Author: crittersandcats

The Gooney Birds of Midway Island

~ crittersandcats ~ 3 Comments

I was an aircrewman in seaplane squadron VP 48 (Patrol Squadron Forty-Eight). As the time approached for our deployment to Iwakuni, Japan, story-telling in regard to the flight across the Pacific increased. Our seaplanes had reciprocal engines and due to their range, the trip meant that we would be island-hopping across the ocean. We would first fly from San Diego to San Francisco. Then, we would go to Hawaii, Kwajalein, Midway, Guam, and Iwakuni. From San Francisco on, they were all 10 to 12 hour flights.

vp48p5m_01_10may2002

Martin Marlin P5M-2

Some of the most interesting stories we heard, and certainly the funniest, were about the Gooney birds of Midway Island. A Gooney bird is an albatross with a 7 foot wing span that looks beautiful and graceful in the air but is so clumsy it looks like a clown when taking off or landing.

We got to San Francisco okay, spent the night, and then on to Hawaii for the next night. The 3rd day we got to Kwajalein with no problem. We got up the next morning on Kwaj and it had been raining and the sky was ugly. After breakfast, we went down to the pier and took a boat out to our plane which was tied to a buoy in the harbor. After filling up with gas and lunch supplies (and coffee, of course) we hung the JATO bottles (jet assisted take-off). With a full load of gas and rough seas we would need some help getting in the air. There was a coral reef that formed the outer edge of the harbor so that pretty much defined the limit of our take-off run. The sea was a little choppy but the pilots thought we could get off alright. The pilot increased the power and we started our run down the sea lane. The choppy seas were beating the devil out of us but we got up to speed and they fired the first pair of JATO bottles. This was supposed to put us up on the “step” where we were planing just as you do in a motor boat when your speed is sufficient to cause you to ride on the crest of the waves. Normally, that first pair of JATO bottles gets you up on the step and then, when you have enough speed, you fire the second pair of bottles to lift off.

The pilot fired the 2nd pair of bottles in an effort to get up on the step but it didn’t help. We didn’t have enough speed to fly but we were sure closing on that coral reef at a pretty good rate. Our pilot stayed with it as long as he could but had to give up and pull the power off and abort. We taxied back toward the pier and tied up to a buoy and waited for the boat to bring us four more JATO bottles. The pilot, co-pilot, and navigator had all been watching the wind and the currents as we made our first attempt at taking off and after discussing it, decided that with a slight change in heading we could get enough lift to get off all right. We hung the new JATO bottles taxied back out into the sea lane and this time, got into the air and headed for Midway.

In the middle of the day, we passed the half-way point, the “point of no return”, and Kwajalein Air Control had handed us off to Midway Air Control. We were at 10,000 feet and probably doing 140 knots, and as far as you could see in any direction there was nothing but the beautiful blue Pacific. All of a sudden, the starboard engine belched out some smoke and started making some weird noises. The pilots shut down the engine and feathered the prop as the navigator checked his numbers and calculated our position. As the rest of the crew went to their emergency positions, I fired up the radar and took a couple of sweeps with the antenna. I could see for about 120 miles and there wasn’t a ship in sight. Meanwhile, the pilot had sent a Mayday call and was now talking to Midway Air Control. The pilot gave our current position, heading, airspeed, altitude, and all that stuff. Midway acknowledged and said that they were launching a Grumman UF-1 Search and Rescue plane that will meet us and accompany us to Midway. The Grumman is a smaller seaplane than our Martin P5M but if we went down they could drop us additional life rafts or supplies. For them to make an open-sea landing was not a practical idea.

Grumman_UF-1_Albatross_USN_in_flight_1950s

Grumman UF-1 Albatross

The pilot gave the word to jettison some of the on-board equipment that we could do without and the crew heaved it out the port hatch. The next thing to go would have been our clothing and personal gear but fortunately it didn’t come to that.

It seemed like it took forever for the Grumman to meet up with us. Our navigator figured out what time I should be able to spot him on radar and sure enough…there he was. When he was close enough to eyeball, we were thrilled! The flight on in to Midway was without incident and we made a smooth single-engine landing.

Midway Island had been a waypoint for seaplanes for many years. There was a large concrete ramp extending into the water for launching and recovering the flying boats. They had and maintained several sets of wheels also. The P5M didn’t have landing gear or wheels. The wheels were designed with floats and at the time of recovery were towed by a boat out to the airplanes and attached by a simple pin and clamp device. Then, a cable was attached to the tail at the keel position and the plane was towed up the ramp backwards by a heavy tractor-like piece of equipment known as a Buddha.

We went through the recovery process and after being towed up the ramp our plane was parked on the apron nearby. We were finally in Gooney Bird Land and surrounded by hundreds or thousands of the creatures.

