Happy New Year! ~Red Clam Chowder Recipe

Hey, the hot sauce is just a suggestion...

Uncle Bob’s Red Clam Chowder

Unlike most people today, I prefer the red Manhattan-style, or Chesapeake clam chowder (not that I don’t like the New England-style, it’s also great). This is a spicy-warm soup, great with a grilled-cheese sandwich on a cold day.  I adapted it from recipes I found online, including the famous Rocky Point Amusement Park’s recipe and I used Emeril Lagasse’s recipe on the Food Network for inspiration – but I altered and adjusted the ingredients and proportions for convenience and in the end, the result is more mine than anyone else's.  For example, I could not find any salt pork today (as called for in the Rocky Point recipe) – so I used some bacon I had on hand.  I've been thinking about this soup for several months -- I had a great red chowder from Chef Kramer at the Manzanita Inn (in Cornville) last summer, and I've been thinking about it ever since.   His was about the best I’ve ever had. I like this soup; we’ll see how I feel after I have a second serving of it for supper tonight…

What goes innit:

2 oz bacon, chopped

¼ lb chopped onion

Celery, 1 stalk, chopped

¼ lb potato, diced small

10 oz Clamato™ juice

15 oz can chicken broth

8 oz clam juice

10 oz clams in juice

1 TB dried parsley

2 tsp dried onion bits

½ tsp pepper

½ tsp sea salt (or reg)

1 tsp garlic powder

1 tsp celery seed

½ tsp dried red pepper flakes

1 tsp paprika

2 TB cornstarch

Method:

In a Dutch oven on medium heat, (I used a cast iron Dutch oven), fry the chopped bacon with the celery until it renders the fat and starts to crisp.  Add the onion and cook until it is becoming translucent.  Add the potato and the herbs/seasonings; cook a few moments, then add the liquids, except for about ¼ cup (mix this reserved liquid with the corn starch and set aside).  Separate the clams from the clam juice and add that juice to the soup – set the clams aside. 

Heat and simmer the soup for about 12 minutes, maybe 15, until the vegetables are tender.  Add the clams, heat through, then mix in the corn starch mixture and heat the soup to boiling.  Reduce heat to simmer and cook for 10 to 20 minutes.  Serve.

His "original" birthday!

Noah

Noah was born today at 6:48 AM. Thought I'd put his picture up so you could see it... just in case you haven't seen any babies lately.  That's his Great-Grandma Hicks holding him. 

I went out to the hospital to meet him this evening -- he was pretty calm. Take a look at the photo -- doesn't he look like he's just had a cigar? Yeah, I thought so too. 

I'm not sure who he looks like; besides himself, of course. Perhaps it will become more apparent as he gets settled in. He seems to be a pretty normal kid -- I didn't count his fingers and toes, but I'm sure Mandy would have told me if there was a problem.

I should probably go back and see him again tomorrow.

An alternative view of Pearl Harbor

I wonder why Americans get so worked up about the “sneak attack” on Pearl Harbor back in 1941… it is common knowledge that we knew an attack was imminent.  We just didn’t expect the Japanese to have such a long reach – it wasn’t considered likely that they would be able to get that far from their home islands for an attack.  I’d have to look it up, but I'm thinking that we thought that the first assaults would come in the Philippines, or somewhere else in the Far East.  But you cannot say that we didn’t know they were coming.  We had known war was imminent for months. Our forces in every part of the Pacific were supposed to be on alert for that very eventuality.

Beyond that, the USA has engaged in exactly the same kind of surprise attacks both before and after that day – so it’s not OK for someone else to do it to us, but it’s OK for us to do it to them?  In what universe is that moral behavior?

The US cavalry did a sneak attack on Black Kettle’s then-peaceful people on the Washita River in 1868. We launched a surprise attack on Panama in 1989.  The attacks on Iraq in both conflicts in that theater were both launched suddenly.   I’m sure there were others that I am not thinking of at present. In each of these instances, this nation was (and remains) convinced that we had cause for the attacks – that's how we rationalize the action -- and in each case the attacks were not unexpected by the opponent (in a general sense).  But the fact remains that these can all be characterized as surprise attacks. Japan, in 1941, felt they had good cause for the initiation of that war - they were suffering from the effects of industrial and economic strangulation by the USA and its allies.

I can name several other reasons to hate what the Japanese people did during that war; they were cruel, cold and criminal in many ways in the conduct of their conquests - the rape of Nanjing, for example, which wasn't at all limited to Nanjing. All Japanese-held territories in China suffered the same kinds of horrors. The consistent and systematic cruelty, terror and torture of both military personnel and civilians alike rivals and exceeds anything Al Qaeda criminals have accomplished or dreamed of; the horror stories are many.  The Japanese routinely executed prisoners-of-war out of convenience and cruelty - the American POW's on Wake Island early in the war are just one example, all executed after finishing reconstruction work fixing damaged facilities and the airstrip.

