tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91878832568209347392024-03-20T09:53:14.779-07:00Owen NewsletterA painting from Auntie SisMarghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17533571913267928104noreply@blogger.comBlogger55125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187883256820934739.post-5619145566710421212024-03-20T09:52:00.000-07:002024-03-20T09:52:24.812-07:00<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><u>A GLIMPSE INTO
MY LIFE<o:p></o:p></u></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>I went to Navy boot camp in September of 1964. I joined with
a high school friend, Henry McDevitt, on the buddy program. The buddy program
allowed me and Henry to be stationed together after boot camp.<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>My fist airplane trip started in Columbia, South Carolina
and ended in San Diego, California. A bus took me to the Naval Training Center
where they started yelling at me and calling me a maggot. I was assigned to
Company 522.<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>After 12 weeks of carrying around a rifle and marching
all over hell and half of Georgia, I graduated somewhat the worse for learning
how to fight fires and survive being gassed with tear gas. I qualified with the
pistol and rifle. I even learned to throw a grenade as far as I could and get
my ass low to the ground.<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Well, Henry got orders to Naval Air Facility, Phoenix
Arizona. My orders read the same. The Naval Facility was in a small town known
as Goodyear or Avondale. I was advanced 2 weeks leave after graduating. I took
my Navy pay that the Navy kept for me and bought an Airline ticket to Asheville,
North Carolina. I landed in Asheville on a Sunday. I got a ride with an old
geezer from the airport to downtown Asheville. I asked him where I could buy a
beer and he looked at me kind of funny and said: “Son, don’t you know that
today is Sunday?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walked the streets
of Asheville for a while and found a Café that served coffee and grits and
eggs. The cook was an old black man who gave me a big plate with a slab of pork
tenderloin. Grits never tasted so good. I told him I wanted a beer, and he told
me of a place din the bad side of town, a house, where I could pay double for a
cold beer. It was a run-down house with a window that was open. I bought my
beer and asked how I could get from Asheville to Rosman. The beer salesman told
me to either hitchhike or ride the bus to Hendersonville. He gave me directions
to the Greyhound bus station. I bought a $3.00 ticket to Hendersonville. The
bus stopped at every crossroad to let people on or off.<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>When I got to Hendersonville, I walked to the edge of
town and hitchhiked to Brevard. I walked to the edge of Brevard and hitchhiked
to Rosman. In Rosman, I stopped at the Company store and bought a chili dog and
a pint of chocolate milk. Then I walked the four or so miles to Frozen Creek
Road. I walked about a mile up Frozen Creek Road and cut across Frozen Creek on
a foot log. I walked up past my Daddy’s corn crib, up past the spout branch and
entered the house by the kitchen door. I saw the familiar pot of soup beans
(pinto beans) on the woodstove. I walked into the living room and there was my
Mama. She jumped up from her chair by the wood heater and grabbed me and called
me a little devil. That hug from my Mama was more valuable than gold. She had
tears in her eyes as she welcomed me home. I will never forget that greeting. <o:p></o:p></b></p>Carl Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12090856577624910017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187883256820934739.post-19073110566128211662022-01-08T11:56:00.003-08:002022-01-08T12:05:43.258-08:00 REMEMBERING MY CHILDHOOD AND MY DAD<p> </p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;">What was my Dad like when I was a child? He was the same when I was not a child. He was very consistent.</span></p><p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;"> He was a product of growing up poor in the Appalachian Mountains. He, like his father, Sherman Owen,</span></p><p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;">had ridgid values and standards. He took a man's handshake or promise as valid as a written contract. He believed that a man's name and reputation was only as good as his word. He believed that hospitality was extremely important even to the extent of showing hospitality to an enemy. His attitude was to trust until he had reason not to. Sort of like fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, not very likely.</span></p><p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;">He subscribed to helping someone in need if you have the opportunity. He and I loafed (a southern tradition) often around the County. Oftentimes, we would see someone broken down. We changed tires, pulled people out of snow or ditches, gave rides, shared food, drink or gasoline and did what we could to help. I adopted that philosophy as my own and have only regretted it a couple of times over my lifetime. He stressed to me that I should be skeptical with people who displayed actions of being dishonest or inconsistent. He said to me "always be aware of what is real and what's not and know your enemies.</span></p><p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;"> He stood tall at 6'3 or 6'4 and was a very strong man. He told me to not be afraid of hard work. Did he have shortcomings? Yes, everybody does. I guess one of his shortcomings was that he liked the taste of his product maybe a little too much. When he sold a bottle of whiskey, the buyer would take the cap off, smell the whiskey and then hand the bottle to my Dad. My Dad would take a drink and hand the bottle back. A few years later,</span><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;"> I asked him about the ritual. He said it was sort of traditional. If a man won't take a drink of whiskey he is selling, the buyer has no confidence in the quality. After a good day of sales, my Dad wobbled a little when he walked. Sometimes he would take a drink and chase it with a drink of pickle juice. Try it, you will like it. </span></p><p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;">My brother Gerald, who until he was older thought his first name was Dammit, pulled a shitty on Dad. He kept a snuff glass about half full of whiskey in the refrigerator alongside a half glass of cold water. Well, we drank the water and replaced it with whiskey. My Dad came in after a hard day's work in the woods and took out the two glasses and downed them one after the other. Well, he could not get his breath and he stumbled around in the kitchen holding onto the table and stove to stay upright. Gerald and I vacated the premises at a fast pace. </span></p><p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;"> We lived on 8 acres. Half in corn fields and half in mountain property. We harvested the corn and turned it into a liquid product called "moonshine" or just white likker. On the mountain property, he had several stills over the years and produced many gallons of top notch whiskey . He sold some wholesale in gallon Coke jugs. The rest he sold out of our house in half-pints, pints, quarts, and half-gallons. He grew up alongside Diamond Creek pretty far from civilization. He attended a one-room schoolhouse and finished the 5th grade. At that time high or higher school was 6th grade through 12th grade. By the way, I was born a young child and while I was young, my Dad worked in the woods either logging pulpwood or helping with his family business of making moonshine.</span></p><p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;">We mostly lived off the land. We had a vegetable garden which provided fresh vegetables in season and canned vegetables in the fall and winter. We walked the roads and picked polk salad. Not too many people know that Polk Salad is toxic. To make it edible, you cook it in water, rinse it off and cook it in a frying pan with some fatback or what is called side pork or salt pork along with some scrambled eggs. We raised our chickens both for eggs and eating. We hunted squirrels, rabbits and deer.</span></p><p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;">My Uncle Robert raised hogs. Every fall, we would go to Uncle Robert's and slaughter several hogs for the extended family. The huge hogs were called white russians and their bristles were long and sharp. We used a homemade block and tackle to raise the hogs in the air and then dunk them in a huge black pot of boiling water. then we would lay the hogs on a door and scrape the bristles and hair off. Then we would dunk them again and wash off the dirt that we did not get off when we scrapped. My Grandma and several other Grandmas would take the heads and make hogshead cheese complete with gristles. You can buy this product in delis today. (Not nearly as good but edible). The good thing about a sandwich of hogshead cheese was that you got your exercise chewing the gristles. My grandma would also make lye soap and lard from the hog fat. She cut the hog skins into pieces and fried them. She would put them in her cornbread and we called the bread cracklin bread.</span></p><p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;">We collected berries from all over, blueberries, blackberries, sugar berries , huckleberries, gooseberries, mulberries, and so on for jams and jellies. We picked grapes for jelly and jam and sometimes a good grape wine. We only went to the store for staples like flour, sugar and salt. I grew up eating grits and eggs, cornbread and biscuits and pinto beans. Sometimes someone would ask my Dad how many kids he had and he would take off his fedora hat, scratch his head and say: Well there's quite a few of them. When my Dad got too old to trapz the mountains and haul stills in and out, he hired my first cousin Willy B. to make whiskey for him. Willy was working the still when the revenuers raided the still. They handcuffed Willy B to a small sapling while they used axes and large hammers to wreck the still and furnace. Willy B. clumb (southern word) up the sapling until it bent over and he escaped. He came off the mountain into our backyard yelling Uncle Fred, Uncle Fred. My Dad got off the porch and asked Willy B, "what the hell are you making so much noise for? Of course Willy B. closed his eyes while my Dad took a double bladed ax and cut off the handcuffs. It took two or three weeks for us to get a new still in a different mountain stream and get a good whiskey mash going.</span></p><p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;">I remember Willy B telling about the time (years later) when he came into my Dad's stillplace and saw the muslim cloth over a mash barrel sunk douwn into the whiskey mash that he called beer mash. He said as he pulled out the cloth, out came a dead possum. Willy B said it appeared that the possum had drunk himself to death. I asked him if he dumped the mash and he looked at me as if I was crazy. He said he used the mash and roasted the possum. My Dad loved Willy B and I did too. Someone asked Willy B what the B stood for and he said no one ever told him. Willy B's Dad was my Uncle Avery who was killed in a knife fight over a poker game. According to what I have been told, the black poker players who sliced up my Uncle Avery sort of disappeared one by one.</span></p><p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;">My Dad always displayed a gruff exterior but he had a big heart and was a push over when someone gave him a sad story. I remember once we were down by the French Broad River at my brother Mike's house. My Dad had sold a cow to an old farmer on credit. My Dad had my sister Thelma call the guy up and when Dad took the phone, he told the guy that he could use the money for the cow. The old man told my Dad that the cow had died. My Dad held his hand over the earpiece of the phone and told us: "that son-of-a-bitch said that the cow died". He then put the phone back up to his ear and said: "well if the cow died, I guess it's ok then. When he hung up the phone we told him that he covered the wrong end of the phone and the guy heard what he said. He replied well I don't give a damn.</span></p><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">My Dad was a fountain of knowledge and a lot of my ways were his ways. I miss him.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-20anC51VPQo/YdnuQyDoBNI/AAAAAAAAGII/E3LhfOUm-os7k2XGsjgXto4Q3A1sJL5mACNcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="240" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-20anC51VPQo/YdnuQyDoBNI/AAAAAAAAGII/E3LhfOUm-os7k2XGsjgXto4Q3A1sJL5mACNcBGAsYHQ/image.png" width="180" /></a></div><br />Hey somebody, we are out of paper here. Anyone, Toss me a corncob.</div>Carl Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12090856577624910017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187883256820934739.post-32456767108665005182021-01-21T03:11:00.003-08:002021-01-21T03:11:45.904-08:00The Devil's Courthouse<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #666666; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">DEVIL'S COURTHOUSE<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #666666; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #666666; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The mountains around Western North Carolina
have been the setting for several movies. The most famous was Thunder Road
starring Robert Mitchum and featuring Toxaway falls. Another was the Last of
the Mohicans. My mother would alternate when she was mad at her 12 kids
sometimes calling them Mohicans and other times referring to them as Ethiopians.
<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #666666; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #666666; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I grew up in those mountains fishing hunting
and just exploring. I walked a lot of old Indian trails and found caves and
arrowheads. I fished the rivers and streams, wandered about the canebrake,
hunted squirrels, rabbits and deer. I gathered moss from old chestnut trees and
found ginseng, wild flowers, Indian paintbrush, and picked mountain ivy and
mistletoe.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #666666; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #666666; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The Blue Ridge Parkway is a big tourist
attraction for visitors to Asheville and surrounding areas. One of the favorite
hiking destinations is a place high on the Parkway named Devil's Courthouse.
The Department of Interior placed a granite slab with information about the
Devil' Courthouse. Legends and rumors abound in the mountains of North
Carolina. There is hardly a mountain stream that has not fed water to the many
whiskey stills in Western North Carolina. My Dad and my brothers had many
whiskey stills in the Transylvania and Jackson County and Buncombe County
areas. I hesitate to admit my involvement since I don't know the statute of
limitations. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #666666; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #666666; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Devil's Courthouse<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>is located at the Western edge of the Pisgah
National Forest about 10 miles northwest of Brevard. Cherokee legend has it
that the Devil used to hold court on the large rock outcropping. There was a
Cherokee story about the cave underneath Devil's Courthouse where a slant -eyed
giant Jutaculla lived and danced<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>in the
cave chambers. I don't know much about this giant except when I was younger and
drinking high proof moonshine, I sometimes came across him. He carried a
tomahawk on his leather throng belt and a knife larger than Jim Bowie's. He
could not speak English and I could not speak giant talk but we got along O.K
and we shared a few bottles of my Dad's 100 proof moonshine. We swapped some
tall tales together and had a few laughs.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #666666; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #666666; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Devil's Courthouse is a mountain in the
Appalachian Mountains of western North Carolina in the United States of
America. The mountain is located at the Western edge of the Pisgah National
Forest about 10 miles northwest of Brevard and 28 miles southwest of Asheville.
Located at milepost 422.4 of the Blue Ridge Parkway, the Devil's Courthouse has
a moderate/str…</span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #464553; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">In Cherokee lore, this cave is the private
dancing chamber and dwelling place of the slant-eyed giant, Judaculla.</span>
The Cherokees call Jutaculla or Judaculla <o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tsul_%27Kalu" title="Tsul 'Kalu"><span style="color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Tsul'kălû'</span></a>
which is hard to pronounce unless you have had a few drinks. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As you can expect, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>one or more of the Owen family in Western
North Carolina often turn up in places like Devil's Courthouse .<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a murder at the Courthouse of a
girl called Wendy Owen which is another story for another time. Judaculla was
allegedly spotted around Haywood , Jackson and Transylvania Counties. Legend
has it that he liked to spend a lot of time at Tanasee Bald. <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I have never figured
out why the Devil had to hold court because by the time he gets a hold of you,
your are already guilty. Maybe he watched the Judge Roy Bean movie with Walther
Brennen. My favorite scene from that movie was when the Judge asked why a man
was brought before him and he was told the man stole a horse. Roy Bean said to
the man: "I sentence you to die at daybreak" Oh, by the way how do
you plead." That scene always reminded me the Brevard Courthouse.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">If you do travel up
the Blue Ridge Parkway to Devil's Courthouse , do it in the daytime and be
careful. Around dusk is usually when the slant eyed giant is wandering about.