Gooney Bird Landing

Albatross/Gooney Bird About To Make A Crash Landing

(notice the look of terror on its face)

We were on Midway Island almost a month. Most of that time was spent waiting for the new engine and some associated parts that turned out to be faulty. Most of those days waiting for parts were spent either swimming or sitting in the shade of our plane’s wing and watching the gooney birds. They were so graceful once airborne but looked so ridiculous when taking off or landing. Naturally, they walked or ran like a duck, all spraddle-legged and freaky looking. They had to run several yards before getting enough speed and lift to get into the air. After watching them, we decided that the most successful take-offs were those where the bird making the take-off run, ran across a bump or hill or berm that caused enough of an up-draft to give them the lift needed to get airborne.

Landings were really a challenge. Every square foot of ground had a bird sitting on it so there was no clear “runway”. And, the birds always came in too fast. You just knew that any attempt to run on those ugly little feet wasn’t going to work. But, they would come swooping down, lower those feet, and start stepping on the heads of every bird in their path. This went on for several feet until they finally stumbled and crashed.

There were a few birds that could make a decent landing and we didn’t know if they were smarter or just lucky. The birds acted much like an airplane making a landing on a short runway. As they made their approach, they would pull their hose up and into a full stall and then take the power off slowly and settle to the ground. Beating the wings slowly allowed them to control the descent. I’m supplying a link to a video that shows one bird making a good landing as I have just described.

Words can’t do justice to the actions of the gooney birds. Watch the video that I’m providing the link for. There’s a lot of funny stuff on the Internet. Do a search on “Gooney Birds of Midway Island, Gooney Bird take-offs, Gooney Bird landings, etc.” and the results will give you some good laughs.

http://bgamall.hubpages.com/hub/Albatross-Gooney-Bird-Humor

Dave Thomas
October 24, 2014

 

Judy

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It was June of 1957 and I had graduated from boot camp at Great Lakes Naval Training Center, north of Chicago. I was beginning a 30 day “leave” and had taken trains from Chicago to Wichita. After arriving in Wichita, I walked the block or two to the bus depot and caught a bus to my home town of Augusta, 17 miles to the east.

We arrived in Augusta and stopped at the Bus Depot which in actuality was McDuffy’s Service Station. Getting off the bus, I felt like I was in a strange new world. I’d only been gone about 3 months but everything felt different and I wasn’t sure why. I was wearing “dress blues” with the neckerchief and white sailor hat so I felt a little conspicuous. Boot camp was like a vacation for me but it had done its job which was to cut the apron strings and teach you to stand on your own two feet and live a disciplined and pride-filled life.

I got my sea bag out of the belly of the bus and waited to cross the street at the only stop light in town. As I crossed the street, I saw Clarence “Judy” Williams, our neighbor from two doors down, coming toward me. Judy was at least 6’3″ tall and was as nice as he was big. As we met, he shook my hand and grinned and told me how proud he was to see me in my sailor suit. I should tell you that during WWII, Judy had been a “Seabee’ (C.B.= Construction Battalion). We grade school kids knew what outfits all the local guys were in and considered them all to be heroes. The job of the Seabees was to build roads and landing strips where needed, often under fire. I remember one cartoon showing a Seabee driving a bulldozer with one hand and firing a machine gun with the other.

We walked the block to our homes, talking “Navy talk” all the way. As we got to Judy’s house, he dropped off but shook my hand and told me again how proud he was to see me in uniform. Now, after all that, I felt like a million bucks! I was home and comfortable and proud to be in the Navy.

I guess what I want you to draw from this is that a kind deed such as Judy performed can have an effect that will keep a person warm for a lifetime. It’s been over 57 years and thinking about it still makes me feel good.

Here’s a footnote:

Thinking about this story, I realized that I didn’t know how or why “Judy” Williams got his name. I sent an e-mail to his daughter, Joyce, who is a couple of years older than me but still going strong. Joyce has been a friend since we played kick-the-can some 65 or 70 years ago. Joyce’s response to my question is a good story in itself so I’ll copy it here.

“Hi Dave-

Now, about my Dad. Will be interested in hearing how he ends up in a missive to your grandkids. He was the youngest by 8 years of 8 children. They lived on a farm, and were very hard working, kids included. (They did things different in those days.) A traveling show (circus) came to a nearby town, and apparently the whole family went. At least my Dad and some of the older kids. And this was a rare event. There was a puppeteer there doing a “Punch and Judy” show. I can’t remember how old my dad was, but, not very and he was really impressed, and talked of nothing else for weeks after. Consequently, he became known as Punch and Judy, eventually shortened to Judy.

Now the strange part that I can’t explain. They lived in Indiana. My mom and dad met in Chicago, and later married. Everyone in Augusta called him Judy, and his family back home in Indiana called him Clarence til the day he died. And in later years, he preferred Clarence. Too late, everyone knew him as Judy.

