Two questions simultaneously occupied my brain – “Why would I possibly order a hotdog with mac n’ cheese and crab meat on it?” – and – “How could I possibly turn down a hotdog with mac n’ cheese and crab meat on it!?” I admit it – I’ve sampled some strange ‘dogs at the ballpark this year.
Until last season, a good brat stand was not far from our seats and it became my go-to place at Nat’s Park. It’s gone now, or moved somewhere else. Instead, behind our seats in section 219 is a concession stand with burgers and hotdogs. It also has a specialty hotdog called “Taste of the Majors” on the menu.
The “Taste of the Majors” hotdog changes every series, depending on who the visiting team is and where they are from. It pairs the hotdog with something that city or region is known for.
If the Cubs or White Sox are visiting, it’s easy and a straightforward Chicago dog is on the menu. With Milwaukee, it’s always a brat instead of a hotdog, maybe with grilled onions if you want. Both of those make sense. It’s when other cities visit that things can get, well, a little strange.
Earlier this season, when the Baltimore Orioles were in town, they added crab meat and mac n’ cheese. The crab meat I understood, but not sure I knew Bal’more was a mac ‘n cheese hotbed. Seeing it on the menu, I felt both appalled and intrigued. “Intrigued” won out and I ordered it.
And?
In its own weird way, it was delicious. And messy. I needed a knife and fork to finish eating it.
I Ate Every Last Bite of the Bal’more Dog.
A few weeks later, the NY Mets were in town. The Taste of the Majors ‘dog? A hotdog with pastrami, sour kraut and mustard. Excellent. A hotdog with kraut is fairly normal, so the pastrami was just a nice add-on. As a bonus, no knife or fork were required.
A week later the Atlanta Braves were visiting. OK, this was interesting – A deep fried hotdog with pulled pork, BBQ sauce, cole slaw and a pickle. My stomach rumbled just looking at the description. My brain said no. My stomach said no. Some other part of me said “You must try this!”, so I ordered it. It was interesting, but… I wouldn’t get it a second time. I thought it might be a cousin to a chili dog and taste pretty good, but that wasn’t the case. It tasted just as strange as it first sounded. I should note did take a Pepcid before going to bed that night. Curiously, as I write this blog, I am re-tasting the Atlanta dog – a not entirely pleasant sensation.
The Atlanta Dog was … Interesting.
So the early season review? The O’s ‘dog was intriguing and good; the Mets ‘dog was a perfect blend of tastes; and the Braves ‘dog was a clash of flavors that didn’t quite work together.
Each of these puppies weighed in at around 850-900 calories. Healthy is never a term used to describe a hotdog, let alone these bad boys. Cath rolls her eyes when I tell her what I had to eat at the park. Still, my macabre fascination remains. We aren’t at the All-Star break yet and there are many games and ‘dogs to go. At some point, will common sense or my taste buds prevail and I’ll heed Nancy Reagan’s advice and “Just say no!” to these mutants?
That’s a question I can’t definitively answer, but my guess is that for better or worse, I have a few more “Taste of the Majors” hotdog creations in my future.
Addendum:
⁃ Between this blog and the one I did about sausage gravy Pizza, I’m sure at least some people are asking what the hell kind of stuff is Max putting in his system. I actually do eat healthily most of the time – salads, vegetables/vegetarian, some meat, and not much dairy, potatoes or pasta. Still, I think it’s good to enjoy life and challenge the ol’ digestive track on occasion. Otherwise, what’s the point of it all?
80 years ago this week, my “Uncle” Noble and the 9th Infantry Division sealed off the Cherbourg Peninsula eleven days after D-Day during WWII. I was thinking about him while watching the Band of Brothers on TV. When Easy Company jumped into Normandy for their first wartime engagement, Noble and the 9th had already been in combat for over 1 1/2 years.
Noble was Dad’s best friend, after his brothers, Mick and George. Both he and Dad joined the Army when underage in 1940, over a year before WWII started. They were in B Company, 60th Regimental Combat Team (RCT), of the storied 9th Infantry Division.
Dad and Noble in ‘41 or early ‘42.
Mom, Dad, “Uncle” Noble and “Aunt” Myra were great friends through the years and got together several times a year. The four of them had a close friendship that lasted a lifetime. I learned a lot about life, and about enjoying life from all of them, but particularly Dad and Noble. They told stories from their time in the Army – almost always funny stories of things that happened. The serious stuff? The stories of death and destruction? Those didn’t make it to the kitchen table where folks gathered, drinking coffee and listening, as these two combat veterans told their tales.
Noble’s actual WWII story is interesting. It’s one you can’t really tell without also telling the story of the 9th.
Dad and Noble’s wartime experience started on November 8th, 1942, when the 9th took part in the Invasion of North Africa. Until D-Day happened, it was the largest wartime amphibious assault ever. After three days of battle, they took Port Lyautey, Morocco and the Vichy French surrendered. After some downtime, in January of ‘43, the 60th RCT was the only unit selected to take part in a review for President Roosevelt who was at the Casablanca Conference. Dad and Noble were both there and told us funny stories of the comments in the ranks as Roosevelt passed their unit in a jeep for the review. “Hey Rosie – who’s leading the country while you’re over here?” “Hey Rosie – Who’s keeping Mamie warm while you’re over here?”
Roosevelt Reviewing the 60th RCT During the Casablanca Conference
Things got tough again after that. Starting in February, they fought their way across Algeria and then Tunisia. Station de Sened, Maknassy, Bizerte – forgotten names now, but deadly locations in the spring of ‘43. The Germans eventually surrendered at Bizerte, on May 9th, 1943, just over a year before D-Day.
The 9th wasn’t finished though. A little over two months later, in July of ‘43 they took part in the invasion of Sicily. The 60th conducted the famous “Ghost March” through the mountains of Sicily, which the Germans originally thought were impenetrable. Dad was shot three times there, and almost died. It took them a few days to evacuate Dad to an aid station, and then a hospital. The war was over for him and they eventually sent him back to the States.
Chicago Tribune Asking for a Picture After Dad was Wounded.
In fact Dad’s wounds were so severe, Noble thought he had died, or would die shortly. As they evacuated him, Noble and the 60th continued the fight. 38 days after the invasion began, Sicily fell on August 20th. Noble was there when Patton addressed the Division on August 26th, congratulating them for their efforts.
In September of ‘43, the 9th deployed to England for rest and refitting. With just over nine months until D-Day, the 60th had already fought in four countries on two continents.
