Life Lessons Learned In Second Grade

Hello again readers.  How many of you can remember back to the 2nd grade of school.  You would have been 7 or 8 years old.  Probably not many of you can recall many details......UNLESS  you had a particularly memorable experience!

Life Lessons Learned in Second Grade

I didn’t mind so much having to walk the mile and a half to my new school. Later I would think back about why I could not have caught the school bus. Maybe they did not have school buses then? I was seven years old, and we lived in a small house in the San Francisco Bay Area. At least we didn’t have cold and snowy winters like my parents My sister and I had heard told story many times about their own cold winters. “We used to dress up in heavy coats and boots, and walk through blizzards. Our Mom and Dad used to heat smooth rocks from the nearby creek, and put them in our pockets so we could keep our hands from freezing!” I was told that I had it easy here in sunny California.

The only snow I had ever seen was when we drove up to the hills after the newspaper announced that there would maybe be two inches of the white stuff. It would last only a few hours, so local families bundled up their kids and drove the forty five minutes so everyone could play in this rarest of freak weather. I remember my thoughts about my Mom and Dad growing up in a place where this cold and wet weather lasted for months. I didn’t think that hot rocks in my pocket would have made it any easier. I can remember my Dad talking to the parents of my friend that went with us to see the snow. "We moved to California so we could enjoy the snow only when we wanted to."

I was getting familiar with my walking route to school. Some of the mothers would say "Hi" to me as they collected up the milk bottlers on their front porch. My biggest fear was the two huge dogs that seemed to lay behind their yard gate and watch my approach. The Mom would always say "They won't hurt you." I told my parents about them, but they just said “Don’t pay any attention to them, they won’t hurt you. We know the family, and they tell us the dogs are friendly.” Hearing the dogs growl, and seeing their large teeth as they snarled at me, told me they were not so friendly. I walked on the opposite side of the street, but this did not help reduce the terror I experienced. There was no other route to school, unless I climbed fences and walked through a cow pasture. This would take twice as long, and I did not think Mom and Dad would approve. I would also have to leave much earlier. That plan would never fly. I always tried not to make eye contact with these beasts, and this tactic did seem to cause them to bark less. Sometimes I would run as fast as I could past the 'dog house.' I was a fast runner, but this only seemed to get the dogs more excited.

The new school was OK, but it was all fenced in. The playground was all black asphalt. There was no grass to run around on, and not a single tree to climb. We did have one magnificent playground piece of play equipment…..THE RINGS….. Ten steel rings that hung from the top of the big triangle-shaped frame. They were lined up in a straight row. The challenge to those of us, who dared climb up on the raised platform, was to grab the first ring, back up, and then swing to the next one. You had to grab the second ring while still holding on to the first. Then you had to begin pumping to get your body swinging. When you were swinging high enough, you timed your release of the first ring. You then began swinging toward the third ring. If you could grab the third ring, while still holding the second, then the whole process was repeated. When you could make it to the tenth and final steel ring, you had achieved what only a few of us had conquered. I was the newest member of a group that was dubbed the “Ring Kings.” I was Tom, the Ring Leader. I could do all ten rings faster than any other kid in school.

Recess was my favorite time at school. Beside the ring swings, we played kick ball. This game was a lot like baseball in that after kicking the ball, the kicker would run to first base. The next kicker would try to advance the runner around the bases. We would always quickly choose up teams at the start of recess. I was a fast runner, and since I was the Ring King, I usually was picked early for a team. We could substitute ourselves during the game. “Dale, I shouted, come on in and take my place.” My other team mates always looked at me and frowned. Dale was never picked. He was fat, and just could not run. What team captain would want him on their team? His eyes lit up, and he stuttered a lot, but said “Thhhhaaanks a lot.” Dale never played very long, as the bell would always ring telling us it was time to go back to class. I guess all parents ask their kids the same thing when we get home from school. "How was school today?" When I told my parents about Dale, they scolded me and reminded me that it was mean to only put him in the game at the very end. I had to promise I would become a friend to Dale. I was glad I wasn’t Dale though.

Being nice to Dale did cause a small problem. He seemed to want to hang with me at recess, lunch time, and other group activities. I felt lucky he did not sit by me in class. There was a new girl, Diane that was always coming around to talk to me. I really liked her. She always stood by the ring swings, and when I completed the ten-ring swing, she always jumped up and down clapping her hands. I never had a girl friend, and wondered if Diane could be classified as such. When Dale was hanging around, Diane would keep clear. I thought Dale would feel bad if I just left him alone, so I tried hard to be his friend. There was another good thing for having Dale as a friend. He was big and tough. I thought that no one could ever get up if dale sat on them. If he noticed anyone giving me a hard time, he would walk up with his hands on his hips. His glare was enough to discourage anyone from giving me any trouble.

I had one classmate that no one really liked. Gordon was always teasing the girls, and trying to play tricks on classmates. Gordon was clumsy, and was a little jealous of my performance on the rings. Sometimes he threw rocks at me when no one was looking. He called me “Pretty Boy.” I was a lot smaller than Gordon, and tried to just ignore him.....wasted advice from my parents. Dale asked me several times if I wanted him to kick Gordon’s butt. I just thought this would one, get Dale in big trouble, and two, make Gordon worse.

Mrs. Cerragino (pronounced Chair-a-geeno) was our teacher. She was huge. She and Dale were the fattest people at my school. My Dad told me that she was Italian, whatever that meant. If you were late in getting into your desk seat when the second bell sounded, you would be given one warning. If it happened a second time, Mrs. Cerragino made us do extra work. We had to sit in a corner desk and write out “Being late is not excusable,” one hundred times. We could do this penalty at home, but who wanted their parents to know their kid was being punished. It was during one of these writing penalties, that I was pretty sure Diane was my real true girl friend. As I sat in the back of the room writing out my “Being-late-is-not-excusable” punishment, she whispered in my ear. “I can imitate your writing, and I will write out all the words for you.” “Wow,” I thought. My second thought was that I knew this was cheating, and if my Mom and Dad ever found out, Mrs.’s Cerragino’s punishment would seem like recess. I said no to Diane, and she touched my hand and said she would see me at lunch. We had been sitting together at lunch time eating our bag lunches at one of the outside picnic tables. I liked sitting with Diane, but it seemed to encourage Gordon. He teased me with the “Pretty Boy” name and kept singing out loud: “Tom has a girl friend.” Dale would then come over and sit with us. This was enough to make Gordon move off and shut up. I wondered what would happen if Dale was sick and could not come to school.

