Going Downhill

Going Downhill Fast

2011-12-23T21:00:00.002-06:00

“Dave Herd, we need someone to go over and race with theclass “D” group.”

I had started skiing about 3 years before, taking my firstski lesson at Greek Peak, a small ski area near Cortland, New York, half waybetween Binghamton and Schenectady. Mygirl friend’s home town was Cortlandand she was a part owner of a condo just across from the ski area on the town’soutskirts. At that time, Patricia and Iwere involved in a new and exciting romance. We met because I was friends with her ex-husband and when I moved thefamily to Lancaster, PA, she was there, she was strikingly beautiful, and wewere both single. We had much in commonand loved active sports. What was not tolike?

During Thanksgiving weekend 1979, we drove up to Greek Peakwith my daughter and her two sons, to spend a couple of days on theslopes. Talk was that my daughter,Kristi and I would rent ski equipment and take beginner lessons together, whilePatricia went skiing with her sons. Andso it happened.

I was both anxious and exhilarated to begin skiing. I had never been remotely close to skiing andnever even knew anyone that was a skier until I met Patricia, other than herex-husband. Burnt in my memory forever,is how awkward I felt when boards were put on my feet and I was asked to thenwalk sideways up a very slight knoll to begin my first descent.

Kristi and I were athletic and determined to becomecomfortable with the label of “skier” and after many failed attempts to remainupright we were soon making turns with our skies formed in the shape of awedge. As I progressed in honing myincipient skills I realized that skiing is all about overcoming fear by gainingboth skill and confidence motivated by desire to succeed. Soon I was able toadvance to the chair lift and the bunny hill.

A year later I was able almost keep up with Patti. She was an elegant and graceful skier while Irelied on brute strength and courage trying to master both speed andcontrol. Many times losing controlresulted in spectacular wipe outs resulting ski, poles, hats, gloves, andgoggles flying off in various directions with me bravely struggling off stillanother bruise. One morning while on aweek long ski trip, I was so sore and beat up that I had difficulty getting outof bed after one day of skiing. Idecided then and there that I would devote my efforts to mastering more controland sacrifice some speed, and then start to bring back the speed once thecontrol was better established.

Eventually my days living in the East came to an end and acouple of years later, our romance finally ended also, but the skiing stayedwith me and remains to this day.

“Dave Herd, we need someone to go over and race withthe class “D” group.” It is March 1983and I am on a Midwest bus weekend ski tripwith Fort Wayne Ski Club. The person talking to me is the race captain for theclub. We are at Boyne Mountain, nearPetoskey, Michigan and all ski clubs that belong to the Indiana Ski Councilhave descended there for a weekend of ski racing, drinking, and making out asmuch as possible.

I explain to the race captain that I have never raced beforebut that does not dissuade her from enlisting me. I am given instructions where to go and soonI am standing in line with a numbered paper racing bib on my chest waiting togo as fast as possible around poles with flags on the top and to do so withoutfalling down.

By this time, I have had time to size up some my competitionand it is pretty plain to me that I can ski as well or better than most of themas determined how they looked skiing over to the starting area. Thankfully, I was not one of the first toplunge down the slope so I have a chance to observe what some of the betterskiers did.

It seems that there was this wand across the starting placeand as soon as your legs push through it, the timer clock starts running and thereis an electric eye at the finish line, which stops the clock when you break thebeam. So from my observation point, thegoal was to get going as fast as possible at the start.

When my turn comes, I place my poles over the starting wandand as I wait briefly to hear that the course is clear, I try to think,“breathe out fear, breathe in energy” in an effort to eliminate my considerableanxiety. Suddenly I hear, “go when readyracer” from the starter. I push out withall my strength and skate hard towards the first pole. Around the first 3flagged poles (I learn later to talk them “gates”) I go, trying to look aheadand see the next challenge. I am pickingup speed as the slope gets steeper. Atthe fourth gate, my instinct takes over and my weight goes to the tails of myskies causing to spin 180 degrees and almost fall down. I turned about as fast as possible and continueduntil the 8^th gate where a reoccurrence took place. I recovered again and continued on throughthe finish line, disappointed that I didn’t do better, but I heart was poundingand I felt the adrenalin kick in. “Wow,I want to do that again, I know I can do better”, were my thoughts.

And so it began. Later that night at the awards banquet, medals were handled out for thefirst 10 places in each racing category. I came in 9^th even with all the mistakes I made and I wasamazed. Obtaining a 9^th placemedal in the lowest race class helped me realize I had potential but that issomething I kept to myself because a 9^th place finish is not exactlysomething to bring up at a cocktail party. But the fire was inside me and it burned intensely.

Two years later I won the ski club’s “Most Improved Skier”award and also the Veteran Men’s Challenge Cup for my overall seasonperformance covering several races. Myname was engraved on the club’s huge Challenge Cup and I was presented aminiature cup to keep. I got to keep thebig cup for a year and fortunately I had a fireplace mantel to give itprominence.

When I came to Chicagoand joined Lake Shore Ski Club, I was soon well known because I started winningthe club’s ski races dethroning the long time champions. This in turn led to becoming the club’s presidentas well as several other positions within the club. I became a certified skiinstructor when I retired and I also met my wife on a weekend bus trip.

I have a trophy case filled with medals and trophies andsitting in the center is my 9^th place medal in honor of how it allstarted. I sometimes think of Ted Baxteron the Mary Tyler Moore show who liked to say, “It all started at a 5000 wattradio station in Fresno, California”. Mysaying would be, “it all started at a “D” level race course in Boyne MountainMichigan.”

Skiing is a life sport and if there is a desire to keepimproving, it is possible. This requiresmore mental than physical effort. So asI start my 31^st year skiing, I am positive that I will continue toimprove, not only as an all around skier but on the race course also. It probably it unrealistic to think this willcontinue forever, but I really don’t want to think about it. Not now anyway, I am having way too much fun.

My Acting Career

2011-11-26T12:19:00.001-06:00

While attending Iowa State, I was in the cast of theuniversity’s annual open house show called “Stars Over Veishea” twiceparticipating as a dancer. Veishea is anacronym formed from by using the first letters of the five colleges at thattime, Veterinary medicine, Engineering, Industrial Science, Home Economics, andAgriculture. I was and still is, thelargest student run university musical events in America. In addition, I performed in the annual ModernDance Club recital each year I attended ISU. These activities helped me immensely by providing me diversions from myrigorous engineering studies and various jobs I needed to have to provide moneyfor myself.

Anyway, I had dancing in my blood and spending a year out ofcollege dancing and teaching at Arthur Murray’s only reinforced mycraving. So I after the family and Imoved to Dayton, Ohio to work at Frigidaire and after I got settled, I startedlooking for a way to continue dancing on stage. I got a part in “Guys and Dolls” being produced by Dayton CommunityTheatre. I didn’t have a speaking rolebut I was required to look slightly thuggish, something I probably have anatural talent at.

One day, the actor (who resembled Pacino) got a hair up someopening of his body which seems to irritate him to no end and I noticed itcaused the director to question his whole approach to playing the part ofNathan Detroit. He and she had words, Hewalked out. The director turned to me and said, “I want you to play Nathan”. I was stunned and did not feel I was ready tomake such a psychological leap, and I protested, sighting my lack of singingtalent, only to be cajoled and “a we need you now” plea from the director.

So for two nights, I held my play book and read my lines tohelp out, and felt the first realization that I was starting to enjoy this andall the challenges it might bring. ThenHE came back. The humble and contriteone came back and reclaimed his rightful place as Nathan Detroit, leaving mewith mixed feelings, with relief being the strongest one.

So the play went on and was performed and we all did a greatjob. I studied how to play the part ofNathan secretly, just in case. Nathanwas the central figure in the play and the actor did a great job. It was a great feeling to be in a cast, to bepart of something that was so rewarding.

My wife and I did meet a lot of people in amateur theatreafter that and much of our social life was tied to people that attended amateurtheatre or took part in it.

Eventually, we moved from Dayton to Marion, Indiana home toRCA and a manufacturing plant just starting to mass produce color picturetubes, where I work at various engineering related jobs.

After one lives in Marion for a while, a town of 42,000, onefinds time to wonder “that am I going to do with all this time on myhands?” I searched and found MarionCivic theatre in answer to a small notice in local paper of tryouts for theplay, “Never Too Late”. I went only tocheck everything out but was asked to read for a very small part in the veryfirst of the play. And I walked awaywith the part of Doctor Kimbrough.

Asit turned out, this was my first role with many others to follow. I can count 26 roles I had either at MarionCivic Theatre or in Kokomo Civic Theatre. Probably the roles I had most fun portraying was Oscar, in “The OddCouple” and Col. Thomas McKean in “1776”. What roles do I think I portrayed the best? That would be the brother Tom in “GlassMenagerie” and Creon in “Antigone”.

AndI directed 8 productions including, “Music Man”, “Picnic”, “Antigone”, “I NeverSang for my Father”, “Plaza Suite”, “Six Rms Riv Vu”, “Prisoner of SecondAvenue”, and “Play It Again Sam” with the help of my daughter Vikki.

The photo below was taken for the Kokomo Civic Theatre program of "Desperate Hours" where I played an escaped convict, one of Humphrey Bogart's roles.

I was president of Marion Civic Theatre for a long time, Ibuild sets, I lugged chairs and platforms, I helped with lighting, and I soldtickets along with several other dedicated people. It was what I did, that, and playing golf inthe summer.

Vikki went off and became a theatre major, first at PennState University, then at Pittsburgh University where she received herMFA. She has used her talent byappearing in several plays in small Chicago theatres, before getting married toan actor and moving to Los Angles.

When I moved away from Marion, I never felt the urge to startover at another amateur theatre group. Ifound skiing and tennis and they have commanded my attention. I did gain a lot in my theatre experiencesand I did slowly become a better actor and perhaps if I stayed with it longer,I could have become a good actor. Butthe flame that burned so intensely for such a long time is keeping me warm andcomfortable now by my occasional looking back at it with wonder. Ok, with alittle pride also.

My Music Career

2011-11-02T10:46:00.000-05:00

Looking back on how I started to try to master the piano, Ican point all fingers at my mother. Inever quizzed her later in life or at the time how she came to be a somewhatcompetent pianist, but she could play pretty well and had memorized permanentlya couple of rather sophisticated pieces.

The first house I remember living in was at 122 Grace Streetin Council Bluffs, Iowa. I don’tremember that there was a piano in the house. We moved when I was in first grade to 620 Harrison Street so I must havebeen between 5-6 years old and my mother had acquired a Steinway upright thatmust have been handled down from her family. How else would she be able toplay?

Pianos were much more popular in the 30’s and 40’s inhouseholds back then and having one was a symbol of status and, in the daysbefore television, were a source ofentertainment. If there was a piano inthe house there was someone who could play it, and people could gather aroundand sing carols at Christmas time or when company came and the conversationstarted to drag a bit, the piano was used to put some energy back into theroom.

My mother arranged for me to start taking lessons soon afterwe moved. And like all beginning pianoplayers back then, I was taught out of Thompson music books. I can remember that first I was taught toread notes in the treble clef and used my more dexterous right hand, then thebass clef using my left hand. I wasquite proud when I played my first tune using both hands at the same time. Soon I was able to translate what I saw onpaper to my fingers which produced correct sounds that reinforced what I wasdoing. If the product didn’t soundright, I knew I made a mistake. Whattook place also was the ability to later be very accomplished with thetypewriter. At the time I tooktypewriting, I was the second fastest typist in my class and the fastest was agirl who was a better pianist that I was and never got anything but “A’s” forgrades. I am sure this speaks to mybrain getting itself organized to be adept at hand-eye coordination.

As I advanced through the Thompson books I soon reached apoint where sheet music was introduced. Each year as I advanced through grade school, my musical talents alsoimproved. At some point I studied underMr. Sandborn whose studio was in Omaha, just a short distance from where myfather worked. To attend my lessons, Iwould leave after school traveling by way of a neighborhood streetcar to thecenter of Council Bluffs then transferring to the Omaha streetcar. Later the streetcars were replaced by buses,but the routine remained the same. Aftermy lesson, I would eat at the diner my father managed before making the returntrip. Four times a year, Mr. Sandbornwould hold a concert in his studio with a program supplied listing all hisstudents in order of skill, with the most skilled playing last. As I grew older and more accomplished, Imanaged to play third from the last before moving on to a differentteacher.

My move was done to avoid the long trek to Omaha and tostudy under a woman who would teach me ragtime and boogie and other music of myown choosing. I played with a lot ofpassion but my fingering technique was anything but classical. This finally caught up with me when I triedto play more difficult pieces, like a Rachmaninov where all five digits of bothhands need to strike the keys rapidly to produce dramatic wonderful chords.

Harrison Street grade school only went up to 5^thgrade. So for 6^th grade Itransferred to Washington Street grade school which went up to 8^thgrade. This was the first time I didn’tstay in one room for the entire school day. There were 6 rooms for 6^th, 7^th, and 8^thgrades, two for each class, and we rotated after each hour. Classes were English, arithmetic/spelling,art/reading, geography, physical education/science, and music/penmanship.

Our teacher for penmanship and music was Miss Wind. I imagine she was in her sixties because shehad white hair. She was tall and alwaysdressed in long black dresses with accompanying old lady black shoes. And shewas not especially fond of children, particularly those of the malegender. It all honestly, her appearancecould have made her eligible to be a character in the TV show, “The AdamsFamily”. However, the characters in theshow seemed to be happy with their macabre outlook, and any display of beinghappy was not something she shared with her classes.

I am not sure how this started but, sometimes she wouldleave the room and my classmates egged me on to play the piano while she wasabsent. So I played “Bumble Boogie” or“Sabre Dance” which I had memorized, to the delight of my classmates, whoseears were longing for something other than Brahms, Bach, or Beethoven. Of course, she happened to come back as I wasplaying, but I think she was in a position where she could not disapprove. After all, it was a music class.

In my class reunions many years later, my former classmateswould reminisce with me about my boogie-woogie days, something I had forgottenabout. I guess I made a lastingimpression in a very small way.

When I was in high school, the music teacher encouraged meto play the organ situated in the school auditorium during my study hours and Icontinued to dabble here and there playing for school events. But I had long stopped taking lessons and myinterests in sports, girls, and making money dominated my life to the detrimentof my music career.

I have no regrets about this. I make no efforts to dig out my electronickeyboard, the sheet music I still have, and play to amuse myself. But, if I had a baby grand sitting in myfront room, I would be tempted to give up crossword puzzles and to master thosewonderful Rachmaninov chords.

The Trek to Mount Bromo

2011-10-22T12:00:00.000-05:00

Due to some mix up, the driver wasnot here to pick us up at the Surabaya airport and we had prepaid. When something like this happens in a foreigncountry where not everyone speaks good English, it can be the cause of someanxiety. But Judith was on phone soon,after a few challenges, and was told that the driver was waiting at the trainstation and it would take 30-45 minutes to get to the airport. He did come thankfully. This resulted in a 90 minute delay in gettingstarted on our 3 + hour road trip through insane traffic. But once we startedup the mountain we saw an entirely different view of Indonesia. It all startedwhen turned off the main road and started up the mountain. Soon the vegetation started to change and theroad turned from a smooth wide 2 lane avenue with few mild curves to a rough, narrowerroad with hairpins turns the norm.

We arrived atthe Java Banana hotel, high up the mountain, and the receptionist had no ideaof our problem. We were angry that wemissed seeing the sunset due to our delay plus all the hassle we had to dothrough. We had difficulty negotiating some compensation at first, but in theend things were made right. The room had a great view and was well appointed.There is no internet and no TV except fuzzy local channels, but we didn't careas our main priority was to get up at 3 AM and travel up the mountain via jeep,horse, and foot to reach a high spot for viewing the break of day and to seethe shadows and colors around Mt. Bromo, an active volcano.

We had the sequenceof events explained to us when we checked in, so as scheduled we were ready tohop into a jeep at 3:30 AM and after 20 minutes up a twisty, dusty, bumpy roadupward, the caravan of jeeps peeled off and parked. I unfold my legs and climbed out. Up the trail we started and after rounding acurve, came upon the horses and horse valets (to make up a concept) who wantedmoney to rent their wiry, small horses to take us up the mountain. It did not take long for us to agree thathorsepower was the way to go. And bestof all, the men walked with the horse leading him by the reins. All we had to do is hang on for dearlife. This is not an exaggeration.

Buteventually the trail narrows again requiring the last leg to manpower. Fortunately, there are well defined steps andwe reach the top, stopping along the way to let our lungs take in as muchoxygen as the thin air will allow. Theflat area at the viewing point looks like a miniature village with the localTenggerese people there with small fires ablaze to heat water for instantcoffee, tea, or hot chocolate to sell to the tourist and well as knit hats andhandicrafts.

We arrive about 5 minutesbefore the sky starts to light up. Capturing the sequence of the sun rise is on everyone’s agenda as peoplejostle amongst each other to position their cameras with clear shots of theevent.

Soon there is enough light to see the threevolcanoes, two which line up as if drawn from the same axis.

In the foreground is extinct Mt. Batok with Mt. Semeru behind it. Mt. Bromo is just to the left of Mt.Batok. The top of the volcano has beenblown off. It last erupted in January2011. Mt. Semeru is one of the mostactive volcanoes in Indonesia, spewing off ash and smoke about every 20minutes.

After more light I can see how far down the jeeps are parked.

In our descent, clutching onto the horse’ssaddle becomes even more challenging because we need to lean back slightly dueto the steepness of the slope. Back inour jeeps, we travel to another vista where we can see the other jeeps trekkingacross the “Sea of Sand” to the Hindu temple at the foot of Mt. Bromo. Look closely to find it.

We declined this part of the tour due to the requirement to do moreclimbing in the volcanic dust up a very narrow trail without the aid ofhorsepower.

Legend of Mount Bromo

There is legend related to Mount Bromo and the region of Tengger.According to this legend, there was a 15th century princess named Roro Antengfrom Majapahit who started a principality with her husband Joko Seger. Theynamed the principality Tengger, an amalgam of the last syllable of both theirnames.

Being childless for many years, the royal couple made a trip up Mount Bromo toseek the help of the mountain gods in granting them a child. The gods agreed totheir request, telling them that they would have 25 children, but demanded thatthey sacrifice their final child. Together, the couple had 24 children.

When the last and final child was born, Roro Anteng refused to sacrifice it.The mountain gods sent fire and brimstone until she finally relented. After thechild was thrown into the crater of the volcano, anhis voice was heard askingthat an annual ceremony be performed to appease the gods. The ceremony wasstill being performed to this day. It takes place on the 14th day of the fullmoon Kesodo, according to the Tenggerese calendar. Rice, fruits, vegetables,flowers and livestock are offered to the mountain gods.

Dear readers, it strikes me that if you happened to be born into aTenggerese family, you would probably be trekking up to the rim of the cauldroneach year, chicken and rice in hand feed the god anhis. What you wouldn’t be doing is observingspecial dietary rules, travelling to Mecca, confessing your sins, setting upnativity scenes at winter solstice, going through prostrating rituals, lightinga lot of incense, wearing funny hats, or privately donning specialunderwear. You probably would hope thatyour capricious god would be satisfied enough protect you from the dangers ofthe world and offer your inner spirit a safe haven after your earthy remainsare scattered to the winds. The morepious amongst your people would know that your god has favored your tribe withthe unquestionable truth on how to achieve everlasting peace and any othervisions need to be rejected by whatever means necessary to keep your mindcleansed of disturbing evidence to the contrary.

Our jeep driver must have been blessed with skill, acquired knowledge,and confidence because we arrived back at the Java Banana safely. We took time to meander through the uniqueflora and feel the warm sun increase the temperature to a pleasant level as wewait for breakfast.

This photo was shot from the grounds showing the small but beautifulTenggerese houses and an onion field which, along with potatoes and cabbage thrivein the rich soil and cool temperatures. The houses are constructed mostly with tile and cement which probably isa result of learning to keep trees to help prevent soil erosion.

We leave late morning for our trip to Surabaya and have a chance to seethe terrain, villages, and people as we wind our way downward. Our delayed trip up the mountain was donewith darkness close at hand.

We get to the main road to Surabaya and our young driver maneuvers inand out of out-of-this-world traffic insanity of motorcycles, aggressive tourbuses, slow over-loaded trucks, ox-carts, bicycles, and risk taking cars andafter over 3 hours we get to our hotel in Surabaya, the Hotel MajapahitSurabaya.

