America is sick. The air is full of hatred in the form of racism, antisemitism, and a complete lack of empathy, compassion, or respect for the thoughts and property of others. Let’s get back to being the America of optimism, opportunity, and hope. It’s going to take years, so let’s get started.
Let’s begin with something that is simple and easy. “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” Say it to yourself, your kids, your grandkids, and anyone you come across. When I was a kid growing up, there wasn’t a week that went by that I didn’t hear it from my parents, teachers, or church. All it takes is belief and commitment. It’s up to you and me.
New tools become available on a regular basis. Some are mechanical devices, and others come in the form of software. We become so dependent on this shiny new stuff that we forget about the primary tool in our tool chest. I’m talking about our brains. Sometimes the best solution to a problem is the simplest one. Explore all possibilities before committing to a plan of action and remember to make use of what you have on hand. I’d like to give you a few of examples from my own life.
Building an Airfield with Few Resources
Back in the 1940’s, during WWII, I learned a lesson that has stayed with me throughout my life: Use what you’ve got. At that time, when you went to the movies, the list of items viewed was always the same. You saw previews of coming attractions, one or two short subjects, a cartoon, and the feature movie. One of the short subjects might be the latest newsreel from the war. One of the newsreels really impressed me. The film opened to dozens of Chinese villagers, shoulder to shoulder, in a straight line and moving across a field. Each person had a hoe or rake or some kind of gardening tool, and they were leveling the field and removing the rocks and debris. They were making a landing strip for the Flying Tigers of P-40 aircraft. The P-40 was the hottest fighter plane of the time, but was useless without a place to land, refuel, and re-supply the ammo for the machine guns. Resisting the attacks of the Japanese, the Chinese couldn’t wait for Chiang Kai-shek or FDR to send bulldozers or road graders to build airfields. They had to do something now!
Robo-Dad!
My next example has to do with my dad. I wasn’t as big as my dad yet. It must have been about 1950 or 1951. One Saturday morning, Dad said he had promised to do a chore for someone downtown and asked me to come along. We drove down and parked on State Street in front of Cooper Drugs. Our town of 5,000 had a business district that was about 4 blocks long. Most of the stores had apartments above them on the second floor, which was the top floor. We saw a refrigerator sitting on the sidewalk next to the opening for the stairway leading to the apartment on the second floor. Dad said that one of Mom’s lady friends had asked if her husband could help her get the fridge upstairs. Mom said, “Heck, yes,” so that’s why we were there. The stairway was wide enough for the fridge, but there was no room for helpers to carry on either side. It looked like a stalemate to me. Dad rocked the thing back and forth to test its weight and then went to the trunk of our car. He returned with a strap about 4 inches wide and 15 to 18 feet long. I helped work the strap under the fridge and then across the ends over the top. Dad backed up against the fridge, pulled a strap over each shoulder, and then crossed them over his chest. He got a good grip on the straps and then gave me a warning. “Don’t get on the steps! If I lose control of this thing, it will crush and kill you!” My dad was 5’11 ¾ inches and 170 pounds. He and that fridge went up the stairs like it was nothing. I don’t mind telling you that I was mighty proud. There was no dolly and no freight elevator. There was just a good man with a good plan.
My Backyard and Plan B
In 1960, I was in the third year of my four-year Navy hitch. Pat worked, too, and we were able to buy a new 4-bedroom home. Like a lot of San Diego homes, the property backed up onto a small canyon. I wanted to put a redwood fence around the back yard, but the last 4 or 5 feet of the lot sloped off into the canyon. It might take a couple of truckloads of dirt to fill in the yard properly. As I said, we were doing okay, but with two kids to feed, there was no money for dirt. I had discovered soft dirt at the bottom of this canyon, maybe 20 or 25 yards downhill. There was the solution! I had a couple of 5-gallon buckets, so for the next few weeks, my spare time was devoted to carrying buckets of dirt up the hill and making a level yard. Plan B solved another problem. Again, always consider alternative ways of doing a job, and make sure you make use of what you have.
The crows must have found additional food sources. Pat has been used to seeing the original group of five birds and sometimes a few extras. The last few days have been only one or two. It’s always Lame Foot and Bouncer or just Lame Foot by himself.
We were worried about Lame Foot last week. Two times, while eating breakfast, he fell over. We thought he might be sick and losing strength in his good leg. He’s been acting okay since, so we now think he just wasn’t paying attention and lost his balance.
Yesterday morning, Pat heard a ruckus out front. She looked out the window and saw Lame Foot and another crow having a big fight. They were using their wings to beat the tar out of each other. I guess the fight was a draw as they both took off and flew away.
