I joined the Navy on Sep 19, 1958. I did this for one reason. The reason was so I would get out of the Navy on Sep 18, 1962 and I would be done with my military obligation because there was a ''draft'' back then and if I did not join something, Uncle Sam would come and get me when I reached about 21 or 22. When I went into the Navy we were not in a ''shooting war'' anywhere that I knew of so I figured the odds were pretty good that I would come home all in one piece.
I went to boot camp in Camp Moffitt outside of Chicago and this was the first place I ever seen ice freeze on the inside of a window in the winter time and the first indoor plumbing I was blessed with.
In Navy boot camp you are groomed to be a Sailor. You are taught that there is the ''Right Way'' ''The Wrong Way'' and ''The Navy Way'' to do anything and we did everything ''The Navy Way''. I graduated boot camp in mid December and went on two weeks leave back home. I thought I was hot snot because I had finished boot camp without freezing to death.
My first assignment was class A Radio school in Norfolk Va. It was told that if you graduated in the top 10% of the class you got ''choice duty'' out of radio school. I graduated third out of 64 men and seventh out of 128 men in our total company for that training period. My duty station was the Uss North Hampton CLC-1 out of Norfolk. This was not ''choice duty'' but the Navy will lie to you sometimes.
I never realized it back then but I was being groomed to be a part of a great fraternal or group of men and ladies now called Veterans. I was being put in the ''fire'' and forged into a useful military person that could fulfill a job given me by the Navy. I was a tiny cog in a giant machine that helped make the world safer for those we love back home. I was one of those tiny pieces of nothing that helped make the ''big machine'' work smoothly.
I went aboard the Norton with high hopes and great expectations. I was assigned to the biggest radio gang afloat. We had more than 130 men in the gang not counting officers or chief petty officers.
On the Norton, I learned to be a real ''salt water sailor'' after a time. I crossed the ocean several times thru fair weather and foul. I have seen the ocean literally as slick as a mirror and I have seen it as rough as the Rockies and looking just as high. I have felt it knock around a ship almost 700 feet long like a tea cup and watched waves crash over the bow and up to the 04 level like Niagara falls in reverse. I have seen footprints up as far as two feet on the bulkheads on the chow line deck and, yes, I have strapped myself in bed to stay in my rack. I have stood on the fantail and ''peeeeed'' in the ocean and puked in the ocean once or twice from the fan tail. I have sat out at night on a ''bollard'' and watched the phosphorous glow on the hull of the ship and listened to the screws ''swim us thru the big deep''. I have been on a ship with over 1600 crew men and been all alone watching the shooting stars in Gods heaven. The Norton had a ''heart beat'' and it could rock you to sleep sometimes and sometimes it could literally shake you out of bed in foul weather. On the Norton I became a sailor and when I left her I became a veteran. I joined the ranks of the men and women that have served this nation and I considered myself as doing very little during my tour. I never shot at anyone nor was I shot at by anyone. The most ''action'' I ever saw was two hookers knife fighting in a bar over in Palma, Spain.
Veterans are very special people. I have talked to many vets and we all kinda sing the same song. Our chosen service was the greatest and the ''worstest''. We that served were the bravest and the strongest, the most handsome and we had deflowered literally hundreds of young ladies waiting on our advances. Other services were a bunch of ''sissy pukes'' that were mommas boys and afraid of the dark and ours was the best of the best. If you dont believe this ask any Marine or Soldier or Sailor or Air force guy or a Coast Guard sailor or even someone that was in the ''National Guard'' will tell you the same thing because we are all vets and we are all in the same group. Sure we jab and gig each other about thier particular service branch but let an emergency hit and watch us come together and fight for a common cause. You have to be a vet to understand this and if you are not a veteran, there is no way that I can explain the feelings we vets have for each other. We are one in the same and we have served and anyone that has not ''served'' would never understand. Some of us are still a little rough around the edges and we may be outspoken at times. Some of us see the world thru different eyes and with different allegiances and prospective s that those who never served and this will sometimes get us into trouble with the ''regular world'' but this is the way it is with a veteran. Most have been thru the fire and done and see things that would make the average person lose their lunch. Some have made judgments that have cost lives of their friends and more than one of these guys has watched the light of life leave a buddies eyes and could do nothing to save that friend. Some have been insane with fear and then deliberately run through machine gun to save a wounded buddy. Some have sailed the endless seas between tedium and apathy and back again and done it over and over and over again and seemingly accomplish nothing in their minds eye. Most of us have done things with no visible purpose as we could see but it had to be done and we were the ''doers''..... We were all Veterans serving this great nation and a lot of the time we would disagree with the method or purpose but we would serve because it was our duty to serve.
This is getting really long so I will close with one thought for those of you that were not lucky enough to serve this nation in some form of its military.
When you see a Veteran tell him or her thanks for their service. Shake their hand and tell them you appreciate their sacrifice to this nation. Probably to a person they will tell you that they just did their duty and no thanks is necessary but you can bet your lunch money they will appreciate your feelings for them.Be especially grateful to those serving in the ''big sandbox''. They are the most special as I see it now.
God bless our Veterans and keep them safe because they guaranteed the safety of this nation while most of you slept all nice and warm in your bed. (think about it)
Nuff said for now...........................cj...............
