So This Is Love

Without oldies radio stations, Doo-Wop specials on PBS, the memories of old folks and You Tube, the newer generations will miss some of the most beautiful songs ever created.  Occasionally someone will post a video of one I’d forgotten like So This Is Love by the Castells. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vxE1CiG8MM8

The nature of that pleasant discovery by the younger ones may be appreciated in the videos they create.  Their object of affection is a very personal and obvious one, especially the girl in the green miniskirt.  We Baby Boomers also enjoy them because of additional memories like simplicity, harmony, and romance.

Joe Barry: “As they used to say on American Bandstand "rate the record" it's easy to dance to.”

Rongarcia556: “I give thanks and praise that i have the ability to hear and love such beautiful music. outstanding post..”

esd2000: “Hadn't heard this in so long. Beautiful. Thanks for sharing.”

nanlisa: “Oh wow! What a beautiful song! I just love it, even though I was only a little girl when it first came out.. It's all about old-fashioned love and romance and that's it. Id' rather listen to the music of my 60's childhood than all of this junk that's out today. In fact, one of the Music Choice channels is all uncensored rap! Who needs to listen to this trash?”

LaBaron26: “Reminds me so much of those Friday night dances at St Barnabas in Swissvale......although this song came out much later than my day there...still reminds me of those wonderful days.”

lena ann: “It feels dreamlike to me....”

I saw another So This Is Love video that’s better because it faithfully depicts the context in which the song was created.  It’s a complete package.  Why don’t they put these videos on cable TV?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=96IX5EPSV5w

Notice there’s no centerfold girl like Raquel Welch or some slick Hollywood diva. People were real back then and actually had fun at malt shops, Drive-Ins, and sock hops.  Girls wore skirts and boys wore ties.  From such people and times so simple and mysterious, something beautiful bubbled up and it still perplexes the counterfeiters.

A Fortuitous Convergence

Alas, poor Tony, the professional revolutionary and terrorist.  I knew him well. He and his incarnations have been getting away with murder for the more than the fifty years.  He’s everywhere making fools of law and order, looting, burning, making the scene at be-ins, sit-ins, kneel-ins, confrontations, and appearing on national television like MSNBC screaming how white privilege and police brutality have enslaved the black man.  Now he’s upped the “conversation” by assassinating cops.  Because Tony’s so busy, he may not realize that in the next two years an ambitious plan is being laid out for him.  The temptation is just too great.

His parents know what I’m talking about.  In the 1960s there was executive sanction.  John Kennedy was the President who always promised them “federal intervention” and bail money.  His enforcer was Bobby Kennedy in the Attorney General's seat.  Then there was Martin Luther King Jr. always preaching peace and no matter where he went, there was violence.  It’s Deja Vu:  Barak Obama, Eric Holder, and Al Sharpton – the same old combustibles.  But no, there’s more.  His old compatriots in the Media give him power and dominance.  Shortly, we’ll see an intensification of TV shows and movies depicting white repression and the nobility of the old civil rights agitators.  And, there’s even more.  Who’s going to fund this new race war?  Will it be the Ford Foundation or a syndicate of millionaires and billionaires?  Lawyers, buses, and marches have to be paid for.  No, more and more.  We’re at peace again.  It’s the old timing scenario between WWII and Vietnam.  That means dedicated media attention.

In his lame duck condition and leftist executive actions President Obama is “letting her rip” in his second term - getting what he can while he can and carefully avoiding the wishes of the majority. A fortuitous convergence has occurred again.  It’s an ominous and dangerous re-occurrence for the white Christian male and our teetering republic.  The whole pantheon of Socialists, Anarchist, Communists, black racists, militant atheists, and assorted criminals are awaiting their marching orders.  For the next two years it’ll be all about Tony and his handlers and I suspect they already know Barak Obama will be our last Negro President. 

My First Landing

When morning came we were still off the coast of California in a Navy amphibious ship waiting for the next day’s task force to form up.  It’s the kind of ship that partially sinks at the stern in order to flood the well deck for the launching of Amtraks.  Our field packs were staged with a gear guard away from the helicopters in the photo.  A Cobra and Sea Stallion are parked near sailors who are milling about smartly.  Most of my time was spent exploring the ship or sleeping in rope coils.  I was too tall to sleep in those sardine-can troop racks.  At night I slept on a sick bay’s operating table with my feet hanging over its edge.  Not all is peaceful.  General Quarters was called one time and the order was given to “dog the hatches.”  That means locking the hatches in case of sinking situations.  It was a little claustrophobic.

 

Below deck I found an open hatch with a ladder a few feet above the water where the “Squids” (sailors) were fishing for the sharks that were circling.  In the meantime I counted nine ships that joined us including several destroyers, two cruisers, and an oiler.  The next day the Amtracks were launched and I was assigned to haul the company’s safe aboard one of many Chinooks that circled at steep angles before heading inland.  Staring almost straight down at the ocean with only a safety belt holding me was a first, but I enjoyed it.  Trucks and jeeps followed the first wave.  The photo shows how dusty and dry Camp Pendleton is during the summer.  Some of these vehicles were swamped and I know one fellow who floated in on his sea bag.  An L.A. TV news crew interviewed me and Private Bercera, but they quickly turned off the camera when we said we enjoyed being in the Marine Corps.