I suppose our class room itself was like all others. Behind the actual class with the desk chairs, there was a long room that had hooks for our jackets. It was called the 'cloak room.' I always wondered why the name wasn't the 'coat room." One of many word mysteries. Below the hooks was a divided shelf that was for our lunch boxes and rain shoes. The teacher, and my parents called them galoshes....another word mystery. Our names were on stickers above the coat hook, and on the shelf below. Today I followed Diane into the coat room; we picked up our lunch bags, and went outside to find a seat. Dale had, at this stage, decided that he would sit near us. I gave him a frowned look that told him not to come sit with us.I know he was just waiting for Gordon to start trouble. We opened up our lunch sacks, and I peered in to find only one-half of an apple and a handful of dirt. “What’s going on I said,” wondering where the baloney and lettuce sandwich was. The small piece of candy bar was also gone. Diane peered in the sack and saw the mess. Dale came over and said, “I bet it was that jerk Gordon.” Before Dale we all had a chance to talk, Gordon swaggered over eating my baloney sandwich. In a mocking tone he said, “Thanks for the sandwich Tom, and the candy…..ummmmm good. Eat the dirt, it’s good for you.”

I had swiveled around on the bench to my left with my legs on opposite sides. Gordon leaned in close as he intentionally smacked his lips holding my piece of candy. Without really thinking I clenched my right hand into a fist; swung with all my might, and connected with Gordon’s nose. “SPLAT!” Gordon screamed and blood started gushing out of his nose. His eyes were closed and tears were pouring out. He was screaming “He broke my nose, he broke my nose….” Mrs. Cerragino had been sitting in a chair serving as lunch time yard monitor. This was going to be bad I thought. Dale had jumped in and was sitting on Gordon as he lay writhing on the ground. Diane was holding my hand as I sat with my chin on my chest. I was only thinking of what my Dad would say and do when he found out I had been in a fight. Dale jumped off of Gordon and sat down on the other side of me. My classmates had all gathered around. Our teacher scuttled over with a huge frown on her face. My friends were saying, “Gordon stole his lunch,” over and over again.

“Both of you….come with me!” Our teacher grabbed each of our hands, and began dragging us back to the class room. “Everyone stay exactly where you are until I say you can come in!” By this time Gordon’s nose has eased up some on the bleeding. He was crying like a baby telling me “Wait til I tell my Dad, he is going to beat up your Dad!” Our teacher told us to sit at each end of a long table. "Neither of you are to move until I say you ca move!" I heard her dialing the phone in her office.

After a couple of minutes Mrs. Cerragino came out and told us to sit precisely where she was pointing. The, the school principal, and the boy’s physical education teacher sat at the table with Gordon and me on the opposite sides. The principal leaned in and said “I want to know who hit who first.” Gordon was sputtering that he did not touch me, and that I attacked him. I thought that lying would just makes matters worse, so I said “I hit him first.” “See, I told you,” Gordon was whimpering. I heard a familiar voice, and turned around. My Dad was walking into our classroom. I thought, “I am really in for it now.” The adults all introduced themselves. My father looked down at me and said “Tell me what actually happened!” After I had related my story, Mrs. Cerragino looked at Gordon and said “Is this true?” Our teacher held up her hand palm out, and leaned down so she was about six inches from Gordon’s face. “Remember there are witnesses sitting outside now who will tell the truth. I said “Dale was right there, he can tell you.” Mrs. Cerragino said, “No we needn’t put Dale under stress. It would take too long for him to tell us.” I could swear I heard muffled laughter from the Phys Ed teacher. Gordon kept his mouth shut. “Well it seems we have our answer,” said our principal. “Gordon’s mother will be here soon, and we will tell them the story. Mrs Cerragino pointed at Gordon, and said "You are going sit in the corner desk and write 'Thou shalt not steal' one hundred times. We will leave any other punishment up to your parents.” My Dad leaned over with both of his hands leaning on the table. He looked me in the eye. “We will discuss this more at home. I want you to know that starting a physical fist fight is never the answer, especially if you were not hit first.” We walked out the door. He put his arm around my shoulder and said, “Gordon is a lot bigger than you.” I didn’t know whether to smile or not, but I figured it was OK for me to fight back if I was hit first. As we walked out of the school yard, I looked back and Diane was waving to me. I did not have to guess what they all were talking about.

We were only a few blocks from the school when Dad pulled the old 1937 Chevy to the curb. He said “Come with me, I want you to meet some nice people, and two dogs that really want to be your friend.” My mind was in a whirl. I was thinking that I hoped I never had another day like this one. I thought again, “Maybe things will get better. I wonder if Diane thinks of me as her boy friend.” I was trying to decide if I should ask my Dad if he had a girl friend when he was in the second grade.

This is how I remember it.

Tom

postscript: It wasn't until high school that I learned more about Gordon. Someone was showing a few of us a class picture taken of our third grade class. I saw Gordon standing in the back row. I was seated in front. I never had any more trouble with Gordon. This photo was taken one year after our scuffle. We all moved on to different elementary schools after third grade. I told my friend about my second grade experience. He said that Gordon had moved away. I guess his father was real mean to him. The story was that Gordon had dropped out of high school and ended up in juvenile detention somewhere. What goes around, comes around I thought.

PLEASE COME BACK

Welcome back readers.  I hope you enjoy this temporary journey up a new "fork in the road."  Lately I have been posting som SHORT STORIES that I am writing for an international "Author's" web site. Comments are welcome!

thank you

PLEASE COME BACK

“My dear old and loyal friend. It has been years since we have been together. I have been sitting quietly for almost 12 long years now.  Do you not miss me?  Please try to recall those many hours we spent bonded together.  In case you forgot, it was a total of 18 years that our relationship was so very close.  Think about all those wonderful places we visited.  Remember the natural scenic beauty of the great outdoors in the mountains, and next to cold streams running free. Remember dunking ourselves in the frigid water after a particularly hot day.

How about those magnificent historical cities all over the world?   Surely you can fondly recall San Francisco, London, Tokyo, Rio, Paris, and many more. I particularly enjoyed our times on the steep hills of the city by the Golden Gate.  Waving to those folks on the cable car was exciting. Crossing the Golden Gate Bridge together is still a beautiful memory. Don’t forget Moscow, Russia when we were joined by the retired KGB officer.  He accompanied us on our tour of this mysterious city including the Kremlin.  There was never any real danger for us.

We actually joined together at many times for a partnered competition.  We performed well, and even received a few blue ribbons for our performance.  I can still feel the pounding excitement and exhilaration when our togetherness finally concluded, and we relaxed together, catching our breath.  Remember showering together.  I cannot forget your gentle scrubbing as you washed my body.  

I think it is time that we were together again.  OK, it doesn’t have to be as intense as before.  We can take it easy, moving more slowly as we become reacquainted.  I have also aged, and certainly I am not what I was in the beginning.  I have a few worn spots as well, but I know I will as comfortable with you as you were with me at that time long ago.  We were very good together, and I believe we took care of each other like the lovers we were.  These past 12 years I have remained true to our monogamous relationship.  Not once have I ever been with another.  I hope that it is the same for you.  In my heart I know you treasured our relationship.  We related to each other like hand and glove, like foot and shoe.