Thursday, February 9, 2012
A poem dedicated to Bill ''Birdman'' Vogal
Back in 08 me and Willa stopped by to see a couple of friends we had met on one of those Caravans. Their names were Bill and Cathy Vogal and they lived just out of Upper Lake, California. We called ahead to warn them and they said ''Come on by, you can set up of the ''Back Lot'' with full hook up''. The ''Back Lot'' is where they set their camper while they built their house on the 20 plus acres on top of a mountain out there. We went by and drank some wine and ate some ''toe foo'' and generally had fun while we mooched off these wonderful people. One night at supper Cathy said that Bill wanted to go hang gliding tomorrow and he would love for us to go watch. Not a problem on our part and the next morning Bill and I loaded up his hang glider on the top of a giant SUV that came by just to pick him and his ''kite'' up. I decided to ride up with the girls in Bills four wheel drive SUV. I learned we were going up on Elk Mountain to watch them fly. We started out on pavement road and advanced to a dirt road up the mountain and then to a ''fire road'' up the side of the mountain. I noticed Cathy had a small FM radio and she called up to the top of the mountain to inform Shila that we were nearing what she called the ''pasture''. The ''pasture'' amounted to a parking area on the side of the mountain just before it got really steep. Shila arrived about the same time we did and we all piled into her SUV that was a little bit smaller than a Sherman tank.
I want everyone to understand that Shila's SUV was one of those giant trucks with the thousand horse power engine, double extra low range, very oversize tires with cleats that a rabbit can run thru, a cracked windshield and several ''grab iron hand grips'' inside the cab. Willa and Cathy jumped in the back seat and Shila patted the passenger seat and said I could sit up front with her.
Shila was a full figured woman with a delightful smile and a head full of curly hair and she talked constantly. I hopped in the front seat and found my seat belt and we started up the ''steep part of the mountain''. Now when I say ''STEEP'' I mean ''REALLY STEEP''. Shila clicked the transmission into double low gear, four wheel drive and kicked in the afterburner. We went up the mountain.
Shila was constantly talking and driving on a road that would disappear under the SUV and all I could see was ''SKY''. Occasionally I would peek over to my right and see the edge of the mountain which dropped off for probably what seemed like a thousand feet. This ''fire road'' was more a path up the side of the mountain. It consisted primarily of two ditches with large rocks, logs, small animals, boulders, dead trees, holes, ditches both across and vertical to the surface of the road, or should I say trail, vertical trail. As we assented higher and higher Shela would drive with her left hand and point out interesting things along the way. She had an FM portable radio hanging on the rear view mirror and sometimes it would swing in a circle when we hit a bump just right. She finally noticed that I had gotten a grip on two of the ''hand holds'' on the dash and I was holding on for dear life. As we bounced along she laughed and pointed to the right and said '' If you look quick, between those two pines, you can see the Golden Gate Bridge''.....About then I became a Christian again.... Then she laughed a friendly laugh and we roared on up the mountain slinging stuff out behind the SUV tires. With her right hand she un hooked the portable radio from the mirror and told her husband we were getting close to the top of the mountain. We rolled over a log and leveled out on top of Elk Mountain. The guys were well into assembling their gliders when we got there. I was amazed at the relatively ''small area'' on top of the mountain and the seemingly almost vertical drop of both sides of the road as the mountain dropped away. For flying up there the guys had ''roped off'' and chain sawed all the scrub off the sides of the mountain for probably two hundred feet down the face on both sides. This was a safety factor in case they made a bad launch they would have a place to ''land'' (yeah sure) The actual ''working area'' up on top was maybe 100 feet long by maybe 50 feet wide at the widest point. We were literally on the ''peek'' of Elk Mountain.
The guys got all prepared and then they sat and watched the ribbons on the face to judge the wind for a satisfactory launch. Finally they decided things were perfect and they launched into the sky like eagles leaving the nest. Each of the guys had helmet radios and we could listen in on their conversations as they ''danced in the sky''. Shila finally said we should go down now and watch them cross ''Elk Creek'' which is their first landing field option.
Going down the mountain was ''funner'' than going up. God and Gravity pushed us down with small animals, rocks, boulders, trees, logs, stumps, and all manner of ''stuff'' being pushed down ahead of our sliding oversized tires, with extra large cleats, as we descended the mountain. I think I became a Christian again on the way down. Shela would watch me and laugh and talk on the FM radio to the guys as we descended the mountain with one hand on the wheel and the radio in the other hand.
She would smile that beautiful smile and say ''Ain't this fun??????'' over the roar of the engine and the whine of the transmission......
We made it down to the parking lot and Cathy, Willa and me transferred over to bills SUV and we continued down the mountain to Elk Creek to watch the guys pass over us at probably a mile off the ground.
They had what they call a ''short flight'' that day in that they were only in the air for a little over two hours. They had designated landing areas along their route and we would leapfrog ahead of their flight path and watch them go over. We could talk to them on the FM radio also.
We finally met them in a large pasture and we took Bills hang glider apart and placed it on top of the rack on the SUV and headed home. He had a digital camera mounted on his glider and he would make pictures of his prospective while flying. We sat that evening and reviewed the pictures and we could actually see ourselves waving from the ground.
Bill Vogal was a highly accomplished pilot, instructor, lecturer in the art of hang gliding. He won many championships and had a wall full of plaques attributing to his talent. Bill Vogal died doing what he loved a year later. He died at Elk Creek when he came in for a landing and did a ''wing over maneuver'' to avoid power lines and his left wing hit a small tree and he smashed to the ground. The impact killed my friend that day. He still lives in my mind and in my heart and I shall forever remember that day we went up on Elk Mountain to watch him ''fly''.....
Cathy asked me to preside over his ''Celebration of Life'' ceremony at his memorial. I wrote a poem in his honor and when I find it …. I will post it here.....
Nuff said for now... I'm getting sad..........
WHERE EAGLES TOUCH THE SKY…….
WHERE EAGLES DARE ….I’VE WATCHED MEN GO
TO FLY THEIR KITES AND FEEL THE GLOW
OF WIND AND SUN AND CLEAR BLUE SKY
AND WATCH AN EAGLE PASSING BY.
ELK MOUNTAIN IS THE PLACE THEY GO UPON A RIDGE SO TALL
I STOOD AND WATCHED AS THEY PREPARED, AFRAID THAT I MIGHT FALL.