On June 10th, D-Day plus 4, Noble and the 9th landed on Utah Beach. Their mission? Attack towards Cherbourg and cut off the peninsula. This they did and on the 17th of June, reached the ocean on the other side of the peninsula, and eventually, captured the port of Cherbourg itself. If you’ve forgotten your history, Cherbourg was critical for the allies to establish a port on the Atlantic Seaboard. Back home, the news singled out the 9th for their efforts.
Ernie Pyle and Time Magazine Talking About the 9th on the Peninsula
From there, they started on the great chase across France. The 9th advanced over 600 miles by the end of September thru France and into Belgium. In 3 1/2 months they were engaged in three major campaigns and were only out of action for a total of five days.
The 9th was among the first units entering Germany itself. For actions on December 12th in the Hurtgen Forest area of Germany, Noble’s unit, B company 60th RCT, received a Distinguished Unit Citation for combat actions in Germany. At the time, the company probably had around 80 or so men.
Noble and B Company, in Action Just Before the Bulge
Just after the 12th, The 9th was pulled out of the line due to the heavy casualties they had sustained. It was “resting” in the Monschau Forest area of Belgium, when on December 16th, 1944, the German winter offensive, the “Battle of the Bulge” started. Thrown back into combat, the Division beat back the enemy at the northern edge of “The Bulge”.
The Battle of the Bulge, The Ardennes, the fight across Germany to the Rhine River – Noble saw all of that. On 7 March, when the American 9th Armored Division captured the bridge across the Rhine River at Remagen, Noble and the 60th RCT were among the first Infantry units to cross under heavy fire and defend the bridgehead from the East side of the Rhine.
The 9th at Remagen
On across Germany – The Ruhr, The Hartz Mountains… On April 26th, 1945, a patrol from the 60th RCT linked up with the Russians at the Elbe River. The war in Europe officially ended on May 7th.
Noble spent 2 1/2 years in combat, fought in seven countries and survived without a scratch. Miracles do happen.
In 1950, a minor miracle also happened.
In July of that year, a knock came at my parent’s door and Mom answered. A young couple was standing there and wanted to know if William Hall lived there. Mom said yes and called Dad. All of a sudden there was yelling, and exclamations, and hugging, and dancing and back pounding – it was Noble, and his new wife Myra.
It turned out Noble and Myra were traveling from a vacation in Wisconsin back to Southern Illinois where they lived, when they passed our hometown – Ottawa. Noble thought Dad had died in Sicily, and then remembering he was from Ottawa, decided to stop in and see if he could find Dad’s parents and offer his condolences. He looked the name William Hall up in the phone book, and stopped off at the local VFW to see if anyone knew of Dad or his relations. They then drove to the address from the phone book, assuming it was my grandfather’s home. Instead, he and Dad saw each other for the first time since August of 1943 in Sicily.
I was born in ’55 and named Max Noble Hall in honor of Noble. I always enjoyed seeing him and Myra over the years during their visits. Later, at West Point, and then while spending my own time in the Army, I often asked myself if I was measuring up to these men from B Company of the 60th RCT.
Noble and Dad in the Mid-‘70s in Ottawa. Still Ready to Kick Ass.
I feel so lucky having known them and having heard the stories Noble and Dad told. It’s only in the last decade I’ve matched those stories up to the details in history books. I can tell you they greatly underplayed what they did for America and the free world. What I wouldn’t give for another day with Noble and Dad – listening to the stories, and this time, asking more questions.
The “Greatest Generation” is mostly gone now. I think it’s important we not let them, or their stories be forgotten.
Here’s to you Uncle Noble. Thanks for everything you did for this country and being an influence in my life. It’s a debt I can never repay.
I relied on the book, “Eight Stars to Victory, A History of the Veteran Ninth U.S. Infantry Division”, published in 1948, as background for much of the factual information in this blog.
Cath and I bought our first home 35 years ago in June of 1989. It was a townhouse in Fairfax, VA and we were excited. It turned out our townhouse was in a Homeowner Association (HOA), a term I’d never heard before, but grew to hate. Our skirmishes with them lasted a decade.
After living in Germany for most of the ‘80s, we returned to the DC area for our next assignment with the Army. We also decided it was time to take the plunge and buy a home.
After looking at numerous townhouses (we couldn’t afford a house at that point), we finally found one we liked in Fairfax – four years old, with only one previous owner. Going through the paperwork, we learned our townhouse was in an HOA, a term we’d never heard. Our agent explained we would pay dues to the HOA and they did things like maintaining common grounds, pay for children’s playgrounds, and “help maintain the standards of the community.”
Now I’m not saying our agent acted dishonestly, but she didn’t quite go into the details of what “maintain the standards of the community” meant. She more or less explained it as making sure people kept their houses painted and looking nice, as how the neighborhood looked affected our property values. I suppose we should have/could have done our own research, but we were eager to buy, and that made sense. We didn’t think anything more about it, signed away our lives and bought the home.
We moved in and all was going well. As we’d done since we owned our first horse in 1983, we hung a horseshoe over the door for good luck. We’d done so at our apartment in Augusta, Georgia, our rented townhome in Dayton, Ohio and both houses we rented in Rheindurkheim, Germany. Couldn’t we all use a little extra luck?
About a month after we moved in, the HOA sent out a notice. They were having elections for all positions and we were encouraged to attend. The night of the election, we showed up, and I was impressed. There were a couple of speeches, printed ballots and then the actual elections themselves. Wow! We were watching democracy in action! This was amazingly cool. Little did I know, or really understand.
Another month passed and Cath and I received a notice in the mail. We were in violation of HOA rules. What!? The letter informed us that in accordance with section II, paragraph B, sub paragraph 3), nothing was allowed on the door or over the door. Our horseshoe was in violation.
This couldn’t be! I called the number in the letter and the person picked up. I said I didn’t understand. What rules? How could a good luck horseshoe hanging over the door violate anything? The gentlemen referred to the HOA code. I said, “What code? We just moved in and never received any code.” He answered, “Yes you did. Check your closing documents when you bought the house. You’ll find a copy there.”
I pulled out our folder from closing, and sure enough, found the HOA document. I turned to section II, paragraph B, sub paragraph 3), and he was right – nothing was allowed on or above the door, except during the Christmas holidays when a suitable wreath or garland could be hung.
D@mn.
With a great deal of complaining, I took down the horseshoe. I think that’s when my unofficial war with the HOA began.
I went back to the rule book and read through it in its entirety. There were, to put it mildly, a lot of rules and regulations. More than you would think possible.