They have steadfastly refused in the years since 1945 to even acknowledge that what they did in those years was wrong (one example in particular concerns their refusal to acknowledge or redress the Korean and Chinese “comfort” women whose lives were so casually destroyed).  Knowing all of that history, I still have a certain animosity toward Japan today – especially when I see evidence that Japanese militaristic nationalism is again growing and causing problems.  If those small groups that are becoming more militant continue to grow, we could find ourselves again facing Japanese-caused troubles in that part of the world – and beyond.

Today, I read an article written about the attack on Pearl Harbor that made the claim it was a critical loss for us that day.  This was written by a person who (evidently)  doesn't understand the “real” history and it reaches for that emotional “tug” that our shared recollection of that day’s events evokes in us; it is what I call "ceremonial rhetoric" (my own term, not the normal academic definition in the text books - I'm not sure I use it the same way).  In any event, the claim is grossly exaggerated and I assert it to be over-dramatically irrational, from any critical historical perspective.

You could very accurately argue that far from being a Japanese victory, the Japanese attack at Pearl Harbor was the beginning of the end for them – they were doomed almost from that very first day – and some of their top commanders knew that to be true (Admiral Yamamoto, for one).  The "sudden" attack awoke the American people to a “righteous” anger we haven’t matched since – and sent us against them with a resolve we could not sustain today if we tried.  

It was a tragedy that resulted in the loss of roughly 2,500 people at Pearl Harbor that day; but it launched us into a war that was inevitable anyway by that point in time; while we did lose 2,500 people on December 7th, over the next four years we lost about 475,000 more. Except for the effects on those killed and their families, our losses at Pearl Harbor were relatively insignificant when you consider the death and destruction we visited on the Axis powers over the next four years and the cost in lives and materiel not only here, but for the other nations involved. 

And the ships we lost that day?  Most of them were obsolescent and would have been largely of little value to the war effort beyond the first few months anyway.  Most of the battleships sunk or damaged, if not all of them, were over twenty years old that day and they were all critically vulnerable to air attacks, whether at sea or in port. The Imperial Navy might well have sunk most of them very quickly in other battles. At Guadalcanal, for example, where they certainly could have played a huge role for artillery support of the Marines onshore, many of them would have been eliminated by Japanese "Long Lance" torpedoes -- just as many of our cruisers were.

But the day of the “ship of the line” was over -- about twenty years over. Gen. Billy Mitchell showed us that in 1921. The irony is that while Mitchell's ideas (use of airpower through strategic and tactical bombing) met with fierce resistance in his own homeland, the Japanese fully embraced them. It is not an insignificant fact that the Japanese government sent observers when Mitchell's crude bombers sank those surplus capital ships off the east coast.  No, it was our carriers that had the real value in 1941 -- and unbeknownst to the enemy they were all at sea on the morning of December 7th and out of reach.  That was the stroke of luck that saved us in 1941.

The Pacific War was largely an air war fought by the carrier forces of both nations (that's not to diminish the credit due to the marines and troops who fought the brutal and horrific island-hopping ground campaigns). But my point is the battleship's only remaining effective role was heavy gun support of those troops landing on enemy beaches; they were unmatched by any other platform in that particular role, but that was their only real function by that time.  

The more significant "critical event" and the universally acknowledged actual turning point of the Pacific war, was the massive defeat of the Japanese Navy and its best, most powerful carriers at Midway only six months later – at the pinnacle of their project-able offensive power.  They never recovered from that defeat, and we slowly, steadily buried them in the succeeding months.

I conclude that the significance of Pearl Harbor was that it cemented the resolve of the American people to crush the Japanese and their allies. In that sense, they did this nation a favor on December 7th, if you believe as I do that our involvement in that war was inevitable by that point anyway.  And that is what all of the “day which will live in infamy” ceremonial rhetoric was about. It was plain and simple, good, effective rabble-rousing. It was, and remains, extremely effective propaganda, and not much else.

Today was the seventy-first anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor and the United States' official entry into World War II.  We remember all the Americans who died that day and all those of our nation and the allies who fought with us in the world war that followed, who saw it all the way to the end.  They saved the free world. 

The 746 mile "almost a road trip..."

The Crystal Pier

The difference between a weekend and a road trip is that with a road trip, the whole point is the driving, and with a weekend, you just want to get there and stay put.  The drive is just the means...  of course it is never that way for me, if I am driving it is a road trip!  

The first thing I did was wash the car.  If you're going on a road trip, you've got to go in a clean motorcar. So I washed the Chevy and then I drove to San Diego... and there I stayed put.  Kinda.  I got a room at the Pacific View Motel in Pacific Beach, just about two blocks north of Grand Ave off Mission Blvd on Emerald Street. 

Pretty much everything you want can be right there in the neighborhood... I've been to San Diego so many times, I don't feel like there's anything I have left to do there, so these days my point in going is the ocean and the beach.  I repeatedly take the harbor cruises and I always visit Point Loma's southern-most tip (for the view).

I like the Silver Strand - but there's nothing else out there but beach -- so I have become accustomed to staying in Mission Beach or more precisely, Pacific Beach and I like the Pacific View Motel because it's not too fancy, just a regular motel kind of place, clean, and the staff is friendly and accommodating.

