Those who read these posts often should know i am into organizing and compressing photos and history. It is most probable it will never be complete. i like to claim the gigantic undertaking is for my grandson, daughters, nephews, and nieces. i’m not sure any of them will really be interested. i suspect all of this unfinished work will be tossed in a trash bin after i’m gone. That’s okay. i’m enjoying my rides through my family’s history.

But in these pages from albums of my mother and two aunts, loose formal photos, even a few tin types of relatives long past, most with some hand written identification from an ancient relative, i continue to find photographs here and there that have two things in common: the pictures are old and i do not know the folks in them.

The first one i came across about six years ago still haunts me. i thought my detective skills would lead me to names. As far as i know, there was only one family in our kin who had three daughters, and no sons. That would be the family of Uncle Jesse and Aunt Alice Jewell. Myrtle, Joanne, and Shirley were their daughters. Shirley was the youngest and baby sat me when i was around six and she was a teenager. The three were all beautiful in their own way and the two older sisters paid a lot of attention when Shirley took care of me in their home.

The front porch in the photograph looks like a farm house. Uncle Jesse definitely didn’t live on a farm when i knew him. They lived on Wilson Street (i think) in Lebanon, about two blocks east of the old high school football stadium.

Shirley was the fairest skinned of the three girls and her hair was lighter colored than Myrtle’s and Joanne’s. i thought i had the answer. i sent a copy of the picture to Joanne, the only surviving sister via her daughter Jamie in North Carolina. Jamie’s message back told me Joanne said that was definitely not a picture of her and her sisters.

Who are they? i find the photo even more enchantingly eerie. The bare feet on worn porch planks with the white laced dresses causes me to ponder if it was a Sunday, a special day in the family? If so, why are they barefoot? And i wonder. What did they grow up to be like? It appears they could have been beautiful as they grew.

Who are they?

Then, i found several more. i think that is all i will find. i have placed them all together in the front of the chronological albums i am organizing with the label “Unknown.”

There is one that is blurred and scratched from age. i guess it is also on a porch from the blanket backdrop and the floor wood. The boy looks as if he has a disability. The older girl looks pensive, the middle one quizzical. The infant in the foreground is blurred and seems mysterious to me.

Who are they? Once again, they are all in white. They are are in shoes unlike the photo of the three girls. The boots appear to make it an older photo but the older girl has on a wrist watch. The wrist watch was invented in 1810, but not worn by many folks, mostly nobles and rich, until the 1920s. So i wonder not only who are they but when was this taken.

Who are they?

Two infants are the subject of another two photos, old photos. They stare at me, seemingly wanting attention. Who are they? Where are they now? Are they still living? i yearn to know even though it is beyond unlikely i will ever find out who they are?

Finally, there is one that has me flummoxed: a goober. For the uninitiated, “goober” was the endearing derogatory nickname for boys who attended the Castle Heights Military Academy’s Junior School (grades 1-8). It also was a not so endearing derogatory nickname used for all cadets at the military prep school by the boys who attended the cross-town public high school.

The photo is undated, but the back has a stamped indicating it was taken in Jackson, Tennessee by Leeman Studios.

Who is this guy? Did his parents send him to Castle Heights because they thought it was the best education he could get or did he need more discipline than his parents could mete out? How did it end up in the photos of my relatives. Perhaps he was a friend of Maxwell Martin, my older cousin who went to Heights when he was in elementary school.

i do not know. It is only mine to ponder…and i will continue to ponder…until i look up from where i type this post on my laptop on the breakfast room table after devouring Maureen’s blueberry pancakes, bountiful fruit, and Tennessee Country Pride sausage, along with orange juice and coffee of course. While pondering, i see yet another hummingbird taking sips from the purple Mexican sage blooms outside the large breakfast room window. The butterfly reminds me old men shouldn’t ponder too long. i agree.

After all my brain hurts. It is time to for a good Sunday morning walk.

Marty Linville and i often went to the desert, specifically the Palm Springs area, for golf. We began going as a twosome before including Marty in a several groups i played with, usually with Jim Hileman and Mike Kelly.

Marty and i were always looking for bargains, which mostly occurred in the 120 degrees of summer. One summer, Marty spotted a good deal at the Marriott Desert Springs Resort.

The two golf courses, Palm and Valley, are part of the resort. It was August, and Marriott was offering a stay in the hotel with unlimited golf at the two courses for $100 a night. Marty and i decided we could drive out, check-in, and play one of the courses that day and the other course the next morning before returning home. Cheap, cheap, cheap.

