Eight Years

I started the blog “Live Life Exuberantly” eight years ago this week. I didn’t know where this journey would take me, but I’m somewhat amazed – 341 posts later, and it’s still going. One of the many things I’ve learned about myself along the way is that I’m more of a storyteller than a writer.

My first blog, “Why Live Life Exuberantly”, (a link is in the addendum) was published on October 19th, 2015. It was 300 words long and a reaction to a number of health issues or deaths several friends and family members were going through at the time. Looking back now, I think it was an attempt to start something new in life, partly to show myself I was still alive, and maybe growing.

The First Post – Eight Years Ago.

Since then, it’s been a strange journey. There is no discernible overall theme with the blog such as cooking, or politics, or history, or current events. In fact, it has been all over the place, which I think is both a strength and a weakness. I don’t attract people who want to focus on one subject only, whether it’s new recipes, or the latest fulminations about our current political environment. That “focused space” seems to be where most bloggers/writers are these days. This blog is pretty much the opposite, covering whatever happens to pique my interest at any given time.

Topics have included family history, Dad’s time in the Army, my time in the Army, Covid, our travels in Africa, racism, drinking stories, guest blogs from a couple of friends, current events, politics, our pets, baseball, cooking and food, Germany, Ukraine, random thoughts, friends and a host of other topics. I keep telling myself I’m going to cross reference them by general topic someday, but it hasn’t happened yet.

My 340 previous posts have generated around 83,000 views from over 60,000 visitors over the past eight years. I’ve written close to 400,000 words during that period of time. When the blog started, I averaged a post every two weeks or so. Now, I push something out on a weekly basis and average 150-250 views/post. The best ones have generated over 1,000 views. The less read, around 60-70. Those are pretty small potatoes compared to “real” bloggers. They mostly write daily and have thousands of views for each post.

My blogs with the lowest number of views tend to be cooking or baseball write ups. It’s funny, I know they aren’t going to be viewed/read much, but I can’t help myself from writing several of those over the course of a year. Sometimes a blog I think will have minimal viewing ends up exploding, while others I’ve poured my heart and soul into generate only minimal interest.

That last point led me to an observation about this effort – I’m writing as much for myself as for others. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’m glad people read the blog and I track the statistics – but for me, a big part of the pleasure is in the writing. And, while I believe my writing has improved over the years, I know I’m not a particularly gifted writer. Ernest Hemingway and Toni Morrison can rest easy in their graves. Having said that, I do think I’ve inherited a bit of my dad’s ability to tell a story.

When we were kids sitting around the breakfast table on Saturday mornings, there would inevitably be uncles or aunts visiting and drinking coffee. Dad was great at telling stories from his childhood during the depression, or his time in the army. It didn’t matter how many times you heard them, he had a way of making them fresh, or funny, every time he told them. We’d sit there laughing as we heard for the tenth time how he and Uncle Mickey learned there was no Santa Claus. He was a natural storyteller.

Telling stories. Yea, I think that’s what I mostly do, and I thank dad for that gift. Some of these stories write themselves, and my fingers can barely keep up with my brain. Others, well, others take time and thought and struggle. The path isn’t always clear and I write, rewrite, throw away, and write again. I think I enjoy that struggle. It’s a challenge and makes me feel alive. It’s a bit like trying to solve a problem and I know I sometimes do a better job of solving the puzzle than others.

In all of this, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention my friend Colleen and my wife Cathy. Colleen has reviewed virtually all of my blogs for the past few years with edits and suggestions. She’s a real lifesaver. And Cathy? She keeps me grounded and has no problem saying, “What the hell are you thinking here?” Or, “Really? You’re going to write about that?”

I have no idea what the future will bring for me, or for “Live Life Exuberantly”. My guess is as long as I’m having fun, I’ll keep writing. And whether you are a regular, occasional or first-time reader, thanks for joining me on this journey. If you are a routine reader, I’m guessing the randomness of my topics is something you find interesting. I hope, at least occasionally, you find something that makes you smile, or makes you think.

Peace.

Addendum:

Here’s a link to the very first blog: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2015/10/19/why-live-life-exuberantly/

Returning Home from Germany

In June of ‘83, I returned to America after serving 4 1/2 years with the Army in Germany. At the time, the Post-Vietnam dislike of soldiers was still alive, a decade after the war. Returning to the States, I had a good experience at the airport that still gives me shivers today.

Captain Hall in Early 1983. Commander, HHC, 34th Signal Battalion.

It’s different now and we as a country, or at least most of us, have learned to separate politics from the people serving in uniform. Back then? Post-Vietnam? We weren’t so great about how we treated our soldiers. I remember someone spitting at me as a cadet while walking in New York City in the mid-‘70s. In 1979, right before we first deployed to Germany, a woman from our church commented to my mom about how terrible it was that they as taxpayers had to pay for Cathy to go to Germany with me, and for us to be able to take some of our belongings with us. AND this was a woman from our church I’d know since I was a child.

Of course most family friends, and our close friends were great with us, but past that? Things were often ambiguous. None of this was as bad as soldiers put up with during Vietnam, but it would be years later before we (as a country) really learned to separate politics and our respect for our soldiers.

In June of ‘83, I turned over my Company Command in Stuttgart, Germany. I had a couple of weeks of additional work I needed to do, so Cathy flew back ahead of me. Finally it was time for me to go home and I flew on a commercial flight wearing civies. We landed at Dulles and I made my way to customs where the line seemed about a mile long. Several flights arrived at the same time, and the line wasn’t moving.

As I stood there, I noticed a young lady walking down the line looking at people in the line. Eventually she arrived in front of me and said “Are you in the Armed Forces?” I’m sure my short haircut and bearing probably gave me away.

I answered “Yes ma’am, the Army.” and she said “Follow me.”

I walked with her for quite awhile and we finally arrived at the front of the customs line. One of the stations opened up and she walked me over to it. The guy behind the counter looked at me and asked for my passport, or my military ID and orders, which I produced for him. He took a quick look, handed my papers back to me and then said, “Thank you for your service. Welcome home to the United States of America.”

