In this life we are often given the opportunity to make choices with honor or to compromise ourselves, our families, and our country with a choice that is dishonorable. Being a tax cheat like Tim Geitner is a choice that brings dishonor to your life, to your name, and to your family. Of course being saved by the dubious personage of Barack Obama and proclaimed as the only man capable of salvaging the economy and that America should overlook his past criminal transgressions is a big help in avoiding prison. This is a man who has lost his honor or who has no honor.
Al Gore standing in front of America and the world while lying about global warming and pontificating with sanctimonious piety on insignificance of leaked emails that utterly destroy any validity connected with the so-called science of global warming, while he stands to make hundreds of millions if the Hoax is allowed to continue is an example of a man without honor.
But this article is about a man whom no one remembers, who made a small gesture of honor that has never been mentioned until now. Some of you readers who were with us in the first half of November may remember the colorful character Barb Wire Johnny.
He had an embarrassing moment in front of me and a couple of paying hunters that I wrote about to illustrate what happens when we let fear and our imaginations get out of control.
Johnny was my friend, oh sure, he was an alcoholic and his hygiene wasn’t up to standards, he couldn’t read or write; but he had a magic with horses that has made everyone else, I’ve met, seem lacking in comparison. Horses and dogs loved him and yet he made no visible effort to win their affection. People always point out the fact that horses and dogs like me and I always follow-up with the remark, “Yes, I am lucky horses, dogs, and children like me,” to end the discussion. But as sure as I am typing these words, animals loved Johnny, they only like me.
Over the years, I helped Johnny with horses’ hooves and their teeth and various other wounds and health problems. If they needed shoes I nailed some on and Johnny was very appreciative, for I was the only one he ever shared his mystical world with. You see Johnny believed in getting into a horse’s mind and heart to capture the essence of the horse and then to dominate it with sheer presence.
Does it sound impossible? I spent forty years using his system, built a fortune and lost it twice and I still use it many times a week and have been accused of using drugs and witchcraft on the horses. But there have been many an unbeliever, who has been brutalizing a horse and has ridden by me long enough, for a split second or more, for me to capture that horse’s mind and visualizing him sticking his toes in the dirt, ducking his head, and sucking backwards at thirty miles an hour, leaving the rider on their face in the dirt. That is the power of Johnny’s lessons.
I was a regular visitor to Johnny’s cabin, I brought in hunters, horses to be trained, supplies, and whiskey. Whiskey and “High” venison were Johnny’s only vices, other wise he was happy to live out his life out in the mountains where he was born, as a matter of fact, Johnny had never been over a hundred miles from the cabin he was born in, and he usually went once a year to the Fort St John Rodeo, he was one of the few people to still ride to the rodeo. At one time he was quite a bronc rider, but he would never follow the circuit, he didn’t want to go over a hundred miles away from home and as he said “What good is fame and fortune if you have to leave home?” Many’s the night I spent in a lonely motel room or a deserted air port when Johnny’s words would come back to haunt me.
The last time I rode into Johnny’s yard, I was perplexed. He wasn’t home, but there were six horses in the meadow. He only owned six horses at the time and Johnny was so bowlegged from spending his life on a horse, it was difficult for him to walk very far. His cabin was cold and the wood stove had not had a fire for at least 24 hours. Things were looking grim.
Johnny was over 60 and not likely to stay out on the trail. There had been a light dusting of snow, so the sign or tracks in the snow were in excellent shape for tracking. There was a fresh trail leading down one of Johnny’s trap line trails. I caught one of his horses, in case Johnny was injured down the trail.
The trap line went for five or ten miles and all of a sudden the horses became scared and were balking at continuing down the trail. These were not animals that acted afraid over nothing, I tied them to trees and carried my rifle to see what the problem was up ahead.
About seventy yards up the trail, a group of ravens were picking at a deer hide and carcass that had been left about ten foot up in the air by a cougar. There was another small group of ravens up ahead and my heart sunk.
The story unfolded like reading a book, Johnny and his saddle horse rode up the trail and surprised the big cat. The cat probably screamed or stood up causing Johnny’s horse to bolt away from the cat.