I spent a fair amount of time over the next several weeks reading those rules, when all of a sudden, I noticed something. While they said nothing could hang on or over the door, it didn’t say anything about the window frame, three feet left of the door. I read and reread the rules and could find nothing prohibiting hanging something on the window frame. I immediately hung our horseshoe by the window.
About a month later we received another notice saying we were in violation of section II, paragraph B, sub paragraph 3), just like before. I called the number again, spoke with the same gentleman and asked what the problem was. He said, “One of our inspectors told us you’ve put the horseshoe back up.” I answered, “Not above the door.” He answered, “nothing is allowed on the front of the house.” I paused slightly and said “That’s not what section II, paragraph B, sub paragraph 3) says. It only talks about the door.” He answered, “It means the front of the house.” I answered, “That’s not what it says.”
—Silence—
Then, from his end “I am referring this to the board. I’d advise you to take the horseshoe down.”
I left the horseshoe up. Surprisingly, I never heard back from the HOA or received another letter about it. Score a small victory for the Halls, along with justice and the American Way.
On Our Front Porch With Some Neighbors. Note the Horseshoe on the Window Framing. 😉
Other letters arrived over the years. I won a couple and lost a couple. My trim paint was off a shade in color one year and I lost that one. A year later, I found out the fence around our back yard was actually inset 3 feet from the community property line and decided to move the fence back to the line itself. If you live in a townhouse, three feet is a big deal.
The HOA dutifully sent us another letter saying we had illegally moved our fence and needed to restore it to its original location. I asked where it said in the HOA rules that a setback was required. I already knew the answer, but waited for them to find it as well – it didn’t say anything about a setback anywhere. Score another one for the Halls. Two of my neighbors subsequently moved their fences back in the coming months.
Our last victory, though probably illegal, provided great joy. It was in ‘97 or ‘98.
Parking is usually tight in townhouse communities and regularly managed. In our community, people were parking, usually temporarily, in places where they shouldn’t, including at the end of the pipe-stem we lived on. The HOA dutifully painted the curb in front our house yellow and wrote “NO PARKING” in black letters on the curb. This was fine. As I said, no one really parked there anyway, unless they were packing up or unloading a car.
Of course, the HOA couldn’t let it end with the painting. They also put up two “NO PARKING” signs at either end of the yellow paint. One of the signs was literally right in front of our door. I was, needless to say, pissed. It looked ugly setting right in front of our front door, and if approaching our home from the street, you needed to walk around the sign to reach our house. Note, the HOA put the signs up, not the town or county. As a result, they didn’t use any concrete, they just put the sign in the ground, something that turned out to be important.
Each day when I came home from work, I rocked the sign back and forth just a little bit. And then a little bit more. And then a little bit more. It became looser in the ground.
A couple months later, we were having a small party. Our neighbors, Laura and Jason, were moving to Texas and we were saying goodbye. A U-Haul truck was parked in front of their house and they were loading it, with some of our help. Suddenly, a genius idea came to me.
“Hey Jason. Just curious, will you have any spare room in the back of the truck? I may have something I’d like to ship to Texas.” He answered, “I think a little bit. How much do you need?”
I said, “ENOUGH FOR A NO PARKING SIGN!.” and smiled. He smiled back and replied, “I think we could fit in one of those.”
And so, over the next hour or so, we worked on the sign. Cathy had the honor of pulling it out of the ground. ;-). Jason and I loaded it into his truck sometime after dark.
Cathy Triumphantly Holding up the “No Parking Sign”!
We never did hear anything from the HOA about the incident, which seemed a bit strange given the number of people at the party. Maybe everyone else was fed up as well.
I do understand the need at one level for HOAs, particularly in something like a townhouse community, or with a Condo Association. There are some central costs, and you do want your neighborhood looking good. Still, I’ve always wondered what kind of junior fascist signs up as an inspector for their neighborhood. Do they think they are doing good, or are they just addicted to control?
In ’99, we left Fairfax and moved to our present home in the country. One of the requirements for the new property? It couldn’t be in an HOA. ;-).
At Rohan farm, our horseshoe proudly hangs over the garage door.
The Horseshoe’s Still Hanging, Even After All These Years.
Addendum:
I don’t really remember that it was section II, paragraph B, sub paragraph 3), but it was referenced similarly.
On May 1st of this year, The United Methodist Church voted overwhelmingly to accept LGBTQ clergy and allow ministers to perform LGBTQ weddings. It was a good day for my church and for all of us. Raised as a Methodist, I’m happy to see the church finally take this next step, although it hasn’t been an easy path getting to this point.
I grew up a Methodist. I was baptized in the church as a baby, confirmed in my youth, and received my Boy Scout God and Country award after working with our minister, Reverened Hearn, for nearly a year. I belonged to the Methodist Youth Fellowship (MYF) both in Junior High and High School. When mom passed away in 2017, her service was held at the same church I grew up in and where she and my dad were married in 1951. I believe our church was a part of my foundation, helping me grow into the person I’ve become.
Photo of my Methodist Church Confirmation Class in the ‘60s
John Wesley founded the Methodist Church in the mid 1700s and over time, it grew to become the second largest Protestant denomination in the United States. The church has focused on social issues from the beginning, including the abolition of slavery. The Methodist Church also promoted the idea of women pastors, who were officially recognized in 1956, earlier than most other churches.
Although the Methodist Church had openly gay members and ministers for quite some time, in 2019, delegates from around the world voted 438 to 384 passing what was called the “Traditional Plan”, which tightened the church’s existing ban on same-sex marriage and gay and lesbian clergy. Many of those that voted to tighten the ban were from overseas churches, particularly in Africa, and from conservative churches here in the southern United States. However, the writing was on the wall, and it was inevitable that change would come. As a result, in 2019 churches were also given a four-year window to choose to leave over “reasons of conscience” if they desired, and still keep their church property.
In the intervening four years, nearly a quarter of the nation’s roughly 30,000 United Methodist churches departed by the December ‘23 deadline. In Texas, more than forty percent of the churches left.
I prefer looking at the statistics another way. Three-quarters of the churches elected to stay and embrace love, and the future. The tally Wednesday to remove the 40-year-old ban on the ordination of “self-avowed practicing homosexuals” was 692 to 51. Embrace the future, indeed.