I still get a shiver typing those words today. It was the first time someone went out of their way to thank me for what I was doing, and then welcomed me home to boot. It was such a little thing, but plainly had a huge impact on me. I remember it clear as a bell forty years later.

I’ve thought about this story lately. Probably since Panama in ‘89, and certainly since the First Gulf War, we’ve thanked our soldiers and shown respect for them. Unfortunately, an annual poll conducted last November by the Reagan Institute shows respect for the military dropping from 70% in 2017 to 48% in 2022. Much of the drop was attributed to people (from both sides) trying to politicize the military, or what the military was doing.

To be quite frank, most people today have no connection with our armed forces. Their sons and daughters aren’t in our military. If fact, over 70% of American youth today aren’t qualified for the military. They are overweight, or are doing illegal drugs, or are doing legal drugs that make them ineligible for military service. I fear that for many, saying thank-you is a cheap and easy way to feel good, while not really caring about our troops. Maybe I have that wrong, but I’m not so sure.

As time progresses, I’m hoping we as a nation can adult enough to remember to mentally separate politics and the soldiers serving in the military. I hope that we can take a couple of minutes to genuinely thank our troops. Not pro forma, but really thank them. We continue to owe them that much.

Addendum:

• in a side note, in the 4 1/2 years we were gone on that tour, I only made it back to the States once. That was to attend my sister Tanya’s wedding. When Roberta married the next year, we couldn’t afford another trip home. It was one of the many family events we would miss over the course of our almost 9 years overseas.
• Thanks to my wife Cathy for input to parts of this blog. As an Army wife, she too remembers those days. Like me, she is also concerned about the lack of connectivity between our society and our military today.

The Rickover Interview

My friend Bob Bishop, straight out of the US Naval Academy, was interviewed by Admiral Hyman Rickover in 1964 for admission to the Navy’s Nuclear Power Program. Rickover, known as the “Father of the Nuclear Navy”, served in a flag (General Officer) rank for nearly 30 years (1953 to 1982), ending his career as a four-star admiral. His total of 63 years of active duty service make him the longest-serving naval officer, as well as the longest-serving member of the U.S armed forces, in history. In 1954, with the launch of the first nuclear submarine, the USS Nautilus, he appeared on the cover of Time Magazine.

Admiral Rickover on the Cover of Time in 1954

There were those who loved him and those who hated him. He exercised tight control for three decades over the ships, technology, and personnel of the nuclear Navy. He interviewed every single prospective officer considered for service in a nuclear ship in the US Navy until his retirement in 1982 at the age of 82.

According to Wikipedia, “over the course of Rickover’s career, these personal interviews numbered in the tens of thousands; over 14,000 interviews were with recent college-graduates alone.” Many of those interviews are now lost to history. Here is the story of Bob’s interview in his own words.

Bob in 1964 at the Naval Academy.

***********

Much has been written regarding the harshness of his interviews, but none can criticize the results. Certainly none of those who successfully emerged from the crucible would do so.

On Friday, January 21, 1964, I was a First Classman (senior) at the Naval Academy and joined 34 other classmates on a bus to DC to be interviewed for the nuclear power program. At the time, many offices of the Navy were still located in “temporary buildings” built on the Mall during the Second World War – and were still in use twenty years later.

There were lots of tidbits floating around about the interviews with Admiral Rickover, aka “The Kindly Old Gentleman,” (abbreviated KOG), although never called that to his face. One such rumor was that the chair you sat in was rigged so it rocked if you were nervous. Most importantly, you should answer any question quickly and decisively.

Needless to say, I was apprehensive. We (there were also a couple of busloads of Midshipmen from Navy ROTC schools) were herded into a large semi-circular room with simple folding chairs, arranged in rows facing the center of the room. There were four passageways leading out from that central hub like spokes on a wheel. There were a couple of vending machines and we were told a head (bathroom) was just down one of the passageways. We were told not to talk to one another. We were also told to remain in the room until your name was called, and that was all. To be honest, we were afraid to even go to the head, because what happened if your name was called and you weren’t there? So, there we sat. Soon, someone would come down one of the hallways and call out a Midshipman’s name. He (there were no women at the Naval Academy for another 13 years) would rise and go with him, and sometime later come back and sit down. The scuttlebutt was that each person would have three interviews before potentially meeting with the Admiral, although some had four and a few had five. Some of those interviews were short (5-10 minutes) and some were long (an hour plus). Also, you had no idea if the person interviewing you was a chief petty officer, a prospective commanding officer, a member of the Nuclear Reactors division or somebody else – they were all in their 40s-50s and all in civilian clothes.

I had three interviews and what we discussed became a blur – I was so focused on answering the questions, I really couldn’t remember the questions even immediately after they were asked. I was thinking on how I did, was I sitting up straight enough, remembering to be decisive, etc. The one question I remember most clearly was being asked about the window air-conditioning unit. I started into a description of the freon cycle when I was stopped. The questioner wanted to know why it didn’t fall out of the window. I started postulating about ways it could have been installed so it wouldn’t fall either in or out. I also remember being asked the value of studying naval history (pro and con), why I decided to go to the Naval Academy, what was Bernoulli’s equation, and why did I want to go into nuclear submarines.

Each time I went back into the central room, there were more and more empty seats. With no one to ask, I merely presumed they had finished the process. I worried and wondered if it was good news or bad that I was still there. As I sat there, morning became afternoon and afternoon night. Eventually, there were maybe three or four of us left. It was 8 something PM, and my name was called. I was led down a narrow corridor, lit only by bare light bulbs hanging down periodically the length of the corridor and into the distance. Light showed in the hallway from only one office, at the end of the corridor on the right. As we approached, my escort told me the Admiral’s yeoman (Navy admin) was gone and I should just walk past her desk and into the Admiral’s office and sit down in the empty seat.