Horses have a natural fear of mountain lions, especially when they are in trees. They seem to often kill horses by waiting for them to walk down a trail and jumping on them from above. All horses have a fear of the animals that can kill them for food, these are the Timber Wolf, the Grizzly, and the Mountain Lion or Cougar; but I think the mountain lion commands the most fear from horses.
The horse bolted and on the second stride, about the time you would hope to regain control, the horse brushed a tree and broke Johnny’s leg above the knee. There was a sickening spray of blood across the snow to the right of the horse, the fracture must have been a compound fracture. It was not hard to imagine the break, Johnny was tiny, he had never made it over a hundred pounds. He fought through the pain in a desperate battle to regain control of his horse. The horse spinning and wanting to run off in stark terror. Johnny got him under control about a hundred yards away. He slid off in what must have been unspeakable pain. He sat down and rested against a tree while holding his horse and tried unsuccessfully to stop the bleeding. Finally, upon realizing it was the end of the trail, he cut through the cinch and slipped the bridle off the horse’s head; thus the horse was given his freedom rather than having the reins wrapped around a dead man’s hand and starving to death or dieing from saddle sores because of a saddle that was left on its back. The horse was given the gift of life and that was a noble gesture. Because on the off chance that someone were to see the horse, they would come to investigate and perhaps be able to save Johnny’s life.
Once the cold had become unendurable, Johnny fired the little 30-30 he carried, one more time through his own heart and it was over.
It was impossible to carry Johnny back on the pack horse in the position he had died in and now was frozen in, so I built a large fire on each side of Johnny and boiled some coffee. It took hours, but eventually Johnny was thawed enough to drape him over the pack horse and lace him well enough to make it back to his cabin. On the trip back, I considered my options. If I took him to town, he would be laid out in the morgue and be put to rest in a pauper’s grave in the city graveyard.
I decided against that course of action, I would bury him on a nice Southern exposed hill side on the North Bank of the Peace River. He’d have the sun to warm him through eternity and he would be where he spent his whole life and not in town with a bunch of people he didn’t know and who looked down upon him.
It took all day to dig a grave deep enough that the animals would leave it alone. I wrapped Johnny in a blanket and put his rifle, his knife, some cooking gear, with matches and the bottle of whiskey I’d brought with me. You see Johnny was mostly native or perhaps Metis, many like him aren’t real sure of their heritage, he knew about G-d through his mother who was a devout woman who, I am sure fretted over Johnny’s immortal soul most of her life.
I said a fairly good prayer over Johnny and asked G-d to overlook the fact that he had ended his own life, for he had been in unimaginable pain and suffering from the cold. I told G-d that his weakness for whiskey was partially due to his heritage and that he was the warmest kindest human being I knew and to please have mercy on his immortal soul. I also told G-d that what I was doing was illegal, but I was burying Johnny the way he would have wanted and that should not be taken into consideration.
I took his horses home with me, I’m sure that Johnny would have wanted it that was also.
Now almost fifty years later, I think about the dignity that Johnny displayed while he was facing death and I look upon the petty and pathetic lives of Al Gore, Timothy Geitner, and Barack Obama. I think of how they can’t admit the truth and must carry on a lie while compromising the economic survival of this country for wealth and control. I realize Barb Wire Johnny had more class and honor in his little finger than those three could muster all together.
If the RCMP wants to prosecute for burying Johnny illegally and they feel they found enough evidence in the two hours they spent investigating his disappearance, I will quote George Bush, “Bring it on.”
A professional horseman for over 50 years, Skook continues to work with horses. Skook has finished an historical novel, Fifty Thousand Years, that traces a mitochondrial line of DNA from 50,000 years ago to the present. The story follows a line of courageous women, from the Ice Ages to the present, as they meet the challenges of survival with grit and creativity. These are not women who whimper of being victims, they meet the challenges of survival as women who use their abilities without excuses or remorse, these women are winners, they are our ancestors.
Fifty Thousand Years is available in paperback and e-book, it is getting great reviews. You can purchase a copy here; Visit me on Facebook.
Twitter: https://twitter.com/Dylantheauthor
A sobering tale, as usual, and more than usual.
God bless you, Skookum, continually.
