Morining Coffee; Episode 9

Mornin’ to ya! I like my coffee black and strong. 

Many from my mom’s and dad’s generation thought the Second World War brought the United States out of the depression. Indeed within a short period, 17 million folks were either in the military or working directly for industry that supported the war effort. Taxes were high and rationing abounded.

After the war the economy continued to chug along but not for my mom or dad. Dad and Mom worked at the same factory. And in the early 50s, it closed down.

Dad took insurance settlement money awarded for a car accident and invested in a bar. The venture failed miserably. Dad’s gumption for life dissipated after the business failure. He blamed everything and everyone but himself.

Indeed, there were factors beyond his control. Nearby factories that were the bulk of his business went on strikes and others laid off workers. 

After a year of being drunk—every day, he landed a permanent job, yet he continued a bitter man. He saw others prosper and yet he did not.

To him and Mom, the solution appeared simple. To this day that solution nearly makes me nauseated. It was a war that preceded good times so another war was needed. To this day I recall these words spoken at different times by my mom and dad, “What this country needs is a good war.” The thoughtfulness of those words! Men, women, and children must die so others can live well!

My dad served in World War Two. Because of his age and physical condition, he was nowhere near combat. His overseas assignments were the Panama Canal and the Galapagos Islands. He had no real idea of the horrors of war.

To him, war was a two-year inconvenience. 

When I was in Basic Training as Viet Nam was heating up, I often wondered if Mom and Dad felt the same. Would my life be one of the lives sacrificed for a better economy? 

In their defense, I don’t think they gave real thought to what they were saying. We often spew words best left unspoken.

Something I’ve thought about. 

Morning Coffee; Episode 8

Mornin’ to ya! I like my coffee black and strong. 

At noon Eastern Time, the United States will swear in a new President. Many feel this will usher in a “golden age.” Is that so?

For the vast majority little will change. Our lot will not significantly improve. Economies, if healthy, and at best, grows and shrinks in never-ending cycles. Forces beyond the President dictate that.

I enjoy history—not so much the politics of it but rather the changes brought on by migration, industrialization, new discoveries, inventions, etc. 

It is difficult to imagine why anyone would desire to be a politician. A politician's decisions might mean the death of numbers beyond comprehension. Why would anyone want that responsibility? Even a vote in Congress could trigger the same chilling results.

It is also equally disturbing to comprehend what drives a person to want that power—the power of life or death for perhaps thousands or millions of people. 

It takes hubris, ego, arrogance, and even great narcissism to be a politician. The traits that disqualify one from governing over others are the very traits they all possess to an alarming degree. Do people really want compassionate leaders?

Great effort is taken to make them appear compassionate, caring, sympathetic, intelligent, wise, etc. 

An ancient king wrote that ‘man dominates man to his harm.’ It is one of those undeniable truths proved by history. 

Just something to think about.

Shepherd's First Winter; Instinct, Episode 17

This is the seventeenth episode of the novel Shepherd's First Winter. It is available on Amazon in paperback or Kindle format. 

Instinct

A deep freeze was on its way. The chatter on the radio said it would last for weeks. Shepherd was comforted by the news. He was convinced the creature was human and no human would dare come out in such weather let alone survey it.

“We will be safe, Pal,” Shepherd said. “Do you want to learn how to play chess?”

The cold was beyond what he imagined. The outside looked like another planet not capable of sustaining earthly life. Nothing moved, only the wind. And the wind brought more cold and loneliness.

Shepherd sat and thought. He was at last content. He recalled the bustle of life, that faster-the-better attitude that dominated him at one time. There was always the challenge to stay ahead, to be first, and ahead of it all. He was the first to be a vice president in his firm before the age of thirty. That was not enough. The thrill of the accomplishment lasted ten minutes.