I made Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday, and then left town for a beach weekend on Friday morning.  I didn't start too early, finally got on the road at 1045.  It is about 1.5 hours to Gila Bend and I stopped there for coffee and breakfast.  From there, it was down to Yuma and a quick stop at the Shiloh Inn to check out a meeting room (work stuff!). 

From there to San Diego, the highway runs right close to the border and at first, as you depart Yuma and the irrigated agriculture of that area, you go out across the Imperial Dunes. Back in the old days they actually built the road on wooden planks so when the blowing sands covered them up they could just re-place them on top of the sand and keep driving.  

After you leave the dunes and all that associated sand-rail recreational activity on a holiday weekend, you cross more Sonoran Desert until you get to the El Centro area and more green agricultural fields.  Most travelers on I-8 never realize that as you pass the Holtville interchange there is a public-access hot spring just off the highway, visible from the road but partially hidden in an oasis of palms. I personally never knew it was there until my friend Gen wanted to go looking for it one day a few years back.

After El Centro, there is more desert and then an abrupt climb of about 3,500 feet to the top of the coastal range at the Tecate Divide. Once on top at about 4100 feet, the air has cooled probably 20 degrees in the summer time. It stays cooler all the way into San Diego from that point. It is my favorite part of the drive -- the high country before you get into the first parts of the city (where the traffic starts to get heavier).

Pacific View Motel

On arrival in Pacific Beach (about 35 miles later), I got my room and walked out to dinner before meeting Genevieve and Gwen for a visit. I am almost ashamed to say I went to San Diego and with all of those great little beachside restaurants all around me, I ate at Denny's the first evening.  Yes, I did; I had spaghetti.

So afterwards, I met with Gen and Gwen for a while before they returned to the place where they would spend the night (down by San Ysidro) and I watched a little TV before going to sleep. I did not sleep soundly, the neighborhood was too noisy.  But still, the sounds of the ocean and the cool breezes blowing in were a definite treat.  I kept my windows open all around (my room had two window-walls). And I had a very comfortable bed at the Pacific View Motel on Emerald Street and "the beach."

Saturday morning, I got some things to eat at the grocery store down the street and after meeting my friends, we set out for the day's adventure.  We started with a visit to Cabrillo National Monument at the end of Point Loma then drove through Old Town San Diego.  It was very crowded (being a holiday weekend) and so we didn't stop after all but went to the Hillcrest Neighborhood to find a coffee place.  After a stop there, we drove south to Balboa Park and walked through that to see what was going on there, then headed over to the waterfront for dinner at Anthony's.

Anthony's is a tradition with my family. The restaurant sits right over the water at the harbor-side and being a rather well-established San Diego tourist destination, it is on the expensive side.  On the other hand, while it is expensive, the food and the service are always good to excellent.  I had a combination plate with broiled lobster tail, coconut crusted shrimp and "crab bites," served with a citrus rice pilaf and a salad. I also ordered a cup of Manhattan-style chowder. It wasn't the best red chowder I've ever had -- pero fue bastante bien y me gusto mucho!  I favor the red chowder over the cream variety, I think simply because it isn't as common. The cream variety has maybe become a little passé?  

Crystal Symphony

As we arrived at the restaurant, a huge cruise ship was in the process of leaving from the terminal nearby -- so we watched it sail away until it was no longer in sight at all.  It was the "Crystal Symphony" and I found out later it was headed out toward the Channel Islands by way of San Pedro.  This may have been two separate cruises punctuated by a Sunday change-over at San Pedro.  At any rate, when we got back to the motel in Pacific Beach, I could see it way out in the ocean on its way northwest toward the islands.  I kept watching it off and on until it disappeared over the horizon or into the fog -- it's hard to tell which is which at night.

We walked down the beach for about a mile, then sat on the motel's balcony and talked until the girls got sleepy and left. They drank a little wine and I had ice cream. I tried to finish the movie I'd started – “Rio Grande” -- never did finish it.  Of the three "cavalry trilogy" John Ford films, I think it is my least favorite.  Still it's a John Ford western; there's nothing better than that. I took my DVD player with me on this trip and hooked it up to the motel's TV monitor.

Saturday night was a bit quieter than Friday night had been, but I still did not sleep well.  I got my rest, that's about the best I can say for it.  On Sunday morning, I had breakfast at a small Mexican place nearby called La Perla and walked out onto the Crystal Pier, took some photos, and waited for the girls to show up.  We visited for a little while and as I had to check out and head home, we didn't do much else. 

I would be driving home and they would shadow me as far as the Imperial Valley and the sand dunes.  I left Pacific Beach at Grand and Ingrahm at about 1345 and I was home again in 6.5 hours (they stopped for coffee). I was expecting heavy holiday traffic but other than within Phoenix, never encountered it.  I got to see a pretty sunset in my rear-view mirrors. The car got an average of 37 mpg which is not bad.  The idea had been some R and R: the mission was successful. I unpacked and then started thinking about my next trip...  I have a four-day coming up in February.