THEY BUILD THEIR KITES AND SETTLE BACK AND WATCH THE WIND GO BY
THEY JUDGE THE WIND, THEY SAT AND TALKED, THEY EVEN WATCHED THE SKY
THEY WATCHED THE RIBBONS ON THE FACE AND JUDGED THE WIND AS IT DID RACE UP MOUNTAIN SLOPE AND PASSING BY,,,,
THEY WATCH THE EAGLES IN THE SKY.
THE WIND IS RIGHT, TIS TIME TO GO INTO THE FRAGILE KITES BELOW
AND EACH IN TURN WILL STEP AND FLY,,,,
LIKE EAGLES THEY WOULD TOUCH THE SKY.
WHILE ON THE GROUND I STAND IN FEAR AND WATCH THEM AS THEY DISAPPEAR IN THERMALS WITH UPLIFT AND GRACE,,,,,
I WATCH THEM DISAPPEAR IN SPACE..
THE RADIO IT CRACKLED LOUD AS THESE BRAVE FEW DANCED IN THE CLOUD
‘’ I’VE GOT GOOD LIFT. COME! FLY TO ME”
THEY TOUCHED THE SKY AND THEY WERE FREE
ON MOUNTAINTOP I STAND IN AWE AND WATCH BRAVE MEN IN FLIGHT
THEY DANCE AND DIVE AND CIRCLE ROUND,,
DO THINGS I WISH I MIGHT.
‘’HOP IN THE TRUCK, ITS TIME TO GO
FOR THEY ARE HEADING DOWN BELOW
AND WE MUST GO STRAIGHT TO OUR PLACE’’.
SO DOWN THE MOUNTAIN WE DID RACE.
THE RADIO IT CRACKLES LOUD, ‘’YOU’RE GONNA BUMP INTO A CLOUD’’ AND LAUGHTER FILTERS FROM THE SKY,
ABOVE OUR HEADS THEY DANCE AND FLY.
THEY DANCE THE DANCE OF FREEDOM SKY AND WE WILL NEVER KNOW
THE FEEL OF FREEDOM IN THE SKY LIKE LEAVES OR FALLING SNOW.
WE WATCH THEM AS THEY FLY SO HIGH, WE’LL NEVER KNOW THE REASON WHY
THEY RISK SO MUCH, AND GO SO HIGH, TO SOAR LIKE EAGLES IN THE SKY.
SO SOAR, MY FRIEND. ABOVE THE CLOUDS FOR THERE’S A PLACE FOR YOU
WHERE WINGS WILL NEVER LOSE THEIR LIFT, THE SKY IS ALWAYS BLUE
THE EAGLE’S NOW YOUR FRIEND YOU SEE AND LIKE AN EAGLE YOU WILL BE ,, YOU’LL FLY WITH HIM ON WINGS OF GOLD FOREVER YOUNG AND NEVER OLD …..
I’V STOOD AND WATCHED THE BRAVE MEN GO
WHERE ONLY EAGLES DARE TO FLY,
I’VE STOOD AND WATCHED, I WAS RIGHT THERE
WHEN BRAVE MEN TOUCHED GOD’S CLEAR BLUE SKY……………
DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF MY FRIEND BILL ‘’BIRDMAN’’ VOGEL AND ALL HANG GLIDER PILOTS EVERYWHERE …….
C. RICHARD CECIL …..’’SEAJAY’’
The poem is in capps because it is tough to read it thru tears....cj...
I want everyone to understand that Shila's SUV was one of those giant trucks with the thousand horse power engine, double extra low range, very oversize tires with cleats that a rabbit can run thru, a cracked windshield and several ''grab iron hand grips'' inside the cab. Willa and Cathy jumped in the back seat and Shila patted the passenger seat and said I could sit up front with her.
Shila was a full figured woman with a delightful smile and a head full of curly hair and she talked constantly. I hopped in the front seat and found my seat belt and we started up the ''steep part of the mountain''. Now when I say ''STEEP'' I mean ''REALLY STEEP''. Shila clicked the transmission into double low gear, four wheel drive and kicked in the afterburner. We went up the mountain.
Shila was constantly talking and driving on a road that would disappear under the SUV and all I could see was ''SKY''. Occasionally I would peek over to my right and see the edge of the mountain which dropped off for probably what seemed like a thousand feet. This ''fire road'' was more a path up the side of the mountain. It consisted primarily of two ditches with large rocks, logs, small animals, boulders, dead trees, holes, ditches both across and vertical to the surface of the road, or should I say trail, vertical trail. As we assented higher and higher Shela would drive with her left hand and point out interesting things along the way. She had an FM portable radio hanging on the rear view mirror and sometimes it would swing in a circle when we hit a bump just right. She finally noticed that I had gotten a grip on two of the ''hand holds'' on the dash and I was holding on for dear life. As we bounced along she laughed and pointed to the right and said '' If you look quick, between those two pines, you can see the Golden Gate Bridge''.....About then I became a Christian again.... Then she laughed a friendly laugh and we roared on up the mountain slinging stuff out behind the SUV tires. With her right hand she un hooked the portable radio from the mirror and told her husband we were getting close to the top of the mountain. We rolled over a log and leveled out on top of Elk Mountain. The guys were well into assembling their gliders when we got there. I was amazed at the relatively ''small area'' on top of the mountain and the seemingly almost vertical drop of both sides of the road as the mountain dropped away. For flying up there the guys had ''roped off'' and chain sawed all the scrub off the sides of the mountain for probably two hundred feet down the face on both sides. This was a safety factor in case they made a bad launch they would have a place to ''land'' (yeah sure) The actual ''working area'' up on top was maybe 100 feet long by maybe 50 feet wide at the widest point. We were literally on the ''peek'' of Elk Mountain.