Hotel wasbuilt around 1910 and is in great shape with 143 rooms and the largestPresidential Suite in Asia. It has a very rich history. I wrote a review onTrip Advisor entitled, “Grand, Old, Elegant Hotel, and great value”. In therestrooms outside of the rooms in other parts of the hotel, it has pull chainsfor the toilets and long urinals in the men's rooms. Floor standing mirrors,old heavy wooden furniture in great shape, old chandeliers and ceilingfans. The hotel sits on a very busystreet but the property extends far away from the street and no traffic couldbe heard.

Judithhad business the next day and I hung out at the pool and spa relaxing beforetravelling back to Jakarta the next day. There are so many wonderful places to visit in Indonesia and Mt. Bromoand Surabaya should be on any tourist’s short list.

Musings from a 75 Years Old (soon to be 76)

2011-10-09T07:49:00.000-05:00

It is 2:30 in the morning. I have been awake for 2 hours. I am still jet lagged after returning a weekago from Indonesia, where the time difference is exactly 12 hours, so day isnight and night is day. My body is stillconfused.

I know I still have a brief time of lucid thoughts andenergy before my brain and focus start to become numb. So I am driven to translate things runningthrough my mind onto “paper” while I am afforded the opportunity to displaywhat writing talent that I possess.

Let me start by saying that I am not always sure aboutthe degree of writing talent I possess, but I just received a message fromsomeone that read a post I made to my blog I wrote a few years ago about mylife as a paper carrier.

So I opened my blog, signed in, and maneuvered back to mypost and re-read it. I discovered that Ilike my story much more now that when I wrote. I was reliving my 64 year old experiences again through the eyes of a 75year old, and it seemed both like ancient history and like it happened lastweek.

And it hit me how extremely important my experiences werethen to who I am today. What is so very profoundis that I could not have felt the depth of this insight 5 or 10 years ago. Surely, I am at a wondrous position to seehow everything in the past has melded into the present with a richness ofinsight not within my grasp before.

I closed my blog and decided to catch up on some internetnews and articles. This is something ado regularly. I started to read a reviewof a play written my Lizzie Simon called “Man and Boy”, a father and son drama andI then I read the following sentence.

“Basil (the son) is addicted to the mere whiff ofintimacy with his father, operating without strategy or self-regard in aneffort to get what isn’t there to be gotten.”

Dear readers, everyone seeking self-discovery and to thosewho think they already know themselves can now stop and reflect upon how much searchingfor self-validation we have made in our lives to fulfill buried needs thatyearn for resolution.

Suddenly all my efforts, to connect to my father becamefront and center. They are too numerousto list. I love it when I have insightsthat were previously only around in the fog of semi-consciousness waiting forthe sun to shine and the fog to dissipate.

In my next stream of consciousness, I am reminded howMaster Po taught his younggrasshopper in the TV series, “Kung Fu”

MasterPo: Close your eyes. What do you hear?
Young Caine: I hear the water, I hear the birds.
Po: Do you hear your own heartbeat?
Caine: No.
Po: Do you hear the grasshopper which is at your feet?
Caine: Old man, how is it that you hear these things?
Po: Young man, how is it that you do not?

It is after 4 AMnow. I have had an epiphany but sleep isnow calling me.

Malawi 2011

2011-09-21T03:20:00.001-05:00

The primary purpose of our latest trip to Malawi was toagain attend a male circumcision ceremony for young Malawi boys from the Yaotribe, who are Muslims. It has been 3years since attending other circumcision ceremonies and there were severaldifferences noted.

One of the present problems in the country as a whole is oneof fuel storage. Long lines of cars andvans are seen at every gas station where there is news that they have fuel orfuel will be delivered the next day. Peopleline up in the evening and sleep in their cars and vans to make sure they getfuel the next day. The storage of dieselfuel is more acute, resulting in large trucks parking at the service stationswaiting for fuel to arrive, idling labor and the supply of goods andservices. The storage of fuel isultimately tied into the real or perceived economic strength of the country topay its bills.

Another very noticeable thing is the presence of theChinese. China has already built one newhotel and is in the process of building a very large hotel which will be one ofthe tallest buildings in the country. It's the country's first five-star hotel,$90m worth of well-appointed rooms, a state-of-the-art conference center and 14opulent presidential suites.

The parliament now operates from a grand new building that was opened inJune 2010. That project cost about $41 million.

China will assist the Malawi government to build a university of scienceand technology. China's presence in Malawi has been growingsteadily since the two countries established diplomatic ties in December 2007,and Malawi abandoned its links to Taiwan after 41 years. A memorandum of understandingcovering industry, trade and investment was signed between the two countries inMay 2008, committing China to help in increasing the productive capacity ofMalawi in tobacco, cotton, mining, forestry, fertilizer production and inprocessing hides and skins.

There have beensome notable problems with several arrests and deportations involving trying tosmuggle ivory and hard currency out of the Africa. But all in all, the colonization of Africa bythe Chinese continues.

We have a lot oftime to spend in Lilongwe because the jondo and our arrival were badlycoordinated so we spend time to visit the local markets. One of the things we found out is that whenasked where we come from and say “Chicago” the reply is “Obama” instead of“Michael Jordon”.

Eventually, we areinformed that a van, would be arriving the next day to take us to Mangochi, adrive of 3 ½ hours. We travel through small villages along the way.

We stay at the Sunbird Hotelsituated on Lake Malawi a few miles north of Mangochi. It is July and we are about 1000 miles belowthe equator, so it is winter. During theday when the sun shines, it is warm and pleasant,, but the nights are quitechilly and daylight is short. So it ispossible to lay out a few hours and soak up some sun given the rightconditions.

We were hopefulto attend more than one jondo, but in the end we attended only one. To gain permission to attend a jondo one mustfirst talk to the village leader, a woman, who was away attending a funeral, sowe talked to her husband, explaining that the purpose was to gain knowledge of practicesbeing used during the circumcision and to use the knowledge gained to see howit can assist in HIV prevention. Talkswith the circumciser, called ngliba, and his helpers were conducted also. Thengliba is the man on the right. He wasvery experienced and recently had received a kit of surgical gloves from one ofthe NGO’s which he used and changed after each boy was cut.

There was a lotof down time where my presence was not needed so I took advantage to take somephotos to record village life. Here is aphoto unusual tree with the village mosque next to it and an older womanwalking to enter the mosque.

Here is the mainform of transportation and a group of women and children waiting to be pickedup. The women are very shy about beingphotographed, but not the children.

While the womentravel to do the laundry, the men play a game.

A brother andsister dressed in their very best clothes going somewhere and more childrenposing.

On the way up themountain to the village, we stop so I can take a photo of Lake Malawi emptyinginto the Shire River. Along the way wesee a troop of baboons.

When we arrive atthe village just before the jondo (circumcision ceremony) we find that thevillage women are upset at our arrival. Later we learn that a husband and wife Christian missionaries came tothe village and caused all kinds of ill will trying to convert the people awayfrom Islam to become Christians. So theywere very suspicious of a white couple coming to their village and suspectedthe worse. Part of this problem wasbecause the village leader had been away from the village due to funeral andhad not spent time communicating to the people about our intent. Later, the Imam talked to the people andexplained our cause.

While I was at thejondo lodge, the men were upset about my presence until the ngliba explainedand frowns turned to smiles aimed at me. Just prior to this the ngliba took me to the side of the lodge and askedto show that I was circumcised after generously showing me that he wasfirst.

Here are photos of the children not showing anyconcern. I made no effort to organizethis photo and I love to look at each child’s expression. To me, this is one of the best photos I haveever taken. I encourage my viewers to enlarge it and study some faces.

As a contrast,this is a somber photo of the boys ready for the jondo. Understandable, huh?There is a pair of twins in this photo andone is a sister to her brother sitting at the side.

My part of thejondo was to edit the photos I took showing the actual cutting and whathappened in the lodge immediately after, then write a description of what Isaw, all of which is confidential.

We drove back toLilongwe and left for Rome to attend the International Aids Conference.

Long Live the Herds

2011-09-14T08:44:00.001-05:00

When I wrote about my father in my writing class last year,I posted my story on my blog and when on Facebook and posted a link to theblog. These actions resulted in mydistant cousin Carol Tanner, who I never heard of before, contacting me throughmy email address.

She told me about some of my genealogy on our common side ofour families, the Herds. She alsopromised to send me some additional materials and after several months apackage arrived filled with photographs of ancestors, lists of various relatedfamily trees, newspaper clippings, records of land deeds, marriagecertificates, military records, photos of head stones and old homesteads. I felt almost overwhelmed with gratitudewould got to such lengths to enrich the lives on two strangers, myself and myhalf-bother Clifford who also received this treasure trove of information aboutour heritage.

Although I have not completely waded through all theinformation, this past week end I found out that I am distant relative to Pocahontas,Henry Hudson (the explorer), John Randolph of colonial Virginia, the Bushfamily and President Obama.

There are stories of my great grandfather Lt. Col. AndrewJackson Herd having a horse stolen from him by the James Gang and set out afterthem and recovered the horse. One of myrelatives hung around with Daniel Boone there is a copy of a letter he wrote toBoone about selling a horse to him.

I can hardly wait to what else there is to discover.

Punahou Reunion Finale

2011-08-10T11:27:00.000-05:00

We rose very early to catch the fish auction breakfast and tour on Pier 38. We toured the fish auction first. One of the classmates owns 3 state of the art fishing boats and the Diamondhead Ice plant.

As you might guess, the fishing industry in Hawaii is huge and Hawaiians eat 3 times the national average of fish (42 lbs.). Fishermen fish within 50 nautical miles of Hawaii and boats come in to unload their catch which has been iced, not frozen, about 1 AM six days a week. Each fish is weighed, tagged with the vessel name, displayed on pallets, and kept clean and cold. Before offered for sale, each fish is inspected to insure quality. Buyers arrive before the start of the auction to inspect the day’s landings and at 5:30 AM a brass bell is rung to start the auction and bidding begins. Fish are sold individually, buyers are invoiced and fishermen are paid that day for their fish. Some of the fish are packed immediately and shipped to distant markets.

A small portion of the fish is cut to show the color and quality of the fish.

There are many rules and practices that govern the fishing in Hawaii to insure a high quality and sustainable industry. I was impressed. One thing of note was that many of the fishermen are foreigners and are not allowed off the boat when it comes in to port.

Later that morning we drove back to the hotel to freshen up and then walked outside to watch the 95^th annual King Kamehameha Floral parade.

That afternoon, the class attended the Punahou president’s reception and after cocktails and pupu, the class matched down to the grand luau preceded by the Oahu College Band leading the way to seat the class of 1961.

Thus came to an end of the class of 1961’s 50^th high school reunion for us. We passed on the family picnic the next day, being guilty of reunion burn out and spent some time around the hotel pool with occasional Mai-Tais protected from occasional light sprinkles under our umbrella. The next day we returned the rental car after some confusion on where to go and flew home. This was some adventure.

2011-08-09T09:28:00.000-05:00

Friday-June 10th

Totally unknown to me was the fact that Doris Duke, at one time the richest woman in the world, built a home, called Shangri La on the other side of Diamondhead. Her father made a fortune but died early in life leaving his fortune to Doris. Duke University is named after him. Of all the places we visited, this stands out as the most interesting to me. The tour began at the Honolulu Academy of Art’s Islamic World Galley where a few of us viewed a short video about Doris Duke and Shangri La then boarded a small bus to travel to Diamondhead. Doris was particularly interested in Islamic art and her home was outright fabulous even if you don’t particularly like the symmetry of Islamic art.

Photos inside were not allowed as with most museums, but the grounds could be.

This is a special place and she was a special woman with a RICH history. This is a must if you visit Oahu. http://www.shangrilahawaii.org/. Doris’s life can be read about here --http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Doris_Duke

That night was the gala aloha reception at the exclusive Outrigger Canoe Club on part of Waikiki Beach where there was plenty of food and a view of the surfers surfing until it was almost dark.

To be continued.

Punahou 50th Reunion at Oahu

2011-08-08T05:49:00.004-05:00

Oahu-Tuesday June 7

Upon our arrival at Honolulu International airport, we gathered our luggage and stood outside the Thrifty Car pick up and waited and waited but no bus. After about 20 minutes, a rival company, after seeing us wait as he went by 4 times, agreed to take us to Thrifty because he went right by the place. Thrifty is not just at the airport but at least ¾ mile away. As it turned out, I made the reservation for 2 days later by mistake (I won’t go into it) but they had a car available, a dirty one but upon complaint we received a clean on, a Ford which was a very nice car and very quiet as compared to my Camero. The directions to return the car were confusing also and I had to ask directions. Next time we go to Oahu, I am renting an Avis or Hertz no matter what the cost. Life is too short to deal with the hassle.

We check in to the pink exterior Royal Hawaiian and have a room slightly facing Diamondhead in the newer tower.

The next day, a special tour has been arranged to tour Pearl Harbor, guest of Admiral Dixon Smith with his executive assistant Stanford Yuen hosting. The tour was not just out to the Arizona Memorial, but also included a close-up of Ford Island, the shipyards, the mothballed fleet, active ships, the USS Missouri, and memorial to the USS Utah. At the USS Arizona, the class presented a floral tribute on behalf of the Class of ’61. Among the highlights of the tour were a view of the aircraft carrier, the USS Carl Vinson (the ship that buried Osama ben Laden at sea) and we saw a nuclear submarine return to port. We passed Hickam Air Force Base on Ford Island and a series of mothballed ships. And at the USS Arizona, evident of oil rising from the sunken tomb is clearly visible.

That evening we walked about a mile up Kalakaua Ave. to the Tiki Bar and Grill overlooking Kuhio Beach for happy hour and some light pupu (hors’d oeuvres).

The following day about 11 of us played golf at the Navy Marine Golf Course. After making my excuses that I was playing with rented clubs and had only played 9 holes this year, I parred the first hole and shot a respectable 94 after three triple bogies. Meanwhile, Judith had lunch at the Willows restaurant, a favorite meeting place since 1944.

That evening some of the class boarded the 65 foot catamaran for a two hour boat ride along the coast. To the right of the left photo below, the brown Sheridan and Pink Royal Hawaiian can be seen.

The following day, Thursday June 9^th, we visited the Iolani Palace and Chinatown. The Iolani Palace has been beautifully restored and the history of the royal family was rich in power and intrigue.

The guided walking tour of old Chinatown was another chapter in the rich history of various ethnic groups coming to the islands to contribute their labor. Lunch was at the New Empress restaurant at the Chinese Cultural Plaza.

To be continued

The Big Island-Part 3

2011-07-27T16:41:00.000-05:00

Monday June 6

We checked out of our hotel and drove down the Mamalahoa Highway along the western shore of the island to the city of Kona. Along the way we saw massive black lava flows of varying textures from Mt. Hualalai. The International Kona Airport is built upon these lava flows. The local graffiti is to use white limestone rocks and spell out names, pledges of love, or outright commercials. We actually drive past Kona to Kealakekua and the Greenwell Coffee Farm and old stone structure of the Kona Historical Society.

We have some Kona Coffee as the docent gives us a blow by blow account of the missionaries that came here, the coffee plantations and the Japanese workers that lived and worked on the plantations.

The Greenwell family also ran a store which probably resembled most turn of the century general stores. We then toured the coffee plantation; saw the beans on the trees, the bean drying, and the roasting equipment. One of the Japanese women gave us a tour of one of the simple, but efficient homes and how food was prepared among other activities.

From there we drove toward Kona and stopped for lunch at Teshima’s Restaurant for some traditional Japanese food.

Then on to Kona, now a glitzy tourist town, but was once a place of power for ancient Hawaiians. King Kamehameha made his home there. A descendant, King Kalakaua built Hulihe’s Place on the water for his vacations. We were given a private tour of the palace taking our shoes off to protect the beautiful wooden floors. We walked a short distance to the King Kamehameha Hotel to see another heiau beside it. The heiau and the hotel are being restored due to the damage caused by the recent tsunami off the shore of Japan.

Our final activity on the Big Island before flying to Oahu was to have drinks and Hawaiian pupu at the hotel’s lanai where a group picture was taken of the attending classmates and spouses.

Aloha Big Island

The Big Island-Part 2

2011-07-24T04:59:00.001-05:00

The next morning we went to the Waimea Farmers Market where we bought malasadas, a Portuguese imported confectionary which originally came from Madeira. Lard and sugar were used up before Lent to make them, so you can get the idea of the caloric impact. There are several bakeries throughout the Hawaiian Islands specializing in them. The one near Waikiki on Oahu where I went on my first visit there had a 15 minute wait to get them. We washed them down with some good Kona coffee. There was a large variety of local flora for sale, including things I never had seen before.

The places the group visited were for the most part, not visited by the normal tourist. And some of the events were hosted by a classmate who provided special access or inside knowledge of something to see that is not well known. As a result, I experienced an enriched Hawaii known mostly to local Hawaiians.

Along that vein, the next stop was to Kawaihae to see the Kamehameha’s Heiau constructed by Kamehameha I in 1790 to begin to unite the islands under one rule. It is now a National Monument and also a living temple because the Hawaiians use it once a year as a spiritual and cultural gathering. www.nps.gov/puhe/index.htm

The park ranger explained that Kamehameha I built up trade with the outside world using sandalwood brought down from the mountains to trade with China who used the wood for incense. In return he received gunpowder and cannons which were much more effective that spears. This gave the king more firepower when he engaged in wars with the other islands. Eventually the trees were all cut down and the being a hard wood, they grow slowly. This caused permanent change to the landscape. The king did see what damage was being done and halted the trade and began planting, but it was too late to bring the forest back. It was at this site that his chief rival was murdered after being invited to talk peace. Some 28 years later all of Hawaii was united under one rule.

It was very hot this day so we all welcomed lunch at Spencer Beach Park on the Kohala Coast. We had a generous lunch of local foods at an Oceanside pavilion and were free to spend time at the beach although we passed that opportunity to enjoy our hotel and its surroundings.

We were on our own for dinner that night so we drove south from our hotel down the coast and had an excellent dinner at popular restaurant, Roy’s Waikoloa Bar and Grill.

Sunday June 7

Every island has its wet side and dry side and most tourists only visit the wet side where most of the people live. Our outing today was along the north Kohala Coast, the dry side, starting with the Lapakahi State Historic Park the site of an ancient fishing village. The waters here are thought to have special healing powers and it is forbidden for anyone to have sunscreen or insect repellent on their body if they enter the waters.

From there we traveled further up the coast to historic plantation towns of Kapaau and Hawi, then continued on to the restored planation estate and church built my missionary Elias Bond. www.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elias_Bond The gggrandson spoke in the church to our group and gave a lengthy and very interesting lecture about his family’s history from the beginning of the Elias Bond’s arrival to the present day. The church has survived earthquakes and lightning strikes and after restoration efforts it remains quite beautiful with its Spartan simplicity.

We drove down the western side of Mona Kea (the highest mountain in the world, if measured from the ocean floor) along a ridge with glimpses of the ocean and coast line, until we reached the winding, descending drop into Waimea. There we visited the Anna Ranch and toured her home before having a big bash there. I had never heard of Anna Lindsay Parry-Fiske before but learned about her contribution to the rich history of immigrant success stories that added to the cultural changes that occurred on the Big Island. She was a woman driven to succeed and she did. www.annaranch.org

The dinner/luau was well attended at the ranch and three men sang their hearts out filling requests from traditional Hawaiian songs (most of which I had never heard) and popular early 1960’s tunes. For sure Elvis songs were included as who could ever forget the movie “Blue Hawaii”. Judith tells the story of how she wondered into the set during a scene shoot and was allowed to stay. The King walked right past her on the way to sing his song. He had dark makeup on to try to make him look Hawaiian.

There lots of songs to sing along with and even some hula dancing by a couple of women classmates.

To be continued.

Who Has a 10 Day High School Class Reunion?

2011-07-16T00:58:00.001-05:00

If you graduated from Punahou High School in Honolulu and came to your 50th anniversary celebration, you would have the choice to spend one evening with your returning classmates, or up to 10 days visiting both the Big Island and Oahu.

As you may know, Punahou was founded by Christian missionaries about 175 years ago for the purpose of assuring a quality education to the children of white people who came, from mostly New England, to take advantage of the economic opportunities to make fortunes and/or to transform the highly spiritual Hawaiians away from their religious views to adopt Christianity. It became the home for children of the wealthy and powerful to be educated to assume into their place in society. Nothing was ever suggested during their education that there would be any obstacle too great to fulfill their destiny. They were programed for success, I would say.