“For some reason, I lost the edge,” Shepherd thought. “I don’t know why. Maybe it is as simple as it isn’t who I am or I ran out of gas. Whatever it was, that person no longer exists. And the sad and brutal reality is that where I was no one really remembers or cares what I did. Someone will say, ‘Who did this last year? Well, it had to be somebody… whatever.’”

“I wonder about Zoey. I hope she is doing well. It was going nowhere. We really had nothing. A marriage would have been more like a merger. She and Benhurst would make a good conglomeration. Funny, they really are funny. How would Zoey react to this cold? She would be worried about what it might do to her skin. Benhurst would have hung himself long ago… Not enough action for him. I suppose a grizzly chasing him through the woods might start the adrenaline flowing.”

“Pal,” Shepherd said. “You should meet my friends. You would… well, you’d have no opinion of them. There’s really nothing there to form an opinion over. They’re pretty empty. You’d sniff them and five minutes later forgot what you sniffed.”

“Make no mistake about it, Pal. I was one of them. I was in the thick, but I checked out. Do you want to know the truth, the bold truth? I could no longer keep up. I had to get away, Pal. If I didn’t I eventually would have been swallowed up. I’d turned out a failure. I reached my plateau early. I got out at a good time. I still have my money. I guess that was always me. I could see things coming before anyone. I saw my end coming before anyone else. They all think I left when on top. The truth is I was looking at the rollercoaster ride down. In two years everybody will be broke and looking for work.”

“Pal, I have instincts. Even here I have them. We are a lot alike in that way. I know what you are thinking and you know what I’m thinking. That’s why I won’t teach you how to play chess.”

Morning Coffee; Episode 7

Mornin’ to ya! I like my coffee black and strong. 

I noticed an obituary in the newspaper of a woman who graduated from my high school. She graduated a couple of years before me. I didn’t recall her, so like we all do, I found my old school annual to see if it jogged my memory.

It didn’t.

However, I continued to look at some old pictures. 

I sometimes think of someone I may have interacted with or a person who, for some reason, decides to stroll through my mind. 

While strolling through those pages lost in time, I came across pictures depicting everyday life in school. Some of them showed kids acting foolish, mugging, posing, and just being caught in the moment. One stood out. It came from my freshman year, and I was not in it. 

The picture was taken at a record hop or sock hop. (Do they even use those names anymore?) It shows a boy alone in the middle of a dance routine. Kids are standing to the side, watching him.

His name continues to stand as a mystery. I remember him from seeing him around school. He was at least a couple of years ahead of me. The crowd he ran around with were the hoods--in other words, they were cool. He greased and slicked his hair back, laying in a mass of blonde curls. A good-looking guy who dressed neatly. It always appeared to me he was shy—but here he was dancing on his own and everybody watching.

I can’t remember the song he danced to. It was rock and roll and he knocked it out of the park. It was incredibly choreographed. His moves were crisp, sharp, and timed to the music. He seemed inside his own orb and we were only allowed to gain entrance. 

To me, it can only be described as electric. It would have to be placed right up there with a winning touchdown, a last-second winning basket, or a walk-off homer. Maybe better—it lasted the entire length of the song. It was on a stage. Everyone stood and gazed. Every guy there wished he was him and every gal there wanted to be with him.

I don’t know what ever happened to the boy. But he had a shining moment that stands out in my memory. And, yes, I still wish I was that guy that night filled with electricity. 

I’m glad he took the time to share that moment with us. It is such a good memory. 

Shepherd's First Winter; A Night Visitor, Episode 16

This is the sixteenth episode of the novel Shepherd's First Winter. It is available on Amazon in paperback or Kindle format. 

A Night Visitor

“I’m a friend!” he shouted. He had a rifle and let it drop. “Are you Shepherd?”

Shepherd’s muscles relaxed, but he held the rifle steady.

“My name is Dennis. We met a few weeks ago in Ruby. You are Daniel’s friend.”

Shepherd eased the rifle allowing it to fall to his side.

Dennis was burly with a round plump face perturbing from the fury hood of his parka.