The guys got all prepared and then they sat and watched the ribbons on the face to judge the wind for a satisfactory launch. Finally they decided things were perfect and they launched into the sky like eagles leaving the nest. Each of the guys had helmet radios and we could listen in on their conversations as they ''danced in the sky''. Shila finally said we should go down now and watch them cross ''Elk Creek'' which is their first landing field option.
Going down the mountain was ''funner'' than going up. God and Gravity pushed us down with small animals, rocks, boulders, trees, logs, stumps, and all manner of ''stuff'' being pushed down ahead of our sliding oversized tires, with extra large cleats, as we descended the mountain. I think I became a Christian again on the way down. Shela would watch me and laugh and talk on the FM radio to the guys as we descended the mountain with one hand on the wheel and the radio in the other hand.
She would smile that beautiful smile and say ''Ain't this fun??????'' over the roar of the engine and the whine of the transmission......
We made it down to the parking lot and Cathy, Willa and me transferred over to bills SUV and we continued down the mountain to Elk Creek to watch the guys pass over us at probably a mile off the ground.
They had what they call a ''short flight'' that day in that they were only in the air for a little over two hours. They had designated landing areas along their route and we would leapfrog ahead of their flight path and watch them go over. We could talk to them on the FM radio also.
We finally met them in a large pasture and we took Bills hang glider apart and placed it on top of the rack on the SUV and headed home. He had a digital camera mounted on his glider and he would make pictures of his prospective while flying. We sat that evening and reviewed the pictures and we could actually see ourselves waving from the ground.
Bill Vogal was a highly accomplished pilot, instructor, lecturer in the art of hang gliding. He won many championships and had a wall full of plaques attributing to his talent. Bill Vogal died doing what he loved a year later. He died at Elk Creek when he came in for a landing and did a ''wing over maneuver'' to avoid power lines and his left wing hit a small tree and he smashed to the ground. The impact killed my friend that day. He still lives in my mind and in my heart and I shall forever remember that day we went up on Elk Mountain to watch him ''fly''.....
Cathy asked me to preside over his ''Celebration of Life'' ceremony at his memorial. I wrote a poem in his honor and when I find it …. I will post it here.....
Nuff said for now... I'm getting sad..........
WHERE EAGLES TOUCH THE SKY…….
WHERE EAGLES DARE ….I’VE WATCHED MEN GO
TO FLY THEIR KITES AND FEEL THE GLOW
OF WIND AND SUN AND CLEAR BLUE SKY
AND WATCH AN EAGLE PASSING BY.
ELK MOUNTAIN IS THE PLACE THEY GO UPON A RIDGE SO TALL
I STOOD AND WATCHED AS THEY PREPARED, AFRAID THAT I MIGHT FALL.
THEY BUILD THEIR KITES AND SETTLE BACK AND WATCH THE WIND GO BY
THEY JUDGE THE WIND, THEY SAT AND TALKED, THEY EVEN WATCHED THE SKY
THEY WATCHED THE RIBBONS ON THE FACE AND JUDGED THE WIND AS IT DID RACE UP MOUNTAIN SLOPE AND PASSING BY,,,,
THEY WATCH THE EAGLES IN THE SKY.
THE WIND IS RIGHT, TIS TIME TO GO INTO THE FRAGILE KITES BELOW
AND EACH IN TURN WILL STEP AND FLY,,,,
LIKE EAGLES THEY WOULD TOUCH THE SKY.
WHILE ON THE GROUND I STAND IN FEAR AND WATCH THEM AS THEY DISAPPEAR IN THERMALS WITH UPLIFT AND GRACE,,,,,
I WATCH THEM DISAPPEAR IN SPACE..
THE RADIO IT CRACKLED LOUD AS THESE BRAVE FEW DANCED IN THE CLOUD
‘’ I’VE GOT GOOD LIFT. COME! FLY TO ME”
THEY TOUCHED THE SKY AND THEY WERE FREE
ON MOUNTAINTOP I STAND IN AWE AND WATCH BRAVE MEN IN FLIGHT
THEY DANCE AND DIVE AND CIRCLE ROUND,,
DO THINGS I WISH I MIGHT.
‘’HOP IN THE TRUCK, ITS TIME TO GO
FOR THEY ARE HEADING DOWN BELOW
AND WE MUST GO STRAIGHT TO OUR PLACE’’.
SO DOWN THE MOUNTAIN WE DID RACE.
THE RADIO IT CRACKLES LOUD, ‘’YOU’RE GONNA BUMP INTO A CLOUD’’ AND LAUGHTER FILTERS FROM THE SKY,
ABOVE OUR HEADS THEY DANCE AND FLY.
THEY DANCE THE DANCE OF FREEDOM SKY AND WE WILL NEVER KNOW
THE FEEL OF FREEDOM IN THE SKY LIKE LEAVES OR FALLING SNOW.
WE WATCH THEM AS THEY FLY SO HIGH, WE’LL NEVER KNOW THE REASON WHY
THEY RISK SO MUCH, AND GO SO HIGH, TO SOAR LIKE EAGLES IN THE SKY.
SO SOAR, MY FRIEND. ABOVE THE CLOUDS FOR THERE’S A PLACE FOR YOU
WHERE WINGS WILL NEVER LOSE THEIR LIFT, THE SKY IS ALWAYS BLUE
THE EAGLE’S NOW YOUR FRIEND YOU SEE AND LIKE AN EAGLE YOU WILL BE ,, YOU’LL FLY WITH HIM ON WINGS OF GOLD FOREVER YOUNG AND NEVER OLD …..
I’V STOOD AND WATCHED THE BRAVE MEN GO
WHERE ONLY EAGLES DARE TO FLY,
I’VE STOOD AND WATCHED, I WAS RIGHT THERE
WHEN BRAVE MEN TOUCHED GOD’S CLEAR BLUE SKY……………
DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF MY FRIEND BILL ‘’BIRDMAN’’ VOGEL AND ALL HANG GLIDER PILOTS EVERYWHERE …….