Somewhere along the way, Punahou allowed deserving students to receive scholarships which were given to bright children with educational skills and to football and basketball talent. Judy Ann Morgan (my wife) and Barack Obama were two such scholarship students. Every year at the end of the school year, Punahou holds a class reunion for all graduates with those classes in multiples of 5 years being featured. We attended Judith’s 40th reunion just before we got married but only attended the main ceremony, the luau.

The 50th anniversary is a special deal, with the class being invited to a president reception and being ushered to their seats at the luau with the Punahou band with cheers from those already seated, etc... However, it is the tradition for a class, especially the 50th, to hold many group activities before the luau. Usually this means having activities at the Big Island before having some on Oahu. Judith decided this was the time to go all out and attend almost everything. So for 10 days we traveled around the Big Island first then to Oahu to attend places of interest. Not all the places we attended would be on the typical tourists’ to-do-list.

Most of the group on the Big Island lodged in Waimea but Judith research the lodging and decided it was not good enough even though it was more centrally located to most activities. We flew to Hilo, reported to have the most rain of any city in the U.S. and we did get some rain, but mostly showers in the afternoon or night. We picked up our rental car and drove to a very nice B&B, the ”Palm Cliffs” run by a retired couple from Oregon. We were served breakfast on a veranda overlooking the ocean and the morning sun.

We had to drive to Hilo for dinner, a trip on 13 miles one-way and the next day we went to Hilo to walk around a visit the home of one of the first missionaries from Massachusetts to settle in Hilo. It is a museum now of course. The native docent was quite good in describing how they lived and what happens to them and their descendants. Much of the original house and furniture still remain. Although Hilo is not a large town but plenty of churches were in evidence.

The first group activity was on Friday morning at Volcano National Park about an hour’s drive. At the visitor’s center, we picked up our badges to wear around our necks, divided into manageable groups and drove a short distance to the Jagger Museum on the rim of the active volcano, Halemaumau where the plume continues to spew water vapor, ash, bits of lava glass, and rock dust. There was a huge explosion in March 2008 as our colorful park ranger explained. The smoke, fog, and sea mist presents a hazy atmosphere that seems to change constantly and quickly.

Afterwards, the drove across the highway to the town of Volcano where we had lunch and everyone introduced themselves and where they now lived.

Then we drove back to Hilo, picked up our left luggage as Palm Cliffs and took the 2 lane highway up the eastern side of the island where the vistas were sometimes spectacular, with jungle like foliage and small waterfalls. After a couple of hours we turned left and continued on to Waimea. We drove through Waimea, down a twisting downward highway to the Kona coast where we checked into Kapuna Prince.

We hurriedly changed clothes and drove back to Waimea to meet up with some others from the reunion at the Parker Ranch Center and caravanned up to the beautiful new home of classmate Wendy Greenwell Craven high up the slopes of Mauna Kea for a Paniolo BBQ dinner. There was live Hawaiian music.

The hostess showed us her stunning home with local and other exotic woods throughout. The main living space had a high ceiling complete with a large fireplace.

The lanai overlooked green pastures toward the west. Clouds prevented seeing a sunset but the view was pretty awesome nevertheless.

We drove back to our hotel late at night. Fortunately, there were reflectors along the road to guide our way back to our hotel.

To be continued.

Amsterdam

2011-06-25T20:15:00.000-05:00

On our way to Uganda we flew into Amsterdam, stayed 3 nights, took a train to Brussels, Belgium, stayed overnight, and then took Brussels Airlines, first landing in Rwanda then proceeding to Entebbe, Uganda.

The best way to fly to Africa via United Airline is to fly to Europe then take one of the United Alliance airlines to fly south. In order to break up the trip and go somewhere we wanted to visit we chose Amsterdam.
I must say I loved Amsterdam, home of the Anne Frank museum, Dutch masters’ art museums, many canals, wooden shoes, windmills, bicycles, trams, beautiful men and women, and legal marihuana. We taxied to the renowned Pulitzer Hotel very close to the Anne Frank museum and on one of the main canals. Late afternoon we took a canal trip on beautiful hotel boat that once carried Winston Churchill through the canals and out into the ocean harbor.

The next morning, we walked two blocks to line up at the entrance to the Anne Frank museum. It was early morning and many people were already lined up but after 20 minutes we arrived at the payment window. Afterwards, we ate along the sidewalk as it was a beautiful day. Lots of bicycles, quiet trams, small cars, were in evidence. The sun was warm and tourists and non-working locals also found a sidewalk cafés that lined the streets and canals.

Many kinds of boats were in constant motion along the canals and we learned people have boat homes on the water that are permanently moored. They have all the utility hook-ups that a RV camper has at a camp site.

Those who know me well would assume that I would check out the “brown coffee houses”, and they would be right. A “brown coffee house” is where you can LEGALLY buy marijuana. This was quite an experience. Doing a little on-line research, I learned where the best shops were and found one near the hotel. The one I went to was not seedy at all. It did have remnants of 70’s art on the walls but the music was modern soft rock. Cushioned benches and chairs were provided with a very small cube to set your bong down upon. The smallest amount I could purchase was a gram and there were several varieties to choose from. Being cautious, I asked what was recommended and after establishing I didn’t want to get wasted and only want to get high, I bought a gram that lasted the 3 days in Amsterdam. I lit up about 4:20 PM and came back each day as it was illegal to smoke in the streets or hotels.

We took a fine dining boat trip during our stay which included a trip out to a part of the North Sea.

After the diner cruise, we walked through the famous red light district where young, beautiful women in skimpy lingerie were on display through small store front windows. What eye candy!

Wooden shoes and windmills are a must to see so we signed onto a small bus tour and visited a tourist place where we saw how wooden shoes are made today. Machines help out a lot but there still is some hand work to be done. The shoes are still very popular amongst the farmers. Wood lasts much better than leather where walking on dampness is common.

We did venture up into the inter-workings of the wind mills and saw that they were very substantial structures made from wood.

Our last day, we walked from our hotel about one mile and went to the Rijksmuseum which was going through extensive renovation. But we saw a fabulous Dutch master’s art collection and some insight into the technique the artists used.

Oh, yes, we have tulips.

We learned that pancakes are very popular in the Netherlands but they are not eaten at breakfast, in fact the very popular restaurant, The Pancake Bakery” is closed until 11 AM. We did have pancakes for lunch.

I was totally impressed with the liberal way of life in Amsterdam. The Dutch seem to be happy people who allow others to accept responsibility for the lives. I mean, prostitutes openly (and tastefully, I might add) displayed and cool places to enjoy a doobie means their minds are in a completely different place than most Americans. I wish we were more like them.

We took a train down to Brussels and stayed and took a taxi to the 5-star Amigo Hotel, one block from The Grand Place public square, a World Heritage Site, and 3 blocks from the famous statue, “The Little Pisser”.

Maison Du Roi (The King’s House)

The Guild Buildings.

The Brussels City Hall

The Grand Place at night.

The Little Pisser.

On our hotel room wall, two copies of Belgium artist Rene Magritte’s art.

We left for our long flight to Entebbe the next day.

Uganda

2011-06-06T12:32:00.000-05:00

President Museveni has been the President for 25 years and just was “re-elected” for another term. Thee opposition leader was attacked by the police when he tried to organize a protest close to the smearing in ceremony. There have been no details about his injuries but “the police sprayed his face and back with pepper spray and tear gas then dragged him face down and stuffed him into improvised seats on the back of a police pick-up truck, the way they do unidentified corpses, accident victims, and armed robbers.” This led to some sporadic violence resulting in some deaths and a crackdown on the media.

All this happened before the AIDS conference here and we have not heard about any further incidents although being ensconced in our highly rated Hotel Serena, there is little opportunity to really judge the temperament of the country.

While Judith was attending her conference, I had an opportunity to take some tourist ventures and I found out that seeing the gorillas was a 3 day event and I would return the day we would leave. So I passed and instead took a white water rafting trip on the Nile and then went to the source of the Nile where the Nile flows out of Lake Victoria.

I was picked up at the hotel at 7 AM and was driven to Jinja, a trek of 90 minutes in a van with a dirty windshield. Along the way I saw hundreds of people walking to work or school or riding in vans that are used for mini-taxis. We were driving against the main traffic flow into the city. Along the way I saw many, many supply trucks, some overloaded with green bananas. They stopped at markets where the market sellers were preparing their wares for display, mostly on the ground. While there are a few “supermarkets” in Kampala, the main place to buy food for the day outside the city and mostly within is at these markets.

I noted that all women wear long skirts. There were no exceptions. This required them to ride side saddle on motorcycles always driven by men of course. And come to think about it, I saw no women drivers of any vehicles. Mind you Uganda is not primarily a Muslim country, but a Christian one where displays of “God is Good” are seen frequently on buildings and on a few of the mini-taxis.

This seems like a perfect place to digress about some very brief Uganda history. When the white man first came to this neck of the woods in Africa they brought in Catholics from France and Protestants from England. The resulting religious politics that were trust upon the king caused no end of grief for him and tried to make a deal with the Germans, but the Germans made a deal with the British to cede several territories to them for exchange for a small but strategic island in the North Sea. In 1893, the Union Jack flew over the newly formed territory called Uganda. England ruled until 1952, then the next 10 years independence was fought for and on 1962 a leader named Obote inherited a nation fragmented along religious and ethnic lines to the point of being ungovernable. Skipping along to 1971, Obote flew to Singapore leaving behind instructions to his army commander to explain the disappearance of $4 million U.S. dollars out of military coffers and his involvement in the murder of a brigadier and his wife. The commander decided his only option was to strike and Kampala was rocked with the news of a military coup led by Idi Amin, a killer with the demeanor of a buffoon. He was responsible for the murder of 300,000 Ugandans and finally was disposed when he overreached and declared war on Tanzania and was driven out of Kampala by Tanzanians and Uganda exiles in 1979.

This should have been terrific news, but most Ugandans now regard the 7 years after Amin’s exile to be worse than under Amin. Corruption and violence continued and eventually the current president Museveni, came to power in 1986 and instead of violence continuing, he was able to establish a Human Rights Commission, established the rule of law, increased freedom of the press, and was able to govern without the past ethnic divisions causing trouble. Economic growth was 10% in his first decade. He established a no party system explaining that Uganda needed stability and the past ethnic divisions would emerge with a multi or two party systems.

I cannot escape the parallel to China here. Both have a one party system whose stability has brought economic growth and a mostly united nation, but a government that has no room for dissention, and periodic crackdown on freedom of the press when criticism is voiced. At least China is wise enough to change leaders once in a while, although just how a successor is chosen is a big mystery. My question is how a successor will be chosen in Uganda and will it be a peaceful transition.

But, back to my rafting trip.

On the way to the rafting place, we crossed the Nile and saw a big hydro-electric dam which supplies most of the electricity to the nation. A short ways away was the sign-in place for the rafting. I explained that I only wanted the ½ day trip and got into another car and 40 minutes later, I arrived at the actual place to embark. Bananas, and hot tea or coffee were available as we waited for others to arrive. A small bus drove up and 11 other people unloaded for the trip. They were mostly Australians with some UK people and 1 small Japanese woman. Two of the men were young alpha males from Australia who looked just the type for ones seeking adventure, but the majority was women who were of the same ilk.

We were instructed to remove all shoes and change into something that would get wet. I explained that I had hearing aids that could not get wet and I placed them into a water tight box that would be securely strapped to the raft. Apparently the leader thought not having full hearing would be a problem should emergency instructions have to be shouted out, so I was relegated to a larger raft where the form of movement along the river would be one man rowing and it wasn’t me. As I was about to protest, the rower man explained that we would be going through the same rapids, so I kept silent and went along with the program. This meant that during the next 2 hours, I didn’t have to do anything physical except to hold on at the appropriate times. I probably could have talked my way into being with one of the other two smaller rafts, but I was satisfied the way things turned out. Each time we went through some rapids and falls, I got thoroughly drenched.

My only complaint was walking barefoot on pebbly ground and up and down steep rocky banks. When I was young I would go barefoot all summer long and my feet would be leathery tough and walking in cindered alleys was not a problem. But now I get foot massages and an occasional pedicure using a sanding board to remove thick skin. If I ever go again, I am buying some wind surfer footies to protect my delicate lower paws.

Look, at my age, I have nothing to prove about how tough I am. It is all about protecting and preserving my body as long as possible.

We went through 3 water falls, the first being the most extreme. Here is a photo of me going through the 2nd fall. I could have purchased 6 photos for $50 but I chose just one, for $10.

At noon, we stopped for lunch consisting of mushroom soup and fixings for a folded sandwich and some soda. We had to climb up a very steep hill, again with bare feet and I was happy to find my sandals waiting for me in the car that brought me. Everyone else signed up for a full day of rafting and I said good bye and left with my driver to return to the sign-in place where I met the van from Kampala.

We then travelled a short distance to the source of the Nile which flows out of Lake Victoria. I got into a small boat and was taken out into the lake a short distance from the river and the official marker of the beginning of the Nile

The trip back took 2 ½ hours, an hour longer than leaving the city. The traffic was horrific. I decided to stay at the hotel and enjoy the beautiful grounds and spa facilities the rest of the trip.

We took Brussels Air back to Brussels in coach and after a 3 hour layover, enjoyed the trip back to Chicago in a laydown seat in Business class for some much needed sleep.

The Fire

2011-05-15T17:57:00.002-05:00

Patricia and I were living in a small, 3 room basement apartment on Wood Street in Ames, Iowa. It was September 1958, and we had been living there since January. We moved there after getting married in November 1957 and both of us quit our jobs as dance instructors at Arthur Murray’s and I returned to Iowa State University to complete my studies and to obtain a degree in Ceramic Engineering.

Patricia was 3 months pregnant with our first child. It was Saturday night and I was scheduled to begin my required Senior Inspection Trip on Monday. Suddenly we were awoken by commotion from our landlord, Mrs. Weirson, who lived upstairs and I instantly knew the reason, as the smell and fog of smoke was everywhere. The upstairs was on fire. We quickly climbed the 6 steps from the basement to the entrance landing of the back door and dashed out. We were safe.

Then a panic thought entered my mind. My expensive books I had just bought for the coming term seemed to be at risk. Of all the things we owned, they were the most valuable possession. So I ran back down to my study area and scooped up my books. I ran back up the stairs and by that time the fire was had grown a lot and was very much visible in the entry way as it came out of the kitchen above. The heat was very uncomfortable even though I was exposed only for about 3-4 seconds as I plunged out the door, my arms filled with books. A few feet away I dropped a couple of them but I had been so intent on escaping the fire that I didn’t notice it until later where I found them in decent shape but smudged with black ash. They later became a constant reminder of that night.

I had a crew cut then and my hair got singed as well as the hair on my arms. “Wow”, I thought, I just did a really stupid thing. While I have never been in a fire since, I always remember how fast a fire can spread the intensity of the heat and smoke.

The firemen were there almost as soon as I came out the second time and the fire was put out, destroying only the kitchen area. But of course there was some water damage and the smell of the fire was everywhere. Two persons in the second floor had to be rescued from a window.

We were able to pack up some clothes and secured most of our other belongings in my 1950 Mercury. I left Monday for my trip on time and neighbors across the street put up Patricia while I was gone.

My clothes smelled of smoke all during the trip, but no one seems to notice that my hair was a slightly different color on the ends. Boys peroxiding their hair were not uncommon back then, so maybe it was overlooked because of that.

My senior trip included visiting refractory brick companies in Missouri and pottery companies in Illinois and Missouri. We visited Hager Pottery in Joliet, the south works of U.S. Steel in south Chicago, A. O. Smith in Milwaukee, and Maytag in Newton, Iowa. This was my first exposure to the world of big time manufacturing operations and the value of the trip was plain for me to see.

When I returned to Ames after a week, it was plain that we could not continue to live in our basement apartment and I learned of a place just 8 miles away in Kelley, Iowa (population less than 50), in back of a big building that housed the post office on the first floor in front of the building, next to the only other store in town. I remember that the rent was $40/month a reduction of the $60 we had been paying. We had to buy our own heating oil and the added expense of gasoline reduced our savings but we still lived cheaper. We had plenty of room and someone we knew lived in the same building. We burned our own trash outside and we had railroad tracks, just outside, and an occasional train would awaken us in the morning especially when it was cold and the screech of steel on steel would pierce the air. The ceilings were 16 feet tall and the plumbing was very elementary.

Our son, William Joel, was born in March just after a sizable blizzard which closed the roads from Kelley to Ames. Some men arrived at our door step two days before we left for the hospital. They had heard Patricia was on labor and had a snow plow outside to help us get to Ames. Fortunately, the rumor was false, but it was reassuring because I had wondered what I would do, if her labor started.

I remember our place in Kelley fondly, and, looking back, it seemed a perfect place to jump off into a better life for us after I graduated and we moved to Dayton, Ohio.

Taiyuan, Shanxi Province

2011-04-25T03:51:00.001-05:00

As I start to write about our latest venture to China, I am sitting in what looks to be a tea room. At is not yet 7AM and I sit alone with my lap top as a young Chinese woman is vigorously dusting all the lacquered maple tables and benches. The room faces the street within an ancient walled city (a World Heritage Site) which lies within the small city of Jingyao. It is Wednesday and various sorts of transportation whiz by the window, carrying people on the way to work or school including bicycles, scooters, motorcycles, bicycle rickshaws, and an occasional car. The use of motor vehicles is restricted to some degree within the walled city but the restrictions are not clear to me and will, I am sure, remain a mystery. Some young people can be seen jogging which is something not usually seen, along with old people taking their morning walk.

After a grueling day of visiting various Tibetan Esoteric Buddhist temples on Mount Wutai we arrived late at our 2 star (at best) hotel, tired from climbing many steps, some at high altitude (10,000 ft) and spending over 6 hours total travel in a mini-bus. Only the great meals kept us refreshed. We rode up to visit 3 temples, all within the same area, starting at the top (the most sacred) and working our way down.

There are 5 temples all together but thankfully we didn’t attempt the other two. One was clearly visible with no road leading to it, however, there looked to be about 1000 steps from the parking lot below straight up the mountain. We saw a lot of buildings 400 years old and trees 1500 years old and of course quite a few lamas going about their work of keeping the place running and honoring their considerable prayer duties. Lots of Buddha statues, which could not be photographed due to their sacredness with incense smoke ready to fill your lungs and give your clothes and hair (if I had any) an odor of which took be back to the 70’s, Janis Joplin, Joan Baez, and tie dyed shirts. “I love to smell of incense in the morning”, I joked, which went of the head of the young woman with us.

There were 3 things I noticed about the lamas, cell phones, bottled water and sneakers. Otherwise, their clothing and customs have withstood the evils of modern life. Time is the one thing about their traditional life that I can find to honor. I fail to see their contribution to society other than the economic stimulus they now generate from all the tourists that come to see them. I see arcane religious practices and theocratic absolutism. But I digress.

At this point I must point out that your kind and generous hosts selected this site for us to see. Left to our own devices, Judith and I would skip seeing any more temples in China. They are all about the same from our view of life, except that there is always a chance for an interesting photo opportunity, and I did find a few.

This lama is doing the Captain Queeg steel ball exercise.

There is no question that we are deep in the heart of China, away from the 4 and 5 star hotels where English sounds are available, comfortable beds, adequate toilet paper, CNN, orange juice, coffee and an internet connection. We have a traditional Chinese breakfast this morning consisting of boiled eggs, cold cuts, buns, and a hot, rice based soup. Soon after breakfast, an English speaking guide shows up. He has a wide toothy grin and lively dark eyes behind his frameless glasses and I soon find out I can only understand a few words that pass through my hearing assisted ears. We climb into eight person golf cart and off we go through narrow streets and alleys with our driver displaying professional horn blowing prowlness to alert everyone we are approaching with considerable speed.

We de-cart and climb up the South tower of the wall. I am beginning to understand the guide by now and rattles off the usual statistics every guide is required to know about the size of the wall, when it was built, etc. There are several hundred dwellings within the walled city. Our group walks along the wall for about a mile and most of the interest is looking down from the wall seeing the ancient homes and some of the people that live there. Here and there we see solar panels that heat water in a small tank perched on a flat roof. But mostly there is an endless view of dark grey tiled and pagoda styled roofs. Monolithic austerity is the flavor of Chinese life yet to be granted economic development and the impact of seeing it was significant. Our guide took everyone’s photo of holding one of the wall towers in their hand.

We climb down from the wall and walk for a bit through the narrow streets to meet our transportation and see old men thoroughly engaged in a board game involving moving muffin sized discs.

We are behind schedule as some in our group stop frequently to pose for photos in front almost any mundane feature. Soon I become annoyed with this constant need but I try my best to forgive them and dissipate my distain. My camera lens is always looking to capture a good photo and it only captures a few of Judith and me to document our presence for future viewing.