It appears to me that He has – I just pray that He continues.
I only recently started visiting again to read and comment. (Both are a real privilege.)
I’m just a dishwasher, after thirty-eight years, and have led a rather weak and lazy life.
I’ve only read four or so of your incredible posts, but already I know that you are blessed greatly by God with more wisdom and honor than I could ever hope to be given, or to attain.
Your posts, all that I’ve read, damn near bring tears to my eyes, for many and various reasons. They are uplifting and at the same time, depressing – when contrasted against the life I’ve led, and against the country I see around me. Your writing shows the way things Should Be, and for you, the way they have been.
Thank you. I look forward to another.
What Taqiyy said…
I hope that when I depart, there is as great and honorable a person as Skookum to thaw me out and rest me in the kind of place where I can feel like I belong…And say a few honest (or at least ‘kind’) words over me.
Well-penned, my friend.
A good read Skookum, but I am a little confused. You seemed to edit the word God with G-d, I am wondering why. Being a rational Athiest I have never been offended or angered at any persons writing about religion or deities in particular and have many deeply religious friends. We often have discussions about what we do and don’t believe in and none have even ended in anger. But back to my original question, did something in the posting edit that out?
Good travels friend.
Aleric: Be confused no more, it is an old Jewish tradition.
Further reading:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/G-d#In_English
My humble friend Taqiyy, to be complimented by you in such an elegant and heartfelt manner is a source of pride for me. Thank you so much for those kind words, I am overjoyed that you found the article to be inspiring.
Please do not be so hard on yourself, you have a creative and expressive mind. That is so much more important than wandering around like a mindless drone following the scripted BS of Gore and Obama like a dog following a bitch in heat.
Right now the economy is tough and if a man has a job he should feel grateful. However when the economy turns around, I believe you are capable of a great deal. Obviously, there is something holding you back, for not many people are blessed with an ability to express themselves like you.
If you want to confront this situation, please feel free to use me as a sounding board. Sometimes, I can come up with a good idea. In the mean time, unless we are government employees or with Obama’s corrupt paramilitary political group Acorn, we must ride out the storm.
G-d Speed my friend.
Well John Cooper, I see you were in a hurry today. Although, I would like to come across like Taqiyy on much of my commentary myself. You gave me a chuckle today and made Taqiyy feel a little taller.
Aleric, it is hard to stay ahead of Uri. I use this spelling because the ancient Hebrews thought G-d’s name to be so sacred they could not say it without committing sin. I was a Mennonite Brethern and I think that someday they might accept me back in the fold. In the mean time, I am trying to regain my early faith. You see I was called out into the world and seduced to worldly ways. Not the traps of sin like most people, but I lived an extravagant lifestyle and would drink more than one or two glasses of wine at dinner. I have been through a divorce, I have a girl friend and I am not married, these are the sins that plague me. My dad said that one of the surest ways to perdition and corruption was to give a country boy too much money. Yes I was corrupted, built up a fortune and lost it twice.
Guilty as charged. I am getting my priorities aligned in my life, it s much easier if you live with honor and dignity anyway. As a matter of fact if you live with honor and dignity, faith is within arm’s reach.
I know it is a pretty wild story, but history is pretty wild too.
I will think of you the next time I read the Book and say a prayer for you and your soul. I think G-d might be listening.
G-d speed my patriot friend! (G-d speed, is the ancient form of a religious good bye, formal, perhaps you remember the Dylan song where he is saying goodbye to his lover and sings Good bye is too good of a word so I’ll just say fare thee well. He s referring to the modern form of G-d Speed or Good Bye, thus as a bitter departure, he says fare thee well. I try to say G-d speed to all my Patriot Friends )
Indeed he did.
I am incredibly thankful that I have a job, Skookum, especially living in the state of Michigan. I am also incredibly grateful to God for giving me the bit of discernment, if not wisdom, that I do have. Writing is something I should do, I know. Holding me back? I will never attend college. I won’t be dragged there, unless there is one that isn’t fully in the grip of Statism, and a full scholarship drops in my lap.