You tell me that you now have some health issues that keep you apart from me.  You know I have certain physical deficiencies that come with age.  We are alike in this situation.  I sense that your problems are physical in nature, and that you would never be able to have the closeness we once had.  I can live with this as I feel the same.  What does it matter that we cannot perform as we did long ago?

Perhaps we can enjoy those quiet moments after our energy was depleted, and we sat around with others and shared our experience.  We were able to meet others that enjoyed the same things as we did.  I recall some individuals that I became quite close to.  I noted that they were from the same background as me.  I wonder if their partners are still enjoying life with them.  I suspect they share our similar situation.  Hopefully they are all still together.  Please, let’s reconnect.  Again, we can move slowly.  We are much older now.  I will wait patiently for your contact.”

“You are my dearest friend. It simply cannot ever be the same for us.  My body is not what it once was.  I suffer from joint arthritis, and my muscles just are not as fit any more.  My heart has treated me poorly.  I developed Arial Fibrillation, in my advanced age.  I even have a heart pace maker device which allows my old heart to keep a regular beat.  I’m afraid I just could not offer you the sort of excitement that we enjoyed long ago.  You say you are willing to accept our advanced aging conditions.  Moving slow will be a big change for us.  I love you for your kindness and understanding. If you sincerely are truly agreeable to come together again, I admit I am willing to give it a try.

I will contact you soon.  Please give me a few weeks to try and improve my physical and mental condition so that our bonding will not be so strange and uncomfortable. 

I look forward to our meeting. I am genuinely convinced our old love is here to stay.

Until we meet again soon, I will be thinking of you my dear old, reliable running shoes.”

WHAT ELSE CAN GO WRONG??

Hello to visitors to my blog.  Most know that Travel Tales started out as a blog that revisited many of my interesting experiences as a business world traveler.  After 35 years, 77 foreign countries, and logging 1.7 million air miles, there were a few stories I had to tell.  Those are all included in this blog.

I recently started writing some short stories.  These were true, mostly non-fiction accounts of other experiences.  I included some Tales of the "This and That" in our lives.  Stories that I thought would interest some readers.

This short story is a tale of an experience that taught me a valuable life lesson.  Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Please let me know what you think.  Citiques are welcome.

WHAT ELSE CAN GO WRONG?

At age twenty I was doing OK. After high school, I had managed to pass college entrance exams and was now in my third year at university.  My grades were decent, and my girl friend of five years was still hanging with me.  We had planned to be married next year and live just off campus in a small apartment I had staked out.  She had been offered a job in a local bank, and would start working before our marriage.  I had been fortunate in being able to find part time work.  We would need every penny we could scrounge up. “Yeah,” I said to my room mate and best friend, “It doesn’t get much better than this.”

I sipped a cold beer that Friday evening.  It was hot and humid in our college apartment.  We had no air conditioner, and the four of us were enjoying a night off from the drudgery of studying.  Enjoying an occasional “brewski” with our college mates was the least expensive form of entertainment we enjoyed on the weekend. We had been bantering about a number of subjects. Murphy’s Law had been tonight’s topic for discussion.  “I don’t believe in ‘Old Wife’s Tales,” I remarked.  “Things just happen in our world. You have some little influence on your own good and bad luck.”  “Sometimes I wonder about that Tom,” commented Earl.  “We make decisions based upon the current given facts.  It is only later on that we find out if we made the right decision.”  Tom rolled over on his bunk, sat up and said, “Murphy’s Law says ‘If anything can go wrong, it will.’ That makes no sense whatsoever.”  Ed, our mathematician, made his views known.  “Look, at the end of our lives if we all get together and honestly review the good and bad of it, we will find that we each experienced roughly the same number of good and bad experiences.  Murphy’s Law is a bunch of crap.”

It was getting late, and we had a rule that at midnight all noise in the apartment was verboten.  No talking, no music, no partying. If we didn’t enforce the rule ourselves, our grumpy land lord would be pounding on our door. We all glanced at the clock, and began putting our empties into a large plastic garbage container.  Our absentee roommate, Vern had volunteered this month to take out all our garbage to the dumpster in the back of our building.  “Where does Vern go on Friday nights?”  I said, “You know he doesn’t drink, and besides I think he has a girlfriend.” “Yeah he is a little secretive.” “What else would you expect from someone that wants to be an Entomologist?”  “I’d be interested in hearing what ‘Bug Man’ has to say about Murphy’s Law,” Earl said.

“What’s up for Saturday and Sunday guys?” Ed said to no one in particular.  “I’m going to bed,” I said.  I have to bike out to Sears for my morning job in their garden shop.” “I meant for tomorrow night.  Why don’t we pool our cash and go see that new scary flick in town?  It’s called PSYCHO, and the reviews say it will scare the piss out of you.”

As I pedaled out to the Sears Roebuck store, I again thought of just how lucky I was.  I had great friends, school was going well, and the greatest girl I had ever met was soon to be my wife.  I wondered about a job after graduation; kids, and just making ends meet. I parked my bike in an area so designated; combed my hair, checked my Sears shirt with my name on it, and strolled into the office.  “Tom, could I see you for a minute,” announced by boss. He was a nice guy who would eventually retire from a career as a Sear’s employee.  “Sure,” I said, “What’s up?”  “Tom, I’m sorry to tell you that the front office has told all Dept Managers that we need to lay off a number of our college part time help.  I know its bad news, but I don’t really have a choice.  You’ve been a great employee, and I will definitely try to hire you back when things change.  You can work today until noon, and we will pay you for a full day.”

‘Great,’ I thought.  I knew I had to find another job for just my routine daily expenses.  I had no trouble in finding part time work in the past.  Local merchants liked to hire college students.  The wages were on the low side, and there was no need to provide any insurance coverage or other benefits.

After lunch, I said goodbye to the rest of the crew, and headed out to get my bike.  When I got to the bike rack I noticed many were tipped over, and my own was missing. A local policeman was walking around with a clip board.  He took my name, address and phone number.  I described the bike.  Fat chance I would get it back.  I dug some change out of my pocket, and called the apartment.  Our oldest roomy had a car, and I hoped he was home and able to drive out and pick me up.  The landlord found Earl working on his car. “Hey Earl, I’ve just been canned, and my bike was stolen.  Can you  pick me up?”  On the drive back I commented, “Well at least I have the term paper typing work.” I had an old manual typewriter that my folks had given me as a high school graduation present.  Also a gift was a fancy suitcase.  I wondered at the time if my destiny was to travel and do typing work.