One of the things developed in the 17th century in Pingyao was a banking system and our guide was most enthused to explain the intricacies and the various chambers of the ancient bank. Promissory notes issued had water marks of four Chinese characters, one in each corner, and authentication of a note was assured by holding it up to a lamp to see the water marks. Due to the early establishment of a bank, Pingyao was once a great financial center. There was a small room set aside for the highest bank official to meet with a client and smoke some opium together.

We arrive back at our hotel to get our luggage and a cart takes us to our mini-bus and we drive the rest of the day, except for a lunch stop, to the city of Linfen and after dinner at our new hotel, we check in there. The room had internet, but the mattress was hard and the toilet paper was rationed. Linfen once had the dubious distinction of being the most polluted city in the world but since the steel mill shut down and with some other improvements; we are told it no longer is.

The coal industry plays a key role in the country's national economy. The largest energy resource base in China is the coal base centered on Shanxi province. With its good geographical location, enormous reserves, excellent coal quality, a full range of varieties of coal, and ease of exploitation, it has become the country's largest coal supply base. Many large trucks carrying coal were seen throughout our tours.

The next morning we are off to The Qiao Family Compound. It is massive and castle-like, covering about two acres. It is the former residence of Qiao Zhiyong, the third-generation commercial tycoon of the Qiao family in Shanxi Province. He attained his fortune by running banks, pawnshops and teahouses. The ornate Qiao Family Compound was built in 1756 during the Qing Dynasty(1644-1911). In 1991, a film directed by Chinese Famous filmmaker Mr.Zhang Yimou, named Raise The Red Lantern, was shot here, making Qiao's compound well-known by lots of people.

I saw “Hang the Red Lantern” last spring in a film class, so the images here were quite familiar. The Compound has been converted into a museum and has period furnishings distributed throughout. Visiting here is like looking through a window into the day-to-day life of upper class Chinese of centuries ago.

We travel on to see the Hukou Waterfall, the second largest in China, on the Yellow River. Big rivers enjoy good reputations either for long history or for achievements in fostering human civilization. The Yellow River, the second longest in China, is no exception.

The Yellow River runs all the way from Qinghai Province to the border of Shanxi and Shaanxi provinces, zigzagging to Jixian in Shanxi Province and Yichuan in Shaanxi Province where it suddenly finds its way through a narrow valley. The riverbed narrows from 300 meters to 50 meters, turning the tranquil river into a turbulent one.
It is this narrow path that makes Hukou Waterfall's popularity unequalled in China. The tremendous water splashes on the rocks, causing foam and water fumes that produce rainbows. The water fumes curl upwards, turning from yellow to grey, grey to blue. Local residents give such phenomenon an exact metaphor, calling it "smoke from river".

We made it back to Taiyuan after this and the next morning we took the train back to Beijing arriving about noon and we soon were in our room at the Raffles Hotel. We didn’t step foot out of the hotel for 24 hours as we had no ambition left to mingle, shop, or walk. We did find some time for a relaxing foot massage in the hotel. We left for the airport shortly after 1 PM the next day to catch our 4 o’clock flight home and after flying 13 hours we arrived home about 4 o’clock, the same day to discover Chicago had not yet discovered Spring.

My Father--Floyd Nathan Herd

2011-03-26T16:43:00.000-05:00

Family Secrets

Floyd Nathan Herd was born in 1913 in Lafayette, IN and why he was born there is still a mystery to me. His parents (Lucian and Cordie Mullins) met and married each other in southern Kentucky. There homes were separated by a mountain ridge but how they managed to meet has been taken to their graves. My father’s grandfather was Andrew Jackson Herd who was a prominent political figure in the area after fighting as an officer in the Civil War on the Union side. My father’s uncles were successful professional people who scattered out of Kentucky as did my grandfather.

However, my grandfather, Lucian who was called L.G., worked as a cement worker, when he could find work, and was an alcoholic resulting in the family being dirt poor. I can remember visiting their very, very modest home which I in truth looked like it was imported from Appalachia. The family lived in poverty. And there always has been a rumor that he left Kentucky because he was caught stealing. I must have heard that somehow either because my mother told me this or I overheard something said between adults that my child ears stored away.

My father’s older sister, by 3 years, went to work for Bell Telephone in Omaha while still in high school to help support the family. Artie Mae always made sure, her younger brother had a clean shirt to wear to school each day, and my mother told me so I know it must be true. Mother and Artie Mae were friends and when I was a pre-schooler she doted on me whenever she got the chance.

My father also had 2 younger brothers and a sister so it must have been crowded home. This probably accounts for my father often displaying his affection towards his siblings recounting stories about them. Looking back now, I realize that he never regaled me with any stories about his parents. I have been told that alcohol was also a problem with both my dad’s younger brother and sister. Perhaps that is why they both died before age 60.

On the few times, I went to my grandparents home, my grandmother Cordie’s round face seemed to always have a warm smile for me, but LG never ever paid much attention to me, even to acknowledge my existence. He always seems intent on all the machinations involved on keeping his pipe lit. His one claim to fame was that he fought in the Spanish-American War. Every Fourth of July parade held in our town, he marched alone as the only survivor of that war, that lived in the area.

Arte Mae was born near Oklahoma City, my dad in Indiana, and Charles, Clifford, and Margaret were born in Council Bluffs, Iowa, as was I. So the family was on the move before they moved to Council Bluffs, but that is all I know. And why did they alight in Council Bluffs? There are secrets in most families and there may be one associated here.

More than twice, I asked my father, what nationality did we come from and his answer was always the same, “we are Americans”. He never said anything about his grandfather Andrew Jackson Herd who fought on the Union side of the Civil War. But the thing that is really odd to me was that I found out his brother, Joseph was in the Confederate Army. I would think this fact would be part of the family lore and talked about on occasion. So I remain convinced that the history of this family was never talked about due to the secrets that needed to remain hidden.

Another thing never explained is why my father dropped out of high school for two years and served in the National Guard, then came back to high school and graduated at the same time my mother did.

In spite of all the environmental disadvantages I have described, and I know there must have been many more that were hidden from me, my father turned out to be a decent man. To be sure, his volatile temper at times, revealed some of what he must have experienced growing up. He was slow to get agitated, but once he did, his patience was extremely thin, and once he started to act out his anger, it was best to run for cover.

My parents divorced when I was 13 which further kept me away from understanding my father. He remarried and helped raise another family. His other son, Clifford Lucian, and I share a common interest in genealogy concerning our family name. I am guessing we both have the same curiosity due to information we never received.

Footnote: Since I wrote this I have found out though genealogy research that my great grandmother Nancy Poteet remarried Nathan McWhorter who moved his family to Lafayette County, Indiana. This explains why my father was born there and the origin of his middle name. The Herds (Heards) can be traced back to North Ireland where an unknown Heard was born in 1665. Conventional wisdom had it that Cordie must be of Irish descent because of her maiden name of Mullins. However, her lineage can be traced back to 1593 and the Ile de France, Paris where the name was Des Moulins.

My Hero

My father was a super athlete. He loved being active and enjoyed being part of a team or a foursome. His high school scrapbook is filled with newspapers clippings where mentioning that Floyd Herd led his team to victory was a frequent phrase although couched in more modest terminology. He lettered in football, basketball, and track and played baseball during the summer. One of his ex-teammates at his funeral told me he was good enough to be a professional football player and mentioned Roger Craig, all round running back for the San Francisco 49ers as a comparison.

I got to see him play fast pitch softball which was the only type of softball there was then. He was manager and second baseman for the Grace Presbyterian church team. The team was part of a church league consisting of other church teams. Anyone that played on a team was required to attend church at least once a month. The requirement seemed to be on an honor system so I doubt that it was rigorously enforced although it did bring some of the team’s members to the pews on Sunday morning.

Dad recruited some non-church goers to play on the team and one of the key players was our pitcher, Hobson or “Hobbie”, to use his on the field name. He was a tall, gangly man with angular features who could do exceptional things with a softball. But he drank and sometimes his performance suffered and we would get wild and start to hit batters and walk them, making the game far more exciting when it happened. Dad played second base and he would go to the mound to settle Hobbie down, and boast him up, which usually worked. Our Grace Presbyterians were always competing against the Reformed Later Day Saints for the league championship and during those games I saw something in my father that helped me become a man and is still part of my character.

The man displayed an intense confident focus during critical moments in the game. He believed in himself and I never saw him display any signs of doubt as he approached the plate. He was a big hitter and once hit 3 home runs in one game. There wasn’t fence in the outfield. People would park their cars behind the light poles to encircle the field and a home run was produced when you hit the ball beyond the light poles and either hit a car or the ball sailed beyond them. By the time the outfielder retrieved the ball, anyone who could run with moderate speed could reach home before the ball got there. My dad was extremely fast though, so there was never any danger of the ball arriving home before he did.

The team camaraderie was always good even in defeat and he his co-manager Winn Phillips were always, always positive with a “we will get them next time” attitude. Given the team really did get them next time meant it was not just an idle platitude and the team was always looking avenge any defeat.

When I was about 12, and the team was way, way ahead, my dad would let me pinch hit once in a while. I got a few walks, but once hit the ball up the middle for a single and got to second base before the inning was over. My dad could not help showing his pride in me.

I also caddied for my dad when he played golf and he always had fun playing especially with his buddies. He always enjoyed the social aspect of the game.

To this day I am always competitive and try to come on top. To me, being competitive is all about focusing mentally, being intelligent, being confident, and trying really hard to win. Accepting defeat or winning graciously builds character. There is no room for sore losers. There may be reason beyond your control why the results were disappointing, but that is part of any sport.

I have always been drawn toward sports and find it difficult to live without being active in something. I owe this to my father. His love of sports certainly did imprint a positive characteristic within me.

The Social Animal

When I lived with my father, there was no TV. And during the evenings reading the newspaper or an occasional “Life” or “Time” magazine, doing a crossword puzzle, or listening to the radio, were the diversions du jour. Book reading was not something my father spent a lot of time doing. He was too restless.

He was far more extroverted than introverted and made friends everywhere. We rode street cars until buses replaced them in the late forties and Floyd seemed to know every street car operator in town. He would grab a seat next to the operator and he engaged them in conversation. He worked as a short order cook and manager for a chain of eateries in Omaha called Harkert Houses which were strategically placed throughout the business districts in the city. Mr. Harkert hired my dad during the depression and I am sure he never regretted it. Dad was smart, hardworking and honest.

Anyway, his job required that he open his restaurant early. We lived in Council Bluffs, which required that dad catch the first street car that ran in the morning, pass the street we lived on, that took him downtown where he transferred to another street car that went over the Aksarben Bridge to Omaha.

His street car operator pals would clank the bell when it went up the street pass our house to wake dad up should he sleep through the alarm clock. About 10 minutes later the car, having turned around and now traveling down the street, would stop opposite our house, although the actual cars stop was about 30 yards away, and wait for him to come out.

I was actual witness to this because I delivered papers in the morning I frequently saw the street car waiting for him. The street car to Omaha was larger. The driver was in front of the car, and in the back was the fare collector who would collect your transfers or receive your money. My father never sat in a seat. He would always stand and talk to the man in the back. Other men would do the same and every day a social club was formed.

At times, I would have reason to be in Omaha during noon and stop in my dad’s place to eat, where I got to watch him cook. Orders would be shouted to him which he repeated out loud and he would throw a hamburger, an egg, or some hash browns on the grill. When the order was cooked, he would set it up on the counter above him and announce the short was ready. He was the personification of action and focus. Kinda like watching him in the batter’s box.

Later he would take a job as a salesman, which utilized his skills of conversation and networking.

To further illustrate how he craved action, he became a referee for high school football and basketball. In fact he refereed two of the football games I played in, discretely offering me encouragement as I broke out of the huddle to trot to my position as end.

He would take me to basketball games and I would go with him the tiny room that was set aside for the officials. Sometimes, he would be booed for one of his calls against the home team, but I always knew he probably made the right call. Ignoring unjustified criticism is another valuable thing I learned from him.

Dad taught me to box, something that came in very handy during my childhood. The competitive nature of sports often brings about altercations and as one that never backed down from trying to win, some hot tempered lads would take exception to some of my actions and throw a punch at me which would start a fight. Truly, I never ever started a fist fight, but could defend myself pretty well and never got really beaten up.

I missed my father terribly after he and my mother were divorced. Perhaps it was the best for everyone, but I will never know what might have been. Life throws things at you and you are forced to make adjustments. I am thankful that I can look back and see the positive things I took from my father. He overcame a pretty tough childhood, found refuge in sports, and became a decent man and father.

Batavia

2011-03-06T16:24:00.001-06:00

We went to Indonesia in December 2010 during the rainy season. Judith had extensive meetings in Jakarta with her colleagues discussing AIDS prevention research and programs. After the meetings were over we spend a day going through several museums and historic buildings. In particular we went to the area where the Dutch set up their governmental offices, near the ancient port called Sudra Kepala. The Dutch called Jakarta, Batavia. In this area, there is a restaurant called Batavia.

The first time I came to Jakarta, we ate a group dinner in a back room at this restaurant and I thought it was really a nice place but I didn’t really have time to linger and browse around because we had to climb into a taxi right afterwards. But this time we ate in the main dining room for lunch and almost had the place to ourselves. The building overlooks the Fatahillah Square, the Fatahillah Museum, and the old City Hall from the Dutch colonial period. The furniture and incredible picture collection make this place a feast for the eye and it is topped off by the world famous Churchill Bar on the second floor. The upstairs “grand salon” is made entirely of Java teak wood.

The waitress removes one of the photos on the columns, turns it over and presents the menu.

The food and service were at best, adequate, but they were a secondary priority. During lengthy time to have our food served, I took the opportunity to take photos of the photos. Here is the Churchill Bar, singled out by Newsweek as one of the world’s best bars in 1994 and 1996.

And down at the end of the bar is a photo of its namesake.

Here are a few more of the many photos I took of famous people. I am sure I don’t need to identify them.

And this is my favorite…

Even the toilets were filled with photos including one of Mickey Rourke taking a whiz.

We actually visited the museums before lunch, and it appears to be a day where school children from various schools visited museums as a class displaying their various school colors. Some were taking notes, knowing they would be quizzed about what they learned and saw.

This group posed for me and the teachers all rushed to be included.

The first time I came to Jakarta, I was not too happy but I really love Jakarta now. Of course there are still obstacles The airport terminal is old, the immigration lines are long, the baggage conveyors are short, making them crowded, and once you have your luggage, you have to line up in one of the two custom lines where your luggage is put through a scanning conveyor. It seems to me the objective is to get people quickly through this process making any security efforts seem like they have to be cursory at best. Then without out the aid of any clear organization, trying to get a Blue Bird or Black Bird taxi becomes another wait and struggle. These taxes have licensed drivers and metered fare. One should always take one of these taxis in favor the friendly man who wants to grab your bag and put it in his car and charge you 2-3 times the going rate. The going rate is only about $12 USD so if you are used to paying $33 with at least a $5 tip to get to and from O’Hare, you might not even learn that you were ripped off by paying $30.

The ride to the center of the city is long and the traffic is always, always impossible, especially the last one or so miles. Our hotel of choice is the Grand Hyatt.

Once arriving the car must go through a security check before allowed to travel to the front of the hotel. After de-taxiing, all luggage, including hand carried items are again scanned. But once inside our room which has club floor privilege, all becomes good. Some hotels charge way too much for massages and other spa treatments, but we find the prices acceptable avoiding the search for less expensive services nearby. The pool area is outstanding and early in the morning, before the clouds start to build, I was able to enjoy the sun for about one hour each day. The restaurant by the pool area is a great place for lunch and even though the rain would come, the weather stayed warm.

During out stay, we are treated to dine in some famous old exotic restaurants decorated with Indonesian art and artifacts. But what makes the Jakarta so enjoyable are the warm and friendly people. There are about 200 million people in Indonesia comprising about 300 different ethnic groups and 500 different languages. Fortunately English is widely spoken, especially in the cities.

I realize that most Americans have a much distorted view of Indonesia. However, we look forward to travelling to more places within the country. There are so many different forms of paradise to enjoy for a few days here. If only we could wean ourselves from Bali once in a while.

Xiamen, China

2010-08-23T20:56:00.000-05:00

Our original destination for this trip was Fuzhou, China, but due to recent flooding there, the public health officials had their hands full, so the city was changed to Xiamen.

As it turned out, I think this was a much better city to visit. Xiamen is a tourist town on the coast with the cleanest air we have ever experienced within China. One can not help noticing on this map taken from a Chinese web site, that Taiwan is considered a province of China and not a separate country.

It is one of the major seaports since ancient times and boasts a wide gulf with deep water without freezing and silting. The name Xiamen means “a gate of China”.

We were there at the end of June and already the weather was hot during the day and warm at night. As a point of reference, the city is just a midge north of the tropic of cancer and is further south than any part of the continental United States. And it just occurs to me that the extremes of climate within China are much more severe than in the U.S.

We stay at the Wyndham Hotel, one of the finest in the city located facing the channel directly across from Gulangyu Island. Later we take a boat across the channel and visit there. It takes less time than the Star Ferry in Hong Kong to go between from a main land to an island. It is one of the high priority things to visit.

This a photo of the Wyndham Hotel lobby from the cocktail lounge area of the ground floor.

We were fed extremely well by our hosts which is normal, but the food here was much better than average. The banquet during the evening of the closing day of the conference was in a place right on the water, and I took this photo before I went in.

One of the days we are driven up the coast and can see Taiwan in the distance. The Beaches here are very nice, but not used much in the sense that they would be my Americans. I suspect most Chinese don’t know how to swim and Chinese people do anything to keep from getting darker. That and the fact they are more modest, does not conjure up an image of people laying on the beach in bikinis or even something more modest. They seem happy to walk along the water’s edge with their shoes off.

This is Taiwan in the background and me in the foreground.

One day we talk a boat ride very close to the shores of Taiwan. The day is hot, the boat is crowded, there are unruly children, and the loud speaker on the boat is way, way too loud. I took both hearing aids out and still it was an assault to my system. The Chinese language is brusque and the opposite of melodic and without periods of rest, I find it is just loud noise. Very tiring. I can see why loud noise is part of “enhanced interrogation techniques”.

Here is a photo of a modern Chinese woman on the boat texting her friends.

The last tour of note was to Gulangyu Island. It got its present name from the huge reef surrounding it. When the tide comes in, the waves pound the reef and it sounds like the beating of a drum. The island came to be named 'Gulang'. Gu in Chinese means 'drum', and Lang, 'waves'.

During the later Ming Dynasty, the troops of national hero Zheng Chenggong were stationed here. After the Opium War in 1842, 13 countries including Great Britain, France and Japan established consulates, churches, and hospitals, turning the island into a common concession. In 1942, Japan occupied the island until the end of the War of Resistance against Japan.
Gulangyu Island has about 20,000 permanent residents, and only electric-powered vehicles are permitted on the island, so the environment is free from the noise and pollution cars. Many homes and gardens resemble classical European style architecture and it is also known as Piano Island.

Gulangyu's Piano Museum, opened in 2000, is comprised of two exhibition halls. The collection includes 30 pianos by renowned piano makers from Britain, France, the United States, Austria and Australia. The instruments are all over 100 years old. A large selection of miniature and custom pianos are also on display.

Before I realized that I was not supposed to take photos, I took a couple

We arrived home July 3rd and were glad to be able to enjoy Independence Day in this great country of ours. Nothing makes me appreciate our homeland more than being away from it and coming back home.

I Don't Have a Bucket List Yet--I'm Too Young

2010-08-23T14:49:00.000-05:00

Eight years ago, Jeff, one of my skiing friends, asked a group of his friends and acquaintances if they wanted to go ski diving with him. My first reaction was to say yes, but then I had a major conflict with the day chosen and had to cancel. I don’t even remember what the conflict was, but it had to be a major reason for I wanted the thrill and experience.

So this spring I saw Jeff at a ski club event, and asked told him I hoped he would try to organize another group. So he did and this time it would have taken a death in the family to keep me away.

My desire really had nothing to do with a bucket list. I am not that old. My inspiration came from a woman I knew when I lived in Indiana. She told me she always wanted to parachute and after her husband died it seemed like one of the first things she did. She jumped tandem and told me all about it.
Then a few years later, my son Bil, jumped solo which required that he maneuver to the landing gear struts and jump from there. As much as I like to live on the edge sometimes, I will take pride that my son has surpassed me in still another way because I would just as soon not have to deal with how to get out of the plane.