C. RICHARD CECIL …..’’SEAJAY’’
The poem is in capps because it is tough to read it thru tears....cj...
NEW FACES ...... WELCOME
I see a few ''new faces'' on the line that shows people that have joined this blog.
W E L C O M E .......
This blog is an accumilation of various thoughts, sea stories, rememberances and a lot of other stuff that I have written down that folks seem to enjoy. Some of it was posted on Irv2 before they booted my ass off but such is life I guess. These posts and others were quoted as ''not R.V. related'' and I guess that gave them cause to get rid of me. Such is life I suppose but is is of little consiquence to me anyway.
Feel free to e mail me if you like
seajaycecil@yahoo.com
or I am now on www.rvforum.net if you care to drop in some time .
I usually post on ''The Shadetree'' and sometimes under ''General Conversation'' if you care to look ...
I will be adding to this mess occasionally and I would appreciate any comment ,,,, good or bad as you see fit.
ps. I am still trying to figure out how to e mail you guys from the pictures you posted.... No luck yet ,,,,,,, that is why I joined my own blog.....
be safe and thand a vet for your freedoms ....
Seajay the sailor man ....
W E L C O M E .......
This blog is an accumilation of various thoughts, sea stories, rememberances and a lot of other stuff that I have written down that folks seem to enjoy. Some of it was posted on Irv2 before they booted my ass off but such is life I guess. These posts and others were quoted as ''not R.V. related'' and I guess that gave them cause to get rid of me. Such is life I suppose but is is of little consiquence to me anyway.
Feel free to e mail me if you like
seajaycecil@yahoo.com
or I am now on www.rvforum.net if you care to drop in some time .
I usually post on ''The Shadetree'' and sometimes under ''General Conversation'' if you care to look ...
I will be adding to this mess occasionally and I would appreciate any comment ,,,, good or bad as you see fit.
ps. I am still trying to figure out how to e mail you guys from the pictures you posted.... No luck yet ,,,,,,, that is why I joined my own blog.....
be safe and thand a vet for your freedoms ....
Seajay the sailor man ....
Monday, November 7, 2011
HELPING POPPA
My dad did all his mechanic work on his car and a lot of the cars in the neighborhood. After the war he owned a 37 Chevy. It was a ''basic car'' with no frills like no radio, no heater, no clock, just a basic car. It had a 6 cylinder engine and a 3 speed manual shift transmission.
One day he was going to remove the transmission and replace the clutch, pressure plate and the throw out bearing and it was a big job and he asked me to help. I was thrilled beyond belief because it would give me a chance to work with poppa and get dirty...
He pulled the car into the driveway and up onto some cement blocks using boards as ramps. He got out the greasy, dirty, piece of cardboard from the wood shed and slid it under the car. He got out his big box of tools and sat them on the ground along with another piece of cardboard. He removed a lot of the tools from the tool box and placed them in ''order of size'' on the cardboard explaining as he went as to what tools they were, what size they were and their usage. He laid out screw drivers and different pliers and a few punches and a couple ball peen hammers. He sat and explained that he would be under the car and I would place the proper tool that he asked for in his hand. When he would hand them back out to me I was to put them back in the proper place for the next using. He slid under the car and I sat down beside the tools. From there on for a while his hand would appear with a request for a specific tool and I would place that tool in his hand. This went on for a long time and I got really good at handing tools and putting them back in order when he handed them out to me. After a ''time'' he said ''Kid, I need a good man to come under here and help me with some hard to reach bolts. Would you like to help?''.......... I jumped at the chance and scooted under the car with Poppa. Poppa explained that there was some bolts on top of the of the transmission that he could not reach because his ''hands'' were too large. He asked did I think I could reach up there and get those bolts lose for him.
In retrospect I know Poppa could reach the bolts but he wanted to make me feel important and to feel that he really needed me to do this job and he would have real difficulty if I was not there to help him. I scooted under the transmission and reached up with a wrench and started taking the bolts lose. Poppa watched and told me the ''rightie tightie, leftie lousie'' rule concerning bolts. He pretended to be my helper by handing wrenches as I worked. Words can not express how good this made me feel. I was actually ''helping Poppa'' and he needed me and this made me very proud.
I got all the top bolts out and Poppa said that I should help him pull the transmission away from the engine plate. We got two big screwdrivers and with me on one side and Poppa on the other we jacked the transmission away from the engine plate and Poppa said for me to hold the ''tail stock'' on the transmission and he would heft the front. We laid the transmission on the cardboard between us. When you are a skinny boy of about seven years and you get to help your Poppa remove a transmission it is one of the highlights of your life. We slid it out and Poppa carried it into the workshop. He said he believed it had a bad bearing somewhere inside and he would check that while we had it our. Sure enough, there was a cracked bearing on one of the shafts and we replaced that also. I would hold the work light and hand the tools and Poppa did the work explaining as he went. We got Mr Armentrout our neighbor to go up to Napa and bring the needed parts while Poppa and I cleaned out the inside of the transmission and got ready to put it back in. Mr. Armentrout came back with the bearing and the clutch, pressure plate and the new throwout bearing and me and Poppa put the transmission back in the car and hooked up the drive shaft and the clutch lever. Poppa rechecked everything and I got up the tools and the cardboard and put everything back in the wood shed. It was about then that mom called us to supper and we went to the back porch to wash up. There was a shelf on the back porch with a very large pan of hot water and a large can of Borax hand cleaning powder and a old towel waiting for us. We both were pretty dirty and I wore mine with such pride that I did not want to wash it off. Poppa said that if I didn't wash, I got no supper at moms table. I remember to this day that we washed with the hot water and the Borax and scrubbed and scrubbed to get the grease and dirt off our hands and arms. Poppa would take my little hands in his hands and scrub off the dirt and the grease. To most that simple ''touch'' would mean nothing but I remember it like a ''touch from heaven''. We got finished and dried off and went to supper. Poppa picked me up on his arm and carried me into the kitchen and told mom what a great mechanic I was going to make someday. Mom, Poppa, Grannie Cecil and me sat at the supper table and held hands while Poppa thanked the Lord for our blessings. He also thanked the Lord for having me there to help him with the car. I remember it to this day and I think about it often.
