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Thursday
Mar232017

THE ROOSEVELTS AND VETERANS

I love to read.  Since discovering Dick and his sister Jane, I’ve spent a goodly amount of my life in libraries, bookstores and resale shops whenever possible.  I’m a research addict and proud of it but I do go through spells where the bulk of my reading is mostly confined to novels, then maybe I’ll switch to how to books or then again, memoirs or biographies.  There’s usually no rhyme or reason as to my choices except what catches my eye at a particular moment.  Yes, cover copy and illustrations lure the strongest of us.              

 Lately, my tastes have run to biographies.  A while ago I read one about Eleanor Roosevelt and her many contributions to such causes as the Civil Rights and Women’s Equality movements through both her writings – she was the first, First Lady to write a daily newspaper column - and her feet on the ground, hands on, person to person volunteerism during both World Wars.  She was also active in improving working conditions in rural mining areas and farming communities during the depression.  Eleanor had a genuine concern to help all who needed it even if it meant voicing her opinions which were sometimes contrary to her husband’s.  She did not want Franklin to become president but was able through her platform as First Lady to become a world leader, working with organizations throughout the globe to secure the theme of universal human rights.   

I’m now reading another Roosevelt biography, this one though deals with Ted Roosevelt Jr., the oldest son of Teddy.  Ted spent his life having to live in his Rough Rider father’s shadow, never certain if he was good enough to carry on the legacy.  Reading this book should convince anyone that he was more than up to the challenge and was a man of great courage and moral conviction.

He served in France as one of the first Americans to go over during WW1 and received honors for his bravery and leadership.  He became an American hero.  Ted was one of the founders of the American Legion which promoted the supposition that all veteran soldiers were comrades, regardless of rank. He did well in business and, like his cousin, Franklin, was involved in political activities, holding various offices which included Governor of Puerto Rico.  Funded by the Chicago Field Museum, he and his brother, Kermit travelled to faraway locations, bringing back exotic animal specimens for study and display, trekking across the Himalayas through India and China.  At the age of fifty-six, Brigadier General Ted Roosevelt was the oldest soldier landing by sea on D-Day, the only General hitting the ground with the first attack wave on Utah Beach, one of the first off the landing craft, and the only man who had a son, Captain Quinton Roosevelt III, who was also part of the invasion, landing on Omaha Beach.  I think he did more than just living up to his old man’s expectations, he rose far above them.  The name of the book is HIS FATHER’S SON THE LIFE OF GENERAL TED ROOSEVELT JR by Tim Brady.

Segueing from World Wars One and Two, I’d just like to remind everyone that this summer officially marks the 50th anniversary of the Vietnam War; timing varies depending on when we officially entered the conflict versus sending numerous “advisors” over there unofficially. Most will agree that this was not a popular war and many Americans protested or chose not to go.  Unlike earlier wars that were sometimes romanticized with deeds of honor and chivalry, we at home were now able to see war up close and personal via our televisions, seated in our living rooms, perhaps eating our dinner on a tv tray.  We watched people get blown up, executed, homes burned, bloody children crying, lying next to dead bodies.  After a while, seeing this day after day, a different village with different people but the scenes the same, we grew desensitized.  The number of dead or wounded became just numbers.

But what about the 2,709.918 Americans who did serve?  Most came back to their homes and families and carried on with their lives.  Some did not.  47,378 died.  Sixty-one percent of our men killed were twenty-one years old or younger.  75,000 came home severely disabled.  Many, having been exposed to Agent Orange, came home seemingly healthy only to later suffer and many times die from COPD related disorders, heart disease, lung cancer and kidney failure.  Some soldiers would and still do suffer from mental disorders and various other types of debilitation. Some veterans just disappeared.  And the worst blow given to these war veterans was the utter disrespect and downright hatred shown to some of them when they returned home. 

We’re all older now.  We’ve seen young men and women leave home for yet another conflict, most returning, some not.  Let’s remember our veterans who are now gone, and hold dear and respect those with us now                

  “No one cares how much you know, until they know how much you care."                                                          Theodore Roosevelt