Sign Outside my Old Church Back Home. **
“We’ve always been a big-tent church where all of God’s beloved were fully welcome,” said Bishop Tracy Smith Malone, the new president of the Council of Bishops. She called the vote “a celebration of God breaking down walls.” *
After the votes, some attendees gathered in a circle to sing a Methodist song that has become a refrain for many LGBTQ Christians. “Draw the circle wide, draw it wider still. Let this be our song: No one stands alone.” *
I spoke with a friend, Bob, who I grew up with. Bob still lives back home and goes to our old church there. He told me that at last week’s service, as communion was offered, the minister made an extra point of saying everyone is welcome to take communion. Everyone.
Yes, I grew up a Methodist. I’m proud of what the Church did this month. God’s love is alive and with all of us. Let this be our song – no one stands alone.
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Addendum:
Thanks to my friend Bob, back in Ottawa for reviewing this blog and providing some input. We had some texts back and forth on what was going on in the Methodist Church in general, and more specifically in my old church there. Bob is a true person of faith and I respect him, and his opinions.
* These two paragraphs were modified from a New York Times article on the recent vote.
** Photo is from 1st United Methodist Church of Ottawa, Il Facebook page.
Hup, two, three, four, Hup, two three, four… His army had been on the move forever and marched to the sound of the drums. They had lost a legion of followers, but the main fight was coming, and they were ready. They would take no prisoners in this final battle.
The drums beat, and they marched on. The cadence was locked in their heads. It was relentless and never ending. They didn’t sleep, they didn’t rest, they ate on the march. The drumbeat marked the passing of time.
Hup, two, three, four. Who are we, marching for? Trump, Trump, Trump.
Yes, it had been a long march since 2015. It had taken them years, but they had rooted out those who were disloyal to the cause. Now they were pure, and marching on.
Dead was the captured loser, McCain. Trump, Trump, Trump.
Departing was the lightweight loser and compromiser Romney. Trump, Trump, Trump.
Gone were his generals, Mattis, McMaster and Kelly who all betrayed him. Trump, Trump, Trump.
Dead, or no longer relevant, were the Bush’s, father and sons. Trump, Trump, Trump.
Irrelevant are the cowards and liars, Barr and Bolton. Trump, Trump, Trump. Gone were the Congressional betrayers, Kinzinger, Cheney and six of the other eight who voted to impeach. Trump, Trump, Trump.
Retired was The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Mark Milley, who committed treason and maybe deserved death. Trump, Trump, Trump.
Gone was the weak Secretary of Defense, Esper, who wouldn’t stand firm. Trump, Trump, Trump.
Reduced to nothing was the traitor, Pence. Trump, Trump, Trump.
Removed was the clown and Speaker of the House, McCarthy. Trump, Trump, Trump.
Removed was the faithless Chair of the Republican Party, Ronna McDaniel. Trump, Trump, Trump.
They marched on in lockstep.
Hup, two, three, four. Who will we be fighting for? Trump, Trump, Trump.
They thought about the constant questions coming from the enemy of the people, the fake news, or from those treacherous disloyal Americans they would deal with soon enough. They know there is only one answer to all questions.
Who is the greatest business man, even though his companies have declared bankruptcy six times? Trump, Trump, Trump.
Who can shoot someone on 5th Avenue and get away with it? Trump, Trump, Trump.
Who can grab women by the pussy and laugh about it? Trump, Trump, Trump.
After the march of white supremacists in Charlottesville, who said there are very fine people on both sides? Trump, Trump, Trump.
Who tells us the only social network or news we can trust is Truth Social? Trump, Trump, Trump.
When asked about violence from white supremacists, who told the hate group, The Proud Boys, to “stand back and stand by” ? Trump, Trump, Trump.
Who can work the very best deal with the dictator Putin? Trump, Trump, Trump.
Who says he will let Russia do “whatever the hell they want” with our NATO allies? Trump, Trump, Trump.
Who recently said he is friends with President Xi of China? Trump, Trump, Trump.
Who privately calls dead and wounded American soldiers suckers and losers? Who made fun of Niki Haley’s husband while he was deployed overseas with the National Guard? Trump, Trump, Trump.
Who promised to reduce the national debt, but ran up the third largest deficit in American history? (After Lincoln and Bush SR, who were both funding wars). Trump, Trump, Trump.
Who is lying about making a profit while selling “special” Bibles at $59.99 (plus tax, shipping and handling)? Trump, Trump, Trump.
Who fired the entire Republican National Committee staff, but told them they could reapply for their jobs, with this as one of their interview questions: “Was the 2020 election stolen?” Trump, Trump, Trump.
Who issued an ALL CAPS statement on our holy Easter Sunday calling the judges & justice officials involved in his prosecutions “CROOKED AND CORUPT,” ending his screed with “HAPPY EASTER EVERYONE!”? Trump, Trump, Trump.” Who’s the greatest Republican president ever? Was it Lincoln? No! Was it Reagan? No! It was, Trump, Trump, Trump.
Who said: “Now,if I don't get elected, it's gonna be a bloodbath for the whole — that's gonna be the least of it. It's going to be a bloodbath for the country. That will be the least of it." Trump, Trump, Trump, Trump, Trump, Trump. Trump.
They marched on. Yes, they were fewer now than before, but that didn’t matter. They marched on. And they knew if he won in November, they would root out more disloyalty – certainly in the government, but also in the party. Oh yes, there were many scores to settle.
Hup, two, three, four. Who will we take vengeance for? Trump, Trump, Trump.
They marched on.
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Jeremiah 14:14 Then the LORD said to me, “The prophets are prophesying lies in my name. I have not sent them or appointed them or spoken to them. They are prophesying to you false visions, divinations, idolatries and the delusions of their own minds”.
Addendum:
If you aren’t a Trump supporter, there are seven months until the election. What are you going to do, in addition to voting, to stop his election? Knock doors? Donate dollars? Write postcards? Text or Call for candidates? Talk to your neighbors? What actions are you personally going to take?
If you are undecided? Reach out. I’m happy to have a conversation.
And, if you are a Trump marcher? OK. We all know where you stand, and what you stand for. He has told us many times, in many ways.
Thanks to my oldest friends, Howard and Mark who reviewed this blog and gave me encouragement on it. I should note that Howard is a lifelong Democrat. Mark was a lifelong Republican who left the party recently and is now an Independent. For those not aware of my own political journey, I was a left leaning Independent, who became a Democrat after the events in Charlottesville in 2017.