I attempted to attend a local community college, and when even the entrance test on the computer was dripping with pure leftist pablum, I had to get up and leave. I’ve read through a few recent college writing textbooks, and they’re all the same. All are full of multicultural relativism and statist dogma, all full of disdain for anything remotely American, Western, Christian, or Jewish. It is like every page is smeared with a very pungent feces that ONLY I CAN SMELL. I cannot do it, and will not. All the examples of well-written paragraphs were, topically, of a lefty or relativist bent, and all the examples of poorly-written paragraphs were hyperbolically over-the-top right-wing positions. I saw example after example on this, in college books that ostensibly have nothing at all to do with politics, religion, or ideology.
Again, I am thankful each day, if somewhat angry. I am also hopeful that Christ, not a political party, not a grassroots organization, not a man or a woman, will set things right, and that the time is ripe.
As my friend babbazee says: “Repent! The end is extremely f***ing nigh!”
I would also add: Rejoice! for the same reason. All this seeming craziness worldwide, to me, is a sign that we’re rolling out the red carpet for His return and triumph. I sure hope we’re not in for another set of Auschwitzes and Treblinkas, and that God will pre-empt the next waves of Communist mass-killings.
Barring that, I pray that I remain honorable in the face of what’s coming from that crowd.
Thanks for the encouragement, Skookum, it means a lot. Perhaps I don’t need college to learn to write effectively.
That’s funny, Skookum. I used to attend a small Plymouth Bretheren (-style) church in New Hampshire. It was and remains to this day my favorite church. Haven’t gone to any in 10 years or so, but I remember that the church did appeal more to the intellect than to the spirit, and the teachings required a lot of thought. No smoke machines, lasers, and big-screen televisions, just God’s word and exegesis of it. And old, substantial hymns with great, deep meaning and loads of biblical reference in them. Women wore headcoverings. Individuals in the congregation selected the hymns, spontaneously. It was nice.
@jeff:
Couldn’t of said it better. I love to read about Skook’s life experiences, especially coming from someone who has the skill to put paper to pen and write so well about those experiences. I think we all want someone like Skook around when that day comes when we need to be thawed out….oh wait, forgot about that fad global warming I’ve been hearing about.
How’s that coming along Al?
Ha, T! Sometimes there are grounding forces in this situation, at this time, that have many of the answers that we are looking for; you and I have way more in common, than is obvious at first glance.
The religious background is nice, I have fond memories of attending church. It was open to explore your intellectual capacities, not restricted by some sanctimonious fool’s narrow viewpoint of religion. I was blessed with a soft melodic voice and an unusual way of expressing myself; consequently, I was asked to lead discussions and read from the Book and start discussions. Of course my views were always tangents to traditional biblical thought and would often provoke laughter, but those same people who laughed would be volunteering me for leading discussion next time.
I miss those discussions, I learned more being required to think on my feet than by listening to others. I also learned that being laughed at wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It prepared me for the future and the pure meanness that some people are capable of, take for example our leadership in Washington.
I have worked as an outdoor writer in the early days of computers. Think Apple IIE, push a button function and go cook dinner. In the early eighties, without an internet that was practical, but oh, it was such an improvement over the typewriter. The Brother word processor was considered a viable option over a computer. You mailed in your material and waited weeks for replies, rejections,, and checks. It was a book keeping night mare, you wanted to keep your material out there but you didn’t want to have two publications publishing the same material at the same time. I never had the mistake, but sometimes luck happened to be on my side.
The question of college being necessary. Is college necessary? No, it isn’t. In this current administration, I think we have prime examples of college educated people who were too well connected to fail. Not that people who attended the same schools can’t receive excellent educations, many people who attend these schools are along for the ride provided by their family’s checkbook. Sorry, but there is no way this group of dolts could have competed in some of the University classes of 40 years ago without major help. In other words, they are stupid!
Your own reading lists can be more challenging than a college curriculum and we should challenge ourselves. In the real world of business and writing, it isn’t the school you attended, but what you can produce. That is the truth, the only guys who rely on those degree pedigrees are the ones who rely on them for their own station in life.