William W. Caldwell - Veteran's Day 2012

W.W. Caldwell, 2nd Lt, US Army Air Corps In October, 1930, two US Army pilots (in separate aircraft) left Victoria, BC with signed copies of the 1930 London Naval Treaty.   2nd Lieutenant William W. Caldwell, an Army Air Corps reserve pilot with the 95th Pursuit Squadron, was escorting the second courier plane which was transporting Japan's ratification document for the treaty.  There was a deadline to meet; if the document was not filed in London within a certain time frame, the entire treaty would be nullified before it ever got ratified. The treaty papers had been brought across the Pacific by sea, and the two pilots were to deliver them to New York City where they would be put back aboard another ship and dispatched to London.   Experienced, journeyman fliers have a term for that kind of pressure. They call it “get-there-it is" and it's an often fatal disease. Time pressure (hurry and impatience) has been a killer of pilots and a destroyer of airplanes ever since Orville made that first flight; 1930 was only 27 years after the Wright brothers and none of the advances of the 1930s and WWII years in all-weather flying had yet been accomplished on any wide scale.  These two pilots were lucky to even have enclosed cockpits, if in fact they even did. The Fleetster came in many versions and some were open cockpit, some not.  Knowing the War Department, the 1930 U.S. Army probably had the most primitive and cheapest model of the aircraft that could be obtained.  A 1930s Fleetster Somewhere in central-southern Wyoming, the two ships and pilots ran into winter weather, a nasty blizzard that forced them down to tree-top level trying to get through (and unfortunately, even below that).  Forward-visibility was effectively zero. In mid-afternoon about 70 miles northwest of Cheyenne and 1.5 miles from a point on the railroad called Rock River, Caldwell’s parasol-winged monoplane found a fence post.  Death was no doubt instantaneous.  Searchers were led to the remains of the plane and pilot the next morning by a crusty old railroad worker who was stationed nearby and had heard the crash. The other airplane eventually continued on and delivered the treaty papers to the outbound ship in New York. William Caldwell, of California, died in service to his country. He was survived by his father who saw him buried at the national cemetery at the Presidio of San Francisco, where I stumbled across his marker while looking for another soldier's grave. Today is Veteran’s Day, or Armistice Day, as it was originally named in honor of the end of WW-1 and the soldiers and sailors who fought in it.  Today, I am thinking of all the Lt. Caldwells; those who have served, those who are serving, those who served and survived – and those who did not... and their often overlooked families who share their service and often their fate.  We owe them a debt that can never be satisfied; we have to live with it, unsettled.  It is a heavy load – but never heavier than the price they pay. Information about the death of Lt.William Caldwell was obtained from the New York Times newspaper, published on Oct 17, 1930.

Loss of the HMS Bounty (replica)

HMS Bounty

I have been watching to see if they fish that ship captain out of the Atlantic -- he went overboard as his ship sank (the “HMS Bounty”) and he is out there somewhere in a survival suit which probably has flotation and the water is 70 degrees they say. He's probably still alive -- floating out there in the ocean. Hope they find him.  

[Update 11/12/12: They did not find him and he is now presumed lost.]

No matter what they say (the ship's owners and master), I think they were irresponsible to risk both ship and crew trying to sail past or around a tremendous hurricane that was expected to be strong and dangerous. Those kind of storms have been killing ships and seamen for centuries - but we have the advantage now of global weather forecasting and satellite imagery. There's no excuse; they were in port, crew safe, but went out anyway even knowing what was coming. That's hubris and poor judgment. The ship was a replica of the original Bounty and they built it for the movie over 50 years ago - it was a treasure and now it is lost. Not to mention one crew-woman and the ship's master, dead.


Update 02/10/14: The NTSB spent millions and investigated thoroughly... and came to the exact same conclusion I did without spending a dime.  That's great government action for you... and your tax dollars at work. 



 

Election 2012

 

 

I've been reading the news from a lot of different sources this morning -- it is difficult to find unbiased reporting. Sometimes I check the LA Times, or the NY Times.  I hear the Wall Street Journal is pretty straightforward, but I have a bit more trust in the BBC than I do just about anything that is written around here.

 

I took a "quiz" online about which candidate I should vote for and it came out that Romney and I agree on more issues than I do with Obama. I am a very middle-of-the-road conservative, in a more traditional sense of the word (limited government and slow to change), but certainly not in the modern, ignorant and twisted way it is used.

 

The problem is that we don't really know whether these are Mitt's true beliefs (or policies) or not, since he says one thing one day and another the next.  He has shown repeatedly that he cannot be trusted.  Even "W" at least was straightforward and steadfast about what he believed -- you had to respect him for that, even if he was wrong-headed.

 

The problem is that the Republican Party has become the party of "I hate and am jealous of everybody who isn't white, straight and Christian." It has become the party of mean-ness and ignorance; the Republican Party represents much of what I think is wrong with this nation.  Republicans have been saying that Barack Obama is the most divisive President in history. I disagree completely.

 

I think it is mostly the Republican radicals who have divided this country, who resort to name-calling whenever anyone disagrees with them.  It is Republican hatred that prevents our government from working, to the point of collapse - and you can see evidence of this almost any time you look for it in your daily news.  It is Republican Party platform and obstructionist policy that threatens to destroy us – and has perhaps already succeeded in doing so.  What we really need to do as a nation is throw out all of the haters and all of the radicals (along with all the lawyers!).

