Dumb Choices

I had a couple of friends back in '79 or '80, who where very intelligent boys, but made a very dumb decision.  This took place in Greenwood, Indiana.  Greenwood at this time was a quiet little community in the suburbs of Indianapolis.  A wild time for the police was a fight between two drunks at Bob's Tavern.

The young men were 17 at the time, and to protect the guilty, we will call them Tom and Dick.  Harry is not involved in this story.  They had been to a party in downtown Greenwood, about two blocks from the police station.  They had crashed for a few hours and left the party at about 9:30.

As they walked along the sidewalk, still feeling the effects of the night before, they saw a police car in front of the local shoe repair shop.  As they walked up to the police car, Tom noticed the door was ajar and the engine was running.  With a grin, he turned to Dick and said, "We ought to just take the SOB." 

Dick's response was "OK!" and he opened the door and jumped into the driver's seat.  Dick later told me he planned to take it around the corner and leave it in the alley for the officer to find.

Tom in horror yelled, "I was just kidding!"

At this time the police officer ran out of the shoe store, gun in hand, yelling at the top of his lungs.  Tom in a panic jumped into the passenger seat as Dick took off.

Since the officer had seen the boys, there was no time to drop it in the alley.  He left town as fast as the car would go.  Unfortunately, for him, the rest of the Greenwood force was in hot pursuit.

They went down Greenwood Road with the pedal to the floor, heading for the country roads, in the hopes of losing the local police.  As the chase continued, it was joined by the Whiteland, Franklin, and Johnson County forces as well. 

Dick drove in a panic, still hung over from the night before, and came upon a sharp bend in the road.  He did not make the turn and the car went into a corn field, rolling three times.

As the boy's crawled out of the windows of the upside down police car, every on-duty officer in Johnson County had their guns drawn, ready to fire.  The boys began shouting, "Don't shoot, we're just kids!  Don't shoot, we're just kids"  The officers held their fire and the young men were cuffed and taken in.

Luckily for them, the boy's fathers were well off, and well connected in the county.  After paying a hefty fine, and damages, they received probation and were freed.  The fathers had pulled strings and spent a lot of money for the boys, and they meant to teach them a lesson.  Part of the condition of their release was that they were to repay their father's for the costs incurred.

They worked for minimum wage, with all proceeds going back to the father's accounts for more than two years.  One day they were riding a motorcycle together, when a gentleman in a Cadillac, ran a stop sign and hit them.  Both received multiple breaks in their legs as well as other injuries.

The driver of the Cadillac was held responsible, and his insurance settled.  Tom and Dick received just barely enough to finish paying off their fathers.  Tom told me that the day they were hit, was the luckiest day of his life.

Lending a Helping Hand

One summer’s day, in the mid 1960s, we drove to Kentucky to visit relatives.  As we passed through Lebanon, on the way to Liberty, my father decided to stop at a bar/liquor store to pick up a case of beer.  Liberty was is a dry county and you cannot buy alcohol there.  He went inside, and my mother and I waited in the car, at the curb.

A few minutes later, a gentleman came stumbling out of the bar.  He started walking toward the road and walked right into a parking meter.  He bounced off the meter and hit the ground.  The man then picked himself up, shook his head, and walked into the meter again.

As he picked himself up the second time, an old blind man left the bar and headed for the street corner, tapping his cane.  The drunk saw the blind man at the corner, ran over, got the older man by the sleeve and led him across the road.

At this point my father left the bar, laughing.  As he opened the car door, he said to my mother, “If that isn’t the blind leading the blind, I don’t know what is!”

The Streak

This story goes back several years to when Herb Coffman was Sheriff of Casey County, Kentucky.  As the story was relayed to me, Sheriff Coffman had received several complaints of streakers running the roads around Liberty.

As he drove along the road one day, a report of one such incident, very close by, came across the radio.  He answered, saying he was on the way, and “He had better hope I don’t catch him.”  At that moment he topped a hill and there was the young man, naked as jaybird, running toward him.

