Things happen. They just happen. And taken collectively, they lead you through the twists and turns of your life to wherever it is you're going. You can dream. You can plan. But the things keep happening. And you get pushed and pulled, nudged and swept along, until - there you are!
I joined the Army in March of 1955. I did it to get away from a boy-girl-boy situation that wasn't resolving itself the way I wanted it resolved. I was losing. I also did it because I wasn't doing well at Michigan State University and probably recognized that I needed to grow-up a little bit.
When I announced my intention of quitting, John Winburne, Dean of the Basic College, called me in and gave me hell. He said, "We live in a world with a crying need for intelligence. You have that intelligence and you waste it instead of making a contribution." When I got out of the Army in 1958 and went back to Michigan State, one of the first things I did was go see Dean Winburne and tell him that he was right.
Anyway, I had to go through the suburban-Detroit intersection of Grand River and Telegraph on the way from East Lansing to Wyandotte. There was an Army recruiting station on an island in the intersection. I stopped there one weekend in February or March and enlisted. I signed-up for a two year hitch with the 8th Infantry Division. They were scheduled to go to Europe and I wanted to get as far away from Mary as possible.
Mom and Dad were upset. Dad said that the Army wouldn't take me because of my asthma. But the army was hard-up for recruits, I was breathing, and I passed the physical after the technician had me lie down for about 15 minutes to slow my heart rate.
I was inducted on March 29, 1955 at Fort Wayne in Detroit. We spent several days there taking various placement tests. We were sitting in a room waiting for processing of some kind or other and the solider at the front desk called my name.
"Private Sparrow. Front and center."
A "Sergeant Fortune" wanted to see me. I was led down a narrow hallway and into a small room. Sergeant Fortune was seated at a desk. He was wearing his olive drab uniform with an Eisenhower jacket. Underneath his Combat Infantryman's Badge were four rows of ribbons. He had hashmarks from his wrist to his elbow - indicating almost thirty years of service. He "ordered" me to sit down.
"I see here that you've enlisted for the 8th Infantry Divison."
"That right," I said.
"Why in hell'd you do that?"
"The 8th Infantry Division is scheduled to rotate to Europe and I'd like to go."
He leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Sparrow," he said, "life in the infantry is hard. You ever spent six months out of a year in the field?"
"What do you mean 'in the field'?"
"You know - livin' in tents, eatin' out of your mess kit, cold showers, diggin' latrines. That kind of thing."
"Well, no. I haven't done that."
"Ain't much fun. Tough way to live. I might be able to give you a chance to see Europe in a little more comfort."
"Oh?"
"You got really good scores on your placement tests, Sparrow. Two years of college. Parents are both educators. You look like a pretty bright person -just the kind of solider we need in the ASA," he smiled.
"What's the ASA?"
"The Army Security Agency - our branch of communications intelligence. Can't tell you much about the work because most of it is 'top secret,' but I know from personal experience that it's fascinatin'. And it sure as hell beats bein' in the infantry."
Sergeant Fortune was persuasive. He described the radio work, the code schools at Fort Devens, the language schools in California. And he described the ASA's "fixed" field stations with their bowling alleys, EM clubs, golf courses, and comfortable living quarters. And all that stuff about 'top secret' was particularly intriguing. Even though I had to enlist for another year, I was sold. I signed Sergeant Fortune's enlistment extension. That's how I wound up in the ASA.
The twists and turns.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Hurrah for the Fourth of July!!!
Here's a Fourth of July story.
I'm in a Players Guild of Dearborn production of 1776 playing Stephen Hopkins of Rhode Island. We're doing a performance for about 200 kids from Salina Middle School. Paul Bruce is one of their teachers. He is in the cast playing Roger Sherman. Paul frequently arranges for kids from Salina to see our shows. The school serves a depressed area of Dearborn with a large middle-eastern population. I think it's great that Paul gets the kids to the Guild for a "live theatre experience."
