Columns
Putrid Porridge
As this is a family newspaper I cannot recite the W.C. Fields (1880 – 1946) actual quotation about why he did not drink water. However, after spending two full days removing a winter’s worth of sludge from Peg’s above ground pool I side with W.C. My first clue as to the toxicity of the greenish, quivering mass clinging to the Walmart plastic liner was when my friend Paul Axton, who is a Department of Natural Resources officer, stopped by to retrieve the racoon trap he had loaned me. Paul smelled the acrid fumes rising from the pool and walked over to investigate.
“Jim have you notified the E.P.A. about this concoction? It may require Congressional oversight to remove this junk. If this gets into the wrong hands terrorists may be able to use it for untold mayhem.”
“No, Paul, but Peg has already ordered me to get in that knee deep filth and prepare the pool for swimming. According to Peg, as the man of JPeg Ranch, the gods have ordained it is my duty. Peg has already cleared the disposal with the Health Department and the Department of Defense. Thanks for your concern; would you like to join me?”
“Gee, I would but I told my sister, Judy, I would help her with her racoon problem. But feel free to call me any other time.”
In past years Peg has just bypassed my reluctant involvement in removing the winter’s accumulation of dead organisms, crop dust, and floating debris. However, Peg thoughtlessly fell off the ladder when she started to clean it last week and re-injured the knee she broke skiing 22 years ago. She claims it hurts and Dr. Matthew Lee took her side and ordered her on bed rest for two weeks. To make matters worse, Dr. Lee then sent her to an orthopedic surgeon who agreed.
I gently reminded her she had skied on down a huge mountain in Utah when she broke her leg and maybe she could just ignore the medical profession’s opinion and the pain. I cannot repeat her response due once again to that family newspaper thing.
Anyway, my weekend was filled with two days of shop vacs, mops, Clorox, white vinegar, long handled brooms and water hoses. It was so gay to watch globs of unidentified multi-colored crude having the consistency and smell of the contents of used diapers ooze off the plastic floor through the vacuum, into the bucket then hoisted over the pool wall into the yard. My guess is every varmint within miles will think a grand smorgasbord has been laid out for them. Of course, the grass immediately began to wither and turn yellow.
Well, Gentle Reader, I know Peg’s injury and its unfortunate consequences may concern you, but, do not worry, I’ll be alright.
Another Empty Chair
As President Trump and Secretary of State Pompeo negotiate with North Korean leader Kim Jong Un and his lead negotiator Kim Yong Chol over a possible summit, the 5.7 million Americans who served during the Korean War (1950-1953) continue to pass away. We have already lost about two thirds of them and on May 23, 2018 we lost another, Harold Lee Cox.
Harold and his brother-in-law Gene McCoy served in Korea at the same time. In September 2005 I wrote the following Gavel Gamut column about their service:
AN UNKNOWN VICTORY
You name the WAR:
Two countries are created from one by the greatest military power in the world and are monitored by the United Nations;
One country led by a ruthless dictator invades the other in spite of the United Nations warnings not to;
The Secretary General of the United Nations declares, “This is a war against the United Nations.”;
A United States President leads a coalition of world leaders to unite to drive the invaders out and re-establish the status quo;
An American general was placed in charge of the United Nations forces;
While many countries offered some help, the American military provided more than half of a million personnel in the war;
The aggressors were driven out of and liberty was restored to the invaded country; and
The mission for which Americans fought and died was accomplished.
If you said The Gulf War of 1990-1991, that is understandable. Almost all Americans supported that war and recognized that victory. However, I am talking about the Korean War of 1950-1953. It too was a great victory for American and United Nations interests and helped prevent World War III. We owe a huge debt to our Korean War veterans.
Two of those heroes (they just hate to be called that but, hey, it’s my column and facts are facts) are Posey County natives and brothers-in-law Harold Cox and Gene McCoy.
Harold fought with the U.S. Army’s 25th Division which suffered many casualties and bore much of the fighting in Korea. Harold was an infantry rifleman and was the jeep driver for his company commander.
Gene was a combat engineer with the Army’s 84th Engineers Battalion and, also, served as a courier/mail deliverer.
Harold was on the frontlines and Gene was building wooden bridges about 1000 yards behind those lines. Gene says Harold had it a lot rougher than Gene.
Both suffered the 20 below zero cold, the stifling heat and humidity, the loneliness, home sickness and fear in what those not there called a “police action.”
Harold said one of his worst memories, outside of dodging enemy mortar rounds for a solid year of combat, was the stench of the human waste the impoverished Koreans would save all winter and fertilize their rice paddies with in the spring. Gene, also, mentioned that nauseating smell and the mud and flooding caused by the lack of vegetation due to constant shelling.
When Gene first arrived in Korea they put his outfit on a train which stopped frequently. Each time it stopped the young soldiers were given a few rounds of ammunition and ordered out to guard the train from sabotage. Gene said this initiation to Korea was more than a little unsettling.
