I joined the Navy in March of 1957. What prompts a landlubber from Augusta, Kansas to enlist in the Navy? Well, I liked the tradition of the Navy, but, what was more important, was the educational and training opportunities that the Navy offered.

On the day I was to report, my friend, Johnny Luding, drove me to Wichita and dropped me off at the Navy Recruiting Office. I was 20 years old and most of the other guys were only 17 or 18, so I was put in charge. I was given instructions and paperwork for everyone, and we were loaded aboard a train for Kansas City. At Kansas City, we were loaded into a Pullman car on another train so we would sleep on the way to Chicago. At Chicago, the next morning, we boarded a commuter train to Great Lakes Naval Training Center.

At the Great Lakes, what appeared to be a couple hundred of us were herded into a big gym where we were given physicals and then were sworn in. Next, our new clothing was issued. We immediately started checking out our “dress blues.” The first thing, of course, was the white hat (pronounced as one word). Next, came the neckerchief. Then, the navy blue jumper with the white piping. Now, what’s next? These are not 13 button, bell bottom pants! These are straight-legged trousers with belt loops and zippers! What the hell? I didn’t join the Navy because of their uniform, but if I’m going to be a sailor, then I damn sure intend to look like one. I’m not going to go around dressed in trousers like an Army ground-pounder or and Air Force fly-boy. Jeez, what’s the world coming to? We asked an official looking guy what the deal was. He said that in an effort to modernize, the Navy had outlawed 13 button pants and gone to conventional trousers.

I suffered this indignity for the next year. I finished boot camp, went to AN “P” School at Norman Oklahoma, went to Aviation Electronics “A” School at Millington, Tennessee, and joined Patrol Squadron Forty-Eight, a seaplane squadron in San Diego, feeling an imposter. Then, I noticed that some of the older guys were wearing their 13 buttons again. The Navy had relaxed the dress code. My wife agreed that I should have some real Navy clothes, so we saved up a few bucks. There was an Army/Navy surplus store on Pacific Coast Highway in San Diego. I took my savings there, and for less than 20 bucks, got a pair of 13 button pants. Hot damn! I finally looked like a real sailor.

Dave Thomas

5/12/22

I was listening to a book on CD and the author mentioned how flat the land is in Kansas. That’s partially true, but it makes me think that this guy has never seen the Flint Hills. His contact with the state must have been on I-70 which I’ll admit would bore the devil out of anyone.

I got to thinking about my hometown of Augusta, Kansas and the terrain there. It’s true that a large part of the town is flat, but there are a couple of hills in town that have provided some good memories.

Toward the west side of town there is a limestone outcropping that forms some interesting landscapes. The formation generally runs from north to south. From the crest at High Street, the hill slopes off to the south,  to the east,  and to the west. State Street follows the spine in the north/ south direction. The high point of the two best hills in town is at the junction of State and High.

The city’s water tower is located at the high point of the town. It’s 50 yards west of State Street and almost far enough south to be even with Columbia Street. A few feet west of the water tower, the land falls off into a steep slope. This would be right behind and to the north of Mr. and Mrs. Money’s home. The limestone is exposed and looks like shale. It’s thin sheets of rock, stacked one on top of another. There is not enough dirt to grow anything but weeds and short grass. It was special, though, because it was the only place I knew that I could catch horned toads and ring-necked snakes. The horned toads were neat little creatures. They looked  so ferocious but were really quite docile and easy to handle.  The ring-necked snakes were pretty little things. They were coal black with a bright orange ring around their necks. They were no bigger around than an earthworm and were only 5 to 8 inches long. As neat as they were, I had learned a long time ago that you can’t take frogs, toads, lizards, or snakes home with you.  You can’t provide enough of their natural food to keep them alive.

State Street forms a really nice hill for riding bikes. Starting at High Street, you can coast past Columbia Street, Broadway, Clark, Main, and stop at the stoplight at 7^th Street.  I remember one morning, I was trying to go as fast as possible down that long hill. An older guy I knew pulled up in his car. I yelled and asked him how fast I was going. He yelled back that I was doing 22 mph. I don’t know if that is good or not, but I was pretty proud. Another risk-taking activity was riding all the way down the hill without holding on to the handlebar. One kid, Harry Bryant, not only let go of the handlebar, but would stand up on his bike seat and ride all the way down! That was too much for me.

Another interesting feature of State Street is the brick paving. That’s something rarely seen. If you wish to know more about the brick paving, consult Burl Allison’s book on Augusta. State Street has also been the site of fun and entertainment. For a number of  years the annual Soap Box Derby was held there. The starting gate was set up just a few yards south of the High Street intersection and the crowd of family and friends started there and continued   for quite a way down the street. It was always fun to watch but I don’t think our town ever got far in the national competition.