In the show, Pat Landio is playing Andrew McNair. McNair was sort of a custodian/barkeep/errand-runner for the Congress. During the show, McNair periodically goes over to a wall calendar and removes a sheet to indicate a passage of time. The opening date is May 8.
The play drags on. McNair reveals June 7. In real time an hour goes by. July 1. Two hours. Now we're pushing three hours. McNair tears off a calendar sheet revealing July 4.
In a voice that can be heard throughout the house, one of the kids says, "Finally!"
Hurrah for the Fourth of July!
I'm in a Players Guild of Dearborn production of 1776 playing Stephen Hopkins of Rhode Island. We're doing a performance for about 200 kids from Salina Middle School. Paul Bruce is one of their teachers. He is in the cast playing Roger Sherman. Paul frequently arranges for kids from Salina to see our shows. The school serves a depressed area of Dearborn with a large middle-eastern population. I think it's great that Paul gets the kids to the Guild for a "live theatre experience."
In the show, Pat Landio is playing Andrew McNair. McNair was sort of a custodian/barkeep/errand-runner for the Congress. During the show, McNair periodically goes over to a wall calendar and removes a sheet to indicate a passage of time. The opening date is May 8.
The play drags on. McNair reveals June 7. In real time an hour goes by. July 1. Two hours. Now we're pushing three hours. McNair tears off a calendar sheet revealing July 4.
In a voice that can be heard throughout the house, one of the kids says, "Finally!"
Hurrah for the Fourth of July!
Friday, July 3, 2009
Catching Up, Again
I haven't written anything for a while. Let's see. Monica Conyers was indicted by the feds and plead guilty to one count of conspiracy. She could face five years in prison. She resigned from the Detroit City Council. It's hard to believe that her husband didn't know anything about any of this.
Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, and Karl Malden died within a week and a half of each other. Farrah staged a valiant fight against cancer. Malden died of old-age. Jackson died of a possible drug overdose.
My son-in-law said, "I don't know why everybody is so upset about Michael Jackson. He was a pedophile, a drug addict, $400 million in debt, his nose was falling off, and he probably had HIV." Mitch Albom suggested the out-pouring of grief was more about the grievers than Michael. Jenny says it's something about the loss of youth.
Jenny told a cute story about Sophie and a friend of hers. They're riding in the car. The girls are in the backseat and Jenny hears their conversation go something like this.
"Michael Jackson died on Thursday."
"Yes. He was brown-skinned boy who turned into a vampire."
"Or, a woman."
Through the eyes of children.
More later.
Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, and Karl Malden died within a week and a half of each other. Farrah staged a valiant fight against cancer. Malden died of old-age. Jackson died of a possible drug overdose.
My son-in-law said, "I don't know why everybody is so upset about Michael Jackson. He was a pedophile, a drug addict, $400 million in debt, his nose was falling off, and he probably had HIV." Mitch Albom suggested the out-pouring of grief was more about the grievers than Michael. Jenny says it's something about the loss of youth.
Jenny told a cute story about Sophie and a friend of hers. They're riding in the car. The girls are in the backseat and Jenny hears their conversation go something like this.
"Michael Jackson died on Thursday."
"Yes. He was brown-skinned boy who turned into a vampire."
"Or, a woman."
Through the eyes of children.
More later.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Golf
I wrote this piece in something like 1998. The golf course I'm referring to is The Country Club of Barre. Barre is Barre, Vermont. The course is actually in the town of Plainfield, Vermont.
I really love golf. I love everything about it.
I love the way course looks--especially when it has just been mowed. Or at twilight, when the shadows lengthen, and the fairways curve away into the gathering darkness. Or in the morning, just before the fog lifts, and the grass is wet with morning dew. When the grass is wet with dew you can read the greens perfectly because the balls from the group ahead have left little trails curving toward the hole that are easy to see.