Here are a three previous blogs I’ve written about our former president, after he lost the election in 2020:
On Jan 4, 2021: It’s a sad day for America when all ten of our living former Secretaries of Defense feel compelled to release a letter saying the election is over, Biden has legally won, and the military should NOT be used to intervene in the election. That they feel compelled to say this says volumes about where we are in America […] Continue at: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2021/01/04/sad-day-for-america/
On Jan 7, 2021: He told us five years ago his thoughts about what he could do and how his supporters would react. Remember? Just prior to the Iowa caucuses in 2016, candidate Trump stated “I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody, and I wouldn’t lose […] Continue at: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2021/01/07/he-told-us-five-years-ago/
On June 12, 2022: It’s been a busy couple of weeks for our former president. It’s not every day you get to announce your candidacy for the presidency, have dinner with a couple of racist Hitler fans, and declare the Constitution should be terminated. That’s a full month, even by Trump […] Continue at: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2022/12/06/making-choices/
For the last 30 years, I’ve told anyone who would listen that the best burger I ever ate was at The Squeeze Inn in Sacramento, CA. The place is still around and if you are there, you should try it. It’s a great burger, but it’s no longer my “best ever”. For that, you must visit Field and Main Restaurant here in Marshall, Va for an Ooomami Smashburger. Trust me on this. You won’t go wrong.
According to some studies, Americans eat about 50 billion burgers a year. Taste is subjective, and we all have our favorites. Sometimes they’re from dives, sometimes gourmet places and occasionally from chains (I’m looking at all of you Five Guys and In-N-Out burger fans). It just so happens my two favorite burgers are from two very different restaurants, 2,700 miles apart.
In 1992, I happened to be in Sacramento, CA and someone recommended trying “The Squeeze Inn”, so called due to its tiny size. It was a small greasy spoon with seating for about a dozen people. It may have had a couple of picnic tables outside. In any case, we finally went and I ordered a cheeseburger. HOLY COW – it was amazing, the best burger I ever had. I couldn’t even tell you what made it so good, other than lots of cheese. A few months later in early ‘93 I was back in Sacramento and stopped in again – was the previous trip a mirage? Was the burger really that good? DOUBLE HOLY COW! It was just as good the second time.
The Original Squeeze Inn
I became an apostle and proselytized regularly. If I knew anyone traveling remotely close to Sacramento, I recommended they stop in. If I met someone from Sacramento, I’d always ask about the Inn. It turns out I wasn’t the only one who liked the place. Virtually anyone who’d eaten there loved their burgers. In fact, Guy Fieri of Diners Drive-ins and Dives TV Show fame, proclaimed it one of the best burgers in America.
Strangely, I haven’t returned to Sacramento since the ‘93 visit, but The Squeeze Inn’s cheeseburger lived on in my mind as the best burger I’d ever eaten. I’d occasionally look up the restaurant online, and they were still receiving rave reviews.
So, what changed for me? The Ooomami Smashburger at Field and Main came along.
Field and Main first opened in 2016. Neal Wavra, the owner, has done a great job of making the place both a destination restaurant AND a good addition to the local restaurant scene. Cathy and I enjoy dinners there on a regular basis. The menu rotates, but I’d tell you their Chicken leg “confit” is one of my favorite meals. Billed as “casual fine dining”, it’s received two favorable reviews from WaPo restaurant critic Tom Sietsma, has won numerous awards, and is constantly written up as one of the best restaurants in Virginia. Their food is excellent. If you saw the place, or looked at their menu, it’s not immediately obvious they would make a great burger, and yet they do.
Field and Main – “Casual Fine Dining” AND a Great Burger!
I was reminded of this on a recent Saturday evening. Returning from an afternoon with my running group, I stopped in to pick up some wine we’d ordered and to get take-out dinner for Cathy and me. I went upstairs to the bar, ordered one of their signature drinks, a “Red Lantern” (definitely try it if you visit) and ordered dinner to go – two Ooomami Smashburgers and an order of loaded crispy potatoes. If you time it right, you can finish your drink in about the time it takes them to make your meal, and that was true on this occasion. I paid, grabbed the food and drove home, where Cathy was waiting.
Both of us were hungry and we tore into the burgers. We’ve eaten them several times before and on this particular night, the revelation hit me – this may well be the best burger I’ve ever eaten. I don’t know if it’s the Wagyu beef, the homemade bacon jam, or both of those combined with the onions and American Cheese that makes it so good, but it is delicious. The loaded crispy potatoes with garlic, bacon, sour cream, scallions and a pimento cheese sauce are pretty d@mned good as well. Focused on our food, we didn’t say much as we ate.
The Ooomami Smashburger with Loaded Potatoes
I highly recommend you give it a try, but don’t just take my word for it. Northern Virginia Magazine recently held a competition and of 32 places, it was judged the best burger in Northern Virginia (read here: NoVA Wars: Burger Edition). The loaded crispy potatoes aren’t mandatory, but they’re mighty tasty as well.
The burger is listed on the menu as an appetizer. I know some who do order it as an appetizer or split it between 2-4 people to start the meal. Others order it as their main. With so many good choices on the menu, Cath and I rarely order it as a main unless we are having a casual dinner in the bar or getting take-out. Then? There’s a good chance we have Ooomami Smashburgers in our future.
I know there are many great burgers around, and I’m sure most of you have your own “best burger” in mind at some local restaurant, or some place you remember from your past. For all of you Five Guys or In-N-Out burger fans, if your best burger comes from a chain, that’s OK. I might think you’re living a sheltered life, but I won’t hold it against you.
If you are in Sacramento, CA or Marshall, VA I’d recommend both places for a burger. If you could only choose one place? Visit Field and Main in Marshall. Call me ahead of time and I’ll happily join you.
Addendum:
For info on Field and Main Restaurant, a reservation is usually required, unless you are sliding into the bar. Additional information can be found here: https://www.fieldandmainrestaurant.com/
The Squeeze Inn is still around in Sacramento, and now several other places in Northern California. They no longer have their original building (it closed due to a frivolous lawsuit). I still highly recommend you get one of their burgers if in the area. You can find more about them here: http://www.squeezeburger.com/
Recently, I stopped in at David’s Barbershop for a haircut. My usual barber wasn’t there and instead, Tammy cut my hair. We were making small talk, when I learned she was one of the original boat people* who escaped from Vietnam. She told a fascinating story filled with both sadness and hope.
You know what I mean by barbershop small talk with a new barber – the weather, what’s new in town, whether I was retired… When I asked where she was originally from, she said Ho Chi Minh City, but left as a young girl. I asked her if she was one of the boat people. She looked at me, nodded and started telling her story.
After the fall of Saigon (now Ho Chi Minh City) in 1975, things became tougher in what was then South Vietnam. The North Vietnamese were rooting out “problems” and people who were, perhaps, too close to the previous government in the South. Tammy’s extended family decided that in order to survive, they needed to leave Vietnam.