Since the buildup and landing was a MAB or Marine Amphibious Brigade exercise, setting up the tents for the command post for Headquarters Co. 24th Marines (Regiment) was a priority.  It was the first among many for me that lasted many more years, but I didn’t know it at the time that I was to make a career out of the Marine Corps and Navy Reserves.  The camp’s site overlooks the Pacific Ocean about 9:00 AM when the fog begins to lift.  In the photo are many of the Marines who I began my career with:  Sgt. Peak, on the truck; Sgt. Williams and Private Becerra near the tent and poles; Msgt. Vance; Corporal Frankfurther; and GSgt. Sumpter.  It’s like it happened yesterday.

Nero's Rickety Chariot

Are these documentaries?  Once again I am forced to comment on the History Channel and H2.  I’d hoped the producer’s would clean up their act by depicting the facts and that means getting the details right.  The Hitler scenes must be fashioned by those recovering from Hollywood pot sessions.  This time Eva Braun bleached her hair blond for the Fuhrer and styled it in the fashion of the 1930s.  Hitler suicide pistol is now a Luger.  It’s a strange state of affairs when so much of the details are readily available and everybody ignores them.  The show on Hitler’s bodyguards was pretty good and scenes explaining what happened to his corpse were unpleasantly detailed.  At least the producers didn’t show him being whisked away from the Fuhrerbunker by aliens or occultists when the Russians closed in.

There must be a split in Hollywood over how to make documentaries.  On the one hand technology has given the producers unimaginable digital capabilities that bring color and depth to the past.  The Spaniard with Russell Crow was exceptional except the last scene where he approaches death by floating to his front door.  The Magic Realism genre insertion was unnecessary, but money has to be made and that’s the problem.  What do we see?  The dreadful Spartacus series pushed the limits of censorship and quickly degenerated into slow motion battlefields littered with Roman soldiers decapitated by airborne somersaulting female gladiators. Pompeii discredited itself by having a Roman senator wearing the purple of the emperor – a capital offense.  On another show Julius Caesar was cast with a fellow who had hair like Stalin.  A program on the Spartan’s last stand brought artistic license to a new high.  I thought the spears were wrong, but as the stacks of Immortal bodies grew higher you could see the rubber soles of their shoes.  The now bald, beardless, and Heavy Metal Xerxes must have just outfitted his army with Chinese tennis shoes from the local Persepolis WalMart.

I witnessed a new low last night when Nero strutted his stuff on a rickety chariot around the Circus Maximus.  Edward Gibbon in his Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire said Roman emperors actually did this occasionally.  This time, however, Nero’s chariot had farm implement wheels with metal spokes.  The only thing missing were the rubber tires.  Perhaps I shouldn’t be so critical.  Hollywood does know how to make money; so much for the purists.  What we may be seeing is a change in the nature of documentaries from telling history as it really was to a sort of Agatha Christie Peril at End House game with rooms full of entertaining and very annoying anachronisms.  

The Ray Cherry Show: Led Zeppelin

During a remarkable period in American history, 1992-2000, a reform frenzy gripped America when Ross Perot created United We Stand America and the revolutionary Reform Party.  According to one poll he’d attained enough electoral votes to win the Presidency.  The Silent Majority was sick of the warlocks of the Democrat Party and the cannibals of the Republican Party; Democrats chased the Devil and Republicans chased cheap labor.  Although we failed nationally, the momentum of reform continued in many states.  In Missouri I remained a not-so-silent part of that effort when I created the Reform Times Radio Show at KCXL in 2004.  My goal was to re-establish the Reform Party in Missouri by aiding Reform activists in Missouri and Kansas.  My primary co-host was Dawn Bly, a talented and serious Congressional candidate on the Kansas side.  Dennis Carriger, a pipe fitter friend of mine, was my Missouri backup.

 

The Ray Cherry Show succeeded Reform Times in 2005, an odd year, when political activity almost vanishes except for efforts to enlist Missouri committeemen with the help of Dennis.  He is seen here in front of the police station in Independence, Mo. on Noland Road.  Corner demonstrations were a cheap and effective way to advertise the Reform Party.  (As a Third Party we didn’t have access to the Media.)  I digress, but I make no apologies for changing the broadcasts to storytelling with an historical bent (some ugly) which included my memories of the Kansas City race riot of 1968.  I didn’t know it at the time but a seed had been planted.