Right now, Flopping Aces is my University. Staying with these sharks requires serious effort and creative thinking or you will end up on the bank like a fish out of water gasping for breath. It is a great training facility without the expense. I think the Tman is ready to swim with the sharks. The water is fine but a little murky at times. It is important not to overextend yourself, to write about something you know well, and be prepared to receive stinging commentary at times like a slap in the face. However, the upside is you can contribute to the defeat of the Marxist in the White House, while you earn your education. In three years, when we depose this fraudulent b@stard, you will be ready to either publish on your own or take a job in the writing profession or like I did, take several positions. With the new technologies you can live anywhere. Set a goal for yourself, say one article a week and watch your progress. Time continues on, we can climb aboard or watch it pass us by. Come on Tman swim with the sharks, the cowards don’t try and the weaklings die, but the strong swim faster and stronger. There is no Affirmative Action here, just sharks.
What a nice conversation you all are having in here, so, I shall not be angry at the coyotes that woke us up so early this morning, unless I find that any one of my poor stray cats have been harmed.
Skookum, what a friend you were to Johnny and a life gift he must have been to you, I would have wanted him to live forever and ever. Love and memories keep him with you and now with another of your gifts, you have shared him with us, thank you. I don’t even want to think about the creatures running our country, I keep scrolling back up to the top to read through the lesson, by my mind and heart is rejecting it today. Just want to appreciate your friendship and what you did for your friend, don’t want to soil the moment with the rest of it.
Skookum–
Nah, I wasn’t in a hurry, just deferring to Taquiy’s superior writing ability. When someone has said it all in such an eloquent manner, then why mess it up by trying to add to it?
Your stories remind me of the haunting 1981 movie The Silence of the North that took place on the Peace River as well. Come to think of it, you might be the one who wrote the book! Is your real name Ben East by any chance?
I’m also reminded of The Cremation of Sam McGee by Robert Service.
Stay warm!
Another wonderful read dude
John, I laughed when you mentioned “Cremation of Sam McGee”. That was the first thought I had, as well, but I couldn’t bear to mention it, since the poem was, well, funny, in a dark way. Robert Service was quite a character – his poetry is “Manly Poetry” if ever there was – and remains to this day one of my favorites. Looking for gold in Alaska was rough, tough business, and the man lived it.
Thanks again for the encouragement, the both of you.
In case you wonder, my nic is something I made up just post-9/11. Taqiyya is a theological concept of Islam which is used in debate. It’s lots of tactics designed mainly to confuse, mislead, and deceive an audience when debating a critical non-Muslim, and has nothing to do with classical debate, and everything to do with “outwitting” your opponent. Many leftists use the practice of taqiyya without even realizing it (and some realize it). My nic means, to me, “one who identifies, then surgically removes the taqiyya.” Like lobotomist, only different. I have no idea if the Latin suffix is correct here, but I’ve been using the nic for so long, on so many sites, that I couldn’t imagine finding another one. It’s like a tattoo at this point. Also, I’m not one of those who uses multiple nics – not at one site, nor at many. If you see the nic at WaPo, or AoSHQ, or Babbazeesbrain, it’s probably me. (And so far, no insane lefty has jacked it and had “me” posting moby-ish drivel, to my knowledge.)
When I come back here to read I feel as if I am transported back to days gone by. Times were simpler, not easier, but simpler. You knew a man would do what he said and mean what he said.
I almost would say I wish I could go back and live then instead of now, but I will not. I would never give up the honor and privilege of having the two kids that we have had, not to mention my wonderful wife of 28 years.
It was her that helped save my soul. In her, I saw such unconditional love (and it had to be unconditional, because I just refused to grow up) that I knew there had to be a God in heaven and I thank Him for giving me such a person as her to guide me through life.
Times are hard for us right now, but I can always smile big and wipe a tear from my eye when I read your stories.
I am thanking you for that.
Don’t be too hard on yourself with the Lord. I leave you with this verse that has been sharp to me at times in my life.
“The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit, A broken and a contrite heart– These, O God, You will not despise.” Psalm 51:17 (This was King David when he was confronted with his sin of adultery with Bathsheeba and having Uriah, her husband killed to cover up his sin.)
Thank you jlfintx, that was a kind and heart warming commentary. I guess comparing myself to David eases the pain of failure.