Jeff and I leave from Montrose Harbor Yacht Club area just before 8 AM Saturday morning and drive for about 90 minutes to Sky Dive Chicago just across the Fox River near the town of Ottawa. We are joined by 7 others and once we all arrive, we stand in line to pay and receive about 8 pages of instructions and legal documents that require you to literally give up all legal recourse should anything, yes anything, happen that would cause injury or death.

Then we are led the training round, to watch our first set of instructions that would be repeated several times before our actual plunge out airplane at 13,000 feet. But before that, a video is started and we see a young man with a long grey beard tell us what the 8 pages of legal documents say in no uncertain terms. It you are injured or die, it is because you came here and willingly jumped out of a plane so don’t expect anything for us. It was a bit of sobering reality that nobody wanted to hear.

I mean, I got up early, traveled here, we are having great weather, and I am in a group where it would be slightly embarrassing to opt out at this point. What’s more I did a bungee jump where I had to jump by myself. The consequences from a mishap here are no worse and I am jumping with someone that also wants to live that really knows what they are doing.

When we pulled into the parking lot I was surprised by the number of people who came and also by the size of the place. Its one big hanger with lots of offices, bathrooms, instruction rooms, food service and eating area. It’s a miniature city. Also near by are trailers and camp grounds. Most of the instructors live a sizeable distance away and travel here for the weekends and stay in their trailers. There make about 7 jumps a day and some of them have been during it for a long, long time.

So, I actually felt safe.

I was advised that spending another $119 to have someone jump out with us a shoot a video, with some still pictures, would be worth the price. So I opted for this as did several others in our group. In fact our group was delayed for quite a while because there were a limited amount of video people and most of our group were having videos made so it took some maneuvering to get the personnel together. Here is our gang ready to board.

Finally when the time comes, we cram into the airplane equipped with a sliding door on the side. We sit nestled between each other’s legs and watch the altimeter as we approach our goal of 13,000 feet. During the ride we are given one final review of our task.

Here is my instructor Charles and I harnessed together next in line to jump.

My photographer Jenn, is a beautiful young 20 something year old woman. She goes ahead of us and hangs out on the side of the plane to capture the moment of no return.

I told myself I wouldn’t look down but I did anyway. My next task is to put both thumbs into the sides of my harness, then lean back as we go out.

That’s the altimeter strapped to my wrist.

I think these shots are amazing. We are falling face up but not for long as Charles turns us face down and my job is to find the horizon, check my altimeter, then find the photographer.

Missions accomplished. Now we free fall for about 55 seconds.

It’s almost time to wave to indicate we are about to pull the chord.

I had trouble finding the orange knob to pull the chord so Charles is ready to pull. And just as he does, a second later I pull also.

This is the best part, the parachute opens.

Jenn continues down without us and shoots our landing.

As we approach the ground we stick out feet out in front of us and pull down hard on the toggles and sit gently down.

Wow! Good grief! That was awesome!

My legs are a little shaky as I walk to the hanger, but it soon passes.

This is Jeff and I after the jump.

That evening I woke up about 2:30 AM and as I was tried to go back to sleep my brain played the entire jump experience for me again from the time I got into the plane until this picture. It was another pleasant experience.

I plan to do it once more and next time I won’t have to mug for the photographer on the way down and think I will be able to better enjoy the free fall.

Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon), Vietnam

2010-06-22T15:39:00.000-05:00

We return to HCMC for a couple of days before returning home. This time we stay at the historic Caravelle Hotel, home of war correspondents during the war. On the morning of August 25, 1964 at around 11:30 am a bomb exploded in room 514, on a floor occupied mostly by foreign journalists, who were all out on assignment and a number of people were injured without fatalities. The joke by the journalists was that if the bomber wanted to harm them, the bomb should have been placed in the Saigon Bar.

One journalist recalls the Caravelle this way:

History becomes even more acute when you head up to the rooftop bar, the Saigon Bar.

"In the early evenings we'd do exactly what correspondents did in those terrible stories that would circulate in 1964 and 1965, we'd stand on the roof of the Caravelle Hotel having drinks and watch the air strikes across the river, so close that a good telephoto lens would pick up the markings on the planes. There were dozens of us up there, like aristocrats viewing Borodino from the heights ..."

Across the street is the Saigon Opera House situated on Lam Sun Square and the Saigon River is just a few blocks away.

I met my Vietamese internet friend, Dong, that evening who promised me a tour of the city on the back of his motorcycle and the possibility of finding a shop that could make me a silk jacket within 24 hours. Success was achieved on both counts.

Here are some of photos taken along the way.

Later we stop for dinner at Dong’s favorite restaurant.

The next day, our last in Vietnam, we visited the Cu Chi tunnels, about 45 miles north of the city. Along the way we stopped to look at a rubber tree farm.

Our visit to the tunnels was a total bummer. It is a government run tourist place dripping of heavy propaganda about how the “tourists come to express gratitude to the heroic martyrs who sacrificed for the cause of national liberation.” The film that starts the tour begins by saying "Cu Chi, the land of many gardens, peaceful all year round under shady trees ... Then mercilessly American bombers have ruthlessly decided to kill this gentle piece of countryside ... Like a crazy bunch of devils they fired into women and children ... The Americans wanted to turn Chu Chi into a dead land, but Cu Chi will never die."

Part of the tour shows how pits were dug with sharp pointed bamboo stakes and other inhuman devices at the bottom to kill Americans. Then there were a large group of tourists from India that treated the tour as though it was time to show off, laugh and carry on without any regard to sensitivities.
In my opinion, the tone and focus about the tunnels and their importance in the war and the ingenuity in which they were constructed is missing and heavy handed propaganda is in place instead. What a shame.

After returning to the city, we returned our focus on having some massages, followed by some drinks in the Saigon Bar and then dinner. These helped to restore our good mood.

At 8 0’clock the tailor met me in the lobby and handled me my silk jacket. It was a perfect fit.

The next morning, early, the trip to the airport was 10 minutes, instead of the 45 minutes required during the day in traffic. We flew to Hong Kong, then Chicago taking about 24 total hours from the time we left the hotel to walk into the comfort of your own home.

I will say that this was one of best trips I have been on. Friendly people, beautiful country, and an immerging contrast to the hostilities some 40-30 years ago could all be witnessed. There is a message of hope here for me.

Hoi An, Vietnam

2010-06-20T09:28:00.001-05:00

The Pilgrimage Village provided a car and driver for our 3 hour drive to the Nam Hi resort on the Cha Dai Beach fronting the South China Sea. During the war GI’s took R&R here and called it China Beach.

The trip went through several sea side and inlet fishing villages, then up a mountain pass along switch back roads before dropping down into Danang. Apparently there was a new tunnel through the mountain but we took the more scenic option and were rewarded in kind with spectacular visas of the sea crashing against steep cliffs and panoramic views of the coastline.

Finally as we near the resort, we arrive at a beach area and I hop out of the car to take a photo of Mother Buddha.

Our stay at the Nam Hai was wonderful. Our villa slopped from back to front with our bed in the middle, looking straight out to an unobstructed view of the beach, ocean, and mountains. Behind the bed is a day bed and bathtub finished in eggshell lacquer. However, with an outdoor shower surrounded by a privacy wall, the tub was forgotten as the chance to shower naked outdoors had much appeal to me. Also included were a flat screen TV, and iPod sound dock with Bose sound system station which we used frequently. At night, silk curtains were drawn around the bed and the shades pulled while two large candles provided enough light for excursions during the night.

Golf carts are used to whisk guests around and also included were free limo transfers to the airport, a personal butler, free mini bar, free breakfast, and free evening cocktails and canapés. Using them all, helped to allay the high cost per night.

I took part in a yoga class in the early morning twice taught by a yoga master from Nepal. But before yoga class, we arose early to view the sun rise.

Twice we venture out of the resort to Hoi An, one of the must see places in Vietnam. In the 16th, 17th, and 18th centuries it was the primary port and trading post in Vietnam particularly of ceramics from China. It is now an UNESCO World Heritage place It is now a quaint auto free village filled with shops and great restaurants. Lots of art and Judith bought a real nice piece to replace one of our prints in the living room. My favorite restaurant was the Mango Rooms which featured a cocktail of Mango juice, rum, and vodka.

One of the amazing sights was seeing the school children get out of school and flock to the shaved ice shop.

Here is a photo of me in a museum showing a model of an ancient ship.

From the quiet atmosphere of Hoi An, we fly into Ho Chi Minh City, a city of enterprise and activity.

Hue, Vietnam

2010-06-16T15:27:00.000-05:00

We flew to Hue (pronounced Hway) from Hanoi into a very small airport and were picked up by hostess and driver to the Pilgrimage Village. The resort is outside the city and offers large villas, a friendly and efficient staff, and free van rides into town. The breakfast restaurant offered good food and balcony tables along side a large swimming pool. We used the outside tables and enjoyed the morning sun before it got hot. After the rainy and moderate temperatures of Hanoi and Halong Bay, Hue was a sharp contrast as normal temperatures during the afternoon were well into the 90’s, making shaded head wear a tourist necessity. Our evening meals were in the comfort of air conditioning at the more elaborate restaurant.

After getting organized and enjoying the resort, the next day we have arranged for a driver and English guide to tour the Citadel, Vietnam’s version of Beijing’s Imperial City.

Emperor Gia Long started construction in 1804 to house the royal family and household. There are three walled enclosures, the Exterior Enclosure or Citadel; the Yellow Enclosure; and within that; at the center is the Purple City where the emperor actually lived. A French military architect constructed it and the French, years later, destroyed it. A lot of it has been restored and work continues to this day. The most interesting thing about the day was hearing the English speaking guide give us a history lesson of the Vietnam War and how the Citadel fit into the war.

We asked him many questions and he shared much with us some candid observations among the most revealing was that the present government is very corrupt and he thinks Ho Chi Minh would encourage another revolution to replace the present government. One can see that he feels a sense of betrayal. It is his conversation with us that prompted me to review some of the important moments in the war.

This is a temple inside the Imperial City.

A bit of history--

The NVA (North Vietnam Army) attack began early on Jan.31, 1968 and by 0800, North Vietnamese troops raised the red and blue Viet Cong banner with its gold star over the Citadel flag tower. It was quite a shock to the allies. It was not until Feb. 24th, that the US Marines had finally prevailed and had retaken the Citadel and NVA flag.

The US Marines found a harrowing house to house, bobby trap infested ordeal as they swept through every inch of the city. Armor and air strikes were very limited to do conditions and to keep casualties down. Allied forces were ordered not to bomb or shell the city, for fear of destroying the historic structures. Also, since it was monsoon season, it was virtually impossible for the U.S. forces to use air support. But as the intensity of the battle increased, the policy was eliminated. The communist forces were constantly using snipers, hidden inside buildings or in small holes, and prepared makeshift machine gun bunkers.

Communist forces suffered heavy losses in this battle, losing 5,133 men at Hue; about 3,000 more were estimated to be killed outside of the city. Basically its whole attack force was wiped out. Approximately 2,800 people killed by the NVA and VC simply because they were pro-allied. Mass graves of executed and other atrocities were unearthed. American losses were only 142.

What the NVA did win were the minds of Americans as the battle was carried on news casts every night. The carnage of the battle turned off many Americans. People watched the blood and napalm as they ate their dinner and from 1968 forward, public opinion only became more vocal against the war especially the young generation doing the fighting and dying. Rock culture permeated into the military to a large degree causing discipline and drug problems. The draft in America was immensely unpopular with many college age men leaving for Canada or getting out of the duty on claims of being a drug addict or homosexual.

Not all Americans were against the war, but the Battle of Hue was the turning point. Public opinion forced President Nixon to sue for peace 3 years later, after the treaty was broken and Americans had left, two more years later the war was over.

Our second day at Hue we took the van into town and hired a Tiger Dragon boat for a cruise up and down the Perfume River to observe river life and reaching the Thien Mu Pagoda before turning back.

Young boy shampooing his hair.

We reached the pagoda and saw the students coming out of classes.

At the pagoda was the car that monk Thich Queng Duc used to drive to the spot in Saigon where he set himself on fire to protest the brutality South Vietnam president Ngo Dinh Diem. Diem had the backing of right wing Catholics in American, especially anti-communist Senator Joseph McCarthy, plus the Vatican, and was responsible for trying to oppress the majority Buddhists by denying them equal rights and killed many Buddhists. It was in every respect, a religious war. When Duc self immolated himself, President Kennedy started to withdraw support for Diem. Diem was assassinated 3 weeks before Kennedy on November 1, 1963.

The pagoda is often called the symbol of Hue and is the oldest religious structure in Vietnam, with construction started in 1601, with the bell tower built in 1864.

Upon arriving back to our villa, we enjoyed the spa and massages. I also practiced yoga there two mornings to start the day. This photo shows the entrance to the spa.

The next day we hired a car to drive us 3 hours through Danang to the World Heritage Site of Hoi An where we stayed at the nearby Nam Hai, the best luxury resort in Vietnam. Before leaving I took this photo.

Fairness

2010-06-12T11:18:00.000-05:00

I have given a lot of thought about fairness recently. It has to do with how much I enjoy my life now since I retired and re-married, compared to the struggles life presented me before.

Not that life before, was under constant stress or devoid of the good feelings I have more frequently now. But, the idea keeps creeping into my thoughts that that somehow I have earned every bit of my good feelings now present, by successfully, for the most part, working through my past tribulations, and it is only fair that I am receiving the benefits now.
Fair? How does fairness work? Let’s not get carried away here, David. Let’s look at this.
Equality, justice, and social change all have their roots in our perceptions of fairness, and the very ability to perceive fairness is itself rooted in the behavior of our animal ancestors. It arises early in childhood, when it is echoed in the familiar cry of “That’s not fair.”

Sportsmanship, fair play, the Golden Rule, hard work is rewarded, charity towards others is returned in kind; these are all deeply steeped in our culture. I endorse these concepts and think I live by them, however imperfectly at times. I am a person that studies rules and insist that they be followed, and not violated because they would benefit me or my friends. And I could never be a politician.

But living in the world has taught me that fairness has no bearing on what happens to people. Disasters happen, greedy people succeed, stupid people are rewarded for their stupidity, loved ones are lost in wars that should never have taken place, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
Religion tries to mediate by promises of an afterlife where good deeds are rewarded, but I don’t buy it. The idea there is a personal god that interferes in human activities has lead people to unknowingly support unimaginable evils. Given the powers and traits that a supreme being is supposed to possess, I find such a figment to be lacking fairness. And how can I accept a deity that doesn’t live up to my standards of fairness?

So where does that leave me? How do I justify feeling so blessed now?

I believe there are no answers as there are no answers to many things it life or what happens when someone’s life ends. Just accept the things that brought me here and know that everything counts.

Halong Bay, Vietnam

2010-06-08T09:31:00.000-05:00

Every tourist to Vietnam should include an overnight stay on a boat in Halong Bay. From Hanoi, the trip is about 3 hours, but once out of the city, the highway is reasonably free of traffic. We hired a driver to avoid being stuck in a van subject to a schedule of when to leave and return.

Along the way, I am fascinated by the new Vietnamese houses along the road.

In many of these houses, the bottom floor serves as either a shop or a garage with the living done further up. Almost all are 3 stories high. The newer ones are usually quite attractive with wooden doors and attractively trimmed with colorful paint. The number of new houses I saw along the way is evident that economic development is doing well within the country.

When ever one travels along a tourist route, it is almost certain that the driver will stop where a WC can be used if desired and shop for silk and other items indigenous to the country. We are very wary of spending money for items that are very attractive, because we are always concerned about how to transport anything back in our suit cases. Nevertheless, Judith bought some coffee table/serving dishes for future gift giving and I bought an embroidered panel that I am still wondering how to display it. Some of the embroidering was simply breathe taking and is a big cottage industry judging from the number of young people engaged in producing some very high quality work.

The signs told us the proceeds are used to fund orphanages.

We welcomed reaching out destination and had some time to stretch and drink a diet Coke, which are plentiful throughout Vietnam. We quickly see that there will be only 3 other people on our boat. Our large cabin is at the front of the boat and affords ultimate privacy with lounge chairs on our private balcony.

There are more people traveling as staff than passengers for a Thursday overnight stay, but the crew said the boat is booked full for the weekend.

We lunch on board after getting settled in our cabin. The galley is well appointed and the food is delicious. In the evening the French captain comes to every table to chat temporarily leaving his young Vietnamese girl friend. He spoke English very well with just a trace of French accent, helping to add an exotic favor to our conversation and the boat’s atmosphere.

We discover that the five star Emeraude is modeled in the tradition of the single wheel steamboat of the colonial era. The original Emeraude was one of the flotillas owned by the Roque family who left Bordeaux in 1858 in search of fame and fortune. The fleet cruised along Indochina waterways and Halong Bay in the olden days. The original Emeraude sank in the Bay in 1937. Using advanced techniques, French architects painstakingly modeled the new vessel from old photos and drawings found at the Paris' Maritime Museum.

Halong Bay is a Unesco World Heritage Site (and one of the 1000 things to see before you die) so capitalistic competition has come here with several newer and more attractive boats visible on the waters.

But the Emeraude has its own grand style and a well trained staff. We would recommend this cruise ship to anyone.

The boat is geared to act as a cruise ship with a list of activities, including an excursion to a cave, kayaking, swimming off the rear of the boat, the making of spring rolls, and showing the movie “Indochine” in the evening. As we have been through a number of limestone caves in the past, we choose to have massages while the other 3 passengers went through the cave.

I am making a spring roll here after watching the head chef making a couple of them. Mine were not as pretty, but just as tasty. This is something to try at home, if you can find the thin rice wrappings.

The chef also demonstrated how to make a rose by pealing a tomato and how to make a turkey from a tomato. The turkey is on the left. Making a rose is really pretty easy but I might need a refresher course on the turkey.

Sitting on a private balcony, cruising through Halong Bay with a refreshing drink on hand, has to be a tourist’s dream.

Here are some of my better photos.

The ships anchored in a cove at night.

This was a majestic, mystical experience. How lucky I am to be living my life like this.

Back to Hanoi the next morning and on to Hue the next day.

Hanoi, Vietnam

2010-05-31T14:29:00.000-05:00

Less than 50 years ago Hanoi was thought to be the potential tipping point of the cold war between the Soviet Union and the western democracies. At the time the United States entered the war in Vietnam, the popular reason was the domino theory which stated, if Vietnam goes communistic, then Thailand, Indonesia, Malaysia, and Philippians and god know who else, will surely follow. None of these countries are communistic today. But Vietnam is. So whether or not America’s involvement stopped the dominos from falling, or whether North Vietnam fought only to unify the country and drive out the puppet corrupt government in South Vietnam and secure their own political ambitious, probably depends on your politics.

I do know this, nearly 58,000 Americans died in Vietnam and more than 2 million Vietnamese. And contrary to popular conception, American did not lose the war. America withdrew its troops in March 1973 having signed a peace treaty in Paris under President Nixon (who campaigned on the promise that he had a secret plan for Vietnam) and left Vietnam to Vietnamization, or in other words, let the two sides settle things between them. And 25 months later, the north captured Saigon and soon after named the city Ho Chi Minh City.

We flew to Hong Kong and 2 hours later flew to HCMC where we stayed overnight in a hotel near the airport leaving the next day via Vietnam Airlines to Hanoi. The airport in Hanoi is quite a distance from the center of the city and our French colonial hotel, the Metropole. The traffic is similar to Indonesia, with motorbikes the principle means of transportation. Our taxi driver is aggressive as are most, and weaves in and out of traffic using the horn to encourage motorbikes to move out of the way.

The Metropole luxury hotel has been in existence since 1901 and every important historical figure that has come to Hanoi has stayed here. A lot of French people were in evidence and the staff will greet you with “Bon Jour” in the morning if they are uncertain of your nationality.

This photo was taken from in front of the opera house. There is no underpass for pedestrians and no stop light to make the cross. The trick to crossing streets is to move slowly, steadily and predictably so the motorbikes can maneuver around you.

The conference Judith attended was held across the street from the hotel at the Press Club, which by its name, tells you that foreign correspondences reported the war happenings there and I am sure there were no Americans involved.

I hung out at the pool when I was not raining or walked around the nearby streets. One can easily live in the hotel. It has several resturants and bars including one around the pool. When you sit on a lounge around the pool, the attendant brings you a skewer of fresh fruit and an ice filled glass of water. Forget the cost, if you ever stay in Hanoi, stay at the Metropole.

People still use the streets to vend their wares. That is fresh meat in the foreground.