They considered going overland to Thailand but discarded the idea. The only practical way was via boat as many others were already doing. Tammy’s aunt, her father’s older sister, took on the task of organizing the escape for their family.
Eventually, she found a boat making the trip to the Philippines. The boat held 50 people total and they secured passage. They were told when and where to meet the boat and have the remaining necessary funds with them.
They Would Attempt to Cross the South China Sea, Heading for the Philippines.
On the appointed day, they arrived early at the location and the boat was waiting for them. They made their final payments and boarded. Her father suddenly remembered something he needed from their house. Tammy doesn’t remember exactly what it was, only that it was important. There was plenty of time, so he left the boat and told them he would be back soon.
Time passed. Her father didn’t return. More time passed and her father still hadn’t returned. Finally, it was time for the boat to leave. Tammy’s aunt tried persuading the captain to delay the departure, but it was to no avail and the ship departed. Tammy never saw her father again.
The journey was a perilous one, as they needed to cross the South China Sea to reach the Philippines. They didn’t encounter pirates on their trip, which was sometimes common, however they did face bad weather and rough seas and the ship became lost. Although the captain piloted them back on route, they spent six days without food or water, before eventually landing in the Philippines. 49 people departed Vietnam. Unlike many of the boats evacuating people, all 49 arrived alive at their destination. Her father would have been the 50th person.
A Boat Similar to the One Tammy and Her Family Used.
Her family spent one or two years in a refugee camp in the Philippines, before eventually relocating to the United States. There she would meet her husband, also a Vietnamese refuge. He became an electrical engineer and eventually worked for the United States government. They raised two sons, one of whom graduated from George Mason with a degree in Cybersecurity, and the other from Virginia Tech with a degree in Software Development.
Tammy finished cutting my hair and I thanked her for the haircut and for sharing her story. I’d gone to the barbershop for a haircut – I also left with a small history lesson.
Tammy.
While driving home, I thought about Tammy, her family and other Vietnamese who came to this country in the aftermath of the Vietnam War. Wikipedia tells us about 2 million people attempted to flee Vietnam by boat. Somewhere between 200,000 and 400,000 people died. Roughly 800,000 were successful in finding a new home. Over 400,000, including Tammy, eventually settled in the United States.
All they wanted was a bit of freedom and a better life than what they saw coming at home. They were willing to risk death or imprisonment. Tammy and her family achieved some version of their dream here in America, although at the price of losing her father. Since then, she has contributed to our country and her children will contribute to our future.
In many ways, her story isn’t so different from the indentured servants, the Puritans, the Irish, the Italians, the Eastern European Jews, the Mexicans or others who have emigrated to America over the course of our history. People left home, often at great peril, to flee persecution, or seek a better life or greater freedom. For many, upon reaching America there was a period of adjustment on their part, and resistance by those already here, before they too were accepted and became a part of the melting pot.
It is a story as old as America itself and regularly repeats over the decades and centuries of our history. Personally, I believe it builds up who we are as a country. They say the strongest steel is forged in the hottest fires. Thank heaven for Tammy and people like her who have faced great adversity and are now a part of America. We need them to continue strengthening the steel of this country.
Addendum:
Some older people may have forgotten the story of the Vietnamese Boat People, and those who are younger may have never heard about them. The short version of the story goes like this: the United States left Vietnam in 1973. In 1975 30 North Vietnamese divisions were involved in the fight to take South Vietnam. A great number of the troops defending South Vietnam were concerned about their own families and deserted. The North Vietnamese moved rapidly through South Vietnam and Saigon fell in April of 1975. After the fall, many South Vietnamese were in fear of their lives under the new government and fled, or tried to flee South Vietnam. This took place between 1975 and the early ‘90s, with the highest period of flight from ’78 – ‘79. While some travelled overland, trying to reach Thailand, most went by boat with destinations of Thailand, the Philippines, Malaysia, Hong Kong and Guam.
Thanks to my friend and West Point Classmate, Ken Bresnahan, for some assistance with this blog.
It was raining as I left our West Point 45th reunion last Sunday. I took the longer, slower route home to Virginia rather than drive Interstate 95. Tired and emotionally spent, I didn’t trust myself on a route that would have more traffic. I knew I would be thinking about West Point, the reunion and my classmates.
And of course, that’s what happened. The reunion, mixed with memories of West Point and my time in the Army cycled through my brain. Was it really 45 years since we graduated? It turned out the answer was yes.
Due to health issues, Cathy didn’t make the trip (she’s OK). It was a tough choice for her not to go to this reunion, but it was the right decision. Having dated since high school, and marrying each other right after my graduation from West Point, she too made the journey through my time at the Academy and in the Army. We’ve known many of these folk for nearly fifty years and together we have attended every reunion since the fifteenth. If I were to pass away, she would be welcomed with open arms by my classmates at any event, and they would help her in any way they could.
On October 25th, the day before the official start of our reunion, someone noted online the conditions were a bit nicer than 40 years previously on the same date. That was the day Operation Urgent Fury, the United States intervention in Grenada began at dawn. Several members of our class* were in the 82D Airborne Division and a part of the operation. It was a reminder that although we were “Cold Warriors” against the Russians, many of our classmates spent time in combat around the globe.
CPT Marion Seaton in Grenada. “We Were Soldiers Once, and Young”.
I arrived early Thursday afternoon and the weekend passed in a blur. The reunion hotel was a little over an hour from West Point. With 500+ attendees, there are no hotels at West Point or in the immediate vicinity large enough to host a gathering of our class. As is always the case at these five year reunions, not unlike our days at West Point, they are jammed with activities. We joke about it of course, but it’s true. I’m doubtful many other college reunions have days starting at 6:45AM. ;-).
After arriving, I found Tony Matos, who had just arrived from New Hampshire. As importantly, Tony brought the 312 bottles of WhistlePig Whiskey we were going to distribute to classmates. Regular readers of this blog will recall that a group of us did a tasting at WhistlePig in Vermont last spring and bought two barrels (you can read about that tasting and why we did it at the link in the addendum). We dutifully transported the cases of whiskey to our distribution room and classmates started picking up their bottles. All were gone by Sunday morning.
The Successful Conclusion of Operation WhistlePig.
By Thursday night, things were in full swing. Around 300 classmates (about one third of our living class members) along with 250+ spouses, partners and family members were there. Dinner, drinks, and for some of us, cigars ensued. My time was divided between dinner with several of my company mates and then circling the rooms seeking out other old friends. Handshakes, hugs and toasts, along with conversations occurred several times – How are you? … Where’s Cathy – is she OK? … Do you remember … whatever happened to … where are you now … we have to do better at staying in touch … Eventually I made my way to bed and a restless night’s sleep.