Joyce”

Dave Thomas
January 9, 2015

 

Angels, Cats, and Hummingbirds

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We live about 1 1/2 to 2 miles west of Miramar Marine Corps Air Facility (MCAF). Miramar puts on an air show in October of each year and it’s now billed as the top air show in the country with this year’s attendance forecasted to be 700,000. The stars of the big show are the Blue Angels and their performances are amazing. We are lucky in that when they make a low pass at the Miramar runway it brings them straight down our main thoroughfare and we can see them from the front of the house or the patio

This year’s air show was to be held last weekend, October 3rd, 4th, and 5th. Last Tuesday, about 8:30 in the morning, the house starts shaking, the windows rattle, and the roaring noise is so loud you can’t hear the TV and Good Morning America! The Blue Angels are back in town and this time they are coming with seven FA-18’s and a giant C-130. The noise was deafening. Isabella, the cat, was going crazy as she rushed from one hiding place to the next trying to get away. As the planes made their low pass to say “hello” it was a reminder that Miramar was the home of the original Top Gun school and the place where the movie was made.

I really enjoy the Blue Angels but was concerned about Izzie, the cat. Wednesday and Thursday, as the Blue Angels practiced for their performance, she was running from one hiding place to the next and was totally freaked out. I tried to catch her and comfort her but wasn’t fast enough. Friday was the first day of the air show and the Blue Angels lifted off about 2:30 for their performance. When I heard the roar of their first pass coming at us, I jumped up and started calling Izzie. Apparently, she had put up with all she could stand. When I got to the bedroom, she dashed out from under the bed and ran to my feet and assumed the stance she takes when wanting to be picked up. I sat down on the bed and held her in my lap facing me. She sat with her front legs stiff as poles and stared me right in the eye. I started stroking her back and telling her over and over that it was going to be okay. To be “okay”, was a concept she had learned when we were dealing with the trash trucks. She had been going nuts when dealing with them and I told her over and over that she would be okay and finally she accepted the fact that the noise of the trucks wouldn’t hurt her and now she could care less.

We sat there as the Blue Angels went through their routine with me stroking Izzie’s back and telling her it was okay while she sat there all stiff-legged and stared at me and was ready to cut and run the second I flinched and acknowledged trouble. All of a sudden, the stiffness went out of her body and she seemed to relax as the Blue Angels finished their performance.

The next day, Saturday, at 2:30, here we go again. When I heard the roar coming, I jumped to my feet and went to find Izzie. She was in the bedroom again but this time she was stretched out full length and was sound asleep! I was amazed! I watched her as the planes made a couple more passes and the house shook and the windows rattled but she never moved a muscle. I know she was awake but she had conquered her fear. Sunday, the final day of the air show was good, too. Izzie went about her business without a second thought to the noise.

One of the best things about the Miramar Air Show has been the ability to get good pictures of the Blue Angels. On most of their runs they come in from the west so we can stand out on our patio and catch them coming in and snap pictures as they are coming right up the gut. We can also go out in our front yard and shoot them going away as they break into their fantastic routines like the star-burst pattern. Its fun either way but I prefer to catch them from the patio as they are coming “head on”.

I’ve gotten some good pictures in the past but this year things were different. I had a great camera but Kodak no longer supported the software and it didn’t work with Windows 7. I sold the camera on eBay and bought a lesser camera that I can carry in my shirt pocket.

The trees in our neighborhood have grown. Now, you can hear the Blue Angels coming but they crest the trees and you only have about 2 seconds to find them in the view finder and snap the shutter before they are gone. My eyesight has gotten worse and my reflexes are slower so I’m practically worthless. After 2 days of practice and 3 days of the air show, I didn’t have one decent picture. I gave up and went back to taking pictures of the humming birds as they came to visit our feeder. They are tiny little creatures and fast but they will hover and stay in one place long enough to get their picture.

Fortunately, Pat realized that I was failing in my assignment as an action photographer and she grabbed her i-phone and ran out into the front yard and got some Blue Angel pictures that she forwarded to my computer. Thanks to her, I’ve got a couple of pictures of the planes to go along with my humming birds.

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Dave Thomas
October 7, 2014

 

Standing Up While Sittin’ Down

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I was 20 years old and had just returned from Colorado where I had spent several months working as a roughneck in the oil fields. It’s hard work and it goes on for 8 or 16 hours a day and 7 days a week. The old saying is that it’s a job for mules but all the mules have been worked to death so now they are using men. I remember my first week on the job and coming back to the hotel every night and collapsing on the bed. One morning I woke up on the floor with a boot in my hand. That’s as far as I got with my undressing the night before. I got tougher every day and soon was able to work out at night with the set of weights I had been carrying around in the trunk of my car. After roughnecking for a few months I could work an 8 or 16 hour day and still lift weights afterward. I weighed my normal 158 pounds when I went to Colorado but I soon bulked up to 198 pounds and probably got a little too proud of myself. Needless to say, I was in terrific shape and didn’t worry about anything.

