holmesbeachbum

Chapter 12 - Peg Leg Pete's Bar and Grill

2011-12-20T12:52:00.000-08:00

Peg Leg Pete’s Bar and Grill
By
Jack Wilhelm

Chapter 12 Whirlwind Christmas Season

“Everybody ready for Christmas,” Honey Bunny asked as the coots all readied to down their first for happy hour?
There was a chorus of “no’s” after everyone finished their first of the afternoon.
“You probably are and don’t know it,” Honey Bunny continued. “The women do all the shopping and readying anyway,” she jibed.
“I don’t have a woman,” Joe commented, “will you do my shopping for me?”
“Only if I can buy a present for myself.”
“You’re on! See me after we’re done here.”
“What is this,” Pelly grumbled, “a two person conversation?”
“Anyway,” Jerry cut in, “have you all been taking advantage of all the activities of the past few weeks?”
This question brought a nodding of heads and a chorus of “wouldn’t miss them for the world.”
“One of the great things about the Island,” Al commented, “is there’s three cities so there’s three times the events.”
“You’re right,” Joe said. “Three cities, three governments, never agreeing on anything.”
“Keeps the developers from totally destroying the Island,” Jerry said sourly.
“Whole different subject,” Honey Bunny brought the happy hour conversation back on track. By the way, my glass is empty.”
She hardly had the words out of her mouth when Kelli arrived with a tray of fresh ones.
“You look great this afternoon,” Joe commented.
“Thank you, Joe. You know flattery will get you everywhere.”
“How about we get together later?”
“You haven’t flattered me that much yet,” Kelli shook her booty enticingly as she walked to the other end of the bar to serve customers there.
“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” Joe finished off.
“Which open house did you like best,” Honey Bunny continued.
“I liked the Holmes Beach bash the best,” Al said.
“Why,” Honey Bunny bored in.
“First, they are all together. Anna Maria City merchants are all spread out from Gulf Drive through Pine to the Anna Maria Pier. My feet can’t take the long hike anymore.”
“Bridge Street is all together, too,” Jerry commented, “unless you walked all the way out on the pier to see the Lighted Boat Parade.”
“Yeah,” Al chimed in, “but they had almost everything raffled off but nothing was free.”
“But,” Jerry pointed out, “most of the proceeds were donated to charities.”
“I’m an old retired senior citizen,” Al rejoined, “I like free. Holmes Drive merchants all had spreads and punch or wine,”
“Personally,” Honey Bunny commented, “I like J and J Printing’s hot mulled rum and open fire. That was so warm and friendly. All it lacked was a window to look out on the snow.”
“Of course,” Joe said snidely, “there wasn’t any house, any window or any snow.”
“Details,” Honey Bunny snorted, “can’t you use your imagination?”
“Imagination is all I have left,” Joe snapped back, as he ogled Kelli as she came with another round.
“I enjoy Rudy’s sub shop up on Gulf Drive,” Jerry noted. “They always serve pieces of sub sandwiches. It was so good, I ordered a whole one to take home.”
“There was one thing I thought odd,” Pelly stated. “Rotten Ralph’s was serving BBQ in the Sun Plaza in Anna Maria City. Then they didn’t have anything on Bridge Street where the restaurant is located.”
“I noticed that. too,” Honey Bunny said. ”I guess you were supposed to order drinks or a meal.”
“I really enjoyed the lighted boat parade,” Pelly stated.
“Took an awful long time to get from Longboat Key to Cortez though,” Jerry noted.
“Did you have any important engagements you had to make,” Joe laughed. “I enjoyed the land parade as well. I have enough beads and candy to last me until the next parade.”
“Only problem,” Jerry said, “is the poor aim of the people throwing the candy and beads. I can’t bend over any more.”
“Get a grabber,” Joe said, “that’s what I do.”
“My problem with all the parades except the St. Patrick’s Day parade,” Honey Bunny chimed in, “is there’s never any bands.”
“That’s because the St. Patrick’s parade is short. All the others run the full length of the Island. The kids in a marching band would wear out with all the walking.”
“Put them on a float,” Honey Bunny snorted, “or just have small bands or singles. I’ll bet Mike Sales would be only too happy to be in a parade. More publicity for him; more entertainment of us.”
“Why don’t you suggest it to him next Friday when you go to listen to him at the Manatee Public Beach?”
“Just might do it,” Honey Bunny noted.
Kelli arrived with another round.
“This is the last for me,” Pelly stated, “I have to go home and get dinner started.”
“You’re just a party pooper,” Honey Bunny teased, “Carolyn’s right in the other room playing Bingo. She doesn’t care if you have another.”
“You don’t know the wrath of a Cajun woman who doesn’t get something she wants when she wants it.”
“This is not a bad thing sometimes,” Joe leered.
“You’re right,” Pelly leered right back. “Night y’all!"

####

Chapter 11 - Peg Leg Pete's Bar and Grill

2011-10-28T11:24:00.000-07:00

Copyright 2011 John R Wilhelm

Peg Leg Pete’s Bar and Grill
By
Jack Wilhelm

Chapter 11 – I’ve been hacked

Honey Bunny was obviously unhappy and it showed.
What’s got you all upset, baby,” Joe asked solicitously?
Just then Kelli hustled over with the customary order of drinks. Honey Bunny shoved hers back. “Make mine a double. I need an attitude adjustment.”
Kelli hastened to comply; then she, too, asked what the matter was? “Did Spike hit you again?”
“Worse. Somebody hacked into my e-mail account and changed the password. Now I’ve lost by entire list and someone else has it. I can’t even get into my own list.”
None of the coots were very computer savvy. They’d seen computers go from room-sized to hand-held, of course. None of them were as knowledgeable about computers as most six year olds today.
“What do you mean by hacked,” Joe inquired. “I’ve hear of hacking. That’s a foul in basketball. I remember when Shaquille O’Neal was in his prime, Chicago used to employ a tactic they nicknamed Hack-a-Shaq.”
“Joe, come into the 21st century. Computer hacking is when someone discovers the password to your account and takes it over.”
“Why would someone do that,” Jerry wondered.
“To get your list and use it for their own purposes. Worst case, the person could get into your bank accounts,” Honey Bunny replied.
“In my case, the hacker sent an e-mail to my entire list saying I was marooned in Spain and asking for money so I could get back to the states. My list included friends, my bank, and, even, my dentist.”
“Did anyone send money,” Kelli asked.
“Not as far as I know. Most of my friends know I don’t like travel and am too poor to buy an airline ticket anyway.”
“Than what’s the problem,” Pelly inquired.
“I’ve lost all my e-mail addresses and all my photos. Now I have to set up a new e-mail account and start building a list all over again. Plus the hacker not only has my list but many other addresses which are included in e-mails which had been forwarded to me and others.”
“Is there a moral to this story,” Al asked.
“Yes, be sure to back up your e-mail list just as you would any other thing stored on your computer. And prosecute the hacker if you find out who he is."
They ordered another round.
“Well,” Jerry commented. “At least we started out our happy hour without talking about sports. Thank you, Honey Bunny.”
“However,” Al began, “did you all watch the sixth game of the World Series. Was that a great game or what?”
“Probably the greatest game I ever saw,” Jerry stated. “I can’t wait to see the seventh game tonight.”
"You've probably seen them all," Al wise-assed.
“I hope the seventh game just goes nine innings,” Joe said. “Staying up until 11:30 is bad enough. One a.m. was ridiculous.”
“Poor boys,” Honey Bunny snorted. “I’m sure you all slept in this morning. I had to get up and start cleaning houses.”
“Gee,” Joe jabbed. “I didn’t even know you were a baseball fan, Honey Bunny.”
“I watch the end events like the World Series, the Super Bowl, the Stanley Cup, the college basketball finals, and the NBA finals. I just don’t overboard like you guys do!”
“Well, there’s hope for you yet,” Joe laughed.
“Let’s order another round, then I’ll tell you what I watched the other night,” Pelly added.
No one disagreed.
Pelly took a large swallow; then began.”There’s been a turtle nest on the beach two blocks from where I live. The Turtle Watch people staked it out, of course. It’s been there a long time and the eggs haven’t hatched.”
“So,” Joe asked?
“So, the other night Turtle Watch people dug it up. There were 95 eggs in the nest.”
“I’ve never seen a turtle egg,” Jerry said.
“Neither had I,” Pelly replied. “They look about like golf balls and the shells are tough and rubbery.”
“Not like a chicken egg,” Honey Bunny asked?
“Much tougher,” Pelly responded. “Anyway, the Turtle watch people just buried the eggs and will report the number to the authorities.”
“Seems to me like it would be a good idea to determine why they didn’t hatch,” Jerry suggested.
“You mean like were they fertilized or did water seep into the nest or what,” Pelly agreed. “You have to give the Turtle Watch people credit though. They patrol the beach looking for signs of turtle nesting every morning about 5 a.m. during nesting season.”
“Which is all summer,” Jerry said. “While we’re sleeping, they’re patrolling. It’s all volunteer work, too; no pay.”
The coots decided to have another drink and dedicate it to the Anna Maria Island Turtle Watch.
“Hear, hear,” they all shouted.
“Well,” Al declared. “I’m going to leave early, have supper, and take a nap. It’s the only way I can stay awake through the seventh game of the 2011 World Series.”
“Sounds like a excellent idea,” the coots chorused. Honey Bunny even joined in!