Ed met us at the car.  He said, “Tom, I have some bad news. I let a friend use your typewriter and he busted it. The damn TV tray table collapsed”  “What?” I shouted. “I lose my job; someone steals my bike, now your ‘friend’ broke my typewriter.  I need that typewriter to earn the money I get from students who hire me to type their papers!”  Ed swore to me that he would scrape together the money to buy me another one.  Since Ed seemed not to need to work, I wasn’t too hopeful.

Sleep did not come easy for me that night.  I had to get up early for a 7:30 class in one of the old, hot and uncomfortable lecture halls.  “Crap,” I muttered to myself as I climbed the stairs to my seat.  Chuck greeted me, “Good morning Tom, you look like hell.”  Chuck was a few years older than I, and was married.  I had been the subject of a few lectures when he found out I would be married soon. Some of the ‘Do and Don’t Do” of married life. I respected his opinions. He said, “Two weeks ago I started working for a furniture outlet in town.  I do mostly deliveries, and two guys are needed for this job.  The owner asks his nephew to help me when he can. He is not a good worker, and I bet I could get him to hire you.”  “That’s fantastic,” I exclaimed.  It couldn’t come at a better time.

Three days later Chucked picked me up, and we drove to my new job.  I was given coveralls, leather gloves and a speech about expected work habits by the owner of the furniture store.  “You can count on Tom, he is a dedicated and dependable worker,” said my friend.  I had given him the contact information on my boss at Sears.  I made a mental note to stop by Sears and thank my old boss.  This was a piece of good news for a change.

One of my specific tasks was to always double check the complicated locking device on the rear swing gate of the open-back delivery truck.  Things had been going smoothly for almost a week.  The owner dashed into the coffee room and told Chuck and I that he had an emergency delivery.  “I can sell a whole lot more to this family if we can get this bedroom suite delivered today.  It is a surprise for their newly married daughter.”  We jumped up, and Chuck backed the truck up to the delivery dock.  “Be quick,” the owner was saying as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation of a big sale. We helped loading the fancy bedroom furniture into the back of the truck.  “Let’s go,” yelled Chuck.  I jumped in the passenger seat and we tore out of the lot headed for one of the fancier neighborhoods in the city.  Chuck was stopped at a red light.  It turned green, and he accelerated while making a hard right turn.  We heard a loud “crash, bang.”  I looked in the rear view mirror and gasped when I saw all the furniture lying in the middle of the intersection.  We jumped out and stood, with mouths open, as every beautiful, hand made wooden item of the bedroom suite lay in pieces.  A local cop screeched to a halt and began to direct traffic as Chuck and I picked up large pieces of the dresser mirror.  I stupidly said, “Good thing we have these heavy gloves.”  Chuck was pointing his finger at me.  He said, “Did you secure the rear gate?”  I was in shock as I realized that I had not done my job.

We both stood before the red-faced owner of the store.  He said, “Well I do have insurance, but it will not nearly cover the cost of the damage.  I’ll have the bookkeeper figure out our loss, and I will expect both of you to work without pay until we are even.” “What else can go wrong,” I said to Chuck as we walked out to his car.  “At least we weren’t fired.”  I asked Chuck if he had heard of Murphy’s Law.  He looked at me funny, but said nothing.  Not only had I royally screwed up, but I had cost my good friend several hundred dollars most likely.  He said, “Hey don’t worry so much.  This was a freak accident, and we will work through it.  This is a good life’s lesson.”  I said, “Yeah,”  Things just happen.”

When we arrived back at our apartment, Ed rushed out, grabbed my arm saying, “Look Tom I told my Dad about the typewriter.  He is going to try and find an old one for you at his office.”  “Yeah, but how soon will that happen?”  I was holding two telephone messages for call-backs that were in my lobby mail box.  “Great,” I moaned after calling back, “My term paper typing jobs are being cancelled.  They need the work by this next weekend.  I told them I was getting another typewriter, but no one wants to take a chance.”  Ed pleaded his case.  “Maybe we can hire some office in town to type them.” “That won’t work,” I said, “That will cost me more than I am charging the students.”

“I’m gonna take a walk,” I told Chuck and Ed.  They watched me walk away with my head down.  “For God sakes don’t mention anything about Murphy’s Law unless you want a busted nose.”  “We better make sure Earl and Vern know about Tom’s run of bad luck.

I returned to our room feeling slightly better.  We sat around in somewhat of a gloomy atmosphere.  Ed had purchased a six pack of beer at the local Deli. There was a knock on the door.  The landlord said there was a call waiting for Ed in the lobby.  A moment later he came bounding up the stairs, burst into the room and shouted.  “Tom, guess what, my Dad has your typewriter.  He and my Mom are bringing it down this weekend.”  I turned to my friends, raised up my arms and stated: “Does this mean I am finally free of Murphy’s Law?” Ed then handed me a telephone note from my fiancée. She said she wanted to talk to me.  “Oh shit,” I thought.


NOTE:  I have received e-mails from you readers asking about the "Origin of the saying: MURPHY'S LAW."
Here is a site that perhaps gives the answer:
                     http://www.murphys-laws.com/murphy/murphy-true.html

TRAGEDY AMIDST BEAUTY...a true story!

TRAGEDY AMIDST BEAUTY …a true story

I popped open one eye, exhaled and saw my breath. It was a very cold early morning inside our wooden floor, canvas tent cabin. The small thermometer clipped to my down sleeping bag zipper said 28 degrees……”Brrrrrrr,” I whispered to myself. Lifting my head I could see that the human forms inside the other bags had started to stir. My daughter, Sister, brother-in-law, and their son had exposed their noses only. All were awake and, I hoped, eager to prepare for our planned climb.

“Let’s decide who gets up and makes coffee,” I said. “Ok, each of you pick a number from 1 to 20.” I thought this a clever plan as it would exclude yours truly…heh, heh! My sister Pam volunteered with only minor grumbling. She began gathering up the necessary stuff; backpacking gas stove, coffee grounds, filter bag, and stainless steel pot. Feeling slightly guilty, I offered to fetch the water from outside our tent. This was enough to motivate all the others to exit the warmth of their bags into the icy cold mountain air. The usual shivering and moaning followed as each set a speed record in getting dressed. They took inventory: a couple of shirts for layering, shorts, heavy socks, and our day hiking boots. “Don’t forget your rubberized gloves as they will assist with the steel cable part of the climb.” I reminded all to bring a light weight nylon wind breaker as the top of our ascent would be windy. Also part of the early 16.4 mile round trip trail would have blowing, cold mist from the water falls. We all had fanny packs to hold sunscreen, water, sun glasses, camera, and a few energy bars. I would carry a small first-aid kit.
All of us had a lot of backpacking experience, and this day hike should prove to be a piece of cake. The climb was very steep after the first few miles, and rated difficult. Good physical condition was required for the full round trip climb. The good news is that no heavy back packs were needed for this one, long day trip.