After getting back to Augusta that day, I waited around home for Mom to get off work at the Augusta Daily Gazette. We had supper together and then talked for a while. I decided to go down to the pool hall and see what was happening there. The pool hall was set up like most of them with a bar and a bunch of domino tables in the front. Then, there were 3 snooker tables and an 8-ball table to accommodate the pool shooters. As I stepped through the door, I could hear my Dad back at one of the snooker tables sounding off about something. When Dad was sober, he was a genial, mild-mannered man whom everyone liked. When he was drinking he became a mean, loud-mouthed, profane drunk that nobody wanted to be around.

I came on in, took a stool at the bar and ordered a glass of beer. When I got the beer, I swiveled around and leaned back against the bar and kept an eye on Dad. He was getting louder and more obnoxious and a couple of guys at the next snooker table were yelling back at him. All that did was egg him on and he was calling them everything but civilized people. I was kind of enjoying it because after listening to Dad for years I knew just how drunk he was. At this point, he was fried just enough to be hell-on- wheels. Those two guys at the next table, that I knew to be just a couple of loud mouths, wouldn’t stand a chance. Fortunately for them, they decided it wasn’t worth it and hung up their pool cues and left. 

There were two guys in their late 30’s, sitting at a domino table near me. They were tired of listening to Dad, too. They became more agitated as they were cussing Dad and finally one of them starts talking tough and says “god-dammit, I think I’ll go back there and whip that loud-mouthed old wolf!” I just turned my stool a little until I faced them square on, took a sip of my beer, and in my best cowboy drawl said “Shucks…the two of you can’t even whip his cub!” They didn’t want any and got up and left. I just finished my beer and went on home leaving Dad to take care of his own problems.

Dave Thomas
February 23, 2015

 

The Communicators

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I once read that a cat will have the intelligence of a two to three year old child. I believe that. Both learn quickly and the first things they learn are those that are good for them. To guess what they are trying to talk about you can rule out politics, world affairs, and religion. In other words, it’s generally going to be me, me, me. I had two experiences the other day that were based on two little girls trying to entertain themselves.

Our great grand-daughter, Quetzal, will be 2 ½ years old this month. She has been using just one word at a time like “Mama” or “Dada” but recently decided to start putting several words together. However, instead of going from words to sentences she jumped from words to paragraphs. I admire her ambition but her vocabulary hasn’t grown fast enough to support it. Yesterday, I answered the phone and all I heard was a little girl speaking gibberish. I picked out the words “book” and maybe “school”. She stopped to take a breath and I jumped in with “Is this Quetzal?” She took off again with one of her excited word storms. I wasn’t picking up much but interrupted with “are you playing with your dog?” In a stroke of genius I had decided that I could identify her through her dog. She was chattering again so I interrupted again with my brilliant “what is your dog’s name?” Well, that really energized her and I was able to pick out the word “dog” but didn’t hear any name. About this time I’m starting to hear a more mature voice in the background. “Where’s your Mama” I said. “In the kitchen” she answered very distinctly. “Let me talk to her”, I say. In a few seconds I recognize Michelle’s voice as she says “hello”. “Your kid just called me” I said. Michelle recognized my voice and laughed. “I was busy in the kitchen and she got bored and said she was going to call somebody. I guess she wasn’t kidding” says Michelle. We talked a few minutes and hung up. I don’t see well enough to use a cell phone but Pat can do all that stuff. I asked her how a little girl who can’t read can call people on the phone. Pat explained that Quetzal had learned to turn on the phone and bring up the “Contacts” list by watching her parents. You can scroll through the list and by touching a name can bring up a profile page for that individual. If the owner of the phone has been diligent in putting together the profile, it will contain a picture of the individual. Quetzal recognizes all of us from the many Skype calls we have made so she just thumbs through the pictures until she finds someone she wants to talk to. Quetzal and her Grandpa Russ are pretty tight and I guess she was driving him nuts with her phone calls at work and any time of day. Michelle had to remove his picture from the phone so he could have some peace.

Isabella or Izzie the cat is our next communicator. I can certainly attest to the fact that cats are as smart as toddlers. They generally communicate in more subtle ways than kids and you have to be alert to their body language, the twitching of the ears and tail and their overall demeanor.

Izzie has decided that she is ready to talk. Like Quetzal, she’s not expanding from words to sentences. She’s jumping straight from words to paragraphs. She used to express herself with just one meow but now she cuts loose with a string of them and tells the whole story. It goes “meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, and meow”. And, it’s just like listening to Quetzal in that I don’t understand a word she is saying.