#####

Peg Leg Pete's Bar and Grill - Chapter 11

2011-10-22T13:19:00.000-07:00

Copyright 2011 John R Wilhelm

Peg Leg Pete’s Bar and Grill
By
Jack Wilhelm

Chapter 11 – Buccaneers in London

The four old coots and their one sweet thing were lined up in their usual positions at the bar. Kelli had already brought them their favorite drinks.
“Alright,” Honey Bunny said, after they’d all chugged half their drinks. “Let’s talk a little football and baseball. Then we can get on to more important things.”
“There are no more important things,” Al growled. Al, of course, was a native of Pittsburgh and had been weaned on the Steelers, Pirates, and Penguins.
Joe started off. “How about the Bucs playing the Bears in London tomorrow?”
“You mean London, Ontario,” Honey Bunny chimed in.
“No, dearest, I mean London, England. It’s the second time the Bucs have played there. They have a large fan base in the UK.”
Jerry joined the conversation. “I’ll make a prediction for you. Within five years, the Bucs will move to London.”
“Will they call them the British Buccaneers or the London Towers,” Pelly wise-assed.
“Can’t predict that,” Jerry continued, “but the NFL wants to expand into Europe. There’s a huge market there and American football is popular just like basketball.”
“Will they change their name to IFL for International Football League,” Pelly interrupted.
“Don’t sweat the small stuff,” Jerry snorted. “The point is that the Bucs are the logical first candidate because they are not selling out over here.”
“One team isn’t enough,” Joe interrupted.
“Right,” Jerry agreed. “They’ll pick another team and put it in Frankfort, Germany, where there’s another huge market. The two will be in the same conference and play each other twice. Then they’ll entertain the other teams in the conference at home and travel back to the US to play them there.”
Joe added, “If they make swings through the conference, the teams won’t suffer from the effects of jet lag.”
The other coots all nodded in agreement. “Although,” Jerry finished, “the League might just add two expansion teams over there just like they did in the US.”
“Okay, time’s up,” Honey Bunny laughed. “You have two minutes now to talk World Series.”
“I know the Series is cutting into my sleeping time,” Al commented.
Joe joined in. “I have friends from Ohio who own a condo here. Janet sent me an e-mail which went like this.”
“We are SO exhausted! The games aren't over 'till 11:30, then we watch the re-plays and interviews Then I'm too excited to sleep. Since we get up at 5:00, that's hardly any rest! In late August when they were 10 1/2 back, I had put my Cardinal shirts in the attic, only to have to dig them out again the following week.”
“Serves them right,” Honey Bunny laughed. “Anybody stays up to watch baseball ought to be tired.”
“This comment from the girl who stays up all night watching Law and Order, NCIS, and Bones,” Al laughed.
“Time for another round,” Peg Leg Pete snuck up behind them and hollered. “You all are taking up valuable space.”
“Damn it,” Jerry said. “We’re going to take the rubber thingee off your peg leg so you can’t sneak up on us.”
“Your right about another drink though,” Pelly said. “Where you been hiding Kelli?”
“Watching Sports Center,” Kelli purred. “I’m a big Cardinal fan. It’s going to be 2-1 after tonight.”
“Sure will be 2-1 after tonight but it might be the other way around.”
“Time out,” Honey Bunny shouted. “Enough sports, already.”
The Coots grumbled but as usual did whatever Honey Bunny wanted.
“Okay,” she started off, “let’s talk about Obama’s announcement about pulling troops out of Iraq.”
“It’s a good thing,” Jerry, the only veteran of the group, commented. “Every soldier wants to get home.”
“There’s a danger though,” Al commented. He had seen employment first hand in Pittsburgh’s steel mills. “There’s going to mean hundreds of thousands of people unemployed.”
“Didn’t the government guarantee the jobs back when they called up the reserves and guards,” Honey Bunny quizzed.
“Yes,” Al countered, “but in most cases someone was hired temporarily to replace each person called to active duty. They will be laid off now.”
“I hope the powers that be would be would have thought of this,” Honey Bunny commented.
“Wouldn’t bet on it,” Al scoffed.
Kelli brought another round.
“Let’s change to a really important topic,” Honey Bunny teased. “Should horses be allowed to surf in the Bay and dogs be allowed on Anna Maria Island beaches.”
Joe pretended to choke her.
“Time for one more round and then go home and make dinner,” Pelly ended the conversation for this Happy Hour.

#####

Chapter 10 - Peg Leg Pete's Bar and Grill

2011-09-16T12:24:00.000-07:00

Copyright 2011 John R Wilhelm

Peg Leg Pete’s Bar and Grill
By
Jack Wilhelm

Chapter 10 – NFL's First Week

“Hey,” Al yelled as the coots lined up for their daily happy hour, “how’d everyone make out in their football pools?”
“No so hot,” Pelly whined. “The Patriots whipped the Saints bad.”
“Told you so,” Joe chimed in. “They just did to the Saints what they did to the Bucs in preseason.”
“The Steelers didn’t do so well either,” Jerry added.
“Notice how all the losing teams chorused that one game doesn’t mean anything,” Al commented. “The winning teams didn’t comment. When you win you don’t have to make excuses.”
“I thought the Bucs did poorly although I didn’t see the game,” Jerry said. “Looks as if we’ll only see Bucs’ away games this year.”
“Their offensive line sounded really mediocre,” Pelly noted. “They’ve been bragging about the fact the line has been together for a few years. A mediocre line which has been playing together for a few years is still a mediocre line.”
“Did you notice how tight ends and wide receivers dominated corner backs and safeties in every game,” Al said.
“I have a theory about that,” Joe said.
“Do we have to hear your theory,” Honey Bunny cut in. “If we do, at least order another round first.”
Wendy was already on her way.
After a long draught, Joe resumed. “Most corner backs and safeties start out life as running backs. They aren’t quite good enough to be the starter at tailback but they are fast and athletic. So the coach at some level turns them into a starting defensive back.
“Now this worked well for many years but recently the teams have recruited tall tight ends and wide receivers. These guys were probably basketball forwards or centers somewhere along the line. So now, the quarterback just throws the ball high and lets the receiver jump over the shorter defensive back and make the catch. As long as the quarterback is reasonably accurate, tall wins every time.”
“Okay,” Jerry asked, “so what?”
“Coaches better start recruiting taller corner back and safeties,” Joe retorted. “Just like most quarterbacks are now well over six feet so they can see over, and throw over, bigger, taller defensive linemen.”
“Stop it, right now,” Honey Bunny snapped, “or I’ll go play Bingo with the ladies.”
“Can’t let this happen,” Al responded gallantly. “What do you want to talk about?”
“I want to tell you about my new family member.”
“Didn’t even know you were pregnant,” Joe wise-assed.
“I didn’t have a baby, you ninny!”
“Why would you adopt a kid? Just someone else for your abusive husband to abuse.”
“It’s not a human, it’s a kitten. Cute, playful, active. I must have chased her off the table 200 times already.”
“Obviously has a mind of its own,” Jerry commented.
“What did you name her,” Pelly inquired.
“Boots,” Honey Bunny answered. “She has four white feet which look just like little boots.”
“That’s a cute name for a kitten,” Pelly agreed.
“Just one more thing for Spike to abuse,” Joe snorted.
“I’ll put a spike through Spike’s heart if he hurts my kitty,” Honey Bunny snarled.
“Bet Boots doesn’t last a week,” Al added.
“Please don’t even think it,” Honey Bunny cried. “Think positive. Having a kitten will make Spike be a kinder, gentler man.”
“Well, I certainly hope so,” Jerry summed up, “but I wouldn’t bet on it.”
Wendy came with another round.
“Just to change the subject,” Al said, “what’s you guys opinion on the Australian pines issue which seems to be grabbing headlines lately here on the Island.”
“Well,” Pelly said, “in the first place I’m confused. Sometimes, they’re Australian pines and other times they’re southern pines. In any case, they’re exotic, non-native trees and some people want them out.”
“Personally, I like them whatever they are,” Joe said. “They provide really nice shade.
Take them out and we couldn’t get out of the sun without an umbrella or tent.”
“Do you think the beach paraphernalia rental shops are behind the push to cut down all the pines,” Honey Bunny asked.
“Well, it would increase the sales and rental of artificial shade-makers,” Jerry interjected.
“People just can’t leave well-enough alone, can they,” Joe queried? “Next, they’ll want to rid the Island of Monk parrots. They’re both non-native and exotic.”
“Good luck with whoever tries,” Pelly said. “Besides I like them. They add a little color to a drab bunch of birds.
“Anyway,” he continued, “let’s have one more round. Then its’s time for me to get home and prepare dinner or I’ll add more color to the Island.”
“You mean black and blue when Carolyn gets through with you,” Joe laughed.
“Don’t laugh,” Pelly concluded. “You’ve never been hit by a whirling dervish until you’ve tangled with a Cajun woman.
The coots and Honey Bunny all finished their last round and headed for home.

#####

Chapter 9 - Football's Back

2011-08-24T15:04:00.000-07:00

Peg Leg Pete’s Bar and Grill
By
Jack Wilhelm

Chapter 9 – Football’s Back

“The Bucs sure got blasted by the Patriots,” Pelly put the needle in.
The coots were in their normal positions. The Bingo Meister was back and the ladies, except for Honey Bunny, were all in the Bingo room.
Al, who was a Steelers fan, retorted, “I didn’t really care who won. It was just good to have a football game to watch.”
Jerry jumped in. “I am a Buccaneers fan and they looked bad. Their offensive line looked as if they couldn’t block anyone. Of course, the game was blacked out so I had to listen on radio. Couldn’t watch since it wasn’t televised here. It sounded like the Steelers are in for trouble.”
“The whole AFL is in trouble if the Patriots continue to play like they did against the Bucs,” Pelly commented.
“The thing which really bugged me,” Al continued, “was the new kick-off rule. There’s hardly going to be any runbacks this year. Runbacks of kickoffs and punts are the most exciting parts of the game for me.”
“It’ll keep down the injuries,” Joe commented.
“Maybe so,” Jerry said, “but football’s a rough sport. If you’re afraid of getting hurt, you shouldn’t play.”
“Well, like it or not,” Joe concluded, “we’re stuck with the rule for this season anyway.”
“Let’s have another round,” Honey Bunny interrupted. “I’m dry and bored. If you don’t change the subject, I’m going to join the ladies.”
“Can’t let that happen,” Joe yelled. “Kelly, bring another round and make Honey Bunny’s extra large.”
“Just one anecdote,” Al chimed in. “There were a whole group sitting in front of us. One little kid was waving a Mexican flag every time Ochocinco stepped onto the field. Ochocinco is black as the ace of spades but that kid was sure he was Mexican.”
“Okay, Honey Bunny, what do you want to talk about.”
“All the new box-like houses being built on our Island. Most of them rentals. We’re beginning to look like a development.”
“Doesn’t this mean more work for you,” Jerry questioned?
“Sure it does,” Honey Bunny replied, “but what’s happening is two or three families are going together to share the rental cost. That means two or three times the work cleaning up.”
“So,” Joe questioned?
“So, my work’s increased but my pay hasn’t.”
“Why don’t you ask for more?”
“Because work’s so scarce there’s always someone ready to work for whatever’s being paid.”
“Whatever happened to minimum wage,” Jerry interjected?
“Same thing which happened here,” Kelli butted in. “Part time work, depend on tips, and get two or three jobs.” Kelli brought another round of drinks.
“I thought the Pine Avenue Restoration project was supposed to bring all these businesses and new jobs into the area.”
“Yeah, right,” Honey Bunny snorted. “Most of the businesses are real estate offices. The few real businesses just employ part-time onesies twosies just like the restaurants, bars, and cleaners.”
“Better than nothing,” Joe stated plainly. “You can always go to a big city to seek your fortune.”
“And leave our Island,” Honey Bunny cried. “Never! I’ll starve here first.”
“Then stop complaining and drink up,” Joe kidded as he moved over and gave her a hug. “All us old coots would just dry up and blow away without you, Honey Bunny.”
Pelly glanced at the Pirate clock on the wall. “Hate to break up happy hour. It’s time for me to go get dinner started. The Bingo game will be over pretty soon.”
The rest of the coots nodded in agreement and rose to pay their tabs. “Don’t forget what we just said,” Honey Bunny admonished, “Tip Kelli well.”
“Don’t we always,” the coots said in unison as they trooped out.
Honey Bunny hesitated, not sure if she wanted to go home to an abusive husband. Oh, well, she thought, maybe he’s in a good mood tonight.