I did and sat down in the Navy issue aluminum square channel chair, with a naugahyde seat. The room was a little dark. The scuttlebutt was right – the two front legs were shorter than the back legs, and one of the front legs was shorter than the other so that, if you were the least bit nervous, you would slide off the seat or rock sideways. I sat with my butt firmly implanted up to the back of the chair, giving thanks to the many hours I spent plebe year on “The Green Bench” (envision sitting in a chair against a wall, with your knees/lower legs at a 90° angle and your thighs/lower back also at a 90° angle – now take the chair away).

His office was a mess. It was about 10’ wide and 15’ deep. There was a bookcase behind me, another on the wall to my left, bookcases down each wall, and a big old wooden desk directly ahead. Each of the horizontal surfaces, including his desk, were piled high with a hodgepodge of varying heights of stacks of books, interspersed with folders. The door I came in was on my right, behind me. I was focused straight ahead (the Navy term was “keeping your eyes in the boat”), but my peripheral vision, and attention, was focused to my right so I could immediately rise as soon as he came in.

Three or four minutes passed when all of a sudden, I heard a loud voice say, “Why the f**k have you been wasting all your goddam time?” I immediately focused straight ahead and there he was, and had been the whole time, obviously just watching me. I never met an Admiral before and certainly never expected one to curse. Notwithstanding the advice to respond quickly and cogently, what do you suppose came out of my mouth? “Umm, er. . .” “What?!” he said. “I have been working hard, sir.” “Don’t give me that shit,” he replied. Our “discussion” did not go much better, although I don’t remember much of it, just the feeling it was going a lot less than well.

Things I remember vividly – At one point, I said something along the lines of “I think there is more to education than just book-learning.” Big mistake. Unfortunately, not the last. Our discussion circled back around to my grades (I thought afterwards he must have those in a folder on his desk). He asked what my class standing was going to be when I graduated. I knew I was doing pretty well but I had no idea what the current number was, so I said “55.” He replied, loudly, “WHAT?” I said “50?” a little plaintively. He said, “DO YOU MEAN . . . ?“ I quickly interrupted and said “45?” He roared “GET THE F**K OUT OF MY OFFICE!”, which I rapidly did.

Admiral Rickover – the “KOG“

What felt like a three-hour-long crucible under intense heat, actually lasted around twenty-two minutes. It took me a couple of hours, and a couple of scotches, to get my resting heart rate down. I also started thinking of what I wanted to do in the Navy, other than nuclear submarines, when I graduated. Plainly, I wasn’t going to be selected.

A couple of months later, a list was posted at each of the twenty-four company offices at the Academy. The word quickly spread so each of us Firsties (seniors) who had applied hurried down the corridor. If your name was on the list, you were in. I read the list, haltingly, three times to make sure that was really my name.

Postscript – I had three other interactions with the KOG during my six-plus year career in nuclear submarines. Not bad for a mere lieutenant, but those are stories for another time.

Bob Enjoying Life Last Week

Addendum:

• if you have the time, it’s worth reading up on Admiral Rickover’s career. It was pretty amazing, although he actually only commanded one ship. Some of his detractors compared his hold on the Navy, and particularly the Nuclear Navy, to Hoover’s hold on the FBI for all of those decades. He was a brilliant man, and there’s no doubt our Nuclear Navy would not be where it is without him.
• Bob is a wonderful storyteller. Here are two other blogs from his time in the Navy on a Nuclear Submarine:
• The movie, “The Hunt for Red October” is child’s play, compared to what these submariners did on a daily basis … “The Comms Officer ran in and handed the CO the decoded message. The CO read the message, took the lanyard from his neck, unlocked the firing key cabinet, and reached in for the firing key. We were about to” […] Continue at: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2021/06/23/we-knew-we-were-at-war/
• Crazy Ivan anyone? … In 1970, our sub, the USS Finback, was helping with Anti-Submarine Warfare training for NATO aircraft. An observer on the sub said “I think I understand your plan. You alternate going to port or starboard as soon as you submerge.” I responded, “Well, not actually”, and we walked over to […]. Continue at: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2022/04/13/submarine-games

Zen Zone

Where is your Zen Zone? That is, what do you do, or what place do you go to that helps you relax, find peace and become accepting of what “is” in your life? Where do you go to bring balance to your life? I’m lucky, in that I have a place that works for me in today’s crazy world.

When I talk about a Zen Zone, I don’t really mean the full-on Buddhist Zen practice with meditation, aiming at enlightenment. I’m talking about finding a place of peace, contentment and balance in my life. A place that brings back some sanity to this mad world we live in these days.

How Do You Find a Place of Peace, Contentment and Balance?

If you go to the web and look up Zen, or Zen Zone, you find a number of descriptions, some of them not very Zen like. Many look distinctly as if they are coming from someone trying to make a buck, which isn’t particularly Zen. I did however, find a couple of definitions/comments that spoke to what I’m talking about:

• Put simply, Zen is an orientation toward life that generates a sense of peace, equanimity, acceptance, and contentment. To be Zen is to be committed to maintaining clarity and remaining grounded in the present moment, no matter how challenging it is to do so.
• “A space designed to be peaceful and calming. No matter what is happening outside this area, it allows me to have a small, predictable place in the world that was created specifically to comfort me.”
• Making your way in the world today takes everything you’ve got. Taking a break from all your worries, sure would help a lot. Wouldn’t you like to get away? (OK, kidding on this one – these are the opening lines of the old TV show Cheers, but doesn’t it sound sort of Zen like? 😉 … )

Over the years, I’ve done meditation off and on. When I was working full time, I often took a short ten-minute break in the middle of the day to meditate and re-center myself. I think it helped some, and certainly provided some grounding and calming. I wouldn’t say it was anything to do with Zen, or a Zen Zone, just taking a few minutes to find some peace and balance.

And now? Where’s my Zen Zone? Where do I relax, find peace and “meditate”? It’s an easy answer for me – on my daily walks in the woods. With my knee issues, I don’t run anymore, but I love to walk. Most afternoons you can find me, along with our dog Carmen, in the nearby woods on a three or four mile escape. Sometimes I remain attentive to nature and my surroundings, but other times, the “Zen times”, I lose track of where I am and what I’m doing. Suddenly, I come out of it a quarter mile from home. Hello!? Where am I? Oh yea, I remember now. Be thou at peace.