The other day after I got the phone call from Quetzal, Izzie tried her new vocabulary on me. I should tell you how this incident developed. Pat was working in the kitchen and Izzie came in and sat down next to the sliding glass door to the patio. Izzie meowed once to say that she wanted to go outside. Being an “inside” cat and not to worldly regarding coyotes and fast-moving traffic we don’t let her out by herself. We have to put the harness on her and attach the leash and then be prepared to follow her as she explores. Pat was busy so she just told Izzie to “wait a minute”. Izzie gave her another “meow” and got the same response from Pat. Well, Izzie blew her top. Her ears went back, her eyes narrowed, and she read the riot act to Pat. It’s coming out like a machine gun…meow, meow, meow, meow, and meow. Then she got all stiff-legged and stomped out of the kitchen.

Meanwhile, I’m in at the computer, blissfully ignorant of what has transpired between Pat and Izzie. Izzie comes in and jumps up on the desk, walks up and turns to face me and cuts loose with some sad story and the words are coming a mile-a-minute, just like with Quetzal, only they are in “Cat” language and I don’t understand that any better than “Baby” talk. Meow, meow, meow, meow, and meow. I can see that she is terribly upset so reach my hand up to stroke her back. She dodges my hand and jumps down from the desk and huffily stomps toward the door. As she reaches the door she looks back over her shoulder at me which is always a signal that I should follow her. So, I get up out of my chair and take off after her. She leads me down the hall, looking over her shoulder a couple of times to make sure I’m following and then goes into the kitchen and over to the door to the patio. About this time Pat bursts out laughing and says “I wouldn’t do what she wanted so she chewed me out and stomped over to you and told on me. Then, she convinced you to get up and follow her to the door so you could take her out. You talk about a spoiled brat!”

Well, there you have it. Two young entities, still novices as communicators, but both thinking they are really laying down some words. I admire their efforts but can’t understand a thing they are saying.

Dave Thomas
March 30, 2014

 

Izzie 10: Who’s The Boss?

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We have a swing on our patio and Pat and I try to be out there every day for at least an hour. We swing and hold hands, look at the blue sky, watch the hummingbirds, and talk or don’t talk. It’s terrific way to enjoy the day. We also take our cat, Isabella, out with us so she can watch the birds, look for lizards, take a nap in the sun, or do whatever makes her feel good. Since she is an “inside” cat, we put a harness on her and a 5 foot leash. We also have a “reel” with 15 or 20 feet of line on it that we attach to the leash so she can check out the whole area without us having to move.

Sometime back, we decided that Izzie might enjoy swinging so we put her between us on the swing. She didn’t care for that and immediately jumped down. A day or two later, Pat and Izzie went out while I was busy in the house and when Pat put Izzie in the swing with her she stayed. I joined them later and sat in a chair near them. We stuck to this routine for a few days. Izzie shared the swing with Pat and when she got tired of swinging she would jump down and I would move to the swing. This went on for some days or weeks and we all got along. One day, Izzie had jumped down and I had moved to the swing and was talking to Pat. Izzie was over on the other side of the patio.

Izzie 2-4-2013

What are you doing in my swing? 

When she looked around and saw me sitting next to Pat she immediately came over and sat down right in front of me and looked me in the eye. I knew from her attitude and the way she was staring that she was trying to communicate with me. I said, “What do you want?” She kept staring so I said, “Do you want to swing?” I stood up and she immediately dashed around me and jumped in the swing. Pat and I both laughed about the way Izzie got what she wanted. Over the next few days this seemed to happen more often. I thought it was interesting that she was able to let us know what she wanted so I thought that as a reward I would surrender the swing whenever she asked for it.

This arrangement was working pretty well when, all of a sudden Izzie started getting possessive with her spot in the swing. As soon as she saw me sitting next to Pat she would come over and challenge me. Yes, she was no longer being nice about it, she came with an attitude! She really liked swinging but we didn’t know if she was trying to protect her spot in the swing or if she objected to me sitting next to Pat. They are pretty tightly bonded because Pat takes a comb and grooms her every day. She thinks Pat is her mother.

It may be that Izzie is just protecting her territory as yesterday morning she was upset with both of us. We were out on the patio and Pat and Izzie were in the swing and I was in a chair. Izzie saw a lizard on the other side of the patio. She jumped down from the swing and walked over to the other side and sat down to wait for it to show itself again. I moved over to the swing and when Izzie saw me sit down, she immediately came back and let me know that she wanted in the swing. Pat and I both laughed and I moved to the chair. I figured that if she is smart enough to tell me what she wants then she should be rewarded and enjoy the same benefits as the rest of the family.

My chair

We need to talk! 

Izzie enjoyed the swing for a few minutes and jumped down again. This time she had noticed a spot of sun on the patio floor and she laid down in it and started taking a bath. I had moved over to the swing again and when Izzie looked up from her bath and saw me, she jumped up and trotted back. Pat and I laughed again and I relinquished the swing.