 

Mitt Romney blows like a feather in the wind. I have doubts that he has much integrity if any; I haven’t seen any honesty in him. I think most of what he says and does is posturing and favors the wealthy because that segment is all that he cares about. I think he has revealed his true beliefs in unguarded moments.

 

I am not "against" the wealthy -- I'd love to be one of them -- but I am against "special interests" being able to run the show with no regard for others. I am against back-room deals.  I am against the way things are done by the Dick Cheneys of the world.

 

What I want is a leader with the vision to promote long-range strategically-planned policies that favor success across all of our population and that are in line with what “America” has always meant in its most idealistic sense – but with the realization that it truly is a global world, global population and global economy and we can never be strictly self-serving as a nation again. 

 

While I don't agree with all of Obama's policies and opinions (he’s way too left of center for me and he spends too much money), integrity is everything and he is doing more of the right things to restore the USA's reputation around the world. I believe Barack Obama has integrity. His policies are more environmentally-friendly which is of huge importance. I think his strategy is directed at long-term success and I think the Republicans are wrong about the economy (again, they tend to be self-serving and simple-minded). It was mostly Republican thought and ideas that set the stage for the recent economic collapse.

 

I disagree with Obama’s plan to increase taxes on the wealthy – they should pay the same tax rate as the rest of us.  Anything else is not just and in my opinion un-American. I am in favor of a nation that looks after its own people -- a nation that makes sure its people aren't hungry and that they get the medical care they need.  I am in favor of a nation that makes sure its citizens have access to opportunity and education.  On the other hand it isn't the government's job to provide those things; it is our job as the people of the United States to create and provide them.

 

I think Mitt Romney would be a simple-minded disaster in foreign policy, just like GWB was. I don't have a thing in common with the Christian right and I wouldn't give them an open window to even get into the political house if I could stop them - their beliefs are mostly fantasy and harmful fantasy at that.

 

I wish there was a candidate who was more in line with my beliefs -- it seems like all I ever have to choose from is the lesser of two evils.

 

Last Week in Tucson...

Piggy-back Endeavour - September 20, 2012

I finally saw a space shuttle!  Years ago, I went to see a space shuttle “launch.”  Well, I saw a movie anyway… in IMAX!  My dream though, one of them, was to travel to Florida to see an actual shuttle lift-off, but I never made it. I did hear one, one time.

I don’t remember which shuttle it was, but in the early years of the program, probably before the Challenger loss, I stood outside my truck one morning and listened, and watched, for the shuttle to come over Arizona as it prepared to land at its alternate runway at White Sands Missile Range in New Mexico.  I think it was the only time it landed there – Edwards AFB and the Kennedy Space Center were both weathered-in and NASA needed to get the machine back on the ground.  I think the hungry astronauts were running out of food or something…

So a few minutes before it would have to overfly the Arizona desert, I stood outside on a sidewalk beside a busy north Phoenix street, and hoped that I would see a contrail – or perhaps hear the twin sonic booms that were its signature.  I didn’t see it – but as the observers in New Mexico were exclaiming that it was in sight, I did hear those twin booms.  It was exhilarating, and I am sure I talked about it the rest of the day and probably the next day too.

I have mentioned before about my Dad’s work in the American space program, and almost everyone I know knows about his work on the SRB’s – I’ve told everyone that story – so I won’t repeat that one here. Likewise, I've yapped about the importance of the space program – including not just remote or automated exploration but also human space flight – in the end, that is the only way mankind can survive.  We may have plenty of time for that, or we may not.  But we better keep working on it…

So this last year, the space shuttle (Endeavour) went to space and back for the last time – with astronaut Mark Kelly at “the stick.”  Atlantis was the last shuttle to go to space and back – but Endeavour was the last to make its last flight to its post-space home.  Here’s what NASA says about it on their website…

Endeavour was NASA’s fifth and final space shuttle to be built. Construction began on Sept. 28, 1987 and it rolled out of the assembly plant in Palmdale, Calif. in April 1991. It was named after a ship chartered to traverse the South Pacific in 1768 and captained by 18th century explorer James Cook. Endeavour flew 25 times, traveling more than 122,000 miles and accumulating 299 days in space. Like shuttles Discovery, Enterprise and Atlantis, Endeavour is embarking on its next mission – to inspire the next generation of explorers and engineers at the California Science Center.

Endeavour’s “26^th” mission brought it flying over Tucson, Arizona.  I was in Tucson, attending a training class; that entire class of American traffic school instructor patriots trooped out to the parking lot at Pima County Community College on Bonita Street – and we waited for it to arrive.

Endeavour arrived over Tucson on the back of its Boeing 747 transporter – and it made two broad-banking passes over the city.  This was so Mark Kelly and his wife, Arizona’s Gabrielle Giffords, could see the shuttle Kelly commanded, on its last journey.  I saw only one of its circuits around the city – and I am satisfied with that.  I didn’t know it was coming back around – I thought it might – but I didn’t stay outside long enough to see the second pass.