#####

Chapter 8 - Peg Leg Pete's Bar and Grill

2011-07-20T13:49:00.000-07:00

Copyright 2011 John R Wilhelm

Peg Leg Pete’s Bar and Grill
By
Jack Wilhelm

Chapter 8 – Who Dat in My Bar Stool??

The coots were assembled in Peg Leg Pete’s parking lot, ready to charge in for happy hour. Joe looked in the window and turned with a stunned expression on his face.

(Actually, Peg Leg Pete’s was unique because his windows and doors were uncovered. Most bars windows and doors are covered. In the first place if you go into a bar, you shouldn’t be ashamed to have passerby’s see you. If you are, don’t go into the bar. Secondly, it would prevent a whole lot of opening and closing the bar door as people looked in to see if their friends was there. Think of all the cool air, and electricity which would be saved. And all the tobacco smoke which would be contained rather than being let loose to pollute the atmosphere. But, back to the story.)

“What’s the matter,” Al asked alarmed.
Polly questioned in his best Creole, “Who dat sittin’ in my bar stool.”
“Dey look like dames,” Joe replied in Brooklynese.
“They’re not dames,” Jerry chimed in, “they’re our wives and Honey Bunny.”
Enraged, the coots charged – actually tottered – into Peg Leg’s. “What are you doing in our seats,” Al yelled.
“Sitting here having a drink,” his wife, Ellen, replied coolly.
“But, but, but, but,” Al sputtered.
“You sound like a motor boat,” Honey Bunny laughed.
“Besides,” Pelly’s wife, Caroline, chimed in, “I don’t see your names on any of these bar stools.”
“We always sit in these seats,” Joe yelled. “Possession is nine/tenths of the law.”
“Right…and we possess them right now,” Jerry’s wife, Mary, said calmly.
The coots griped, grouched, and grumbled but finally took seats, midway up the bar.
Alice, today’s bartender, promptly brought the coots their favorite drinks.
“What’s up with dat,” Joe asked her.
Mike, the bingo meister, is down with the flu. He just couldn’t make it today.
“Let’s send him a get well card,” Jerry suggested. “Either he gets well or we have to get here earlier tomorrow.”
“I just don’t feel right sitting here,” Al groused. “I feel like a stranger in my own bar.”
“Don’t feel like a Lone Ranger,” Jerry grumbled. “We all feel the same way.”
“What’s the matter, boys,” Honey Bunny purred as she came by to give each coot a hug? “Wives win again? You know they always do.
“Anyway, what’s the hot stove league topic today?”
“Joe,” from New York and, naturally, a Yankee fan, complained about the Tampa Bay Rays 3-2 win over the Yankee’s last night.”
“You’re unhappy,” Jerry, a Ray’s fan, countered. “They should have lost the night before, too. And, what about the Rays’ l6-inning loss to the Red Sox the night before? It’s getting to the point, I can’t stay awake till the end of the game. I have to wait until the next morning and check the score on ESPN.”
“The Rays sure need to get some more hitting,” Al commented. “If I was a Rays’ pitcher, I’d be pissed off. You pitch a good game and still lose.”
“If I was any pitcher,” Pelly chimed in, “I’d be pissed off when I had a tie score or was winning and the manager pulled me because I had a few more than a hundred pitches.”
“The managers just play the averages,” Joe said. “Statistics prove pitchers begin tiring after a hundred pitches. So now you have relief pitchers.”
“Hell,” Jerry noted, “now you have several different kinds of relief pitchers including closers.”
“I don’t care,” Pelly insisted, “if I was a pitcher and was pulled in a close game, I’d be pissed. If the relief pitcher blew my lead, I’d be ready to kill him.”
“Once again,” Honey Bunny, stuck the needle in, “you boys can gripe all you want but you can’t change nothing.”
“How about the NFL,” Al questioned? “I sure hope they get their problems settled. I’d go nuts if there wasn’t a season.”
“You and most of the nation,” Jerry commented.
Al, a native of Pittsburgh and a rabid Steeler fan, noted he had tickets for the second
Tampa Bay Bucs exhibition game.
“Who they playing,” Pelly asked?
“The New England Patriots.”
“Why’d a Steeler fan pick the Bucs-Patriots game to go to?
“Ellen’s daughter got the tickets for her birthday. She’s a Patriot’s fan. So we decided to go along and heckle her. I’m even buying a bright orange Buccaneer’s shirt to wear. Besides, the Bucs have a really good team this year plus a lot of top draft picks. They may even be playing the Steelers in the Super Bowl this year.”
“In your dreams,” Pelly argued. “It’s the New Orleans Saints again.” Pelly, of course, was a rabid Saints’ fan.
“Of course,” Joe inserted, “the Green Bay Packers may have something to say about it.”
“You’re heartless,” Honey Bunny said, referring back to the orange Buccaneers shirts. “I’d be just as happy if there was no football season.”
“Jesus,” Joe said, “how many reruns of Law and Order can you watch?”
“It’s better than watching football,” Honey Bunny retorted.
“I’ll never understand women,” Joe sighed.
“Thank goodness,” Honey Bunny laughed.
Then, just as if to reinforce Joe’s statement. Ellen, Mary, and Carolyn stood up.
“You can have your seats back, boys,” Ellen announced. “We’re going to the Bingo room and play cards. Want to join us, Honey Bunny?”
“No thanks. I’ll just stay here and keep the boys in line.”
"Good luck," the ladies chorused. "We've never been able to!"
The boys all resumed their normal seats. “Alice,” Joe said, “give us each a pitcher, please. And give Honey Bunny, a 16-ounce glass of vodka with two jiggers of cranberry juice thrown in.”
“Go easy on the ice,” Honey Bunny commented. “It’s not often the coots are buying,” she teased. Then she gave each one a peck on the cheek. “You know I love each one of you old coots. You’re still my only family.”

######

Chapter 7 -- Peg Leg Pete's Bar and Grill

2011-05-20T11:12:00.000-07:00

Copyright 2011 John R Wilhelm

Peg Leg Pete’s Bar and Grill
By
Jack Wilhelm

Chapter 7 – Sequel Needed??

“There ought to be a sequel to the latest book on the history of Anna Maria Island,” Jerry grumbled after chugging down his first beer of happy hour.
“What’s your soap box topic today,” Al asked?
“What do you mean,” Joe commented? “I thought it was a good book”
“Yeah,” Pelly cut in, “all those old timey photos of bathing beauties getting off a steamboat on the Anna Maria Pier.”
“Bathing beauties,” Joe snorted! “How could you tell? Those bathing suits covered everything.”
“Exactly my point,” Jerry countered. “We need a sequel contrasting yesterday with today.”
“You mean photos of old times contrasted with today,” Al queried?
“Yes. Full body bathing suits contrasted with today’s bikinis,” Jerry answered.
Pelly waxed enthusiastic. “The Island’s sparse population then with today’s crowded conditions.
“Churches then and now; almost no traffic then compared to gridlock today.”
“Plenty of fish back then compared to the few brought in today,” Joe added.
“That’s why,” Pelly snorted. “Back then, no one thought of conservation or future generations. Just thought it would go on forever.”
Peg Leg Pete cut in on the conversation. “Just think, you old coots. Back then you had sand, scrub, palmettos, and mosquitoes. All sorts of creepy, crawly things which could bite you in the night.” Pete was a Vietnam vet. He never wanted to see nature in the raw again.
The coots all yelled in unison. “Quit sneakin’ up on us like this. Take the felt pads off your peg leg or we’ll put a bell around your neck.”
Joe couldn’t resist. “Mosquitoes were better than concrete, cars, golf carts, bicycles and segways. At least repellent would keep mosquitoes off you.”
Peg Leg laughed. “Alice, pour these leftovers from the 1930s a drink.”
The coots all prepared to toast their proprietor.
Just then the door opened and all heads turned to check out the newcomer.
The coots all jumped off their stools and made a bee-line for the door. Of course, it wasn’t a very fast bee-line but it was the best they could do.
Honey Bunny was back.
“Easy guys,” she hollered as they all tried to hug her. “Remember, my arm’s broke.”
“Set up a couple of drinks for our Honey Bunny,” Joe yelled to Alice. “She’s way behind us.”
“You mean today,” Alice commented, “or two week’s worth. She’s been gone that long.”
“Whoa, Alice. Two week’s worth and the coots would be carrying me home.”
“Any time! Glad to do it,” Joe said giving his best leer.
Honey Bunny gave each one a hug and a peck on the cheek. “Sure is good to be back.”
After the group had finished with their current round and Alice had brought another, Honey Bunny asked “What’s the topic today. I’ve missed all your nonsensical ranting and raving over nothing.”
“What do you mean nonsensical,” Jerry pretended to be hurt.
“Well,” Honey Bunny bored in, “you all pinpoint problems but you never do anything about them.”
“You really know how to hurt a guy,” Al said.
“Yes, and don’t forget to thank Ellen, Carolyn, and Mary for doing the cleaning jobs you were supposed to do.”
A lot of sheepish looks appeared at the coots’ end of the bar.
“Just kidding,” Honey Bunny added. The coots weren’t sure she was.
“Anyway,” she added. “I really don’t know what I’d have done without the help of you guys and your wives. You’re the only true friends I have in the whole world.”
“Let’s have another round,” Pelly said, trying to hide the emotion he felt.
“You guys are just big, old pussy cats,” Alice said but there were tears in her eyes, too.
“By the way, Honey Bunny, did you go the celebration of the 100th anniversary of the Anna Maria Pier.”
“Sorry, I missed it,” Honey Bunny replied. “I was afraid my broken arm would get jostled by the crowd.”
“It was a good show,” Al interjected. “Parade on Friday and VIP reception. Then an art and crafts show on Saturday topped off with fireworks in the evening.”
“Lots of good food to eat,” Pelly added.
Joe, ever the pessimist, couldn’t resist, “Rained hard as hell Saturday afternoon though. My friend was soaked. She would have won the wet T-shirt contest.”
“If there’d been one,” Al pointed out.
“Didn’t you get soaked, too,” Honey Bunny ventured.
“No, I waited for her at Feeling Swell bar and grill. They have dollar drafts every weekday from two to six. She came by and told me she was headed home to dry off.”
“So you blew another date,” Honey Bunny put the needle in.
“Only a temporary setback. Anyway, I’m waiting for you,” Joe retorted.
“You don’t have enough years left to wait for me,” Honey Bunny pointed out mischievously.
“I intend to live forever,” Joe replied.
“So far, so good,” Jerry interdicted. “Let’s order another round.”
“Sounds like a winner to me they chorused.”
Honey Bunny stood up.
“It’s too early to leave,” Pelly pointed out.
“I know it. I’m going back to the Bingo room to thank the girls for being so kind.”
“You’re taking your life in your hands,” Jerry pointed out. “If you make one of them miss “bingo,” you’re dead meat.”
“I’ll chance it,” Honey Bunny said, as she left.
Ten minutes later she was back carrying a drink.
“You underestimate your wives, coots. They appreciated my thoughtfulness. Even bought me a drink.”
The coots thought a moment, then all headed for the Bingo room. “Maybe they’ll buy us a drink, too,” All commented.
“Worth a try,” Jerry, Al, and Pelly said in unison.
####