“Come in, Dennis,” Shepherd said. “And get warm.”

Dennis removed his parka as he stepped inside. “I suppose you are wondering what I’m doing here.”

“Yes,” Shepherd said. “I could have shot you.”

“There was a report of the creature we were talking about at the council,” Dennis said.

“Go over to the fire,” Shepherd said.

Dennis quickly walked to the fire and rubbed his hands together. “My snow machine got wedged in a gully. I saw it and tracked it into the woods across the plain. It came to your cabin and went behind it.”

“I heard it,” Shepherd said. “There were footsteps in the snow and then another, that must have been you.”

“I should have called out when I approached your cabin,” Dennis said.

Shepherd walked to the kitchen. “We must get something in you. You like eggs, biscuits, sausage, and gravy?”

“Sure,” Dennis said, “but I have nothing on me to pay you with.”

“You are a guest,” Shepherd said.

Dennis warmed himself and Shepherd prepared a meal for both of them.

As they ate they talked.

“What brought you out on a night like this?” Shepherd said.

“We in the village got a call on short-wave about a dog killed east of Ruby. Like the one at Daniel’s. Five of us headed out on our snow machines. I sighted something moving south through the woods. I turned off my trail. I drove for 30 minutes. I could go no faster than a couple of miles per hour. I thought about leaving my snow machine and starting off on foot, but I stayed with the snow machine. I followed huge tracks. I even thought I caught it in my headlight. Bam! I fall into a gully. I couldn’t get my snow machine out so I grabbed my rifle and started following the tracks.”

“You say large tracks?” Shepherd said.

“Yes,” Dennis said. “With large strides. Only two feet. I saw it stop at the edge of the trees. It acted tired. Suddenly it started across the open toward your place. The thought crossed my mind to shoot, but if I miss, it may hit your cabin.”

“We can climb on my snow machine and follow it,” Shepherd suggested.

“The woods are even thicker beyond your cabin,” Dennis said. “It is too far ahead of us. We could never catch up to it.”

“Spend the night, Dennis,” Shepherd said. “I have a radio. I can get a hold of somebody in Ruby and let them know of your whereabouts and you‘re okay.”

“I am exhausted,” Dennis said. “I’ll take you up on spending the night.”

“There is a bed in the loft or you can sleep on the couch,” Shepherd said.

“The couch will be fine,” Dennis said.

“What do you think it is?” Shepherd said.

Dennis hesitated.

“Dennis,” Shepherd said.

“Amoruk can be many things,” Dennis said. “It changes. They say it can change before your eyes.”

Shepherd leaned back in his chair.

“I know that people from the cities think it is foolish,” Dennis said. “Such things don’t live around people. They want to be left alone. It lives on the lonely and alone. That’s how it survives.”

Shepherd slowly nodded. “You saw it, I saw it, and Pal saw it. You get some sleep, Dennis. I’m going to stay awake for a while.”

Shepherd sat in his chair facing the door and Pal assumed his position in front of the door.

The next morning Shepherd got a call on the radio that a friend of Dennis would come out to get him. Shepherd and Dennis had breakfast together. Soon someone in a snow machine came for Dennis.

Shepherd pondered trying to put together a puzzle from pieces that may not belong to each other. During the briefness of daylight, there was a suspicion overlapped by the imagination when the darkness came and brought unsettled thoughts. Shepherd read and Pal stood vigil.

Morning Coffee; Episode 6

A few days ago I had a phone conversation with a nephew on mywife’s side of the family. He is about thirteen years younger than me. He’s a teacher in his last year.

Some of our conversation had to do with the change in kids, which really means the change in parents. He expressed how much the state-mandated in the classroom having little to do with actual education. That’s a rabbit hole I intend on not going down.

We began talking about the teachers who influenced us the most. To our surprise, it was the same teacher, but different schools. 

The journey of my nephew and I was much the same; marginal students at best. Suddenly when we got to his classroom the lightbulb went off—we excelled.