On Friday morning, we boarded buses for West Point. Our destination was the Cadet Chapel. Our first event, and for me one that has grown increasingly important, was a memorial service honoring classmates who have passed away. At our fortieth reunion, 50 classmates were so honored. This time the number was 82, including my company mate Dan Zimmerman. At the fortieth reunion, Dan sat with Cathy and I at the memorial service. This time, his name was one of the 82 called out loud. I thought a lot about Z-Man during the service. I have to say, the meaning of “The Long Grey Line” has changed, grown and become more real with the passage of time.
Memorial Service at the Chapel.
After the service, my buddies Jay, Steve and I, along with many of our classmates, walked the half mile from the Chapel to Ike Hall, although I also noticed there were more classmates taking the provided buses. Age catches up with all of us at some point. At Ike Hall we had lunch, along with a class meeting and a presentation by the Supe (Superintendent), before eventually busing back to the hotel.
At the hotel, Tony, Gus, Bob, Bill and I resumed distributing the remaining WhistlePig bottles. Classmate Al Aycock was distributing bags of coffee – the beans spent time in one of our empty whiskey barrels before bagging. We repeatedly received thanks from classmates for the arduous journey we’d made to Vermont for the WhistlePig tasting the previous spring. ;-).
After a short fifteen minute nap, it was time to get ready for the formal dinner that evening. More good food, drinking, talking and dancing. Perhaps because this was day two, things were slightly slower than the night before. It wasn’t as rushed and more faces were familiar now.
Random Pictures From the Weekend.
Saturday morning came early. We boarded buses for West Point at, wait for it … 6:45AM. Yes, you read that right, 6:45 in the morning. It was for a good reason – Two regiments of the Corps of Cadets were having a parade at 9:00AM, and our entire class was a part of the reviewing party. I remember as a cadet having parades and passing in review for old grads during their reunions. To put things in perspective, in the fall of 1977 our Firstie (Senior) year, the class celebrating their 45th reunion was the Class of 1932. Yikes! Back then, while waiting to pass in review, we made jokes about the OLD GRADS and of course could never see ourselves on the other side of the parade ground in the future. I’m sure the same thing was happening on this Saturday, but I have to say they looked squared away when they marched past us.
The Corps of Cadets, Passing in Review.
The Army football game that afternoon was a forgettable loss, but something happened later that left a strong impression on me. After the game, Clem, one of my company mates and his wife Nancy hosted a post-game tailgate and several of us B3ers stopped by for a beer. Three Yearling (Sophomore) cadets were there as well – members of the Class of 2026. Talking with them and listening to them made me feel good about our future, and the future of this country. If they are any indication of the quality of current West Point cadets, we have nothing to worry about. The United States Army, and our Officer Corps are in good hands.
The last evening was special. There was no official event that night, and I was invited out to dinner by Jose Morales, one of the alumni from the Whistle Pig tasting in the spring. There were perhaps 18 of us at the dinner . Some I knew, some I didn’t. It didn’t matter. We were all one big happy family, talking, laughing, telling stories, eating and drinking.
One Big Happy Family at Saturday Night’s Dinner.
The next morning, I left for the drive home around 8AM. I’m not big on long goodbyes and wanted to hit the road. I spent the next six hours driving in the rain and thinking about the weekend. I wasn’t just thinking about the details of the weekend itself, as I recounted here. I was also thinking about this special brotherhood I have the great good fortune to be a member of. As time goes by, I cherish it more and more. I think we all do. It’s hard to explain to others who haven’t been a part of it.
We members of the West Point class of 1978 share a special bond that has only grown stronger with the passing of time. Yes, we still tell the old stories from cadet days, or our time in the Army, but it’s more than that. Those stories only represent the surface of our commonality. We rose to the call of Duty, Honor, Country as cadets and during our time defending this nation. Most of us have found ways to contribute to the greater good, even after our time in service to our nation ended.
As Plebes, we were required to memorize many things. Some mundane, some of no apparent use, and some that were important. One of those requirements was the song “The Corps”. As I grow older, the song’s lyrics speak to me more directly than when I was a cadet and first memorized them. We all know our time here on Earth is limited and we all need to make the most of the time we have. Grip hands indeed.
The Corps
Addendum:
* Classmate Marion Seaton provided the photo from Grenada. In his words, “Chuck Jacoby, Brent Holmes, Dale Tatarek and I were having the time of our lives on a little spice island 40 years ago this week. We were all part of the 82nd Airborne’s mission to secure the Island of Grenada. I was the C Battery 1/320 (Airborne) Artillery Commander. We were chuted up to parachute with our equipment into Grenada. Our original plan was for the 105 howitzers to be dropped from the C141B on the first pass and we would jump on the second pass over the Drop Zone. The jump would’ve been dangerous, certainly due to the hostile fire, but more importantly, because of the dispersion of the equipment and troops onto the ground. There was a huge body of water to our left and the Ocean to our right. We would’ve lost a lot of jumpers and equipment. Lucky for us, The Rangers jumped the day before from C130s below 400 feet. They secured the Drop Zone, so we were able to fly in rather than jump. Over the course of the battle, Charlie Battery fired 152 rounds in support of the Division and Rangers.”
Marion, A Bit Before his Unit’s Jump into Grenada was Cancelled.
Dale and Jan Hamby were in charge of this reunion overall and did a great job. While a host of people worked with and for them, our class owes them a debt for the wonderful time we enjoyed. Dale’s comments after the reunion were pretty spot on: “Personally, we are determined to do a better job staying in touch with those we were able to reconnect with this weekend. We hope you will too. The reunion reminded us how important these connections are, and life is just too short not to make them a priority. Besides that, it was so great to relive cherished memories that our kids don’t want to hear about for the 50th time!”
Here’s the blog from our whiskey tasting at WhistlePig: “We were on a mission to the WhistlePig Distillery in Vermont. Twelve classmates gathered to taste whiskey from five barrels. We would select two for the West Point Proud and Great, Class of ‘78 45th reunion this coming fall. We didn’t want to let our classmates down” […] Continue here: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2023/05/09/__trashed-2/
The Bears Den in Naplate, Illinois is a great little dive bar. I mean that in the best sense of the word. It’s an older place and hasn’t been updated in years. On a recent trip back home to Ottawa, we stopped in on a Sunday afternoon for lunch and Bloody Marys. We all should have such a good local place.