Chapter 6 -- Peg Leg Pete's Bar and Grill

2011-04-06T13:26:00.000-07:00

Copyright 2011 John R. Wilhelm

Peg Leg Pete’s Bar and Grill
By

Jack Wilhelm

Chapter 6 – Matilda’s Maids Have Nothing to Worry About

At precisely 8 a.m., the coots, armed with brooms, mops, dust cloths, and various cleaning solutions, met at their trolley stop.
“Where we going,” Pelly asked?
“To clean the Childress’s house,” Joe growled.
“You stutterin’,” Al questioned?
“What do you mean?”
“Seems like you put too man ‘ssses’ in there.”
“Because there’s a lot of Childresses. Husband, wife, four school-age children.”
Promptly at 8:10, the trolley stopped and the coots clambered in.
“What’s this?” Hector the trolley driver couldn’t believe his eyes. The coots looked as if they were actually going to work. “Have you decided to take over Matilda’s Maids job of cleaning Peg Leg Pete’s?”
“You know Pete’s is south not north,” Jerry snapped.
“We’re doing Honey Bunny’s job for her until she’s out of the hospital.”
“Never thought I’d see this,” Hector mumbled.”
The coots got off at Coconut Street and walked to the Childress’s house. The house, actually an antebellum-styled mansion, looked as if it belonged in a magnolia-festooned plantation in Mississippi rather than in Florida. The only giveaway was the magnificent view of the Gulf and the mansion’s color – flamingo pink.
Jerry took the lead and pressed the doorbell which promptly played a verse of “Dixie.”
Mrs. Childress opened the door.
“How do,” Jerry said. “I hope Honey Bunny told you we’d be subbing for her until her broken arm heals.”
“Yes, she did, honey,” Mrs. Childress replied, her accent conjuring up visions of warm summer nights, honeysuckles, and jasmine. “Come right on in. I’m about to leave but y’all just go ahead and clean. How is Bunny doin’?”
“She’ll be out of the hospital but her arm will take a while to heal. We’ll fill in for her until she’s well.”
“Well, this is certainly right neighborly of y’all. She’s lucky to have such wonderful friends; handsome ones, too, I might add.”
The coots, flattered, decided they liked her already.
“I’ll be out most of the day so just lock the door when y’all are finished. I’ve left Bunny’s check on the kitchen counter. “Toodle-oo,” as she headed to her beamer convertible.
“Toodle-oo to you, too” the coots all replied as they sniffed the hint of Chanel No. 5 trailing behind her.
“Let’s get started,” Joe urged. “We sure don’t want to miss happy hour.”
Jerry took command. After all, he had been a major in the Army Air Force.
“Joe, you take the kitchen, then do the dining room. Al you do the living room and the den. Pelly, you go upstairs and clean the bedrooms.”
Al noticed someone had been skipped. “What are you doing, Jerry?”
“I’m the supervisor,” Jerry snapped back.
Al threw a sofa cushion at Jerry. Jerry picked up a dish towel and reciprocated. Pelly threw several pillows down from upstairs bedrooms and soon the coots were having an old time pillow fight just like they’d had when they were kids. Of course, that was fifty years ago so they were huffing and panting within about two minutes.. The melee may have been short but it was deadly. A couple of vases broke, scattering flowers – and water – all over the floor.
Then things seemed to get worse.
The doorbell played its Civil War tune. The coots all pushed Jerry toward the door
“You’re the supervisor. It’s your problem,” Joe hissed.
Joe, Al, and Pelly all hid, leaving Jerry to embarrassedly face whoever was at the door by himself. Jerry looked cautiously through the peephole.
Then, shamefaced, he opened the door to Mary, Ellen, and Carolyn. He tried to block their view of the destruction the coots had wrought. His wife, Mary, pushed him aside. The women marched in and surveyed the wreckage.
“We knew you little boys couldn’t be trusted by yourselves,” she gloated. “None of you have cleaned anything in thirty years,” Ellen commented.
“If then,” Carolyn commented. Mary took command. “You all get out of here. We’ll do the cleaning.”
“We’ll take over Bunny’s house cleaning schedule from now on,” Ellen said.
“We know she needs the help and we’re glad to do it. She’s a nice person. Dumb, of course, for putting up with an abusive husband. That’s love, I guess,” Carolyn added.
The coots all breathed a sigh of relief. Problem solved.
“I guess we’ll go to Peg Leg’s early today,” Joe commented.
“Not until you buy vases and dishes to replace the ones you broke,” Mary commanded. “Now get out of here!”
The boys practically ran out of the house heading for Coquina beach and the number 6 MCAT bus to Walmart.
******
Back at Pete’s, Wendy set up a round of beers. “This one’s on the house. Pete said to give you a drink for cleaning Honey Bunny’s houses. He thinks this is so nice of you.”
The coots didn’t even blush.
“How about Governor Scott turning down federal money for a light rail train,” Al started the conversation.
“Well, he campaigned on the creation of jobs and reduction of budget,” Jerry commented. “Wouldn’t this create a bunch of jobs,” Joe piped up?
“Yeah, for a bunch of wetback Mexicans,” Al said derisively. “Hell, nobody uses a train anyway. If you have a car you’re going to drive it,” Pelly added.
“Besides,” Joe noted, “this was probably just a plot by Disney to make it more convenient for tourists to get from Tampa International to Orlando.”
“I’m surprised the rental car interests haven’t lobbied against a railway,” Jerry interjected. “Maybe they did and this is why the Governor turned it down,” Joe noted.
“Bet he turns around before it’s over,” Pelly said. “He’s getting a lot of political pressure to change his decision already.”
“He’s already backed down on striking out funds for beach renourishment,” Jerry added.
Pelly snorted. “I can’t believe we’re dumb enough to try to outwit nature. The first good storm will just wash all the sand out again.”
“You’re right,” Joe added, “people are dumb enough not to allow for erosion when they build. Then they want the taxpayers to bail them out when the Gulf starts eating away at their property.”
“Ellen and I go to the beach every day,” Al stated. “There’s plenty of beach for everyone now. Even on Sundays and Holidays.”
“Hey,” Jerry interrupted. “It’s almost six o’clock. We’d better order up before happy hour’s over.”
“Wendy,” the coots hollered in unison, “please bring us all another round.”
“You know,” Al picked up the conversation again, “I can’t believe no one’s noted the problems all the retail development in Anna Maria City is going to cause.”
“Your mean density and backing out over sidewalks,” Pelly asked.
“No, dummy! The fact is there’s only one main road in Anna Maria Island. More people shopping at the north end means more traffic traveling through the south end,” Al snorted.
“There’s no way off the City. The traffic just has to funnel back down south to get to the mainland,” Joe said.
“Traffic’s gridlocked half the time now,” Jerry pointed out.
“Never mind the gridlock,” Pelly concluded, “the rental unit owners, realtors, and businessmen just want more tourists to come. Now, they’re trying to make our Island the marriage capital of the world. It just gets worse and worse.” Jerry ended the discussion.
“I have to get home for dinner. Let’s have one more before going home.”
“Thank God for the trolley,” Joe said. “No need for designated drivers.”
“I'll drink to this,” all the coots echoed.
“See you tomorrow, Wendy.”
“Bye, guys, Thanks for the TIPs. I’m off tomorrow but I’ll see you day after.”
“You know you’ll be here tomorrow,” Joe wise-assed, “you’ll just be sitting on our side of the bar!”