What does all that have to do with Led Zepplin?  If Russians are passionate about their poetry, American Baby Boomers feel the same way about their Rock & Roll.  It’s a part of our collective history that I believe should not be taught with words only.  You Tube has become a valuable asset in illustrating a history of America most kids would never want to just read. In putting my stories together I was fortunate to illustrate them with songs from the radio station’s music subscription service.  Whole Lotta Love had it all: sex, drugs, and Rock & Roll.  From such stories and more Journal of the Silent Majority was born. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jLk7b6g59x4

Camp Talega 1976: My First Year

Reservists don’t consider themselves heroes; we just did our jobs.  Our drill instructors at MCRD thought we were scum.  The “K” on our Service Record Books never failed to mark us for extra punishment.  What the detractors failed to realize is that many of us eclipsed our active duty counterparts by being “lifers.”  I liked the adventure, physical activity, challenge, and steady pay and it began when I returned to Kansas City, reapplied with my former employer, and checked back in to Headquarters 24th Marines.  Life went on there.  The torpedo out front was the same.  It reminded me of the nuclear bomb that Slim Pickens rode on his way down to his target in the movie Dr. Strangelove (Mein Fuhrer!).  The Viet Cong scalp still hung above the colonel’s desk where I’d interviewed many months before.  I had no idea then that my six-year enlistment would last more than 21 years with the ATD’s (summer camps) beginning with Camp Talega which is a part of Camp Pendleton, California.  It had received part of the huge influx of Vietnamese boat people who escaped the Communists after the fall of South Vietnam.  Sgt. Williams who always said: “The Marine Corps has been good to me.” stands beside me outside our quarters.  I immediately pulled pot shack duty.

Weapons training was more fun.  Before going live with grenades, we practiced with the “blues.” The “greens” were the live ones: “Take grenade in hand.  Twist and turn.  Pull pin. Throw pin.” (Someone always said this).  I’d never trained with the M203 Grenade Launcher and was surprised how accurate it was when I bounced one off an old truck chassis the first shot.  We saw our first camouflage utilities there.  A “Recon Ranger” was walking down a dirt road with an M60 machine gun, its ammo belt swinging.  The most fun happened after dark on the rifle range.  Unlike the Final Protective Fire in basic which is more of a pyrotechnic display than anything, we fired tracers at moving metal targets that were secured by a chain.  I leaned not to aim – just put the rifle down to shoulder level and walk-in the tracers; by the third shot, a kill.  Disregarding orders, the Vietnam veterans among us opened up on full automatic.

MAB76 was an extension of what Marines do: amphibious landings and combined arms training which includes air assaults and lots of helicopters like the Chinook coming to pick us up to take us to sea.  From my training I remembered that if it was a Sea Stallion to always exit opposite the rotor or get your head chopped off.  This was my first helicopter trip and my first time at sea.  A larger part of Hq. Co. 24th Marines got to the amphibious ship by either Amtrak or Mike Boat.  I don’t remember.  As junior in the S-2 shop and always in demand, my flight was guaranteed because they needed someone to carry the safe.  Unfortunately, for many others, the Navy had turned on the air conditioning in the middle of the night and by the morning at least half of the 24th had colds.

Oran: 1942 and Now

From old WWII newsreels Oran is black and white like most of the history then.  GI photos were the same; carefully screened by official censors allowing only nondescript pictures of self with or without buddies.  My first impressions of Oran, Algeria where Operation Torch captured this strategic port in North Africa, are the same – black and gray.  It reminds me of the San Diego naval base without the color.   I noticed from the government photo that there was a “wet side” and “dry side” separated by the usual utility road.  There is an oil depot, several warehouses, lined up deuce-and-a-half trucks, and regulating (track cluster) train station.  What’s barely shown in the photo are the steep cliffs surrounding the waterfront.  Dad spent two years in North Africa and Oran arriving there with the D+3 convoy on November 11, 1942.  His discharge citing Departure November 1 and Arrival November 11 indicates he was on this 41 troop ship convoy from Britain. When he arrived he said bodies were still floating in the harbor. 

Other than the landings to the east and west and the harbor assault to neutralize the French fleet little is known by the public of anything else although Oran became the Cam Ranh Bay of its day.  Trucks, equipment, and supplies were landed at Mers-el-Kébir, Oran’s smaller sister harbor to the west.  A Provisional Ordnance Group (POG) made mostly up of the 87th Medium Maintenance Battalion and 55th Heavy Maintenance Regiment had custody of the trucks and maintained them.  The Transportation Corps under the Mediterranean Base Section (MBS) soon assigned their missions.  Because of theft, Oran’s blocked harbor had only one road: entrance and exit. 

In 1942 Oran had a cosmopolitan population of Spanish, French, and impoverished Arabs who were hired to help off-load the ships.  Old photos from the time aren’t kind to Oran.  Of course, there was a war going on with its inherent destruction, disease, and vice.  I’d read descriptions of North Africa from travel and history books written before the war, but I never appreciated the scenery until I started surfing You Tube to see what Oran looks like today.  It’s amazing.  I know there are always old and dingy parts to every city, but Oran seems to be a surprisingly beautiful and modern city.  Maybe it’s French money, but what You Tube reveals are long expanses of clean modern highways with grassy mediums, road-side palm trees, skyscrapers, cranes, modern cars, beautiful pastel colored apartment building, tastefully done cultural centers, and I saw only one stop light. I’ve included the best You Tube video of Oran I could find: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dtJ3lbpSOmQ.  Halfway through the video you can see Ft. Santa Cruz (WWII stockade), on the mountain west of the harbor.  It’s in the drawing and is now a favorite tourist destination.