I love the equipment. I love my clubs. They are Wilson Staff Mid-Sized Irons with 4.0 Graphite Shafts. They are called “FireStiks” and the shafts are red. They are actually pretty and I’ve never thought of clubs as pretty. Well, maybe the old wooden drivers were pretty. But my clubs are pretty. I love their real leather grips. I love the way they feel in my hands. I love the way they swing. I love these irons. I also love my "woods." Titanium Great Big Berthas ... a driver and a four wood. They both have extra-long shafts and when I connect just right, the ball really flies. I love my clubs.
I love the golf junk I always carry in my pocket. A divot repairer from Michigan State University--my alma mater--with a ball marker that’s held in it by a magnet. A plastic divot repairer that really works good. A copper ball mark from the U.S.G.A. A plastic ball mark from AAA. And a bunch of tees. I carry these on the course and off the course--all year long.
I love the way the clubs sound when they swing and hit the ball--especially the woods. Swish--crack. And the ball flies away. I love the way the ball sounds when it falls into the cup. I love it when other players cry, “Fore” to warn the rest of us of an errant shot.
I love the ball washers that we have on the course--even ‘though the water in them really stinks because nobody ever changes it. I love the sprinkler heads that dot the fairways. They have the distances to the center of the green written on them. I love to watch the sprinklers work--especially those around the green that work together to send out water in great, spraying circles.
I love the mowers and the guys who drive them. Billy, our greens superintendent is a super kid. He has a degree in golf course management and interned at Augusta. He looks at the greens. He get down on his hands and knees and touches them. He smells them. I think he even tastes them. They have to be among the nicest greens in the world. When Billy drives the small mower you know there is no place in the world he would rather be.
I love the clothes I wear when I golf. Cotton pants when it’s cool. An off-white Irish knit sweater that is becoming frayed and worn. Long underwear when it’s cold. (We’ll play if the temperature is above 32°.) Cotton shorts and cotton shirts in the summer. I wear very low cut socks that come just to the top of my golf shoes. (I love my golf shoes, too.) My foot has a great tan line. So do my legs and arms. Without clothes on I’m pretty funny looking.
I love the back nine at Barre. Every single hole.
The tenth--a long, uphill par five. You need three good shots to get there and when you get there, here is a treacherous green protected by a great, yawing front trap. I’m usually happy to walk away with a six.
These next four are our “A-Men Corner.”
The eleventh--straight away par four, but you hit to a highly contoured and elevated green. A tough par. I’ll take five any day.
The twelfth--another long par four. The fairway slopes drastically to the left so don’t go left off the tee. You’ll be out of bonds. Another elevated green--more severely than the green at the eleventh. This green is “small” so it’s hard to stay on if you get up the hill. Take five and be happy.
The thirteenth. 160 yard uphill par three. All carry. You can’t see the green because it’s above you. Very deceiving hole. Lots of guys playing it for the first time try to use a seven or eight iron. They wind up very short. I usually hit a four wood! Don’t go left or right off the tee. Big trouble.
The fourteenth. Number 2 handicap hole. Long, long par four. Takes two great shots to get there. Trouble right and left off the tee. Be straight. Take a five.
The fifteenth. Uphill par five with a dog-leg left. Great hole. You have to be at the top of the hill off the tee or you will never get a par. Don’t go right on your second shot or you’ll be in the woods. Don’t go left either. Same thing.
This part of the course is very pretty. A great view of the Green Mountains. You can see all the way to Camel’s Hump--Vermont’s second highest mountain--about 40 miles away. Spectacular in the fall. Actually, spectacular any time of the year. When it's my time to leave this third rock from the sun, I want my ashes scattered up here someplace.
The sixteenth. Short par three. 112 yards. You look down onto the green from an elevated tee. Big, hungry traps all around the green. And the green is on the side of hill--rolling from back to front. Great golf hole.
The seventeenth. A par four that looks so easy it kills you. Easy driving hole with trouble only too far to the left or right. The green, however, is protected by a great trap on the front right and smaller traps along the left side. The second shot is a real challenge. One of my favorite holes.