######

Chapter 5 -- Peg Leg Pete's Bar and Grill

2011-02-23T13:29:00.000-08:00

Peg Leg Pete’s Bar and Grill
By
Jack Wilhelm

Chapter 5 – Spouse Abuse

Pelly noticed all the other coots huddled around looking serious. “What’s shaking,” he questioned. He had no idea what this meant but he thought it sounded cool. He’d heard one teenager use the phrase when he met a friend.
“Our heads are shaking,” Joe replied. “Spike beat Honey Bunny again. Put her in the hospital this time.”
“Is she alright?”
“Geez, stupid,” Al replied. “If you’re in the hospital, you ain’t alright.”
“I mean she ain’t dead or anything,” Pelly stumbled on.
“No but she’s got lots of bruises, contusions, and a broken arm.”
“Is Spike in jail,” Pelly asked”
“The cops took him in but had to release him,” Joe interrupted. “She refused to press charges. Said she’d tripped and fell.”
“We need to go visit her,” Pelly continued. “Where’s she at?
“Blake Medical Center,” Al said.
“Let’s go tomorrow morning,” Pelly suggested.
The old coots all agreed to meet at the bus stop and catch the number 6 MCAT bus. This business taken care of, they all resumed drinking.
“It’s just not the same without our Honey Bunny,” Jerry stated, saying out loud what all of them were thinking. Even Wendy, cute as she was, couldn’t rouse them out of their funk.
Silently, one by one, they said “goodbye” and left. Wendy couldn’t believe what she was seeing. They’d never left this early since she’d been working at Peg Leg’s. “I guess there’s a first time for everything,” she mumbled.
******
Bright and early the next morning, the coots were standing at the bus stop. They’d all been in Circle K and had their morning coffee and doughnut in hand. The number 6 MCAT bus stopped just a few minutes past quarter after the hour and they hopped – or, rather, slowly climbed -- on board.
Residents of Anna Maria Island all knew the drivers and vice versa. Big Bill, as contrasted to Little Bill, immediately chortled. “Hey, I never saw a whole flock of old coots together before.”
Jerry put sixty cents in the fare box. Big Bill said, “Whoa, there. I have to see your Medicare card if you want to qualify for half fare.”
“Quit bustin’ my balls,” Jerry immediately retorted. “You know damn right well I’m over 80.”
Joe snarled, “Bill, we’re not in a joking mood.”
“What’s got you coots all ornery today,” Bill queried? “I’ve never seen you all so uptight.”
Pelly responded, “Our Honey Bunny’s in the hospital.”
“No kidding? I’m sorry to hear this. Is she going to be all right,” Bill apologized.
“We think so,” Al answered. “We’re going to see her right now.”
Within fifteen minutes, the bus arrived at Blake Hospital. Normally, this was a pain in the ass because people had to wait there for other buses to arrive in case anyone wanted to transfer. Usually, most riders were headed to Wal-mart -- which was almost the next stop after Blake -- or were going to the Central Station. Usually, no one had any important engagements but the wait irritated them nevertheless.
The coots went in the reception area and asked directions to Bunny Mancuso’s room. They had to pass the gift shop to get to the elevators and they decided to buy her some flowers and a book to read. They chose one of James Patterson’s books featuring the Woman’s Murder Club.
“I hope she hasn’t read this one. Honey Bunny’s read most everything Patterson’s written,” Joe commented.
“Well, if she has,” Joe retorted, “we can exchange it. Can’t we,” he asked the sales lady?”
“Of course you can,” she answered.
Satisfied, the coots rode the elevator then disrupted the whole floor as they charged through looking for Room 303.
Then they burst into the room. “Oops, wrong room,” Joe yelled. “This is Room 308. They ought to get a new sign maker. Can’t tell the 3 from an 8.”
“You could if you put your glasses on,” Jerry noted sarcastically.
They charged on down the hall leaving a poor sick man, with tubes hanging from every orifice, yelling frantically for the nurse. “I was just attacked by three madmen,” he complained bitterly when she came.
When they finally found Room 303, there was a whole lot of yelping and hugging. Honey Bunny was obviously as glad to see her coots as they were to see her.
“Careful, now,” she said, as they all started a group hug, “I’m awfully sore.”
“Spike did a really good job on you this time,” Joe exploded. “Why in hell didn’t you throw him in jail?
“I’ll just tell you what I told the police, I tripped and fell. Spike’s okay except when he’s drinkin’ and druggin’.”
“Which is just about 24/7,” Joe retorted.
“Honey Bunny, we talked about this the other week. How are you going to pay the bill,” Jerry asked?
“I know it’s going to be high,” she sighed. “In addition to the cost of the ambulance and emergency room doctors, they brought in every specialist known to man. They thought I might have internal injuries or a concussion in addition to the broken arm.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Jerry persisted.
Honey Bunny looked around cautiously. “I’m not. Don’t tell anybody,” she whispered. “You know I have no insurance. All the doctors as well as the hospital will hound me, of course. I’ll probably have to change my cell phone number. I just throw the dunning letters away.
“My real problem is I can’t clean rentals with a broken arm. This’ll cost me my jobs. No jobs; no livlihood.”
The coots huddled in a corner of the room. Al, the tallest one, looked like a quarterback calling the play.
“You look just like Josh Freeman leading the Tampa Bay Bucs,” she commented. “Of course, you’re the wrong color but that’s a minor detail.”
“He also ain’t 22 years old,” Pelly said. “ He ain’t six feet five. He don’t weight 250. He don’t have a rifle for an arm; he’s got a rubber band. Other than this, you’re right on, Honey Bunny.”
“Not a problem,” Joe spoke for the coots. “Give us a schedule and the people to contact and we’ll do the cleaning for you.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Honey Bunny snuffled, tears beginning to run down her cheeks. “I don’t know how to thank you all. You’re the only real friends I’ve got in the world.”
“Aw, shucks ma’am,” Al intoned in his best western Pennsylvania hero’s drawl; as they all started to sniffle, too. “T’weren’t nothin’ at all. Just get on back to Peg Leg Pete’s quick as you can.”
“I’ll be there tomorrow,” Honey Bunny promised. “I’m sure they’ll figure out I’m a deadbeat by then.”
She wrote out her cleaning schedule and handed it to Joe. “I usually get to the rental by 9 a.m.”
The coots hugged Honey Bunny goodbye and said they’d see her tomorrow. The reception area was featuring free coffee and they all took a cup then wandered out to the bus stop. They’d timed it just about right. The number 6 would be there in about ten minutes.
Joe was grumbling, “We’ve got to do something about Spike. He’ll kill her some time.”
“We’ll take Spike up later, Jerry said. Right now we’ve got to get cleaning supplies ready for tomorrow morning.”
“There goes my golf game for this week,” Joe grumbled.
“Probably for a lot of weeks,” Pelly jibed. “Broken arms don’t heal overnight.”
“Just think,” Jerry said, “it’s all good. You won’t have blasphemy the Lord’s name because you blew par.”
“And we won’t have to listen to all your stories about putts which rolled around the cup and just didn’t go it,” Al added.
“So, let’s count our blessings,” Pelly summed it up as they climbed aboard the bus. “We’re bound for our Island home and Peg Leg Pete’s! What more could any man ask?”
“A l6-ounce mug of beer right now,” the coots chorused in unison.

####

Chapter 4 -- Peg Leg Pete's Bar and Grill

2011-02-17T13:39:00.000-08:00

Copyright 2011 John R. Wilhelm

Peg Leg Pete’s Bar and Grill
By
Jack Wilhelm

Chapter 4 -- Coots Can't Solve the World's Problems or Even their Own

Kelli was behind the bar today. She was decked out in her skimpy pirate outfit. Her bright red hair blended in perfectly. Like the other two bartenders – Wendy and Alice – Kelli was tall and well built. Peg Leg Pete’s selection of employees proved there was nothing wrong with his eyes. He was also an equal opportunity employer; if the applicant was female, attractive, and personable. Any person meeting those criteria had an equal opportunity of being hired. Of course, it helped if they were competent bartenders, too.
But then, how much talent does it take to operate a beer tap and pour liquor? Personality and looks were more important.
Kelli saw the coots come in with Honey Bunny and had their drinks waiting for them.
“Damn,” Joe commented, “you’re even quicker than Wendy and Alice. If I was Pete, I’d hire you full time.”
“Tell him you want me full time,” Kelli smiled, showing off her dazzlingly white teeth.
The coots wouldn’t, of course. They knew full well Pete only hired part-time workers. Part-time workers weren’t paid minimum wages or provided medical insurance or any other perks. He did have to deduct withholding taxes and social security.
Part-time service workers primarily depended on tips rather than hourly wages. These were supposed to be reported on income tax returns. Everyone knew tip totals were fudged. Everyone looked the other way.
Even though Pete was a good boss, turnover was high. The girls were always looking for more hours and bars and restaurants with higher tip potential. Tips at Peg Leg Pete’s were good but not up to what girls earned at the Sand Bar or the Beach Bistro. Pete’s was primarily a bar for Anna Maria Island residents; not really for the tourist trade.
Pete figured a steady business was better than one with peaks and valleys.
Al, a good union man from his steel mills days, once asked Kelli why the girls didn’t threaten to strike if Pete didn’t pay more. “Form a union,” he suggested.
“You crazy, man? Pete would open the door before we’d finished talking. In a resort beach town like this, there’s at least ten applicants for every job.”
“Not pretty ones like you,” Pelly cut in.
“You haven’t checked all the bikinis at the beach lately have you?”
“I sure have,” Jerry, the oldest coot, checked in, “Kelli’s right.”
“You dirty old man, you,” Kelli laughed. She reached over and pinched his cheek. Al blushed. This member of “the greatest generation” looked around afraid his wife, Mary, might be looking. He had braved the skies over Germany in WWII but quailed before his wife’s jealous wrath.
Honey Bunny butted in. “I have the same problems trying to make a living cleaning rental units. Maybe worse. The realtors hire us like subcontractors so we even have to keep our own books.”
Joe snickered. “You know darn right well they slip you cash. Nothing ever gets recorded.”
“What are you implying,” Honey Bunny snapped back. “Spike and I file a joint return. There’s always something in the column, marked ‘other’”
“Whatever,” Joe closed out the topic.
Glasses clanked on the bar’s edge and were replaced by frosty new mugs with just the right amount of foam on top.
“Hey,” Pelly said, after they’d all had a long swallow, “you been watching all the goings-on in Egypt.”
“Do we have a choice,” Honey Bunny noted.
“Sure,” Pelly grinned, “turn off the television.
Honey Bunny made an “x” with her index fingers as if to ward off vampires. “I could never clean houses without TV or a stereo blaring away. I’d go stir crazy bored.”
Jerry jumped in. He considered himself an expert. After all he’d been in North Africa before going to Europe. “There’s been one government after another over there for thousands of years. The names change but nothing else.”
Nobody bothered to remind him that he hadn’t been there in almost 70 years so he really couldn’t make this statement.
Joe said, “Anyone notice if you took the Mu off Mubarak, you’d have Barak. Who do we know with the name of Barak?”
Honey Bunny snorted. “Obama’s first name is Barack with a ‘c’.”
“Close enough,” Joe shot back.
“So what,” Al asked.
“Nothing. I just thought it was interesting.”
“Must be time for another round,” they chorused.
“Egypt’s just another place and event, we should keep our nose out of,” Joe opined.
“You are right,” Al commented, “we shouldn't have gotten involved in any conflict since WWII. Not Korea, not Vietnam, not Iraq, nor Afghanistan. They’re all conflicts we couldn’t and can’t win. We just get bogged down, expend our resources, and get our young men wounded or killed.” “Hell,” Pelly said, “they’ve been fighting in those places for centuries. They’re probably going to keep fighting as long as the world lasts.”
“For sure, longer than I’ll last,” Al added.
Joe joined in, “When the Israeli’s get pushed, they’ll solve all the Mideast problems for us.”
"Yeah, there'll be a big mushroom cloud hanging over the middle east," Al snickered.
Pelly noted, “The east and west have been fighting and invading each other since the Greeks and Persians. Probably before then.”
All this man-talk bored Honey Bunny. “What’s the solution then?”
“Ronald Reagan had the right idea,” Al responded. “When Khadafy got out of hand, he just bombed the hell out of the palace. Haven’t heard much from Khadafy since then. We didn’t get bogged down in an invasion and then stuck with trying to install a system none of the natives wanted anyway.”
Honey Bunny wanted to change the topic. “Isn’t about time for another round?”
A unanimous shout went up. “We’ll drink to that!”
As soon as the drinks came, however, Joe began digging into the Egyptian events just like an archaeologist digging in a ruin in the Egyptian desert.
“Do you think we’ll get involved in this mess?”
“Of course we will. Obama’s already promised assistance,” Al pointed out.
Jerry noted, “The population is relatively educated. However, there’s no serious chance for economic prosperity. The average person won’t see an improvement in their standard of living. The United States, like always, will be blamed for this."
Joe broke in, “It’s hard to tell what form of government will emerge. If it’s another dictator, he must keep the elite on his side and increase the pay for police and army so they’ll stick with him. Any other form will probably result in continual turmoil.”
Pelly questioned if there’d be upheaval in the rest of the Arab world.
“Probably, yes,” Jerry stated. “Not in Saudi Arabia, however. The people are relatively content and prosperous.”
“Well, I certainly hope we don’t get involved,” Honey Bunny said. “But, c’mon boys stop talking about something we can’t do anything about. Talk about something we can.”
“How about automobiles backing out into traffic at stores on Pine Avenue,” Joe suggested?
“How about bumper to bumper traffic on Gulf Drive,” Pelly said?
“We can’t do anything about those things either,” Al added.
“I do have a suggestion for traffic,” Jerry joined in.
“Make all incoming traffic park in the fishing village of Cortez. The fishermen are pretty much unemployed since gill nets and long lining were banned. There’s plenty of open space for parking. There’d be jobs as parking attendants for the unemployed and jobs for security personnel to prevent theft. The village would make money from fees.
“There’s trolleys on the Island already. The Manatee County Area Transportation authority already has one bus line to Cortez. They’d just have to add more.”
Joe laughed. “Your idea has as much chance of becoming a reality as us old coots going to Mars.”
“Isn’t there anything we can do,” Honey Bunny sighed.
“Sure is,” Pelly laughed, “I can go home and get dinner started. Bingo makes Carolyn too tired to cook.”
“Drink up friends,” Jerry admonished. “Happy hour is over.”
“There’s always tomorrow,” Joe opined.
“You hope,” Pelly said as he headed out the door.