Sharon

Thursday
Feb232017

Life's Options in an Unreal World

I don’t know what got me thinking about this the other day but, do you ever wonder what certain people do when they are not doing what they’re more or less known for doing?  There is this picture in my mind of Queen Elizabeth playing in a Scrabble competition with a cold bottle of Guinness in her hand waiting for her turn where she’s gonna lay down her tiles, spelling out the name of the national bird of Guatemala thereby bringing her in almost four hundred points.  Oh, by the way, the bird’s name is Quetzal and she was even able to make it plural. Way to go Queen!!!
In our Survivalist series – this is what actually got me thinking along these lines – I can see General Ishmael Varakov, Supreme Commander of the North American Army of Occupation of the Soviet, a large, rather intimidating old soldier who many times controlled the lives and the deaths of those under him. Slowly he is lowering his great bulk onto the floor of his open office located in the Chicago’s Field Museum, playing with a kitten with his beloved Catherine by his side.
Along the same path, I could see Natalia’s ex-husband, KGB Major Vladmir Karamatsov, playing with that same kitten, a pretty ribbon around its neck being pulled ever so slowly, tighter and tighter, watching the little creature fight back until too exhausted, and then listening to its pathetic little mews as it slowly  dies. I guess I can’t imagine Karamatsov in any other type of universe.  Natalia, on the other hand, would put up her guns and Bali-Song knife and enroll in cooking classes and learn how to make pottery; maybe she would take a tumble at square dancing. Don’t worry though; she would still have her COP pistol tucked in her boot.
Fanny Mulrooney from The Takers would have liked to do something ordinary beside chasing zombies and devil worshipers and listening to grave site recordings but she’s too busy tracking down her other lipstick lost in the bowels of her oversized black handbag.
 Hank Frost from The Call Me the Mercenary would be taking his girl, Bess, out for dinner and dancing except one of his good, size 12 D Florsheim shoes got chewed up by the wood chipper the bad guys were throwing him into before he was able to get away by running through the swamp.  I won’t tell you what happened to his other shoe except that the alligator mistook it for its baby brother. 
All kidding aside, what would you be doing in your alternate universe?  Would the real you come to the surface or are you what you want to be, even in your fantasies?  Does a seafarer dream of sailing among the stars? Do adventure writers grow up to be cowboys?
Sharon

 

Monday
Jan232017

 FRIENDS

Some blogs back and again on Facebook, I’ve mentioned a few of our friends, such as the Spanish voice actor who settled in the States and scared the crap out of us doing his Dracula impersonation while we drove down a dark, deserted country road and another friend, who cut off part of Jerry’s ear while giving him a haircut. These people were unique and we couldn’t have come up with anyone nearly as much fun in the world of fiction.  I wish to add James to our list of friends from the past.

James had been an encyclopedia salesman before leaving France.  He would tell us about his adventures crossing the Alps during winter storms and I’ll have to admit, some of his driving advice paid off when traversing over the snow and ice covered roads during Chicago Winters. He decided to settle in the Midwest and further his education although his mastery of spoken English left much to be misunderstood.  Standing at about six foot six and skinny as a stick, James fell in love with and eventually married a woman who worked for one of the major newspapers in town.  She was the stereotypical American girl, blond and lanky, voicing an opinion on everything topical, and he with his very pronounced accent and his clothing preference of bell bottom pants and striped, knit shirts making him a poster boy for all things French.

We, along with some other friends, were asked to help them move out of their North Side apartment.  Being the only punctual ones in the group, we were there in time to help with any remaining packing that was needed.  I helped Fran empty her closet and throw her clothing into plastic bags and empty out the dresser drawers while Jerry helped her husband take down artwork and curtains from the many long windows adorning the apartment’s walls. I remember Fran shouting to me from the bathroom to find her diaphragm and what went with it and stick it in her purse since she’d be needing it that night.  Never having seen one but too embarrassed to mention it, I spotted something in a small case that I didn’t recognize amid the mess of dresser memorabilia I had just removed.  I grabbed the case and dropped it into her purse. I don’t know what happened that night and I never asked.

The rooms were large, oak floors and high ceilings; a beautiful place but too expensive for them at that time. They had an enormous oriental area rug in the living room which we rolled up and intended to lug down the three flights of stairs and out to the waiting truck.  The rug was heavy and bulky and the very thought of making it down those winding stairs caused us to pause for a bit and rethink the situation  One of us, I don’t remember exactly who, turned their eyes towards the open window in the living room. The rest of us followed suit. Light bulbs exploded over our heads.

 It was like pushing a sausage through the eye of a needle but finally, enough of its weight hung over the ledge and gravity took over, sending that rug down towards the ground and smashing into an elaborate flowerbed then bouncing onto the windshield of a parked car.  James and two other men ran down to the courtyard and pulled the rug off the miraculously unbroken windshield and, with adrenalin driven superhuman strength, they carried the rug to the truck and threw it in. No one reported the incident.  James and his wife got their security deposit back and their area rug they discovered was unfortunately too large to fit in their next apartment; they left it by their new apartment’s dumpster.

We were the next couple to move.  We didn’t have much furniture but did have hundreds of books which I, of course, packed in as few boxes as possible.  Our transition was from a modern apartment building with an elevator to a brick four-story apartment with lots of stairs.  After getting most of the boxes up the stairs, James stood on the landing, perspiration running down his face, soaking his striped shirt, hugging a particularly large box to his chest.  He spoke words of truth when he exclaimed “Ceci est lourd!” as the bottom of the box gave way and the books tumbled out onto the stairs and to the landing below.  Fran unnecessarily translated to us the fact that he found the box to be heavy.  That night we all got more than a little drunk but felt we deserved it.