The eighteenth. Great closing hole. Long par four. You need a good drive and a good second shot to be on the green. The green runs dramatically to the left. When the pin is at the top it’s tough to get near it.
I love the club house. I love my locker. I love the bar. I love the barmaids and the caterer. I love the pro and his assistant. I love the administrative assistant and the bagroom boys. I love my fellow members.
I love golf. I really do.
Here is a parody …
Oh, I must go out to Barre again
to the greens and the club house bar,
and all I ask is a long straight drive,
and--now and then--a par.
I really love golf. I love everything about it.
I love the way course looks--especially when it has just been mowed. Or at twilight, when the shadows lengthen, and the fairways curve away into the gathering darkness. Or in the morning, just before the fog lifts, and the grass is wet with morning dew. When the grass is wet with dew you can read the greens perfectly because the balls from the group ahead have left little trails curving toward the hole that are easy to see.
I love the equipment. I love my clubs. They are Wilson Staff Mid-Sized Irons with 4.0 Graphite Shafts. They are called “FireStiks” and the shafts are red. They are actually pretty and I’ve never thought of clubs as pretty. Well, maybe the old wooden drivers were pretty. But my clubs are pretty. I love their real leather grips. I love the way they feel in my hands. I love the way they swing. I love these irons. I also love my "woods." Titanium Great Big Berthas ... a driver and a four wood. They both have extra-long shafts and when I connect just right, the ball really flies. I love my clubs.
I love the golf junk I always carry in my pocket. A divot repairer from Michigan State University--my alma mater--with a ball marker that’s held in it by a magnet. A plastic divot repairer that really works good. A copper ball mark from the U.S.G.A. A plastic ball mark from AAA. And a bunch of tees. I carry these on the course and off the course--all year long.
I love the way the clubs sound when they swing and hit the ball--especially the woods. Swish--crack. And the ball flies away. I love the way the ball sounds when it falls into the cup. I love it when other players cry, “Fore” to warn the rest of us of an errant shot.
I love the ball washers that we have on the course--even ‘though the water in them really stinks because nobody ever changes it. I love the sprinkler heads that dot the fairways. They have the distances to the center of the green written on them. I love to watch the sprinklers work--especially those around the green that work together to send out water in great, spraying circles.
I love the mowers and the guys who drive them. Billy, our greens superintendent is a super kid. He has a degree in golf course management and interned at Augusta. He looks at the greens. He get down on his hands and knees and touches them. He smells them. I think he even tastes them. They have to be among the nicest greens in the world. When Billy drives the small mower you know there is no place in the world he would rather be.
I love the clothes I wear when I golf. Cotton pants when it’s cool. An off-white Irish knit sweater that is becoming frayed and worn. Long underwear when it’s cold. (We’ll play if the temperature is above 32°.) Cotton shorts and cotton shirts in the summer. I wear very low cut socks that come just to the top of my golf shoes. (I love my golf shoes, too.) My foot has a great tan line. So do my legs and arms. Without clothes on I’m pretty funny looking.
I love the back nine at Barre. Every single hole.
The tenth--a long, uphill par five. You need three good shots to get there and when you get there, here is a treacherous green protected by a great, yawing front trap. I’m usually happy to walk away with a six.
These next four are our “A-Men Corner.”
The eleventh--straight away par four, but you hit to a highly contoured and elevated green. A tough par. I’ll take five any day.
The twelfth--another long par four. The fairway slopes drastically to the left so don’t go left off the tee. You’ll be out of bonds. Another elevated green--more severely than the green at the eleventh. This green is “small” so it’s hard to stay on if you get up the hill. Take five and be happy.
The thirteenth. 160 yard uphill par three. All carry. You can’t see the green because it’s above you. Very deceiving hole. Lots of guys playing it for the first time try to use a seven or eight iron. They wind up very short. I usually hit a four wood! Don’t go left or right off the tee. Big trouble.
