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- Progress on an Unending Task
The process of going through old photos is frustrating and without end. But i’m trying. Here are some more:
i’m guessing this was 1943. i could be off a year either way. It’s taken on the steps to fellowship hall next to the sanctuary at the First United Methodist Church when it was on East Main Street between the post office and Hankins and Smith Motor Company. My cousins were visiting from Red Bank. First row: cousin Johnny Orr, goofy kid, Sally Ann Eskew, Marilyn Smith, Deanie Martin, Harry Vickers; second row: Rose Major, Roberta Padgett, cousin Nancy Orr, (?) Lore (?) (i can’t read my mother’s handwriting on this one). and Bobby Hesson.
My best friend from somewhere around first grade when his family returned from New Mexico until now and beyond. i think it’s his sophomore class photo at LHS. Again, i may be a year off. George Henry Harding, V.
The Jewell family men at breakfast in their homestead on Castle Heights Avenue, circa 1994. This was where we ate from 1956 when we added on to the house until the siblings began to leave beginning with me permanently in 1967.
That’s all this morning. i have some real work to do.
- Family a Long Time Ago
Every once in while, as i rummage through piles of stuff i continue to try and organize, label, and toss, i find amazement.
Amazement rolled all over me Saturday afternoon. i was straightening up my “Briar Patch” in the garage and moving some boxes of photos in order to put some reasoning into when i actually get to going through them for real.
i opened up one of the boxes to pull negatives and put them in a separate box. Near the bottom, i found it. i don’t know how it got in that box as i have a separate place for my Aunt Naomi Jewell Martin’s memorabilia my cousin Maxwell gave to my father who subsequently passed them to me.
i have posted photos of several earlier.
This one lives in unknown history:
i am pretty sure the man on the left is my great grandfather, Hiram Carpenter “Buddy” Jewell. i am reasonably sure the man on the right is Barbee Carpenter Jewell, Buddy’s older brother. i did not know either played fiddles. They both were born and lived in Statesville, Tennessee.
It struck me fiddle playing ran in the family. My cousin, Graham Williamson, who recorded several bluegrass records and occasionally played the fiddle in Roy Acuff’s band at the Grand Ole Opry.
The red marks on the photograph come from the glass plate back of the black piece of paper, which backs the image itself on a transparent film. Without the black paper and glass behind it, the image is barely discernible. The red is from a date written on the glass. It was taken in 1866.
i am far from an expert in old photographs, especially ones that old. i think it is an Ambrotype. From Google’s AI explanation: “Popular in the 1850s–1860s, these are wet-collodion negatives on glass that look like positive images when placed against a black background. They are usually found in protective cases.”
That pretty well describes tis photograph of Buddy and Barbee. Regardless of what type of photo it is, i wish i had met them and wish i could have heard them play those fiddles.
- The Last Retreat
A year or so ago for one of those giving times, my daughter Blythe gave me a sweatshirt. It is nice and comfortable. i wear it a lot.
The sweatshirt graphics also perfectly describe my golf game. i would add the tragedies are nearly always accompanied by a yell from a sailor’s vocabulary, i.e. profanity. i have tried to stop, but hey, i’m on a golf course with a bunch of guys, and i am only commenting on my talent, or lack thereof.
i have never been a really good golfer. i learned at the Hunter’s Point Golf Course, now defunct, and foolishly bought equipment with money i didn’t have, which also impacted my reluctance to take a lesson until much later in my life. As i have told several really good golfers with whom i have played, i am the golfer with one thousand swings and only about three of them are “good swings.” i was somewhat gratified when i saw the great Tony Gwynn, one of my all time baseball heroes for many reasons in a video of his swing: Lord a’mercy, it looked like mine.
But i have played the game since those first rounds on Hunter’s Point Pike with Henry Harding, Charles “Fox’ Dedman, and Jimmy Nokes. i have played in Hawaii, Japan, the Philippines, Palma de Majorca, Korea, Guam, and if XOing hadn’t interfered, i would have played in Mombassa, Kenya. i’ve played on Christmas Eve, Thanksgiving, Black Friday, and goodness knows how many other holidays.
To cover all of the times and places i’ve played golf would be and endless post.
Then, in the summer of 1985, i went for a lunch run on Coronado. i ran to the bridge entrance and turned back as usual on this six-mile jaunt. There on the sixth tee were two fellow officers at the Naval Amphibious School. The next day, i asked them if i could join them in some rounds.
i then began playing with Rod Stark and Marty Linville every Saturday at either Admiral Baker North, Miramar, then a Naval Air Station, and Sea ‘n Air, the course on North Island’s Naval Air Station. Several folks would round out our foursome with the most frequent being my father-in-law, Ray Boggs. Ray became a friend to Rod and Marty and created a plethora of great stories.