Lots of Friends
Yesterday, Pat had quite a variety of feathered aviator friends. There were two finches, two doves, and two crows. They all get along. The finches and doves eat little tiny stuff that Pat offers, and the crows eat the big stuff.
Knock Knock
Pat thought she heard a knocking at the front door. She opened the door to find Lame Foot pecking on the frame of the screen door. Thinking that he had certainly earned it, she put out some food for him. He ate his snack and flew away.
Can he dog paddle?
We have finally had two hot days. On the second of those days, a crow landed on the driveway. He looked around for a minute and then strode over to the water bowl and hopped in. He took a good bath, flapping his wings and preening himself. When he was done, he got out and flapped his wings to dry them and flew away.
What’s going on?
A dove hopped into the finches’ feed bowl. She fluffed out her wings like she was warming a clutch of eggs. After she left, there was no egg in the bowl, so we don’t know what she was doing.
It was a little after 6:00 AM. Pat hadn’t felt well so she hadn’t put out any food out for the crows. She glanced out the window to see if any of them had arrived yet. There were no crows, but she could see a feather lying near the water bowl. That was strange. There hadn’t been any wind, so the feather hadn’t just floated in. The crows must have left it as a gift. In the past, Pat had received a stick, a pebble, and some peanuts from them. She was pleased but continued with her morning chores. A little later, the crows arrived, but Pat was still tired and wasn’t motivated to go out into the cold morning air and feed them. After a while, she looked out and saw that the crows were gone. She was surprised to see that the feather was gone, too. Apparently, the crows were irritated that Pat hadn’t fed them , so they took back the gift. I guess crows have feelings, too.
My wife, Pat, had made a trip to Cosco to pick up a few items she needed. Like many people, we shop at Costco because the prices are good, and the quality is excellent. The only downside is that many items are packaged as multiples, making them heavy and hard to lift. Costco employees are trained to take care of their customers, though, so help is generally available.
On this particular day, the store was very busy, and staff members were running to keep up. Pat was in the health drink section looking at the Boost and Ensure displays. I’m probably the luckiest guy in town because Pat makes me a Boost smoothie or an Ensure smoothie for breakfast. This trip she had selected a carton of 30 bottles of Ensure and that made for a pretty heavy package.
I should note that Pat is 87 years old and arthritis has affected her hands to the point that she has little dexterity.
As she fumbled around trying to pick up the box, a blonde-headed guy shopping next to her noticed her predicament and said, “Let me help you with that!” She watched as the guy easily picked up the box and placed it in her shopping cart. She thanked him and headed for the checkout counter.
Pat paid for the groceries, went outside, and found the van. She placed all of the small items in the van and was struggling to place the box of Ensure in the vehicle. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a big truck loaded with construction equipment coming down the aisle. The truck pulled up behind her stopped, and a black man swung down from the cab and said, “Let me help you with that!” She thanked him and watched as he easily picked up the box and placed it in the van for her. Pat asked, “Did you just stop for me?” The man said, “I know that some things are hard for older people, so I lend a hand when I can.”
What a great day! Two good men in the same day. Gentlemen!
Crows keep close tabs on their food sources. They seem to know where Pat is at all times. If she is in the house, they will fly past the windows and peek in. If she is in the car, they will follow her to and from the grocery store, the bank, or the doctor. She’s used to it and really gets a charge out of it. Yesterday, though, she got quite a surprise.
We keep our roll-away trash bins in the garage just for the convenience of being able to roll them down the driveway to the curb on pick-up day. Pat had some trash to get rid of and walked through the house and out the door into the garage. She placed the trash in the bin and let the lid slam shut. Then she thought she heard someone knocking on our front door. She rushed through the house to the front door and looked out the side window. There was Lame Foot standing on the driveway and pecking on the garage door with his beak. He had heard her in the garage and wanted to get her attention. To reward his inventiveness, Pat put out some dry dog food, one of his favorites, and Lame Foot chowed down. You never know what they will do next.
Last weekend 45 million traveled in celebration of the holiday. What if, instead, 45 million Americans had taken to the streets to protest the destruction of America, our democracy, and our way of life?
Lame Foot was one of the original five crows that began to visit us some time ago. It’s unfortunate, but the deformed foot was the only way to tell him from any other crow. Initially, Lame Foot just stood with the group and observed. As Boss Crow reduced his leadership presence, Lame Foot became more aggressive and vocal and took over the group. Over the weeks and months, Lame Foot showed up for breakfast every morning. At odd times, he would come by the house and fly low past the windows or walk around on the driveway until Pat noticed him and came outside. Then, they would have a nice visit. Pat would recount the stories of her day while Lame Foot patiently listened and then Lame Foot would talk about his day. After each of them had passed on the news of the day, Lame Foot would take off and fly away.