It’s a wonderful trick when it happens, although it doesn’t happen all of the time. And when it doesn’t happen, it’s still time well spent – a wonderful hike and enjoying what nature has to offer: the trees, animals, plants and views; wildflowers and ferns; a small stream or two; and of course, watching Carmen enjoy the walk as much as I do.

A Walk in the Woods Works for Me.

In either case, I always feel better after my walk. My mind is clearer and less stressed. Maybe I’ve solved a problem or two, or at least gained some perspective. Running and then later, walking, have always worked as exercise for me – burning off calories and trying to stay in reasonable shape. But the mental benefits aren’t to be undersold. As I become older, I am much more appreciative of those mental aspects.

What about you? Have you found such a zone? Perhaps running or walking? Working in the garden? Maybe hunting or fishing? Quilting? Yoga? Doing active meditation? What works for you? Where do you lose yourself and gain some balance in your life?

Making our way in the world today DOES take everything we’ve got. Politics, online garbage, traffic, aggressive people, health concerns, and other personal issues all raise our stress levels. Finding a Zen Zone can help make a difference, even if only for a few minutes each day. Taking a break from all our worries and reclaiming some balance and peace in our lives – I can live with that. Maybe the Cheers theme song was on to something after all.

“If you are depressed, you are living in the past. If you are anxious, you are living in the future. And, if you are at peace, you are living in the present.” ~ Lao Tzu

Addendum:

• Zen is a school of Buddhism which emphasizes the practice of meditation as the key ingredient to awakening one’s inner nature, compassion and wisdom. The practice of meditation, as a means of attaining enlightenment

Ding Dong, Snyder’s Gone

Ding dong, Snyder’s gone. 
Sing it low, shout it loud!
Ding dong, Dan is gone. 
Don’t be slow, join the crowd!

It’s so sad one man and his hubris could single-handedly destroy an organization. Carbuncle is the descriptive word that comes to my mind.

In full disclosure, I’m a Green Bay Packers fan, but that doesn’t matter. Dan Snyder was such a carbuncle on the Commanders, the NFL and the DC region, it just feels good that he is finally gone. He may not be the most despised sports team owner ever, but he’s up there. He was so bad on so many levels.

• FOOTBALL: – his lack of football knowledge – his inability to let the GM and coaches do their jobs – his constant interfering – his constant hiring and firing of coaches – his hiring of past their prime players – his lack of accepting responsibility – his constant need to blame someone else – his hiring of yes-men
• THE FANS: – his poor treatment of the fans – his suing of season ticket holders – his selling of peanuts that he acquired after they passed their “sell by” date – his banning of signs at the stadium (because many were about him) – his lying about the season ticket wait-list
• WOMEN: – his misogyny while running the team – his condoning taking nude pictures and videos of cheerleaders without their consent – his sexual harassment and probable sexual misconduct and assaults
• CORPORATE: his constant lying and misdirection – his reading of over 400,000 internal emails, looking for others to blame – his toxic work environment – his statement about changing the name of the team: “We’ll never change the name. It’s that simple. NEVER. You can use caps.” – he was sued by three limited partners for corporate malfeasance – his interference with the NFL investigation of the Commanders – his hiding of ticket revenue from the NFL and defrauded season-ticket holders of their refundable deposits – The Washington, D.C. Attorney General sued the Commanders twice

1999-2023. Twenty four years was more than enough of the Snyder experience. EVERYONE is ready to move on.

You get the idea. Goodbye and good riddance Dan.

Ding dong, Snyder’s gone. 
Sing it low, shout it loud!
Ding dong, Dan is gone. 
Don’t be slow, join the crowd!

Seven Questions

On June 24th, we woke to the news the Wagner Group rebelled against the Russian military and was marching on Moscow. Twelve hours later, it was all over. Peace at hand? More problems to come? Certainly we have ripples of instability, never a good thing in world affairs.

There’s nothing like a coup attempt to grab my attention before I’ve had my morning coffee. On that fateful Saturday, I watched with fascination as Prigozhin’s Wagner Group troops took over the Rostov Russian Military Headquarters and then started their march on Moscow. It appears they were within 120 miles of the capitol before the insurrection ended as suddenly as it began, and Belarus leader Lukashenko worked out a peace between Putin and Prigozhin.

Whoops…I Didn’t Really Mean It

The terms? Maybe, forgiveness for the troops, a safe passage of Prigozhin to Belarus, and no invasion of Moscow itself. Yea, a win-win for everyone – if you believe in fairytales. The “fog of war”, and the cloak around all things “Russia” makes it difficult to assess what is true, what is false, and what is somewhere in between. It will all play out over the next few months. What I know is there is now increased instability in the region, and the world. I’m not a big fan of instability. No sane person should be a fan of instability as we are now experiencing in Russia.

Will The Peace Last?

I am by no means a Russian expert, but I am a student of history. I also spent nearly a decade in the Army in Germany in the ‘80s waiting for them to attack us, and had the opportunity to learn a bit about them then as well. So, while I’m no expert, I do feel confident that I know more than about 95% of the talking heads on TV, and 99% more than all of those spouting off online.

Here are seven questions we don’t have the answers for. I waited this long after the putsch attempt to publish this blog in order for events to develop and perhaps answers become apparent to some of the questions. I don’t believe that has happened. The fog, and the world’s instability will remain until we have a better understanding of the answers. If someone on TV or online says they have the answers right now, you should immediately change your TV channel or go elsewhere online. They are probably lying.

1. Has Putin weakened? Between his failing attacks in Ukraine and this mini-coup, he looks like it, but looks can be deceiving. He is shrewd, and he is ruthless. I wouldn’t count him out just yet.

2. What WAS the agreement between Putin and Prigozhin? Is there wiggle room for both of them? Will they somehow be buddies after all is done? Or are they both out to kill each other?