The fourteenth. Number 2 handicap hole. Long, long par four. Takes two great shots to get there. Trouble right and left off the tee. Be straight. Take a five.
The fifteenth. Uphill par five with a dog-leg left. Great hole. You have to be at the top of the hill off the tee or you will never get a par. Don’t go right on your second shot or you’ll be in the woods. Don’t go left either. Same thing.
This part of the course is very pretty. A great view of the Green Mountains. You can see all the way to Camel’s Hump--Vermont’s second highest mountain--about 40 miles away. Spectacular in the fall. Actually, spectacular any time of the year. When it's my time to leave this third rock from the sun, I want my ashes scattered up here someplace.
The sixteenth. Short par three. 112 yards. You look down onto the green from an elevated tee. Big, hungry traps all around the green. And the green is on the side of hill--rolling from back to front. Great golf hole.
The seventeenth. A par four that looks so easy it kills you. Easy driving hole with trouble only too far to the left or right. The green, however, is protected by a great trap on the front right and smaller traps along the left side. The second shot is a real challenge. One of my favorite holes.
The eighteenth. Great closing hole. Long par four. You need a good drive and a good second shot to be on the green. The green runs dramatically to the left. When the pin is at the top it’s tough to get near it.
I love the club house. I love my locker. I love the bar. I love the barmaids and the caterer. I love the pro and his assistant. I love the administrative assistant and the bagroom boys. I love my fellow members.
I love golf. I really do.
Here is a parody …
Oh, I must go out to Barre again
to the greens and the club house bar,
and all I ask is a long straight drive,
and--now and then--a par.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
FaceBook Friends
I got fairly actively involved with FaceBook during the Fiddler run. As a result, I ended up with a lot of teen-aged "friends" as there were a number of them in the show. One of them is Westley. Westley (and that's really the way he spells his name) is a seventh grader. He played The Fiddler and moved in and out of scenes throughout the show, occasionally appearing "on the roof." He never spoke. He only fiddled. I thought he was quite effective.
Last night he put two neat quotes on FaceBook. One was from Rita Mae Brown. I'd never heard of her. She's an author of books for kids. Westley quoted her as saying, "The statistics on sanity are that one out of every four Americans is suffering from some form of mental illness. Think of your three best friends. If they're okay, then it's you. " Pretty cute.
The other quote was from Dorothy Parker. "Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song, A medley of extemporanea; And love is a thing that can never go wrong; And I am Marie of Romania." Also pretty cute.
It's been fun following these youngsters through their FaceBook posts. It keeps one young.
Last night he put two neat quotes on FaceBook. One was from Rita Mae Brown. I'd never heard of her. She's an author of books for kids. Westley quoted her as saying, "The statistics on sanity are that one out of every four Americans is suffering from some form of mental illness. Think of your three best friends. If they're okay, then it's you. " Pretty cute.
The other quote was from Dorothy Parker. "Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song, A medley of extemporanea; And love is a thing that can never go wrong; And I am Marie of Romania." Also pretty cute.
It's been fun following these youngsters through their FaceBook posts. It keeps one young.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
More Thoughts on GM
Michael Moore wrote a piece which was a scathing attack on GM management. He said that their practice of building cars that would fall apart in two year … planned obsolesence … was what got them into trouble. He wrote, "The company which invented planned obsolesence … the decision to build cars that would fall apart after a few years so that the customer would then have to buy a new one -- has now made itself obsolete. It refused to build automobiles that the public wanted, cars that got great gas mileage, were as safe as they could be, and were exceedingly comfortable to drive. Oh -- and that wouldn't start falling apart after two years." He also talked about management fight against federal requirements for air quality, fuel economy, and safety regulations. I believe he's probably right on.
But, then he went on and said, "… (this) corporation (has) ruined my hometown and brought misery, divorce, alcoholism, homelessness, physical and mental debilitation, and drug addiction to the people I grew up with." I'm not sure that it's fair to blame GM for those kinds of things. People are responsible for the decisions they make. They have to live with the consequences of their actions.