Poppa thought me to ''fix things'' ….. To work on cars and to use my mind to see how things worked and how to fix them when they went wrong. He taught me how to ''think'' and to ''reason'' and these gifts he gave me have helped carry me thru life. They helped make me a successful business man. I give Poppa credit for my success in life because of his teachings when I was a small boy. To me, that is a large part of whats wrong with our country today. Not enough ''fathers'' are teaching their children the basics of life. Not enough ''fathers'' are taking an interest in their children and taking the time to even teach their children right from wrong. I think if everyone had a Poppa like mine, the world would be a much better place....... This is just my opinion of course and I am probably wrong.
After supper we all go in the car for a test ride and it was decided that we had done everything right and we deserved some ice cream so we drove to Lindale Dairy and we all feasted on ten cent cones of Black Walnut Ice Cream. Me and Poppa ate two, each.......
So it was in the life of a skinny kid back in 47, workin on an old Chevy and learnin' about life..............
God bless our troops and keep them safe …..
One day he was going to remove the transmission and replace the clutch, pressure plate and the throw out bearing and it was a big job and he asked me to help. I was thrilled beyond belief because it would give me a chance to work with poppa and get dirty...
He pulled the car into the driveway and up onto some cement blocks using boards as ramps. He got out the greasy, dirty, piece of cardboard from the wood shed and slid it under the car. He got out his big box of tools and sat them on the ground along with another piece of cardboard. He removed a lot of the tools from the tool box and placed them in ''order of size'' on the cardboard explaining as he went as to what tools they were, what size they were and their usage. He laid out screw drivers and different pliers and a few punches and a couple ball peen hammers. He sat and explained that he would be under the car and I would place the proper tool that he asked for in his hand. When he would hand them back out to me I was to put them back in the proper place for the next using. He slid under the car and I sat down beside the tools. From there on for a while his hand would appear with a request for a specific tool and I would place that tool in his hand. This went on for a long time and I got really good at handing tools and putting them back in order when he handed them out to me. After a ''time'' he said ''Kid, I need a good man to come under here and help me with some hard to reach bolts. Would you like to help?''.......... I jumped at the chance and scooted under the car with Poppa. Poppa explained that there was some bolts on top of the of the transmission that he could not reach because his ''hands'' were too large. He asked did I think I could reach up there and get those bolts lose for him.
In retrospect I know Poppa could reach the bolts but he wanted to make me feel important and to feel that he really needed me to do this job and he would have real difficulty if I was not there to help him. I scooted under the transmission and reached up with a wrench and started taking the bolts lose. Poppa watched and told me the ''rightie tightie, leftie lousie'' rule concerning bolts. He pretended to be my helper by handing wrenches as I worked. Words can not express how good this made me feel. I was actually ''helping Poppa'' and he needed me and this made me very proud.
I got all the top bolts out and Poppa said that I should help him pull the transmission away from the engine plate. We got two big screwdrivers and with me on one side and Poppa on the other we jacked the transmission away from the engine plate and Poppa said for me to hold the ''tail stock'' on the transmission and he would heft the front. We laid the transmission on the cardboard between us. When you are a skinny boy of about seven years and you get to help your Poppa remove a transmission it is one of the highlights of your life. We slid it out and Poppa carried it into the workshop. He said he believed it had a bad bearing somewhere inside and he would check that while we had it our. Sure enough, there was a cracked bearing on one of the shafts and we replaced that also. I would hold the work light and hand the tools and Poppa did the work explaining as he went. We got Mr Armentrout our neighbor to go up to Napa and bring the needed parts while Poppa and I cleaned out the inside of the transmission and got ready to put it back in. Mr. Armentrout came back with the bearing and the clutch, pressure plate and the new throwout bearing and me and Poppa put the transmission back in the car and hooked up the drive shaft and the clutch lever. Poppa rechecked everything and I got up the tools and the cardboard and put everything back in the wood shed. It was about then that mom called us to supper and we went to the back porch to wash up. There was a shelf on the back porch with a very large pan of hot water and a large can of Borax hand cleaning powder and a old towel waiting for us. We both were pretty dirty and I wore mine with such pride that I did not want to wash it off. Poppa said that if I didn't wash, I got no supper at moms table. I remember to this day that we washed with the hot water and the Borax and scrubbed and scrubbed to get the grease and dirt off our hands and arms. Poppa would take my little hands in his hands and scrub off the dirt and the grease. To most that simple ''touch'' would mean nothing but I remember it like a ''touch from heaven''. We got finished and dried off and went to supper. Poppa picked me up on his arm and carried me into the kitchen and told mom what a great mechanic I was going to make someday. Mom, Poppa, Grannie Cecil and me sat at the supper table and held hands while Poppa thanked the Lord for our blessings. He also thanked the Lord for having me there to help him with the car. I remember it to this day and I think about it often.
Poppa thought me to ''fix things'' ….. To work on cars and to use my mind to see how things worked and how to fix them when they went wrong. He taught me how to ''think'' and to ''reason'' and these gifts he gave me have helped carry me thru life. They helped make me a successful business man. I give Poppa credit for my success in life because of his teachings when I was a small boy. To me, that is a large part of whats wrong with our country today. Not enough ''fathers'' are teaching their children the basics of life. Not enough ''fathers'' are taking an interest in their children and taking the time to even teach their children right from wrong. I think if everyone had a Poppa like mine, the world would be a much better place....... This is just my opinion of course and I am probably wrong.