This last two or three months, Lame Foot has been absent quite a lot. Once, it was almost two weeks between visits. Pat says that recently Lame Foot has looked thinner, not as large as the other crows. The feathers don’t seem as black and don’t glisten like they used to. We are wondering now if we had the gender thing all wrong. Maybe Lame Foot is a she and has been nesting and trying to forage enough to satisfy the hunger of a bunch of baby crows. Coming to breakfast in the future and in the company of some smaller birds would certainly prove us wrong. We’ll try to learn more, and we will keep you posted.
Nuts to You
Pat took the peanuts and scattered them on the driveway. She called the crows in with the four-caw summon: “Caw. Caw. Caw. Caw.” The crows flew in, landed, and started eating. Pat said, “Good morning,” gave them a few words of welcome, and went back in the house. A while later, she looked out the window to see how the crows were doing. The crows were gone, but she saw what appeared to be a row of peanuts lined up on the driveway. Her curiosity was aroused. Pat went out to verify what she had seen. Sure enough, there was a row of 10 nuts, evenly spaced and lined up in a straight line. What was this? Was it a gift or message? The gifts she had received before were a stick and a pebble. She couldn’t imagine the crows were re-gifting the peanuts she had given them. If it’s a message, what could it mean? Maybe it’s about the nuts. She had been giving them peanut snacks for months. Sure, she sometimes gave them table scraps or a can of cat food or dog food or even an avocado. Maybe they were just sick of the peanuts and the message is “Nuts to you?” Who knows? Maybe I’m just overestimating their intelligence, and the peanuts were lined up accidentally. These inter-species communications can drive you nuts!
Roy Rogers and Trigger were big in western movies during the 1940’s and 1950’s. They went on and became just as big and well known in television. I became a fan in grade school and never got over it. Roy was one of the good guys, and Trigger was the most talented and beautiful horse I ever saw.
It was July 6, 1944, and I was in my seat at the Los Angeles Coliseum. We were near the entrance and about a dozen rows up. The announcer was doing a big introduction and as he finished, the clapping and cheering started and Trigger with Roy Rogers aboard came galloping into the stadium. This made it the biggest day of my life. I was seven years old, a couple of months short of being eight. After seeing so many Saturday afternoon movies, I knew that Roy Rogers was indeed the King of the Cowboys and Trigger was the Wonder Horse as touted.
Our family was on vacation. My grandpa, George F. Sicks, who lived in Los Angeles had driven back to Iola, Kansas to visit his dad and siblings and had then gone on to Augusta, Kansas to pick up my family and take us to California. Dad only had 2 weeks, but Mom and Grandpa took us to every major attraction in the city. He knew the city well and was a fantastic tour guide. We saw everything from Olvera Street and the Brown Derby to Hollywood and the Griffith Park Observatory.
Getting back to Roy and Trigger, the Roy Rogers Rodeo was the highlight of that trip for me. Back in those days, a new edition of the Roy Rogers comic book arrived at Fowler’s News Stand each month. I knew approximately when they would arrive and always got there at the right time with my 10 cents in hand. The stories were okay, but what made them special was that the cover was always a full color photograph of Roy and Trigger. I took good care of each issue and kept them all in my closet. I don’t know how old I was when I quit buying the comic books, but I ended up with a stack of them that must have been 15 or 18 inches high. When I was 20, I joined the Navy, and Mom cleaned out my room and threw away the comic books and the ticket stub for that 1944 rodeo.
Almost 50 years later, I saw Trigger, but not Roy. I hadn’t known about the Roy Rogers Museum in Victorville, California until I saw it mentioned in a Western Horseman Magazine. Sometime later, maybe 1990, I was drinking coffee on a Saturday morning. Pat had to work that day and had already left the house. My chores were caught up, and I got to thinking about the Roy Rogers Museum. What the heck? Victorville was only a couple of hours straight up Interstate 15. I could go up there and be back in time to greet Pat when she got home. I left a note on the table just in case and took off. Getting to Victorville, I spotted the museum from the freeway and got right to it. The lady collecting admissions at the door said that Roy sometimes came in on Saturday but wasn’t there that day. I got to the main exhibition room, and to my shock, saw Trigger rearing up right in the middle of everything. After a few minutes of disbelief, I remembered seeing a report years ago that Trigger had been stuffed and could still be admired. He died in 1965 at the age of 30, and Roy had kept him close. Besides being a smart and beautiful Palomino, he had earned the right to be called a movie and TV star. He appeared with Roy in 87 movies and 101 TV shows.
