stop.

This could hold true with any type of addiction be it gambling, drugs, alcohol, shopping, you name it. Smart people know when enough is enough and when to seek help. Intelligent people might try to explain it away or make other excuses for out-of-control behavior.

The fact remains that just because you know a lot of stuff about a lot of different things doesn’t make you smart. How you apply all that stuff you know into your everyday life is what will determine how smart you are. Just knowing stuff isn’t enough. You have to know how to use it.

That’s MY opinion and you are sure welcome to it.

Have a nice day!

– THE DO’s and DON’T’s of PRIDE –

Webster’s New World Dictionary says;

pride (prid) n. 1a) an unduly high opinion of oneself  b) haughtiness, arrogance  2. dignity and self-respect  3. satisfaction in something done, owned, etc.  4. a person or thing in which pride is taken — pride oneself on — to be proud of.    pride’ful adj.   pride’ful-ly adv.

Now, according to the Bible, the MacArthur Study Bible to be exact, well, to put it succinctly, if you have any pride at all, you’re going to Hell in a hand basket. No if’s, and’s or butt’s about it. Go straight to Hell, do not pass go and definitely, do not collect $200.00. You can’t spend it where you’re going.

So, that pretty much covers the “don’t’s”. Don’t do anything you might be tempted to take pride in. Don’t build anything remarkable because someone might like it and tell you so. Then what are you going to do? Say thank-you and beam with pride or tear it down so that won’t happen again.

Don’t have any children. God forbid one of them happens to cure cancer. What do you do or say then? “Oh posh, no big deal. It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

Uh huh, right. That could happen.

I find it very hard to believe that the Lord doesn’t want a person to have some well placed pride. I freely admit I have pride and I believe in God.

I have pride in my daughters. They are my pride and joy. What’s wrong with that. If I am to be condemned to Hell for loving my daughters and having pride in them at the same time, well, so-be-it.

There are a few things in my life that I’m proud of like my service to my country. I’m proud of every man and woman who has served or is serving their country and especially those who have died doing so. Send me straight to Hell because I refuse not to be proud of them.

I take great pride in my country. The greatest country on this planet as far as I’m concerned and blessed by the hand of God whether the Supreme Court agrees with me or not.

I take pride in the fact that we are a nation that has compassion for the world at large and often help others, including our enemies, even before we help ourselves. If that makes me a bad person and worthy of condemnation well, condemn away!

The fact that some pride is misplaced and signifies the worst in people in stead of the best, is no reason to cancel out pride altogether. Pride can be the instrument that keeps a worthy cause on track. Pride could be the one thing in battle that just might turn the tide to a favorable conclusion. Pride is something, as I have said before, that is earned and not given. It cannot be bought or sold. It cannot be declared or enacted. It is either there or it is not.

Well placed pride is in the heart of mankind. It’s not egoism or haughtiness. It’s not arrogance or an over inflated opinion of oneself that I refer to. It is, however, dignity, self-respect and the satisfaction in a job well done that I refer to. And then there is pride in ones family. How bad can that be? There’s nothing on Gods green earth wrong with that, that’s what.

That’s MY opinion and you’re welcome to it.

Have a nice day!

Ed B.