But it was awesome – it was glorious – it was magnificent.  Then it went on to Edwards AFB, eventually made a pass or two over SFO, and then landed in Los Angeles at LAX to spend some time in a hangar in preparation for its becoming a California Science Center museum piece.  Ah, gone too soon!

America, let’s get busy.  We need to regain our focus and initiative and reinvigorate our drive into the unknown, ideally with other space-looking nations as our partners. We need to get our next human-carrying spacecraft into the dark blue beyond, and we need to go to Mars.  I don’t think we’ll find much there.  But we’ll sure learn a lot in the endeavour.  Let’s GO.

September 24, 2012

The man tried to drown me once...

Would this man drown a kid?

When I was in grade 7 or 8, I do not remember which, my teacher tried to kill me.  I don’t know why exactly – he said I was “mouthy.”  Those who know me well know that this cannot possibly be true.  I am never anything if I am not respectful, especially of my elders. I always have been.   

But he apparently lost his temper with me over some perceived misconduct. He joyfully lifted me bodily from the floor, slid me horizontally down the “science lab” counter in a classroom at Cholla elementary school (somewhat like an otter on a water-slide) – from one end to the other where there was a deep sink – and then he tried to drown me. It was by the luckiest of coincidences that I was able to escape. This is all the more horrifying because this man professed to be my friend and as my teacher, was charged with my care and protection while at school.  I know!  Now that I think about it, there were probably a couple of other educators who might have had the same homicidal urges when they thought about me, but I digress...

For about the past twenty years, he and I spoke almost every day. We traveled together, we ate together and we sat and talked together; it was enough happiness for me to simply sit somewhere with him and talk; it didn’t really matter where. He was my mentor, my “father,” my buddy, my true friend. He was always available when I needed him (even when I didn’t know I needed him) and he never asked for anything in return. He was my friend every day of my life from 12 years old to the day he left us all behind, no doubt unwillingly (the leaving, I mean).

He was my seventh-grade home-room teacher at Cholla Elementary School in 1965-66.  I don’t remember a single thing about how we became friends outside of the usual teacher-student relationship.  I just remember that we did. Such a close relationship between a teacher and a student would not even be possible today. 

I remember rough-housing with him in the classroom (see story above) – before, after, and even during class to some extent; that drowning story was his favorite too -- he always told that one when he'd introduce me to someone. I wasn't just mouthy, I was a load of trouble both inside and outside the schoolhouse - but he loved kids, even troublesome ones. It wasn’t long before he and I were trading items from our lunch boxes – the way I remember it, he brought the same sandwich every day – a cotto-salami sandwich on “yellow-colored” bread, like maybe buttermilk bread (with mustard)? We’d swap occasionally. I can't eat a salami sandwich today without thinking of Dave.

Dave was probably always a counselor and a “mentor” at heart. I’m not the only one he looked after – there were literally hundreds over the years. One thing I learned about him today that I do not remember he ever shared with me, was that he once was chosen the national "middle school counselor of the year." While I may not have known that fact, it doesn't surprise me. As a teacher and later a counselor, he and his teacher-counselor partners ended up with all the problem boys. I was simply one of his first and he could never get rid of me after that. His care wasn’t limited to school hours – I was invited to his home on multiple occasions. I met his wife, his in-laws, and his kids. They all became part of my life and made me feel like “family” when I was with them. I still do today.

He saw me, as he did others he helped, as an at-risk kid. I don't think he was wrong about that; I believe I was an at-risk kid – and I also believe that I didn’t get too far off the path to decency because of his guidance and his care for me. I think I very easily could have. I wonder today how many others like me could say the same thing? I’ll bet there are many. But not all of them were lucky enough to become an every day part of his life, as I did, once they were past school age. Many kids who get into trouble today do so because they don't have a Dave Melian in their life who cares for them -- who decides that it is the most important thing in the world to make a difference for someone. It isn't always convenient to do that, you know.

Sometimes on Saturday mornings I would ride my bicycle over to their house in Moon Valley – and once there, I would follow him around. He and Gloria would have me eat with them and I think he usually threw my bike in the back of his station wagon and would cart me home afterwards. The first Crepes Suzettes I ever had, Dave made for me when I was just a kid - they were always one of his specialties. 

My teacher - 1967

My first trip to the Grand Canyon was with Dave and his family – in that green Ford station wagon.  He had given me a camera – a little 35mm Agfa (which he later got back for his son), and I still remember a photo I took on that trip of the San Francisco Peaks in the rear-view side-mirror; creative photography at 14!  It was a winter-time trip and there was snow on the mountains. I often wonder if there is a connection between that wonderful experience and my love for the Grand Canyon today – it is certainly not the entire story – but I’ll bet it didn’t hurt.