Off we went I-15 to state highway 79 South, then through the hills, mountains and deserts to Aguanga, a spot in the road where we caught CA 371 up and through the big mountains of Santa Rosa and San Jacinto National Parks to of through the farming community of Anza to down the mountain on state highway 74 with switchbacks and incredible views of the desert to the resort appropriately on Country Club Drive.

The great cost-saving plan was in effect until we arrived too early to check in. Undaunted, we drove down the road to play Desert Falls, an incredible course. At that time, the course was just completed. There were no houses or condos around where they swarm today. The pro shop was a trailer. A snack shack with hot dogs and beer was beside it. They were advertising life-long memberships and unlimited play for $10,000. We both wished we had that kind of money, but dismissed such trivial thinking for two retired military blokes looking for bargain golf. We played that wonderful course in 120-degree heat for $50, a great deal.

We returned to the Marriot and played the Palm course, finishing about 8:30 p.m., somewhat spent. We cleaned up, discovering we were too tired to go out for dinner and decided to eat a snack at the resort. The only problem was, because it was hot, hot summer, the only dining open was an up-scale Italian restaurant. After drinks, dinner and a bottle of wine, we returned to our room. It cost us more than the hotel room.

The next morning, we checked out and played the Valley Course before leaving. The $100 bargain had cost us about $250.

We left a little wiser, but i sure would like to do it again.

we heard the man a’coming;
we didn’t know his name;
he was on a great black stallion
with a long and silky mane;
the hooves thundered on the highway
‘til he hitched his steed outside,
then wandered into the alehouse
after a long and weary ride;
we didn’t know from whence he came
nor where he wished to go;
we worried he was a highway man,
but were afraid to ask him so;
he quaffed down a pint of lager
to only ask for one more;
after several, he headed for the door
before he left he threw
two silver dollars on the bar,
exited to the stallion going somewhere far,
we watched as he rode that horse
down the trail and disappeared
over the hill,
just like our heroes
did in the oaters
and
we wished we could be like him
and
live in those cowboy movies.

seaport morning gray day
clouds, fog and mist
old sailors can see, smell, feel,
almost touch,
taking them back to
days at sea
tossing and turning
like Bobby Lewis could never imagine,
feeling her calm power
pitching and heeling in white capped waves.

the sailors’ memories will fade
as the marine layer burns off
clouds, fog and mist
with the southwestern sun
proclaiming its place of beauty;
the beach becomes joy for
sun worshippers and surfers;
but
the marine layer, holding the sailors’ memories
retreated out to sea,
hanging like a scythe on the horizon
to move back in as the sun sets
bringing back the siren of the sea
in clouds, fog, and mist.

Last weekend, Maureen and i had wonderful time in Las Vegas. We didn’t stay at one of those over the top fancy casino hotels. As a matter of fact, we did not go to any casinos. i didn’t place one bet. We did go to the strip, but that was to go to The Mob Museum, which was entertaining while smashing any idea of this place beginning with a good history.

As we flew from San Diego to this city created from a desert, i, in a rare window seat for me, looked down on the terrain. Las Vegas water comes mostly from Lake Mead (which is drying up) fed by the Colorado River. Other water comes from several large aquifers under the city. But for miles and miles around from horizon to horizon, even on an aircraft at 35,000 feet, i could only see desert. This is a strange place to have an adult playground, i thought, but it is a getaway, far away from other civilization.

Our trip was not to party or gamble in Vegas. Maureen does not like Vegas. i used to go occasionally to see a show or watch the people. No, i’m not innocent. i did gamble a bit, i’ve concluded i’m possibly the worst gambler in the world. i did win about two bucks in a late night game in the 60’s. Henry Harding, Charles “Fox”Dedman, and i played “Mexican Sweat” late into a Saturday night. i also won in the game room of the Navy Officer’s “Town Club” in Sasebo, Japan, enough to pay for my flight to and from Osaka and Expo ’70. But slots were still one-armed bandits. They have gone far beyond that now.

We were there to spend time with daughter Sarah and her husband Aaron and meet his family. It could not have been much better. Aaron’s mother Deborah, his sister Alicia and her husband Kobe were just flat great. They are great people. It was such a great feeing to see them all loving life and Sarah being an integral part.

Driving around or going for a walk beyond the strip, i marveled how this place just rose from the sand. How the streets run straight without any rocky hills to require curving them. The buildings are almost identical to those in strip malls every where and those chain stores seemed to have popped up by just adding concrete. It seems very strange to me, but of course, the Southwest corner would be strange for those of you in the east.

Bottom line: it’s a wonderful place. After all, our daughter is happy there, and she has a wonderful husband and another great family.

i’ll bet on that.