3. A related question – How hard will Putin try to crush those who rose against him? Putin is not the forgiving type. In addition to settling up with Mr Prigozhin, he will certainly look at how easily the headquarters at Rostov fell. Was there complicity on the part of his generals there, or weakness? In either case, heads are likely to roll.

4. What about the Wagner troops? There are 25,000, give or take, wandering around Southwestern Russia, or in Ukraine with plenty of guns, tanks, and other weapons. They have served as the pointy end of the spear for the Russians in most of their attacks over the past year. If they are now peaceably subsumed into regular Russian units (as the Russian Army is trying to make happen), what happens to their effectiveness? What happens to the effectiveness of the units they are added to? And what happens if they don’t go quietly into the night?

5. What happens to the other Wagner Group troops scattered around the globe providing “security” and other services in places such as Sudan, Mali, Syria, the Central African Republic, Libya, Venezuela and Sri Lanka among others? Does Prigozhin continue to lead them, does someone else, or do they fade away?

6. How will this affect the war in Ukraine? If the Wagner Group is dissolved as a fighting force, what is the impact? Also, the other Russian troops in Ukraine have to know at least some of what has happened. How will they react?

7. How safe are Russia’s nuclear weapons? Are we confident they are managed and controlled in a secure fashion?

As I said, I’m not a big fan of instability, and right now, this situation provides plenty of it. Some people in this country would say ignore it, it’s not our problem. Others (I’m looking at you Majorie Taylor Greene) stupidly question whether the US was somehow behind the coup. Both of those courses are unwise. Any time there is instability in the world the ripples make their way in our direction, arriving sooner or later. The only question is whether the ripples fade away, or due to activities we can’t see below the surface, turn into a tsunami.

And don’t forget China lurking around out there as well. Their commentary was generally muted about these events. I believe they are a bigger longterm threat to us both militarily and economically. Having said that, I’m more concerned about an unstable Russia right now, than I am about a stable China.

Living Life in a War Zone

I recently received another email from my friend Bob in Ukraine: “Last night the air raid alarms went off about 2:30 am. We were hoping the attack was only another wave of the Iranian Shaheed drones, as the defenses are normally stopping 100% of those. But when the text of the warning came to my wife Vita’s phone, it was a major missile attack. The attack was targeting Kyiv directly.”

This is the second blog I’ve written about my friend Bob Pitts who lives near Kyiv, Ukraine. A link to the first blog is in the Addendum.

Bob’s email continued: “Six Kh-47M2 “Kinzhal” missiles were launched from six MiG-31K aircraft. The Kinzhal is Putin’s hypersonic missile that he has bragged about as being unstoppable. Making statements about it as some secret Russian technology America and the West can’t match.

BUT – Every one of them was shot down in the air, so I imagine there is some serious nervousness in the Kremlin right now. Someone has to go and tell Putin his magic hypersonic missiles are no longer effective – and also tell him he just wasted many millions on this attack. (They don’t have many of these left in stock to begin with). Before last night’s attack -> no one had been able to stop the Kinzhal missiles.

In addition to the Kinzhals, 9 Kalibr cruise missiles were launched from ships in the Black Sea, and three land-based missiles (S-400, “Iskander-M”). All of them were destroyed by the air defense forces of Ukraine.

The sound of the missile being hit was deafening- our windows and doors shook. The attack came from the South and so the defenses hit them near our town. Thankfully not directly over us, as there are reports of damage from falling debris.”

Debris Falling During the Recent Missile Attack on Kyiv.

I can’t quite imagine the heart-pounding you must feel going through an attack like that. And of course, some version of this has been happening for over a year now in Ukraine.

Throughout it all, we need to remember people also live their lives. In Bob and Vita’s case, that included celebrating their eighteenth wedding anniversary about a week after the big attack. They’ve lived in both America and Ukraine during those eighteen years and have been in Ukraine for the past two years.

Bob and Vita on Their Wedding Day, Eighteen Years Ago in Florida.

For their anniversary, they celebrated at Cafe’ Mimi in their hometown of Brovary, just outside of Kyiv. Katya, the chef/owner of Cafe’ Mimi made them an American carrot cake using Vita’s recipe – Bob says he has “had carrot cake all over the US and in many other countries and THIS one was the best I have EVER eaten -> better than my grandmother’s.” 😎

Katya’s Carrot Cake – Maybe, Better than Grandma’s?

We see stories of sharing life and love during the dangers of war over and over in both the real world and in fiction. The great novels “Doctor Zhivago” (Pasternak), “For Whom the Bell Tolls” (Hemingway), “A Time to Love and a Time to Die” (Remarque), or “From Here to Eternity” (Jones) showed us those love stories in fiction, but I like to think Bob and Vita’s story in real life gives them a good run for the money. Life goes on, even amid the struggles of wartime. Sometimes, all you really need is to be with the love of your life and enjoy a slice of carrot cake.

Sometimes, All You Really Need is The Love of Your Life, and a Slice of Carrot Cake.

We should all celebrate life as lovingly as Bob and Vita and remember to focus on what is truly important.

Addendum:

• I received this email update from Bob yesterday after I’d already written this blog and just 12 hours before posting it: “The Russians have stepped up their missile attacks in the past few days. They appear to be in a panic that Ukraine successfully used the new British StormShadow missile to destroy a large troop and munitions hub just at the border (this had been out of range until now). Reports are that a trainload of 500+ new soldiers were destroyed along with all their armor and munitions … Last night was a massive missile attack – many of the missiles were the hypersonic ones we shot down 37 of 40 missiles and 29 of 35 drones. Then again today around noon another attack again with hypersonic / ballistic missiles. We shot down 11 of 11 … There was damage / injuries from falling debris and there were some deaths in rural areas – an elderly couple was killed when debris crushed the roof of their home … I think that the Russians know that they are in deep trouble. They know that we are about to hand them their butts on a platter very soon. That is why they are stepping up the frequency of attacks and making an all out worldwide propaganda and diplomacy push to push for the west to stop helping Ukraine.”
• Thanks to my friend Bob for providing the material for this blog and for helping to edit. I’m so happy we have reconnected.
• You can read my first blog about Bob from a couple of weeks ago here: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2023/05/16/in-ukraine/
• Bob has written a book about Ukraine called UKRAINE: THE AWAKENING: My 20 years of witnessing Ukrainians rediscover their nationhood. When the war began, he became concerned about how little westerners, especially Americans, understand about Ukraine, its people, its history and how the relationship with Russia is misinterpreted in Western media coverage. The book gives readers a view into Ukrainian culture and the beauty of the people. I’ve bought and read the book and recommend it – I’ll publish a short review in a future blog. Here’s a link to the book on Amazon: https://a.co/d/6qUppBU