There was always something special about that first cup of coffee on a cold morning, and a lot of eager sighs were heard as we drank the hot and strong wake-up brew. We all jumped up and down to encourage circulation. Our daughter had already fired up her stove and was boiling water for the oatmeal breakfast that would fortify us for the steep trail climb to the top.

“Ok, let’s review our plan,” I said after breakfast. I saw some eyes roll up with a here- comes-the-lecture murmur, but everyone knew that was the S.O.P. before any group hike. “It is clear that this is a very popular hiking route here in Yosemite Valley, especially the first 2 miles. This Vernal Falls trail, as you can see on your trail map, parallels the outflow of the 2 water falls. It is named the Mist Trail for a reason. Rocks close to the falls can be treacherously slick. Everyone must carry a hiking staff. The number of hikers will dramatically fall off beyond the top of the falls.”

Everyone was joking and chatting as we began our trek at 7:30 a.m. All were excited about the thought of actually standing on top of the signature Yosemite Valley landmark. We were headed to the rounded top of Half Dome, that imposing piece of granite with it’s glacially sliced off front that faced the Yosemite Valley floor. I suspect that every person in the world, excepting the most remotely hidden primitive tribes, had seen pictures of this breathtaking site.

We all breathed a sigh of relief when we finally passed the last of the hiking crowd milling around the foot bridge at the top of The Mist Trail. We stopped to chat with a few hikers, and we snapped some photos of the roaring water fall. I heard one of our group say “now for the real fun part of the climb.”

I reminded everyone to drink plenty of water, even if not thirsty. I knew I was ‘preaching to the choir,’ but I did not want any unexpected delays caused by someone ignoring a basic rule that applied to any extended physical activity.

We had settled into a comfortable climbing pace. There was the occasional grunt or two, and a few shout outs of ‘wow, will you look at that.” It was then that we saw the first WARNING sign: “DANGEROUS during and after lightning and rain storms. SERIOUS INJURY AND DEATH have resulted from: falls on wet, slick rock; lightning strikes to hikers on exposed terrain. EVALUATE WEATHER before proceeding past this point.” We purposely had begun this difficult hike early to allow us to reach the summit of Half Dome before noon. We would eat a lunch, take some pictures, and begin the descent after one hour maximum. We were well aware of the common rain, thunder and lightning storms that struck all high granite peaks in the mountains almost daily.

We approached the bottom of the famous steel cable and two by four wooden ladder that we had to climb to reach the top of half dome. There were no other hikers waiting to take this last, but somewhat perilous ascent to the top. The ladder was steep, and hugged the sheer, bare granite side of this monolith. We put on our rubberized gloves, and I asked one last time if anyone wanted to skip this part of the climb. Looking straight up did cause one to gasp a little. We said a silent prayer and each began the climb. No one seemed to have any fear, so all ended up safely on the top. No one looked downward or backward during the climb. All eyes had been steady on the few feet up and in front.

We all walked to the center of the relatively flat granite surface and started taking in the views. ‘WOW’ was a unanimous exclamation as we stood back to back in awe of the magnificent 360 degree view. Immediately everyone snagged their cameras from their fanny packs and began snapping pictures. It was a good day for Kodak as each of us shot a full roll of 36 images or more. I dared to slither to an edge looking over the valley below. I secured the camera strap around my neck and arm; pointed it downward, and clicked off several shots. I hoped that at least a few would turn out as I could not actually view the camera’s lens image.

Everyone now put on their “I MADE IT TO THE TOP” souvenir T Shirt, and more photos were taken.

The descent off the peak and the return hike started for us before our one hour limit. No one wanted to push our good luck.

After we had only hiked for 30 minutes, we encountered a group of teen-agers hiking up. I suggested that is was rather late for them to be attempting a climb to the top. I told them there were distant dark clouds in the horizon. They said they read the signs, but all seemed to agree that they were at no risk. I repeated the warning and noted that there had been lightning storms almost every day and evening during the week. We all said a ‘good luck’ and continued on down the trail.
The hike down was almost as difficult as the ascent. Our knees took a pounding. We did have a minor sprained ankle. After pausing to wrap the ankle, we finished up the hike mid-afternoon. Our injured member soaked his ankle in some ice cold water, and the rest of us took turns under the shower. Getting rid of the sweat and trail dust was always something to look forward to.

After we had changed clothes we piled into one of our trucks and headed for the five star dinner we had promised ourselves as reward for our efforts. We had reservations at the very famous Ahwahnee Hotel. It was early for the dinner hour so we had no trouble getting seated. The thunder sounded before we had finished our salads. Looking out the tall picture windows in the dining room, we could see that it had become much darker. Rain was now falling and lightning flashes could be seen. The following thunder told us the storm still might be miles away. Each of us thought about the young folks that passed us intent on climbing to the top. I hoped that they had heeded the warning signs, and had found shelter prior to the final climb away from the open granite surface.

As other diners began taking their seats, the buzz was about the storm and the hope that no one was caught at the top of Half Dome. I did mention the kids we had seen making the late climb. The lightning and thunder had intensified, and the storm had moved into the valley. Rain was pouring down and we could see puddles forming out in the meadow and parking lot. Guests inside the hotel had now begun to crowd around the windows with a view of the Ahwahnee meadow. It was now too dark to see the top of Half Dome as the black clouds of the violent storm had covered it up.
The low scream of a siren now penetrated the dining room. People were now talking about the people that had been caught on top of Half Dome. Next we heard the “whup, whup, whup” of a helicopter. The helicopter gently set down in the meadow as a ground crew ran to the chopper. In a few minutes it lifted off again. Someone next to us noted that the chopper was a large one with a super-charged engine that could operate at the higher altitude. A rescue was clearly in operation. The faces of the young kids we had passed now flashed before my eyes. I prayed that they were OK. The storm continued, but the rain was now very light, and the thunder and lightning showed less frequently.

My sister, a registered nurse, volunteered her service, but was told that adequate personnel were already standing by. It seemed like an eternity had passed, but a glance at my watch indicated only one hour had elapsed since the rescue alert had been sounded. The rescue chopper returned to the meadow. The stand-by ground crew rushed out with two stretchers.

As we finally got the news, our hearts seemed to sink, as the reports were bad. One person had been blown off the top, and was found dead on the loose granite rocky scree slope at the base of the peak. Another had died on the top. Three more were seriously burned. After 3 more trips we learned that all of the hikers had been brought down. Two ambulances, with lights flashing, awaited the loading of the injured that would be taken to a nearby trauma center outside the park. A black hearse slowly backed up to the edge of the meadow. Two bodies were eventually loaded into the back of this vehicle. The loud speaker inside the hotel was announcing the outcome of the rescue efforts. People were whispering about the sad news. Many crowded into the bar to sit quietly and talk about these tragic events.