Again, we were enjoying our time outdoors and as Pat and I talked, she would reach over occasionally and stroke Izzie’s back. Izzie had her eyes closed and was happy to be swinging and getting petted. As always, she only lasted a few minutes and jumped down .This time, she went to the other side of the patio and found a nice, shady spot and stretched out full length for a nap. I moved from the chair to the swing. Izzie raised her 4 of 4 Who’s The Boss?

head and looked back over her shoulder and saw me and jumped to her feet and headed for me. Pat and I were laughing again as Izzie, for the third time, reclaimed her spot in the swing. This time, things were different. Izzie stood there in the swing and faced me and her ears went back and her eyebrows came down and she was looking daggers at me! After a few moments of glaring at me, she turned to Pat with her ears still back and her eyes hooded and started chewing her out for letting me sit in the swing! “Meow, meow, meow, meow!” What a performance! We have created a monster!

Pat-Iz

It’s okay, now.

Dave Thomas
April 15, 2015

 

Shepler’s

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Younger people are used to seeing the big Shepler’s Western Wear Store out by the Wichita airport. It’s really something to behold. If you need cowboy stuff, that is the place to get it. My first visit to Shepler’s was nowhere near as grand as what you see today.

Even an Augusta kid like me knew about Harry Shepler. Besides running his store, Mr. Shepler also sponsored rodeos and other western events. I was probably between 10 and 12 years old and that would put the time from 1946 to 1948. On a Saturday morning, I was with my great uncle, Dave Peebler at his home at 124 High Street. I was there to do yard work or whatever needed to be done. Uncle Dave said he needed to go to Shepler’s Wichita and invited me to ride along. I liked the idea and jumped in the car and we took off.

It’s been a lot of years since I have cruised around Wichita, but as I recall, Shepler’s was on Market Street, about 3 blocks north of Douglas. The business was located in a small store front that was completely filled with western gear. In the store, we walked to the back, where the counter was located and there was no one in sight. The door to the back room shop area was open and out came Harry Shepler. He and Uncle Dave shook hands and greeted each other. They told me that they were old acquaintances who didn’t get to see each other very often but caught up on things when they could. Uncle Dave introduced me to Mr. Shepler who invited me to go look around the store while they visited.

I thought I had died and gone to heaven. The place was filled with the wonderful smell of leather and there was cowboy stuff everywhere. I ran my hands over the floral carvings of the saddles and fondled the bridles and smelled them. I looked at the spurs and belt buckles and tried on a couple of cowboy hats. All this stuff fit right in with the cowboy movies I saw at the Isis Theater every Saturday afternoon. Mr. Shepler was indeed a lucky man!

I understand that the Shepler stores have prospered and can now be found in many cities. I’ll bet none of them smell as good as that first one.

 

Dave Thomas
December 16, 2015

Do It Right!

~ crittersandcats ~ 3 Comments

I was named after my great-uncle, Dave Peebler. He was born in 1893 and grew up on a farm. His parents were hard working people so the family always had enough of everything. But, times were tough and money was in short supply. As a result, everything was used and nothing was wasted. All belongings were cared for because replacements were not easy to get. Being frugal and conservative were necessary parts of life.

When I was in grade school I learned a lesson from Uncle Dave that I’ve never forgotten. Uncle Dave and Aunt Rachel had picked up my sister and I and we were in the back seat of their car and going somewhere. We were traveling south on State Street, the main drag in our town. State Street was one of those pretty brick streets that caused your tires to hum as you rolled along. The north end of the street was all residential and at High Street you started down a hill that lasted for six blocks and then the street leveled out for about four blocks of business district.

We got a couple of blocks down the hill and came to a place where some city maintenance men were working. They had placed those sawhorse-type barricades around a hole that they were digging manually. They had removed the bricks from the surface of the street and piled them off to the side. A pile of dirt was beginning to grow as they worked with their shovels and pick axes. We all looked as we went past and wondered just what the problem was but continued on toward wherever we were going.

An hour or two later we were returning and drove past the site again. Now, it was raining and the men were gone. There were three shovels and two pick-axes, caked with mud, and hap-hazardly tossed on the dirt pile and left to rust. Uncle Dave saw this and started shaking his head. He passionately spat out “God damn a man that won’t take care of his tools!” The vehemence of his voice and words made a great impression on me and I have never forgotten it. Even today, if I have done a job and don’t want to put my tools away as I should because I’m in a hurry, or if I don’t want to clean them up, Uncle Dave’s words come back to me. I end up doing the job the right way because I don’t want the guilt that would come from not doing it properly.

Dave Thomas
December 26, 2013

 

Take Cover!