My sixth-grade teacher and my nephew was Tom Bales. He died a couple years back. 

I could likely write a few thousand words on the man. He taught me his first year of teaching. And I saw him only one time after our last day of school in 1960. 

He showed up at my uncle's funeral. We looked at each other from across the room. It had been at least 30 years since we last saw each other. We knew each other immediately. 

We talked about the class I was in. He remembered everybody. Not only that, but he remembered our struggles. I could tell that the plight of some students still affected him.

Do they make them like that anymore?

Just something and someone I thought about.

Morning Coffee; Episode 5

Mornin’ to ya! I like my coffee black and strong. 

Many moons ago I took a course in journalism. It has become the basis for how I consume news and write to this day. 

One of the first things taught was how to frame a news article. In the first paragraph answer the questions who, what, where, when, and why—and sometimes how. The idea was to spare the reader the details. Tell them the news. The details can be given starting with the second paragraph.

Secondly, we learned how to craft a headline. I won’t go into all the details but it had to grab the reader. It has to be what the article was about. It had to be framed in such a way that the reader would remember it. Often, a writer will spend more time on a headline than writing the story.

For years now, I have consumed my news online. All newspapers have gone to digital formats. 

Back in the day when the paper was delivered by a paperboy or picked up at a newsstand, the newspaper cared very little what you did with the newspaper after the purchase. Of course, they hoped you used it as a reliable source and thus earn your patronage. Writing had to be crisp, fresh, accurate, and good.

If a reporter buried those important first paragraph questions somewhere down in the story the reader lost interest. A headline might read “Bank Robbed.” The reader wants to know those who, what, where, when, and why questions—ASAP. How disappointed the reader might be if arriving at the final paragraph to find out the bank was 600 miles away or that someone defrauded the bank (not a real robbery). 

Currently, nearly all news sources bury the very things I, as a reader, am looking for. I recently read a story about a recruit coming to a college team that I follow. I didn’t find out who it was until the last paragraph. 

One might wonder why the change in tried and true journalistic practices? The news outlets want to keep you engaged and on the page as long as they possibly can. The reader is exposed to more ads and pop-ups. The more the readers are exposed to, the more the website makes.

Just something that gets in my craw. 

Shepherd's First Winter; Crunches in The Snow, Episode 15

This is the fifteenth episode of the novel Shepherd's First Winter. It is available on Amazon in paperback or Kindle format. 

Crunches in the Snow

One can not escape the beauty of the cold, frost, frozen mist, and snow. It is like a still photograph that can be examined without interruption or movement. It can be studied and contemplated. Thoughts and concepts can ease into the mind that has no chance anywhere else.The strange dances of the northern lights are like music with no sound. They conjure the imagination with awe. It is a gift from God.

On a cold still night, Shepherd and Pal ventured 100 yards into the plain before the cabin and watched the spectacle. Shepherd was near breathless. Pal was curious and sniffed toward the sky.

A sound, a terrible sound came from afar, from the far side of the plain in the trees; from the north. It was like no other creature heard by Shepherd before.

Pal looked to the distant trees. His ears perked and his eyes were like arrows piercing and shooting into the dark.

The scope was on the rifle and Shepherd brought it to his shoulder and scanned the woods. Something large in the shape of a man darted from tree to tree working its way closer to where the plain begins.

“Pal,” Shepherd said. “House!”

Pal leaped through the snow to the house with Shepherd struggling behind him. Pal waited on the porch for Shepherd, breathing heavily. Shepherd strained, looking at the trees on the other side of the plain of snow. He again hoisted the rifle to his shoulder and scanned the trees through the scope.

“Our visitor seems to have taken his leave,” Shepherd said.

Pal went to the door and ran his paw against it. He barked as if to command Shepherd into the cabin.

Shepherd opened the door. “Go in, Pal.”

Pal stood motionless.

“I’ll be in, in a minute, Pal,” Shepherd assured.

