Some editors are failed writers, but so are most writers.
All posts by Jim
Relief from Morose, ThankYou, Otis
The Southwest Corner, Sunday, June 22, 2025. My dear bride of forty-two years has had a good day going to an art show in North County with two friends. The show featured the artwork of Jaci Springfield, another friend of the group. They had a great time, and fortunately, Maureen didn’t buy a great deal of stuff.
i too had a good day but it was at home getting things done i’ve intended to get done for about…oh, let’s say five years to be safe. Of course, i took a nap. After the nap and a few more chores, i repaired to our patio and called my friend of all friends, George Henry Harding, V, perpetually a resident of 218 South Tarver, where i spent more time than at my home. We were christened together in May of 1945 at the Lebanon First Methodist Church, then on East Main.
As i have noted here frequently, talking to Henry every month or so is simply resuming where we left off before. It always amazes me how two guys from the same place who went on to completely different life experiences still think the same about everything, everything. It’s sort of like looking in a mirror.
When we hung up, i got a little nostalgic, a little sad. My old hometown isn’t old anymore, and isn’t a small town anymore. It’s changed, but i still miss it and my friends there who are still around. Especially, i miss not talking with Henry every day. He and Brenda have a great back porch for talking to old friends — the porch wasn’t there when i romped with Henry and his brother Jim (i still call him Beetle) in that backyard.
Yeh, a little sad i felt. Homesick, i guess we could call it. For a few moments, i was down. Then, sitting on that patio as the patio, looking up at the landscape and the sun as it set over the slope toward the Pacific. i reached over and turned on the bluetooth speaker for my music library. i set it to listen to only Otis Redding.
My Vanderbilt Kappa Sigma brothers who loved Soul music as much as i, led by Cy Fraser, went to concerts in the old Nashville Municipal Auditorium to see Otis at least four times. Then, on a magical Saturday night, actually Sunday morning, Cy and i went to the Club Baron, a black night club on Jefferson Street in North Nashville. It was our place to go when it was quiet around campus. Otis had been the headliner for an earlier show downtown. We were there to watch the really superb artists that were regulars when around 1:00 a.m., Otis comes in with several members of his bands and puts on an impromptu show for about 45 minutes. i was in heaven.
After that night, when i was working to pay my way through MTSU, i played Otis as much as i could when i deejayed at WCOR in 65-67. i played his records at home even more.
When that wonderful phase of my life concluded, i packed up and headed to Newport, Rhode Island for Navy OCS (September 1967). i don’t know how i did this, but i somehow managed to secret a small portable record player in the locker in my barracks room, shared with the legendary Doc Jarden. On Thursday, December 7, we learned Otis had died in in a plane crash the night before. Doc was as big a fan of Otis as i was and equally saddened by the news.
In an even bigger mystery today, we pulled out that record player, and a record i had also brought and smuggled into the barracks, “The History of Otis Redding.” We started playing right after taps and finally turned it off around 2:00 a.m.
Listening to Otis, now on a bluetooth with Apple music playing all of his songs, my homesickness dropped off. i put my phone aside and looked out on my world in the Southwest corner. All was well.
After all, i had Otis Redding songs for listening, and i have Henry to lean on.
Mixed Feelings
Our new next door neighbors, Vincent, Judith, and their son Vincent will move into their home in about a year
They are doing significant renovations to the acre-plus yard and the house. i have watched with interest and have established a good relationship with the site managers, bulldozer and back hoe drivers, and the other workers of which there many: hard working men. There are no accountants back there, no finance folks, no insurers, not computer wizards, just hard workers. It is fun to watch. i do.
Of particular interest to me in the past few days have been the stone masons (i guess they are still called that). They are putting a facade of stone on the chimneys and perhaps the entire exterior. It looks as though it will be beautiful when finished. It also requires unique hard work and art. The scaffold rises about forty feet to the top of the chimney. The stone cutting saw sits on the top rung of the scaffold. The worker hauls up the stone pieces in a bucket with a pulley. He measures and cuts the stones to fit closely together, fits them, and then uses mortar to glue them in place. It is fascinating.
i became more and more enamored with the requirements to do it right and the rigorous physical requirements to get it done.
Then around 10:00 a.m. this morning, i went to the kitchen to clean out my coffee French press. As i began to rinse it out, i looked toward the chimney. There, this hard working mason was taking his mid-morning break. i kept fooling around in the kitchen as i watched him eat at least three tamales. Then after finishing his break meal (snack?). He laid out on the fourth level slats of the scaffold and took a half-hour nap.
So much for hard work.