We learned about past incidences very similar to what we had just witnessed. Many had died here in this beautiful setting. All of us talked about our past hiking experiences, and how really lucky we had been. I said that “It was more than luck……we all respect the wilderness and we always behaved like the visitors we knew we were.” I posed a question to all our group: "Does anyone feel strongly that we were just lucky? That it just wasn't our 'time' today?" One response sort of spoke for everyone: "I think maybe we had a little luck, but mostly I think it was our experience and thorough preparation." No one seemed to dispute this statement.

A prayer was said for the deceased, injured, and their loved ones. "Dear Lord we ask that you care for the souls of those who lost their life. Impart wisdom to those that were spared. Lastly, please touch the hearts of their loved ones, and allow them the understanding of your presence. Help to heal their psychological wounds....Amen." A few tears were shed. This beautiful summer's day of July 27, 1985 would be remembered by us all as one of the most "good, bad, and ugly" time of our lives.

The short drive back to our tent was a quiet one. We all sat around a fire pit talking about our experience and how it had changed our lives. About midnight I poked out the fire, and said good night to each. The ensuing dreams were those of the faces of the victims. No one slept well.

BELOW ARE SOME PHOTOS TAKEN ON THIS FUN & SAD DAY

                                                                                                     

                      

                                                                                         

                                                                                                                                                  

****SPOOKY!!

"It was just the setting that triggered your imagination to "think" you saw something that wasn't there."  My friend was just itching to say it again: "Remember that like it or not, you are one of THEM!"

So remarks a friend as we discussed certain wilderness trips in the west that we experienced in our younger, more adventurous days. I had mentioned an  unusual experience I had on one backpacking trip into the Desolation Wilderness in the El Dorado National Forest just immediately south and west of Lake Tahoe.

At the time we lived in the San Jose area, and needed to drive up into the Sierras on Highway 50 to deal with some paperwork relating to a lot we owned north of Placerville. I had just completed a hectic foreign travel business trip, and thought I would like to take a three day backpacking trek into this beautiful and desolate part of the Sierras to "unwind." We picked up my wilderness pass before we began the picturesque drive down Highway 89 toward Emerald Bay.

I  decided that I would go solo, but would bring our German Sheppard Dodger along on the trek.  He had gone with me on other trips, and did just fine, even carrying his own food supply in his doggie pack.

My wife dropped me off at a trail head near the bottom of beautiful Emerald Bay.  I had made arrangements to get a ride home with others.

As Dodger and I headed up the trail, I turned around for a view of the bay which takes on the look of an appendage to Lake Tahoe......quite the breath-taking site!

The trail headed straight uphill where it would meet the Pacific Crest trail that ran north and south through the middle of D.W. We crested the hill and were greeted by a beautiful boulder strewn valley.  The small Rubicon River ran parallel to the Pacific Trail, and the Crystal Range was the background. I read where this massive rock wall lit up orange at sunrise.

We hiked down the P.C. trail for another mile or so, and I dumped the pack just about 50 yards off the trail above Dick's Lake. After laying out the ground tarp, and setting up the rain tarp over it, Dodge and I headed for the lake for a dip.  I brought the collapsible water jug to give us water for dinner and breakfast.  Dodger beat me to the water; took a big drink and then did a swim out with a quick u-turn. I stripped down and jumped in, anxious to wash off the trail dust....."YIKES, " the cold water was a shock and really got my blood pumping!

After dinner, Dodger plopped down next to my sleeping bag, and I took advantage of the remaining light to get further into the paperback book I had packed. I then cleared a space; shoved some of the larger rocks into a circle,  and started a small fire using some of the dead wood I found under the trees. 

The Sun set behind the Crystal Range, and I decided to turn in.  I set my digital watch alarm to wake me early so I could get a few shots of the sunrise on the massive rock wall to our west across the Rubicon River. I tossed a few more larger pieces of dead wood onto the fire, and crawled in the bag, and Dodger snuggled up next to me. It seemed we both felt more secure when we could feel each other's body next to our own. He was great company and stayed close to my side at all times. There was a time on a  Kings Canyon park trip where he fell off a large tree that we were using to cross a swollen creek in an early Spring with heavy run off. Much excitement as I ran parallel to his swiftly floating 90 pound mass, and finally jump out in front of him as I grabbed his body and we both kicked to the beach........another time, another story.

Frost greeted us when we woke in the early, pre-sunrise frigid air.  I forced myself up and started the camp stove to boil some water.  After I poured a cup of coffee, I heated more water into which I dumped a packet of Oatmeal and freeze dried fruit.  Dodger gobbled his breakfast and then wandered off to take care of business.

The big guy came back and lay down with his ears on alert, as he stared across the valley below us to a fixed point almost 300 yards away.  He started to emit a deep throated growl never breaking his concentration. I looked, but saw nothing.  I poured myself another cup of coffee and sat down next to my furry guardian. I again tried to pick out the spot he had fixed upon, and all of a sudden something darted from behind one boulder to another.....maybe 1.5 seconds I guessed was all the time it took.  It seemed to be an upright figure. I thought most likely a fisherman or other hiker. Dodger increased the volume of the growl.  I knew there were perhaps Marmots up here, but doubted there were bears as I thought the elevation might be too high.  Maybe a Mountain Lion? If Dodger had recognized the movement as  humankind, he would have stood up and begun to wag his tail.  Dodge wanted to befriend every stranger he met.

I cupped my hands over my eyes and sat staring for maybe two or three more minutes.  Dodger kept still, and nothing moved in the distance.  I was just about to conclude the entire episode was my imagination running wild, but Dodger was still on high alert, his hair standing up now on his back and neck.  I was just turning back to the shelter when I again saw movement in my peripheral vision.  Dodger increased the volume of his growl.  I waited again for five minutes or so, decided that we did not want any part of a Mountain Lion attack out here in the middle of nowhere.

It was an easy decision for me to make, as I did not want to risk another night in the dark. We would skip a second overnight here, and get moving right now to the finish of our hike at Echo Lake and highway 50.  I never did get the sunrise photo, so found one on-line.  This beautiful shot (and others can be seen at www.fabulousnature.com

The final trek was a fast one, as I continuously cranked my neck to the right hoping not to see any more evidence of our "mysterious tracker."  I held my six inch Buck lock-back knife open and clenched in my right hand during the entire hike. Dodger also would occasionally glance toward the ridge where we both saw "movement."

When we arrived several hours later at the first public building, I telephoned my friend to advise of our schedule change.  I asked a ranger about the animals that roamed the Desolation Wilderness area.  He did confirm that there have been Mountain Lion sightings. I related what I "thought I saw," and he just looked at me with a funny grin.  I knew I should have skipped over the part where I said: "The thing was standing upright and ran in that position....."  The ranger told me that there had been no access permit issued to anyone that stated they would be in this particular area of the Wilderness.

On the way back home my friend, joked about the story, and said: "Well it seems that you now are forever going to be included in the looney bunch who claim they saw Yeti or the Abominable Snowman.  I can't wait to bring this up at our next party!"

The rest of the ride was subdued as I kept telling myself that it would be quite obvious to anyone to easily note the difference between a Mountain Lion and a crazed human stalker. I was a sane and very practical person. I would forever wonder what we had seen on that day hiking Desolation Wilderness.

There is a small hamlet right here in our own Siskiyou Mountain range that claims to be the "BIG FOOT" capital of the world.  You will enjoy this attached article written by John Flynn .  It appeared on line when I opened my internet news site......."In Search of Sasquatch"

http://www.viamagazine.com/destinations/essay-search-sasquatch?

****Vlad The Impaler, A Real Pain In The Butt!

Deep within a dark forest, high on a hill sits the castle of ........

I had contracted with a new agent in Romania. This country, seeing the end of Communism after a 1989 revolution, was begining to grow economically.  Our agent had started a business and had visited with me at a recent trade show in England.  They were receiving training on our systems, and invited me to visit their offices near Bucharest.

Awwwww!.....the story of the developing businesses in this formerly repressed country is pretty boring. My two agents were competent technical engineers, and I could see the gradual development of their thriving business. The new government seemed quite interested in what our company had to offer to assist dealing with certain problems of a growing "free enterprise" economy.

They convinced me that a tour of the city of Bucharest was pretty dull.  A drive north to the country and a visit to a very famous site, I was assured, would be more interesting.

After a great lunch with these two guys they finally began to tell me of our intended tour of Bran Castle. All of a sudden I realized that we were going to visit the very famous Castle of Count Dracula. We packed into the car and began the drive on the narrow country roads, through the forests of Transylvania toward this famous landmark made legend by the Irish author Bram Stoker in 1897.

             To better understand this story, I was told it all started in the mid 15th century with Prince Vlad III of Wallachia. Old Vlad, I learned, was famous for his resitance to the Ottoman Empire and its aggressive expansion in Vlady's back yard.  The more famous name for this character was "Vlad The Impaler." This is Russian for "Son of the Dragon." He would punish and kill his captured enemies by impaling them on sharpened stakes......good thing that cameras were not invented then. This drawing will give you some idea.  I guess Vlad was known to set up a banquet table as he watched his enemies die.....yuchh!

Moving right along.....Bram Stoker used the stories of Vlad the Impaler to inspire his book about the vampire Count Dracula.

I learned that there are many variations of the story of Count Dracula, and that this castle was one of many used to relate and illustrate the legend. There is no evidence that Bram Stoker even knew of Bran Castle.

The castle tour proved to be fascinating.  I tried to imagine people living in the cold of this stark and imposing structure built in 1313.  There were hidden passageways, rooms and other stark and frightening reminders of Vlad's presence.

The castle is located in the vicinity of Brasov, and is a national monument in Romania.  Road side booths were hawking all kinds of Dracula souveniers.  We bought some local wine & Vodka to test that evening at our dinner meeting.  The wine, of course, being red.  Not too bad I remember.

Those who might find that Bucharest is scheduled on their European tour, must make time for a visit to Count Dracula's lair deep in the dark forest, high on a hill in Transylvania.

Today I note that the stories of Vampires seems to be in the news a lot.  I'm not sure of the fascination, but the movie DRACULA could be an influence.  This movie poster is a little frightening.

For those interested in the history of the legend, I suggest one of the books available at Amazon and shown here.

JAPAN BOMBS OREGON?

Most of us know that the first real air raid retaliation by the USA on Japan's homeland, in retaliation to the attack on Pearl Harbor, came on April 18, 1942 when Lt. Col JIMMY DOOLITTLE led sixteen US Air Force B-25B bombers launched from the Navy's carrier USS Hornet.  The bold raid was basically unsuccessful, but sent a clear message to the Japanese that they were vulnerable to attack, and that they had "awakened a sleeping giant."

Enraged at the invasion of their homeland, Emperor Hirohito and military top brass devised a secret plan to ignite the forests of the American mainland with incendiary bombs. It was thought that a large part of the Northwest USA could be burned up, and instill fear into the USA citizens and destroy their morale.....Americans would be in a "panic!"

Enter at "stage left" soon-to-be-famous Chief warrant officer and pilot  Nubuo Fujita. Nubuo was called upon to lead the invasion. In fact it could be said that Fujita WAS  the invasion.  His small  two crew float pontoon plane was to be partially disassembled and carried by a submarine to a position off the Coast of Oregon.  Oregon, after all, had large forests and would be the perfect spot to drop the incendiary bombs to create the huge fire maelstrom! His small plane would be reassembled and launched from the sub via a catapult.  He had practiced many times for this major war event.

Fujita was excited, but disappointed that he would not be bombing Los Angeles or San Francisco.

On September 9th, Nubuo Fujita was preparing for his "daring" secret mission that would propel him into the history books. He carried his family's 400 year old Samurai sword in the cockpit as he had done on his mission to Pearl Harbor December 7, 1941. Fujita said later that if he was forced down, he could use the sword to end his life rather than be captured by the enemy!

He and his one man crew lifted into the sky and headed for the coast of Oregon.  The fishing town of Brookings was peaceful.....the citizens had no clue that they were in the midst of an enemy air attack.

The "attack plane" dropped their bombs from 8200 feet. One of the two bombs ended up being a dud.

At the same time, a little past noon, a local fire lookout radioed in a fire report. The blaze was located and quickly extinguished.  Within a few hours the US military and the FBI were on the scene.  US Air Force coastal patrol ultimately spotted the submarine, but Fujita had beat
a hasty retreat unable to view the intended "massive forest fire", and the sub submerged and headed back to Japanese waters. Thus concluded the first and only enemy airplane raid over the continental United States

The rest of the war in the Pacific is history.

We now move to 1962, Brookings Oregon.  The citizens of Brookings were desperate to attract more visitors to their annual Azalea Festival.  Some creative person suggested that they locate the former Japanese pilot and invite him to attend the festival as a sort of "forgive and forget" gesture from his former enemies. 

Of course there would need to be some major assurances that old Nubuo was not being sought for a trial as a war criminal!

The ultimate visit by the Fujita family was a huge success.  Nubuo, expressing his deepest apologies, presented his centuries-old Samurai sword to the City of Brookings.  It still resides in the town library.  This photo shows Nubuo inspecting the final resting place of his family's Samurai sword.

Many of the Brookings citizens met with Fujita.

Nubuo was very grateful, and vowed that upon his return to Japan he would work hard to organize a visit to Japan for some American students.  In 1985 Fujita made good on his promise.  Three honor students from Brookings Harbor High School were on their way to Japan compliments of the former bomber pilot turned peacemaker.

Nubuo Fujita passed away on Sept 30, 1997.  He had been made an honorary citizen of Brookings Oregon, U.S.A.  Many tears were shed on this sad day....both in Brookings and in Japan.

***** A Dutch Mugging in Amsterdam

Amsterdam, Holland, is a fascinating city. The Dutch engineering accomplishments in keeping an entire ocean from flooding the seven hundred fifty thousand inhabitants in this below sea level city is amazing.

A boat tour is a good way to see the many canals and the hundreds of houseboat, barge-type dwellings. I learned that these homes were permanent in that they were not actively mobile. They were handed down from generation to generation. The boat houses were anchored and tied up to the concrete sides of the canals. Amsterdam has more canals then Venice, and hundreds of small bridges over these famous, narrow waterways.

This old city was the perfect place for a walking tour. I loaded my fanny pack with map; brochures, and set off to see the sights in this compact town. The streets off the canals were narrow, and the buildings were packed together like row houses. I was told that the heavy wooden beam and pulley system protruding out from the roof of each house was used to haul large items up to the particular residence or business on the upper floors. The stairs were narrow and were just not practical for large deliveries.

I visited the famous Anne Frank House which now is a small museum. This was a somber experience and you are allowed to walk freely through the museum. Anne Frank and her family were hidden here during the Second World War occupation by the Nazis. You will not be able to visit without having a tear form as you study the lives of this family and this courageous, little girl.

What was then a Sonesta Hotel near the city Centrum area was my new digs for this business trip. I had arranged a meeting with my friend Ralph, who worked for a large East Coast USA company that was forming a new division. This business group would act as a security industry contractor doing site survey, engineering and installation work for our systems being designed for large facilities.

Ralph was booked into another hotel, and we had set up a dinner get-together at the world famous Five Flies restaurant near city center. The Five Flies is a five star eating establishment across from Amsterdam’s History Museum. It is very old, and was rated as the city’s No. 1 Best Restaurant when I was visiting. We were to meet in the bar for a drink, and then enjoy a leisurely dinner as we discussed our possible future business arrangements.

A glance out of my hotel room window that evening revealed a gloomy sky, and the weather forecast was for rain. I removed my business dress shoes and laced up the old reliable running shoes. I grabbed my wool hat, rain coat, and collapsible fold-up umbrella. I must have gone through a dozen of these handy travel umbrellas during my travels. Leaving them on taxi and bus seats and in hotel rooms was not uncommon for me. The hotel concierge shouted to me as I passed his station: “Have a good evening Mr. McGhee, and mind the rain that is due in about an hour.”

Heading out of the lobby entrance, I decided to take another walk on one of the canal streets I had yet not visited. It was already dark, and many of the old house boats were lit up like Christmas trees. Occasionally a window drape was left open and I could see folks moving about, preparing their dinners, and some reading or watching TV.

There weren’t that many people out walking this early evening. Since the cars were packed tightly on the narrow streets, and not an open space in sight. I assumed most residences were at home, and anticipating the coming storm, decided to stay in for the evening.

Glancing at my small city center map, I could see that I was only a few blocks from the Five Flies restaurant. A small car had been circling the block, and I assumed was seeking a parking spot. Each time it passed me the driver would slow and look in my direction. I began to be a little apprehensive as I was the only one out on this small and dark street. My pace picked up considerably as the car had circled now, for the third time, and drove slowly past me. His brake lights went on about fifty meters up the street, and I supposed he had found that rare parking space.


The driver emerged from his car and began walking towards me; the collar of his coat turned up, and a hat pulled low on his forehead. “Uh Oh,” I uttered, and now began looking around for possible escape routes from what I was certain was a mugging in the making. My heart began racing. I reached into my right coat pocket and grasped the stubby umbrella. It had a solid metal, slightly rounded tip that might serve as a defense weapon. I could hear my heart pounding.

If I could keep him from getting too close, I knew I could certainly out run him. As he moved to within about forty feet from me I noticed he had his hand inside his coat pocket. I thought ‘Damn, he has a knife or gun.’ Can someone own a gun in Holland? I raised my arm and said, “Can I help you?” He did not answer, and maybe did not speak English. He kept coming closer. I said more loudly, “Stop right there!” He now sort of shrugged his shoulders upward, but kept walking.

My adrenaline was, by now, pumping at a high level. I was definitely in a fight or flight mental mode. Surprise was a useful weapon in a one on one fight. He was now only a few feet from me and had not said a word. Without thinking further I lunged out with the umbrella, and with all the force I could muster, drove the tip of the umbrella into his breast bone. This would-be mugger went down like a sack of potatoes. He was holding his chest and writhing about on the cobblestone street. He was moaning but I could not make out a word he was saying. The ‘flight’ part of my frantic thoughts now took hold, and I sprinted away as fast as I could. I turned a corner and noticed that my assailant did not try to pursue. I slowed and ducked behind a parked car looking back toward the dark street. No one appeared, and my heart rate had slowed somewhat. Now I was worried that he was seriously injured and might need medical assistance. I thought ‘should I check on him to see if he is seriously injured?’ ‘Jeez, I thought…I could go to jail for assault.’ I doubted that he got a good look at my face. I could beat it to the restaurant and just forget about the whole incident.

Using the parked cars as a shield, I did a slow stoop-walk back to where I could look back at the scene of attack. The guy, obviously in serious pain, was in a sitting position on the sidewalk. He was bent over holding his chest. I walked down the center of the street keeping my eyes on him. When I was about ten feet away I said, “Do you speak English?” He nodded yes and proceeded to try and stand up. I still had the umbrella in my hand and raised it. He shook his head from side to side and held up his hand, palm facing me, and sat back down. I said, “The police have been summoned, so do not move. He then stood; backed up and sat down on a small concrete step in front of a door. There was still no one around that I could ask to help. I slowly walked up to him and said “You were going to rob me.” “No, no, no….” he moaned. He then said, “I just vant to know vere de vomans are.” I paused trying to understand him, and then realized he was asking where the Red Light District was. I reached in my pocket for my money clip, and ‘donated’ twenty dollars to his cause. I led him to the corner, and pointed in the direction I knew to be the area where he would find what he sought. I watched him for a few seconds as he slowly walked away rubbing his chest.

The absence of a policeman in the area maybe had been lucky for me. Any legal action might not have thrown me a break. I turned around and walked the opposite direction to circle around the block to the Five Flies restaurant. Entering this famous eating establishment, I headed for the bar where I found Ralph. He said, “what in the hell took you so long?” I replied, “You’re never going to believe it.”