If you do happen to</span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #202122; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> see Judaculla, ask
him if he remembers our drinking bouts. </span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white; color: #464553; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color: #111111; font-family: Roboto; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">See Picture below. </span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color: #111111; font-family: Roboto; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color: #111111; font-family: Roboto; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-D0FUv7Flq7k/YAlhXgIKjnI/AAAAAAAAF1c/8TNIVlpLJUE0siWCjYTTzZJ6kC7bovVFQCLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="836" data-original-width="628" height="240" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-D0FUv7Flq7k/YAlhXgIKjnI/AAAAAAAAF1c/8TNIVlpLJUE0siWCjYTTzZJ6kC7bovVFQCLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" width="180" /></a></b></div><b><br /><br /></b><p></p>Carl Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12090856577624910017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187883256820934739.post-2438962318747379012020-11-14T11:49:00.000-08:002020-11-14T11:49:02.397-08:00Hurdles<br />
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<u>HURDLES</u></div>
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Life will hand you hurdles. So, you might ask: What are hurdles? Basically, hurdles are challenges to test your ability to survive until you die. Another way of looking at hurdles is to view then as obstacles. If you have served in the military and run an obstacle course you are aware that when you reach a hurdle or an obstacle that you can's just stop and starve to death. You have to find a way to jump over, go under or around or figure out how to remove the obstacle or hurdle.</div>
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When you start out as a small child as I did, usually your Mother will handle the hurdles for you but sooner or later, you have to handle them for yourself. If you are the kind of person to take the road less traveled, you will quickly become familiar with hurdles.</div>
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I was born a young child without a lot of responsibilities. I did not have to ask for hurdles as they were handed to me. Before long, I was hoeing the garden, chopping wood, hauling water from the spring, feeding animals, churning milk to make butter, chasing down chickens for supper, watching for poisonous snakes, picking grapes, blueberries and blackberries, beans, pulling up onions, carrots and fishing or hunting for squirrels, rabbits, deer and other wild animals to help feed the family. </div>
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The things I learned to do as I grew up in a large family with 12 brothers and sisters gave me a head start on surviving and overcoming hurdles. I joined the Navy at 17 and I was amazed when they gave me two pair of shoes and free clothes to wear. I remember lying in my bunk at night and hearing other 17 or 18 year old recruits sobbing and regretting volunteering . I was already pretty fit from working on a farm but I did gain some muscle weight from the constant marching and running with a rifle all over the Navy Training Center in San Diego. I enjoyed the shooting range. I did not enjoy the gas chamber where they subjected me to tear gas. At first I thought that my four year enlistment would be like boot camp but when I graduated and received my first set of orders to Naval Air Facility Litchfield Park just outside of Phoenix, Arizona, I was pleasantly surprised. I was treated as a human being instead of as a maggot. I was assigned a job in an aviation warehouse where I managed receipt, storage and issued aircraft parts to repair aircraft. At that time, my base was the winter home for the Blue Angels. They flew the McDonnel Douglas A4 Attack aircraft. </div>
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NAF Litchfield Park was pretty easy as far as hurdles went. Every morning I would get up, shave and shower and go to breakfast. The chow hall was close to the barracks so I would stop and have a breakfast before walking to work at the warehouse. I could order eggs, pancakes, toast, bacon, sausage or whatever struck my fancy and I did not have to pay for the food. One of my favorites was the chocolate milk dispenser. I also enjoyed the fresh fruit, especially the oranges and bananas.</div>
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I was pretty much in hog heaven at my first duty station. I was scheduled to go to Memphis, Tennessee to attend Aviation Electronic School but just before I was scheduled to leave I was in an Automobile accident where I suffered severe lacerations and a compound fracture of my left leg just above the ankle. I had a hurdle at that point as the doctors wanted to amputate my foot as there was no bone holding it to my leg, just some tissue and muscle. I told them if it rotted off, I would deal with that but if they tried to remove my foot, then there would be hell to pay.</div>
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At any rate, they saved the foot and took skin from my thigh and did skin grafts to cover the open bone. I still just have skin over my lower leg but I got over that hurdle. However, when my school date started, I was hobbling around on crutches. I was told that I missed my opportunity to become an Aviation Electronic Technician. I was pissed about that but around that time I saw a notice on my work bulletin board encouraging sailors to volunteer to go to Viet Nam. You guessed it, I signed up to volunteer and was sent to Lemoore Naval Air Station in California. I was assigned to Attack Squadron 125 for training purposes to become a plane captain. The days were long and hard. I learned to wash, fuel and lubricate several types of aircraft and how to pre-flight the planes prior to take off. Litchfield Park Naval Air Facility was a walk in the park compared to my new 12-16 hour work days. I finally was certified to be a plane captain for A4 aircraft and was given orders to my favorite attack squadron, Attack Squadron 144. Our mascot oddly enough was the Roadrunner.</div>
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Carl Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12090856577624910017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187883256820934739.post-32298496087565119522020-11-14T11:46:00.000-08:002020-11-14T11:46:01.340-08:00<p> </p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"><b><u>THE BEAR AND THUNDER ROAD</u></b></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><p>I have regaled you with some of my childhood memories growing up in the foothills of the Great Smokey Mountains. As you know I was born a young child with a full set of teeth and a full coat of hair. While Davy Crockett killed him a bear when he was only 4 years old, my encounter with a bear was at the tender age of 3. I was hunting squirrels for supper with my Dad's 22 rifle. He would give me three or 4 shells and tell me to bring back 3 or 4 squirrels. If I brought back less, he wanted to know what happened with the extra bullet. Anyway to the bear. I came around a giant oak tree about a mile from my Dad's whiskey still and tripped over a black bear napping behind the tree. As you can imagine, we were both surprised and startled. We became entangled with each other and since we were on a slope, we started rolling downhill asshole to elbow, each holding to the other. As we neared the bottom of the hill, nearby observers (other hunters) spread the story that I was wrestling with the bear. We collided with a Sassafras tree which stopped the downhill tumble. The bear got up and stood on its hind legs and so did I. He reached out his paw and I shook it and we went our separate ways. Some might tell this story differently but I was there and I know that it was, for the most part, an innocent encounter. No blood was shed. At any rate, you will just have to believe what you will. </p><p>My first cousin Willy B tells a story where he run into a bear while in the woods. When asked why he didn't shoot the bear he said: "I did not have a gun and it was not loaded." Willy B was known to stretch the truth from time to time.</p><p>Now, nine years later in 1958 my sisters, Thelma and Estelle asked me to drive them to Lake Toxaway since neither of them had a driver's license. My Dad was in his liquor still working so I short wired his 1941 Chevrolet coupe and away we went. Now Lake Toxaway is best known for its spectacular waterfall called Toxaway Falls. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ITUChQnKiI8/X7AuhmX-XaI/AAAAAAAAFu0/6CcWK9Px8D8KW52Z8WvTP4qBEdCpGgXawCLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="176" data-original-width="268" height="210" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ITUChQnKiI8/X7AuhmX-XaI/AAAAAAAAFu0/6CcWK9Px8D8KW52Z8WvTP4qBEdCpGgXawCLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" width="320" /></a></div>In 1958 Robert Mitchem was starring in a movie called Thunder Road and they were filming a scene where Robert Mitchem with a full load of moonshine "left the road at 90" while being chased by Revenooers. The movie showed his car going off the road and down the Toxaway Waterfalls. When we got there, Robert Mitchem was having lunch with some of the camera crew and of course my sisters went right up to him and asked for his autograph. I was busy checking out the blonde girl at the lunch cart. She smiled at me and darned if it didn't look like she had all her teeth. She motioned me over and gave me a sandwich and a bottle of coca-cola. We talked and she asked me for my telephone number. I sheepishly told her that I didn't have a telephone or a number. She smiled and said: "I guess I will just have to send you messages by smoke signal." I never saw her again but every once in awhile over the next few years, I looked toward Toxaway Falls just in case she was sending me a signal.<p></p><p>For those of you who have not seen the movie Thunder Road, I would recommend it. It does stretch the truth a mite but it still depicts the way of life in Western North Carolina in the '50s. Course none of the cars we used to haul moonshine for my Dad would go 90 miles an hour and we just hauled the hooch in the trunk of the car in one-gallon coke jugs mostly at night time.</p><p>Note: </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: courier;"><span style="background: white; color: #666666; line-height: 107%;">Thunder Road is a black and white 1958
drama–crime film directed by Arthur Ripley and starring Robert Mitchum, who
also produced the film and co-wrote the screenplay. With Don Raye, Mitchum
co-wrote the theme song, "The Ballad of Thunder Road." The film features
Gene Barry and Jacques Aubuchon. The film's plot concerns running moonshine in
the mountains of Kentucky, Tennessee, and North Carolina in the late 1950s. Thunder Road became
a cult film and continued to play at drive-in movie theaters in some
southeastern states. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><br /></p>Carl Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12090856577624910017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187883256820934739.post-37052712004011014692020-03-30T17:01:00.000-07:002020-03-30T17:01:00.743-07:00REMEMBERING WHILE I CANI am 73 and will soon be 74 with no idea how I got this old. Sometimes when I wake up I have to stop and think, where did the years go? I go to the bathroom and see a grey-headed old man looking back at me. I have some friends with dementia and I know that I am not immune. So I thought I would recount some of my memories. I have told my kids that life is a journey. Along that journey, you run across obstacles in your path. You can turn back and try another path or you can face the obstacles and figure how to overcome them by going over, under, around or through them. You are competing with other people for your quality of life. I have always chosen to attack the obstacles and move forward. I haven't always made the best choice but early on, I realized that since life is a journey of obstacles, I hand to learn how to be tough. My motto has always been: Never Give Up. My second motto is: Whatever is Necessary. So, while I still can remember, I want to share some of my memories with my family.<br />
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<b>The Many-Legged Chicken</b><br />
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<b>I was born a young child as some of you know from some of my previous stories. My Mama and Daddy had a total of 13 children a combination of the good, the bad and the ugly (not me). At any one time, there were at least 8 or 9 around the supper table. Just because we were poor, we did not want for food. We raised a garden and fields of corn. We canned the food from the garden. We ate grapes growing along the creek bed. We picked berries of every variety, We hunted squirrels, rabbits, groundhogs, deer and we either raised a hog for winter meat or helped Uncle Robert to slaughter several Russian Hogs each fall and he shared with us. We fished in the creek by our house and the French Broad River. My Mama always had a pot of pinto beans on the wood stove and in the overhead of the stove, she kept a stash of biscuits and cornbread. We walked the road banks and picked Polk salad that Mama cooked with scrambled eggs from our chickens. Well, the chickens did not scramble the eggs, we did. We had a milk cow. We used a milk churn to make our own butter and buttermilk. We raised corn and converted it to 100 proof whiskey (moonshine). So, We didn't know we were poor. We felt fortunate to have what we had. We had a cold mountain stream coming close to the house and we kept out milk in what we called the spout branch. The cold water kept the milk cold and provided us with the best drinking water that I have ever tasted. We had an outhouse down the hill from our house and a flashlight for those trips after dark. We had a wood heater in the living room and we cut firewood from the well-treed 8 acres that my Daddy owned. Life was a series of daily chores with a break once in a while for a picnic of Chicken and Mama's homemade potato salad and a gallon of Kool-aid. Mama made grape and berry jellies and jams. We would buy peaches from roadside stands that were trucked up from Georgia and Mama would can the peaches and my Grandma would make peach preserves (the best). We had a bank house off the side of the house to store canned goods and a side of bacon. We walked along the gravel roads in the County and gathered whiskey bottles. My mama would wash and disinfect the bottles and fill them with moonshine for sale. A half-pint cost 75 cents and a pint cost $2.00 up until the Cuban Crisis and we had to raise the price because sugar was scarce and costs a lot more than normal. We worked on some of the big farms stringing wire for green beans to grow and when they grew, we went back and picked them by the bushel for 50 cents a bushel. Our clothes had patches but every year we got a couple of new outfits for the school year. In the summertime, we went barefoot and that saved on shoe costs. When Mama went to the store, she picked up salt, pepper, flour and not much more. I often think of those times and I wish that I could relive those moments. Eventually, our life got more modern with electricity, a refrigerator and a small black and white TV. We kept the kerosene lamps for power outages.</b><br />
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<b>Anyway to get back to the many leged Chicken. We did not always have meat with our meals but sometimes we would have chicken along with pinto beans and collard greens. Since the chicken gizzard was reserved for my Daddy and the chicken legs were reserved for the younger kids, I usually ended up with a thigh or a wing. As the older kids left home, I longed for the time when I would get a chicken leg. One day, when there were only four of us kids left at home, I knew that I would finally get a chicken leg. I was anxious. Mama fried up some chicken and passed the pieces around. The two youngest kids got legs. I asked Mama, where are the other legs? She said, "Son, a chicken only has two legs." I was in disbelief because many times I had seen 4 legs passed around. I got up from the supper table and went out onto the back porch and looked at the chickens walking around on two legs. What a puzzle. Mama explained. When more kids were at home, she cooked two chickens. I will never forget that day when I realized that Chickens only have two legs.</b><br />
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<b>More vivid memories to come. Stay tuned. </b>Carl Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12090856577624910017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187883256820934739.post-74003715546643294102018-06-15T09:44:00.002-07:002018-06-15T09:44:47.063-07:00 <b><u> The Prison Story and the Family Relocation to Oregon</u></b><br />
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<b>When my Daddy, Fred Owen, was sentenced to one year and one day in Federal Court for not paying taxes on his moonshine, he was sent to a Federal Prison in Atlanta, Georgia. By the way there is no way that Georgia Moonshine can compare to my Daddy's whiskey.</b><br />
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<b>We had no income while Daddy was in prison. We subsisted on canned goods, garden vegetables and what game we could catch or shoot. We ate squirrels, groundhogs, rabbits, deer and other animals too slow to get away. Uncle Robert gave us a big Russian Hog for winter meat. We had an old Jersey cow for a milk cow. We made our own butter and butter milk. My Mother always found a way to put food on the table along with either biscuits or corn bread.</b><br />
<b>Sometimes a meal would consist of a bowl of buttermilk and cornbread broken into the bowl.</b><br />
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<b>One staple was pinto beans which we referred to as "soup beans". When I got married, I asked Anita to go to the store to pick up some soup beans and she came back empty handed. "I searched every pack of beans in the store and they did not have soup beans" said she. I went to the store with her and pointed out the bag of pinto beans. She still argues that the package did not say "soup beans" which is a minor technicality. Sometimes my Daddy would just spoon the soup from the beans and have the soup with cornbread. My brother Charles would mash the pinto beans up on his plate and mash homemade butter into the beans. To this day when I see a can of what is called "refried beans", I think of Charles.</b><br />
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<b>Without Daddy, my Mother took over management of the 12 children or at least tried. It would be kind to describe us as manageable. Charles, as the oldest of the clan was appointed as the family Sheriff by Mama. He would run down whichever kid needed a whupping and deliver him or her to Mama for the application of a hickory switch. </b><br />
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<b>At any rate, without the income from selling of Daddy's whiskey, our food and resources dwindled. </b><br />
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<b>My sister Thelma and my brother-in-law Henson packed us all into a green and white Chrysler and took us to Oregon. What a long and tiresome trip that was with kids stacked to the ceiling of the Chrysler from the floorboard up. Several days later we arrived in Westport, Oregon. Thelma and Henson put us up in a beautiful home that set at the foot of Nicoli Mountain.</b><br />
<b>They bought the house and several acres from Earnie, the store owner in Westport. Mama went to Earnie's store and asked him where the grits were located. He gave her a strange look and asked : "what are grits". Well the store started carrying grits. My brother Gerald was with Mama at the store and as he was exploring the store goods, he turned a corner and ran into the bread man who dropped his crates of bread on the floor. As he was picking up the bread, he said to Gerald, "excuse me" and Gerald blurted out "Thank you".</b><br />
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<b>To call Gerald a rascal would be an understatement. At that time we both loved peanut butter and we were racing to the house to get some peanut butter. Gerald beat me to the house, grabbed the peanut butter jar and scooped about 4 tablespoonfuls of into his mouth and tried to swallow. Well, that much peanut butter is hard to swallow. He got a strange look on his fact and started turning blue as he grabbed his throat. I called Mama who rushed in the kitchen and almost beat him to death as she slapped him on the back until enough of the peanut butter went down so he could breath again. I don't think he has had peanut butter since. </b><br />
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<b>We survived Oregon by picking berrys, stringing bean fields, picking beans and strawberries. We would never have survived without Thelma and Henson's help.</b><br />
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<b>Gerald and I were climbing an English Walnut tree when we saw a strange car coming up the drive. It was a taxicab. We were totally shocked when Daddy climbed out of the taxicab. He was carrying an old brown suitcase and he looked awful tired. He had spent a year and one day in prison and here he was in Oregon after a long train ride and a taxi cab ride. He told Gerald and I to go and get Mama and tell her to bring some money to pay the taxi cab man. We started to climb the hill to the house but we saw Mama running down the hill flapping her apron up to her face and crying. I could never stand to see my Mama cry so<i> </i> I shed a tear too. We were finally a family back together again.</b>Carl Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12090856577624910017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187883256820934739.post-78874888977394650962014-09-30T18:21:00.001-07:002014-09-30T18:22:13.694-07:0048th Wedding Anniversary New Ways to Send Flowers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Carl Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12090856577624910017noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187883256820934739.post-3089540169379784142014-09-30T11:45:00.002-07:002014-09-30T11:45:51.694-07:00Carl Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12090856577624910017noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187883256820934739.post-24518470807833033832014-09-30T11:19:00.000-07:002014-09-30T11:46:47.018-07:00Repost of My Woman My Woman My WifeMarty Robbins did a great job singing the song "My Woman My Woman My Wife. When my daughter Margaret first started this newsletter it was not a blog but just a collection of stories. The stories I wrote prior to the blog coming along did not get transferred.<br />
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Since today is the Anniversary of my marriage to my wife Anita (aka White Girl) I decided to repost the story previously posted in the original pre-blog Owen Newsletter. I am fortunate that the white girl has stuck by me these many years (48 today). She has stood by me through thick and thin with more thin than thick.<br />
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My grandpa told me that if I decided to get a woman to be my wife to keep her and that is what I have done. I learned the hard way to listen to my grandpa.<br />
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I found her in a little dusty town in Arizona, fell in love, left her and went to Viet Nam and then she finally chased me until I caught her in Rockville, Maryland and married me on 30 September 1966.<br />
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Anyway, I won't go into the details but at some point I stole Marty Robbin's song title and here is the original story.<br />
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<strong><u>MY WOMAN MY WOMAN MY WIFE<o:p></o:p></u></strong></div>
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<strong><u>AND THE LAST MAN ON EARTH<span style="font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><o:p></o:p></span></u></strong></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><o:p><u> </u></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">I’ve told the kids a lot of
different stories over the years about how Anita chased me until I caught her.