Naplate, a town of just over 400 people, probably has more restaurants and bars per capita than any town in America*. They are all small local places. Some more bar oriented, and some more food oriented. All have their devoted fans and regulars from Naplate, or the surrounding area. Over the years we’ve enjoyed several of them, including Casa Mia, Annie’s Hideaway, and of course, The Bears Den.
The Bears Den – It’s Been Around Awhile.
A few years ago, a really bad tornado ripped through Naplate and parts of Ottawa and Naplate were destroyed. Although Naplate restaurants were ordered closed in the immediate aftermath, The Bears Den stayed open providing food for the folk doing the cleanup and damage control. They were giving back to the community in a big way.
A couple of weeks ago we were back in Ottawa to see family and go to a reunion. We spent Saturday night with my sister Tanya and Brother-in-Law Shawn and on Sunday morning were discussing what to do. Cath previously mentioned possibly going to The Bears Den for Bloodies, and we all quickly agreed that was a great idea. It had been a few years since we were able to stop in there and we were looking forward to a good time. Shawn, the smart one among us, checked to see what time the Bears were playing that day. When they are on TV, it’s standing room only at the Den, and we wanted to avoid that. Fortunately, the game didn’t start until 3PM.
We arrived just after noon and easily grabbed a table. Several people were there, but it wasn’t crowded. The Packers were on TV, so there were both cheers and catcalls, depending on what was going on. The waitress came over and we ordered our Bloodies with sidecars. In Illinois (and maybe across the Midwest) a sidecar is a small beer, typically 7 ounces, to go with your Bloody Mary. At the Bears Den, they brought you a can of beer, and a 7 ounce glass. On Sundays, they have “build your own Bloody Mary” for $3, but we opted for the bartender to make ours.
Lunch at The Bears Den with Tanya and Shawn.
Drinks arrived and the Bloodies were as good as we remembered. Our waitress asked what we would like to eat. For me, there was only one thing to order – their Sausage Sandwich. You can have it with peppers, or cheese, or any number of other combinations, but I just ordered it with pickles and onions. It’s like a burger, but made with 1/2 pound of sausage instead. As my buddy Howard says “It rivals the pork tenderloin**as the best area sandwich. The difference? You can order the tenderloin at lots of places, but only The Bears Den has the sausage sandwich.” Shawn also ordered one, while the ladies opted for a BLT and a ribeye sandwich. One of the great things about The Bears Den is they have a decent menu, especially considering the small size of the place and the size of the kitchen.
The food came, and all I can say is, man, I love that sandwich. It was sooooo good. Yea, it didn’t help my cholesterol any, but that’s OK. In fact everyone’s sandwich was good. I think Cath’s BLT was the biggest I’d ever seen, and Tanya’s Ribeye sandwich was great. The table grew quiet for a while as we concentrated on our food. Eventually, we ordered a second round of Bloodies and Shawn had another beer.
Good Food All Around, but Man That Sausage Sandwich!
At some point, our nephew and niece Casey and Ann stopped by with their kids and we were able to catch up with them for a bit, but eventually, it was time to go. Hugs all around in the parking lot, lots of I love you’s, and we headed south to my sister Berta and her husband Jack’s place.
I know it’s a bit crazy to write about a dive bar in the middle of Illinois, when we don’t even live there anymore. Still, it’s good to have things and places you know you can count on. The Bears Den is one of those places. If you are ever near Naplate, I highly recommend it.
Addendum:
The “Bears Den” has no apostrophe in it, and I have written it that way throughout this blog.
* My friend Howard Johnson notes that Naplate was a factory town (the former Libby Owens Ford, now Pilkington,). The shift workers all converged on the Naplate bars when their shifts ended, keeping them busy 24 hours a day back in the day. That’s a big reason such a tiny village has so many bars.
** One of the great meals you can find in the corn-belt of Indiana, Illinois and parts of Iowa is a breaded pork tenderloin sandwich. They are crazy good and something that many people who move away from the area crave, and always have when they return to Ottawa. If you are closer to Chicago, or in Wisconsin, an Italian Beef Sandwich is just as loved.
Pork Tenderloin Sandwich at The Court Street Pub in Ottawa.
The Bears are having a rough stretch in football lately and lost 14 straight games before beating the hapless Commanders last week. The Bears Den remains crowded for their games. In general, the fans are still loyal, but getting restless. One of my buddies, Mark, a diehard Bears fan, sent me this meme after I mentioned we were at The Bears Den for lunch:
In 1984, Cath and I were back home in Ottawa for her 10-year high school reunion. I was waiting in line for a drink when a guy approached me. “Hey, aren’t you Max Hall? Didn’t you go to West Point?” I answered, “I am and I did. Why do you ask?” “I’m Joe xxx. We would love to have you come talk with our local militia.” What?
I was a Captain in the Army at the time and had recently returned from four and a half years in Germany with 3ID and VII Corps. Cath and I were stationed in Ohio and returned to Ottawa for the weekend of the reunion.
Me, About the Time of the Encounter – 1984 or ‘85.
Me: “Sure. Where’s the National Guard meeting these days, and what kind of unit is it?”
Joe: “Oh no. We aren’t with the National Guard. We started a private group as a militia. We fire our guns on weekends and do some tactical training. We want to be ready to fight the communists.”
Me:
Joe: “It would be great if you came out to meet with us and give us a talk. I think you could provide some real inspiration!”
Me: “Really?! Where do you all meet?”
He gives me a location south of town in the country.
Me: “Hmmmm. That’s great, but rather than meet there, I think we should meet on LaSalle Street, not far from Bianchi’s Pizza.”
Joe: “Really? Why there?”
Me: “We could go the Army recruiter’s office on LaSalle Street and get you guys signed up. We are always looking for a few good men!”
Joe: “What?!”
Me: “We could meet at the Army recruiter’s office. We are always looking for a few good men to enlist. If you really want to fight the communists, we could use you. I’ll be deploying back to Germany in a year. We could probably even work it out for you to join my unit!”
Joe:
Me: “That’s what I thought. See you later and quit bothering me… Bartender – I’ll have a gin and tonic please.”
Yep. Those militia toy-soldiers who always say they are going to defend our country were around 40 years ago as well. They are still eager to play soldier these days, as long as they don’t have to do anything to, you know, actually defend our country as a soldier.
*** Feel free to share this blog. ***
Addendum:
I don’t recall Joe’s actual name. I just remember that he was in Cathy’s class and I knew him some from high school.
Live Life Exuberantly 