The hats in this photo are in much of the art work seen around the entire country.

On the other side of the opera house is the Hilton Opera Hotel, not to be confused with the Hilton that hosted John McCain et alia. Here is the lobby and one of the great art visible there.

The climate in Hanoi was cool and rainy while we were there but when the skies cleared, the sun made it hot, but nothing like the heat we experience elsewhere.

When the conference was finished Judith had made arrangements for us to spend one night on a big boat in Halong Bay, 3 hours away by car and then return to the hotel for one additional night before flying the next day to Hei.

Changsha, China

2010-05-16T19:36:00.000-05:00

Changsha, about half way between Shanghai and Hong Kong, is the capital of Hunan Province with a rich ancient history dating back about 1000 BC. The population of the city proper is about 1.5 million, but the sprawling urban area contains over 6 million. During our time there, I noted that there was no pollution due to almost constant rain and misty drizzle that fell every day. The sun shown very briefly when we landed, then never was it seen again until we ascended out of the clouds on our way back to Beijing, four days later.

The Great Navigator, Chairman Mao was educated here and worked briefly as a teacher. As a young man he gave speeches here and recruited members for the Communist Party. A 23-foot-high statue of Mao in the city square has recently been re-covered in pure gold.

It is regarded as a place of learning, with three major universities, a number of technical institutes, hospitals, medical schools and fireworks factories. The city has attracted skilled workers and it is regarded as something of media, Internet and cultural center for China. Much of the nations animation and television programming is based in Changsha.

The AIDS prevention workshop was presented to English speaking university students at a university auditorium. Although able to understand English and speak it to some degree, translation was offered in Chinese for the presenters that spoke English. This seems an appropriate place to segue to a fact that should raise an eyebrow or two. By the year 2016, it is projected that China will be the largest English speaking country in the world!

I have no desire at my age to attempt to learn to speak Chinese, but some have told me that because the language has no verb tenses and nouns have no gender, it is not hard to learn. But one must be able to master inflections and where to place the emphasis on a word because a word has many different meanings depending on how it is said.

We are often amused by Chingalese signs (signs written in English) that have improper meanings to words or badly misspelled. I can only guess that the signs were made by people that thought they knew what they were doing, but never asked anyone that actually was fluent in English to proof read it.

We were housed in a complex that was built for government officials 30 or 40 years ago. We refer to such places as Stalin Hotels. This one was much better than some we have stayed in and the landscaping was outstanding.

This photo also shows what the weather was like during most of our stay except when it was actually raining. We were given a huge suite of two rooms that would be called the “Presidential Suite” in the states. But we only used the bedroom due to the reak of Chinese tobacco in the main room. The bedroom was not as bad.

We didn’t have much time for tourism on this trip but we were taken to Yuelu Academy that was founded in 976 AD and many photographic opportunities were presented. The academy was named Hunan Univeristy in 1926 and it has been preserved to show the ancient culture.

Here are a few of the photos I took.

At the workshop, Judith asked that Mark from Chicago’s Howard Brown Clinic for Gay, Lesbian, and Transgender people (and any other sexual life style variation), to speak about the work done there to protect people from sexually transmitted diseases. Among other things, they offer free HIV testing and counseling.

He was very entertaining and the Chinese for most interested in what he had to say. They asked many questions. Later at the close of the workshop and at the final dinner banquet, Mark got into a drinking contest with the host.

Mark is in the stripped shirt. Mark won the contest, but we suggested to him afterwards that he should have stopped long before and ceded the contest to the host (seen on the left). I have been the subject of these contests before, but I have learned to avoid them. I mean what is the point?

Indonesian Photos Submitted for Publication

2010-04-13T15:11:00.000-05:00

The Sweet Science

2010-04-10T22:35:00.000-05:00

Somewhere during my youth, probably after age 10, my father taught me to box.

This was the age when the “Brown Bomber” Joe Louis was heavyweight champion of the world. He was considered “an inspiration for his race” in the newspapers and was the very first ethnic African national hero. Up to that time, his most famous bout was pummeling former champion German Max Schmeling in June 1938 ending the fight in 2 minutes 4 seconds of the first round. In many ways this fight was more a political contest against two nations about to clash in an epic war.

The Olympic Games were held in Berlin in 1936 and Jesse Owens was the star of the games winning 4 gold metals. Hitler and his propaganda machine had been sending out the message that the Aryan race was far superior to the ethnic African race, so Owens delivered a crushing blow to this concept.

So Hitler was anxious for Schmeling to revive the Aryan superiority with a victory and FDR met with Louis a few weeks before the fight, telling him “we need muscles like yours to defeat Germany”. Schmeling, to his credit, considered himself a fighter and not a Nazi but at the time his protestation received no press.

One memory that stands out about boxing was listening to the second Billy Conn, Joe Louis fight. My father and I attended a high school basketball game the fight of the fight in 1946 and sitting behind us was a man you had the newest technology gadget, a portable radio. After the game was over, the fight was still going on and about 15 of us gathered outside the gym huddled around the man with the radio, listening to Don Dunphy describe the fight, hoping the batteries would last to the end.

I was tall for my age and skinny, with my arms longer for my body that normal. One of the statistics used to describe boxers is “reach” so in that respect my long arms were an advantage. I learned to jab with my left and cross with my right, to keep my guard up, to stay on my toes and dance out of range of my opponents blows.

In my day, young men frequently settled their disagreements with fisticuffs. We didn’t carry knives or guns. And due to my boxing skills I could hold my own with anyone in my class even the few bigger or taller than me. I would frequently get into minor skirmishes on the playground when I was challenged or I challenged someone. I never started a fight but I never backed down from one either.

As it turned out, most of the boys with whom I had fist fights, became my friends later. When we moved into team sports, having individual disputes seemed to vanish in the interest of working together with team mates to accomplish a goal.

After we got a TV in the early 50’s, I watched the Friday Night Fights every Friday night I was home. I watched Sugar Ray Robinson beat Jake LaMotta so badly they had to stop the fight because Jake, the Raging Bull would not go down. I remember other champions of Rocky Marciano, Jersey Joe Wolcott, Willy Pep, Floyd Patterson, and welcomed the arrival of Sonny Liston, Joe Frazer, and Cassis Clay (who changed into Mohammed Ali).

I remember going to a movie theater with my mother in Dayton to watch the Clay-Liston fight. Most people around us before the fight thought Liston was indestructible and mother and I tenuously voiced our confidence that Clay would win.

My last fight was an epic event. During recess or before school when I was in 9th grade, anyone that wanted to join in played soft ball where you got to bat as long as you didn’t make an out. If you hit a fly ball, the person who caught it replaced you at bat.

There was this boy Rudy, who decided that the rules didn’t apply to him. And when I challenged him about it, he threatened me, probably thinking I would back down. Wrong!

Since fighting on the school yard during school would result in serious consequences, arrangements were made to meet after school in nearby Bayliss Park.

I arrive first with many classmates there for support or for the same reasons people watch NASCAR. Rudy arrives and before we start fighting, he shows everyone that he is wearing a ring which had a miniature saddle as the centerpiece. The ring is meant to cut my face. My sense of fair play was enraged and Rudy became the villain to the crowd.

Rudy was a wrestler but I knew how to box, and I had a longer reach. Occasionally, Rudy would land a punch and it hurt. The inside of my mouth got chewed up from the braces on my teeth. But his ring didn’t leave any permanent marks. Nothing compared to the beating I gave Rudy. He didn’t show up in school for a week afterwards. I blacked both his eyes and to save face, he didn’t return to school until the discoloration went away.

Rudy was a bully before we fought, but not afterwards. No one ever wanted to challenge me after that. I retired on top and never ever did I fist fight again.

College Days and Beyond

2010-03-31T09:24:00.000-05:00

Besides working every summer and during holiday breaks to secure money for my college education, I worked a number of jobs while on campus.

I ran track and cross country for two years hoping to secure an athletic scholarship but I gradually found out that such a thing was not going to happen. Scholarship were given only for football, basketball and wrestling at Iowa State with rare exceptions that my talent couldn’t meet.

But my track coach would occasionally find work for me cleaning up the grandstands after a home football game. So myself and several other jocks showed up on a few Sunday mornings, gathered up large sweeping brooms and climbed to the top of the grandstands and started to push all the peanut shells, popcorn boxes and various contra-banded empty liquor bottles and beer cans downward. Then the garbage was centralized and scooped up into trucks and hauled away. The problem was that there were so many of us, the job didn’t last very long, minimizing our actual take away pay.

I waited tables, first at Theta Delta Chi, my fraternity, then later at a sorority. I learned to always serve from the left, serve the women first when they were guests, and how to carry three plates at a time. Actually, I could carry five plates but the limit was 3 for the sake of proper waiter etiquette. But certain on rare days when the house mother was away, 5 plates it was. Of course most of the work was done after the meal was over. The job of dishwasher was rotated and while he was washing, the other two would help the cook put food away, dry the dishes, pots, and pans, and ret up the dining room.

I considered it an upgrade to secure a job with the wait staff at the Sigma Kappa sorority, even though my job was washing the pots and pans and the sorority was 3 blocks away from my fraternity. Usually there were only about 25 sisters and pledges to feed compared to about 40 at my fraternity. The difference made the job quicker and easier.

Considering that females at Iowa State were only 40 % of the student body, working at a sorority had some fringe benefits. At this particular time, the Sig Kaps were known to have many members that were less than beautiful and/or overweight. In fact the house mother was always trying to have her menu reflect small servings and healthy food. The result was that four guys in the kitchen ate about 30% of the food and 30 gals ate the other 70%. I was a good job all in all. Two of us were from the same fraternity and the other two were Phi Psis and we all got along very well.

A class mate and I worked in our department one summer on various projects. I remember one job was to eliminate the central belt driven motor for all the various machines used in the Ceramic Engineering department and add a motor for each machine. The machines had to have its individual concrete base poured for each motor and hook up the motor to the machine.

Later I did library research from one of my professor’s research project. I spent hours trying to find information about phase equilibriums of various materials.

One Fall I took part in the annual United Fund drive called the “The Ugliest Man on Campus” or UMOC. This was not a paying job, but it was associated with raising money. I put a silk stocking on my head and made a face and my photo was taken. Then 2000 flyers with my ugly face were printed up and distributed on bulletin boards across the campus. Voting is done by contributing to the United Fund, designating the person who is the ugliest as you gave. I had no hope of winning because large fraternities make sure one of their members wins by working hard to secure donations. But I finished a respectable 5th.

One of the worst jobs I ever had at college was setting bowling pins at the student union. I got paid $.35 a line, so if 4 persons bowled a set, I made $1.40. This was before automatic pin setters. Myself and my fellow pin setters would work two alleys at a time. We positioned ourselves between the alleys and when a ball and pins would come into a pit, we would move there, pick up the ball first and set it on the return rail and give it a little top spin so it would reach the collection stop. We would drop the hydraulic operated reset tray, pick up four pins at a time, two in each hand, and drop them into position. After a strike or second ball on a spare came through, the tray was dropped and a new 10-pin pattern was presented.

It was dangerous and dirty work. One pin-setter next to me lost a tooth, when a pin went flying and hit him in the face. The pit was extremely dusty due to the constant abrasion of pins against pins, and pins against bowling ball combined with neglectful janitorial service.

I developed calluses on both hand between my third and fourth fingers where I grabbed the second pin. And my back was sore from the constant bending down and raising up. So the job was physically demanding, environmentally unpleasant, and dangerous.

I do remember a few incidents that while embarrassing at the time, cause me to smile every time I recall them. One time I hurried too quickly to return the ball to the return track by applying top spin before the ball was securely on the track, causing the ball to jump off the track, bounce unto the lane, and cause a collusion with a ball just delivered by a bowler hoping for a strike. “Bonk” resounded very loudly and could be heard several alleys away.

Another time I got out of sync, thinking the bowler already had thrown two balls, and I lowered the re-set tray prematurely just in time for the ball to smack the tray. The two make an interesting clanging sound when they meet. And the bowler let out a roar, probably because he thought the ball would have been a strike. And perhaps he was right.

Believe me when it came time to graduate, I looked forward to a life as a professional engineer and a nice income. That worked out pretty well, until 30 years later when I was out of a job and started to work at Jewel supermarket, stocking grocery shelves while I sought employment in engineering.

After 18 months not being employed in the engineering field, I was able to reinvent myself as an Environmental Engineer, a field I worked in for my remaining professional life. As it turned out, it was a thoroughly interesting second career.

I have had many different jobs in my life and to use one of my favorite mantras to close this saga, “everything counts in life”. Without all these experiences, I would be a different person than I am now.

Going Downhill Fast

2010-03-12T12:39:00.000-06:00

“Dave, we need someone to go over and race with the class “D” group.”

I had started skiing about 3 years before, taking my first ski lesson at Greek Peak, a small ski area near Cortland, New York, half way between Binghamton and Schenectady. My girl friend’s home town was Cortland and she was a part owner of a condo just across from the ski area on the town’s outskirts. At that time, Patricia and I were involved in a new and exciting romance. We met because I was friends with her ex-husband and when I moved the family to Lancaster, PA, she was there, she was strikingly beautiful, and we were both single. We had much in common and loved active sports. What was not to like?

During Thanksgiving weekend 1979, we drove up to Greek Peak with my daughter and her two sons, to spend a couple of days on the slopes. Talk was that my daughter, Kristi and I would rent ski equipment and take beginner lessons together, while Patricia went skiing with her sons. And so it happened.

I was both anxious and exhilarated to begin skiing. I had never been remotely close to skiing and never even knew anyone that was a skier until I met Patricia, other than her ex-husband. Burnt in my memory forever, is how awkward I felt when boards were put on my feet and I was asked to then walk sideways up a very slight knoll to begin my first descent.

Kristi and I were athletic and determined to become comfortable with the label of “skier” and after many failed attempts to remain upright we were soon making turns with our skies formed in the shape of a wedge. As I progressed in honing my incipient skills I realized that skiing is all about overcoming fear by gaining both skill and confidence motivated by desire to succeed. Soon I was able to advance to the chair lift and the bunny hill.

A year later I was able almost keep up with Patti. She was an elegant and graceful skier while I relied on brute strength and courage trying to master both speed and control. Many times losing control resulted in spectacular wipe outs resulting ski, poles, hats, gloves, and goggles flying off in various directions with me bravely struggling off still another bruise. One morning while on a week long ski trip, I was so sore and beat up that I had difficulty getting out of bed. I decided than and there that I would devote my efforts to mastering more control and sacrifice some speed.

Eventually my days living in the East came to an end and a couple of years later, our romance finally ended also, but the skiing stayed with me and remains to this day.

“Dave, we need someone to go over and race with the class “D” group.” It is March 1983 and I am on a Midwest bus weekend ski trip with Fort Wayne Ski Club. The person talking to me is the race captain for the club. We are at Boyne, Michigan and all ski clubs that belong to the Indiana Ski Council have descended there for a weekend of ski racing, drinking, and making out as much as possible.

I explain to the race captain that I have never raced before but that does not dissuade her from enlisting me. I am given instructions where to go and soon I am standing in line with a numbered paper racing bib on my chest waiting to go as fast as possible around poles with flags on the top and to do so without falling down.

By this time, I have had time to size up some my competition and it is pretty plain to me that I can ski as well or better than most of them as determined how they looked skiing over to the starting area. Thankfully, I was not one of the first to plunge down the slope so I have a chance to observe what some of the better skiers did.

It seems that there was this wand across the starting place and as soon as your legs push through it, the timer clock starts running and there is an electric eye at the finish line, which stops the clock when you break the beam. So from my observation point, the goal was to get going as fast as possible at the start.

When my turn comes, I place my poles over the starting wand and as I wait briefly to hear that the course is clear, I try to think, “breathe out fear, breathe in energy” to try to eliminate my considerable anxiety. Suddenly I hear, “go when ready racer” from the starter. I push out with all my strength and skate hard towards the first pole. Around the first 3 flagged poles (I learn later to talk them “gates”) I go, trying to look ahead and see the next challenge. I am picking up speed as the slope gets steeper. At the fourth gate, my instinct takes over and my weight goes to the tails of my skies causing to spin 180 degrees and almost fall down. I turned about as fast as possible and continued until the 8th gate where a reoccurrence took place. I recovered again and continued on through the finish line, disappointed that I didn’t do better, but I heart was pounding and I felt the adrenalin kick in. “Wow, I want to do that again, I know I can do better”, were my thoughts.

And so it began. Later that night at the awards banquet, medals were handled out for the first 10 places in each racing category. I came in 9th even with all the mistakes I made and I was amazed. Obtaining a 9th place medal in the lowest race class helped me realize I had potential.

Two years later I won the ski club’s “Most Improved Skier” award and also the Veteran Men’s Challenge Cup for my overall season performance. My name was engraved on the club’s huge Challenge Cup and I was presented a miniature cup to keep. I got to keep the big cup for a year and fortunately I had a fireplace mantel to give it prominence.

When I came to Chicago and joined Lake Shore Ski Club, I was soon well known because I started winning the club’s ski races dethroning the long time champions. This in turn led to becoming the club’s president as well as several other positions within the club. I became a certified ski instructor when I retired and I also met my wife on a weekend bus trip.

I have a trophy case filled with medals and trophies and sitting in the center is my 9th place medal in honor of how it all started.

Skiing is a life sport and if there is a desire to improve it is possible. So as I complete my 30th year skiing, I am positive that I continue to improve, not only as an all around skier but on the race course also. It probably it unrealistic to think this will continue, but I really don’t want to think about it. Not now anyway, I am having way too much fun.

Thank You for the Music, ABBA.

2010-02-19T15:01:00.000-06:00

On my daughter Vikki’s birthday 3 weeks ago, I thought of a comment she made to me about ABBA, the Swedish rock group.

Both daughters, Vikki and Kristi, encouraged me to start a blog so I could post my travelogue stories and pictures of the many places I have visited. So I set up a blog and filled out my profile. The profile had a place for my favorite music and among the listing of Pink Floyd, Yes, The Stones, Billy Joel, The Eagles, Loggins and Messina , and so forth, and I added ABBA.

When Vikki read this she wrote me a one word question. ABBA? I am not sure exactly why the question but I assumed it was either that she didn’t know that I liked ABBA, or ABBA did not appeal to her high standards of music or she didn’t feel ABBA fit in with the others in my list.

I wrote back to her that I would answer her question in a future post on my blog. So here goes.

During the mid-80’s, I lived in the Soviet Union for about 6 months, spending most of my time in Voronezh, Russia, with temporary stays in Vilnius, Lithuania, and Moscow. Actually I got to Moscow several times, one or two weeks at a time. But that left plenty of time to while away the long, dark, cold winters days and nights in Voronezh.

Vilnius and Moscow were capitol cities and even in the dieing days of the Soviet Union, one could find time to eat caviar, drink Champagne, trade shots of vodka with the men, and dance with the women. In fact, I had a blast, greatly influenced by the lovely and vibrant companionship of Natasha when in Moscow.

Voronezh was 200 miles south of Moscow located on the Don River where forests were so thick, the Tsar created the Russian Navy there due to the available lumber and access to the Black Sea and Mediterranean, Outside of the circus coming to town or an occasional night club (if you want to call it that) or going to the ballet whose dancers were class “C” leaguers to reach the Boishoi big league. Most everything else was ennui.

I brought in a lot of jig saw puzzles to work on and I finished them all, never to ever want to put one together again. A hot shower in the morning was almost impossible as the water came from a central system in another part of town. I couldn’t be heated fast enough to supply the need in the morning and of course there were the heat losses that occurred between loci.

The place I worked was never warm enough and my nose was cold all day except when I could stick it over a steaming hot bowl of watery soup provided at lunch. None of meals in Voronezh provided any sort of culinary delight accept the pizza I made from a boxes of Pillsbury Hot Roll Mix from my suitcase, plus tomato sauce, garlic, cheese, and sausage all locally available sometimes, When I saw any of these things, I bought them right then because tomorrow they would be gone. Even without the oregano, they were tasty and American.

And with me in Voronezh and Natasha in Moscow, the lack of a warm body next to me at night certainly was a minus. Physical contact with someone is part of my mantra of how to achieve a happier life. It was missing. So in summary, I was cold, lonely and bored.

ABBA was first popular in Europe at that time and I was able to hear ABBA sing “Dancing Queen” and “Take a Chance of Me” in the night spots and sometimes on the short wave radio. Granted they are not the mood changer that Mick Jagger can be, but I found there songs uplifting. They were a small, but important improvement to my days and nights. During an R and R week outside the Soviet Union, I bought a portable tape player and some tapes of ABBA and Pink Floyd and took them in with me.