You are truly a Blessed man to have your wife of 28 years and your children. I commend you, but more importantly you stand as an example to many of us lesser men who have fallen short in G-d’s eyes.
The hard times are more widespread than anyone could imagine. I have customers that I considered bullet proof and now they are bankrupt or nearly. We must be strong and realize that we will emerge from this catastrophe as better people who will be less likely to be seduced by a manufactured persona like Obama ever again. And once we regain our financial security we will prepare for economic downturns in the future. Despite the lunacy of the Obama Administration, the economy will correct itself and affluence will return. I predict a return to prosperity approximately 18 months after he is either perp walked out of the White House or finishes his miserable political career in three years.
Keep the faith my friend, I promise you, things will get better.
Tman, Service was in the Yukon. He is one of my favorites. I just saw some relatives that mine gold near Dawson City, last weekend in Oregon. They are quite happy with $1200 an ounce gold. They showed me a 5.5 ounce nugget, the biggest this year. It was a little bigger than my thumb.
Somone asked about the name Skookum last week, Skookum Jim was one of the original partners that found the Yukon gold fields. A few days ago I drove across the Skookum Chuck River, South of Olympia.
I’ve waited to comment because I knew that the Wifey would relate to it, and I needed to wait for her to have the time to do so…
She made time, and by the way she was holding her hand to her face tonight, and wiping away the tear, I knew you had touched her heart.
You haven’t ‘fallen short” old man, you have been given a gift by Him to share with us all, and you are doing His work through your words.
You must have done something to deserve this gift…Never forget that.
Missy, you should practice talking to the coyotes or calling them in. There are recordings that you can use to practice, but I swear they have different calls and sounds around the country. Tr to practice where no one can hear you, sometimes people are tempted to call the guys in the white coats with the butterfly nets.
One of the ranches I work on has one of those big white dogs for the sheep. They have yet to lose one to the coyotes since he started working. He doesn’t care about humans, just sheep. It is the funniest thing, when I pull into the yard, he comes down to smell my car and my equipment. The rancher family gets upset because he isn’t supposed to leave the sheep, but it is as if he comes down to check me out. He doesn’t get close enough for me to pet him but he watches me the whole time I am working. Strange stuff happens with animals.
G-d Speed Missy.
John Cooper, I will check he Silence of the North out, how could something like that have passed me by? The 81-82 winter was the coldest ever recorded in the Peace River Valley, until last year. I think Al passed that one by.
My favorite Service poem is The men Who Don’t Fit In, if you read it, you will have read my life.
There’s a race of men that don’t fit in,
A race that can’t stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain’s crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don’t know how to rest.
If they just went straight they might go far;
They are strong and brave and true;
But they’re always tired of the things that are,
And they want the strange and new.
They say: “Could I find my proper groove,
What a deep mark I would make!”
So they chop and change, and each fresh move
Is only a fresh mistake.
And each forgets, as he strips and runs
With a brilliant, fitful pace,
It’s the steady, quiet, plodding ones
Who win in the lifelong race.
And each forgets that his youth has fled,
Forgets that his prime is past,
Till he stands one day, with a hope that’s dead,
In the glare of the truth at last.
He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;
He has just done things by half.
Life’s been a jolly good joke on him,
And now is the time to laugh.
Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;
He was never meant to win;
He’s a rolling stone, and it’s bred in the bone;
He’s a man who won’t fit in.
M&M thanks you young dude you.
Thanks PV, I will try to write some stuff to make people laugh in the near future.
G-d Speed to you and your beautiful family.
Skookum, another excellent piece of work illustrating the cast of colorful characters that one encounters in the Pacific Northwest. Larger than life characters that add flavor and texture to life’s experiences where the only rules that matter are survival, friendship and self reliance of those that have lived the school of hard knocks. A lifestyle built in the wild and wooly places of the Yukon, Alaska, Montana serves well to prepare folks for any calamity or catastrophe, man made or crafted by nature.