Sharon

Thursday
Dec152016

CHRISTMAS MEMORIES

Jerry has been gone for a few years now; his last Christmas with us was in 2011.  Since then there have been a few notable changes to our Christmas festivities.  The grandkids are older, and the frenzied ripping of wrapping paper and the subsequent throwing of same has toned down a bit and toys for the most part have been replaced with electronics and gift cards.  Our big sit-down dinner has become a more relaxed affair and timing has become more dictated by the comings and goings of various members’ complicated schedules.  Still, I appreciate that we can still get together and share family time.
Neither Jerry nor I were born to rich parents.  Both our families were able to provide us with life’s necessities but many times there was not a lot of money left over for nonessentials.  This was not uncommon in the early 1950s so we were definitely not alone and did not feel slighted by either the big guy in red or by our parents. We might not have gotten a lot for Christmas  but we knew that Santa had dropped by, finished off the milk and cookies, left a few things and, that was what was important.  

Growing up (well sort of) and having children of our own was a wonderful experience, especially during the Christmas season.  Hunting for the perfect tree or the one we felt most sorry for usually turned into an all day affair tramping through the snow in the frigid wastelands of suburban Chicago.  We moved to Georgia and the kids grew up in an old steamboat gothic house with twelve foot ceilings and a wide, open foyer.  Once the tree was cut down from a nearby tree farm, pulled through the front door and we stood it up, our perfect tree usually had to have a few feet whittled off, and then, of course, the entire bottom had to be sculpted and trimmed down.  For some reason, when we'd erect it once more, we would realize that the trunk was swayback and the top was not even close to pointing in an upwards direction.  Jerry would solve this problem by tying a rope to the top and securing it to the tongue in groove pine ceiling with nails.  Once the ornaments were all on you could barely see the rope hidden behind the angel or star.  This system worked well except for the few times it didn’t, thanks to tree climbing cats or tail swishing dogs.

Christmas morning, the kids would wait at the top of the stairs until given the signal to come on down.  This was so we could have Grandma and Grandpa comfortably seated at a safe distance and all adults were fortified with a hot cup of caffeine.   We tried to have plenty for the kids to unwrap; we would wrap candy bars individually, anything to prolong the fun.  Many times,  after the kids had finished unwrapping their stuff, Jerry and I would still be at it.  He would gift me with an abundance of dish towels, each wrapped separately, of course.  Serving spoons of various colors and sizes each came in their own package.  The children and I always got back at him by wrapping a dozen socks into twenty-four little packages along with anything else we could divide up.

The gifts themselves were never as important as the fun we had giving them to each other and just enjoying being a family, albeit maybe not entirely sane but... 

 

Sharon

Thursday
Nov102016

THE END OF DAYS OR A FRESH START

The Cubs win the World Series and Donald Trump becomes our next president.  If we believe that all things happen in 3s, I can't even imagine what will happen next unless UFOs suddenly land on the Mall in Washington DC and a giant tin man named Gort comes out followed by a humanoid who looks surprisingly like movie actor, Michael Rennie.  If this happens, I'll try and remember those famous words, "Klaatu barada nikto."

All kidding aside, we've had our share of excitement, for some of us good and for some of us not so good.  Now it's time for us here in the States to buckle down and get back to work.  We need to work hard to bring this country together. You notice that I didn't say back together.  We never have and never will all agree on anything and that's ok. I know that we all have our differences but we need to remember that we also have a lot of common ground.  We all want what is good for the country and to continue being blessed with its vast resources.  And, if we're not happy with the way those resources are parceled out, we have the opportunity to use our vote to voice our opinion.

The news media and the entertainers who we financially support to entertain us, not to give us their political opinions, have caused more trouble than they are collectively worth.  If a few singers and actors want to leave us and call another country their home, let them.  They may come to realize that other places have such things as immigration laws which may be a lot stiffer than ours.  Who knows, maybe they'll be rejected!  They might want to look at tax laws as well.  Maybe this is not such as bad place to live in after all!

We've had a few days to gnash our teeth or gloat.  Let's move on.  The world isn't going to end, at least I hope not, but why waste part of our relatively short existence on this planet fighting each other.  I'm not naive enough to say something like "lets all work together" but you get my point.  Let's try to stop attacking each other and instead try to respect each other's differences.  If you've got a gripe, talk about it, complain to someone who can do something about it.  Throwing tantrums and rioting will get you nowhere.  Act like adults!

This country and its laws are for all its citizens, regardless of race, creed or political beliefs, and yet we're all aware that inequality exists.  Whoever said that Life is fair lied.  But rather than passing more legislation that will be ignored by those who disagree, why not look within ourselves to perhaps see each other's point of view and think about it rather than react to it.  We all learned in Biology class that even one-cell organisms react to most stimuli without the ability to think..  Having a few more cells and a brain, I hope we can do better.

Let us open Channel D and sing Hallelujah!

Sharon