My daughter and I were discussing the Moore piece via e-mail and she told me of a friend she had in Lansing, Michigan whose husband worked the night shift for Oldsmobile and spent most of it in a bar on the clock. And, in that kind of an environment, those workers couldn't help but build cars that would fall apart in two years.
I just know that the whole thing is sad. Hell, I was walking out of my local Meijer's store yesterday and the parking lot was strewn with trash. Where did that come from? People throw away wrappers, used cans, sales receipts, the contents of car ashtrays without ever thinking about what it's going to look like. The streets and roads in southeast Michigan, especially along the expressways and in Detroit, are a real mess. It's symptomatic of a bigger problem that has something to do with people caring about something beyond themselves.
It's tiring.
But, then he went on and said, "… (this) corporation (has) ruined my hometown and brought misery, divorce, alcoholism, homelessness, physical and mental debilitation, and drug addiction to the people I grew up with." I'm not sure that it's fair to blame GM for those kinds of things. People are responsible for the decisions they make. They have to live with the consequences of their actions.
My daughter and I were discussing the Moore piece via e-mail and she told me of a friend she had in Lansing, Michigan whose husband worked the night shift for Oldsmobile and spent most of it in a bar on the clock. And, in that kind of an environment, those workers couldn't help but build cars that would fall apart in two years.
I just know that the whole thing is sad. Hell, I was walking out of my local Meijer's store yesterday and the parking lot was strewn with trash. Where did that come from? People throw away wrappers, used cans, sales receipts, the contents of car ashtrays without ever thinking about what it's going to look like. The streets and roads in southeast Michigan, especially along the expressways and in Detroit, are a real mess. It's symptomatic of a bigger problem that has something to do with people caring about something beyond themselves.
It's tiring.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Your Huddled Masses
I went to the main Dearborn post office today to apply for a Passport Card. That would be a great place to "people watch" … maybe. Half the people in there didn't seem to be able to speak English very well. One guy had a girl with him who was translating and helping him fill out the form. The post office passport guy was very nice. I said, "I'll bet you could tell some interesting stories." He just rolled eyes.
A bit later I heard him remark to another clerk, "Here come my daily cast of thousands." The lobby was beginning to fill with people who wanted to do business with him. There were veiled Muslim women. All you could see of them were their eyes. There were swarthy middle eastern men who babbled to each other in Ararbic. They all seemed to have difficulty with the "take a number" routine the post office passport guy was using to control the situation.
I wonder where all these people want to go. And why?
Today it was announced that GM is filing for bankruptcy. I want to know WHY this happened. Was it really a case of crummy management? When I was a school administrator some of my board members would tell me that I should run my schools more like American businesses were run. I don't think I would have managed my district into bankruptcy. But, HOW? How did GM get to the point where it went bankrupt? Somebody 'splain it to me, please.
And, the other top story of the day is the missing Air France air bus that apparently went down in the Atlantic during a flight from Rio de Janerio, Brazil to Paris. There were 228 people aboard.
A bit later I heard him remark to another clerk, "Here come my daily cast of thousands." The lobby was beginning to fill with people who wanted to do business with him. There were veiled Muslim women. All you could see of them were their eyes. There were swarthy middle eastern men who babbled to each other in Ararbic. They all seemed to have difficulty with the "take a number" routine the post office passport guy was using to control the situation.
I wonder where all these people want to go. And why?
Today it was announced that GM is filing for bankruptcy. I want to know WHY this happened. Was it really a case of crummy management? When I was a school administrator some of my board members would tell me that I should run my schools more like American businesses were run. I don't think I would have managed my district into bankruptcy. But, HOW? How did GM get to the point where it went bankrupt? Somebody 'splain it to me, please.
And, the other top story of the day is the missing Air France air bus that apparently went down in the Atlantic during a flight from Rio de Janerio, Brazil to Paris. There were 228 people aboard.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