Well, that part of the story is true. I might have exaggerated some on the rest
of the story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">I joined the Navy on a
guaranteed Aviation School Program. Henry McDevitt and I tried to get a job
right out of High School and didn’t have too much luck. I will always remember
my high school graduation. Mama, Grandma, and Thelma were out there in the auditorium
on June 9<sup>th</sup> of 1964. My brother Harold gave me a watch for a
graduation present. I kept that watch for years and years and lost it in Hong
Kong or the Philippines. I don’t rightly remember which. My graduation ring
went to a pretty girl who wrote me two or three letters in Boot Camp and then
finally a Dear John letter. Gerald could identify with that since he has always
called himself John. Course I have heard Mary Grace call him some other names
that we won’t put in the newsletter. So you could say that Gerald has gone by
quite a few names. Allen Fisher always called him Joel and I picked up on that.
Daddy called him Dammit Gerald. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Any way back to the
graduation. They were proud of me and I was proud to have them there. Well,
Henry and I got a wild hair one day after putting in 20 or 30 applications and
being rejected because we had not put in our service time. At that time the
draft was alive and well and Vietnam was just heating up a bit. Henry and I
called the Navy recruiter and he met us at Verona’s house in greater downtown
Rosman. When the recruiter got there, he wanted us to take a test so Henry took
his arm and knocked about 2 cases of empty beer cans off the kitchen table and
we proceeded to drink our breakfast beer and take the entrance test. The Navy
recruiter sat there and sipped beer while Henry and I finally qualified for a
job. We joined on the buddy program and went to San Diego Boot Camp and then to
Naval Air Facility, Litchfield Park, Arizona. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">There were lots of girls in
Arizona and most of them liked Sailors so Henry and I had no problem getting a
date for a movie or a drive out to the mountains to look at the moon. One day
we went into the drugstore in the small town of Avondale and there was this
girl there that acted like she did not especially care for Sailors. I found out
quickly that she made the best Tuna Fish Sandwiches I had ever had. Her burgers
were so so. Anyway, eventually, Henry and I started dating Anita and Lupe. I
don’t know how Lupe got Henry to marry her, especially after Henry lost her to
me one night in a Poker Game. When I left town to go to Vietnam (Henry and I
both volunteered), Anita was bad sick and when I went to tell her goodbye, her
Mama would not let me in the house to see her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not too long before Anita and I had argued and
she told me that she would not marry me unless I was the last man on earth.
Well, after I left and she didn’t have me there to argue with, she started
writing me letters. She courted me pretty heavy in those letters and one day I
got a letter with a key to her apartment in it. I guess she wanted the last man
on earth to come visit her in Arlington Virginia. She had trained for and
become an Airlines Reservation Agent and lived in Arlington Virginia and worked
in Washington D.C. with Northwest Airlines. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Well, to make a long story
short, the last man on earth went to Arlington, the key fit, and he took the
girl to Rockville, Maryland and married her. We got in a big fight on our
wedding day but I’ll save that story for another time. We just recently
celebrated our 38<sup>th</sup> wedding anniversary and have two great children
and some pretty nice grandchildren. I guess you could say that Henry and I
lucked out. I guess you could also say that I taught Anita to never again
threaten to not marry me if I was the last man on earth. Who got the last laugh
there? If I had it to do all over again, I would do it again. She still makes
the best Tuna Fish Sandwiches and keeps the last man on earth happy. You don’t
suppose she said she wouldn’t marry me because she knew how stubborn I was and
planned to marry me all along do you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Anyway, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Carl Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12090856577624910017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187883256820934739.post-58409761555104543382014-08-28T08:33:00.003-07:002014-08-28T08:33:58.052-07:00Owen Family Saga Part 5Carl Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12090856577624910017noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187883256820934739.post-82462010745923794512014-08-10T12:01:00.000-07:002014-08-28T22:21:48.801-07:00The Hog came Home<strong>THE HOG COMES HOME SHERMAN, ROBERT, BESSIE AND LEONARD ARRESTED</strong><br />
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Sherman and Jason went into the house and proceeded to the kitchen table. Jason was married to Sherman's daughter, Dora, bringing the McCalls into the spreading Owen family. Dora and Jason recently added a new member to the family, a boy, Elzie.<br />
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Sherman poured a cup of coffee for Jason and they sat down at the table to look at the Sale Bill.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>Sherman leaned back in his chair and looked at Jason. "I did not think the son-of-a-bitch would have the nerve. We will go to the sale and get the hog and if he wants trouble then he will get it." Robert came into the room and poured a cup of coffee and reached over the stove and got a biscuit. <br />
"What is going on Daddy?" "Patterson is trying to sell our hog at the school sale tomorrow and we are going to get it." "I'm coming too" said Robert. "I will kick his ass" "No need for that "said Sherman " We will just go get the hog and bring it home" "What if he starts trouble" Robert asked.<br />
"If he starts it then we will finish it" "Damn straight " said Jason.<br />
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Soon Fred and Leonard came in and got involved in the conversation. Tempers were raging. Leone came in the back door with a jug of buttermilk from the spring. The spring was situated down the hill from the bankhouse and Sherman had dug it out to where it was a deep pool. The water was ice cold and the family used it for drinking water as well as a place to store sweet milk and butter milk. "What is all the ruckus about?" asked Lone. Sherman explained what Patterson planned and Lone asked "You ain't gonna let him get away with that. What do you plan to do?" Sherman looked at Lone and said,"Jason and I are going to the sale and bring the hog home that's what I'm gonna do." Both Fred and Leonard chimed in: "I'm going too" "We don't need a crowd" Sherman said. Lone looked at Sherman and said "Take Leonard and Robert, but leave Fred here with me." "The hell you say" said Fred as he looked angrily at his mother. Sherman said "Fred you heard what your mama said and don't talk to her that a way." Fred glared at his Father and quickly left the room.<br />
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While the others were talking in the kitchen, Fred went down toward he corn crib. He glanced around and when he saw no-one was watching he climbed into the loft of the crib and went to back corner. He lifted up a burlap sack and pulled out an old Navy Colt 41. He had traded scrap iron until he had $7.00 and had bought it off Matt Galloway. He unwrapped the cotton cloth the gun was wrapped in and he checked the action. The revolver was fully loaded and the action was smooth. He tucked the gun in his belt and pulled his shirt out to cover it. He went back to the house and walked boldly back into the kitchen as his Mama was setting the table with corn bread and buttermilk. He grabbed a seat and filled a bowl with half sweet milk and half buttermilk. He then broke up a big piece of cornbread into the mixture and salted it . The men were still looking at the sale paper.<br />
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Sherman and Jason stayed up late talking about the sale and what to do. When Jason left he told Sherman that he would meet him just downhill from the schoolhouse at 7 in the morning. The sale usually started right at eight o'clock. Sherman went into the bedroom and took down his twin Colt 45's. He took them out on the front porch with a kerosene lantern. As he unloaded and cleaned the pistols he saw the lamps go out in the house as everyone settled in for the night. He wiped and cleaned the guns until they shined. Except for some holster wear on the bluing the guns looked new. The mother of pearl handles glistened in the lantern light. He turned the lamp on low and moved his chair by the porch rail and thought of tomorrow. He knew Wisdom's son-in-law was rumored to be a scrapper but Jason, Leonard and Robert would be with him so he would take on Wisdom and let the others handle the son-in-law.<br />
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After a while Sherman went back into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. It was not hot but it was warm. He went back out and sat his coffee cup on the porch rail and gazed at the sky. There were dark clouds gathering and he thought maybe a summer thunderstorm was in the making. The wind was picking up and the tall pines swayed at the peaks. He walked down to the barn with the lantern and checked on his blue roan. Rolo nuzzled him and looked at his hands for an apple. Sherman took a pail from the harness rack and put some oats in it. Rolo was glad to get a night snack. Sherman checked his saddle and bridal and headed back to the house. He sat on the porch and finished his coffee and cleaned his pipe with his knife. He took a Prince Albert can from his back pocket and filled the pipe with some mixed Prince Albert and Cherry tobacco. As he lit and puffed the pipe he heard the door open and Leone came over by his side with a wicker chair and sat down. "Don't you think you should come to bed and get some rest Sherm?" "I am O.K. Lone. I'm just a little worried about taking Leonard and Robert tomorrow. I could not live with myself if they got hurt." Lone reached over and patted him on the knee. "It will be all right Sherm. They are men now and you could not hold them back. Just look out for trouble. Just go and get our hog and if Patterson wants a fight you can easily handle him. He is a fancy pants not a hard worker like you." I'm not worried about him but you know what a temper Robert has and he is all riled up. You go on back to bed Lone I'm going to sit for a spell and look out at what's ours. We have made this place a home Lone and no-body is going to mess with me and mine." He hugged her shoulder and she leaned her head against his chest and her long black hair covered his arm. She left and went to bed. After sitting and finishing his pipe, Sherman picked up the gun belt and went to bed.<br />
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The roosters started crowing around five and Sherman got out of bed to find Lone already fixing grits and side meat with biscuits and eggs. The coffee smelled good and he took the big green mug that belonged to his father and filled it to the brim. He ate and went down to the barn with his guns over his shoulder. He found Leonard, Robert and Fred already there. The horses were saddled and the rifles were in the scabbards. Sherman looked at Fred and said, "Fred there is liable to be some trouble and I promised your Mama you would stay with her. If something happens to us, not that it will, but if it does then you are here to care for your mother and this place. You are man enough to do that and your mother is more worried than she puts on. Now I know you want to go but I need one of us to stay out of this so just do what I say and don't cause your Mama no grief." Fred looked at his saddled horse and then at his Daddy. "I won't interfere Daddy." And with that he began unsaddling the grey mare. He turned as watched as his Daddy and his brothers rode down the path toward Diamond Creek. When they were out of sight, he re-saddled the mare and led her into the trees toward the ridge leading toward the schoolhouse. As he tied the mare to a sourwood tree, he looked up into the sky and saw there was a summer storm a brewing.<br />
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He went back to the house and went in the kitchen. "Did your Daddy go to meet Jason" asked his mother. "Yes, he left about 10 minutes ago. I want to go down to Jim Morgan's on the lower side of the creek. His Daddy is building a corn crib and he said we would get paid for helping." "Well you eat some breakfast before you go and don't stay too long. Your Daddy will be back soon and he will need you to gather some leaves for the hog pen." Fred made a sandwich of side meat and a biscuit and gulped down a glass of sweet milk. As he left he patted his back and felt the Colt 41 tucked snugly in his belt. He muttered to himself, "I'll be dammed if I am going to be left out of getting our hog back. I will just stay out of sight of Daddy but I will be there if they need me." He untied the grey mare from the tree and went down the ridge to Diamond creek and crossed at the old logging road leading up to the school house.<br />
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Sherman, Leonard and Robert rode into the road about a mile from the school house and found Jason on his white horse waiting for them. "Looks like maybe a rainstorm." said Jason. Sherman said, "I saw the clouds moving in last night. Sometimes these dog day storms come of a sudden. I think this one is moving on through." They rode abreast up the road toward the schoolhouse. It was just after seven and they wanted to be in place before the sale. They looked a sight. Each had on a felt hat with guns strapped to their hips. Robert had donned his Wellington cowboy boots and Leonard wore his company store work boots. They rode along with a determination and purpose.<br />
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Fred rode into the school house and went to the west side and tied his horse to a rail. He had made it there before Sherman and his brothers. He walked around the school house and looked at the preparations for the sale. The food table was already set up so he went there and bought a cinnamon roll and a Sun Drop cola for 15 cents. Stepping back to the school house he spied Wisdom Patterson and his son-in-law leading the stolen hog with a rope. The son-in-law had hold of the rope and Wisdom was dressed in his Sunday go to meeting clothes. He wore a black coat and pants with a string tie and shiny boots. Fred was tempted to brace them with his Colt and take the hog but he saw his Daddy and his brothers and Jason riding into the lower entrance to the school yard so he faded back to the far corner of the school house and finished his roll and cola as he watched the sale area.<br />
He slipped the gun from his back and crouched by the corner of the building.<br />
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Sherman wasted no time. He rode right up to the front of the school and as he dismounted so did the others. They tied their horses to the rail and as one turned and walked toward Wisdom Patterson. They were within 20 feet when Wisdom saw them and he waved his son-in-law back with the hog and he stepped forward. "Whose hog have you got there?"braced Sherman. I am selling this hog for damages said Wisdom, his eyes taking in Sherman's twin Colts. " I offered you damages and now you get none" said Sherman. " No need for trouble. We came after our hog. But if you insist on trouble then you will get it." Just at that moment, Leonard's wife, Bessie, came from behind and took a knife from her apron and cut the rope holding the hog. She had been at the baked goods table and had appeared quickly. <br />