After supper we all go in the car for a test ride and it was decided that we had done everything right and we deserved some ice cream so we drove to Lindale Dairy and we all feasted on ten cent cones of Black Walnut Ice Cream. Me and Poppa ate two, each.......
So it was in the life of a skinny kid back in 47, workin on an old Chevy and learnin' about life..............
God bless our troops and keep them safe …..
DUMPED BY IRV2 FOLKS
Strange as it may seem I feel sorry for you as a representative of IRV2. you continued to badger me over nothing ....... I have been a faithful supporter of Irv2 at the rally and on this network for over a year and probably 1200 posts that are loved by many and I am one of the best ''read'' posters on your forums. I believe you wanted an excuse to drop me and you used my questions concerning my post as that excuse. YOU NEVER RESPONDED TO MY QUESTIONS CONCERNING SAME. It was like I was talking to a wall ......
It must be a terriable important job to have such authority over little to nothing with little conciquence ......
answer this if you have the courage
Seajay the sailor man .......
THIS WAS MY LAST MSG TO THE POWERS TO BE ON IRV FOLKS ...
KEEP THIS IN YOUR FAVORITES AND I WILL POST TO IT JUST LIKE i POSTED TO THE IRV FOURMS .....cj
It must be a terriable important job to have such authority over little to nothing with little conciquence ......
answer this if you have the courage
Seajay the sailor man .......
THIS WAS MY LAST MSG TO THE POWERS TO BE ON IRV FOLKS ...
KEEP THIS IN YOUR FAVORITES AND I WILL POST TO IT JUST LIKE i POSTED TO THE IRV FOURMS .....cj
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
DONT INSULT MY COLORS .....
As promised I went up to exit 125 on I-40 here in Hiclory to honor our dead that died on 9/11/01. I took my folding chair, my big flag, my PVC pipe, my rope and a sack of water bottles and a hand towell. I walked out on the overpass, sat up the chair, carefully leaned Old Glory against the bridge railing, sat my sack of water bottles in the chair, broke out my rope and using genuine Navy type Sailor knots (that will not slip but are easy to untie) I tied my PVC pipe to the guard rail on the bridge. I do this so I can set my flag in the PVC pipe when my arms get tired from holding and waving the flag. Mind you this is a BIG FLAG. This flag draped my dads casket and I am proud to fly it on special occasions like this. My Flag is furled on a extendable pole off of a tree branch trimmer and it works like a charm. I got all my ''stuff'' together and unfirled My Colors and started waving it for the traffic to see. Folks down on I-40 reacted immediately and the traffic on the bridge were happy to toot and recognize the Colors also. I got there something before noon and the day was nice but it was kinda hot so I would have to stop and drink some water occasionally. To do this I would slide the flag staff down in the PVC pipe and hold the ''tag line'' tied to the center of the flag pole to keep in check the flag for those sudden gusts of wind that happen by. I would wave the flag and then sit and rest my arms with the flag in the PVC pipe and drink water. I can not tell you how good it makes me feel to see people wave and salute the colors as they pass. The big trucks down on the innerstate just ''hang on the horns'' when they see the Colors. I was very proud and very happy and my day was going good but my arms just dont last like they use to doing this. (must be getting old I guess) When I stand and wave the colors I watch the peoples faces as they pass me on the bridge. Many smiles and high signs, many pretty girls waving and throwing kisses sometimes. One lady stopped and gave me two more bottles of really cold water and said ''Thank you for your service sir''. (how the heck did she know I had been a Sailor?) Things were going great, I was showing the colors and getting all kinds of recognition from it and really having a good time because I had taken a ''pain pill'' and my arms were hurting less and less and my legs were doin' good also.
It should be understoond that the bridge I was standing on has three lanes going north. Two lanes are for thru traffic and the extreme right lane is a turn lane that takes you down on I-40 East bound after you go around a clover leaf.
There were three cars easing over into the right turn lane and I noticed the last car kinda hanging back from the other two. He deliberately slowed down as he approached me. The first two cars waved and saluted the colors and the last guy that was ''hanging back'' gave me the finger …........ Yep, this punk shot me the rod and I read his lips as he said ''#@%K YOU and #@%K YOUR FLAG'' He did this while he was still about 15 feet in front of me and I know that is what he said. I immediately jammed the flag staff into the PVC pipe and went ballistic. I immediately flipped over into ''Sailor Language'' and in a very loud voice as he passed me with his window down I made reference to his heritage, his mother, his sister, his personal preferences in sexual partners his under developed sex organ, his propensity for offering candy to little boys and I invited him to pull over and I would teach him some manners. I did all this on one breath and never repeated myself in my tirade He went up and made his right turn for the clover leaf down to I-40 east bound. I watched him as he was going kinda slow so I stepped forward to be sure he could hear me down on the interstate and again went thru a selected grouping of ''Sailor Talk'' using it well and not repeating any phrases or combination of words and I was shaking my fist at this person all the while. He shot me the ''shaft'' again and said something back but a semi drowned it out. I was very much upset as I stood there leaning on the railing of the bridge. I turned around to retrieve my Colors and guess what …... Yep, a very large police officer was stand maybe a foot behind me, his cruiser in the turn lane with the blues flashing. OOOOOPS....
''Are you ok sir?''
''Uhhhhhhh, yep, just a little bit upset concerning a comment a guy made about my Flag sir''.
''You really need to control your voice sir, I heard you when I started across the bridge back at the light. Seems you were very angry at the man in the dark car....... Right?'' ''It has been a while since I have heard profanity like you were using toward him. Let me guess......... You were a Sailor because ''ground pounders'' dont know that variety of cuss words and ''fly boys'' will get spanked if they talk like that and ''jarheads'' dont know that many words and dont have the syntactic necessary for good sentence structure, so you must have been a Sailor''........''right''?????
''Am I in trouble officer?''