Father
i could post several hundred more photos of him and still not capture his essence. i miss him every day. He was loved by everyone who knew him, especially his children, his grandchildren, his great grandchildren, and lord knows how many children he claimed and loved. Happy Fathers Day, Daddy…and Thanks.
And then there was this o
And then there was this other father of mine. Thanks, Ray.
A Tale of the Sea and Me: Numazu, Chapter 2
As we began to load the preposterous number of vehicles, just to help us out, the wind picked up and it was horizontal to the landing beach. It was a wind-driven rain, cold, harsh, thick.
The beach master’s unit was overwhelmed in trying to keep the LCM8s from breaching and ending up sideways on the beach. The shore was nearly all large rocks, and it played havoc with the Mike 8 propellers. We were fortunate in that Anchorage was the designated ship for carrying the stock of extra LCM8 propellers. When the load was completed, we only had two propellers left in stock. There is no way we can assess how much time was spent just in swapping out propellers.
i was a whirling dervish. i had to be. As the well deck master, i had to control and manage the offloading of the LCM8s as they returned from the beach and then oversee the storage of the gigantic load. We loaded the two semi-trailer fueling rigs all the way forward under the mezzanine decks. We positioned the 24 M48 Patton tanks around the semis. Then, we just started to fill where we could. BM1 Hansburough and i became good friends. We were working the wing walls of the well deck, directing traffic moving all of the equipment as it came aboard.
About twenty hours into the load and right after i changed my working khakis due to being soaked with salt water, an LCM8 entered the well deck and bottomed out. As it lowered its bow gate, a errant wave tossed it slanted across the well deck. A flood light trailer fell on its side into the shallow water. BM1 Hansborough and i simultaneously ran from the well deck and down the forward ladder past the mezzanine deck to the well deck. We walked aft together until the well deck water was up to our ankles. We studied the situation and knew the flood light trailer could greatly delay the load and we simply didn’t have the time.
So, the two of us walked up to water up to our hips when we reached the flood light trailer. With great effort we righted it (much to my surprise). As we started to move it forward clear of the loading operation, the LCM8 coxswain had maneuvered to straighten his craft, not seeing us nor knowing we were just ahead of him. The two guys who could have kept this from happening were not on the sides of the well deck. They had this floodlight trailer problem.
i looked up. Staring down at me was the bow gate of the Mike 8. The coxswain was lowering her bow gate, and it was coming down on us. We gave the trailer a push and the massive gate missed us by several feet. Too close.
Upon reflection, i should have remained at my well deck command post. But assessing it now, fifty years later, i’m not sure anyone but Hansborough on the ship could have pulled it off…and the load operation continued.
Hansborough and i both retreated. He went to first division berthing and changed out his dungarees. i went to my stateroom and changed to a new set of khakis. i changed my socks but put back on the water soaked shoes, knowing i would likely get them wet again. i threw the soaked khakis in a pile. i suspect a good portion of that saltwater wasn’t just sea water.
If anyone had it worse than us, it was the beach master’s unit. The marines did not follow their load directions very well, many of the Mike8s breeched and went sideways. The LARCS ands the cranes worked full time keeping the landing craft perpendicular to the beach. In short, it was hell. It also took 44 hours to complete the load.
As we closed the stern gate and secured from 1 Alfa, i headed to the bridge as the Beach Masters returned on their LARCS and cranes. The Beach Masters loaded their craft in the well deck. Bosun messenger climbed the ladders to the bridge as Sea Detail was set. i was the Sea Detail OOD. When Bosun Messenger arrived on the bridge. Commander Aldana in his captain’s chair on the starboard side of the bridge motioned for the bosun who came to his side.
The bosun and i were both spent with over 44 hours without sleep and constantly working in a high stress situation.
“So, Bosun, how did it go?”
The bosun did not respond directly, noting, “There’s no such thing as a dumb Marine.”
The CO wondered, “What do you mean, Bosun?”
Bosun Messenger replied, “That’s a double negative, sir.”
i was laughing up my sleeve.
We got underway, stood out of Numazu Bay and headed for Okinawa. When we secured from sea detail, i was relieved and went to my stateroom. i had to complete a formatted, extensive “load report” to higher authority. i completed it and my first division officer brought me the draft radio message. i was in my rack when he showed it to me. i needed to edit and take it to the XO to screen before getting the captain to release it.
i woke up about three hours later in a panic, thinking i had not submitted the report on time.
i called my first division officer and he came to my stateroom. He told me to not worry that the load message had gone off on time. He then said i was reading the draf when i fell hard asleep. He had to pry the draft out of my hands. He got the XO to clear and the captain had released the message.
i was relieved. i had just had my first experience of being a first lieutenant in the ampbibious Navy. The next chapter was about to begin.