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Things happened quickly. The son-in-law looked stunned as he looked down and saw he was now only holding a short piece of rope in his hand. He quickly pushed Bessie and they both stumbled and fell with Bessie dropping the knife and jumping back up. Wisdom raced after the trailing rope trying to retrieve the loose hog. Robert stepped in front of him and Wisdom reached in his coat and pulled a knife and slashed at Robert as Robert stepped back. The knife cut through Robert's shirt and belt. As Robert stepped back he drew his gun and fired hitting Wisdom in the shoulder area. As soon as Sherman saw Robert stumble backward, he thought that Robert was hurt. He drew his right hand pistol and shot Wisdom. The son-in-law turned and ran toward the schoolhouse as Leonard drew his gun and fired as Wisdom fell to the ground. People were running all over the sale area and someone started yelling "Murder, Murder". Sherman told Leonard, Get the hog and lets get out of here. Leonard quickly gathered up the hog with Jason's help and they tied the rope to Jason's saddle horn. They mounted up and rode back down Diamond Creek road with the hog in tow. Bessie had already crossed the road and was heading home.<br />
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Fred watched as the crowd gathered round and he heard someone say, " He is dead. He is deader than a door nail. "Fred retrieved his mare and quickly rode up Diamond Creek to the logging road. He splashed across the creek and raced his mare down along the creek to the barn where he quickly unsaddled the mare and was almost to the house when Sherman, Leonard, Robert and Jason rode into the clearing and headed for the hog pen. Lone came out onto the porch and saw her husband and her two sons walking up the trail to the house. Robert was holding his pants up as his belt had been cut into. Lone raced down the steps to Robert and grabbed him. "Are you all right son?" " I am fine Mama. It is just my clothes that got cut." She glanced at Sherman and asked, "Any bad trouble?"<br />
"There might be, said Sherman. We shot the hog thief."<br />
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STAY TUNED FOR PART 6: The Arrests and the Trial.<br />
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<br />Carl Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12090856577624910017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187883256820934739.post-5976928978016486252014-08-03T15:31:00.000-07:002014-08-03T15:31:49.863-07:00OWEN FAMILY SAGA PART 4 RETRIEVING THE HOG BY FORCEOWEN FAMILY SAGA PART 4 RETRIEVING THE HOG BY FORCE<br />
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He walked to the back of the pig pen and selected a locust post that Robert had recently split from the locust logs gathered at the top of the ridge overlooking his house and the creek. Locust is an extremely hard and durable fence post and lasts for years before beginning to show signs of rot. The pen had been constructed just three years prior and he did not think that the post would have deteriorated that quickly.</div>
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Fred and Robert had retrieved a hammer and a small bag of staples and Leonard had returned with the wire. As they were finishing up with the repairs Loan came out on the front porch and banged the triangular iron hanging by the porch swing. </div>
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"Lets go wash up boys your mama is calling us to eat." Robert retorts, "I guess we won't have to fill the hog trough or put leaves in the pen." The hell you won't", replied Sherman "We are going to get our hog back come hell or high water."</div>
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As they approached the front porch of the house the <span style="background-color: #cfe2f3;">Guinea</span> hens flocked around them and Sherman stopped and lifted the top off a barrel and threw out some shelled corn to the hens. They made an awful racket as they fought over the corn. He did not like the noisy clucking but they had proven to be good watch dogs and the eggs were good. He chuckled as he thought of Bell, the beagle who mostly laid around on the porch and welcomed visitors. Some watch dog he thought but she did occasionally bring in a rabbit or two and she was good for squirrel and coon hunting also.</div>
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They stopped on the porch and washed their hands from the pan that Loan had put out for them. As they entered the house, the smell of frying pickled green beans and corn roused their appetite. Sherman knew from past similar meals that there would be fresh corn bread and a plate of radishes, lettuce and onion awaiting and possibly some fried okra and pinto beans.</div>
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He had called it exactly right. As they sat around the long table Loan poured coffee for all the boys and Sherman. He admired her new apron she had just made from the colorful flour sack they had purchased from the Company store in Rosman.<br />
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After lunch Sherman took a cup of coffee out to his favorite chair on the porch. His thoughts drifted back in time to sitting on the porch with his Daddy William Baxter Owen. His father was a great storyteller but mixed in with the stories Sherman learned a certain code of honor. Many of William's stories centered on past events within the Owen family and they always seemed to have a message of proper conduct. One such story came to his mind as he sipped his almost boiling cup of coffee. William was helping a friend across the way build a barn and he had left his wagon in the field loaded with lumber. He just unhitched his team of mules from the wagon and left it by the barn site. The following morning, he returned to find his wagon missing. He returned home and was strapping on his gun belt with the two pearl handled 45's that now hung in Sherman's bedroom. The word had gone out about the missing wagon. As Sherman watched his father oil and load the pistols he asked, "What are you going to do Daddy?" His father replied, "Gonna go get our wagon back." "You gonna shoot somebody?" asked Sherman." Son, never carry a gun that you are not ready to use. "You have to intend to use it or just don't take it. But if you find the other feller armed and you aren't then you are in a world of shit." "Can I go with you Daddy?" pleaded Sherman. "You can if you promise to stand to side out of danger. Now go saddle up the hosses"<br />
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Sherman and his father rode out from the house and trailed the Diamond Creek to a wagon crossing about three miles down from the house. "Where we going Daddy?" "Going to Balsam Grove." The mules trailed behind them as they wound down the hill to the road to Balsam Grove. Later in the day, they came to a road leading to the top of a hill. "How do you know the wagon is here Daddy?" "I don't for sure but this Morgan feller was eyeing us building the barn and he asked a lot of questions. Plus he has been known to take things that are not his before. We will just have to see what we will see." As they reached the top of the hill a small clearing among the trees on the ridge became visible. Nestled within the trees was a small cabin with a small barn. No one seemed to be home. William told Sherman to hold his position and he dismounted by the cabin and walked up some rickety steps to the front porch. When he knocked on the door there was no response. Sherman thought he saw a curtain move in the paned window to the right but he wasn't certain.<br />
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William came back to the horses and said, "Let's check the barn and see if anyone is there." As they rode down the ridge to the barn they saw the tail end of a wagon at the back of the barn. William called out, "Hello the barn." Receiving no reply he told Sherman to wait and he rode around the barn. Soon Sherman heard his father say, "Son, bring the mules." As they were hitching the mules to the double tree they heard a noise and down the hill came a man with a rifle cradled in his arms. They finished hitching the mules and the man called out as he got closer, "What the hell are you two doing?" "Oh," replied William, "we are hitching our wagon up"" I bought that wagon from a man from Tennessee Gap." the man blustered. William told Sherman to stand back and he stepped toward the man. "I think I know you. You are Alf Morgan aren't you?" The man cradling the rifle said, "What's it to you?" "Well, its just that I like to know the name of people I intend to shoot for stealing what is mine" "Wagons look a lot alike. How do you know this is even yore wagon?" " Well, for one thing I built the bed and rails of this wagon and my initials are on the planks." <br />
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"I didn't steal your wagon. I told you I bought the wagon" and he moved the rifle slightly. Sherman tensed up as his father put both hands on the Colt 45's holstered on his hip. The man said, "Hold on now there is no use for trouble" Sherman said, "Either you stole my wagon or you know who did. You give me the name of the feller from Tennessee Gap and show me a bill of sale and I will shoot him instead of you" The man stuttered as he blurted out, " M m mister, if that is yore wagon take it. I don't have a bill of sale and I will take the loss." William said, "There will be no trouble if you lay the rifle on the ground and do it gently." Morgan bent his knees slightly and laid the rifle on the ground. As William stepped toward him the man stumbled backwards a few steps keeping his eyes on William's 45's. William reached down and picked up the rifle. "You stay here, we will be leaving now. Yore rifle will be left on the porch. I don't want to see you again so take some advice. If I see you around me and mine again I will shoot first with no warning." He put the rifle in the wagon bed <br />
as Sherman tied their horses behind the wagon. Sherman watched the man as they rode to the porch. "Git the rifle, unload it and place it on the porch. We will keep the shells." <br />
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Riding back to the Balsam Grove road, Sherman asked his father, "Would you have shot him? "Yep", replied William, " You do what you have to do." If you allow someone to take from you and yours word will get out and a man has to be able to hold his head up or he ain't much of a man. You have to watch out for yourself and yore family. A man doesn't have much without his name and his word."Were you scared" asked Sherman. "Nope once I make up my mind about something being afraid would only make me subject to fear directing my moves instead of determination. Come hell or high water, I was going to get our wagon back."</div>
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Sherman finished his coffee and started back into the house as Jason McCall rode up to the porch and tied his horse t the rail. "Sherman", he called out, " Patterson plans to sell your hog at the Diamond Creek School house sale on Saturday." He carried a sale paper as he climbed the steps to the porch.<br />
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Stay tuned for Part 5.</div>
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<br />Carl Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12090856577624910017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187883256820934739.post-19936751536540907272014-07-25T05:40:00.001-07:002014-07-25T05:40:05.123-07:00THE OWEN FAMILY HOG SAGA, PART THREE by Carl OwenThe wispy, smoke-like fog that hangs over the Smoky Mountains comes from rain and evaporation from trees. On the high peaks of the Smokies, an average of 85 inches of rain falls each year, qualifying these upper elevation areas as temperate rain forests. It was a Wednesday, the day before the end of July in the year of 1919.
Looking out from his front porch in the Diamond Creek Section of Transylvania County, North Carolina, Sherman Owen saw some movement at the edge of the wood line. What appeared to be a hog crossed the path leading into the woods. He pulled his pocket watch from the chain attached to his belt and gazed at the time. It was six in the morning and the heat of the July dog days had not settled in yet. He walked the path leading into the woods for a distance and leaned against one of the two twin Lombardy Poplars that soared up into the smoky haze a good 100 feet. His father, William Baxter Owen had planted the poplars 20 feet apart and they graced the entrance to his home and farm.
The farm consisted of 23 acres of prime hardwood forest with a clearing for a corn crib and a hog pen. His house was of hand hewn logs nestled up close to a hill leading up to an old logging road that traversed Diamond Creek. He had added on to the log structure over the years. Although somewhat of a mismatch from the original structure, it contained enough room for his growing family. Chickens moved about a-foot as he made his way back up the small incline leading to the house. As he neared the house, he spied his wife, Jeannette Leone coming out of the bank house carved into the hill beside the house. She carried a jar of pickled corn and beans in her arms. Her long black hair hung down to her waist. Sherman could not help but marvel at her long black locks and slender pretty face.
"Hey Lone", he called as he approached his front porch, "I think your hog has slipped his pen. Have Leonard go to the creek and check on him." Leonard was his oldest son and had turned out to be a great help to him in keeping the farm up and working alongside him logging timber that they floated down the French Broad River to the lumber mill in Rosman. The timber helped with expenses. He had been able to put aside some money over the last three years to purchase another 25 acre piece of land on the other side of the creek running through his property, Diamond Creek. He chuckled as he thought of the name given the creek. His sons and daughters had searched the width and breadth of the creek looking for diamonds and only finding bright red garnets and an occasional cottonmouth snake.
As his wife stepped onto the side porch he heard her call to Leonard to check on the hog. As he approached the house he saw where his boys had been digging red worms around the support wood blocks around the house. He reminded himself to yell at them about undermining the structure of the house. They caught many of a speckled trout in the deeper pockets of Diamond Creek and the family often enjoyed a meal of fresh fish, coleslaw and cornbread.
As he climbed the steps to his front porch, he felt his arthritis kick in around his left knee. She rubbed and cursed his knee and thought, "A man oughta get more than 54 years out of a damn knee. He was born on 26 August in 1965 as the Civil War grew to a close. Some of his relatives fought in the Civil war as part of the North Carolina volunteers. Over the hearth of his fireplace hung a Gillespie long rifle that had belonged to an Uncle who was wounded in the war. He also had an Oxen horn that had been turned into a powder horn hanging below the rifle. The Gillespie rifle had been forged in Transylvania County by the Gillespie brothers and was true to the mark although quite long and heavy. Many a deer and an occasional elk had augmented the winter meat in the Owen bunkhouse alongside the fall hog meat.