He hit the lights and siren and the man took off running across an open field, heading toward the woods.  Wearing nothing but his tennis shoes and a smile the guy ran as fast as he could go.  The Sheriff stopped the car, jumped out and took off after the young man. 

It was an uneven race as the young man increased his lead and the Sheriff, with his gun jumping against his leg, tried to keep up in his uniform and street shoes.  It looked as though the young man would get away, then Mother Nature took a hand.

The young man was in better shape, had less baggage, and was wearing tennis shoes, but there was one thing he hadn’t anticipated.  No matter the shoes and conditioning, the human body is not designed to run bare assed through a briar patch.

As the man screamed and struggled, Sheriff Coffman calmly walked up and made his way through the briars to the miscreant.  He got the other free of the briers, and walk him back toward the field.  He led him to an old stump at the edge of the road, sat down, pulled the guy across his lap and proceeded to give him an old fashioned spanking.

He then took the individual to the police car, and drove him to the jail.  He walked him in naked and threw him something to cover up with, once he was locked away.  From what I am told the young man did not streak again.

An Eerie Wind

An Eerie Wind

This story goes back to around 1976.  My family and I went down to Liberty, Kentucky, to visit my grandparents.  While we were talking with my Grandma Miller we could see she was nervous.  Mom asked if everything was o.k., and Grandma shrugged and said "Yeah, but the strangest thing happened last week."  Then she told us the weird tale.

Grandma's house had been built years before by a cousin of my grandfather.  He originally built it for his wife as their first home together.  After a few years they sold the house and went on to other properties.  It went through several hands, and from what I was told as a child a few people had died in it, before my grandparents bought it.

There were often strange occurrences.  Often, If someone was sleeping on the couch, they would see car lights sweep through the window, lighting the opposite wall, then go out.  This was often followed by the sound of a car door slamming, in the front yard.  When you looked out of the window, no one was there.  Sometimes, from my grandparents room, you could hear the front door or upstairs door open, then steps go up the stairs; but no one had opened the door, or gone upstairs.  These and other bizarre occurrences happened frequently and would not alarm my grandmother.  But this time she told a different tale, altogether. 

The original home owners wife had been hospitalized and the family had been waiting for her to die, as the hospital could not help her.  My aunt Betty's husband, Delmer, was representing the church and had been visiting her one evening.

That night while my Grandmother, Betty, and three other aunts and uncles were watching TV, the screen door slammed against the outside of the house.  The heavy wooden front door slammed open against the wall, inside the house.  The upstairs door, across from the front door burst open into the front room.  Keep in mind all of these doors had opened with tremendous force, from different directions.

As the doors burst open, a cold wind rushed into the house and up the stairs.  As the wind passed, all the doors slammed shut, bang, bang, bang.  After the doors slammed everyone sat in stunned silence, then ran through the kitchen, and out the back door.

They stood at the side of the house, not wanting to go back in.  Then the phone began to ring.  When my grandmother went in and answered it, it was my uncle Delmer.  He told her the old lady, who first moved in on her honeymoon, had died about a half hour earlier.  At the same time, that the wind had torn through the house.

Scotty to the Rescue

Scotty to the Rescue

On the last weekend of Boot Camp, recruits used to be able to go out for one night, do whatever they legally wanted, with the stipulation that they returned to the Quarterdeck before midnight. When they checked in, the recruit had to say "Permission to cross the Quarterdeck, sir."

If instead of giving a proper query the recruit  made a joke, and were brave, or drunk, enough to say "Permission to cross the patio, Daddy-o" they would be sent back to the beginning of boot camp.

I was standing the podium watch, envious of the kids coming back town. A young recruit, half carried by his friends, stumbled his way to the Quarterdeck.  When his friends stopped, he stumbled away from them, looked around (checking for the Company Commander, or "CC", on duty).  He came to a weaving attention, gave an extremely sloppy salute, and said "Permission to cross the pat- uh, uh, uh."  He stopped searching for what to say.  The said "Can I come in?"