I really enjoyed the museum. Roy never threw anything away. Everything from his old cowboy boots to his bowling trophies were on display. There was an annex where hundreds of letters from mayors and hospital administrators thanked him for visiting their towns and factories. I visited the museum a second time when Pat and I were on the way to Las Vegas and stopped.
The second time I saw Roy in person was in 1994, 50 years after the first time. This again was thanks to the Western Horseman Magazine. I saw a mention of a “Golden Boot Awards” banquet to be held in Santa Monica. The banquet was an annual affair to honor those involved in the making of western movies. I made some phone calls and got the info we needed to attend. The dinner was $125 a plate, and that was no big deal as we never spent much on entertainment. The money raised was to go to the Old Actors’ Home. Our son, Doug, was living at home and accompanied Pat and I to Santa Monica. We all had a great time seeing the old western stars and some of the later folks. I remember Clayton Moore, the Lone Ranger, Mrs. Jay Silverheels, widow of Jay Silverheels who played Tonto, Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, Burt Reynolds, Doug McClure, Pat Buttram, and many more. We got to meet and visit with a lot of them.
The third time I saw Roy in person was at the next Golden Boot Award banquet in 1995. Pat and I attended the banquet along with our son, Doug, and his future wife, Penny. We enjoyed the meet and greet before the dinner and after. Some of the people we saw this time were Roy Rogers, Dale Evans, Gene Autry, George Kennedy, Angie Dickinson, Sam Elliott, Denver Pyle, Clayton Moore, Iron-Eyes Cody, Charlton Heston, and many more.
Roy Rogers was born on November 5, 1911, and died July 6, 1998. His museum moved to Branson in 2003, and closed in 2009. The items in the museum were put up for public auction. The stuffed Trigger sold for $266,500 to a television channel that planned to start a western museum.
So many people are suffering because of the floods. We’ve seen these catastrophes on the east coast, west coast, and gulf coast. Millions of people are trying to put their lives back together. I wanted to come up with a story or two that weren’t all gloom and doom and remembered two that are on the lighter side.
My hometown, Augusta, Kansas, was located between two rivers. We had the Walnut River on the east side, and the Whitewater on the west.
My folks had some snapshots that must have been taken between 1900 and 1920. They showed Walnut Street with floodwater partway up the wheels of the Model T’s and other cars parked at the curb. Sorry, but I have forgotten the date. This flood caused the city to want to build dikes at strategic places around town. As the planning for the construction took place, my grandpa, A.A. Thomas, attended every meeting. At every meeting, Grandpa was touting the planting of clover on the dikes for erosion control. Erosion control sounded pretty high-minded, but, in truth, Grandpa, in one of his sideline businesses, was a beekeeper. Planting the dikes with clover would have made life simple for the bees and more profitable for him. When I grew up many years later, I don’t remember seeing anything but grass on the dikes, so I guess Grandpa wasn’t successful.
More party than Work
It must have been between 1952 and 1954. Jack Watson and I had spent the first part of the evening dragging State Street and just hanging around. We stopped at the bakery for a coke and were reminded that the rains to the north were causing the rivers to rise and that they would be cresting within the next few hours. Townspeople were already sandbagging the access points of the dikes. We had good, solid dikes, but, of course, there were places for the highway, county roads, and the Frisco Railroad tracks to cut through. These entrances and egress points looked like V-shaped bites had been chomped out of the dikes. The dikes sloped upward at 45 degrees on either side of the opening.
Jack and I decided to join the sandbaggers. We were in Jack’s car which he parked on State Street, and we started hiking west on the railroad tracks to the dike that was a mile away. We got there and found 20-30 people busy working, so we pitched in immediately. Dump trucks had already left piles of sand, and there were big stacks of bags. We didn’t have plastic bags back then so these were burlap bags, more commonly known as gunnysacks. Some people were using scoop shovels to fill the bags. Others dragged them to the proper locations. Still others stacked them in the proper places. I think there were three ladies serving coffee.
There was a lot of laughing and joking and carrying on. It felt more like a party than the aversion of a disaster. I don’t remember how long it took, but the job got done, and we all left. Apparently, the other openings were well done also as the town wasn’t flooded. I guess the best word to describe the evening would be “inspiring.” A bunch of people worked together for the common good and had a great time doing so.
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