A Bayonet Attack and Life Lessons

80 years ago on May 6th, 1943, Dad and the other men of 1st Battalion, 60th Regimental Combat Team were given the order to fix bayonets. They were about to attack Djebel Cheniti in Tunisia by direct assault with a bayonet charge. I’ve thought quite a bit about how that attack may have affected Dad and his outlook on life.

A year ago, I was doing research for another blog about dad and the closing days of the North African Campaign in 1943. I was shocked to learn about a battle that dad never mentioned. At the time, his unit had been in continuous combat for two months.

From the history books: “One last ring of rugged hills now remained between the Ninth Infantry Division and Bizerte. The German troops on Djebel Cheniti, the highest point on the 8 mile wide area of the Bizerte Isthmus, halted the advance. To break this bottleneck, General Manton S. Eddy (Commander of the 9th Infantry Division), devised a plan with two parts. The division would mount a flanking maneuver around the hills, while the 1st Battalion of the 60th Regimental Combat Team (dad’s unit – about 500 men) would attack Djebel Cheniti by direct assault with fixed bayonets. They would follow artillery fire that pounded the slopes at 100-yard intervals.”

The 9th Infantry Division Plan of Attack as it Unfolded.

Let’s take a pause in the story for a second. Fix Bayonets is a command that probably goes back as far as the introduction of muskets. What the command literally means is you are attaching your bayonet to the end of your rifle. What it actually means is one of two things – 1) you are preparing to charge the enemy in close-quarters or 2) getting ready to defend yourself from an imminent enemy assault. Either way, it is close-in fighting. With a rifle and a bayonet, you are perhaps three feet away from your enemy. There is no hiding. There is no ducking away. Army Field Manual 23-25 captures it succinctly: “The will to meet and destroy the enemy in hand-to-hand combat is the spirit of the bayonet. It springs from the fighter’s confidence, courage, and grim determination.” In my own bayonet training nearly 50 years ago at West Point, they were even more to the point: “What is the spirit of the bayonet?” “To Kill!”

At that distance, it is kill or be killed. There is no middle ground.

… … …

May 6th 1943 was a slippery, muddy and rainy day. The order was given to fix bayonets around 1PM and behind rolling artillery, the battalion attacked. They moved forward quickly and only 100 yards behind the falling artillery barrage. On the map, it looks like the total distance they needed to cover was a little over a mile. After three hours they took Hill 168. Moving on to Hill 207 they met stronger resistance. An artillery concentration disorganized the enemy and the battalion attacked again before the German troops could recover. By nightfall, they had taken the summit of Hill 207, although there were still Germans on the southeastern slopes. In a war that lasted years, there were only brief mentions of the battle in the history books, but all of them mentioned the fixed bayonets.

Only a Brief Mention in the History Books

The next morning, May 7th, German machine gun crews began taking off for Bizerte as the division advanced. The 60th moved to cut off the Bizerte road and On May 8th, Bizerte fell. The war in North Africa was over and their immediate mission accomplished.

Men of the 60th Outside Bizerte on May 7th, 1943.

In the words of the 9th Infantry Division Record, “Djebel Cheniti was a brilliant demonstration of Infantry “leaning up against” artillery preparation. One of the strongest positions in the final Axis defense was assaulted by one battalion of Infantry with fixed bayonets, with artillery blasting a shell-strewn pathway for its advance. Another story in the annals of foot soldiers, who do the dirty tasks of warfare”.

Why am I blogging about this now? The story has haunted me since first learning about it. I’ve thought about it quite a bit over the past year. I never heard dad say anything about Djebel Cheniti. I never heard dad say anything about a bayonet charge. Not one damned word. The more I thought about it, the more I thought about how it must have influenced his life.

I have to figure after you’ve been in a bayonet charge, everything else in your life, maybe for the rest of your life, must seem easier. When you are that close to death, and you survive, what else in your life is really going to be a threat to you? Money issues? Work Issues? Mortgage issues? Sickness? Wouldn’t just about everything pale in comparison?

It would explain a lot about dad. His lust for life. His enjoyment of life. His ability to keep everything in perspective, even when things were going badly. His gentleness and tolerance. His quiet firmness in facing down jerks and bullies. Perhaps he already had all of those traits and would have developed into the same man, but I’m not so sure. I think a bayonet charge at the age of 19 might make everything else in life just a wee bit easier to contemplate and to handle. Maybe every day after May 6th, 1943 was a gift not to be squandered. Dad’s gone now. How I wish we had time for one more conversation.

Dad at the WWII Memorial, Two or Three Years Before he Passed Away.

Addendum:

• The last major American bayonet charge occurred during the Korean War in 1951. You can read a bit about it here: https://www.army.mil/article/30673/hero_who_led_last_major_u_s_bayonet_charge_dies
• Dad was in almost continual combat from November of ‘42 to August of ‘43 when he was wounded in Sicily. I’m sure all of that combat, and his wounding affected him and changed him, but the bayonet attack is what has stuck in my mind as a singular event, maybe even more than his wounding. He told bits and pieces of different battles over those months, and mostly they involved funny incidents. He even eventually told me the story of how he was wounded, when he was recovering from the stroke he suffered in the ‘90s. The bayonet attack? Not a single word.
• The blog I was working on when I found out about the bayonet charge was a funny story about dad and “Al Capone” – “My Dad, then Twenty year old Sergeant Willie I. Hall, looked at the German soldier and said “Chicago”. The German answered “Chicago?” Dad stared back. “Chicago … Al Capone”. Now the German’s eyes’ widened. Everyone knew who” […] continue at: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2022/05/08/dad-and-al-capone/
• Historical parts of this blog were derived from these sources: The 9th Division History; Center of Military History: TO BIZERTE WITH THE II CORPS 23 April – 13 May 1943; The US Army in WWII by George Howe; and The Development of Combat Effective Divisions in the United States Army During WWII, a thesis by Peter R. Mansoor.
• Thanks to my sister, Roberta, and niece, Tami, for their thoughts and inputs. And of course thanks as always to Colleen for her editing support.