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The summer that Russ and Doug were 12 and Terri was 9, Pat drove them back to El Dorado, Kansas to spend the summer with their grandparents, Melba and Eddie Wygle. They had a great time boating, fishing, shooting skeet, and doing all the things that Melba and Eddie came up with to entertain them. They also got acquainted with some of the more sobering parts of Kansas life such as tornadoes.

Here in California, the kids were used to hearing the sirens of police cars, ambulances, and fire trucks. In Kansas, cities had installed sirens that could be heard for a mile or more. They were used to indicate that a tornado was coming and it was time to take cover. The kids didn’t actually experience a tornado that summer but a number of times they heard the warning siren and had to take cover in the neighbor’s cellar. This was enough to impress upon them that tornadoes were nothing to mess with.

In the summer of 1974, we rented a 35 foot motor home and made the trip to Kansas. The boys were 15; Terri was 12, as was her friend, Susan, who was traveling with us. When we arrived in Augusta, we went to the home of Aunt Rachel and Uncle Dave Peebler at 124 High Street. I parked the RV in a driveway in their back yard. When it was time for bed, the girls shared a bedroom, Pat and I were in a bedroom at the front of the house, and the boys were going to sleep in the RV. The boys were especially happy with this arrangement. It helped them maintain their image as independent young thinkers who didn’t have to conform to the conventions of mortals and sleep in the house…they would take care of themselves in the RV outside.

After some visiting, we said our “good nights” and headed for bed. It wasn’t long before a siren started screaming across the town. Pat and I didn’t worry about it because we knew two things that the kids didn’t know. The first was that it was a very nice evening with none of the tell-tale attributes of an unsettled tornado condition. The second was that Augusta has a volunteer fire department that alerts its members using the same siren as is used for tornado warnings. We recognized the siren immediately for what it was. The boys, however, were out in the RV alone, in a strange place that was already a little bit spooky. All of a sudden we heard a wild pounding on the back door (which was locked). Russ and Doug were yelling at the top of their lungs, “Let us in! Let us in! We’re going to die! The tornado is coming!” As I said, Pat and I were in the front bedroom and it was taking us a little time to reach the back door. Pat got to the door first and was trying to get it unlocked but not being familiar with it was fumbling around and not having much luck. The boys were getting more frantic every second and were screaming “Why won’t you let us in? Do you want us to die out here? Please! Please! Help!” Pat yelled back at them “Look at the sky…no clouds…no lightning…no twister…no noise…no strange atmosphere!” The boys were so shook up they wouldn’t listen and couldn’t think of anything but running to safety. Pat got lucky and got the door open and let the guys in and we tried to quiet them. They were excited and big-eyed and it took a little bit for what we were saying to register. When it finally sunk in that the siren was not for a tornado but was a call for the volunteer firemen, the boys settled down. Naturally, Aunt Rachel and Uncle Dave, and Terri and Susan heard the commotion and were all at the back door, too. As you can imagine, it took a while for us to settle down and think about sleeping again.

Dave Thomas
March 15, 2015

 

Before the Stair-climbing Dolly

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I was thinking about tools this morning. If you go into one of the large warehouse stores like Home Depot or Lowe’s you can be overwhelmed by the number of tools you see. There is a tool for every job you can imagine. As you go up and down the aisles and you see these wonderful objects, most of them shiny, your imagination takes hold and you begin to drool. “If I only had one of these”, you say to yourself, “I could do the job so much better and faster.” You reach for that sleek ergonomically perfect beauty and your fate is sealed. You are going to buy that beautiful tool because it makes so much sense to do so and take it home to do that one job and then put it in the drawer where it will stay for the next forty years. That’s what tools do to us.

The Industrial Revolution has been a tribute to the resourcefulness of man. Machines were invented to make work easier and to multiply the amount of work that a person can do. Naturally, new tools had to be invented to manufacture these machines and maintain them. It was an exponential explosion that created more gadgets and tools than any of the pioneering inventors could have ever dreamed. If you are a real “handyman” type, we might go out into your garage and find a roll-away toolbox full of hand tools, an air compressor, an arc welder, a paint spray booth, an electronic stud finder, and enough gadgets and tools to fill a catalog.

While thinking of these tools, I was letting my mind roam the aisles of Home Depot. The high turn-over stuff and the big-money items are located closer to the entrance or the center of the store. As you get farther away from the action, you get to the more mundane items like brooms and shovels and hand trucks and dollies. As I look at the dollies in my minds-eye I am reminded of the unit I have in my garage. It looks like a regular dolly but if you pull a pin and remove the handle, you can then insert the handle in a position that makes the dolly into a 4-wheel hand truck. I love it! As I get older and less well-balanced when carrying heavy stuff, I appreciate this feature more.