Obama's Gamble

Now that the election is over and President Obama has nothing to lose, he is reaffirming his intention to legalize millions of illegal aliens - among other things.  Republicans who view them as natural Democrats voters are in a panic.  They want him to accept the election results as a Republican mandate, co-operate, and “stop playing with matches.”  Republican leaders are threatening to cut off funding for the amnesty if he signs the Executive Order.  The situation appears to border on a constitutional crisis with the veiled threat being impeachment.  He also has to make his move now with his old retainers before the new Republicans are sworn in.

President Obama will likely call their bluff.  The House impeaches and the Senate convicts.  Impeachment didn’t faze Bill Clinton.  You’d need 2/3 vote in the Senate and the Media would never support the attack on the “Chosen One.”  There would be months of national wrangling jeopardizing Republican presidential chances in 2016 or so the theory goes.  And, Obama knows how to play the race card and it’s an ace.  He’s protected by the threat of race riots.

If Republicans are as mad as hell, so is the military.  There have been reports of senior officers being purged and various heads of the Armed Forces being replaced by Affirmative Action tokens like the Secret Service recently endured.  There have been accusations of the military being defunded below levels necessary to maintain effectiveness.  Pot heads are free to use marijuana recreationally destroying decades old measures to control narcotic use by soldiers.  Homosexuality in the ranks is now an accepted right.  Generals assume the worst when the Commander in Chief puts our troops in jeopardy in Africa with the Ebola plague.  It’s also shocking to all of us how he recently facilitated the mass migration of illegal Central Americans to the U.S. many of which are diseased and criminals.  I heard one general on TV warn of its implications.  A cosmic shift has occurred and there is little said in the Media about its effect on the military.  It’s mighty queer when the obvious is never talked about.  It’s not just the economy Stupid.

If President Obama amnesties millions of illegal aliens by Executive Order with the stroke of a pen, can he break the CIA into a thousand pieces like John Kennedy was about to do?  Remember Governor Ray Blanton of Tennessee in 1979 in his last minute pardon of criminals.  Could Obama free black criminals en mass?  Will Eric Holder be the next Supreme Court judge?  The third week in December could be more than just a constitutional crisis.  

JD Manure Spreader L&M: Done

The final tab for the John Deere Manure Spreader wasn’t that much.  I paid $900 for it.  Since it was only about five miles away, the freight (tow truck) was $75.  I’ve seen cross-country freight on some other farm machines costing $1000 or more.  Miscellaneous parts and supplies totaled $179.07 with $89.35 going for paint.  Tires were surprisingly expensive at $440.00 for the pair.   So the total bill without labor ran $1594.07.  I would have finished the job quicker if it was done indoors, but getting it into the garage would have been difficult and the light and fresh air from being outdoors was more suitable.  However, the rain and heat slowed the job down.

The elusive John Deere decal remains elusive.  I’ve tried the Internet: eBay, Amazon, and assorted farm supply outfits with the same results.  The dealership here doesn’t know.  It’s all because I want to do it right.  Notice the deer is a 4-legged one.  The newer John Deere decals aren’t.  The background is white with a pin stripe around the modified rectangle.  I suspect this decal represents a particular year of the spreader’s manufacture - the early or middle 1950s.  It’s another mystery like what “L&M” stands for.  (Notice the aluminum ID plate on the low front) Depending on the site, the Internet says tractor pulled or horse drawn.  Another says it’s a two wheeled or four wheeled spreader.  I just want it to look cool and function and match my tractor.

I wouldn’t rate my restoration as a 9 or 10 with a 10 being metaphysical perfection.  Professionals would have air blasted and power sprayed it from the start.  They would have stripped it down to the nuts, bolts, sprocket, and gear level.  Still, I think I did a reasonably good job and I already have an offer on it because there is a resurgence of interest in old machinery here.  No way; I’d like to see it in action.  My test runs prove it’s mechanically sound.  All I need now is a red road triangle and – well, you know.  For informational purposes I’m posting a You Tube link showing how simple these old John Deere spreaders were and they work. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MQ7cVeNjgAo

JD Manure Spreader: Wheels

All that kept these wheels on was two retaining pins held in place by a collar on each axle.  I had to drill the head of one pin off because it was upside down jamming against a collar recess that functions as a tightening increment.  If I’ve not mentioned it before, the two wheels have to come off at the start in order to have access to cleaning the area around the axle.  It’s a primitive slip-off slip-on procedure; no lug nuts.  I’m puzzled about how the wheels are lubricated on the axle.  Do you just slap on some grease between changes?  I did see that each wheel has an indentation on the inside.  Maybe it’s where the grease is applied.