I was a rather timid boy – bullied occasionally – and I rarely stood up for myself. One particularly spoiled and socially-inappropriate kid (not naming names here) jumped up on a chair in the music-room one day and kicked me in the ribs – either breaking or bruising them pretty seriously (don’t remember which, but seems to me they were cracked, at least). I couldn’t retaliate for this offense for quite some time – if you’ve ever had injured ribs you know why. So anger and the desire for revenge smoldered in me… Finally, weeks or months later, I caught that skunk in the hallway at the school when there were no witnesses around, and I backed him into a corner and lit into him. 

I am sure Dave knew a good part of the background of the dispute. As luck would have it, he rounded the corner a minute or two (or at least a few seconds) into the fight, saw what was going on – and unfortunately for the rat who was being "corrected,” Dave wheeled around and disappeared back down the hallway from whence he came, having never been seen by my enemy. The other guy lost that fight big time; righteousness was on my side that day and Dave firmly believed in justice - even if it was schoolyard justice.

In the years after I got a little older and was in high school, Dave and his peers arranged to take the boys he was charged with on camping trips and outings. Many of his favorite stories were about those adventures - he was almost arrested on probably more than one occasion because of things that they did. I never got to go along on any of those - but I went camping once with his family - out to Apache Lake. 

I got a little sick to my stomach that weekend (probably from the heat) – but I still remember it as a good experience because of Dave’s care. Then, as they do now, the Melians had a small travel trailer – but I remember Dave and I sleeping outside under the stars. David and Kathleen were both still smaller at the time. Probably my clearest memory of that weekend is Dave and I floating on inner tubes, bobbing around in the middle of Apache Lake with speed boats flying by and swerving all around us! Hey, Dave knew how to live and enjoy life! On the way home that Sunday, we stopped for church in Globe. Dave and Gloria are devout Catholics and church is always part of their week. They don’t make excuses why they can’t go, they plan to do it as it is unthinkable not to. I still remember that Mass, which we attended at a pretty church in downtown Globe.

Dave's faith shaped his entire life – he told me at one time he had planned and studied to be a priest and was attending school for that purpose. I don’t remember why he got sidetracked; it was probably Gloria’s fault (‘cause you know priests cannot marry…) This distraction from the priesthood was probably a massive stroke of luck for David, Kathleen and Jim... Still, he “ministered” all his life; I can name dozens of people that he cared about and cared for. Although he was never "preachy" about it, we talked about it all the time and it was always plain what he was up to. Dave’s ministry, every day that I knew him, was looking after the people around him.

As I grew up, went away to the service, got married, Dave faded out of my life for about twenty years. It seems like a long period as I think about it, but twenty years isn’t really that long. I thought about the Melians often during those years, but life got in the way of any connection with them I might have had, given my distractions, family and job. I regret that now of course, those "missing years," but I think it is a normal thing that happens to many of us. Friends and acquaintances, even good ones, pass in and out of our lives during the course of it all. The great thing, and my good fortune, is that with Dave and his family that drifting apart was not permanent like it often is for some.

I found myself thinking about him, wondering how he was doing, and eventually I looked him up and we reconnected in the 1990s. We picked up right where we left off. I know absolutely that our re-acquaintance was meant to be and it came about exactly the way it was supposed to. I don't believe in fate, or pre-destination, but Dave and I were meant to be friends and there was no avoiding it. We have spoken almost every day since. We never had a disagreement or a fight – and I do not believe he was ever mad at me.  If he was ever mad at me, he never showed it.  And knowing me, that’s a huge compliment to him… and indicative of his great patience.

Since then, he and I traveled together frequently – so many times that some of the memories run together. Sometimes we traveled with others of his family – sometimes just the two of us – at least once it was just the “boys” – Dave, me, John (another friend) and Jim – all making a pilgrimage together to the Melian cabin above Prescott, where we mostly just sat around and talked – we talked about what big beer-drinkers we were, and the pleasures of biscuits and gravy. I don’t remember drinking that much beer, but we talked about it… all weekend long.

Some of our other trips included Mexico (Rocky Point), San Diego, a couple of Royal Caribbean cruises (Mexico and Alaska), Grand Canyon and Southern Utah, Quebec and New England, the Arizona border from Bisbee to Canyon de Chelly… you get the idea. He and Gloria took me to Los Angeles a couple of years ago for my birthday – we stayed with Haig and Kathleen a day or two and then we drove up the coast. On that trip -- Jim, Gloria and I took turns in the cramped back seat of Dave's little Chevy Cobalt -- and the air conditioning quit right in the middle of the Mohave Desert coming home - in August - over by Needles.  Hey, it's an adventure! He and I even went out chasing thunderstorms once or twice... In recent months, we talked about still more future trips we might take together -- to Los Angeles for a hot dog at Pink's, and a windjammer cruise I found out about up in Maine.

Dave and Gen on a St Lawrence ferry

Dave and I took a trip to Maine and Quebec back in 2009 - we drove from Portsmouth up the coast into Quebec to visit my friend Genevieve; along the way we had a lobster dinner in Bangor.  