Thinking about dollies, leads me off on another tangent. Have you ever seen a stair-climbing dolly? I was introduced to this marvel of the material handling world back in the 1970’s or 80’s. I was Manufacturing Manager of a company that was moving to a new building. One morning, I was at the new place checking our progress as the equipment was brought in and set up. I was standing on the loading dock when the truck from the vending machine company drove up. The vending machines were scheduled to be installed in the lunch room that day so I was happy to see a number of machines on the truck. I was concerned to see only one man on the truck because the lunch room was on the second floor and I didn’t want anyone to get hurt trying to wrestle those machines up the stairs. Also, my men were all busy and I didn’t want to use my manpower to move the vending company’s machines.

I finished what I was doing and headed for the main staircase to see what was going on. As I got there, I saw a Coke Machine going up the stairs with one man climbing the stairs with it. There was a ½ horse motor and a 50 amp battery doing all the work. It really was amazing.

stair climber

I was fascinated and fortunately had the time to watch the guy take several pieces of equipment up the stairs. There was a Coke machine, 2 sandwich and dessert machines, a hot canned soup machine, a cigarette machine, and a refrigerator. The machines were different sizes, configurations, and weights, but everything went as smooth as silk. The guy told me that the dolly could take things down the stairs just as easy. Amazing!

All this talk about machines that climb stairs brings us to the question, “What did we do before stair-climbing dollies?” Well, I’ve got one answer for that. This story concerns my Dad, Al Thomas, so let me tell you a little about him. Dad was always tall and slim. As a grown man he was about 6 foot tall and for years weighed 168 pounds. He prided himself in being perfectly honest so if anyone ever asked how tall he was, he never said “6 foot”. It was always “five eleven and three quarters.”

When Dad was a freshman in high school, he preferred individual sports so he played tennis and lettered on the track team. The following year, he was diagnosed with mastoiditis and later with rheumatic fever. Fear of heart damage caused the doctor to prescribe bed rest for several months. This pretty much finished his high school athletic career. Re-gaining his strength after high school, Dad began playing softball in an inter-city league and pitched for several years. Jobs were hard to find during the depression and Dad took a lot of hard jobs like digging ditches and scooping wheat. Another hard job was shoveling coal. A gondola full of coal would be delivered to the siding near the downtown area and Dad and a couple other guys would shovel the coal out with scoop shovels and toss it into a bin beside the tracks. Scooping wheat and coal made for strong backs and legs.

Based on what I can remember about my size and the looks of things around me, I must have been 10 or 11 at the time I’m thinking of. That would make it about 1946 or 1947. Dad said he had a little job to do and that I should come with him. That was surprising enough because back in those days kids did “kid stuff” and Dads did “Dad stuff.” We got in Dad’s 1940 Chevrolet and he drove us downtown. He parked there on the west side of the 500 block of State Street, near Cooper Drugs. The buildings were mostly 2 stories although a corner did have a 3rd story. The first floor of every building was a business of some kind and the upper floors were mostly apartments with a couple of offices sprinkled here and there. On the sidewalk, right in front of where we had parked, and up against the building, was a refrigerator. Between the stores were stairways going to the upper floors and giving access to the apartments. Dad said that the lady that lived upstairs from where the fridge was setting was a friend of him and Mom and that she had to buy a new refrigerator. She said she bought a second-hand unit from a family that was moving out of town and they said they would leave it on the sidewalk in front of Cooper Drug but she would have to arrange to get it upstairs. She asked Dad if he could get it up the stairs for her and he agreed to do it.

Dad and I were standing there and looking up those stairs that were scarcely wider than the fridge. There wasn’t room for anyone on the stairs beside the fridge. Being a dumb kid, I had no idea how this was going to work but Dad had a plan. He went to the trunk of the car and came back with a web belt. The belt was yellow, about 2” wide and maybe 15 feet long. He pushed the refrigerator over directly in front of the stairs and tipped it a little and told me to slide the belt under it. I positioned the belt and then we tugged on the ends of it and evened it up. Then, while I held the ends, Dad went around and faced the stairs with his back to the fridge. He crossed the straps and pulled them over his shoulders. Then, he bent his knees, pulled straight down on the ends of the straps to remove the slack, and then straightened his legs. All of a sudden, there he was, standing up straight with a refrigerator on his back! He said “Stay here on the sidewalk and don’t get behind me on the stairs.” He took a couple of steps forward and started climbing. He took one step at a time and didn’t waver a bit. I was worried about him but knew that if he got into trouble he would simply let go of the straps and let the fridge come crashing down the stairs. I still kind of held my breath until I heard him yell that he was at the top and I could come on up. I went racing up the stairs and there he was at the top, safe and sound. As for me, I was in awe of the whole operation. I learned a number of things that day but the main one was that a man with a plan (and a little muscle) could do remarkable things before we even heard of a stair-climbing dolly.

Dave Thomas
October 15, 2015