Notice on the starboard side and the huge sprocket with its main drive chain in the disengaged position.  Also, on the sprocket’s grayish plate where its surface joins the inside of the wheel, there is a “dog ear” that catches the hub when the chain is engaged.  The wheel just spins and makes a clicking noise when the dog ear is disengaged.  A simple machine like this old John Spreader has many feet of chain that drive the auger and flippers.  There’s more underneath and I was tempted to paint all of them black for contrast.  Because of the rust I just brushed all the chain with motor oil.  It’s quicker.  I have to mention again I didn’t have a power washer nor did I have an air gun.  On the ground is my creeper which is an old Sea Bee “DRMO” 782 field gear foam mattress.  Don’t leave home without it.

Luckily the wheels were in excellent condition and all I had to do is find a welding shop to sandblast the old paint off.  That cost $25 per wheel and included the primer.  I was disappointed that I couldn’t find treads to match the original tires.  The new ones were BKs 750-20, an implement tire.  They cost me $220 each with a $5.00 disposal charge per tire, but the cost is worth it if for no other reason that John Deere yellow spoked wheels give the spreader contrast and character.  They told me at the tire shop since the machine is ground driven the wheels go on in reverse for more traction.

Image of a Dark Horse: Joni Ernst

In my January 14, 2013 post I called Operation Madame President: 2016, I predicted that the Republican Party would nominate a woman for President of the United States.  Even for the skeptic, the reasons I gave are plausible, the most of which was the Republican leadership’s desire to be more inclusive.   In other words they want to broaden their appeal for more votes.  I can see why.  So far it’s the same-old same-old with them: rich man, fat man, white men, and recently - another prince.  I’ve noticed barrages of trial balloons over the political landscape.  They quickly pop and disappear and the only thing left is that same pantheon of Republican candidates.  The only thing missing is any mention of a female candidate and that’s odd given previous Republican rhetoric.

What’s interested me in the last few weeks is the appearance of someone who has the look – the image - of being America’s first woman President.  I’m not talking about strategic considerations like being from an electoral rich state or having a billion dollar war chest.  Am I the only one who thinks Joni Ernst (who is running for Senator from Iowa) fits the presidential image?  She’s young at 44 and attractive enough to beat out Hillary Clinton any day.  Of course, that’s superficial, but I remember 1960 and how women used to swoon over John Kennedy.  The opposite may be true.

If she survives her Iowa bid, Ernst would bring to the table in 2016 unexpected military credentials coveted by the Right and sought after by the kingmakers of the Left who for decades have been cultivating and positioning their own candidates.  Ernst has them.   She was not only a Lieutenant Colonel in the Ohio Army National Guard, but served in Iraq.  In addition, her military service as an officer means she probably has been screened to the Top Secret level (depending on need-to-know).  It’s bad news for leftists in the Media who would enjoy exposing a Republican version of “Monkey Business.”  For now Joni Ernst has the image and more.  If she’s not destined to be a Dark Horse, it would surprise me.  In any event, I’d venture to say human nature favors attractive people and Hillary ain’t it.  

JD Manure Spreader: Prepping

Finding an old John Deere expert for advice didn’t work.  There was none nor could I find evidence that any ever existed, at least locally.  One group was too far away and didn’t specialize in John Deere.  The Internet didn’t help either.  Like farmers everywhere, they end up doing everything on their own - so I began.  Cleaning the spreader was obvious like prepping a house for painting.  At least I knew I could do that.  I also knew from my experience with cars and trucks that the lack of rust and the excellent condition of the wood would make the project winnable. I took the shroud off the port side and stared.  Grease and dirt gummed up the sprockets and gears.  I thinned the gum with used paint thinner.  As I flicked off the crude, I noticed there were grease zerks everywhere.  All the sprockets and gears had them.  Oddly, they weren’t plugged after more than 60 years.  I also found many Dirt Dobber nests.  The gear assembly at the bottom is apparently a gear box whose function is to regulate the speed of the bed chain that drags the load back to the flippers.  The box is connected to a port side handle with several notches at the tongue.

You guessed it.  The spreader didn’t come with a parts manual nor could I find one.  Observation has a lot to do with restoration and I try in this post to put in simple terms how mechanisms work.  The starboard side has what I call the ground driven power train.  As the spreader is pulled, the axle moves the giant sprocket which (when it’s engaged by the starboard handle in the front) powers the serpentine chain.  Power is transferred to a connecting sprocket that drives the auger, both sets of flipper (tine) racks, and the bed chain.  By now the wooden bed has been painted in old motor oil.  After I finished painting the spreader, I painted all the chains with motor oil.  That’s the only tip I received.

Priming was a tedious job and sanding was worse.  I used a leftover can of Zinsser Bulls Eye 1-2-3 which began to thicken up.  After it was gone I switched to automotive spray primer because it was easier to apply and there’s no cleanup.  The only drawback for me was that it made me a little queasy when I sprayed underneath the spreader. My advice on John Deere Green Enamel is to buy it at the local farm and country store.  A quart of JD Yellow cost me $19.79.  That wasn’t repeated.  A quart of JD Green was $7 cheaper at the farm and country store.  Paint and primer cost me $89.35.  I bought a set of artist brushes to do the “John Deere” name on both sides of the spreader.  Hand painting was easier than trying to track down official stencils.  As for the 4-legged Deere logo, I’m still working on trying to find it, but that’s another story.