Harold told me that the traffic signs in the war were a bit more to the point than those back home. On one particularly dangerous stretch of road a sign advised:
“Get your ____ in gear and
drive like ____! The NK
can see you.”
Harold paid attention.
Harold and Gene came home and re-started their lives. Harold served as Mt. Vernon’s Water Superintendent for several years in the 1980’s and 1990’s. Gene served as a Mt. Vernon City Councilman and the Posey County Recorder. Gene is currently Posey County’s Veterans Affairs Officer. They both raised families and went on publicly as if there had been no Korean War. However, privately what General Douglas MacArthur called “the strange, mournful mutter of the battlefield” never left their consciousness.
Of course, there was a Korean War and it helped save you and me from another world war. It was a largely unappreciated “mission accomplished.” Thank you Harold and Gene and all your fellow Korean War veterans.
It is only human to question the value of any military endeavor. But when one considers that our Korean War veterans of sixty-five years ago encouraged today’s world leaders to sit at a negotiating table rather than send more soldiers into new battles we owe our veterans the honor of saying thank you as we say goodbye.
What Could Go Wrong?
Mothers of sons frequently assume, often rightly so, that attention to detail is not their son’s strong suit. Daughters of fathers often assume, frequently to their chagrin, that their father’s strong suit is attention to detail. In situations calling for responsible action a mother of a son usually looks to her dad instead of her son. If given a choice between youthful exuberance and supposed tempered judgment a woman, say the mother of a bridegroom, will lean on experience, say the grandfather of that bridegroom, when important wedding tasks (safekeeping of the wedding rings, for example) must be performed.
This was the dilemma facing our daughter, Heather, last Saturday when she worried her son, Alec, might lose the wedding rings if they were entrusted to his care. As I was going to be performing the ceremony at Alec and Arielle’s outdoor wedding at JPeg Ranch, Heather believed she could rely on me to be the keeper of the rings. It had already been decided that the tall grass and uneven land militated against using a child ring bearer. So, it came down to which semi-adult male of the wedding party should be entrusted with the rings. Heather chose me. Hey, I did not volunteer.
However, once the mantle was cast upon me I approached the task as most males would have. I promptly put the matter out of my mind and concentrated on the large albino catfish that Adrian, the brother of the bridegroom who was supposed to be getting formally dressed as a member of the wedding party, caught in our pond before the wedding. See you have already forgotten about the rings too.
Anyway, as I took my place on the antique, moveable bishop’s stand about 10 minutes before the start of the wedding and looked at the podium where I had casually placed both Alec’s and Arielle’s rings, the sense of happy serenity that had pervaded my psyche turned to panic. The rings had blown off into the tall grass.
Oh, I could have called for help but then Heather would know, and life is already too short for me to face that. So, I did what any man would do. In my suit and black judge’s robe I got down on my hands and knees in front of the assembled congregation and proceeded to sift through the foliage. It was hopeless of course but what choice did I have?
Just as I had decided to fake the whole ring thing by using my own wedding band for Arielle to place on Alec’s finger and then covering both of Arielle’s and Alec’s hands with mine as he pretended to place nothing on Arielle’s finger, the heavens opened up and a ray of blazing sun glinted upon bright shiny objects resting against the bottom edge of the wooden bishop’s stand. My first thought was I had better pay this good fortune forward. My next thought was it really wasn’t that big of a deal as All’s Well That Ends Well and Heather might now never know.
I Wannabe A Girl Singer In A Rock Band
I am so excited! Our new granddaughter-in-law is already what I have always wanted to be: a girl singer in a touring rock band. Well, maybe not the girl thing, but ever since I spent my Sunday School offering of a dollar to buy my first record, a 45 rpm single of Sonny James’ “Young Love”, I have secretly dreamed of headlining a rock and roll show. I could have done it too if I hadn’t been unfairly held back by the inability to know a musical key from a wash tub.
But before we get to the wedding of our grandson, Alec, and his bride, Arielle, I have a few questions you, Gentle Reader, who may also be a closet rock star, can answer. First, whatever happened to the Roll in Rock and Roll? Remember Bill Haley and the Comets or Jerry Lee Lewis or Little Richard, etc.? We used to have rock and roll stars. Now all we have are rock stars. Have we lost the art of rolling? What is rolling anyway? For that matter, what is rocking? I think I used to know the answers to these fundamental youthful behaviors. Now about all I can dimly recall is loud music, conversations about hair and the vague impression of a concert venue filled with strange smelling smoke.
Well, if you have any thoughts on these issues, as the Tappet Brothers used to say, put them on the back of a $20.00 bill and send them to me. For now, let’s get back to our grandchildren’s wedding which was living proof of how men have allowed their once dominant position in such matters to be cast into the dustbin of ancient history.