Pal moved to the steps of the porch and continued the vigil.

Shepherd stood by Pal’s side. “What do you think, Pal?”

As if he heard, Pal continued his straightforward vigil. He stretched out his head and sniffed.

“What is it?” Shepherd said.

Pal growled low and deep and moved to the door. Shepherd opened the door, walked in, and Pal followed.

Pal slowly moved to the fireplace, grabbed his blanket, and dragged it to about five feet in front of the door. He looked at Shepherd and laid on his stomach with his head nearest the door. Shepherd dragged his chair around to face the door. He sat with his rifle in his lap.

After an hour Pal’s ears perked and his head rose. Shepherd cautiously moved closer to the door and held his ear against it. He heard the crunch of footsteps in the snow.

There was silence. Shepherd felt his heart pound and the blood pulsating through his veins.

Pal growled quiet and low.

“Quiet,” Shepherd said.

Pal relaxed.

Shepherd heard the crunch of footsteps in the snow again, louder and louder. He slowly wrapped his hands around the door handle. He quickly pulled it down and flung open the door. His eyes were wide and his muscles tensed and ready. He jammed the rifle’s butt into his shoulder and took a brave step onto the porch. His rifle was aimed at a large dark mass with a frightened face.

 

Morning Coffee: Episode 4

Mornin’ to ya! I like my coffee black and strong. 

I enjoy talking to Larry, my brother-in-law. He’s about three or four years older than me. We lived on the same side of town when he went to junior high and I was still in elementary. 

We talked about some of the old gang-type of stuff; the guys we hung out with and mutually knew. We tend to romanticize the good old days. This is how one conversation went:

“Our end of town had a great bunch of kids,” I said.

“Sure did,” Larry said. 

“Never got into any serious trouble,” I said. 

“Just kids' stuff,” Larry agreed. 

“Do you remember Louie?” I said.

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Larry said.

“Lived on High Street and ran around with Crazy Harold,” I said.

“Oh yeah,” Larry said, “he was always shoplifting. When he got out of school he held up a gas station with a water pistol. Made no difference. He got sentenced for five, but out in three. Going to prison taught him a lesson. Next time he used a real pistol.”

“I didn’t know that,” I said. “What about Crazy Harold? Whatever happened to him?”

“He’s all crippled up now,” Larry said. “He got caught with his neighbor’s wife and tried to escape by jumping out the second story. They think he would have been fine with the injuries from the jump but the neighbor got hold of him. He limps and has a half smile all the time. It’s kinda creepy.”

“Do remember Terry, the kid everybody was afraid of?” I said.

“Yeah, whatever happened to him?” Larry said. “I heard there was something weird that happened to him.”

“Found his body in Texas,” I said. “He was bringing drugs up from the El Paso. And sold half of them before he got back. They found part of him in Arkansas and the rest of him in Kentucky.”

“Too bad,” Larry said. “Do remember Scotty and Green Teeth.”

“Who could forget those two,” I said.

“One day we was sitting at the pump house at the reservoir,” Larry said. “Those two got to arguing over a cigarette. Next thing you know Green Teeth has a knife and starts chasing Scotty around the reservoir. Green Teeth was a good fifty yards behind but gaining. It’s a good mile and half around. Green Teeth stops to get his breath and smoke a cigarette. Scotty sees this and does the same thing. When they finished their cigarettes, the chase started again. By the time they got back to pump house, Scotty had a nasty gash on his arm and they was talking like they were best of friends.”

“Remember Scotty’s brother?” I said.

“Geez,” Larry said, “he held up a bar. Shot and killed the bartender. All hopped up on drugs. He did fifteen years and came out a preacher. But, he still does drugs.”

“Yeah,” I said, “that ole east end gang, great bunch of kids.”

Then we looked at each other, bewildered. 

“They were all psychopaths,” Larry said.

“How’d we turn out so good?” I shook my head.

“We ain’t done yet,” Larry said.