The other good hill in town was High Street. When it snowed, High Street was the official sledding site. The city would put up barricades at State Street and at Osage so the sledders wouldn’t have to worry about traffic. When I was young, I didn’t have a sled. Fortunately, my great uncle and aunt lived at 124 High which made things perfect for me. Uncle Dave had a No. 10 scoop shovel that he taught me to ride. Put the shovel out in front of you and straddle the handle. Sit down in the shovel and raise your feet and away you go. When we got a little older, Dad found a second -hand sled for us and from then on, we were living big. 

Dave Thomas    4/22/2022

It’s almost May and Pat reminded me that we have a Cinco de Mayo story. This took place in the mid-1990’s. I’m a diabetic and sometime in 1993, I got a diabetic ulcer on the bottom of my right foot. My doctors fought it for a year and a half and couldn’t get it to heal. Finally, it was decided to amputate the right leg below the knee. This was done and I got a prosthesis and life got back to normal. The following spring, I wasn’t paying attention and the prosthesis rubbed against the side of my knee and caused a sore that immediately became infected. This had happened before and it meant anti-biotics, at least 2 doctor visits, and 6 weeks in the wheel chair without my leg.

So anyhow, I’m riding my wheel chair and here it is…Cinco de Mayo. Pat and I decided we should join in the festivities by having lunch at Casa de Pico, our favorite Mexican restaurant in Old Town San Diego. We got there and the place was as colorful and beautiful as always. We sat on the patio to take advantage of the warm, sunny day and to hear the music and listen to the chatter and the laughter of the other patrons. Pat ordered a blended margarita in the big glass with the salt on the rim and, being diabetic, I ordered coffee.

As we waited to be served, we talked and admired the holiday decorations. There were some miniature Mexican flags on the tables so Pat took a couple and attached them to the handlebars of my wheel chair. We enjoyed our meal and left the restaurant and then headed for the side gate to leave the area. Getting through the wrought iron gate we needed to go about 50 yards down the side street to the parking lot. Pat was pushing me in the wheel chair and I was teasing and smart-mouthing her about drinking the margarita and maybe being too tipsy to push me. She countered by pushing faster to show that she could handle the job. I was having a heck of a good time and started yelling “faster, faster”. Pat was up to the challenge and in a few seconds was up to full speed. We were flying down the street with Mexican flags flying and Pat sprinting for dear life. We were looking good until we hit the pot-hole. Wham! Pat ran into the back of the wheel chair and I was dumped into the street. Yow, this is gonna’ hurt! Maybe next time I’ll keep my mouth shut.

Dave Thomas
April17, 2016

Our country has become quite colorful in a very disgusting way. We have the red states and the blue states and the yellow-bellied members of Congress. The yellow bellies are the Republican Representatives and Senators who are afraid to stand up to the Trump base and their contributors and whoever else owns them. I wish we could go back to the old red, white, and blue we grew up with.

Dave Thomas

3/31/22

The runny nose made me think there was a bad cold coming on. However, after a year of it and no other symptoms developing, maybe that’s not the case. It’s been annoying though.  Some days are one handkerchief days but sometimes it’s two handkerchiefs or even three handkerchiefs.

I consulted with my wife, Pat, who is the chief medical advisor in our household. She said that all old people have runny noses. If you stop any old geezer on the street,  they will tell you that they blow their nose off and on, all day. I explained that I am busy and don’t have time for this nonsense. She said I may as well suck it up   as it’s not going to change. Then, the medical advisor went on to tell me there is a theory that explains this phenomenon.  The theory states that old people can’t remember anything because their brains are shrinking, and that’s what is dripping out of their nose.

Dave Thomas

3/31/2022

I can remember when there were male Republican members of the House and Senate who were admired and respected. That’s no longer true. The confirmation hearing for Judge Jackson has shown what a bunch of sorry little partisan “piss-ants” they now are. It makes me want to puke. The judge is 10 times more qualified for any position than those guys are.

Dave Thomas

03/24/2022

If members of our Congress have accepted contributions from Russians, should they be tried as enemies of the state, or should we just refer to them as “scumbags?” 

Dave Thomas

03/17/2022

 Putin Putin,

What a mutt

Those Ukraine folks

Will kick his butt.

Dave Thomas

3/10/2022

Pat was headed for Costco. As she backed out of the garage she noticed a crow standing in the yard by the small orange tree. Normally, if she saw a crow, she would feed it. Today, she just wanted to get her chores done so she continued on her way with the bird staring after her.