For example, I am fairly confident our grandson, who is also a fine heavy metal musician, would have been completely okay with a ceremony that involved a large club and a couple of animal skins. The whole thing would have taken ten minutes and cost only some sweat and maybe a broken bone or two. Au contraire mon ami. When Alec asked for Arielle’s lovely hand in marriage it came with a female retinue of mothers, grandmothers, sisters, aunts and a multitude of feminine wedding enthusiasts. JPeg Ranch, the wedding venue, was transformed from a bucolic backwater to a bastion of bustling estrogen-driven frenzy.
The quiet emptiness of The Ranch was filled with potted plants, satin drapery and netting, twinkling lights of several varieties, enough chairs and tables to accommodate the Light Brigade, fountains, food, cakes, libations mit tender, coolers, a bonfire, a DJ, two large white tents that would have made Lawrence of Arabia proud and even a bishop’s stand for me to stand in as I performed the official duties. This campaign resembled the D-Day Landing. If General Eisenhower had had these women, he could have forgone Omar Bradley. And have I mentioned the pink and blue porta potties?
Well, it was a glorious and happy event and even as a grumpy old Grandpa I loved it, especially when Arielle channeled her inner Janis Joplin and sang Me and Bobby McGee. Maybe there’s hope for me yet. After all, any reasonably competent journeyman can be a judge, but to have grandchildren who are rock (and roll) stars, now that is a real accomplishment!
Enough Suggestions, Already
Those few of you who actually read this column on a regular basis will recall my completely justified response to Peg’s destruction of my weekend by sentencing me to help her haul, open and spread 120 fifty-pound bags of brown mulch at JPeg Ranch. You might say, “Well, Peg worked too”. But you see, Peg lives for such opportunities so to her it is not work. On the other hand, as for me, a ball game viewed from the couch is a more appropriate way to spend a Saturday.
I was quite astonished and even a little hurt when several readers of last week’s article weighed in with suggestions on what I should do with the mulch. It surprised me that everyone who responded so uncharitably sided with Peg. After all, she was the one responsible for the mulch being there in the first place. I will relate a few of the unkind, and even inappropriate, suggestions.
Neighbors, who need not be named as we only have two, came over during the mulching marathon last weekend and instead of offering sweat offered advice. “Why don’t you just put all the bags out while Peg is planting the garden and the new flowers?” I did not respond what I was thinking but chose to just pretend I heard nothing.
Then at Sara’s Harmony Way Coffee Shop on Sunday morning Barb Mc Connell who had been the initial instigator of the mulch acquisition from the New Harmony Garden Club asked Peg about the progress of the mulching program which gave Peg an opportunity in front of the entire round table crowd to point out my poor attitude.
Then I received an email from the Posey County Jail referencing the previous article and making a rather rude suggestion of what I could do with the mulch. How do those people access the Internet anyway?
But, as is often the case with my big sister who read the article from the safety of her home in Missouri, Janie took Peg’s side again. Janie, who was always allowed by our parents to lord it over her three brothers, first mentioned that Peg was just trying to beautify JPeg Ranch for our grandson’s upcoming wedding. Then she sarcastically suggested if I was too lazy to properly spread the mulch before the wedding I could just cover the piles with white satin.
Mucho Mulch
Ah, spring! The hummingbirds have returned to JPeg Ranch and the falling locust tree blossoms can make me forget for a while how the thorns attack me each time I must deal with a fallen branch. The air is filled with perfume and a symphony of avian love songs.
Of course, it is not called spring for nothing and the Equinox strikes deeply into Peg’s cortex causing her to spring into a frenzy of projects around the Ranch. Unfortunately for me Peg’s projects become my sentence.
Then there is Peg’s deeply held belief we should contribute to virtually every cause that advances the beauty of Posey County, especially New Harmony. The confluence of her obsessions of yard improvement and public service converged when our friend Barb McConnell, who is a hardworking member of the New Harmony Garden Club, mentioned to Peg that the club was selling bags of mulch as a fundraiser.
Now, New Harmony is our home and we care about it. My affection for our small village is best expressed by patronizing Sara and David Brown’s Coffee and Wine Shop, David and Vicki Campbell and Sara and David Brown’s microbrewery, Kenny and Nancy Weinzapfel’s Yellow Tavern and the Owen family’s Red Geranium Restaurant. My position is I spend money on a good meal and/or a good glass of red wine, then I have well met my duty to improve our community. With Peg that’s not quite enough. Therefore, Peg bought 120 (you did not misread that figure) of brown mulch from Barb and the Garden Club.
When Peg gave me the good news my first thought was, “Okay, you bought the mulch, you must want to lift, move, open and spread every last 50 pound bag of it.” Gee, how could I have ever had such a fleeting dream? Oh, no, Peg demanded that I have the pleasure of spending an entire weekend frolicking in the yard with enough mulch to recreate the Old Plank Road between New Harmony and Mt. Vernon.
We put mulch on every possible tree, shrub, flower bed and mole hole within sight. The left over was used to get ready for our grandson’s wedding to be held at the Ranch this month. I bit my tongue when the thought arose, “Does the happy couple really want to stand on a 3 foot high pile of mulch to take their vows?”