I learned the cattle business from some pretty crusty characters that taught me life’s basic values from an early age. They taught me to ride, rope, tell time by the sun’s position, shoot, hunt for meat for the table, rudimentary first aid and trust my senses. Their word was gold and their work ethic was solid. Tales told around a campfire was their oral history that I soaked up like a sponge. It did me no harm. Those early years prepared me for life’s challenges in later years. While some of my current peer group was watching television I was learning to identify constellations at night, moving cattle to water and fresh pasture by day on horseback.
After that, the Army was easy, Jump School was an adventure, Ranger School was just another chore and not a hardship. College work was just refining a set of filters that I’d been given from real world experience. Dealing with people was easy using the values I was given by those rough old guys that pushed cattle for a living.
Again, Pardner, Thanks for sharing a part of your life. You have a talent for painting mental pictures here. Pleasing ones.
Skookum–
The men Who Don’t Fit In is the story of my life, too. I was never an outdoorsman like you – I was an engineer and a builder. But never once did I say to myself, “John, if you’d just keep your mouth shut and do what you’re told, you could work here for the rest of your life and then retire”. When a job became routine, I figured it was time to move on and try something entirely new. And I did.
I like to tell folks that during my working career I destroyed three entire U.S. industries. When I first got out of the Army I became an electronic technician testing equipment for the telephone industry. After four years of that it was getting pretty boring, but the U.S. electronic industry moved to Japan and that made my decision for me. Somehow I fell into working on nuclear power plants as an instrumentation engineer. (See, this was in the days when if you had a head on your shoulders, they’d hire you – not like it is now where they want ten years of experience doing exactly the same thing.) After having a lot of fun and making some good money building two of those, that industry came to a screeching halt as well, thanks to the greenies. So one more time I moved on and managed to talk my way into aerospace. I spent a number of happy years processing and launching space shuttles downin Florida, but ten years ago decided to get out before the rush to the exits. I was a little early on that, but once again felt the need to move on. The wife and I packed up our stuff and our dogs and moved up into the mountains of NC where the two of us built a really cozy log cabin where we plan to spend the rest of our lives. It’s far enough out that we can shoot wildlife from our back deck . Of course if somebody offered me a job doing something entirely new in a far-away place…
So I guess I never really fit in either, but I sure had a lot of fun. Say, that would be a great phrase for a tombstone, wouldn’t it? “I never fit in, but I had a lot of fun”
Well heck, John, we’re neighbors. I was a builder, as well (now, I just count dirt). Lemme know if you have some Taliban grouse infesting your property, and Maggie and I’ll come visit.
Jeff
@ John Copper I guess thats the story of a lot of old soldiers . My story included building Houses And roads, I finally stayed with roads, It seemed everybody wanted them. I always did the best I could, sometimes it didn’t work out, usually the fault of an educated civil engineer. When the great state of California elected Nancy, Barbara, Maxine, and Mr. Waxman I decided to move on, now I live in the great state of Texas! This is where i’ll be when they come for my guns. May God be with us all!
Thanks OT, you are gracious with your kind words.
I plan to expound on the ranch and bush characters in the future, especially the World War I Vets. They are all gone now, I think it is important to record their stories. Many of them migrated to the Peace River Country because of the name itself and to claim their quarter section that was theirs for surviving one of the most horrific events of all time.
I look back on my training at Parris Island with fondness, with the country boy work ethic, I found the training to be a great lark. Being stronger than most, I could do the PT without effort nearly all day. My Senior DI was like a friend, he was a sporting man and liked to challenge other DI’s to stand someone against me with the pugil sticks, a game i was devastating at. I suspect they were gambling, but that was a different age.
One evening, several DIs from our company were gathered around me in my skivies while they were poking fun at me. Suddenly, my Senior DI told me to grab my M14 and lock on my bayonet. He then told me to unsheath my bayonet. The whole squad bay was watching now, because this was strictly forbidden, to unsheath the bayonet. Even the other drill instructors were visibly nervous. He ordered me to port arms and the drill instructors all stepped back, he then ordered me to stick this drill instructor that was always trying to antagonize me. I looked my Senior DI in the eye and he said it again, the DI in question ran out into the road with me in hot pursuit before my Senior DI called me back in the barn. The DI kept running, I was barefoot. Would I have stuck him? I’m not sure, but I could tell by the DI’s talk that my Senior DI had won another gamble.