I was trying my best not to laugh, returned his salute, and said "Carry on."  Just as the words left my mouth, a voice from the shadows bellowed, "You, miserable maggot! In my office, NOW!!!"

Oh, crap.  The Company Commander had been making his rounds, but had apparently returned in time to hear the kid's bumbling return.  The chief stormed into his office with the recruit, white faced and stumbling, in the rear.  As the recruit entered room, the CC screamed "Attention!", and slammed the door.

You could easily hear what was going on in the office.  His friends waited by the Quarter Deck door, and I stood at the podium, engrossed at the spectacle playing out in the other room.  The chief pulled his chair out and sat at his desk, glaring at the young man all the while.  The recruit stared straight ahead, weaving, as the chief began yelling, enumerating all of the things the regulations that the young man had violated.  He then started on the punishment that would be meted out.

While on liberty we were required to keep our wallets tucked in a sock, so as not to detract from the lines of the uniform.  The CC ended his tirade, with the statement that the young man would be forced to repeat Boot Camp.  The kid stared straight ahead for a while, then reached down and pulled his wallet from his sock.  He flipped the wallet open, and said into it "Beep. Beep. Beam me aboard Scotty, I'm in trouble!"

The chief sat there slack jawed, staring at the recruit.  He jumped up and screamed "Get the hell out of here!" After the kid stumbled away, the chief dropped back into his chair, lay his head, face first over his arms, and began to laugh uproariously.

A few weeks later I graduated Boot camp and transferred to the training side of the base.  While there, I came across the chief who had been on duty, that evening.  After greeting him, I asked if he had required the recruit to repeat basic training.  He grinned, and replied "Hell, no. With balls that big, that kid will make Admiral one day!"

The Gypsy's Blessing

The Gypsy's Blessing

1940

It was a hot Saturday, in the middle of summer.  All of the windows and doors were open, lest a wayward breeze should come along.  Wiping the sweat from her forehead, my great grandmother Hughes checked on the pie, baking in the oven.

She straightened up from the stove and turned to the kitchen door as she heard a call and  a knock.

"Hello!" came the call the old lady at the entrance.  Great-grandma gasped and took a step back.  There in the door stood an old, thin lady, with gray, string hair, dressed all in black.  Strange to say, even though she was dressed in the bulky clothes of the day, and black at that, she did not sweat a drop.

Grandma realized she probably seemed rude, just standing there, and staring, mentally shook herself and said, "Please, come in.  Come in!"

The old lady laughed and said "Why, thank you.  Something smells wonderful."

Grandma smiled, "I am just baking a pie.  My daughter and son-in-law are visiting tomorrow, and he does love a piece of pie.  Would you like a drink of water, or glass of milk?"

The old lady smiled back "Some water would be nice, thank you."

As she went to the bucket to get the old lady some water, Grandma asked, "I'm sorry but have we met before?"

"No, no.  I am just traveling through with some of my family.  We are stopping at some of the houses to see if anyone would be interested in some of the items we have to sell."

Grandma realized that she must be a member of one of the traveling families of gypsies that travelled through the area occasionally.  To be neighborly she asked "Would you like anything to eat.  I'd be happy to fix you something."

"Why, no, but thank you.  You are most kind.  I have some pins, needles, ribbons and such if you are interested, though."

My great-grandmother smiled and said no, she already had all she needed.  Truth be told, in the backwoods of Kentucky, of 1940 there was little money to be had.  Every penny was dear.

"Well could you use a charm?  Something to ward of evil, perhaps?"

Grandma laughed, "If evil comes around here, I'll have a twelve gauge waiting for it."  She was Davy Crockett's first cousin, twice removed, and she wasn't kidding.

"I might be interested in something to help a barren woman conceive; but I know of nothing for that!"