Pat was returning home. As she approached our house she could see that the crow was still there but was now standing on the driveway. There was ample room so she moved past him into the garage. She got out of the car, stepped out of the garage, and was immediately confronted by the bird. He locked eyes with her and began squawking. He appeared to be quite agitated and was pacing back and forth in a very animated way. Pat deduced from the crow’s manner that things were getting mighty serious. Pat guessed that he was probably telling her that he hadn’t found any road kill that morning, and therefore had no breakfast and was starving.  She said, “Okay, I’ll feed you in just a moment.” She got her groceries out of the car and went into the house. Once  inside, she grabbed a slice of bread and then took it outside and tossed it in front of the crow. Being ravenous, he attacked the bread and made short work of it. Once finished, he squawked a couple of times and flew away.        

Pat got busy in the house, but in ten or fifteen minutes heard the crow squawking out front again. She looked out and saw the one crow near our front door calling her.   The reason for all this carrying on was that five of the crow’s friends were sitting at the foot of our driveway. The crow  had gone back and rounded up his family or friends so they could eat, too. A compassionate crow! Pat took more bread out and fed the rest of them.

We think this is remarkable. This crow knows where to get a handout. He recognizes Pat when he sees  her. He knows she will respond when he calls her. He knows she will not harm him. He takes care of the family or friends that travel with him. He saw Pat leave but knew enough to wait for her return. Perhaps the use of the disparaging label “birdbrain” should be reconsidered. 

Dave Thomas

3/3/2022

Vince and I had two Mexican restaurants that we really enjoyed. The first was Casa de Pico. It was located in the Bazaar del Mundo in Old Town San Diego State Park.    Old Town, San Diego, is where the Spaniards first settled back in 1757 or 1767, I forget which. Bazaar del Mundo is a collection of Latin America flavored shops surrounding Casa de Pico,  a patio or outside dining restaurant. The whole place is decorated in bright, festive colors and it feels good just being there.  On the weekends, there was usually a mariachi band circulating from table to table in the restaurant. The area is a favorite with both locals and tourists.

Pat was with me one time when Vince showed up with his mother and daughter. Vince’s mother, Nadine Gillen, had been our Cub Scout Den Mother. I believe we joined the Scouts when we were 9 years old so that would have been 1945. Considering that this lunch date was taking place between 1995 and 2001, a lot of water had passed under the bridge. It was a real treat to see Mrs. Gillen again.

I   hate to admit that I’m too dumb to remember the daughter’s name but it’s true. We only saw her once but she was/a real cute girl, and Pat and I liked her immediately. She had married a guy from New Jersey, and I think they lived in New York. She thought a lot of her mother-in-law, but couldn’t resist imitating her New Jersey accent. She did a whole routine and cracked us all up.

Another favorite restaurant was Las Ollas. It was located across from the public beach in either Solana Beach or Cardiff By The Sea. Those beach towns all run so close together, I’m never sure what town I’m in. Anyway, Las Ollas is located a little bit north of San Diego, up Highway 101. The restaurant is on the east side of the road, and you just turn off into their parking lot. On the west side of the road is the beach and the surf.

After eating at Las Ollas, Vince and I would jump in our cars and go a couple of miles north to Swami Beach. The parking lot for Swami is on top of a cliff, 30 or 40 feet above the beach. There is a stairway going down to the sand with more steps than Vince and I could navigate. There were concrete benches up on top, and Vince and I would just sit there and stare at the Pacific. It’s peaceful and mesmerizing. Vince’s son, Mitch, joined us at Las Ollas a couple of times. Mitch lived in Park City, Utah, where he tended bar in summer, and was a ski instructor in winter.

Pat and our friend, Judy, joined us for lunch at Las Ollas one time.

I think Vince’s mother was living in Joplin. His brother, Steve, had retired there after a career as a teacher and school principal. Vince’s sister, Kathryn, had been living in Anaheim. Her husband, Jim Stell, had already passed away.

Vince and I were both diabetics, and looked out for each other, and both of us had candy or glucose tablets in our shirt pockets to share in the event of a low sugar condition. Vince never complained or talked about himself. I didn’t know he was on dialysis until he told me he was tired of going to the dialysis center and was going to start doing it at home. He later told me it was a pain in the butt to deal with the buckets of fluid and all the tubing, but it was still better to be doing it at home.

Mitch and his girlfriend had come down from Park City to visit Vince. Vince had lost a lot of weight. He never was a big guy, and it looked like he probably didn’t with more than 120 pounds. On a Tuesday, I got a call from Mitch saying that his dad had passed away. So long, Vince, it’s been good to know you.

Dave Thomas

2/24/2022