Breakfast and Doctors

As I sat there eating, I was a bit unsettled. I’d left the doctor’s office and as is my tradition after a physical, was having a breakfast of biscuits and gravy at a local diner. The physical went fine, but the news that my doctor was departing was something else. We’ve been together for nearly 20 years.

When I left the Army in ‘92, one of my goals was to find a doctor’s office that was small, local and where I would consistently see the same doctor. In the military, that was never the case. Between large clinics and moving every couple of years, there was never any consistency in the doctors I saw.

Remember this was all pre-internet, pre-Facebook, pre- any way of really checking out a practice other than talking with friends. I started with a one-man doctor’s office that lasted about a year. He was old and didn’t seem quite interested in me. Someone then recommended a small practice with three or four doctors, and I gave them a try. They were good, and I generally saw the same doctor each time I visited. I liked them so much that even when we moved from Fairfax to Marshall, I stayed with them.

Sometime in the early 2000s, DR H___ joined the practice and I was “assigned” to her. I wasn’t sure what to think at first, as I’d never had a female doctor before. Silly me. Of course, it worked out fine. In fact, it was more than fine and we got along great.

Doctor H____

A few years later, I was at the doctor’s and DR H___ informed me she would soon leave the practice and start her own office. This would be my last checkup with her. What!? She couldn’t do this to me! Although of course, she could. I asked where her new office was, and could I move with her. She was prohibited from taking any clients with her, but she informed me if I kept an eye online, I might see a new doctor’s office opening in the Gainesville area with her name attached.

Soon enough, I saw the posting and became a “new” patient of hers. I’ve been with her for 14 years at this location.

Why do I like her so much? DR H___ takes a more holistic approach to healing. She doesn’t rush during the appointment. Prescribing a pill isn’t her first choice. Education of me, the patient, is a part of her approach. Looking for root causes is a part of her approach. Discussions together instead of her talking at me is a part of her approach. And … she is the only doctor at the practice. I feel like we know each other.

In her own words, “A healthy lifestyle is key to wellness. If you are in need of a doctor who listens and genuinely wants to help you feel better and stay healthy, then I would be humbled to have you call me your doctor.”

It’s been a great partnership. While I’ve always eaten reasonably well, I eat more healthily now due to her influence. When diet along wouldn’t solve my cholesterol issues, she eventually prescribed a statin. She was there for my copperhead bite and for the subsequent AFIB. Our discussions on vitamin D results, prostate results, blood test results were always exactly that. Discussions. Not lectures. We worked our way through COVID together. She knows I drink, smoke a cigar once in a while, drink a cup or two of coffee every day and enjoy an occasional steak. I feel comfortable enough to generally be open with her about my “vices”. Maybe all doctors are this way, but in listening to some of my friends, it doesn’t appear to be the case.

So what has happened? DR H___, while staying local, is moving on from her practice and opening a “Functional Medicine Practice” which “shifts the traditional disease-centered focus of medical practice to a more patient-centered approach. Functional Medicine addresses the whole person, not just an isolated set of symptoms.” There was more, as you can see from this screen shot from her website:

Changes on the Way

While at my physical, DR H___ explained all of this to me. She talked about an increased focus on a better, healthier lifestyle so you would better enjoy your senior years. I asked if better senior years included the occasional manhattan or martini and she just smiled at me.

She also informed me that if I were to come with her to the new practice, I would still need a new GP doctor. She would not be addressing typical “family practice” issues. We shook hands as I departed her office that morning. I’m not sure why, but our handshake had a feeling of finality in it. That handshake, and the look in her eyes, have stayed with me.

I mulled all of this over while eating my biscuits and gravy. It was a lot to digest, and to be honest, I didn’t enjoy my breakfast as much as I usually do. It took a bit of the typical joy I felt while eating “something bad for me” as a celebration after my physical. I may have even left a couple of bites of biscuit on my plate, which is something I never do.

My Biscuits and Gravy Weren’t as Tasty as Usual.

Since then, I’ve continued to think about it. I don’t yet know whether I will go with her and her new practice, but I know in the meantime, I need to identify a new doctor. It’s not something I’m looking forward to. I know there are many good doctors, but it feels like starting over from scratch. Who in your life, outside of family and close friends, is more important than your doctor, and your relationship with her? Your dentist? Eye Doctor? Lawyer? Financial Advisor? A Teacher? Mentor? Life will go on, but it won’t be the same.

Life will Go on, but it Won’t be the Same.

The Indoor Mile

“5:25 … 5:26 … 5:27 … Hall – 5:28 … 5:29 … 5:30 …” I did it! I finished the Plebe indoor mile run in under 5:30! As I slowed, my stomach suddenly double clutched and I ran to a nearby trash can, where I promptly threw up.

During my time at West Point, the Academy frequently talked about developing the “whole man” (with the admission of women in 1976, this changed to the “whole person”). We cadets were always being tested and evaluated. It was true about leadership, about academics, and was certainly true about physical fitness. For most of us, somewhere in all that testing was an Achilles Heel. With some it was a particular academic course, for others, some physical education test or class.

Plebe Year at West Point.

As Plebes, there were four required gym classes: Swimming, Wrestling, Boxing, and Gymnastics. For me, I’d been a swimmer all my life and a lifeguard for a few years, so the swimming class was easy, and I earned the equivalent of an A. Wrestling? I made West Point’s intercollegiate wrestling team as a freshman walk on, so I validated wrestling and took handball as an elective instead. Boxing was a challenge at first, but once I learned the basics, AND learned getting punched in the nose wasn’t a showstopper, I did OK. Gymnastics was a different beast.