His son Robert was the sharpshooter of the family. He often came home lugging squirrels and rabbits to provide meat for the family table that always had pinto beans, biscuits and cornbread with fresh or canned garden vegetables. The only things that they hauled from town in the old wagon was meal from the grist mill in Balsam Grove or salt, pepper and flour from the Rosman Company Store. No one went hungry in Sherman's house and oftentimes neighborhood kids from the Diamond Creek schoolhouse would stop by for a bowl of beans or a cob of pickled corn from the crock on the front porch.
As Robert stepped into the living room of his house he saw Leonard leaving out the back door to check on the hog. He stepped into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee from the fresh brewed percolator on the wood stove. He could always count on Lone to have his coffee ready by six. He opened the bread door over the wood stove and took out a biscuit. He took his coffee and biscuit out to the front porch and settled into his favorite cane chair. As he looked down the path toward the woods, he saw Robert walking back up the well worn path to the house. Looking out on the early morning haze, The Blue Ridge Mountains were becoming more visible as the low lying fog started to lift. Soon the heat of the day would be present. He was thankful for the gentle morning breeze that wafted across his porch carrying the smell of honeysuckle and lilacs.
Robert came up close to the porch and Sherman asked, "Is the hog out?" Robert nodded his head, his long brown hair falling across his forehead. "Yeah Daddy, that corner locust post by the gate was broken at the bottom and he squeezed out between the post and the gate. It looked fine when I fed him last night." "Damn hog " replied Sherman. "He will be in the bank house sooner than fall if he don't stop trying to get out. Go get Fred and Robert and we will round him up. Get some rope from the crib. We will tie him to the tree and then fix the wire and post."
Leonard disappeared into the house and Sherman finished his biscuit and coffee and sat the cup on the porch railing. He could almost hear Loan say "You men had better quit leaving cups out on the porch. I am getting sick and tired of picking up after you Ethiopians. She seldom cursed, but she had a way of looking at you that was as bad as a cursing. She was a kind and gentle, loving woman. Her old man Lance did not approve of Sherman taking his choicest daughter, but nothing could stand in Sherman's way once he made up his mind. He was sometimes referred to as a very stubborn man,but he had found that his stubbornness while sometimes causing problems also kept him firmly on the path he had chosen. Oftentimes his family heard one of his favorite expressions: "Come Hell or High Water or If I live till Spring I will damn sure get it done."
He looked at the coffee cup sitting on the porch rail and then picked it up and headed back into the house. As he reached the front door it sprang open and out came Leonard, Robert and Fred. He stopped for a moment, looking at his fine, strong boys and felt a surge of pride. Norma and Roxie trailed behind the boys. He glared at the girls and told them, "Git back in the house and help yore Mama". Norma said "No Daddie, we are going to help get the hog" "The hell you are do like you are told". Norma stuck out her tongue and followed Roxie back into the house.
"How do you wanna do this Daddy?" Leonard said. "Well, you and Robert trail the creek on the low side and me and Fred will take the high side. If you see the hog holler and we will do the same."
As he climbed the incline of the hill to get to the ridge his left knee seized for a moment and he stopped. "What's wrong Daddie you getting old? piped Fred. As he rubbed his knee, Sherman told him, "You will think old when I pull up one these Sourwood trees and beat you to death with it" Fred grinned and took the lead toward the ridge. As they walked along the Indian path on top of the ridge they looked out at the beauty of the land. The blue haze was rapidly lifting and the scents of the mountain laurel and honeysuckle blooms smelled wonderful. The Azaleas lit up the floor of the path with bright flowers and Indian brush and Ivy provided a varying shade of colors. Huckleberry bushes lined the path with an occasional gooseberry bush. As they walked they talked about a planned hunting trip to get some deer meat put up. Suddenly they heard Leonard whistle. They found a path down toward the creek and followed it down as Fred returned a loud whistle.
As they approached the bottom of the hill to the creek bed, they saw Leonard and Robert crouched behind a bush. They came alongside and Leonard pointed across the creek at the clearing surrounding the Patterson place. "Daddy, there's our hog tied to the corner fence post." I'll go git it" said Robert. "No," said Sherman, "we will talk to the man."
As they stepped on stones to cross Diamond Creek, a man came out on the porch of the house and leaned against a support post by the stairs. When they got closer, he called out, "What do you want?"
Sherman replied, " We came to get our hog. Thank you for catching him." As they got closer, they recognized the man as Wisdom Patterson. Patterson said "I am keeping the hog. He has rutted around my garden and caused damage." "No," replied Sherman you are not keeping the hog. That is our winter meat. I will pay you for any damage but the hog is coming with us." "Y'all are talking mighty big but you are all in a bunch." "We have been searching for the hog. There is no reason for trouble. If the hog caused damage we will pay but the hog is leaving with us." "Dammed right," said Leonard and started toward the tied hog with his rope. Patterson turned his head and called toward the door. "Boy, bring my gun out here." A small boy opened the door and leaned a shotgun up against the door frame. Patterson stepped down onto the first step of the stairs and said, "You fellers go on back home now and there won't be any trouble. Leonard reached inside the side pocket of his overalls and pulled out his Old Timer's knife and started toward the hog. Patterson quickly stepped back on the porch and cradled the shotgun in his arms. "Don't touch that hog" Sherman grabbed Leonard's arm and said, "Come on we are not looking for trouble. Let's go back home." Leonard pulled against Sherman's grip and Sherman stepped in front of him. " You better damn well do what I say. " We will get the hog back" "No, you won't" shouted Patterson." I am going to sell that hog to cover the damages."
As Sherman and his boys trailed the creek back toward his house the boys were grumbling. "Who does that son-of-a bitch think he is. We should have kicked his ass, and took our hog. How can he sell our hog? What gives him the right to tie our hog up? " Finally, Sherman stopped. "Look boys I told you we would get the hog and we damn sure will. Now shut up and let's go home and figure this out." What about calling the law" said Fred. "Stealing is against the law." Sherman glared at Fred and said, "We don't need no dam law. The man has stolen our hog and I meant what I said. We handle our own problems here in the hills. You get the law involved and it will only complicate matters." "Then what will we do? , replied Fred. " We will go home get something to eat and figure out what needs to be done," said Sherman and He stepped out on the trail alongside the creek bed toward the house.
STAY TUNED FOR PART FOUR....THE RETRIEVAL OF THE HOG
Marghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17533571913267928104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187883256820934739.post-36946655388260994302014-07-20T18:34:00.005-07:002014-07-20T18:34:53.543-07:00PART TWO OF THE OWEN FAMILY SAGA by Carl OwenI left off in the middle of the Brevard News report of the death of Wisdom E. Patterson...
Brevard News Article.....Witnesses testified at the trial (arraignment) that Robert Owen shot Patterson twice, first in the back and then in the breast. He did his shooting with a pistol. Sherman Owen, it is stated fired a shotgun twice, and Leonard Owen fired twice at the dead man. One witness stated that Mrs. Owen took a pistol from her dress, but that she did not shoot. A butcher knife was found near Patterson's body soon after he died. Witnesses said the knife belonged to Mrs. Owen and that she brought it along to cut the rope with which Patterson had the hog tied. She did not, however, seem very anxious to establish her ownership of the piece of kitchen cutlery. Many damaging declarations were brought out by witnesses in the trial Tuesday morning. The feeling is rather high, it is stated, in the section where the murder took place, and for this reason it was thought advisable to have the prisoners transferred to the Buncombe jail.
The following obituary was published in the Brevard News:
PINE GROVE CHURCH-Wisdom E. Patterson was born in Clayton, Georgia, September 26, 1880, He professed faith in Christ and joined a Holiness Church at the age of 15 years not being satisfied, he joined Scott's Creek Baptist Church in Jackson County in 1898 and was transferred to Pine Grove in 1915, near where he lived. He became a clerk of the church and superintendent of the Sunday School. He was a close student of the Bible and conformed his life to its teachings. He took a deep interest in building his church. He was benevolent and missionary in spirit and practice and was a good progressive citizen, especially in good roads and schools. He was shot and killed by a mob August 1st, 1919 without blame.
J.M. Hamlin, Historian
Note: I would like to see Mr. Hamlin's bible reference where stealing a hog conforms to the Bible teachings. Without blame normally means that he did nothing to provoke, but in this case the theft of the hog by Patterson initiated the chain of events leading to his death. I think it could have been handled without bloodshed, but emotions and pride were running high and Patterson was as determined to keep the hog as the Owen group was to take the hog home.
Wisdom Patterson was the child of John Bird Patterson Jr. And Cordelia Sanders. He had four children: Betha Patterson, Living Patterson, Ruth Burdell Patterson, and Maude Lee Patterson.
One account states that he was married initially to America Josephine Williams Patterson who died in 1909. He then married Clemmie B. Patterson. (some conflicting information on his wives).
He is buried at the Mount Moriah Cemetery in Calvert.
Brevard News Article 12 December 1919
CONVICTED OF MURDER OF WISDOM PATTERSON
______________
SHERMAN, ROBERT AND LEONARD OWEN CONVICTED-QUARREL OVER A HOG STARTED TROUBLE-ROBERT OWEN GETS TWENTY YEARS, OTHER TWO FIFTEEN-BESSIE OWEN FOUND NOT GUILTY
_____________
Following a trial that lasted seven or eight days and one that consumed most of the time of the two weeks fall term of Superior Court, Sherman Owen and his two sons, Robert and Leonard Owen were found guilty of murder in the second degree for the fatal shooting last August of Wisdom Patterson. The jury, which was empaneled (sic) from special venires of 250 men and women and part of the regular panel (sic) of 24 men reached its verdict in about two and one-half hours after Solicitor J.E. Shipman closed the arguments. The men were sentenced by Judge J.L. Webb, the next morning after the verdict was rendered. Robert Owen was sentenced to twenty years in the state prison and Sherman and Leonard Owen each were sentenced to fifteen years.
The verdict was given following one of the most bitterly contested trials ever held in Transylvania County.
It was learned that the jury took seven ballots. On the first ballot five jurymen held out for first degree murder and favored electrocution for the three defendants. When Judge Webb received the verdict, he intimated that the prisoners had gotten off with very light sentences, considering the cold-blooded plot by which Patterson was murdered. W.D. Patton was foreman of the jury.
Both the defendants and the state were represented by able and competent lawyers. The defendants having for their attorneys Mr. Walter Moore of Sylva, W.E. Breese and Coleman Galloway of Brevard. Solicitor J.E. Shipman was assisted by Felix Alley of Waynesville and D.L. English and L.C. Hamlin of Brevard.
The evidence showed that the killing had taken place at the Daimond (sic) school house, about six miles above Rosman. Patterson had taken up a hog belonging to the Owen family, and advertised that he would sell the animal to pay for damages the hog had done on his premises. The sale took place at the school house. Sherman Owen and his two sons and Dassie (sic) Owen were present. The hog was attached to a rope held by Patterson's son-in-law. The trouble started when Sherman Owen asked Patterson: "Whose hog have you got thar?" At this point Dassie Owen (sic) cut the rope liberating the hog. Patterson then seized the rope, whereupon the shooting started. Robert Owen fired the first shot striking Patterson under the left shoulder. As he fell Robert fired again, this time into Patterson's chest. Meanwhile, Sherman produced a gun and he and Leonard opened fire upon the prostrate body.
The shooting took place in front of a crowd that had gathered for the sale. The jail was guarded night and day during the trial.
The trial attracted large crowds from every corner of the county and an aggregate total of a thousand or fifteen hundred people were in attendance during the trial. The court room was crowded during the entire trial.
PART THREE WILL BE A STORY THAT I WROTE ABOUT THE HOG, THE VICTIMS AND THE KILLERS WHICH WERE MY GRANDFATHER AND MY TWO UNCLES ROBERT AND LEONARD.
STANDING IN THE BACKGROUND AT THE CORNER OF THE SCHOOL AND OBSERVING WAS MY FATHER FRED OWEN WHO WAS 16 AT THE TIME. HE WAS FORBIDDEN BY HIS FATHER FROM BRINGING A GUN OR PARTICIPATING IN THE RETRIEVAL OF THE HOG. HE WAS READY TO WADE INTO THE PATTERSON CROWD AND PHYSICALLY REPOSSESS THE HOG. IRONILY, THE HOG WAS SLAUGTERED A FEW WEEKS BEFORE THE TRIAL FOR WINTER MEAT.THE SHOOTING TOOK PLACE ON 1 AUGUST WHICH IS MY WIFE'S BIRTHDAY. SHE WAS NOT PRESENT AT THE TIME. MY MOTHER WAS TWO YEARS OLD WHEN THE SHOOTING TOOK PLACE.
STAY TUNED FOR PART THREE
Marghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17533571913267928104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187883256820934739.post-63203697360563706982014-07-20T18:20:00.002-07:002014-07-20T18:20:23.569-07:00THE OWEN FAMILY SAGA, Part One by Carl OwenWhen researching the Owen name I found the majority of opinions are that the name originated in Wales. Many of the Owen clan migrated to Ireland and there is a county in Ireland named GerryOwen.
Gerry or Garry as some called him, was a highwayman with some of Robin Hood's tendencies. He did give some of his ill gotten money to the poor and bailed out people who were in danger of losing their homes and farms.
At any rate, the press universally has been unkind to the Owen name. There are terms thrown about like "The Owen Mob" or "The Owen Gang".
It comes as no surprise that the reputation did not stay in Wales and Ireland because a goodly portion of Owen heritage emigrated to the United States and mostly settled in the Appalachian mountains of Virginia, Tennessee, North Carolina and Georgia.
So, through the years in America branches of the Owen family has distinguished themselves as hero and villain. Some of my ancestors fought in both the Revolutionary and the Civil wars.
My branch of the Owen family settled mostly in the counties of North Carolina with a large portion settling in Transylvania County smack in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Stories abound about the Owen clans in Transylvania, Jackson and Rutherford counties. I don't intend to try to retell the Owen history, but I will attempt to address a story concerning my Father, Fred Owen and my Uncles (Robert and Leonard) and my grandfather Sherman.