####

Chapter 3 -- Hospital and Drug Costs

2011-02-10T13:40:00.000-08:00

Copyright 2011 John R. Wilhelm

Peg Leg Pete’s Bar and Grill
By
Jack Wilhelm

Chapter 3 – Hospital and Drug Costs

Al was all ready to get on someone’s ass and Pelly provided an easy target. “Good afternoon, Mister Pour-e-er,” he said phonetically before Pelly even had the chance to set down.
“Damn, you can’t even speak Cajun, you stupid Polack,” Pelly Pourier retorted. “It’s Pour-e-ay.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know; and Brett Favre is really pronounced Fav-ray instead of Farve as every sportscaster in the world pronounces it.”
“It is, too. How do you get Farve out of Favre? Brett just gave up trying to teach dumb sportscasters how to pronounce it.”
“You picking on Pelly again,” Joe asked, as he came in and took his customary seat.
“No,” Pelly responded, “he’s just being his normal stupid self.”
“What’s really happening,” Jerry inquired as he took his seat?
Al came in. This was the signal for Alice, today’s barmaid, to start pouring the usual round of drinks.
“Make Honey Bunny’s, too,” Al said, “She’ll be right in. She’s outside parking her car.”
“Alice, you look awful pretty today,” Joe said. “Why don’t we give these zeros the slip and spend the evening in my trailer.”
“I’d love to but I’d get fired. Maybe some other time.” She learned over and pecked Joe’s cheek. She knew all he wanted was his ego stroked.
Honey Bunny came in wearing a patch over her eye.
“You gonna tend bar tonight,” the boys asked.
“Not likely. I’m going to set right here with you guys and get drunk.”
“Then, why the patch,” Joe questioned?
“I ran into something at work. Took six stitches to close it.”
“Yeah! I’ll bet the something had Spike’s fist attached to it, too,” Joe concluded.
“Can’t we just change the subject,” Honey Bunny said; but she didn’t deny her husband hit her either.
“You know I’m still pissed off at medical costs and watching TV today didn’t help,” Al said.
“What do you mean,” Jerry asked? His question gave Al the opening he’d needed.
“Most of the commercials on TV today were either for hospitals, prescription medicines,
or supplemental health insurance. Only other topics were cars and beer.
Joe raised his arm to get Alice’s attention. She didn’t anticipate their need for another round like Wendy did. Once she did, she hustled the beers, shots, and mixed drink they required.
Al took time enough to guzzle half his beer, then resumed. “All the hospitals are running commercials to try to get patients to want to go there. Those commercials aren’t free and we pay for them. The hospital writes them off. Us patients pay for them.”
Joe vented. “Doesn’t make no sense. Suppose an ad convinced me I wanted to go to Lakeland General. My doctor here in Bradenton would tell me ‘bye bye,’ go find a doctor in Lakeland. So they’re just a waste of money. Plus they write it off as overhead and patients get charged for it in sky high daily expenses. A day in the hospital costs more than a stay at a first class hotel on the beach.”
“They’re not advertising to you silly,” Honey Bunny said, “they’re advertising to people in Lakeland.”
“That may be so,” Joe retorted, “but remember we have a choice. We can choose Blake or Manatee Memorial here or Sarasota General or Doctor’s hospital in Sarasota. Those hospitals need to influence me.”
“The only thing which influences you,” Honey Bunny dug in, “is where your next beer is coming from. When you get bad sick, the ambulance just hauls you off to wherever they want to take you.”
“The other thing which bugs me,” Al went on as if he’d never been interrupted, “is they all claim to have all the high technology equipment. That’s just another waste of money which again the government and us pay for.
“Why can’t each hospital have a specialty like heart or cancer and have the equipment needed for the specialty?”
“Because,” Jerry cut in, “the companies manufacturing the equipment want to sell one to every hospital. It’s called marketing.”
“The facilities also attract the doctors to join the staff of the well-equipped hospitals. They, in turn, influence the patient’s choice of facility,” Joe added.
Honey Bunny was a realist. “If you guys feel so strongly about this, why not write your Congressmen and Senators. Also, write letters to the editor.”
An embarrassed silence followed this truism. The silence was broken by Jerry’s call for another round.
Alice had anticipated their need this time. She was headed toward the end of the bar before the words “Let’s have another” were out Jerry’s mouth.
Al ignored Honey Bunny’s dig. “The requirement to have doctor’s prescription to get a drug you need bugs me, too. Just makes me get one more bill from my doctor.”
“The Government’s just trying to protect you from yourself,” Honey Bunny suggested.
“At my age, I don’t need protection from myself. It’s just the AMA lobby making sure the doctor’s get their cut.”
“Also, the costs drive you up the wall,” Joe jumped back in. “I have the Medicare prescription plan but I still have a co-payment.”
“Yeah,” Al replied, “my old employer has a prescription plan they claim equals or betters Medicare. My co-payment is $40 for a thirty days supply of blood pressure medicine. Of course, the bill says the total cost would be $160 without the plan.”
“Probably only costs pennies to manufacture,” Joe commented.
“Just another way to screw the consumer,” they chorused. “Let’s have another round and get screwed by Peg Leg Pete.”
“You got that right,” Al said.
“Remember if you need antibiotics Publix gives many antibiotics free and Wal-Mart only charges $4.00 per prescription,” Honey Bunny said.
They might be public spirited but they ain’t losing money, either,” Joe growled.
“Hey, every little bit helps,” Honey Bunny commented.
“Two dollars for a glass of beer. It’s ridiculous,” Pelly commented on getting screwed by Pete. “For what I pay for 32-ounces, I could buy 64 ounces at Jenny’s 7-11.”
“You’re free to leave anytime,” Peg Leg Pete whispered in his ear. Startled, Pelly jumped.
“You shouldn’t be sneaking up on us like this, Pete. We’re old men. You might cause us a stroke or a heart attack. Then we’d have to sue you. How’d you get so sneaky, anyway?”
Pete proudly lifted his peg leg and showed off the felt patch he’d attached so he could walk silently. “Now you boys will never know when I’m around.”
“Guess we’ll have to put a bell on you,” Pelly retorted. “It’d ruin all our fun if we didn’t know you wuz sneakin’ up on us.”
Pete moved on down the bar, chatting up patrons as he went.
“My cat has a bell,” Honey Bunny noted. “Now all the mice in my mobile home know when she’s around.”
Everyone ignored this remark.
“Let’s get back to the original subject,” Al said. “What really bugs me is the price for ED pills. Plus you need a doctor’s prescription for those too.”
“What’s an ED pill,” Honey Bunny asked.
“My God,” Jerry cut in. “The poor girl is innocent.”
“Erectile dysfunction,” Al snorted. “Viagra, Cialis, Levitra. Ever heard of them?”
“Never paid attention to ads for them. They’re about the only thing Spike don’t need.”
“Thanks for sharing this with us,” Jerry said snidely. “I couldn’t sleep well tonight not knowing this.”
“You’re welcome,” Honey Bunny snickered. “Of course, he never gets any if I can help it.
“Now, would someone please order another round? By the way, do any of you guys need toilet paper?”
“Have you suddenly become the toilet paper queen of Anna Maria Island,” Al commented.
“Don’t be a wiseass,” Honey Bunny laughed. “You’d be surprised at all the things people leave when their rental week is up. Food, beer, wine, liquor, snacks, clothing – even condoms and tampons. The pay ain’t great but there’s lots of freebies.”
No one took up the offer for free toilet paper. At their ages, no one needed condoms, either.
“Not to change the subject,” Al broke in.
“You mean to get back to the original subject,” Joe snuck in a wise remark.
“That, too! The thing which really gets to me about all the ads for pharmaceuticals is the list of side effects.”
“You mean,” Jerry said, “like the one which helps your sinus condition.”
“But,” Joe butted in, “possible side effects include nausea, ulcers, drowsiness, and, in rare instances, may cause serious infections, or blindness.”
“Exactly.”
“Let’s have one more round,” Pelly suggested. “Then I gotta go.”
Everyone agreed to this. They drank up and one by one trailed off into the beautiful sunset over the Gulf.
“Don’t forget to share your thoughts with your senators and congressmen,” Honey Bunny admonished as she headed to her car.
Joe, Al, Jerry, and Pelly all simultaneously raised their middle fingers to salute her as she drove away.