The pommel horse, the rings, the vault, parallel bars, the trampoline, mats for tumbling … I forget what other torture devices were there, but it was like I was in a cursed land. My two sisters would tell you I wasn’t particularly coordinated as a kid. As a matter of fact, they would say I was a bit of a klutz. It all came home to roost in Gymnastics class. I was passing, but just barely.

At some point during the class, I learned we would do a timed mile run as a part of the course. Running of course has nothing to do with gymnastics, but those things happened at West Point. Just another chance to excel. Now, I had never been a runner, but since it was wrestling season, I was in great shape. Probably the best shape of my brief life up to that point. I started thinking I might be able to earn a good score on the mile run and improve my overall Gymnastics grade.

Hayes Gym* is where we practiced Gymnastics. It was “a large open gym with a vaulted ceiling and hardwood floors.” Above the gym floor, an elevated track rings the room. It takes 11.7 laps to run a mile on that track and that’s where we would complete the mile run.

Hayes Gym in 1910, the Year it was Built, and Again in 2009. Note the Elevated Track.

My personal view at the time (and that of at least a few of my classmates) was that many of the instructors in the Department of Physical Education (DPE) had a bit of a sadistic streak in them. One of our instructors was Army’s gymnastic coach, Ned Crossley and some classmates recall his scoring as particularly brutal. Looking back now, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t true. Having said that, all of the DPE instructors had ways of questioning you, challenging you, or prodding you that often seemed to taunt you a bit as well.

The instructor who spoke with us about the mile run was a little like that. To receive a max score, you needed to run under 5:30. The instructor explained what we needed to do to run a 5:30 mile. At 11.7 laps per mile, “all” you needed was to run each lap at a 28 seconds per lap pace, and then run like hell for the last half lap. Simple. Easy Peasy. Any cadet could do it. And so on. Of course the vast majority of us could run no where near that fast.

At the time, I don’t believe I’d ever run a mile (or any other distance) for time. I’d certainly run laps in High School sports, run in formation at West Point for Company morning runs during Beast, and we ran our asses off in wrestling practice. But none of this was ever done for time. That was about to change.

My pea brain went to work. 28 seconds was two seconds less than 30 seconds for each lap. 28 seconds for the first lap… 56 seconds for two laps … 1:24 for three laps … 1:52 for four laps and so on. I’d do the math in my head on the run. As long as I could keep the pace going, I had a shot.

A couple days later, it was my turn to do the run. As I recall, there were a few of us running it at the same time, although I don’t recall exactly how many. What I do remember was taking off when “go” was called. The first lap – 27 seconds! The next couple of laps I was under the pace. After that, I was a bit erratic, with some over and some under, but the average was OK and at the half mile mark, I was on pace. The final few laps? I’m not sure I was really paying attention any longer. The air was stale. The air was acrid. 3/4 of a mile and still on pace. My lungs were burning. I was sucking in as much oxygen as I could. 11 laps done. My legs were lead. It was down to just over half a lap left. I didn’t see anything other than the track in front of me. I don’t know if the other Plebes were in front of me, or behind me. All I know is I ran as hard as could. I rounded the final curve.

“5:25 … 5:26 … 5:27 … Hall – 5:28 … 5:29 … 5:30 …” I did it! I beat 5:30. I slowed down and suddenly my stomach double clutched and I ran to a nearby trash can, where I promptly threw up.

Recovery took me a while. I may have heaved a second time, and certainly had the dry heaves. Eventually I made my way to the shower, and then to whatever my next class was that day.

A couple weeks later, I passed gymnastics with some room to spare.

In my remaining years at West Point, I never ran that fast again. Not even close. We had PT tests on an annual basis with a two mile run next to the Hudson River. I never approached anything close to that time, even when adjusted for a slower time due to the extra distance. The two miler was always a challenge for me and I was always nervous about failing it. The thought of maxing out my run score never entered my head.

Years later, I took up running on my own for fun and to stay in shape. I became a decent runner, and clocked several personal bests – an 11:44 two mile ( a sub six minute/mile pace); a 39:58 10K (a sub 6:30/mile pace) and a 68 minute and change 10 mile race (a sub 7 min/mile pace). I remember all of those. The one I still marvel at? The 5:28 mile on the indoor track at West Point. I had no business running that fast. How the hell did I ever do it?

Addendum:

• * Some info on Hayes Gym from the Academy itself: Hayes Gym was built in 1910. The second level of Hayes is what most cadets and USMA graduates think of as “Hayes Gym”. It is a large open gym with a vaulted ceiling, hardwood floor, and elevated track (11.7 laps to a mile) that rings the room. The Department of Physical Education (DPE), teaches applied gymnastics (now called “Military Movement”) in Hayes, taking advantage of its historical and unusual support structures. The gym has eighteen 21′ vertical ropes and two 60′ horizontal ropes (suspended 12′ from the floor). There are also 10 pull-up bars that are each 5′ wide and are suspended from the ceiling with vertical supports in such a manner that they can be “run across” (with proper technique), as is done during the Indoor Obstacle Course. The gym’s floor space is filled with gymnastic’s apparatus and pads, such as vaults, bars, and rings as well as 1″ and 4″ tumbling mats. Nowadays, the military movement equipment remains in place year-round.
• The Indoor Obstacle Course is another “fond” memory of Hayes Gym for most West Point Grads, as it was also known to induce retching at it’s completion. I may do a blog on it in the future, but it’s hard to describe to those who haven’t experienced it. To get a flavor for it, here’s a YouTube video of Cadet Elizabeth Bradley completing it just a couple of years ago and breaking the female record while doing so. For all my macho buddies out there, I would love to see you try to beat her time. Good luck on that unlikely event. GO ARMY! https://youtu.be/Dw5rR1yqyp8 .
• Thanks to classmates Gus Hellzen and Jerome Butler for their contributions to this blog.