These men grew up rough and mean because in the early 1900's that was necessary for survival. They tilled poor ground and grew most of what they needed. They worked in the woods harvesting pulp wood. Some worked in the sawmills and Tanneries. They were all hard workers and fiercely prideful. A sense of family honor kept them from ever backing down. In the wars they helped coin the phrase of Tar heels by sticking to their ground. One common theme in the Owen family was the utilization of the corn crop to make a strong drink that came to be known as White Lightning or Moonshine. My Dad made and sold moonshine the majority of his life. He was admired for the quality of his product and when climbing the mountains with moonshine ingredients on his back became too difficult he turned to his sons and his nephews to run the stills and bring him the product.
The men who settled the Blue Ridge mountain area were hard workers as well as hard drinkers. A saying that is apt: "They work hard and play hard." Playing hard meant dressing up in black pants, white shirts, string ties and complimented by side arms of pearl handled Colt 45's. Often on a weekend you could see the Owen crowd at a community dance, a barn dance dressed up in their finery. They danced, they drank, they played poker, they had fist fights and on some occasions they had gun fights. Many were musically inclined and they brought their banjos, guitars, fiddles and juice harps to the events. Most of the music was ballads from the old countries as well as songs from the wars and tear jerkers. Many of the ballads were based on true stories like Tom Dooley, Long Black Veil. The old religious songs were always popular like Old Rugged Cross, Amazing Grace, Precious Memories, Farther Along, What a Friend We have in Jesus, Just a Closer Walk with Thee. Funerals were widely attended with the women bringing casseroles and fried chicken along with cakes and pies. The men brought their jugs of moonshine and gathered in groups to discuss the life and death of the recently departed. Infrequently, the conversation would get around to the opinion that "she poisoned him or he poisoned her". Rarely was there a natural death during those times. The Owen's along with the McCalls and the Morgan's were all of a suspicious mind.
In the early days of the 1900's my Dad worked with my Grandfather making moonshine. Often they attended parties together and that is how the Chapman’s integrated the Owen clan when my Dad married Grandpa's daughter Otha Chapman. Not to be outdone, my Uncle Robert Owen married my mother's sister Lola. From those unions sprung many children with my Dad and Mother producing 13 children to carry on the Owen name. Ironically, some of those 13 would later be termed in the newspapers as an Owen mob or Owen Gang. Newspapers have never been kind to the Owen name.
One instance where the facts are obscure is the death of my Uncle Avery. Stories have it that Avery was selling moonshine to a group of blacks in South Carolina. A card game and drinking led to an altercation with the end result being that one of the blacks of large stature pulled a knife and so did Uncle Avery. A fierce fight erupted and Uncle Avery was mortally wounded. Word on the street at the time was that three brothers and a cousin boarded a bus to South Carolina and returned in a few days. The winner of the knife fight was seen no longer. The bus carried my Dad, Fred Owen, my Uncles Robert and Leonard and my first cousin Willy B. Owen.
My Dad used to tell a story where a sheriff visited Diamond Creek, an Owen enclave and was found later with his head almost cut off. Guns and knives were the weapons of choice during those days.
The story that I would like to tell is one that has many versions. The facts bear out that a man named Wisdom Patterson impounded a hog that had broke out of a pen belonging to my Grandparents Sherman and Jeannette Leone Owen. Well a hog stealing could not be tolerated so Grandpa Sherman along with two of his sons visited the Patterson home to retrieve the hog. Patterson refused to give up the hog and stated that the hog had caused damage to his garden. Grandpa Sherman informed Patterson that he would pay for the damages, but the hog was leaving with them. Patterson threatened to go in the house and get a gun and entered the house. Being unarmed at the time Grandpa and his boys decided to leave and arm themselves. A big discussion was held and one decision was made. Come hell or high water no one was going to get away with stealing a hog from the Owen family. The wives backed their husbands and the family was united in the decision to retrieve the hog. A sale was scheduled at the Diamond Creek School House for Saturday and Patterson planned to sell the Owen hog. Grandpa Sherman and his sons went to the schoolhouse sometimes known as the Pine Grove School determined to bring the hog home. Well, the hog came home, but Grandpa and his boys went to jail after they killed the hog thief.
The Death of Wisdom Patterson by the Owen Mob
The Brevard Newspaper of Transylvania County depicted the death with the following headline: SHOT TO DEATH AT PINE GROVE SCHOOL-One man is dead and two others are in jail awaiting trial on the charge of murder as a result of a difficulty between citizens of Diamond Creek Section last Saturday 1 August 1919 when W.E. Patterson was shot and killed by Leonard Owen. The difficulty arose over a hog which was the property of Owen. The animal had been impounded by Patterson and sold on Saturday afternoon. Leonard Owen and his wife (Dassie or Bessie) and his two brothers, Robert Owen and Sherman Owen, and Jason McCall were lodged in jail Saturday and tried in Recorder's Court Tuesday morning. The three brothers were held without bond and taken to the Buncombe County jail on the instruction of Solicitor Shipman for safekeeping. No charges were sustained against Jason McCall and Mrs. Leonard Owen.
Witnesses testified at the trial that Robert Owen shot Patterson twice.
NOTE: SHERMAN OWEN IS MENTIONED IN THIS STORY AS A BROTHER TO LEONARD AND ROBERT. HE IS THE FATHER OF LEONARD AND ROBERT. THE TRIAL MENTIONED IN THE ARTICLE WAS IN FACT AN ARRAIGNMENT NOT A TRIAL. SOME ARTICLES REFER TO LEONARD'S WIFE AS DASSIE OR BESSIE. I BELIEVE HER NAME WAS BESSIE. JASON McCALL WAS MY DAD'S BROTHER-IN-LAW.
Continued..................Part Two...........coming soon.......
Marghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17533571913267928104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187883256820934739.post-28236464376645214532014-01-12T06:34:00.002-08:002014-01-12T06:34:44.977-08:00THE OWEN GANG RIDES AGAIN OR ANYTHING WORTH DOING IS WORTH OVERDOING by Carl OwenGot a call from my son Kyle saying he needed my help. I guess I just love to be needed so I caught a flight from Boise and flew into Seattle where he picked me up. His rental unit was in foreclosure and there were two deadbeats occupying the duplex. One he had rented to with a lease and one who the first deadbeat moved in. Deadbeat number one said he had moved out and subleased to Deadbeat number two. So the unauthorized deadbeat was not paying rent and the original deadbeat was also not paying rent but he still had his dog (pit bull named Monster) and his belongings in the rental along with the deadbeat he took it upon himself to move in without Kyle's permission.
So, it came to pass that Southern Justice (that's me) came to town to rectify the situation. First, I tried reason which I knew from the start would not work. I just haven't had too much luck with reasoning with deadbeats. I always have this urge to cause bodily harm, but I restrained myself and asked deadbeat number two why he felt that he could stay in my son's house rent free. To my astonishment, he said that he called the free legal aid and they advised him not to pay rent. Well, after seeing red and then redder, I politely informed deadbeat number two that Legal Aid had their head up their anterior region.
Well, Washington is close to being the most liberal state in the Union and their laws protect the deadbeats instead of the citizens. I had to go through the eviction process. I had quite a bit of practice at this because the way I earned my title of Southern Justice was by evicting about 3 or 4 other deadbeats. So began the legal process. First a 3-day pay or vacate notice, then a summons for the deadbeats to answer as to why they felt they did not have to pay rent, then a complaint filed with the court to begin the eviction process, then a show cause hearing. The deadbeats showed up at the show cause hearing where deadbeat number one brought along a free lawyer (probably the one who told him that he did not have to pay rent). The free lawyer came over to talk to me and Kyle. She said that she was going to argue that deadbeat number two was not a tenant. We agreed that he was not a tenant but that he had no permission to be in the rental. She asked if we could give him two more weeks to move out. Kyle told her sure, but he would have to pay. She asked how much and Kyle said One million dollars. I interrupted him and said no, no Kyle we don't need a million dollars for two more weeks. The lawyer looked relieved and then I said we will have to have two million dollars. So, she warned us that she was going to argue this and that and this and that. We told her to get out of our faces and go back to her deadbeat client. She was not too happy with me or Kyle.
We went into court and the lawyer argued everything except why the rent was not paid. The Judge kept asking her if the rent had been paid and both dirt bags stated that the rent had not been paid so the Judge ordered the Sheriff to throw out the deadbeats with a Writ of Restitution. O.K. That is not the end of the story. Deadbeat number one went and got a free lawyer and drug Kyle back into court by asking for reconsideration. The Judge asked if the rent had been paid and when the deadbeat stated no, then the Judge said "You are evicted". We paid the Sheriff to post the order of eviction with the deadbeat in the rental and at the last allowed minute he moved out. The lesson here is that free lawyers are worth every penny the deadbeats paid. The score is Owen Gang 2, Free Lawyers 0.
Now comes the hard part collecting the Judgment the Judge ordered. I will update the story later with those results. Suffice to say the Owen Gang rode again and succeeded. The number two deadbeat said he knew his rights and told us to "bring it on”. So that's what we did. The moral of the story is, "Don't own a rental unit in the State of Washington".
Marghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17533571913267928104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187883256820934739.post-49889478820190590862013-11-12T19:14:00.000-08:002013-11-12T19:17:07.575-08:00My Daddy's Shirt, by Carl OwenI don’t think I ever saw Daddy wear a fancy shirt. I do know that he liked flannel shirts and he had a lot of them due to my sisters Thelma and Estelle buying them for him. One of his favorites was a red and black checkered flannel shirt. When I picture my Daddy he is always wearing this flannel shirt. It is very much like what used to be referred to as a lumberman shirt. I got it shortly after he died and it hangs in my closet. It was threadbare in places when I got it and I have hunted for a replica to no avail.
So I keep my Daddy’s shirt and a 22 caliber revolver that I got when my sister Estelle died. So I guess I have two profits from two deaths in my family. I never wanted to profit from someone’s death. My niece Vonda Lynn who was named after my sister Vonda Lee gave me the revolver because Estelle treasured it because it belonged to Daddy and Vonda said she really thought Estelle would want me to have it. I keep it in my desk drawer and now and again I take it out and place my hand on the grips where I knew my Daddy placed his hands many times.
As far as a monetary value goes these two possessions of mine would not bring much. But how do you place a money value on something that has such a value that it cannot be measured in dollar figures? The shirt is much worn and I try to only wear it when I feel a need to get in touch with family members that are no longer here to talk to or visit with. I like to wear it when I am woodturning. I enjoy my quiet time in my shop in Daddy’s shirt and somehow I feel his presence. I sometimes wonder if this particular shirt was bought by Estelle or Thelma. At any rate I know a lot of love went into the giving of the shirt to Daddy and Daddy loved the shirt. It kind of reminds me of a song by Dolly Parton about a coat of many colors that her Mama made for her. If you listen to the song, you can just imagine her view of a beautiful patchwork coat. When she wore it to school the other kids did not understand the value of the coat and viewed it as a combination of rags. I bet that Dolly still has and treasure’s that coat. When you listen to the words of the song, the love put into the coat is conveyed in her voice and the pride of the poor sounds out from what is now a rich girl. Not many people know that before Dolly got married her last name was Owen.
As far as the revolver goes I have not shot it. I had a gunsmith go through it and clean it well and oil it and I keep in in the holster that I believe Daddy bought for it at a flea market in South Carolina. He loved to look at knives, holsters, watches and old implements. His tastes were not sophisticated. If you were able to go back in time and look at his living room you would see a tattered picture of an eagle torn from a magazine. Some peacock feathers brightened the drabness of the wall as well as a metal cutout of a Buntline Special Colt 45. These things brought him pleasure but would cause an interior decorator to faint. An old company store calendar of 1955, a picture of a raccoon and a multicolored rooster. I can close my eyes and see his treasures. I wonder what happened to them.
I get a lot of comfort from the old ragged shirt. When I put it on I feel calmness in my life. I know someone seeing me wear the shirt might say wow that shirt needs to be replaced. They don’t know that there is no way to replace this particular shirt. I intend for this old shirt to go to my son Kyle and hope that he feels some history by having it or maybe even wearing it once in a while.
Speaking of calmness I have to relay a short story. When I was stationed in Iceland (Kyle’s birthplace), I injured my knee. I was loading supplies onto an old C47 aircraft when the cargo door slammed shut upon my knee.
For years my knee would swell up and lock in place. The doctors would stick a long needle with a large vial into my knee and draw out bloody liquid. Finally, when I got out of the Navy I went to a civilian doctor and he examined my knee and he said that my knee was weak because I tended to favor it when I walked. He had me go to the gym and push weights with my right leg and sure enough it worked. My knee got stronger and the pain went away. I quit walking like Walter Brennen and I was so happy. I reported back to the doctor and told him that I was cured and asked if I could give him a hug. He said a handshake would suffice. As I left his office I had to stop at the front counter and sign some medical documents. The receptionist gave me a pen, I signed and without thinking, I put the pen in my pocket. Now, when I got home and took the pen out of my pocket Anita asked me where I had gotten the Prozac pen. The pen laid on top of my dresser for a long time and one day I put it in my pocket and I felt a calmness come over me. I know you are thinking I am exaggerating and I will admit that I have done so a few times especially in some of my stories. But, get ready………..This is the truth. Each time I left home with the Prozac pen in my pocket I felt calm and at peace with the world. Ha, no pills necessary for me. All I needed was my pen. All good things come to an end. I started doing some paralegal work and I often had to get peoples signature. So, my best guess is someone signed using my pen and inadvertently put it in his or her shirt pocket.
I mourned the loss of this pen until I felt depressed over the loss. I finally went back to the doctor’s office and confessed that I had stolen a Prozac pen and had lost it. I asked if I could have another one and the receptionist said sure and she fumbled through a whole drawer of pens left by pill salesmen. Alas, no Prozac pen was to be found. She did find a Valium pen and I tried my best to adapt to it but no go. Apparently, Valium has not the magical effect of a Prozac pen. I often wonder if the guy is still out there somewhere calmly walking through the world with my Prozac pen in his shirt pocket or if he mislaid it and it is paying forward. I hope so.
I may have lost my pen but I still have my Daddy’s shirt. And no, I won’t give you the shirt off my back when I am wearing it.
Marghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17533571913267928104noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187883256820934739.post-85892690024980082472013-07-14T08:46:00.002-07:002013-07-14T08:46:58.088-07:00Kilroy Was Here, by Tom Hedglen
Some of you will remember hearing "Kilroy was here" and here is where it came from...
Who Was Kilroy?
He is engraved in stone in the National War Memorial in Washington , D.C.
It's back in a small alcove where very few people have seen it.
For the WWII generation, this will bring back memories. For you younger
folks, it's a bit of trivia that is a part of our American history.