When I left the Soviet Union I gave the player and tapes with Natasha and she gave me 3 small jars of black beluga caviar. I was not happy to leave her. I am so thankful we met and shared our lives with each other. I will not ever forget her.

For many months after I returned to the U.S. whenever I heard ABBA my thoughts never dwell on the loneliness, coldness, or boredom but only the good times I had. So ABBA, “Thank You for the Music”.

"Forgiving Dr. Mengele"

2010-02-04T23:38:00.000-06:00

My thoughts after seeing a film in a class about "forgiveness."

The movie "Forgiving Dr. Mengele" was documentary about a woman, Eva Kors, who survived Auschwitz and Dr. Mengele.

In order to be free of the terrible mental pain afterwards, she found a way to forgive the people that were so cruel to her and in so doing released the pain inside and found peace. She was so strongly convinced that if others when through the process of forgiveness (please do understand it is a process) that she lectured the world over.

I had a lot of therapy in my late thirties. I had alot of anger inside me and in therapy I released it gradually, and not without a lot of resistance to doing so, my re-feeling it and directing it at the images of my parents. And after repeating the process over and over, the pain mostly went away and I found as though I crossed over to another side. I found peace and as a byproduct forgiveness toward my parents came with it.

Forty years ago my wife died suddenly. The key element of my successful grieving process was to direct all my anger towards her first, then me second. And in so doing I was able to forgive her and then myself.

The documentary didn't show any part of the steps involved in getting to forgiveness. It didn't show the hard, long and painful getting over process necessary to get to the forgiveness part.

The key to the path of forgiveness therefore, is to confront the anger aggressively, feel the pain associated with it, and after awhile forgiveness comes. But one will never find forgiveness without acknowledging the anger and dealing with it. One can not just decide to forgive, it doesn’t work that way.

Many in the class, during the following discussion period, seemed to find it strange that forgiveness should be an endeavor to want to achieve. The film showed a courageous woman more than it showed how to achieve forgiveness. Many didn't even believe the woman truly had forgiven.

But then, they probably didn't go through therapy

John Wayne, We Need You Now!

2010-01-08T20:09:00.000-06:00

Born in Winterset, Iowa as Marion Morrison, the man eventually became a movie icon known as John Wayne.

Director John Ford used John Wayne as his leading man in many of his films to portray his vision of manhood as he thought should be practiced. Wayne seemed to be perfectly cast to be the tough, courageous leader who was honest, direct, and had high marks for integrity and not over thinking any problem. In his films, doing the right thing was always easy even if it was wrong. His roles also showed that a man could be caring and warm inside as long as he guarded these traits with discretion.

It is easy for me to image that when an actor becomes famous and beloved for projecting himself on the big screen in a certain way repeatedly, that eventually the man inside the actor changes to become the image itself. The image then becomes the guiding force behind public behavior and is carefully crafted and protected to secure an outgoing career and/or the need to be loved. And if the image is treated with nuance and skill, it always appears to be real.

So Marion, nicknamed Duke after his dog, became chariamticJohn Wayne. And the image John Ford and John Wayne created evolved into a representative symbol and, in the public’s eye, the symbol became the man. They became merged, symbiotically integrated, fused into one, the man and the legend.
John Wayne the actor or the man never seemed to be put into a situation where a problem was complex and answers were not obvious. That’s why the answers to the Viet Nam War were simple for the man. He was anti-communist and he previously joined with Senator McCarthy leading the effort to purge Hollywood of communists. He bought into the domino theory, supported Nixon at the time even though the country was changing.

Now there is no doubt that Duke always supported the troops but what American doesn’t, regardless of his politics. But supporting the troops is far different than supporting a foreign policy that cost the lives of thousands of people bringing hardship to thousands more, and engaging in a war that, in reality couldn’t be won. And it is hard for me to accept patriotism in the form of supporting the House Un-American Activities which seems to me to be one of the darkest moments in our history and is counter to what our Consitution states in clear language.

But when Kennedy defeated Nixon, he said this, "I didn't vote for him but he's my president, and I hope he does a good job."
To me that sounds like a true patriot.
Let’s contrast this against the current brand of right wing Republicanism. People of this ilk, are doing everything possible to see that President Obama can’t do a good job for if he succeeds, it will impact their re-electability. They promote an aura of fear and a depth of their courage that would do Chicken Little proud. They themselves are frighten by the spector of having detainees sent to Illinois or to have one of extremists tried in New York. And every now and then, former VP Chaney crawls out of his bunker to sound the alarm that we should continue the polices that infringe upon our civil rights, support torture, and help recruit young men to turn whose goal is to harm us. Since most Americans have not idea of what consistitutes what can be called, “a healthy mind”, let me inform those unaware, that Dick Chaney is mentally ill. He is, and if you look and listen to him with that in mind, you will realize that I am right.
If a genie were to grant me three wishes, I would use one of them to bring back John Wayne to show us the wholesome courage and we grew to love about him I would ask him to help eliminate the policies of fear and tell the world that you “may not have voted for President Obama, but he is my president, and I hope he does a good job.”

That, pilgrim, is what a patriot would do.

I Can Dance-Finale

2009-12-20T19:42:00.001-06:00

I can’t really end my stories about my career at Arthur Murray’s without talking about some significant events that occurred during and beyond.

Miss Wadley

While at the studio everyone was always addressed formally. No first names were ever used. I now have no remembrance of Miss Wadley’s first name although I did know it at one time. She had recently retired after a lifetime working at Union Pacific Railroad when she first came into the studio. She wore black old lady shoes and usually a black dress, to cover a pronounced pear shaped form, when she first became my student. She had never been married. Sometimes she didn’t smell the best. She didn’t have a sense of rhythm. When asked to do a waltz step by herself, the rhythm was slow, quick, quick, instead of even tempoed steps of 1,2,3.

Naturally, given all the potential available, I looked forward to our twice a week sessions once the odor problem went away, which was soon. We soon became professional friends. As she improved in all areas, the power of positive reinforcement was so greatly dramatically demonstrated that I never forgot it. Constance encouragement on my part and desire to improve on her part was a winning combination. At one point we performed a solo waltz together at a dance party and she followed perfectly. Later she became a life time member and the commission I received as a result went into my slowly building saving account. When I left the studio I knew she would enjoy many years of dancing in her ankle strap shoes and colorful clothes with perfect rhythm.

Pat Carter

The owner of the studio also owned 4 other studios and due to lack of profitability, closed the studio in Grand Island, Nebraska and the teachers there were transferred to one of the two Omaha studios. Among them was this good looking, skinny, naive girl, Pat Carter. She came from a very small village near Grand Island and looked to get out into the world so moving to Grand Island was a big step for her. Omaha was another giant step forward for her. She was anxious to fit in, but it was challenging because she was not yet 21 although at times she got into the club the instructors went to after work to dance.

We started to spend most of our spare time together and of course all day and most of the night at the studio. Before long we became engaged. I had made the decision to return to college and continue my quest to secure an engineering degree. I didn’t want to go without her so we got married just before Thanksgiving. All the teachers and the studio owner as well as some of our students attended the reception held at my mother’s house. And of course, Miss Wadley was there. Leaving the studio, my fellow teachers, and students was not an easy thing to do. There was some promise that I could have advanced up the rank and file and had a career at Arthur Murray’s. We both had developed close and warm relationships with all the people and there was a void to fill as we left.

My mother constantly encouraged me to return to college in order to secure a better future for myself. And I did see the logic of her argument and upon my re-admission being accepted, off we went to Ames, Iowa to get me re-enrolled at Iowa State, find affordable lodging, and find Pat a job on campus.

The rode ahead was not easy. I took all the jobs I could find and worked hard on my studies. With one more year to go, we found out Pat was pregnant in August 1958. We lived in a basement apartment and awoke in the middle of an October night to find the house was on fire. We escaped all right, although my hair got singed. We were able to recover most of our belongings because the fire was put out quickly although everything smelled of smoke.

In three days I had to leave on a required senior vocation trip to visit factories in Illinois, Iowa, and Missouri. Kindly neighbors put Pat up for the week while I was gone. We found lodging in Kelly, Iowa some 10 miles away. Our new lodging was cheaper, but the extra cost of gasoline even things out.

In March there was a big snow storm we were snowed in. Somehow a rumor got started in the little burg of Kelley that Pat was in labor. Two men with anxious eyes knocked on our door to inform us that they would help us get her to the hospital in Ames by clearing roads ahead of our car. Two days later Pat did indeed go into labor. Pat’s labor lasted about 40 hours. I spend most of two days in the waiting room listening to various women scream their way to delivery as their husbands abandoned me to go their prodigy.

Finally our son decided he had had enough dilly-dallying and popped out. I can still recall the relief I felt. My wife was exhausted but both mother and child were well and safe.

From then on the rest of the school year went smoothly, I graduated, and the first week in June, we loaded our car and small trailer with our entire belongings and headed to Dayton, Ohio, where I had accepted an offer to work at Frigidaire.

Throughout the years, occasionally, I taught people to dance and got paid to do so. I even started working part time at the Arthur Murray studio in Muncie, Indiana to pick up a little extra change and refresh my repertoire. I believe dancing open doors for me that never have closed. Should anything ever happen to my wife, I fantasize that I would obtain work on a cruise ship and charm rich ladies around the dance floor, occasionally discretely accepting their room keys as a token of their gratitude. Once in their room they would give me a great foot massage and offer me a warm glass of milk. The nice thing about a fantasy is that it doesn’t have to be acted out or take place for the mind to enjoy its image. So in some recess of my mind, I will always be moving gracefully along the dance floor.

Seeing Macau in 6 Hours

2009-12-10T08:23:00.000-06:00

While in Hong Kong we took a side trip to Macau, something I didn’t get done when I lived in HK. In the 80”s it was still under the control of the Portuguese and it had the reputation of having a lot of gambling and sex available. Today the gambling has greatly expanded and the sex has gone underground.

Judith did visit in the 80’s and she says Macau has expanded probably at the same order of magnitude as HK has. Casinos are of the same ilk as those in Vegas, big and gaudy. And the old town of two story houses and shops, along narrow winding streets, are being crowded out to make way for new high rises.

We begin our journey by taxi to the western side of Kowloon and purchase tickets for the large hover craft, After going through passport control we board we find all seats are reserved and we find ours along the outside of the boat. The seats are cushiony fake leather with plenty of leg room. Almost are nice as sitting in business class on an airplane. The sea is calm and we scoot along the coast line observing various small islands and boats. Soon we disembark and go through customs and are quickly approached by a native tourist guide who speaks excellent English. He shows us his brochure outlining some the sites we should see within 2 hours which will end us up at the historic center of the city where we can slow down as see many things of interest.

One of first things we see is the Macau Tower which offers panoramic views of the city and has a convention center and restaurants and has added a bungee jump. In the back ground is the Sai Van Bridge which connects a couple of smaller islands that are part of Macau. These islands are where even more casinos, hotels, and resorts are being built.

Next we roll by the Kun Iam Ecumenical Center along the outer harbor. The Goddess of Kun Iam (Goddess of Mercy) is made of a special bronze. Information about Buddhism, Taoism, and Confucianism are available there.

We make our way up one of larger hills in the city to the Chapel of Our Lady of Penha founded in 1622 by crew and passengers of a ship which narrowly escaped capture by the Dutch. It was rebuilt is 1837.

We ended our tour at the façade of St. Lawrence church which burned up except for the front. It is one of the main tourist attractions now. Next to it is an old fort and we climb the many steps up only to find out there is an escalator on the opposite side of the hill.. We use it on the way down.

We walk to the center of the historic city where this fountain has been a main stay for many years. The architecture of the building in the background is typical of that during the colonial Portuguese rule. Note always the black and white swirls in the street of the pedestrian mall.

This last church of note we visited was St. Dominic’s Church built is 1590’s. The church has a violent past. In 1644 a Spanish military officer was murdered during mass for being against the Portuguese and in 1707 the friars locked themselves in and pelted soldiers for three days with rocks. The soldiers were sent to enforce the excommunication orders issued by the local bishop who had a dispute with the pope.

We had a relaxing, enjoyable lunch at a western style restaurant just off the square, then headed back to HK.The next morning I captured the sunrise out our hotel window.

The sun is just lighting the tallest building.

Walking the Freedom Walk

2009-11-23T20:30:00.001-06:00

Boston was where the American Revolution and the birth of our country began. I consider myself a patriot and one who has a deep appreciation of the freedoms we enjoy as a result of the courage and sacrifices of a few brave souls. I came to Boston to walk the Freedom Trail but I had no idea how much it would renew my faith in the greatness of our country. History came alive for me this weekend in Boston.

We stayed at the Parker House, the oldest continuous hotel in America, since 1855, with a large room next to the John McCormick Suite (former speaker of the House). Parker House is the home of the Parker House Rolls and the Boston Cream Pie. It was here where the brightest lights of America’s Golden Age of Literature — writers like Emerson, Thoreau, Hawthorne, and Longfellow — regularly met for conversation and conviviality in the legendary nineteenth century Saturday Club. It was here where baseball greats like Babe Ruth and Ted Williams wined, dined, and unwound. And it was here, too, where generations of local and national politicians — including Ulysses S. Grant, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, John F. Kennedy, and William Jefferson Clinton — assembled for private meetings, press conferences, and power breakfasts.

Two cultural icons and notable revolutionaries spent time on the Parker House staff: Vietnamese leader Ho Chi Minh served as a baker in the bakeshop from 1911 to 1913, and
Malcolm Little (remembered as black activist, Malcolm X) was a busboy in the early
1940s, during the period of the Pearl Harbor invasion.

Our first night at the hotel, we stopped into the hotel’s bar, the Last Hurrah, (where JFK proposed to Jackie) and had some Boston Cream Pie. It was delicious and unlike any other so called Boston cream pie I had ever tasted. It had both a crispness and lightness that was unmatched.

The Parker House is right on the Freedom Trail. Just down the street is a statue of Ben Franklin, who was born in Boston and attended Boston Latin School on the site, now occupied by the Old City Hall.

And at the end of the block, was the Old South Meeting Place, which was the site of the protest against a tax on tea Dec. 16, 1773 and later that night the Boston Tea Party was held.

The next morning off we went, borrowing two umbrellas from the hotel, following the red brick road.

We then went to the Old State House, where the first public reading of the Declaration of Independence was made and JFK first announced his candidacy for President. Then we visited the Boston Massacre Site where British soldiers killed 5 men who were protesting the occupation of the British, including Crispus Attucks, whose death was greatly romanticized as the first man to die in what led to the American Revolution. Attucks was of mixed race, part Indian, part black African but during the civil rights movement he suddenly became one of the most important men in African-American history.From there we walked a short distance to Faneuil Hall known as the “Cradle of Liberty”. Faneuil Hall has served as a marketplace and a meeting hall since 1742. Funding was provided by a wealthy merchant, Peter Faneuil, for the construction and local artisan to create the grasshopper weather vane that still perches on the building's cupola. Inspirational speeches by Samuel Adams and other patriots were given at Faneuil Hall. These oratories became the footstool for America's desire to obtain independence from the British.

Onward we trudged to Paul Revere’s House which is Boston’s oldest clapboard frame house. Then, the Old North Church. where Revere saw there were two lanterns shining from the steeple and along with other riders, went to warn the Minute Men that the British were coming by sea towards Lexington and Concord.

By then our feet were soaked and we were ready for some clam chowder and on our way back to the Parker House, we stopped and ate at the Union Oyster House, America’s Oldest Restaurant. For dinner we went down to the one of the restaurants listed in the book “1000 Places to See Before You Die”, the Legal Sea Foods. It was crowded and properly noisy and the food was excellent.

The next day, we traveled in the other direction from the hotel to see the Boston Commons, the State House, and Park Street Church, the Granary Burial Ground and the King’s Chapel.
The burial ground contains the graves of Paul Revere, John Hancock, Samuel Adams, and the victims of the Boston Massacre.

We then took a taxi to the JFK Presidential Library and Museum.

We took the subway back to our hotel, then got a taxi over the bridge to see the USS Constitution which is the oldest commissioned was ship in the world. It was built in 1797 and was nicknamed “Old Ironsides” and earned fame in the War of 1812.

Here is a painting taken from the small museum on site which shows the ship at full sail.

Outside of attending a Red Sox game at Fenway Park, we saw and experienced a lot of Boston. Walking the Freedom Trail was all it should be and I hope everyone will have the opportunity to have the experience.

Shanghai-Pearl Tower

2009-11-22T16:23:00.000-06:00

On our return to Shanghai from Hangzhou, we check into the Hyatt on the Bund hotel for a 2 night stay. We have lunch in the hotel with the full entourage and then find a place to have a full-body message. When we arrive we find this short street is filled with high end message places mostly catering to tourists and other westerners. After the long trip from Hangzhou, the massages were both refreshing and restoring.

The next morning I told this picture out our window.
The building with the hole at the top is the Shanghai World Financial Center, third tallest building in the world and the structure looming in the foreground is the Oriental Pearl Tower. The Financial Center is actually taller than the Pearl Tower.

Our tourist objective is to visit the Pearl Tower on this day. We travel by taxi through the tunnel under the Huangpu River and get dropped off at the tower.

As we learned each of the 3 balls on the tower was a place to visit. The 2nd ball had a restaurant, and every stop had many souvenir shops. Outside of the spectacular views the entire experience was just so-so.

The Bund is on the left of the bridge over the river and our hotel is on the right behind the building with the light blue roof.

Looking south.

From the ground.

One of the best things about the Pearl Tower was the museum on the ground floor that had full pictorials of the colorful history of Shanghai. Remember old movies that had these cars?

Later that night the we were sitting in the club room having drinks with I saw that a full moon was rising and was about move so it shown through the hole at the top of the Financial Center. I doubt that this photo can be duplicated very often.

Hong Kong-Memories from the 80's

2009-11-17T16:32:00.001-06:00

I have many good memories each time I visit Hong Kong. I lived here for 5 months in the middle 1980’s working for a company that was put together for the purpose of selling color picture tube technology to the Chinese. An enterprising Greek man, who formerly worked at Zenith, somehow associated himself with a Chinese man and woman who formed Lotus Engineering. Nick hired me after an interview at the Hyatt near O’Hare due to my 18 years experience at RCA and having worked in the Soviet Union providing technical assistance setting up color tube manufacturing plants spanning 3 different cities. That is another rich tale that deserves a future exposure.

I was unemployed at the time and living in Rockford, IL and my future job opportunities looked extremely dim at the time. So I jumped at the chance in spite of having to leave my three children in their early 20’s to fend for themselves.

In those days, a trip to Hong Kong on United Airlines from Chicago required a flight to Seattle first, then a plane change and depending on the head winds, a refueling stop at Midway Island or Guam. The old Hong Kong airport was one of the most difficult to negotiate with surrounding buildings and a short runway.

Soon after I arrived I found permanent lodging in a high rise in Discovery Bay on Lantau Island, which was accessible only by boat. My view over looked the beach below and the western end of Hong Kong island. There were always boat of many sizes anchored between Hong Kong and Lantau islands, and a constant variety to the panoramic view. At times the mist and fog prevented any view at all, especially in the mornings. The best vistas were always contained a small amount of sea mist which always helped to promote the idea of mystical intrigue and adventure were available to all that dared venture out.

There are two modest size hover-craft boats that transport residents of Discovery Bay to the main island. This is how I went to work 6 days a week and return to my apartment except when the hover craft broke down. Normally, the ride is about 20 minutes but in heavy seas somewhat longer. After disembarking from the hover craft, I take a short walk to the Star Ferry terminal and board the ferry to across over to Kowloon. Then, either a 10 minute walk past the historic Peninsular Hotel or a 5 minute bus ride is chosen to travel to the South Seas Towers in Tsim Sha Tsui and then up the elevator to the top 10th floor, and I was at my desk.

The Hong Kong I experienced is long gone. Street food vendors once tempted passer-bys with charcoal fired woks emanating aromas of garlic, peanut oil, fried pork or chicken, bok choy and other exotic vegetables or fruit. If you weren’t too facetious, in 5 minutes a delicious meal could be purchased at a very reasonable price. And you got to watch the chef all the way.

Gone is the Hot Lips Bar romanticized by an article in the New Yorker magazine referring to reminiscences of the movie “World of Suzie Wong”. One executive guest, I took around to see the city, wanted to go there. Soon after we entered the Hot Lips, we sat down in a large booth, the required escorts came and sat down next to us, the obligatory watered down drinks came and we of course we gladly paid. The escorts were definitely not comparable to Susie as their glow of youth had now to be applied with brushes, but they were reasonably attractive and had good teeth.

Soon after the second round, my visiting exec began to negotiate with mama-san to pay her for the loss of the escort’s time the rest of the evening. He slapped down some bills and soon he walked out with the seamstress my day, mystery woman by night.

Sure this sort of thing still goes on, but the circumstances will never quite be the same. The Hot Lips Bar is gone, but not the memory.

Most of Tsim Sha Tsui had changed into brightly lit modern shops with clean floors and spaced out merchandise. There are no places to buy ivory anymore, not that I ever wanted to buy any. Fake Rolexes and other counterfeits were openly displayed although in the rear of the store. Shady street people appearing on almost every corner could offer a nice looking watch for about a dollar. I always had the feeling of knowing I was going to be ripped off if I bought anything and was always careful to find an honest merchandiser.

Tailor shops abounded on Nathan Road and a man of Indian descent always stood outside enticing me to buy a silk suit made in one day. It was always assumed I was a tourist and had to leave in a couple of days. There were warnings that getting a one day suit would not fit as well as one that took 3 days and had final details ironed out on the 2nd day. I did buy a silk tailored shirt that was made to my longer than normal arm length but the warm weather of Hong Kong didn’t make owning a lot of suits an attractive deal.

There were still rickshaws that operated around the Star Ferry back then. The men were old, wiry, skin and bones, men that probably escaped from China during the Cultural Revolution and had no other skills to offer. I never used one as I thought it looked too bourgeoisie. But there were always a few tourists who would at least get in one to have their picture taken.

Lantau Island is now home of the new airport and is connected to both Kowloon and Hong Kong Island with new bridges, roads, and tunnels with the addition of hotels and convention centers that usually surround major international airports. Even Disney Land is there now. When I took my hover-craft to Discovery Bay, there was nothing to see except green hills and ocean.

When I lived in Hong Kong, I ate twice on the floating restaurant, the Sea Palace that sets just of the town of Aberdeen. I took a bus to Aberdeen, walked a little to the water front, where there was a water taxi that could sit six. After disembarking from the taxi, and walking up the ramp to the restaurant, I walked past a smoke filled room and first heard then saw Chinese playing Mah-Jongg. Believe me the Mah-Jongg solitary computer game is nothing like what they were engaged in. This game is like American poker, with lots of bets and money at sake. The restaurant provided a great decor and good food; taking a boat to a boat to have dinner that was the novelty. (Note: I still have the chop sticks from my last dinner there and use them often to eat any noodle dish)

Then there was the trip to Stanley which is also on Hong Kong Island. Stanley is famous for its markets and bargains to be found. I took a double-decker bus that climbed over the mountains to the other side of the island. I bought Xmas presents there at very reasonable prices.

These two unique places are things I want to keep in my memories just as they were, and I hope I am never tempted to return to them.

Probably what I will remember most about the old Hong Kong are the disco clubs which introduced me to a sub culture within the country. As exotic and exciting as Hong Kong to be sometime, there was no one to share things with and life was definitely lonely at times. I resorted to going to one of my favorite past times, dancing. There I met the maids of Hong Kong. They were mostly Filipinos in their late twenties or thirties and not only do they like to sing, but they like to dance also. I found some favorite dance partners who also became my friends.

Many people could afford maids in Hong Kong and many of them lived in the place where they were employed. Maid quarters consisted of a small room that held a bed and little else, about the size of a walk in closet in the States. The women would send what was left over from their wages back home where the money greatly helped their parents and younger children.

What made making friends so easy was that they spoke English. Josie became my girl friend and sometimes we would sleep together. She has a Catholic and a virgin and wanted to stay that way until she married. Since I knew I wasn’t going to marry her, I respected her wishes. We would sleep spooned together and I think we were both happy to feel physical and emotional contact with another person. She was a sweet kind hearted sole.

When I returned to the States I wrote to her for a while and two other Chinese from work, Bill and Amy.. There was much concern as to what life would be when Hong Kong reverted back to Chinese control. It happened in 1997 and by that time Bill Wong had emigrated to Canada and I soon lost track of him and the other two also disappeared from my life.

As it turned out Hong Kong is under Chinese control, but it is a separate country and has its own government. There is no Great Internet Wall in Hong Kong and information about the rest of the world is freely available. Perhaps China will become more like Hong Kong in the future.

Part IV—Striving for Excellence

2009-10-15T21:49:00.001-05:00

Normal working hours at Arthur Murray’s were 1-10 PM. Some students could only make it earlier so occasionally lessons were taught at 11 and noon. At one o’clock we would have a combination staff and training session for an hour and a half. During this time and all other down times, new instructors were expected to practice and learn. There were 20 steps in each of the six dances before reaching what was called Silver Dancing. All instructors had to reach this level. I was given some students that were already working on the beginning of their silver, so I was especially under pressure to get to that level ASAP. But as I recall, learning new steps got easier and easier and I had no problem. Soon I was working on my Gold Medal dancing which consisted of new dances besides more advanced steps in the other dances. There was Quick Step, English Waltz, Pasa Double, Peabody, and gold medal Mambo and Tango. I made good inroads into all of them.

There were also two kinds of Swing, Eastern and Western and both had single, double, and triple rhythm.

The other dance instructors were a close knit family and most of the time we got along fine. I recall a couple of spats that had to do with romantic concerns. We had two married couples having met each other at work. We didn’t have much life outside the studio and when we got off work, the men would spend an hour at the bar around the corner, drinking 10 cent glasses of Storz beer and playing bumper pool.

On Friday nights there was always an open house party for the students and all instructors danced with students and students danced with other students. The parties lasted until 11. So afterwards, what did all the instructors do but go dancing at a place a block away that had a dance floor and live music. We usually also did the same on Saturday night.

It was there I that I saw really great dancing by instructors that were experienced. Seeing them inspired me more than anything and I wanted to be able to dance like them. One of the great swing dancers of all time in my book was our dance director, Morris Stevie. He did things I had never seen before when we danced triple time Western Swing. So smooth, so effortless, so amazing was he. He was about 39 years old, ancient for a dancer then. He was always soft spoken and patient when he taught. He took a shine to me and taught me every single step in western swing that he knew.

Occasionally the owner Marc Stevens, would think up promotions to bring in additional money. For instance, a student could have dinner with their favorite instructor, and afterwards dance with him or her to a live combo at one of the better hotels in town. The instructors got paid for the hours put in and also got a free meal.

Then once a year all students were invited to a special exhibition of dancing put on by the staff followed by open dancing. A large dance hall and full orchestra were provided. The year I told part, we did English Waltz. All the instructor couples performed synchronized dancing for the exhibition which took many hours of practice. I believe the men wore tuxes and the women were dressed in one color. I am not to sure about this, but the exhibition was done without any problems and I look back on it as something spectacular and elegant.

I ate all this up. I gained confidence in teaching in front of a group. I gained confidence in myself and enjoyed the positive effect I had on my students. I took pride in seeing them advance and the enjoyment they received. It was a win-win.

I sometimes would go to dance bars and watch women dance before picking out someone I thought could keep up with me. Sometimes the women would be reluctant to accept my offer to dance. I was after all, just 21 and looked a little geeky with my buzz cut and dark rimmed glasses. But if one woman danced with me, then all the other women who liked to dance wanted to dance with me. I never once hit on any of the women. I was there only to dance with someone outside the studio and learn how to adapt to what abilities they had. I would try to lead them into something new for them and discovered enough success to keep trying.

I became a really good dancer in the space of 9 months and even though I don’t remember how to do the Peabody today, I still can cut an excellent rug.

Part III—One Magic Step for a Man

2009-10-11T21:45:00.000-05:00

Unfortunately, my effort to reinvent myself to become more social and active campus life took its toll on my grade point. You might say I was too successful, but another way to look at it was that I didn’t have a good concept of moderation.

I got involved with Liz, a girl in the dance club during rehearsals for the Bolero number. She was a very good dancer and dancing and necking formed the basis of our relationship. She lived in Ames and had access to her mother’s car and would stop by and pick me up when I should have been studying. At the end of the first quarter of my Junior year, the university politely told me I was suspended and could not enroll for the winter quarter. There was nothing left to do, but to come home.

I managed to get a job at Union Pacific headquarters in Omaha with the title of clerk-filer. I worked in the accounting department probably based on the test they gave me requiring me to add a long list of numbers. I can not describe how much I hated working there. I don’t even want to describe the despair and boredom I felt. I was 21 years old and faced what to do with the rest of my life but I knew that doing menial tasks all day long and trying to look like I was busy, that was the worst part, was not for me.

I began to scour the ads in the Omaha World Herald, and I saw something I had not even thought about. “Wanted-Arthur Murray dance instructors.”
Soon I was taking Arthur Murray instructor training classes every night after work. They went from 7 to10. I was January. After class I would take a street car to Council Bluffs, hoping I would be able to catch the last bus for the night to my neighborhood. Many a time I missed it and had to walk 2 miles to reach my home. After 5-6 weeks of this, I had saved enough money to make a down payment on a 1950 straight shift Mercury dark green sedan with radio. It was my first car.

As I recall, there were 3 others in my training class when I arrived. The all had been there a week or two before I arrived. For the first two weeks, our dance trainer-instructor would be with us for the first hour and then leave us to practice on our own, dropping in occasionally to see how we were doing then a review for the last half hour. For my first two weeks, I did not learn a dance step. We practiced constantly how to move forward and back, called walking steps.

The basic steps in Fox Trot or Waltz require a big forward movement straight ahead for the man’s part, always beginning on the left foot. Leading with the toe, the left leg is extended until the toe is about to hit the floor, then the ball of the right foot pushes enough that the left foot slides about 3-4 inches when it hits the floor. At the end of the step forward, the upper body should be directly above the foot. Dance shoes always should have a rubber heel and leather sole, the leather being important because it allows the slide. And the best dance floor is always wood and is not sticky.

So we would practice walking steps constantly during the first 2 weeks. Arms extended in dance position and without partners, we would move counter-clockwise around the dance floor, the way dancers are suppose to go, moving to fox trot music. Good dancers always have precise footwork and correct dance posture.

After two weeks of basic training, we started to learn dance steps and how to teach them. To complete the training class we had to learn 10 steps in six dances, Fox Trot, Waltz, Swing, Rumba, Samba, and Tango and we had to be able to teach both men and women’s parts.

Then something happen that thrust me into becoming a full time dance instructor before I had completed everything. Two of the men dance instructors decided to join the Coast Guard at the same time. The studio was suddenly in need of male teachers and the dance director pulled me aside and told me I was needed and she was confident I could do the job.
I quit my job at Union Pacific and started full time at Arthur Murray’s.

I Can Dance--Part II--Modern Dance

2009-10-10T12:35:00.000-05:00

My freshman year at Iowa State was all study and no play. I was an engineering student with three hour lab classes in Chemistry, Engineering Drawing required 9 hours each of class time in addition to classes in English, Math, and mandatory ROTC. I joined the cross country track team hoping to excel enough to win an athletic scholarship. This meant running after a day of classes for at least an hour. We ran on the college golf course, not my favorite place. I was used to running on a track where I knew exactly when my next foot would hit the turf and I could establish a good rhythm. Cross country running was clearly not for me. There were small holes, down hill running, and a swaying bridge to vex me. But I stuck with in and ran indoors during the winter, on a minuscule dirt track where the straight-aways were only 25 yards. I liked that even less. In the spring, the team ran outdoors on a normal track at the football stadium. I did much better there. I never did get a scholarship though. Being the second best freshman half-miler was not going to get it done. I would come back to my room at the fraternity exhausted after track and classes all day just in time for dinner. After dinner, the pledges were given 30 minutes before being ordered up to our rooms to study.

At the end of the year, I went home for the summer where I worked at night on the ice docks and during the day reading gas meters. I had a lot of time to think and I had reached an age where I was able to reflect on my life. I decided I was lonely, socially inept and needing to change my college experience. I made a real effort to be more aggressive at our fraternity dance mixers at the start of my sophomore year and had some success. I could get a date if I called early in the week for the coming weekend. This was my first attempt to re-invent myself. Soon another life changing opportunity came my way.

My fraternity brother, Norm, and I sat together at the dinner table one night and he told me that he joined the Modern Class Club. I had no idea what he was talking about, but he patiently explained what it was all about. But the only thing I really remember was that he said there were beautiful girls in the club and lots of them. Turn out Norm did not lie as I found out the first evening I went with him. Almost all the girls were trim, nice figures what were well displayed in leotards and tights. I soon learned they were good athletes, limber, flexible, strong, and possessing some of nicest bottoms, my eyes had ever witnessed. One of the upper class men became first runner up in the Miss America contest the next year and I thought she was only the second best looking female in the club.

I dropped out of track and devoted my athletics to dancing from then on.

Although I perhaps joined this group for less that noble reasons, I soon found out how much I enjoyed the movement of my body. I had great rhythm and I was a quick, eager learner. Soon the presence of women became secondary although surely not abandoned. We discussed and practiced fundamentals. We were given exercises of movement and exercises to create something. We became choreographers as well as dancers.
Betty Toman was the woman in charge. She was born in Oak Park, Illinois. At the age of 3 she started to dance and a year later, she began dancing professionally; highlights included an appearance at the 1932 World's Fair in Chicago, when she was 8 years old.

Professor Toman graduated from Morton High School in Cicero, Illinois. She received a B. A. (1948) in Physical Education (Dance) from the University of Wisconsin, where she studied under Margaret H'Doubler, credited as the creator of dance education. She received her M. S. in 1957, a year after I joined the Modern Dance club.

Betty had a short, slightly thick body and would not be considered good looking. She was also one of the nicest persons I have ever met. Her dancing was so powerful and intense it could only be described as awesome. She nurtured me and inspired me. She saw potential in me and I tried hard to meet it.

Every spring, Iowa State produced an outdoor Broadway musical type review show on the football field as part of their annual open house. In the spring of my sophomore year, I was part of three couples dancing an interpretation of Ravel’s Bolero. Our movements followed the music, slow and sensual to start and reaching a dramatic and powerful ending, climaxed with the men lifting our partners to our shoulders and the women raising their arms to the sky.

For the rest of my college days, one of my electives was a woman’s P.E. class in modern dance, assuring my grade point would be raised. The head of my engineering department would look at my schedule and would harrumph when he saw women’s P.E. on my curricula but that never stopped me.

Each winter, the club put on a dance show and all the performances were choreographed by the club members with help from Betty doing a kind of Tim Gunn critique of our work, without the “make it work” comment. My senior year I started the show with a solo performance done without music, one of my best. I was able to carve out a little niche of little known fame for myself. I was proud of what I accomplished and having Betty’s approval was all I ever wanted. She approved and I learned to approve of myself.

Betty went on to have distinguished career at Iowa State. She has an auditorium named in her honor.

I Can Danced-Part I-A Rough Beginning

2009-10-06T19:49:00.001-05:00

remember when I was in 9th grade and I was having foot problems due to the high arches I inherited from my mother. We went to a foot doctor and he recommended I wear size 13AAA shoes. They were way too big for my feet and I felt like I was wearing clown shoes. I thought surely everyone would notice them and wrinkle up their nose at me. Believe me this is the last thing I wanted to have to deal with then. I wanted girls to like me and I had enough to worry about. I had braces on my teeth and acne on my face and yet to learn that projected confidence would make me desirable more than mere physical appearance. Of course, it didn’t help that girls then seemed to prefer rosy cheeked lads with perfect teeth.

So I was at this place in town where teens gathered one day after school. It had a juke box and a dance floor and someone was there to teach us how to dance. A girl I liked a lot came up to me and asked me to be her partner. But I was too embarrassed about my clown shoes and I replied, trying to be cool, “nah, I don’t want to”. She even coaxed me to try, so I paused a second and then said, “Nah, I don’t want to”.

So I watched, wanting so much to be out there with normal sized shoes having fun and being close to her. I walked home in a funk. God, I felt miserable and if boys were allowed to cry then, I have no doubt I could have “cried me a river”.

As I was still have some foot pain, we went to another foot doctor and he said to discard the clown shoes and put me into shoes my normal 10 ½ D size with arch supports. I was one of the turning points of my young life. Seriously! Having my braces removed came in a close second.

Later in high school, there would be sock hops in the gymnasium after football and basketball games. Ironically, shoes were not allowed on the gym floor so everyone danced in their socks. But I would not call what we did as dancing. It was more hold someone close and rock back and forth. This is what people do when they don’t really have a clue about how to dance. Rock and Roll was still a couple years away and the fast dances usually were some lively Glenn Miller tunes and not much was known about the art of the Jitterbug. The boys twirled the girls, and that was about all. The Bunny Hop was way more popular. Almost everyone could catch on and hold on to some hips. I remember Bunny Hoping during our Junior and Senior Proms where the entire class would form a snake line and hop around the room into the hotel hall and back.

But during times when we were done hopping, I would watch anyone that was a better dancer. Due to the lack of sufficient boys that could or even wanted to dance, girls would dance with each other. So I would ask the girl who was leading to dance with me and she would lead herself and would just hang on. Slowly I learned and got I got better and better.

Bali August 2009

2009-09-18T16:51:00.000-05:00

Our side trip to Yogyakarta and Borobudur was a visual experience that we won’t soon forget. We are driven to the Yogyakarta airport taking back roads that avoid the center of town and see all kinds of farming with the exception of pigs and cows, if that falls within the category of farming. There are lots of chickens running around, but we don’t see anything that remotely resembles a chicken factory. It is not surprising that there are no pigs because Java is mostly Muslim besides, pigs need grain putting them in competition with humans and making them ecologically undesirable especially in the desert of the mid-east where their taboo started. Bali is Hindu and they eat pork but we are not there yet.

It is Saturday and the airport is teeming with people traveling to various part of this huge east-west country. We board our Garuda flight direct to Bali and not surprisingly find a full plane. All Garuda airplanes have 6 seats a row, with no extra leg round for anyone six feet or over, which is fine for most Indonesians, and tolerable for the rest because the flights are not long and they always have food and drink at no extra charge.

We land at Bali and for the first time, I do not have to go through customs because we came on a domestic flight. Soon we are off to the Laguna Hotel in Nusa Dua and after two security checks we check-in. We eat an excellent dinner just off the beach to avoid the wind while a trio and singer perform some light rock songs.

I wake up early Sunday morning and take off to the beach to get some sunrise pictures. I find these two workers raking up the seaweed, digging holes every 10 feet and burying the seaweed in the sand.

I see this heron like bird feeding in the tide pool and use him to add interest.

See the bird? Do you see him? His long beak is in the sun’s reflection. Enlarge.

Later the tide will come in and come close to these chairs. This is the quiet time before nature’s energy comes alive.

The AIDS/HIV conference is next door at the Weston and Judith goes and registers, and finds her students, from China and Indonesia. And she also meets with the Laguna event manager to make final arrangements for her small party to entertain her colleagues, students, government officials and others on Wednesday evening after the end of the conference. Of course, my time is spent on the beach, re-enforcing the best body tan I have ever had.

Monday Judith made plans to have two vans take her students and colleagues to Jimbaran Beach. This is the sunset beach where several seafood restaurants adorn the shore and after the sun goes down the place lights up.

There is cloud bank on the horizon this night so there will be no sun setting at the horizon, so this is the last glimpse of the sun.

The candles go on and the beach torches light up. Lights from the fishing boats add to the atmosphere along with the perfect weather and slight breeze. And I have my feet in the sand.

Wednesday the conference is over so Thursday, Judith rents a couple of vans and her ex-student Mad’e takes the group of us into the interior of Bali starting with Ubud. We have been there a couple of times before, but it was a new to most of the travelers. We split into two groups, one of whom went to the monkey forest and the rest of us wandered through the shops and markets before we gathered again for lunch. I have always wanted to get pictures motorcycles in Indonesia as they are the main form of transportation. Indeed, if everyone had a car, the roads would be hopelessly locked up.

From Ubud we traveled through mountains and rice fields where “lush” is the word of the day.

And a good time was had by all.

We ended up at Mad’e’s home before taking the 1 ½ hour return trip to our hotel, arriving worn out and looking for some hard liquor and light dinner.
We checked out of the Laguna Friday to get a change of scene. We checked into what used to be the Ritz Carlton and now is under new ownership as the Ayana Resort and Spa. We were here before when it was the Ritz. It now has refurbished rooms and carpeting which it needed before. We stayed in the club section and sat out on the balcony having a few drinks until it was time to get closer to the sunset.

Here is one of the best pictures I have ever taken.

Life is good!