Being a Good Scout

 Being a Good Scout

While I was stationed in Keflavik, Iceland, the Boy Scout leaders from the NATO base and the Icelandic leaders decided to create the first “Boy Scout World Jamboree.” They approached the commander of our naval base and asked him to supply an ambulance and a few corpsmen in case of injury or illness.

Three of us volunteered to man the first aid station. It was our weekend off and it was nice to have something different to do. It was a pleasure to leave the base and see the countryside. We were issued a “cracker box” ambulance for transportation and we loaded it up with things that we thought we might need; food, bandages, food, a large tent, food, water and more food.

When we reached the site, we hurriedly set up our first aid tent. The tent was made of olive drab canvas with matching floor, windows, door flap. It also had a heat resistant vent for a stove pipe to exit.  The sponsors had a dozen wooden pallets delivered for firewood. We knew that so few pieces of wood wouldn’t last the entire weekend and searched the field around us. We collected all the dried sheep dung we could find and stacked it inside the tent to keep dry.

One of the corpsmen brought a stove that he created from a rectangular tin “can” that once held five pounds of coffee. He used snips and wire to make two “hinged” doors, one for feeding the fuel and the other to remove ashes.

The stoves legs war made out of thick twisted strands of wire. The same heavy wires crisscrossed the inside of the box to create a grate to suspend the burning fuel above the bottom of the ash pit. Three pieces of metal stovepipe were connected to the stove to run outside through the vent hole then turning upward. The stove was ready for business.

Our tent remained warm, snug, and dry all weekend, which was a good thing because most of the weekend was cool and it rained. A mist hung heavily in the air. The wood from the pallets quickly disappeared and by now the dung still in the fields was too wet to burn. But we had an ample supply. The smoke from the burning dung actually had a pleasant smell. We had a steady stream of scouts coming into our tent to “see what we were cooking.” They wouldn’t believe that it was actually the smoke from the dried sheep dung that they were smelling. We did offer them some pieces of liver that we were frying when they visited, but they all refused our offer.

My Sister Complains

The major thing that irritates her is hearing someone using nail clippers to trim fingernails. The clicking noise almost drives her insane. At the first click she will give you “I dare you to do that again” stare. If you are brave enough to try it again, she will chew you out in no uncertain terms.

I found the best place to torture her was while we were sitting in church.

I was older and could sit with my friends while Kathy still had to sit with Mom. There would be a pause in the service, a moment of silence between hymns or at the end of a prayer and I would use the clippers; snip, click.

I would watch for her reaction out of the corner of my eyes. Kathy would stiffen and turn around, searching to locate the perpetrator of the clipper crime. The clicking sound would set her off, but she couldn’t say anything because we were in church. Putting on a face of innocence, I would watch and wait until she turned back around and settled down. I would wait a few minutes then click, another nail would be trimmed. Kathy would stiffen, turn, and stare with a look of death in her eyes. I would sit with a look of feigned innocence until she would turn around. The torture and the fun would continue as long as my fingernails remained.

The other thing that Kathy hates is pink, plastic flamingos. I think her hatred stems from her having to mow Aunt Estella’s grass. Estella had pink flamingos and other yard ornaments which Kathy had to move or mow around and that irritated her. Kathy and her husband Doug lived next door to Estella and they had to look at the ornaments when they would sit outside.

This hatred for these inanimate objects allows more ways for me to torture her. It gives me great opportunities to buy gifts for her birthday and for Christmas. Sometimes it is nothing more than a card with the pink pests on it to a pair of wire ones placed in her front lawn holding a banner of “Happy Birthday” and balloons. It could be a pair of salt and pepper shakers to a Lucite serving tray with a pitcher and glasses all bearing the likeness of her favorite character. I even found a pair of wooden home-made flower boxes that were built to look like flamingos.

But my all time favorite was the birthday present I found for her. I had an accomplice to help in the delivery of this flamingo that I had found. What I had found was a back scratcher that was shaped like a flamingo. I went to our local florist and bought half of a dozen pink roses. I had the florist insert the backscratcher among the roses and delivered to her home.

I know that she kept the roses, but I was never sure what happened to the back scratcher. She never did tell me what she thought of the “special delivery.” 

America's Sins

America’s Sins

There was a time in history that America was a God fearing country. The first men and women came to our shores seeking religious freedom; searching for the ability to worship God without interference from a king or government.  The foundation of the Constitution was based on biblical principles that God shared in His Word. The Constitution of the United States is the document that separates freedom loving people from other governments of the world.

America has been blessed. The face of God has looked favorably on our nation to make it a powerful entity and a haven for the oppressed. God has allowed our country to intervene when evil men attempted to rule the world. America has given the lives of its men and women to secure liberty for those who were being enslaved.

But year after year Americans have turned their back on God and year after year God has been saying, “I love you. Come back to me.” The government’s been straying from the principles upon which our nation was founded. Too many politicians have come to rely on their own strength and wisdom instead of seeking God, the source of all wisdom and strength.

Morality is on the decline and depravity is on the rise. Our government cannot legislate morality. If the hearts of our citizens remain unchanged, laws will do little to restrain evil or to limit its effects.

I believe that God has been showing His displeasure by the increase of earthquakes and weather disasters. When mankind is unwilling to recognize the Creator of the Earth and the weather concerns, but gives credit to “Mother Nature” or “Climate Change” it will only increase. When men do not give God honor for creation nor see these phenoma as a pronouncement of judgment, He will continue to weigh those people and allow that nation to be brought to its knees. God says that every knee will bow.

History shows that when a country removes God from its daily life other than to think of Him as a curse word or as a servant only to be beckoned when something is needed, that country fails. God will use the same hands that produced the many years of safety and blessings to also deliver the wrath of His judgment on the people of that nation.

It is time for Americans to be less proud and more humble. God is the only strength and refuge in times of trouble and fear. He is our buckler and our sword. God can bless America again if only we turn to Him and seek his forgiveness and face.

Marines Semper Fi Corpsmen Always Sly

 Marines: Semper Fi, Corpsmen Always Sly

I recall several incidents where Marines and Navy Corpsmen met; not all of them were mutually supportive of each other. Although many Naval Corpsmen were cross trained to accompany Marines in the field, they didn’t always see eye to eye. One of my friends was a prime example. His name isn’t necessary at the moment, but at one time he had a definite Hippie type personality caught in Uncle Sam’s military machine. He preferred the feel of sandals on his feet, puka shell bead necklace around his neck, and when he talked about a joint in his hand he wasn’t talking about a knuckle bone.

Who says that the U.S. government doesn’t have a sense of humor? The fickle finger pointed at him sending him to Field Medical School and then assigned him to a Marine company. This occurred during the Vietnam War when the feeling between Hippies and Marines weren’t at their best. I wrote my friend a letter and accidentally included his middle name Felix. He wrote back saying it wasn’t hard enough being with these gung-ho meatheads and now they had his middle name to harass him. I’m sorting through photos and found a letter from him, complaimimg that I’d shared his name. Sorry man.

Another tale of crosscurrents between Marines and Corpsmen happened while I was stationed in Keflavik, Iceland. The Marines guarded the base while the corpsmen handled the hospital and ambulance duty. There were times when they would mix at the enlisted men’s club to eat, drink, and gamble. One challenge that often occurred was a drinking game. A tab would be opened at the bar with the loser responsible for the bill. They would take turns fetching the drinks from the bar. Beer would appear and disappear until one or the other of the contestants would disgorge his drink. When the corpsman had his fill, he would pour ipecac syrup into the Marine’s beer. Ipecac is an emetic agent that induces vomiting. By then, the Marine’s taste buds were dulled and he didn’t notice the flavor change. Corpsmen rarely had to pay the tab. As a teetotaler, I was only a casual observer.

One good story shared with me happened while I was in Orlando, Florida. I was caring for a corpsman that’d been injured in Vietnam. He stepped on a land mine and had chunks from his buttocks and one calf missing. He said the Marines asked a Seabee bulldozer operator to clear a path across a field of mines. The Seabee refused and the corpsman was the one who’d found the buried explosive. Only by throwing himself forward was he able to escape death. He said that the Seabee later had fallen to friendly fire. Nobody messed with the Marines’ corpsmen.

Caught Flatfooted

 Caught Flatfooted

As I pulled off my socks to shower this morning, I heard the telltale whisper that the skin on my feet were becoming dry and cracking. Being a diabetic, it was time to bring out the moisturizer and be proactive with my foot care and slow the winter calluses from forming. Of course, this triggered my memories of my aunt Helen Stahl and several stories about her feet.

My connecting thought was that she was a homebody and seldom wore shoes in her home. Her feet would become rough, callused, cracked, and painful. Eventually, she would sweet-talk someone into driving her from Orlando to one of the Floridian beaches. Dressed in her housecoat, she would stroll in the ocean wet sand. I never saw her wear a bathing suit, only the dusters that she wore at the house. The grit of the wet sand, wore away the calluses, smoothed the dry skin, and made it easier for the cracks to heal.

The second storey of Aunt Helen happened when I was a child. The place where my dad worked offered reduced price admission tickets to Idlewild Park in Ligonier. My parents asked if Aunt Helen and her family would like to join us. She accepted. Aunt Helen arrived at the park dressed to the nines. I can remember her full-skirted pale blue dress, a string of pearls around her neck, her red purse and she was wearing red, high-heeled shoes. For anyone who has frequented the old park knows the pathways were only pea-sized gravel. Walking on it was difficult enough, without high heels. By the end of the day, Helen said she had he blisters on her feet. The next morning, my mom Sybil Beck telephoned her and teasingly said, “Are you ready to go back to Idlewild?”

Helen said, “Just let me get my shoes on,” and snorted a laugh.

My final recollection was of Helen and lightning’s attraction for her. As I’ve said, Helen hated to wear shoes. This occurred while they were living near Indian Head, Pennsylvania. She was in the midst of cleaning her house and went outside to shake the throw rugs. Standing on the wet concrete porch, a bolt of lightning electrified the water soaked porch and made her dance.

I know that she was struck by lightning a second time, but I am not sure just where it happened.

It Came Back

 It Came Back

At the end of my last post I shared my violent and sudden attack on my body of diarrhea and the horrible retching and vomiting. It came out of nowhere, waking me form slumber and washing over me like a tidal wave. The diarrhea hit first. While I was perched on the throne, I felt wrapped from head to toe in a wave of blast furnace-like heat. I felt too hot and I struggled to remove my long-sleeved shirt. My mouth was filled with a flood of water that often will happen preceding a bout of vomiting. The purge hit while my head was buried in my shirt. I barely got it off when the geyser burst forth. I was able to grab a nearby trash can to catch the explosion. Wave after wave of my stomach contents tumbled forth; filling the trash can to the remarkable depth of three inches deep. There was nothing left, but my body didn’t know that and dry retching continued. I’d eaten cabbage roll casserole earlier and I’m not sure I will ever try to eat it again. That sour taste lingered.
The loose bowel movements continued until I was passing clear fluids. The noise form my hyperactive bowels growled like a demon from a horror movie. I finally took a tablet of Imodium in an attempt to slow the tide. I was concerned that if I stemmed the tide of loose bowel movements, it might cause a back-up and I feared for the re-emergence of the vomiting.
The symptoms eased and Monday I mowed my yard. I had planned to mow Friday when my schedule was interrupted by my illness. Sitting inside on Sunday, I heard the sounds of my neighbor mowing his lawn. I felt sick again. My lawn was a mess, ragged with bare dandelion stem wagging in the breeze.
Overnight into Tuesday morning, the diarrhea returned, muscle aches added to my symptoms. I decided to seek professional help. The hyperactive bowel sounds had never stopped and now that the loose bowel movements had returned after the short pause, I wanted to be sure of the cause.
I visited a nearby emergency care center seeking reassurance or palliative care. After signing in, a physician’s assistant listened to my history and gave me the once-over physical examination, she pronounced me ill with a virus. I was doing everything correctly to counter the bug. She said as long as I was able to eat and remained hydrated; it should disappear in ten days to two weeks. How wonderful. I guess I need to lay in a supply of toilet paper.

I Will Survive

 The Walking Dead

I am back among the living and I am able to drive my car again. Not being confined to the house or begging for a ride is a major blessing and it improves my outlook on life immeasurably. The drive into Pittsburgh is always stressful for me. City driving, even as a passenger is not for me. Born and raised in the country, I am more used to back roads.

The Pennsylvania turnpike is okay, but I never liked narrow bridges or the tunnels. To me it is like there is no place to go, if someone decides to direct their car into your lane. There is no place to evade the other driver.

Driving through larger towns was easier for me to do when my wife, Cindy Morrison Beck was alive. She was a great navigator and my GPS keeping me updated and on course. Only one time in all of the years we were married did she misdirect me. We were in the Philadelphia area and the road branched. We took the wrong one and drove through a Puerto Rican neighborhood. It seemed that all the people were on their porch stoops playing dominoes.

On the trips out west, she was a faithful copilot, even though she had fallen off Festus, a mule assigned to her for a breakfast ride at camp. I’ve talked about the trip out west before. Seven adults, seventeen teenaged kids, were tenting for seventeen days. It was a wonderful trip and I saw things that I will never have the chance to see again.

Now, that I can drive again, I hope that the weather cooperates. Coming back from the doctor’s office today, we stopped for a few groceries. Arriving home, the Penn Dot plows had our drive filled with huge chunks of snow and ice. Slick ice had formed in the driveway and I had to take care walking as I helped to unload the car.

Anna knew that I couldn’t shovel snow today, my back was still hurting from the last few storms She took it as a personal insult that our drive was filled with the flotsam of snow. Hurrying into the basement, she attacked the piles with fury, stacking the offensive white stuff along the road below the drive where the plows would push it away.

I was left to traverse the treacherous ice slickened drive and carry in the groceries. After three massive trips that probably should have taken six to unload, it was finished. We were home safe and sound, waiting for the next storm to come, but I’d rather have spring.

This last bout of flu knocked the stuffing out of me. Vomiting, diarrhea, and muscle cramps filled an entire day of my life, leaving me feeling worn and weary. However I am improved. No more rushing the bathroom and fumbling to unfasten my pants. I am feeling that I will survive.