Anyone born in 1913 to about 1950, is familiar with Kilroy. We didn't
know why, but we had lapel pins with his nose hanging over the label and
the top of his face above his nose with his hands hanging over the label.
So, who the heck was Kilroy?
No one knew why he was so well known, but we all joined in!
In 1946 the American Transit Association, through its radio program, "Speak
to America ," sponsored a nationwide contest to find the real Kilroy,
offering a prize of a real trolley car to the person who could prove
himself to be the genuine article.
Almost 40 men stepped forward to make that claim, but only James Kilroy
from Halifax , Massachusetts , had evidence of his identity.
Kilroy was a 46-year old shipyard worker during the war who worked as a
checker at the Fore River Shipyard in Quincy . His job was to go around
and check on the number of rivets completed.
Riveters were on piecework and got paid by the rivet. He would count a
block of rivets and put a check mark in semi-waxed lumber chalk, so the
rivets wouldn't be counted twice.
When Kilroy went off duty, the riveters would erase the mark. Later on, an
off-shift inspector would come through and count the rivets a second time,
resulting in double pay for the riveters.
One day Kilroy's boss called him into his office. The foreman was upset
about all the wages being paid to riveters, and asked him to investigate.
It was then that Kilroy realized what had been going on.
The tight spaces he had to crawl in to check the rivets didn't lend
themselves to lugging around a paint can and brush, so Kilroy decided to
stick with the waxy chalk. He continued to put his check mark on each job
he inspected, but added 'KILROY WAS HERE' in king-sized letters next to
the check, and eventually added the sketch of the chap with the long nose
peering over the fence and that became part of the Kilroy message. Once
he did that, the riveters stopped trying to wipe away his marks.
Ordinarily the rivets and chalk marks would have been covered up with
paint. With the war on, however, ships were leaving the Quincy Yard so
fast that there wasn't time to paint them. As a result, Kilroy's inspection
"trademark" was seen by thousands of servicemen who boarded the troopships
the yard produced.
His message apparently rang a bell with the servicemen, because they picked
it up and spread it all over Europe and the South Pacific.
Before war's end, "Kilroy" had been here, there, and everywhere on the
long hauls to Berlin and Tokyo . To the troops outbound in those ships,
however, he was a complete mystery; all they knew for sure was that someone
named Kilroy had "been there first."
As a joke, U.S. servicemen began placing the graffiti wherever they
landed, claiming it was already there when they arrived. Kilroy became the
U.S. super-GI who had always "already been" wherever GIs went. It became a
challenge to place the logo in the most unlikely places imaginable (it is
said to be atop Mt. Everest , the Statue of Liberty, the underside of the
Arc de Triomphe, and even scrawled in the dust on the moon).
As the war went on, the legend grew. Underwater demolition teams routinely
sneaked ashore on Japanese-held islands in the Pacific to map the terrain
for coming invasions by U.S. troops (and thus, presumably, were the
first GI's there). On one occasion, however, they reported seeing enemy
troops painting over the Kilroy logo!
In 1945, an outhouse was built for the exclusive use of Roosevelt, Stalin,
and Churchill at the Potsdam conference. Its' first occupant was Stalin,
who emerged and asked his aide (in Russian), "Who is Kilroy?"
To help prove his authenticity in 1946, James Kilroy brought along
officials from the shipyard and some of the riveters. He won the trolley
car, which he gave to his nine children as a Christmas gift and set it up
as a playhouse in the Kilroy front yard in Halifax, Massachusetts.
So, now you know the rest of the story.
Thanks for a walk down Memory Lane
KILROY WAS HERE!!!Marghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17533571913267928104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187883256820934739.post-39616552056357844992012-11-12T14:00:00.003-08:002012-11-12T14:00:58.393-08:00TALKING PEOPLE UP, by Carl OwenTalking People Up
Now first off I want to say that you should not end a sentence in a preposition. In my defense the above is a title and not a sentence. To be absolutely correct, it is a fragment or an incomplete sentence. At any rate, my favorite daughter and my favorite son have heard me go on and on about not ending a sentence in a preposition. They certainly know the rule but occasionally I hear them slip (up). Ha ha.
I have endeavored to teach them also that one should not use absolutes as there are usually exceptions to the statement containing an absolute. You will notice in the above paragraph, I used an absolute. In fact I used the word “absolutely” the most absolute of absolutes. This is so important that I would like to underscore by stating that one should never use absolutes ever. To give you an example: If you say that Mary always wears red then you can expect to see her soon without a speck of red. It is a given and it will burn you every time. Yeah, I kept some of the teachings in High School. People ask me sometimes: What happens if I do use an absolute or end a sentence in a preposition? My eyes roll back in my head and I tell them I shudder to think of the consequences that will befall them.
But I digress. Another thing I was taught (obviously not to well) was to always get right into the subject matter that the story is about. But, if you have read some of my stories, you know that I take my time in getting to (not too or two Margaret) the subject of the story. I learned this from an English teacher who counted every word of book reports that were required to have 500 words. I once miscounted and ended up with 499 and a B instead of an A if only I had added another adjective or adverb.
O.K. O.K. I can take a hint. So what is “Talking People Up”? It is a rare behavior pattern that I have used frequently over the years with a great deal of satisfaction. The first time I did it was in Japan when I was 19 years old and sporting a sailor uniform. The port of Yokosuka is a well- known port to sailors who have sailed the Vietnam waters or the Sea of Japan. After a 30-40 day stint of sailing off the coast of North Vietnam the carriers would often pull into the port of Yokosuka. I usually had a month or two of combat pay and flight deck pay in my pocket as I ventured forth into the town of Yokosuka.
There was this on street devoted to selling gaudy things like silk jackets with dragons spouting fire or Lions and Tigers showing their teeth like they were pissed off about something. This street was called Thieves Alley and it is hard to stay away from if you want to collect some weird things like phony Rolex watches or Zippo lighters decorated with silver or gold skulls among other things. Also it was on the way to the enlisted men’s club called the Club Alliance. The Club had just about everything you needed after a long time at sea. They had excellent steaks and seafood and a bar where you could take your own bottle of whiskey and they would provide mixers and ice. You could exchange money or watch a movie there.
Anyway, back to Thieves Alley. One day, I was on liberty with some other sailors from my Attack Squadron and we detoured through Thieves Alley on our way to the club. One of the most popular booths was the one selling the silk jackets with the pissed off dragons and tigers embroidered all over. We stood in line to buy a jacket and observed the process. A sailor would point to a jacket and say: How much Mamasan? The little wrinkled Japanese Woman would squint and say: For you today only $25.00.
The sailor would say: I just want one not ten, that is too much. The little woman would stroke her chin and say: How much you give? The sailor would say $10.00 and then the little saleslady would slap her forehead and laugh and say: How about $22.00. The sailor would offer $15.00 and they would eventually settle on $20.00.
After watching this haggling several times, it was finally my time. I picked out a jacket decorated to the max with pictures of aircraft carriers, battleships, dragons, tigers and various other gaudy decorations.
I asked Mamasan: How much? She said today for you I sell that one for only $25.00. I offered 10 she countered with 22. I asked if she would take $20 and she said no, no, that is fancy jacket, I have to have at least 22. I made a show of counting my money and then asked: Would you take $24.00? Mamasan slapped her head and said I already said $22.00 just for you. I asked her: Well would you take $24.00 because that is all I have. She gave me such a puzzled look and then said O.K. I give to you for special price of $24.00 today only. I gave her the money and took the jacket. My squadron mates got a kick out of my haggling technique and we all enjoyed a laugh at the Club Alliance over a big T-bone steak and salad.
Since then I have refined the technique and I always get such pleasure at watching the people that I talk up as they try to help me understand that I could pay less. But, I keep on until they finally agree to accept the higher price, usually a buck or two difference. I certainly get my money’s worth and I leave the merchant with a story to tell about the guy that talked them up on a product. Try my process at the next garage sale and you will get a kick out of the puzzled expressions.
My Dad came to Oregon once he got out of Atlanta Prison and he was unfamiliar with the West Coast vernacular of pricing things at two bits, four bits, six bits, a dollar. He was buying some horse harnesses at a flea market and he asked the guy how much for a worn out bridal. The guy told Daddy that he had to have at least six bits for the leather bridal. My Dad shook his head and said: I won’t pay more than a dollar since it is worn out. He left with a smile and the bridal in his hand until my brother-in-law explained that six bits was only 75 cents. My Dad then stopped bragging about his deal of the day. I guess you could say I inherited the skill of talking folks up.
I have to close with my library story. I missed the three day library book sale and I arrived as they were boxing up the books. I asked if I could look at the books still on the tables and they said go ahead. I picked out three paperback books. The signs in the library showed paperback books priced at 50 cents each or 3 for $2.00. I told the lady that I wanted the three books but I wanted to pay the individual price instead of the 3 book bargain. She asked why I wanted to do that and I explained that if I paid 50 cents each I would only pay $1.50 but if I used their bargain price for three that I would be paying an extra 50 cents. She was astonished and she said that throughout the 3 day sale no one had pointed that out. So, occasionally, I fail to follow my technique of talking people up. See if you can find all the preposition violations and any uses of absolutes. Have fun………..I do.
Marghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17533571913267928104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187883256820934739.post-47971013789869173502012-07-29T19:55:00.001-07:002012-07-29T19:55:14.128-07:00THINGS TO BE THANKFUL FORI don’t usually put much stock in holidays. To me it seems a waste of time and makes a lot of money for Hallmark and their ilk who write words for those people who can’t think of anything to say but want to take credit for some little old card writer who pours out sentimental thoughts for everything under the sun: Anniversaries, Graduations, Valentine’s Day, Get Well Thoughts and let’s not forget sympathy cards.
How sweet says the card recipicant, they remembered my birthday and just listen to this sweet verse.
Hello, Hello, That verse goes out to thousands and thousands of people as well as the cute hummingbird on the front. Wake up, wake up. They bought a card. Yes they did not think enough of you to pick up the phone or even send an email with their own words instead of mass produced verses on mass produced greeting cards.
There are even reminder services that you can join. You put all the dates that are special to folks and you get a reminder to send a card or flowers. When you die people can say: He/she never forgot my birthday, anniversary, and so on.
Wake up. Take responsibility for a handwritten note, a phone call or even an email.
Just as handmade gifts are valued and remembered, so are the moments you take out of your busy life to reach out to someone you care about personally instead of relying on the commercial aspect of buying a card and move on.
When I was in Viet Nam, we had mail call once or twice a week and such a joy it was to get a real letter from a loved one. A note from Mom saying she is worried about the war, a letter from a sweetheart who says she misses you. The saddest faces were those who did not get mail. I realize people are busy with the routine of life, but take the time to touch someone with something personal.
Then when you die, people will say: He was too cheap to buy a Hallmark card; he always sent a note or a letter, or an email.
Stop and think for a minute about a friend or relative that you have not been in touch with. Imagine as you go through your day busy with the chores that come with living. Imagine their day wherever they are. Picture their daily tasks and try to put yourself there to see how their day was spent.
Periodically, I will think of friends I met in Spain or Japan. I will close my eyes and see the streets of Rota Spain or Misawa Japan with the hustle and bustle and imagine what my friends are doing in their daily routine.
So, back to the subject: Things to be thankful for:
Be thankful for your family warts and all
Be thankful for your friends who take you as you are
Be thankful for Thanksgiving Holiday (hello, the turkey!!!) I would even send a Hallmark card if it took it to get my turkey.
I am thankful for a loving wife and children who accept me with all my faults.
I am thankful for my upbringing that taught me not to be afraid of hard work and the simple pleasures of life.
I am thankful for a large family who helped me grow up and not get killed doing stupid stuff.
I am thankful for my mother who always encouraged me to try harder and do better, especially when I was learning the guitar and getting quite a bit of unsolicited criticism. My mother always said keep trying son you will soon be playing lots of songs. (more than Tom Dooley).
I love my guitars, music collection and keyboards. I am able to play a song on them regardless of my mood.
I am thankful for Roger Miller who wrote: Walking in the Sunshine, sing a little sunshine song, Put a Smile upon your face as if there’s nothing wrong. Think about the good times had a long time ago. Think about forgetting about your worries and your woes.
I guess that has become sort of my motto. That and a line from a Frank Sinatra Song: Regrets, I’ve had a few but then again too few to mention.
My daddy said you should help someone in need when you get a chance. He sang on the back porch songs such as: Swing low Sweet Chariot and Just a Rose will do.
I am thankful for so many things. There are still people I would like to kill but I go through life a day at a time and each day I imagine a switch inside my head and I always flip the switch to positive. I don’t have time left to devote to negative.