You know, the way they eat lobster in Maine?  They cook the whole lobster. Everything. They put that "whole" lobster on the plate and there you have it. And they expect you to eat the whole thing and they don't consider you normal unless you do. My adventurous friend tried it. I didn't, but he did. Neither one of us ate the whole thing though; even Dave only took a few bites of that nasty middle part.  From then on, I order just the tail! The next morning, on a beautiful sunny Maine day in October, we stopped at a rest area and took photos of Mt Katahdin (which is where I took that photo of him above, sitting in the rental car); Mt Katahdin is the place where the rays of the morning sun first strike mainland US soil each day.

Alain's B&B - a 17th century farmhouse

We continued north across the border, met Genevieve and toured with her along the St Lawrence - we ate crepes in Quebec City and we rode the ferry across the seaway.  We stayed at Alain's B and B and had huge blueberry pancakes baked slowly on Alain's antique iron stove, and we drank Alain's "stands-up-by-itself" cowboy coffee. We had a reluctant but ultimately roaring bonfire on a cold, dark beach. We sat on the shores of Lake Champlain in the sunshine and watched the boats. 

Dave and Gloria's 50th anniversary in Alaska

One of the best times was his and Gloria’s 50th Anniversary cruise from Alaska to Vancouver three years ago.  It was a really wonderful thing to be able to celebrate that milestone with these two friends, their real family, and several of us who are "adopted" family.  We ate together every evening – and Dave and I walked around Ketchikan with Jim for an afternoon when our ship stopped there. We made several trips to the ship's sauna and jacuzzi. We had a late-evening drink together onboard a couple of times – and also met several times in the ship’s hamburger joint for late night snacks with Jim. Jim’s like me – always hungry (or at least ready to eat). There was much more, of course, but these are some of the individual memories that stand out for me as being particularly good ones.

It bothers me right at the moment that as I think back on the years of our friendship, not every little bit of our shared history is present in my memory.  It’s that there is so much to remember – and that many things have become so familiar that it seems we always knew them, they’re always there.  Little bits and memories are there – pieces of things that we did together, woven into the fabric of many years passed by.  My mind is hungry for memories right now, because now he's gone and that is an immediate hurt. I don't want to forget any of him, or to allow the memories to grow dim.

I cannot say that I have any regrets.  It's just that I long for another minute or two where I could give him a hug, or hear him tell me in great detail about one of his boyhood memories, or about a great meal he had on the ship a couple of weeks ago. His departure was sudden; I had no time to prepare for it.  The news of his passing literally took my breath away, it was such an unexpected shock. In that, I know I am not alone and I am not complaining. 

I know Dave is OK. Dave was 82, almost 83, and his physical heart was struggling, so this moment should not have been, and in the end was not, a surprise. He and I talked about this. Our discussions about death were matter of fact, not fearful. I told him more than once that he was not allowed to die, that I needed him too much; but we never get our heart's desire when it comes to that. Many times we encounter people who never had the chance to say goodbye, farewell, to someone they loved. While it is true that I did not get to specifically say goodbye to him, we had left nothing unsaid. 

He knew that I loved him, and I think he knew how important he was to me. I am a much poorer person now that he is gone – and it will be most difficult, if not impossible, to fill the hole he leaves. Without any worries about "manly" reserve or etiquette, I can tell you that I loved him – that I could not have loved anyone more.

My friend David H. Melian died this past week. I’ve done nothing but think about him since the moment I heard that sad news, which is a natural thing when you lose someone who was such a large part of your life. And today, there was a funeral mass for Dave. Afterward, many went to his son and daughter’s home for a celebration of his life. There was lots of comfortable conversation between people who shared love, food, laughter, friendship, not just a few tears and experiences that were all tied together in our memories of this wonderful man. 

I repeatedly heard the memories of Dave that others shared – and the themes were the same as I have written here; everyone remembers him in much the same way. As I heard others speak of him – I thought more than once that what they said would have been just as true – even the same words – as if I had spoken them myself. This, I think, is the legacy of a very successful man, a man who lived his faith consistently each day. He was a person who loved life and the people he shared it with and he knew how to express that love, both in word and deed.

On his last vacation, just days before he passed away, I followed his ship’s progress around the Mediterranean and the flights he, Gloria and Jim took – the way I almost always do when any of my friends are away on trips. As their time away grew to a close, I got impatient for their return, so much so that I went to the airport to greet them on their arrival home. I do not usually do that unless I am giving someone a ride. But I was missing him, even though there was no idea that our time together was at its end.

I unfortunately had the wrong flight – I had lost the paper I wrote the flight numbers on and I guessed and picked the wrong one. They were already headed home from the airport a few minutes before I got there and so, on Sunday evening, I missed what would have been my last sight of Dave in this world. That, I regret. We did talk on the telephone the next evening, as we almost always did each day.  His last words to me as we ended our conversation on Monday night, were “I love you.”

Can you think of any better way to remember your best friend?

My best friend Dave Melian was born on December 21, 1929 in Melvindale, Michigan. He passed away at his home in Cave Creek, Arizona on a Wednesday; September 12, 2012 at about eight o'clock in the morning. In between, he lived and loved each day the best way he knew how. What an example he was for me; I am a better person for having known him.

Even though he tried to drown me once, maybe even because he did, I will miss him each and every day.

September 15, 2012