####

Chapter 2 -- Peg Leg Pete's Bar and Grill

2011-01-22T09:58:00.000-08:00

Peg Leg Pete’s Bar and Grill
By
Jack Wilhelm

Chapter 2 – The Regulars

A thirsty tourist opening the door to Peg Leg Pete’s would immediately notice a definite arrangement of patrons.
Four old coots and one “younger” woman sat at one end of the “U” shaped bar. Several slightly younger, but still old coots, sat at the other end of the bar. The only seats available were in the middle or at one of the tables.
Coming back the second afternoon, the tourist would notice the same arrangement. The third day and the fourth day; same arrangement. The tourist would assume these old and semi-old coots staked their claim on these seats just as regular church-goers claimed their favorite pews. The tourist would be right.
What’s more, sometimes one of the old coots was late in which case there would be an empty stool at the bar’s end. Woe be to any casual visitor or tourist who took the empty seat! He would be shunned just like a sinning Pennsylvania Amish man. This usually persuaded the intruder to retreat to the middle of the bar.
Within a few minutes of 3 o’clock in the afternoon, the four old men would march in and claim the seats. Wendy, today’s cute, young barmaid in pirate costume, just started filling the 16-ounce mugs. Three draft Buds, one draft Amberbock, and a shot of Wild Turkey to go with one of the Buds. A few minutes later, a fairly attractive young woman would join the old men. The barmaid quickly brought her a mug filled with ice and vodka with a shot of cranberry juice added.
“About time, you got here Honey Bunny,” one coot remarked.
“If you old geezers would go to work instead of sitting around bull shitting all day, you’d be a little late, too,” she responded. Then, she gave each one a hug and a peck on the cheek.
“Well, what are you griping about today, guys?”
“Joe’s complaining about doctor bills today,” one piped up.
“You’d complain, too, if you had the bills I got. One little skin cancer. Bills from my general practitioner. Bills from the dermatologist. Bills from the lab which did the biopsy. Bills from the surgeon.”
Joe Balsemo was one of the band of four. He had been a stud in earlier days. Born and raised in the Italian district of New York City, he had worked his way through college, got a job at Grumman on Long Island helping to design and build aircraft for the government. Retired, Joe and his wife bought a trailer in the Sun and Surf Mobile Park. Five years ago, Joe’s wife died but Joe stayed on at the Park. He showed his 70-some years but you could still see signs of what he’d been in his youth. He exercised in the Park’s health club and swam in the Gulf.
Tonight, he was wearing his red and white plaid shorts, a bright blue shirt, and his New York Yankees hat.
A widower now, Joe was chased by all the Park’s widows. He enjoyed every minute of it; particularly if they couldn’t remarry without losing their survivors pensions.
“Poor boy,” the woman called Honey Bunny piped up. “You’ve got Social Security. I don’t have a fucking thing. Part-time cleaning work don’t provide no insurance.”
“I got secondary insurance through Grumman too,” Joe replied, “but there’s always a little left over for me to pay.”
“Boo hoo! My nose runneth for you.” Honey Bunny retorted. “You bitch about the little you have to pay. I haven’t even had a physical in ten years. If I was really sick, I couldn’t pay. I’m what they call medically indigent.”
“What would you do,” Joe asked, concerned.
“I’d go to the emergency room. They get government money. They have to treat you. That’s what every person without insurance does. Then you just don’t pay. They can dun you. They can ruin your credit rating but they can’t put you in jail. If you can just pay $10.00 a month on each bill, they can’t even ruin your credit rating.”
Honey Bunny was a tall, slender, bleached blond. Her neatly brushed hair hung down to her shoulders. She had a toothy smile and a long, pointed nose. Today, she was wearing tight fitting jeans, a long sleeved black shirt which showed the drooping boobs which come with living for 50 some years and not wearing a bra. Her fingers were long and slender and permanently red and rough from cleaning rental houses between the changes in weekly occupants. Still, as they say in the bar, no one would kick her out of bed.
Her real name was Bunny Manguso and she came from upstate New York. She had developed the habit of dropping into Peg Leg’s after work each day. The four old coots “adopted” her into their band and applied the nickname “Honey Bunny.” She was married to an abusive husband. Many a night, she arrived with an assortment of bruises and a shiner. She had considered divorce but could see no real choice.
The four old coots became her only local family.
All five, as if choreographed, pushed empty glasses to the edge of the bar.
Wendy, the barmaid, was already filling frosty mugs. Then she poured another vodka and cranberry.
“You want another shot, Jerry,” she asked as she set down the second round?
“Might as well,” Jerry answered. “Can’t fly on one wing.”
“You can’t fly on two,” one coot, named Al, guffawed.
“Go to hell,” Jerry replied.
Jerry Flanagan was the oldest of the band. Now in his 80s, though still spry, he let slip he’d flunked out of Army flight school during World War II and ended up being a navigator/bombardier. He’d flown 20 missions over Europe in a B-17. All the band remembered was his one failure.
Born in Michigan, he’d been stationed at the Pinecastle Army Air Force Base which eventually became the Orlando International Airport. This experience made him vow he’d never go back to shoveling snow again.
“I’ll tell you what,” Al piped up, “none of these fancy doctors are half as good as old Doctor Ducky Drake.”
“What’s a Ducky Drake,” Joe rejoined the conversation.
Al was glad to explain. “Ducky Drake, M.D., was one of the few doctors in the little Pennsylvania town where I grew up. You didn’t have to go to his office; he came to you. I still remember when I was sick, he’d come in carrying a big, black bag. He’d always be huffing and puffing, he was so fat. He’d fix anything which ailed you. Everything from a sore throat to stitching a cut, to setting a broken bone.
“One day, I pretended to be sick because I didn’t want to go to school. I wanted to go shoot hoops. Ducky prescribed a laxative. I never missed another school day.”
“Right,” Joe broke in, “today’s general practitioners are nothing but traffic cops. Anything not treatable by antibiotics is referred to a specialist. This is why I had so many bills.”
“Yeah,” Al interjected, “remember, back then, it was the Depression. Half the time, patients would pay Ducky with some eggs, a freshly killed rabbit, or some produce. He’d wait for payment, too. No dunning letters from billing companies located at some corporate headquarters somewhere.”
“Also, Joe interjected, “if you get sick on the weekend now, its emergency room. The doctor’s out on the golf course.”
“Ducky’s office was in his home. You could call or go ring his doorbell anytime of the day or night,” Al finished his tale.
At close to 80, Al Gorinskas was still in relatively good health. He was wearing a pair of khaki trousers, a conservative beige shirt, and a pair of brown and white saddle shoes. No one knew if he’d had the saddle shoes for years or if he had a secret supplier. No one really cared enough to go to the trouble of finding out. Al was married to Ellen; they’d celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary just the other week with a party thrown by Peg Leg Pete. She was out in the other room now playing Bingo. He always went home around 5 p.m. to fix their dinner. She stayed playing Bingo until it closed out at 7 p.m. She usually won something.
Al had spent his working life in the Pittsburgh steel mills. He’d been lucky enough to retire before all the mills moved to China or Japan.
Like clockwork, they all pushed empty glasses to the bar’s edge. Like clockwork, Wendy brought refills.
Just then, clump, clump, clump announced the impending arrival of Peg Leg Pete. He clapped Pelly so hard on the back, Pelly nearly spilled his drink.
“How are you doing old man,” Pete bellowed in his best pirate voice?
“Old man, my ass,” Pelly replied. “I’m the youngest one here.”
He was too. Pellerin Poirier was only 73 but also the most frail of the group. The other coots certainly weren’t going to call him Pellerin so they nicknamed him Pelican Poirier. This soon was shortened to Pelly. In any case, two knee replacements and arthritis severely reduced Pelly’s agility and movement. He had grown up in Louisiana and had been a seaman, fisherman, dockworker, and roustabout since he was a teenager. A short, wiry man, he had married a buxom woman, named Carolyn. During their working days, she had worked beside him fishing or working the docks. Now, they had retired, living on nothing but Social Security. Carolyn was playing Bingo with Ellen right now.
During his working years, Pelly had acquired an impressive education; first through correspondence courses and later by computer. He still took several courses. An avid sports fan, you could always spot him by his New Orleans Saints shirts, hats, and jackets. He lived or died by his team’s success. Last year, they won the Super Bowl and he was loud and boisterous. This year, he was strangely quiet!
“Wendy,” Pete bellowed, “give these old codgers and this lovely young lady another round.”
They all toasted their benefactor. Honey Bunny blushed. Pete continued down the bar slapping backs and piling on the compliments. Pete knew his customer relations.
One more round. Pelly looked up at the skull and crossbones clock. “Time for me to get going.” He drank up, put down his glass and prepared to leave for the short walk to his trailer. “See you all tomorrow.”
Tomorrow would be just another day to meet and greet at Peg Leg Pete’s.
#####

Chapter 1 -- Peg Leg Pete's Bar and Grill

2011-01-20T10:21:00.000-08:00

Copyright 2011 John R. Wilhelm

Aside from the setting in Anna Maria Island, Florida, this is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, business establishments, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.