I don’t mean to preach, just think about it.Marghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17533571913267928104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187883256820934739.post-20026358978592250482011-04-23T12:38:00.000-07:002011-04-30T05:43:09.872-07:00Goldie Girl<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DBLWHrJwQOY/TbwD1sMLAqI/AAAAAAAAAEs/7ByPVa6r6Lk/s1600/Cat%2B007.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DBLWHrJwQOY/TbwD1sMLAqI/AAAAAAAAAEs/7ByPVa6r6Lk/s200/Cat%2B007.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5601356257472217762" /></a><br />It seems like I have always had Goldie as a cat because she fit in with the family the very first day that she came into my home. The first time I saw her, she was lingering by the pool. She had burrs all through her hair and she looked like she was just burrs, skin and bones. <br /><br />I sat on the bench on the porch and watched her for a bit before I called, “Come here kitty.” That's all it took to have the kitty run from the pool and land in my lap purring away. I was giggling hysterically because the cat was extremely friendly and cute. After about fifteen minutes of petting the cat, I decided I was going to relieve this stray of her burrs and see if I had any food to give “her”. <br /><br />While she was eating half a can of chicken, I cut the burrs out of her hair. She didn't care that I was doing that because she was so hungry. She finished the amount I gave her before I was done cutting, so I gave her the other half of the can. “She” licked the can clean.<br /><br />For some reason, Michael came up from downstairs and saw me interacting with the cat. He would never let me have a cat because he said that he didn't want his house to become a big toilet, didn't want his TV to be destroyed (the tv doesn't have a protective plastic screen), and he was very allergic to cats. I guess he couldn't stand to see an animal starve, he opened the living room door and let the cat come in. <br /><br />The cat didn't hesitate in walking through the door. I was in total shock watching Michael let the kitty in considering I was never going to have a cat. The cat toured the majority of the house. I jumped on the opportunity to possibly have a cat by suggesting we go get some cat food from the store. While Michael and I went to get food and kitty litter, Andrew babysat the cat. <br /><br />We came back with lots of canned cat food. A box lid was used to make a kitty litter box. Over the next couple of days, we kept a close eye on the cat to see how she was adjusting to eating regular meals and what kind of behaviors she had towards us and the house. She didn't scratch the furniture but a couple of times because we admonished her when she did it. Krysty, Beckie and I looked over the cat's skin to check for flees and ticks because Krysty saw something on the cat. We got over ten ticks off of the cat. <br /><br />Andrew helped me give the cat a bath so “she” would be nice and fluffy, along with flea and tick free. As I was drying her, I noticed two white worm like objects near the kittys bum. I did research to find that the poor thing had ring worm. I treated her for that twice and haven't seen any signs of worms since.<br /><br />About a month ago, I noticed that there was a male cat that would hang around our property. Since Goldie (the cat) is an indoor/outdoor cat, Michael and I decided that we needed to get the cat fixed. Beckie tried to make an appointment with one of the clinics closest to us, but they were booked for six weeks. She found a place to take the cat within a reasonable distance and that could take her within a week.<br /><br />We kept the cat indoors until the day of her appointment. A lady from work gave me a cat cage since she had many. Beckie managed to get the cat in the cage and drive her to her appointment. Goldie complained the whole way there. At the clinic she was shaking because she heard other cats and dogs bellowing. Beckie left the clinic and went about her other plans for the day. Sometime during the day, there was a message left on the machine from the clinic. That wasn't discovered until Beckie and Michael returned from picking the cat up.<br /><br />I guess when Goldie was dropped off at the clinic, Beckie told them she was a stray. That might have been the reason that she had her belly shaved before she was put under. It's a good thing they did that because they did find a scar in the place where kitty's get spayed. ::::Laughing Out Loud:::: Goldie went all day and the night before without food and water just to get her belly shaved and spend the day stuck in a cage. She was not happy one bit when she was brought home and she wasn't afraid to show it. She pouted the rest of the day and didn't want to have anything to do with us. <br /><br />The next day, she was back to her loving personality, wanting to play, be petted, and fed. Goldie does not hold grudges. She even lays on her back to have her bare belly petted. She is truly a great cat. What a trooper!<br /><br />Unlike my parents, I know a girl cat from a boy cat. :oDMarghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17533571913267928104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187883256820934739.post-78645401275311990172011-04-23T12:10:00.000-07:002011-05-05T08:57:45.592-07:00SQEAKHER BECAME SWEEKHE<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LuZGetLaUZc/TcLI6D6j88I/AAAAAAAAAE8/JNx7IjbuHm4/s1600/Squeak.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LuZGetLaUZc/TcLI6D6j88I/AAAAAAAAAE8/JNx7IjbuHm4/s200/Squeak.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603261786211218370" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href= text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 154px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EH5xZQkP2JE/TbwCiCAbFhI/AAAAAAAAAEk/ywdCMZZlYK4/s200/Squeak.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5601354820219508242" /></a><br />CAT CONFUSION <br /><br />We have cats. Here a cat, there a cat everywhere a cat cat. Before the recent addition <span style="font-weight:bold;"></span>of Squeak I would see two or three cats in the kitchen and one or two in the window sills and some lying on the bed.<br /><br />Now Anita swears there is only three but I have counted up to a dozen. However, when she gets them all together it does appear there are only three. Maybe the confusion is in the names. She calls the two black cats Emma and Lucy while I call them Thunderbolt and Lightfoot. She calls the Calico Rosie Cat and I have called her RZG short for Rosie Girl. So that accounts for at least six of them. At any rate along came Squeak.<br /><br />Our good friends who live out on 110 acre farm have Barn Cats. Sometimes the quantity varies due to foxes and chicken hawks and various other factors. One day we got a call and they asked if we could baby sit a newborn cat while they were on a trip to Texas. We agreed and received a cat no bigger than a small apple. Anita had to feed her with a medicine dropper. She gradually got bigger and bigger and Anita became more and more attached to this tiny fur ball. The cat would make a noise that is best described as a Squeak so therefore the origin of the name Squeak.<br /><br />Well, it came to pass that the friends came back from their trip to Texas and they said that they would be out in a few days to get Squeak back. I told them that Anita had grown quite fond of the little fur ball. I told them that Anita had a firearm in the house and that it would probably be dangerous to repossess the cat. They realized that Squeak and Anita had bonded and after all, they had oodles of cats still around the farm. So Squeak became a member of the family.<br /><br />When we first got Squeak she was sick and Anita took her to the vet to get some medicine to clear up the virus. Everybody made a fuss about what a cute girl that Squeak was.<br /><br />A little later, we discussed having Squeak fixed because we did not need any more little cat critters running around. Anita made an appointment with the Vet for Squeak to have a cat hysterectomy.<br /><br />On the fateful day, Anita took Squeak to the vet. I was sitting at my desk at work and Anita called me on the cell phone. It sounded as if she was crying so I said what is the matter? At that time I figured out she was laughing as she told me about the call she received from the vet. The vet asked her, “Did you know Squeak is a male?”<br />I was floored. After Squeak being a cute little girl kitty for so long, it took a long time to come to grips with this. Thus Squeakher became Squeakhe.<br /><br />At least that explained his aggressive behavior running around the house like a bat out of hell. Chasing the girl cats. Squeak was an Alpha male and the only male cat in the household. But the vet tamed him down a mite as Squeak ended up nutless in Idaho. We still refer to him now and again as a her and when we do he attacks. He always wants to get even so we are watching him closely. All the ladies on Anita’s quilt blog were flabbergasted to find out that Squeak was a he. This is going to take some getting used to but everyone is now able to laugh about it. That is everyone except Squeak.<br /><br />When I told my daughter, Margaret about Squeak’s ordeal, she told me her cat story. She had a female cat, yes indeed a real her or she. She wanted to have her cat fixed so she took it to the vet only to get a call saying: “When I shaved her belly I discovered that she has already been fixed or altered as Squeak would say. Anyway the daughter Unit had to have her say. She said at least I know a girl cat from a boy cat. I explained that all the time we thought that Squeak was a she that I had not seen, nor had anyone else, a dangling participle. Over time we are hoping that Squeak will forgive us for calling him a girl for almost 5 months. But just in case, I lock the bedroom door.Marghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17533571913267928104noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187883256820934739.post-74952144363081453122011-02-27T06:41:00.000-08:002011-02-27T06:55:14.856-08:00MEMORIES GOOD AND BADI was stationed on the USS Hornet, an aircraft carrier, home ported in Long Beach, California in 1967 and 1968. I was a Second Class Petty Officer. Things were going well in my life. I had a beautiful 1965 Chevrolet Malibu Super Sport (SS) forest green with bucket seats. It shined so bright when I waxed it. Anita and I had a nice apartment on Pine Street in Long Beach. We were expecting our first child, Margaret. We had a reel to reel tape recorder and tons of music I had collected during my Vietnam cruises. We had some good friends and even though there was not much money left over after the rent and car payment we were happy.<br />We would lift the couch cushions and scrape up .98 cents to attend the .49 cent double feature movies down on Ocean Boulevard. Once we went there with only .49 cents and when we got to the ticket booth realized that we were two not one. <br />We had a good friend from Louisiana named Frenchy. I was feeling flush one day with about $30.00 in my pocket so we invited Frenchy and I think his live in girlfriend, to dine with us. We went to a fancy restaurant up at the top of Cherry Street. We were seated at the table, the waiter brought us fancy gold leafed menus and we were shocked to see that just about every dish was 12 to 25 dollars each. Anita and I split a chicken dinner and I think Frenchy and his girl did the same. At any rate, it brought me back to reality but in a sense it made us realize that money is in fact no measure of happiness. We enjoyed just window shopping in Long Beach and once in a great while we would splurge and go to our favorite restaurant “Hoff’s Hut”. It was a small place that served excellent food at a reasonable price. We always had the same thing even though the menu had various choices. I chose the chopped sirloin with mashed potatoes, gravy and corn (chopped sirloin is a fancy name for a hamburger patty) and Anita always chose grilled halibut.<br />We felt we were living high on the hog during those days. Life’s simple pleasures like an afternoon in the park lying on a blanket enjoying the sun, watching people from all walks of life pass by and guessing about them as they walked by. That guy there is named George. His wife’s name is Alice and they have a Chevrolet Impala and a dog named Simpson. They fight a lot and like to BBQ.<br />Fantasy and fun were the name of the game during those days. We eventually moved to an apartment in Wilmington not far from Long Beach. I would whistle at our land lady, Mrs. Carey. What a nice person she was. She was about 80, loved my whistles and often asked me to cook grilled pork chops which I must say were delicious. Such a joy to have a land lady who seemed to adopt us and we enjoyed our stay in Wilmington. Then came another cruise to Vietnam and long hours of launching aircraft and loading bombs sometimes as much as 20 hour stretches for months on end. War was quite an experience and I lost some good friends and shipmates and had some close calls myself.<br />Sailing back into Long Beach with the crew manning the rails with flags flying showing off the awards or gedunks as we called them in the day was quite an experience. The docks lined with newspaper and television reporters and hundreds and hundreds of residents and relatives to welcome us back home.<br />Sousa marches and hugs and kisses and then a period of time in dry dock to prepare for the next war deployment. I was getting close to completing my first hitch in the Navy and had decided to get out.<br />My happy reunion was soon sobered by the death of my Mother. I flew back to North Carolina where I spent hours standing in front of her casket gazing at her face and waiting for a slight movement or twitch so I could explain to my family that this was a horrible mistake and she was just unconscious. The movement I was waiting for never came and I faced the hardest time in my life coming to terms that my Mother was gone. I don’t feel that I have ever fully accepted the loss. I know my family has never recovered. None of us have been the same since. Time dims the memories and hurts but does not erase the pain of them. The cruelty of the funeral ritual to me extends the depth of the pain and slows healing. I won’t put my family through such an ordeal.<br />I tried to transfer to another carrier for the short time I had left but no, hell no. We left Long Beach once again early one morning and picked up the sounds of a Russian Sub which we chased all the way from the California Coastal waters into the cold frigid waters of the Alaska islands where we discovered our Submarine was a whale. Well at least it is a whale of a tale eh? All the sailors were expecting to spend some time in Hawaii before heading back to the North Vietnam coastline and here we found ourselves wearing foul weather jackets and launching aircraft to chase the whale. Well, we did eventually make it into the port of Hawaii and I took the time to visit the USS Arizona Memorial, an experience I will always remember. Standing on the memorial looking through the clear water to the sunken battleship below with entombed sailors who went down fighting was a moving experience for me.<br />Instead of taking me on to Vietnam and flying me back for discharge I was flown back to the states for discharge. They gave me orders to Treasure Island, California for out processing and I drew a line through San Francisco on my ticket voucher and wrote in Los Angeles. I drew a line through my orders also and wrote in Long Beach Naval Station for my destination. Though some processing people questioned the pen and ink changes, I lied and said that it was okay-ed by the ship and the travel costs were the same. I reported to Naval Station Long Beach for discharge thinking they would release me early but no, hell no. I spent the last two months on my first Navy Hitch in charge of a Military Funeral Squad. I still can see the people dressed in black clothing and the tears in the widow’s and parent’s eyes as I handed them the folded American flag after I ordered the gun salute and taps were played. It was a sad time in my life to be so closely involved with that part of the costs of war. Finally, I received my discharge and Anita and I put our suitcases in the back of the Malibu SS and headed back to my hometown in North Carolina. I remember coming down the mountain from Tennessee and seeing the Welcome to North Carolina sign. I pulled the Malibu over and had Anita take a picture of me hugging the sign. I was welcomed home by my family and friends but as I stood over my mother’s grave for hours and tried to revive the good memories, I knew that the reality of life had hit me hard.<br />I find it amazing that I can recall those details so vividly after all these years have passed yet now, I find often that I can’t recall where I sat my coffee cup down. No matter how great your life seems at times, life intrudes with sad events that mar your happiness. I have developed coping skills but when I conjure up these old memories, the sad times appear along with the good times. The realization that life is a journey and the path has rough spots as well as smooth places sinks in. I concentrate on the good memories and good times and count the other times as part of the experiences that have made me who I am.Marghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17533571913267928104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9187883256820934739.post-24014833012724779042011-02-22T04:27:00.001-08:002011-02-22T04:27:12.910-08:00Reminder about your invitation from Margaret Owen<table border="0" width="550" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="max-width:550px; border-top:4px solid #39C; font: 12px arial, sans-serif; margin: 0 auto;"><tr><td> <h1 style="color: #000; font: bold 23px arial; margin:5px 0;" >LinkedIn</h1> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0"> <tr> <td style="font:12px arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"> <p>This is a reminder that on February 18, Margaret Owen sent you an invitation to become part of his or her professional network at LinkedIn.</p> <p> Follow this link to accept Margaret Owen's invitation. </p> <p> <a href="https://www.linkedin.com/e/3ykli4-gkgsins9-2a/doi/2357999393/evvE9zAT/gir_396361569_0/EML-inv_17_rem/">https://www.linkedin.com/e/3ykli4-gkgsins9-2a/doi/2357999393/evvE9zAT/gir_396361569_0/EML-inv_17_rem/</a> </p> <p> Signing up is free and takes less than a minute. </p> <p>On February 18, Margaret Owen wrote:<br><br> > To: [margmystr.syadiloh@blogger.com]<br> > From: Margaret Owen [margmystr@gmail.com]<br> > Subject: Invitation to connect on LinkedIn<br> <br> > I'd like to add you to my professional network on LinkedIn.<br> > <br> > - Margaret<br> </p> <p> The only way to get access to Margaret Owen's professional network on LinkedIn is through the following link: </p> <p> <a href="https://www.linkedin.com/e/3ykli4-gkgsins9-2a/doi/2357999393/evvE9zAT/gir_396361569_0/EML-inv_17_rem/">https://www.linkedin.com/e/3ykli4-gkgsins9-2a/doi/2357999393/evvE9zAT/gir_396361569_0/EML-inv_17_rem/</a> </p> <p> You can remove yourself from Margaret Owen's network at any time. </p> <br> -------------- <br> </td> </tr> </table> <p style="width: 550px; margin: 3px auto; font: 10px arial, sans-serif; color: #999;">© 2011, LinkedIn Corporation</p> Marghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17533571913267928104noreply@blogger.com0