''Well, I could run you in for disorderly conduct or disturbing the peace or yelling more cuss words than I have ever heard yelled without you repeating yourself but I will let you off with a warning for this time if you promise not to do it again''..........
''Done and Done again officer. No more problems from this ''Old Salt'' sir.''
He left and I retrieved my flag and managed to hang on for about an hour more and then my pain pill wore out and I was running low on water and my legs were killing me. I got my ''stuff'' together and went back to the car and came home... While riding home I thought about what had happened on the bridge and I thanked God that I did not have ''Mr S&W'' with me when that clown insulted my Colors cause I might be typing in striped sunshine now.
Let us never forget 9/11. Let us never forget who did this awful thing to this great nation and NEVER FORGET that some can not be appeased regardless of out good intent.
Nuff said for now.... (I feel the ''delete button'' being hovered over)
========================================================================
NOTE FROM CJ... For an explanation the ''guy'' that shot me the rod was of ''middle eastern decent'' I could tell by his hair his beard and his clothing and his overall appearance and the smell of ''camel poop'' on his hands. this was not in the original post ...... be safe ....
In retrospect I guess I should have ''waited until I was not mad to make the post and I probably would not be in trouble now......cj..
It should be understoond that the bridge I was standing on has three lanes going north. Two lanes are for thru traffic and the extreme right lane is a turn lane that takes you down on I-40 East bound after you go around a clover leaf.
There were three cars easing over into the right turn lane and I noticed the last car kinda hanging back from the other two. He deliberately slowed down as he approached me. The first two cars waved and saluted the colors and the last guy that was ''hanging back'' gave me the finger …........ Yep, this punk shot me the rod and I read his lips as he said ''#@%K YOU and #@%K YOUR FLAG'' He did this while he was still about 15 feet in front of me and I know that is what he said. I immediately jammed the flag staff into the PVC pipe and went ballistic. I immediately flipped over into ''Sailor Language'' and in a very loud voice as he passed me with his window down I made reference to his heritage, his mother, his sister, his personal preferences in sexual partners his under developed sex organ, his propensity for offering candy to little boys and I invited him to pull over and I would teach him some manners. I did all this on one breath and never repeated myself in my tirade He went up and made his right turn for the clover leaf down to I-40 east bound. I watched him as he was going kinda slow so I stepped forward to be sure he could hear me down on the interstate and again went thru a selected grouping of ''Sailor Talk'' using it well and not repeating any phrases or combination of words and I was shaking my fist at this person all the while. He shot me the ''shaft'' again and said something back but a semi drowned it out. I was very much upset as I stood there leaning on the railing of the bridge. I turned around to retrieve my Colors and guess what …... Yep, a very large police officer was stand maybe a foot behind me, his cruiser in the turn lane with the blues flashing. OOOOOPS....
''Are you ok sir?''
''Uhhhhhhh, yep, just a little bit upset concerning a comment a guy made about my Flag sir''.
''You really need to control your voice sir, I heard you when I started across the bridge back at the light. Seems you were very angry at the man in the dark car....... Right?'' ''It has been a while since I have heard profanity like you were using toward him. Let me guess......... You were a Sailor because ''ground pounders'' dont know that variety of cuss words and ''fly boys'' will get spanked if they talk like that and ''jarheads'' dont know that many words and dont have the syntactic necessary for good sentence structure, so you must have been a Sailor''........''right''?????
''Am I in trouble officer?''
''Well, I could run you in for disorderly conduct or disturbing the peace or yelling more cuss words than I have ever heard yelled without you repeating yourself but I will let you off with a warning for this time if you promise not to do it again''..........
''Done and Done again officer. No more problems from this ''Old Salt'' sir.''
He left and I retrieved my flag and managed to hang on for about an hour more and then my pain pill wore out and I was running low on water and my legs were killing me. I got my ''stuff'' together and went back to the car and came home... While riding home I thought about what had happened on the bridge and I thanked God that I did not have ''Mr S&W'' with me when that clown insulted my Colors cause I might be typing in striped sunshine now.
Let us never forget 9/11. Let us never forget who did this awful thing to this great nation and NEVER FORGET that some can not be appeased regardless of out good intent.
Nuff said for now.... (I feel the ''delete button'' being hovered over)
========================================================================
NOTE FROM CJ... For an explanation the ''guy'' that shot me the rod was of ''middle eastern decent'' I could tell by his hair his beard and his clothing and his overall appearance and the smell of ''camel poop'' on his hands. this was not in the original post ...... be safe ....
In retrospect I guess I should have ''waited until I was not mad to make the post and I probably would not be in trouble now......cj..
Monday, September 12, 2011
FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO CARE.....
This is a posting for anyone that might visit this blog and wonder what happened to Seajay the sailor man. here is the short version..
It seems that I have goofed up again on IRV2 and got booted till october 12 i think. I am not sure about the date but it is about then.
I have activated my account on RV.NET and am registered on there as SEAJAY sailor man if you want to amble over for a look around. I need something to keep my fingers busy while I am away for this time. I will not swear that they will reactivate my account on IRV2 ... time will tell on that ...
Until I see you again..... BE SAFE MY FRIENDS AND REMEMBER
God bless our troops and keep them safe.....
See you guys at National Rally if they will let me in ....lol....
Seajay the sailor man ...
It seems that I have goofed up again on IRV2 and got booted till october 12 i think. I am not sure about the date but it is about then.
I have activated my account on RV.NET and am registered on there as SEAJAY sailor man if you want to amble over for a look around. I need something to keep my fingers busy while I am away for this time. I will not swear that they will reactivate my account on IRV2 ... time will tell on that ...
Until I see you again..... BE SAFE MY FRIENDS AND REMEMBER
God bless our troops and keep them safe.....
See you guys at National Rally if they will let me in ....lol....
Seajay the sailor man ...
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