The stranger looked at her and asked, "Who would this be for?"

"My daughter has been trying to have children for years.  Nothing has worked."

My grandparents, Dave Miller and Hazel Hughes, had married in 1934.  They were both from the hills of Casey County, Kentucky.  He was twenty-three, a crack shot and an avid hunter; she was seventeen, and as good a shot as he.  They were both fiery, hot-tempered, and very much in love.  This was a time when people married young and had many children. 

They had visited the local doctors and tried every home remedy, but nothing helped.  Grandma just could not become pregnant.  After six years, they had come to believe, they just could not have children.

The gypsy lady looked at her and said "Let me see." 

She walked back to the door, where she a left a bag, when entering.  She picked it up, and rumaged through it for a while.  "Ah, yes.  I thought so." 

She pulled a sealed bladder from the bag.  She gave it to Great-grandma Hughes and said

"Place this under her bed for one month.  At the end of that time bury the pouch.  After that, God willing she should conceive."

Grandma looked at her, unbelieving.  "How much do you want, and how do I know that it will work?" 

The old lady said, "If it works, pay me what you can, when next we meet.  If not, it costs you nothing."

Grandma stood there, thinking.  What did she have to lose?  "All right, thank you/"

When Great-grandma gave the poultice to my grandparents, they were less than thrilled.  They had tried everything and were not ready for another disappointment.

She insisted, however, so her daughter took the poultice inside, got down on her knees and placed it under their bed.  She stood up dusted her skirt and went outside to join the others, enjoying the evening breeze.

Thirty-one days later Great-grandma came back over.  "Have you buried the gypsy's poultice?' she asked.

My grandfather laughed, "No, we forgot about it."

"Well, let's go do it now." and she led them to get a shovel.

The next day my grandmother started having severe stomach cramps.  The doctor came over and gave her something to try to help.  After two days of pain and nausea, she passed what she described as a large grayish black tumor.  She was sick for several days after.

A few months later she discovered she was pregnant.  In due time, she delivered my mother.  Over the next eighteen years, my grandparents had a total of eight, healthy, children.

My great-grandmother looked for the gypsy woman, but she never returned.

Was it something in the poultice, a miracle, or simply nature taking a hand?  I don't know, but I am glad that when the old gypsy lady stopped by, my grandmother was kind to her.

The Disappearing Rifle

The Disappearing Rifle

Before my arrival to NSGA Misawa there was an incident between the Air Force protection force and the Navy HFDF shop.  The incident started in this way.

The shop called AF security to tell them that they were ready to commence field day, and would need to open the double doors in the rear of the shop, as was the normal procedure.  I don't know if they really got their wires crossed, but I tend to believe they tried to pull a  practical joke, Air Force against Navy.

One of the matmen was on the deck outside of the doors when he hears, "Hold it right there. DO NOT MOVE!"  He stood there with his arms raised, looking at two of the Air Force guards, on the roof, with M16s trained on him.

As he stood there one of the guards walked to the overhang, under which the sailor stood.  The guard lay his rifle, with the barrel hanging over, down on the roof.  He then dropped down to the ground. 

On the spur of the moment, the sailor grabbed the gun, and jumped back inside, locking the door behind him.  The panicked airman,  began beating on the door, screaming, "Give back my rifle!"

The seaman looked down at the rifle in his hands and thought, "Holy crap, what did I just do?"

Unable to think of anything else he lay the gun down and called the officer of the day, a Marine, and explained what he had just done.  The lieutenant came to the mat shop, cleared the rifle, then called his Air Force equivalent.

What saved the seaman is, when they checked the logs to verify the phone call requesting permission to open the door, the page had been neatly cut out.  The whole affair could have had serious repercussions for both the Navy and Air Force personnel involved.  Both sides decided to drop the matter.  The Air Force guards played no more practical jokes on the Navy, and the Navy personnel where instructed to take no more Air Force weapons.