Peg Leg Pete’s Bar and Grill
By
Jack Wilhelm

Chapter 1 -- Peg Leg Pete

Peter Livingston Appleford was an 18 year old member of a squad of soldiers on patrol outside Saigon during the Vietnam War. Pete was handsome, fit, and had the esprit de corps which is ingrained into all members the 101st Airborne – the famed Screaming Eagles.
The squad was carefully skirting a rice paddy, eyes, ears, and instincts tuned to detecting any possible ambush by the Viet Cong. Without warning, a mortar shell, fired from the bushes on the other side of the paddy burst close by. The soldiers hit the dirt and started to return fire.
Pete was the only one hurt. The squad leader applied a tourniquet to his leg and a shot of morphine to his arm. Shrapnel from the mortar shell had made a bloody mess of his left leg. Pete was evacuated to a field hospital. When he came to, the doctor told him the medical team had not been able to save all of his leg. They had amputated his leg just below the knee.
Pete’s active military career was over.
Four years and a Bachelor of Science – major in management – degree later Pete found Anna Maria Island in Florida. Married, Jenna and he, plus the addition of a baby boy, planned for the future.
Jenna had a nursing degree; no problem, she could get a job. Pete could take care of Pete Jr. but had to find a job he could do and still take care of the child.
Anna Maria Island has a unique life style whose economy is fueled by Social Security and Retirement direct deposits, stock dividends, and tourists dollars. The primary businesses are small artsy/craftsy shops, bars, restaurants, and real estate offices. (There is one business whose sign proclaims it a law book publisher – but this is an anomaly.) Therefore, the principal occupations are real estate sales, retail sales, house cleaners for the rentals, bartenders, cooks, and dishwashers. Oh yes, there are two schools and a few marinas on the island but opportunities in these are limited.
In any case, none of them appealed to Pete on a long term basis. He wanted to own his own business, be his own boss, and have people working for him.
With some inherited money in his pocket, he decided to settle here and go into the bar and restaurant business.
There are three incorporated cities on Anna Maria Island. South to north, they are Bradenton Beach, Holmes Beach, and Anna Maria City. Pete examined them all and found a small bar for sale in Bradenton Beach; right next to the Sun and Surf Mobile Home Park (Seniors Only).
Pete thought this was a steal. Right by a large customer base of retired senior citizens who had time on their hands and money in their pockets. On an Island where the favorite T-shirt has the words “Anna Maria Island – three little drinking villages with fishing problems.” What better place for a bar and grill? Besides, the owners’ books showed the bar was already a fairly profitable business. Pete knew he could make it even more profitable. He didn’t even quibble over the owners’ asking price. He just made arrangements with the bank, signed the necessary documents, and the business was his. Next stops, an architect, an interior designer, and a sign company.
Soon, the original owner’s sign came down and a large neon sign was installed. This sign featured a pirate lifting a neon mug of grog to his mouth then lowering the mug, then raising it again. Emblazoned over the pirate were the words “Peg Leg Pete’s Bar and Grill.”
Actually, getting permission for the sign was the most difficult task Pete faced because he had to have an exception granted by the Bradenton Beach city commission. The commissioners had definite ideas about the size, location, and decorum of business signs. The last thing they wanted was to have a Las Vegas-like sign in their laid back little community. Pete convinced them his sign would be good for business and tourist dollars.
The oval bar was replaced with a “U” shaped bar. The pool tables were removed and sold; Pete figured the mobile park had its own recreation room but no dance floor (or band) for the old folks. People shooting pool played more and drank less anyway. Dancing made customers thirsty.
The interior designer recommended comfortable stools for the bar and separate tables for groups. Several large screen TVs, placed at a comfortable eye level, would provide the sports, news, and financial shows the seniors wanted to watch.
Pete signed bands which played “Golden Oldies” for those seniors who liked to listen and dance and installed Bingo for those who didn’t. Later at night, “Golden Oldies” were replaced by Southern Rock to please a younger crowd. Bingo stopped at 7 p.m.
Best of all was the change of employee “uniforms.” Pete had nothing against hiring pretty girls. He also provided uniforms to each new hire. Standard were denim shorts, orange or white satin shirts unbuttoned to show cleavage, pirate boots, black pirate hat or orange “doo-rag,” and black eye patch.
His own “uniform” was harder to find. Not the pants, shirt, eye patch, or hat but the peg leg. He had plenty of metal and plastic prostheses. He needed a wooden one. Finally, he found a woodwork shop in Bradenton with a lathe. The woodworkers crafted a wooden leg and strap attachments.
Peg Leg Pete was ready. He was youthful, handsome, outgoing, gregarious, and willing to work all night, every night, “smoozing” customers.
This was 30 years ago. Today, Pete is no longer youthful but still is and does all the other things which make a successful bar owner.

######

Index of Posted Novels

2011-01-18T10:21:00.000-08:00

Novels for Your Reading Pleasure

Angels in the Sand – Angels approach and hold light, comical discussions of various spiritual and scientific topics with a retiree as he sets on the beach at Anna Maria Island, Florida. Initial posts began the first week of May 2010.)

Our Dogs’ Tales Plus Our Cat’s Meow – The story of family dogs and one cat in which the animals tell the stories of both their lives and those of their human owners’ families. Covers the years from the 1930s to the 2000s. (Click on December 2009 archives.)

Resurrection Pond – A polluted pond spews out its human jetsam. The resurrected persons are transported into today’s world from their own eras with hilarious consequences. (Click on July 2009 archives.)

Only One Thing Wrong – A young genius has brilliant ideas but always forgets one vital thing leading to disastrous results. (Click on November 2008 archives.)

Katrina II – Is there a government agency which can direct and dissipate hurricanes? (Click on April 2007 archives for original or April 2008 for second edition.)

The House of Pain – A poor young man deals drugs to support his younger siblings and his addicted father. Meet the denizens of his crack house. (Click on May 2007 archives.)

The Hunt for Secret Agent 000 – A college professor disappears on a trip to the former USSR. Is he a secret CIA agent? (Click on June 2007 archives.)

The Devil’s Rock – A young man is hooked on crack cocaine. Follow his trip through women, jails, institutions and, finally, to killing. Is the killing self-defense or murder for revenge? (Click on October 2007 archives.)

Chapter 20 -- Angels in the Sand

2011-01-15T10:12:00.000-08:00

ANGELS IN THE SAND
BY
JACK WILHELM

CHAPTER 20 – WHAT’S IT ALL MEAN?

It’s cold for Florida but the Sun is warm and bright. I’m at the beach thinking about all the visitors I’ve had. I’m meditating. I’m trying to make some meaning out of all I’ve heard.
I’m so absorbed I didn’t hear someone behind until I felt a tap on my shoulder. Frightened, I jumped. Then I heard the giggle.
It is my tall, blond, astonishingly beautiful angel who was my first visitor. Unfortunately, she’s wearing a sky blue track suit and silver running shoes. No string bikini in this weather. Obviously angels get cold, too. Anyone but me would take her for an extremely attractive mid-morning jogger. I stood up and we hugged friendly-like. She gave me an air kiss which is no kiss at all.
She pulled up a beach chair and sat down. “This wraps it up,” she purred. “What did you learn?”
“Well, there’s one thing I didn’t learn.”
“What’s that,” she said puzzled”
“How do you angels materialize beach chairs out of thin air?”
She smiled. “I know another thing you didn’t learn either.”
“What’s that,” I responded equally puzzled.
“How to be serious and not to be a wise guy.”
I returned the smile.
“Now let’s get down to business. Let’s summarize what you’ve learned or what you believe you’ve learned.”
“Is this a quiz? What do I get if I score an A?”
“Nothing. There is no score. You only get to analyze and solidify your beliefs. Now quit stalling and start summarizing.”
I tried to get serious. First, I believe there is a supreme something which created this wonderful universe in which we live. It’s much too complex to have just happened.
“Also, each of us can worship wherever and however we want. The Divine Soul hears us all and appreciates our prayers and meditation wherever they take place.”
“Good start,” Angel said. “Keep going.”
“All religions believe the Divine Soul rewards you if you are good and if you have faith. If you are bad, you will be punished. You will be judged on how you behave on earth. How this happens, who does the judging, and what the reward and punishment is varies between religions.
“The only real difference between the various religions is whether the individual goes to heaven or hell, must wait for the resurrection, or is reincarnated in another body and another life. I would like to know which is right.”
“Quit looking for simple answers. I told you there’s no simple answer. Consider what the Dalai Lama said, ‘There are different religions just as there are different kinds of food in each culture. People eat what grows best where they live.'
“Perhaps, whatever you believe is right.”
“I guess right now, I’m leaning toward reincarnation but I think Mahatma Gandhi was right when he said our soul is like a candle. It lights another candle but it is a new candle.”
“So Jim’s body is no more but the soul which lived in Jim’s body temporarily now inhabits another body.”
“Yes, I guess. I don’t know if the soul remembers the various bodies it has inhabited.”
“You’ll find the answer to this eventually. What else did you learn,” my angel asked. I noted I was becoming possessive. Who wouldn’t like to possess this chick?
“All religions have what Christians call the ‘Golden Rule.’ Some version of do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”
“Right,” she said approvingly, “although I’ve noticed in my travels not nearly enough humans really practice it.”
“I also now realize mankind, itself, causes more sorrow and evil in the world than the devil could ever think of. By and large, the Divine Soul lets the world run itself but can step in when it wants. Many things just happen by chance or probabilities. Of course, this is hard to understand when bad things happen to ourselves or loved ones.”
“Good! Keep going.”
“Religion tells you how to live not why you live. The existence of the Divine Soul cannot be proven scientifically its his non-existence can’t be proven either. Science and religion each has its place and there should be no conflict.”
“Jim, you amaze me!”
“Sometimes – like now – I even amaze myself. I can’t believe I’m sitting here summarizing all this. I could be taking you to D. Coy Ducks Bar and Grill and making all my cronies jealous.”
“Now, Jim, I am an angel, remember?”
“Yes, damn – er, darn – it, I do.”
“Let’s keep going.”
“The Earth is not the center of the universe. In fact, both the earth and the solar system are insignificant dots in the universe. But it’s the center of our existence and all we’ve got right now.”
“You’re learning. You’ve heard the expression ‘think globally but act locally. I’d amend this to think spiritually and act as if your afterlife depended upon it. Because it does.”
“Now you’re sounding preachy,” I pointed out.
“Sorry, but I feel strongly about this.”
“I know you do. I’ll continue. Scientific advances come slowly, one step at a time. Thousands of persons pursued studies and experiments which led to what we know now. What amazes me is the world and the entire universe is made of almost nothing at all.”
“You mean like subatomic particles, quarks, and so on?”
“Yes. On the other hand, the size of the universe is incomprehensible to most of us. The number of galaxies and the number of stars in each galaxy is beyond belief. Then to think each star may have planets just like our solar system. The whole concept boggles my mind.
“So does the concept of the human body. I learned cells are nature’s building blocks for all plants and animals tissues. All life starts as a single cell yet our completed bodies have 100 trillion cells.”
“Keep going, you’re almost finished!”
“I had a completely closed mind on cloning and I learned a lot from the identical twin angels who spoke to me on this subject. I only thought of cloning human beings. Actually, scientists hope that one day therapeutic cloning can be used to generate tissues and organs for transplants. People won’t have to wait for organ donors. There is still a moral issue but the use of closely related animals – probably pigs – may eliminate the moral issue.
“I was also amazed to relearn that the Earth is composed of an inner core, an outer core, a mantle, and a relatively thin lithosphere made up of plates. These plates are rock but lighter than the denser material underneath so they float. We live on these floating plates.”
“Yes, many of these facts even boggle the mind of an angel.”
“Finally, all this scientific knowledge was put to work to develop the things we take for granted in our daily lives. