The Muse is Loose

I revisited Houston yesterday as a driver. It was there and back in a day for a funeral of a long-time friend and former children's choir member of the sixties at Taft, Sally Sanders McDonald.

In the process I recalled my first brief time in Big H, following military service in the fifties. I was employed by Commercial Credit to be an "adjuster". That was a nice word for "repo man". They furnished a car for this clandestine work. We "adjusters" would often team up to do our work.

I was told on my first day that we would take a repoed car back to the dealer. It wasn't running. I was put behind the wheel and told to watch the rear-view mirror and the pusher would signal to turn left or right. I figured surely we would only go a block or two; after all, we were on South Main in Houston, Texas. After being shoved for several blocks the signal came from behind to turn right. I noticed quickly that was an access to the GULF FREEWAY! Another signal to go left and we were zipping down the freeway toward Galveston. I was in the lead car with no power steering and no power brakes, for the car had no power. I wondered how many people expired on their first day of work! Finally, a signal to get off and then go left for a few more miles. The Dealership appeared and I lifted my shaken frame from that death trap.It was then I began to believe God surely had something better for me to do, since He spared my life in that suicide mission.

Going to Houston wasn't all bad. I met Ann there and you know the rest of that story. Yesterday as I drove on a Houston Freeway I wondered how that scenario from many years past would play out today. It scared me to think about it. I guess the fright caused me to get in a lane that was wrong. I sped right through an easy-pay place and got my photo taken. I will soon hear a knock on the door, and then be whisked off to easy-pay prison until I have fully paid for driving on a freeway over 65 (years of age).

Thank you, Lord, for the rain and cooler weather for this November. The deer hunters thank you also, or should.

We are six blocks from Aransas Bay. In the early morning, just at daybreak, I can hear the blasts of shotguns, though they are several miles away. I am reminded of the fun it used to be hunting ducks on the bay.

To duck hunt one must have a license and federal stamp. He needs a shallow draft boat. He needs a pair of waders that do not have little water holes in them. Bay water can be really cold in winter. He needs a camouflaged jacket and hat. He needs a shotgun that can fire 3 inch shells or better. He needs decoys. The more the better. Three to five dozen are not too many. They must have a line and weights tied to them. He needs to scout out an area and then construct a blind. The blind must have a wooden platform and then be covered with brush. All of this must be transported to the place. Obviously, this is before season opens.He must have a good duck- calling device to call them in, or scare them off, as the case may be.

On the day of the hunt he must have a dependable alarm clock that will awaken the hunter. He must have a thermos and something energizing to eat. He must head out in total darkness to the chosen place and slosh around in the shallow bay water putting out his spread of decoys. He COULD do that the day before, but decoys have a way of soaring away when left alone in the bay.

The hunter now goes to the blind and takes a sip of well-deserved coffee. He looks at his watch and checks again at the official time to fire the first shot. As the moment approaches he hears the sweet sound of ducks landing near the decoys. Wow! This is going to be a great hunt!

Finally shooting time arrives. The ducks that lit earlier are taking to the skies. He takes aim at the first ones. Now, he is thinking about what is legal and what is not. Here is how it reads: Daily bag limit SIX. No more than five mallards of which only two may be hens. Three wood ducks. Two scaup. Two redheads. Two pintails. One canvasback. One dusky duck. The daily limit for mergansers is five, but no more than two hooded mergansers. All the other species not listed the limit is SIX. That would be teal, etc. He remembers the fine for plugging
an extra canvasback. What if a scatter-shot brings down three pintails? How do you tell a redhead from a lesser scaup in half light? Is that a Game Warden's skiff off in the distance? He is not fishing, whoever he is. He has no shotgun. He appears to be looking through binoculars in my direction. It is a bit early in the morning for birdwatchers. He is dressed in green.

The first flight of birds are gone. Not a shot is fired. The sun wakes up and the sky is light. Now the birdwatcher is moving out in his boat and heading across the bay. I can make out a circle and what appears to be a star on the side of the boat. I am relieved and can get back to the task at hand. I see a flight of several birds heading my way. The duck caller comes alive in my lips. They veer and head another direction. Time after time this happens. Now, nothing. I have not fired a single shot. It is warming up and I shed the coat. Off in the distance a lone duck heads my way. His wings set and he heads for the nearest decoys. He is a dark duck but it matters little for I have no ducks against my limit. One blast and that lone quacker drops like a rock. The gentle breeze of the bay pushes his limp body toward me. I slip out of the blind and slosh through the muddy bottom to retrieve my prize. A beautiful black COOT. The limit for COOTS is fifteen! For table fare they are almost inedible. The decoys are gathered and loaded on the boat. The motor will NOT start. I begin the five-mile poling jaunt across the bay to a boat launch. The Game Warden is waiting there. He wants to see my take. I see a smirky smile as he says, "O.K. you are free to go. Enjoy the mudhen!" This is so much fun!!!

Near the woods by Wal Mart there is an area recently cleared. It looks like a little park of years past. There are some concrete-looking blocks that make a little fence. They are made from shellcrete. This was an innovative building material from 150 or more years ago. Adobe brick could not survive the moisture of South Texas. Trees for home construction were scarce, so shellcrete was born. There are still remains of buildings made of this material. One is at Lamar near Goose Island State Park.

I am certainly not one to explain the process. I will give it a try, after reading the information at the previously mentioned site. Shellcrete is made from oyster shell, with lime, sand and water. Oyster shell is gathered and burned for several days. Lime comes to the surface of those shells. They are then crushed into small pieces. The lime, shell, water, and sand are mixed and then put in block-like forms to harden. That makes the shellcrete. I left details out but I think that is the basic process.

Isn't it amazing how folks have used their minds and backs in years past to come up with ways of doing and building! God put all the ingredients down here for us to do most anything we've a mind to. What a great world He made!

This morning, a long time friend and former young person in the church at Wharton, took off on a sixty mile walk to raise money for the Susan G Komen Foundation. She is Susan Copeland Raines. We are pleased to have contributed money for her walk. It will end at the Cotton Bowl Plaza in Dallas Sunday afternoon.

Susan and her family live in the Rowlett area near Dallas. The list is long of those she is walking for. One is my sister, Betty Pogue Garner, who died of cancer. At present Susie's husband, John,
is fighting a melonoma that has returned after one year. Her walking partner and long-time friend is Joni Sauce, a cancer survivor.

Susie has always been a strong person, physically and otherwise. She has endured a family tragedy, and the loss of her parents and a brother. However SIXTY MILES! I hope she is in great shape for such a trek. We will be pulling for her that she makes the sixty miles, and I send a salute for her dedicated effort to fight a dreaded disease that has affected most if not all our families.

We left for New Braunfels shortly after the morning service at Taft. It was a nice service with a group of young people in Junior ROTC at Mary Carroll High School posting the flags as we honored veterans with pledges and "The Star Spangled Banner". We owe thanks to Lynne Lavender for arranging it all.

In New Braunfels we visited long-time dear friend, Les Roper, who is having some serious medical problems. His wife, Mae, and daughter, Roxanne, were both there.It was a wonderful time of fellowship and recall with a man who was simply great in reaching and helping young people in our early years in Taft.

This morning we headed for Santa Rosa Hospital in San Antonio for a visit with Mary Lou Loidl, long time friend of Ann's at Taft High School. Mary Lou has serious issues, health-wise. After that visit we drove to Floresville to the Veteran's Home for a visit with James Duprie's grandmother, Erdene Weaver. I doubt she knew who we were, but she seemed to enjoy the visit. We arrived home just after dark. Glad to be back home. When I was able to walk into the house I was grateful that was possible. It might not be tomorrow, so we should be thankful for each day given us free from debilitating problems. They will come, we know that.

Oops! Too late! They are here. That's what Mike Baird writes in today's Caller Times. He claims area exterminators have already been at war with the little apple-seed sized blood suckers. It seems that DDT exterminated them out of existence after World War II. It also put other things out, or near out of existence.

Bill Schroeder, the Coastal Bend chapter director for Texas Pest Control Association , claims they are already here and biting. There is good news for us. They seem to be concentrated in "high-end" hotels that receive a lot of foreign guests. Since our stays are usually in an Indian-Owned motel where few foreigners stay, we may make it a bit longer.

Lest we become overly confident they won't strike us, the article says they are being treated in "homes, school dorms, and shelters." They latch on to suitcases, clothing bags, carryalls, boxes and shoes. Since we just brought all of these items from a Motel in San Marcos, there is a real possibility they have invaded our premises.

Thought I would help make this Tuesday a darker day for you and tone down your celebration of the Cowboys owner's move to rescue the Cowboys and put them in the Super Bowl. If you believe that I have half-interest to sell you in a diamond mine I own in Tivoli.

On my early morning walk I went to Aransas Bay, down the sidewalk on Traylor. It was a beautiful morning to look across the bay and see Saint Joseph's island some six or seven miles away. The thin fog made the scene more interesting. It brought back many memories.

In 1959 I was a student at Southwestern Seminary in Fort Worth. I read of a man named Sid Richardson who had died. I had never heard of him. I noted, however, that Billy Graham was coming to preach the funeral. I decided to attend. It was held at Broadway Baptist Church in Fort Worth. I knew immediately I was among the rich and famous of Texas and beyond. Lyndon B Johnson was there. I recognized Sam Rayburn. The President sent a personal envoy since he couldn't be there. It was an impressive service and I sat in awe of it all.

Sid Richardson had owned that island that stretched out before me this morning. In fact, it was there he died of a heart attack in 1959. There was only one home on this island more than twenty miles long and accessible only by boat or an airplane. The property was willed to the Bass family of Fort Worth. They still own it. Sid Richardson was a confirmed batchelor and successful oilman. He was one of the richest men in the Country. He left a Foundation that has helped churches and other organizations through all these years. He was a bit of a recluse except for a few friends. He was an adviser to President Roosevelt on oil during World War II. He was the person who most convinced Dwight Eisenhower to run for President.

This island, once the home for pirates like Jean Lafitte; and under siege during the Civil War by Union troops, lay silently across the bay as a morning sun warmed it's sand another day. If it could but speak what stories would be told? St. Jo.

Technically, I am a veteran. That makes it possible for me to have privileges at the VA Clinic. I used my GI Bill to attend Seminary. BUT I don't feel like a veteran. No one ever tried to kill me. I never knew combat. Those are the Veterans I salute on this day.

Ann had four brothers. Three of them served in the military. Bobby received the Purple Heart for service in Korea. Charlie landed on Iwo Jima as a Marine, and was there until that deadly Island was taken from the Japanese. Another brother, George, also served. Her eldest brother, Johnny, was in a job where he was much needed. His work helped supply oil and gasoline for planes and jeeps and tanks. The government would not free him for military service.

My cousins, Doug and Arnold Hall also served during World War II. Doug was shot down over France and broke his leg when he parachuted to the ground. He became a Prisoner of War until released through an exchange of prisoners. He came back to the states and rejoined the war effort, going to the Far East until the end of the war.

My friends, Al Cave, Lester Thorp, James Bell, Ed Colburn, Jake Myers, and others I can't remember right now were TRUE veterans. They put their lives on the line and somehow survived World War II, or Korea, or Viet Nam. Now we are building another list of veterans just as dedicated
as earlier ones. Wars go on. As long as they do there will be men and women fighting them. To those men and women I SALUTE YOU! Thank you for your service. God bless you.

Phoebe is a Biblical name. She is mentioned briefly in the Book of Romans. The word "phoebe" in Greek means "Beautiful Goddess". It is used for several different women in Greek mythology. The name was given to a small outer moon of Saturn. It was also given to a species of bird. That is what my write is about.(There is also a plant bearing the name.)

There are three phoebes. The Black Phoebe, Say's Phoebe, and the Eastern Phoebe. Ann and I saw our first Say's Phoebe on the stretch of land running out into Great Salt Lake. It was perched on a fence post near a corral. I saw my first Black Phoebe at a waterfall in some forgotten Western state. I saw an Eastern Phoebe this morning.....in our back yard.

The Eastern Phoebe comes down here in winter. It is a rather small bird with dark brown back and blackish head. It's breast is white with some yellowish wash. No eye-ring. It flicks it's tail when perched. It feeds on spiders and other tiny insects. It is a people bird, like the wren.

I watched this one take a shower. He was fully clothed. He likes our dripping bird bath. This one has been around here for several days. Ann saw it first. If I could hear I might detect it speaking his own name...."phee-bee, phee-bee". Since I can't hear that, I will just assume he is calling out his scientific name, "sayornis phoebe". Whatever his call he is a welcome bird among the sparrows and dove.

O yes, I saw the Cowboys win under their new coach, Jason Garrett. They played with the enthusiasm of a High School team. They didn't kill themselves with mistakes. They made some big plays, and they won.It was a nice win for a team going no where. That is NOT why I am "stunned and in shock". That came when I switched to "Sixty Minutes" and heard and saw some of the more dramatic footage from the War on terror.

It was all about a unit from 173 Airborne Brigade who were trapped by Taliban while on patrol. They were surrounded from two sides and were being hit by everything the enemy could throw at them. Some men fell. Others were wounded or received hits to their armor. A reporter recorded some of the events and sounds. Someone heard on the Taliban radio they wanted a body. How they would use it is anyone's guess. A Sergeant Brennan was dropped by the intense fire. Soon three Taliban were dragging and carrying his body away. Staff Sgt. Sal Guinta saw what was happening. He charged the enemy through intense fire. He felt two rounds hit him. They hit armor instead of Guinta's flesh. He was firing at the three men. One of them dropped. The other two began to run and leave the body behind. I think he may have hit another one of them. He had arrived at his friend's side. The man had a head wound but was still alive. He could recognize a fellow soldier had come to his rescue. As Guinta said it, "part of his mouth was in his mouth". The fire fight lasted about three minutes. They got the wounded men back to a hospital. That night Sgt Brennan died in surgery.

The men were talking about the valor seen in that firefight. Word quickly spread. When it was a certainty this had happened, Staff Sergeant Sal Guinta was recommended for the Medal of Honor. That is the highest award offered by the military. There had not been a living soldier earning one since Viet Nam. One was awared to Sgt. Guinta.

One of his comments this evening was this: "I have never given everything". He then said, "I am not at peace with that (the medal) with so many people doing so much". "I was in a position to do what needed to be done and I did it.". He called himself "mediocre.".

I was stunned and in shock for I had just watched men of greater physical talent beating on their chests and pointing at themselves after making a tackle or catching a pass. Men making millions were waving their arms for applause and keeping the football THEY had caught for a touchdown. Men making hundreds lay in the dust of a foreign land while determined enemy sought to kill them, and us if they could. The lights went out at the stadium for a few moments. Announcers admitted it was scary. There were 80,000 people sitting in a darkened stadium wondering...just wondering what might be next. The lights came on again. The game resumed and young millionaires congratulated themselves for their feats....while in a far away country gallant men and women making hundreds walked the strange and dangerous trails, awaiting another ambush or buried explosive device. I am still stunned and in shock.

Trojans are attacking our computer on every front. I am sneaking through their front lines to scratch out this BLOG. They could get me at any time. If I could find the wooden horse housing them I would burn it or haul it to the county dump.

Received a proclamation this morning from the Mayor of Fort Smith, Arkansas. He is really a nice man and a great PR man for the city. Mayor Baker was seriously ill when we had our 60th High School reunion in Fort Smith in September. He was scheduled to be present at our banquet and present the proclamation making that day in September OUR DAY!

Today I have that proclamation on this virus-infected machine. My question is about the worth of a proclamation dated for September that is received in November? To go farther, what is a proclamation really worth on any day? I remember years ago when we were in Taft there was a proclamation naming it Dale and Ann Pogue day. There were no parades. I received no trip to the White House to visit whoever was living there then. No one even came to mow our lawn! What good is a proclamation? I think they are to make us feel good....and they do. They are a way to say "Thank You" and you are appreciated. I am grateful to Mayor Baker for honoring our 60th get-to-gather in Fort Smith in September. A good word is never too late to be proclaimed.

It was only nine months and twenty-two days ago that I conducted the funeral service of dear, dear friend, Herb Grebe. Herb was a top salesman for Hormel for thirty years. He was the SPAM man before the word was connected to computers. Herb was the Mayor of Taft for many years. He was good at it. He was a deacon in First Baptist Church, Taft. A special guy.

Today it falls my duty to speak the last words at the service for his wonderful wife, and friend of our family for many years, Nancy Grebe. This will be at the church where they gave a large portion of their lives, First Baptist Church in Taft.

Ann and I were in their home often. They were gracious hosts and special friends. I participated in the marriage of their two sons. I had the funeral service for Nancy's mother. Our friendship spans many years and events.

You cannot imagine, unless you have been there, how inadequate one feels at a time like this. How can we possibly present a life well-lived, adequately, to those who come for a funeral service. The truth is that it simply cannot be done. We will reach out in time and recall some things, and then share some Scripture and know that we have done our best at another impossible task. It is especially hard when one is close in friendship, as Nancy was to Ann and me.

So, that is our duty and privilege for this day.

I headed out for my morning walk in the usual apparel. Made it to the morning paper and was soon back inside scrambling for a jacket. It was FIFTY TWO DEGREES! Now, dear readers of this blog in NOME and ST PAUL that isn't terribly cold. (I don't really have readers in those places) For Rockport it is quite chilly. There is also a strong north wind adding emphasis to the cold.

We really do welcome a change in weather. Seasons are a wonderful thing God gave us. We have seasons in weather and seasons in our lives. I know I am in late Fall and it might even be Winter. That's okay. When one is in Winter the forever Spring cannot be far away.

I'm off to see my cardio man for a six-month check-up. Didn't eat breakfast but that isn't going to help me a lot on his totally inaccurate scales. They are EIGHT POUNDS more than mine at home.

That's what Drayton McLane has to sell these days. He has a New York investment firm helping him find a buyer. The asking price? It is open. If you don't have a half billion availble don't even try to get in the bidding. Mr. McLane paid about $117 million for it all, but that was back in 1992. You have to expect to make a little profit over eighteen years.

The team is the Houston Astros. They have a wonderful place to play ball. It can be either inside or outside depending on the weather. There is a sliding roof when Houston is hot or rainy. It is one of those two, or both, most of the time. It is called Minute Maid Park. There are a lot of extras that go with the deal. You purchase a whole team of players of varied talents. Some of them are of major league caliber. Two of the better ones were traded during the middle of last season. Some younger guys came along and helped them out of the cellar. There are no bonafide superstars like days of old. Attendance is great,considering how bad they were for more than half of last season.

Mr. McLane is simply tired of having to go to the ballpark or travel across the country. He is tired of hearing whining players tell how they need more money. His wife is ready to vacate that front row seat close to the Bush box. Nothing personal.

So, gather your piggy banks and old fruit jars. Count every dime. Get back all the money owed you from friends. Add it all up and multiply by ....hmmmmm a lot, and then make a bid. You might just get to buy a baseball team in Texas. Nolan Ryan did it, so can you! (Got a free pass for an old friend?)

This beautiful poem was written in 1924 by Raymond G Dandridge. He was able to write, though bedfast for fifteen years. It's simplicity speaks in words we can understand and relate to. This is my offering to you for Thanksgiving Week.

THANKS

For spreading plain and peak that towers,
We give Thee thanks.
For sun, and moon, and stars, and flowers,
We give Thee thanks.
For courage and the will to do.
For strength and hope and faith a-new,
For love and friendship strong and true,
We give Thee thanks.

For pain that serves to purge the soul,
We give Thee thanks.
For cares that raise us t'ward the goal,
We give Thee thanks.
For bits of rest that intervene.
For tears and sighs, with smiles between,
For all, O Gracious Nazarene,
We give Thee thanks!

Raymond G Dandridge
1924

In the month of December a new movie of "True Grit" will be released. A main character, (as was played by John Wayne in the first "True Grit") is a Deputy United States Marshal. My brother-in-law, Herschel Garner of Rison, Arkansas, is a retired Deputy United States Marshal. He worked out of the Little Rock office. Herschel is a grad of the University of Arkansas. He was a colonel in the Army Reserve in Arkansas. He is an ordained Baptist deacon and active in his church in Rison.

Fifty years ago as a young marshal in his twenties, Herschel was sent to New Orleans to protect some little black girls who were being integrated in to a school there. It was a volatile time. He was assigned to the McDonough #19 elementary school. It is now the Louis Armstrong Elementary, and closed because of hurricane damage. Another school, William Franz Elementary, was also integrating a single six-year old girl, Ruby Bridges. Her story was possibly an inspiration for a Norman Rockwell painting. It showed a young girl being escorted by US marshals into a school.

Over at McDonough, the three girls were Tessie Prevost Williams, Gail Etienne Stripling, and Leona Tate, each only six years old. The three returned to the school November 13-14 for a fiftieth reunion of the occasion. The marshals were also invited back. One is deceased. The others were there. Herschel was present as Tessie Williams mother spoke these words: "I was afraid at one time, but the marshal, (Herschel Garner) told me, he said ' Miss, this child is in my hands. I'll die first before she dies'. This is a quote from WWLTV reporter: "Garner was in his early 20's at the time, and had been sworn into the job only six months earlier. He said he was afraid for both girls and himself. "I just remember the crowd of people that were here and the jeers and I was impressed the little girls were so brave", said Garner.

An historic marker was unveiled at the school. Many dignitaries and the media were there. Herschel was impressed with the women, who are very productive citizens, and their feelings were not bitter or angry.

It is difficult to imagine that many, and even most, do not remember such times. I do, and they were disturbing and scary. I hope we have moved a long way from such days. I am proud my brother-in-law was a brave lawman at such a time. He had a job to do and he did it.

If I do this right there will appear a pic of my brother-in-law Herschel Garner in New Orleans in 1960 as a Deputy Federal Marshal. He will be the one at the door.

I led a memorial service in Taft ,Tuesday for a long-time friend, Les Roper. Les worked with the youth back in the early sixties when I came to Taft as minister of music-youth. He was a great friend and big help with kids. He was also a cowboy. Loved to ride and rope. (His name was Roper) He got to appear as a cowboy in "Lonesome Dove". Les could also play a merry tune on the piano. He had a winning smile and cowboy voice. We made an annual trip to the San Antonio rodeo each year I was there. That called for a stop at a cafe called "The Bean Pot". There would be cornbread, sweet onions...and beans! You could dip them from a giant pot in the middle of the place. Can't do that kind of stuff anymore. It sure was good, though.

Les and Mae had been married 64 years and ten months. They lived all over after Les retired. He operated golf courses and RV parks, and even ran a racehorse track over in Brady, Texas.

That makes four friends I have had funerals for in three weeks. Enough now.