Then we retired: Marty first, i second, Rod third. “Retired” is not a good term for what we did. The real description of what we did was “complete our military service:” Marty Army, Rod and i Navy. One who completes his military service after twenty-plus years as a major or commander cannot live alone on his (or her for the politically correct) retirement. So, we all sought other jobs. Marty worked for a tech company that improved the human/weapons interface. Rod became a golf pro in Sun City, California, commuting each day from San Diego. i became mister mom (Sarah was born the day i retired for those who might not know).
Then on a Saturday in May 1991, i believe it was May 11, Marty and i were playing a round at Sea ‘n Air. After the round, Marty noted his work schedule had just changed to 4x10s, that is, he was working ten hours four days a week and his Fridays were free. He wondered if i could play on Fridays. Being mister mom and Sarah had started day care, i figured i could.
The next Friday, May 17, 1991, we began playing every Friday. We added Ray frequently. In 1995, we saw Rod on the Miramar course and found out he had left his job to tend to his wife Donna. He joined us in our Friday rounds.
Over the years, i introduced close friends with whom i also played golf to the group: Al Pavich, Jim Hileman, JD Waits, Pete Toennies, and Pete Thomas, my brother-in-law Danny Boggs, and cousin Lance Cook. Then we added my neighbors: Keith Macumber, Spud Mumby, Ralph Lavage, and Randy Prescott. For a while in the late 90s, we had as many as four foursomes playing.
Over half of those listed above have crossed that rainbow bridge including the co-founder of the Friday rounds, Marty. A number can no longer play due to infirmities, the scourge of aging.
Pete Toennies asked a couple of his Navy SEAL buddies to join us. Now we have five seals and about four friends of ours who join us. We usually have two foursomes. About three years ago, we moved our Friday Morning Golf to Thursday Morning Golf. MWR began charging weekend fees for Friday and tournaments often made getting Friday tee times difficult.
My golf also included other rounds with friends. The telephone group i joined because of Jim Hileman was wonderful.
Golf with Maureen, most often with Pete and Nancy Toennies remains a delight.
Of course with age, my already not so hot golf has gotten worse as is the case for most of us.
So why do i keep playing?
It’s golf. i’m walking well over five miles each round. But more than that, it’s respect for the game and the camaraderie that exists with these guys. The nineteenth hole has become as important as the game. We catch up. We tell stories, most often retelling them. We toast to Marty before our first beer.
My favorite past time has always been, since Lebanon Junior High School, 1956-58, football. It turned out i was never going to be a prime time running back. i discovered my true joy in football was tackling someone, even in practice…and i did a lot of that. But it stopped when i graduated from Castle Heights in 1962. i still miss it.
i always loved basketball. Although i had a decent shot, was a good defender, and decent point guard, height and probably some other missing capabilities such as dribbling and shooting with only my right hand, my formal basketball ended with the JV team at Heights. i did continue with pickup games into my late thirties.
Baseball was next to football in my love of sports. i played from Pony League for nine-year olds in 1953 until i hung up my spikes in the over-33 baseball league in the Southwest corner when i was 46.
Around 1976, i began running. i continued to run until my mid-70s when the doctor and my old body told me to stop. Now, i walk when my body tells me it’s okay, which is not often enough.
The only thing left is golf. It’s my retreat. Although my game stinks, it is the last vestige of sport in which i can participate. Golf is good that way. i’ve always preferred to play sports rather than attend them even when i was a sports writer and editor. Golf is now my lone retreat.
At 82, i will be teeing it up tomorrow. Thanks to all of my buddies for letting me join them in the past and now. And Marty, Al, Harvey, Frank, and Ray, i will toast to all of you as well as the many others i have enjoyed in this retreat.
- Everett’s Second Law of Thermodynamics
Confusion is always increasing in society. Only if someone works extremely hard can this confusion be reduced in a limited region. Nevertheless, this effort will still result in an increase in the total confusion of society at large.
When i first read this in 1979/80, i wasn’t sure what it meant. Today in our current society, i know exactly what it means. Yep, we are confused, big time.
- Boaz and the River Jordan
i drew from several sources when this came into my head, i am not a biblical scholar. Although there are some things included from the Bible and gospels, i made this up, fiction. It was something that just seemed to fit.
Boaz walked down to the River Jordan;
the current was strong;
the waters were deep;
there was no bridge;
there was no ford;
he could not cross;
Boaz waited for a fortnight;
the waters of River Jordan would not subside;
the currents ran strong;
the depth was too much;
he could not cross;
he could not cross to the other side.Boaz waited another day,
then walked west to the Mediterranean,
boarded a Ship of Tarshish
to ride the seas westward
while learning trading for gold and silver.Sailing the seas, Boaz became rich:
viewed by folks of the time
as wise, just, and benificent;
he sailed the seas he had come to love
for his remaining days.and
the River Jordan flowed on and on
with strong currents and an unfathomable depth.