JD Manure Spreader: Purchase

The John Deere manure spreader I saw for sale on the black top was straight out of old farming America.  Its bed measuring 4 ft. wide x 8 ft. long x 2 ft. high resembled that of a horse drawn utility wagon and covered wagon of pioneer days.  The "L" on its aluminum plate (no serial number) means two wheel.  I’d been looking for one to restore and use because nitrogen pellet fertilizer is expensive and this simple spreader is one I could pull with my utility JD tractor.  2014 also saw the pasturing of sufficient cattle numbers to justify the effort.  Adding to the attraction was the fact that it had belonged to my Uncle Henry and his family who had stored it in a chicken coop.  Its condition, except for the tires, was amazing.  The bed is treated wood and minimally rusted iron and steel which was once all John Deere Green.

Last week’s installment of Machinery Pete on rural RFDTV’s cable channel said there’s a revival in interest in used manure spreaders with some going from $14,000 to tops of $20,000 at auction.  I think it must be an apples and oranges situation because I paid only $900 for this one which I think is a mid-1950s John Deere. From there the expenses of restoration began with a $75 tow.  A couple a people were surprised because I had it towed, but it’s better to be safe than sorry even though the tubes were actually in good shape.  Making do and inflating old damaged tires is dangerous.  My cousin got killed at the OK Tire Shop when a tire blew up in his face.

The first thing I did when I got it back to the farm was to have the tow truck put it on level ground outside the shop.  I would need good light and open air since I would be doing a lot of priming and painting.  For the most part the weather held even though there were several days of rain and others that were just too hot for me.  Notice I put the axles on cement blocks and chocked them from moving.  (I’d found an old screw jack in the garage.)  I also drove a T-Post at the tongue and secured it with one of my old USMC belts.  Restoration means going underneath to do the cleaning and figuring out how the thing works.  It also means safety.  One slip and you’re crushed.  Other than that I began the cleanup painstakingly by hand with an ice pick, wire brush, whisk broom, rags, and sand paper.  If you think I knew what I was doing. You’re wrong. What in the world do I do now and how does this thing work?

MOPP Level 4

From our first day we all knew we’d be put in the gas chamber.  At Camp Telega, which is part of the larger USMC Camp Pendleton, our DIs burned CS tablets on a table to saturate the Quonset hut like a smoke house on a farm.  With a blanket covering the door and an occasional shaft of light filtering in, the gathering looked like one of those old 1930s Chinese opium den scenes from the movies.  Over the years the Marine Corps ditched the tablets and went to gas cylinders in modern brick or concrete chambers like the ones at Camp Lejeune where my picture was taken.  Apparently, many of us had figured out that if we waited for the tablets to burn off, the potency of CS gas would too.  So they modernized and gave everyone an equal dose.

Like their active duty counterparts, reservists can’t escape the nasty and uncomfortable training.  I guess it has to be because gas is serious stuff.  It’ll make a believer out of you – nowhere to run or hide.  You can’t breathe and begin to slobber.  All you can do is rely on your raining and use the gas mask and clothing as it was intended.  When the picture was taken the temperature was in the lower 90s and I was sweating profusely.  The woolen shirt was full of sand and the smell of CS gas from the last guy who had recently worn it.  Underneath the shirt is a layer of charcoal to absorb the gas like the face mask does.  When the filters eventually go, that’s it.

When I transferred to the Seabees after Desert Storm in 1992, Nuclear, Biological, and Chemical warfare training intensified.  In our combat training cycle, we dealt with MOPP levels which are stages of donning clothing and equipment: gas masks with hoods, rubber gloves, rubber boots, and woolen trousers with charcoal.  MOPP Level 1 is where you put on the basics.   Subsequent levels stop at MOPP 4 – the full complement.  By 1997 at Camp Hunter Ligget in California Pepper Gas was mixed in with CS Gas.  The valley was alive with Navy and Marine Corps umpires setting off gas bombs that it looked like fog and the big shots called so many MOPP Level alarms that many of us uttered a few “expletives deleted” and kept ourselves at Level 4.

Being retired, it’s hard for me to know what our Armed Forces go through now. Surely NBC training includes Biological and nuclear, especially after 911 and the anthrax scare.  George W. Bush (by fraud) warned us of the “mushroom cloud” in Iraq.  I suppose there will be a whole new cottage industry now that Ebola has come to America.  Survivalists will update their caches and people will flock to the gun shows to buy old gas masks and equipment.  Clorox and charcoal will fly off the shelves.  With the relentless spiral of threats, the American public seems to be poised for its own MOPP level training.

Stop the Coming Civil War

Yesterday, Tuesday, October 7th, was the maiden voyage of Michael Savage’s newest book, Stop the Coming Civil War.  Last night on Savage Nation callers gave updates on what they encountered at the bookstores.  Some said the book was given low priority at Barnes and Noble by not having it out front on the New Releases table.  Others said the placement was fine and sales appeared good.  Savage’s credentials that span many decades suggest this one will be a sellout.  He’s has a PhD in epidemiology and is not afraid to criticize open border policies that bring diseases into the U.S. from Central America or Africa.  I’m looking forward to tonight’s The Michael Savage Show.

Savage has always been the misfit like so many of us who aren’t politically correct.  He distrusts the Democrats and Republicans like I do and laments America’s moral and cultural slide which appears to have warped into an avalanche.  I try to catch his show every night now that Jay Leno has been booted off the air at 10:30 P.M. and has been replaced by the silly antics of a younger tech-savvy and uninformed generation that does not read books and cannot anticipate the future because they don’t know the past.  I’m struck by how much I agree with Savage.  He’s angry about our open borders, black racism, the Ebola spread into America, and most of all, with President Obama.  He consoles us by saying we are not alone. 

Michael Savage is more optimistic than I am.  After all, the title of the book is Stop the Coming Civil War and not The Coming Civil War.  Maybe it’s a political calculation, but there are millions of Americans who gave up on the political process many years ago.  In my own book, Journal of the Silent Majority I explain why.  They are the ones who the Media (singular) thinks are interested in the upcoming November elections.  Who cares?  It’s the same bunch of gangsters with the same Sugar Daddy – the same Media that creates the politicians, nourishes the Left, and tabulates the vote.  Until I read his book, I’ll give Savage the benefit of a doubt.  Right now from my humble perspective of a lifetime, I think he’s underestimated how mad real Americans are.  Things in America have to get worse before they get better.  Histories like Thomas Carlyle's French Revolution recorded how the French were asleep and finally with one shout, they were awake.

 

Shut the White House Down!

Events have driven the Continuity of Government concept further underground.  911 proved that.  There are vast secretive complexes Americans hear little about, unlike the ultimate NORAD facility in Colorado. They’re prime time regulars of America’s television and motion picture scene.  Bunkers underneath the White House remind me of those constructed under Hitler’s Reich Chancellery in Berlin only with better ventilation.  And Hollywood is quick to exploit the reality - the latest movie being White House Down. (Is there really a Marilyn Monroe secret passageway?)  The White House has come a long way from being Andrew Jackson’s populist inaugural destination to being the venerated and pseudo-protected symbol of the Presidency and America.

In more innocent times I saw the White House without its concrete barricades and steel posts which are most likely the product of Timothy McVeigh’s truck bombing of the Murrah Building in Oklahoma.  You could still drive past it on Pennsylvania Avenue and drive they did.  Striking truckers and their noisy trucks encircled the White House when I was there.  Protesters were always picketing in front, shouting, and acting crazy.  My first impression in seeing all this was an uncomfortable realization of the vulnerability of any President.  They were too close to him and his residence.  When I was there in 1975 I took President Ford’s picture about 30 feet away with my Instamatic and carried a backpack and I wasn’t searched!  Update: A man flies his private plane into the White House; An assailant machine guns the exterior of the White House; Two party crashers infiltrate White House social gatherings.  What’s next, Flash Mobs or rioters attacking and looting the White House?  After all, when you riot, you get things and no one gets arrested.

The Roman emperor Tiberius had his Isle of Capri and Nixon and had his Camp David.  (Much to the disappointment of rabid Nixon-haters, he didn’t throw his political opponents over the cliff like Tiberius did.)  Presidents already have their alternative White Houses and why should one residency evolve into a shrine and magnet for terrorists who have graduated from knives, pistols, and rifles to RPGs and bomb vests?  I say make the White House the Presidential Museum staffed by D.C. park rangers like the Truman Home in Independence, Missouri.  Our Continuity of Government plans should reflect reality. If Islamist terrorists can blow up skyscrapers they or other terrorists can level a two-story building.  Shutting down the White House as an official residence of the President is not only prudent, but inevitable.

Birthday in Arizona

Fridays are when the entire base or most of it gets outta town.  I remember seeing one officer pushing a PX cart filled with vodka bottles.  Ft. Hauchuca’s more adventurous types head for Tucson’s motels.  If a guy had a car, he had it made – literally.  SSgt. Fleming, another Marine, had a 1975 Nova SS and never wanted for female companionship.  Not believing in that lifestyle, I spent most of my free time in Special Services, an Army recreational facility that had sports equipment and even music listening rooms.  It’s a pleasant alternative to the smoke hazed Enlisted Club where you go to shoot pool and get drunk.  I discovered the sound track to the movie American Graffiti and became hooked on Doo Wop ever since.  Remember Maybe Baby by Buddy Holly and the Crickets, Little Darling, Since I Don’t Have You by the Skyliners, and Step by Step by the Crests?  Decompression from basic training at MCRD was also accompanied by retiring my Marine Corps birth control glasses and having my ID photo taken on my 27th birthday.

Ft. Hauchuca is a big place, but getting to classes wasn’t that difficult.  Should I call it a tradition, custom or understanding that hitch hiking to class was the norm?  You just jumped in the back of a truck and that was that.  Class could be anywhere: in the field, building or in a vehicle park (familiarity).  Divisional Mini-Kills held outdoors simulated a CP tent situation and were designed to test what the students had learned by “tasking” various intelligence gathering resources.  I made the mistake twice of sending spotter planes below the clouds.  Map reading was critical and the night compass marches proved to me that you shouldn’t march at night.  Seriously, the map reading part was intense: Zulu, minutes and seconds conversions, azimuth (directions).  Order of Battle was more complicated than an NFL game plan.  I also learned the importance of Errata and red collar tabs, but that was then.  With computers intelligence is a different world.

I graduated in April, 1976 in the lower third of my class in the 85 percentile on a curve.  I could never figure it out.  That meant two-thirds of my class graduated above 85%.  My Achilles’ heel at the time was a poor showing in relationships (spying).  Although Intelligence Analyst on the division level was a tactical course with an introduction to Photo Interpretation, Counter Intelligence, and Order of Battle, it also included Sherlock Holmes-type situations involving intrigue.  In part, who slept with whom? The ladies were the best at solving these problems. 

You’ll never know what integration is until you’ve had black roommates. Ft. Hauchuca had a housing problem with surplus officer dorms and not enough rooms for the Enlisted.  I moved into one of them while classes were forming.  There were four people to a room.  Eventually my room was filled with another white guy and two blacks, one of which was a “casual.” It was an explosive situation and a clash of cultures because it was unsupervised – no barracks with Officers of the Deck to enforce rules.  I could never get any sleep because the two blacks always came in late and played their horrible music all night.  You couldn’t run and you couldn’t fight.  That meant automatic jail time.  It could also mean a knife in the night.  There was another troublemaker across the hall that went on for days disturbing the peace until vigilantes beat him up.  After I shipped out to Kansas City the next day after graduation, I heard from the taxi’s radio, a broadcast that someone had been shot to death in the same officer dorms at Hauchuca.  I assumed it was the troublemaker getting his revenge.  I was glad to get home.

Wheeler Dealers: 5 Star TV

Mike Brewer, the British guy who owned a car dealership for 30 years started Wheeler Dealers many years ago.  I was surprised because the show looks contemporary.  American television is just now seeing its share of auto customizing and refurbishing shows, but Brewer’s show not only has class, but offers viewers an entertaining account of how to restore used cars for a quick sale.  Brewer is affable and loves what he’s doing especially test driving some European make we Americans have never heard of.  Above all, he loves profit and the more he buys low and sells high, the more money he earns.  One of his biggest assets is his side-kick, Edd China, the tree-top fabricator and expert mechanic.  It’s fun to watch this talented genius work in his rubber gloves and call fenders “wings” and hoods, “bonnets.”

In the pragmatic sense Brewer is the King Rat of aftermarket (used) car parts which he and Edd use to fix up old cars for resale.  His dealership experience has rewarded him with a broad network of European parts suppliers and automotive specialists, not to mention pools of buyer contacts in Britain and the Continent.  He even knows the military vehicle market.  Did you see him driving the T-34 tank in Poland?  He is a master of the 1-2-3 negotiation: “How much are you asking?” “What’s your bottom price?” “Meet me in the middle.”  He uses common sense.  For example, every episode presents the condition problem.  Brewer avoids rust bucket cars and those with bad engines.  He must have been one of the first in Britain to use the Internet and cell phones to “flip” cars. 

Wheeler Dealers: Trading-Up is Brewer’s TV offshoot to flip cars in order to buy his Italian dream car, a red Ferrari.  His beginning “kitty” was around $3,000, but above all, Mike is a clever person and thinks strategically and globally.  He begins his journey with the strongest markets.  That’s why you saw him in Aberdeen, Scotland where North Sea oil has enriched the natives.  In San Paulo, Brazil people love the cars they produce.  The same goes for Sidney and Melbourne, Australia.  The better new cars sales are, the more robust is the used car market.  Brewer flies there and establishes a base at a hotel – preferably near a dealership of the make he’s after.  He visits the showrooms to make contacts and find the cost of the new cars.  By using the Internet and word-of-mouth he’ll eventually visit car clubs and auctions specializing in custom cars.  There, he looks for bargains or puts his restored car on sale.  Part of his strategy is to buy a car with universal appeal and avoid custom cars at a high cost and lower chances of selling.  He frequently buys cheaper cars in the country and drives them back to the city to sell at a higher price.

I don’t know if Mike ever got his Ferrari.  His kitty was up to $41,000.  In the last five minutes of Trading-Up my satellite TV was knocked off the air – of course!  Wheeler Dealers and Wheeler Dealers: Trading-Up are my favorite shows because they are educational and adventurous with beautiful travel scenes (Alps).  I also like a story of someone who uses his head as much as his hands.  My only criticism about the show is the meager coverage of the overhead: overseas air fare, cargo shipping, taxes, and paper work, the little things that shred profit.  Other than that, I give Wheeler Dealers my highest mark, a 5.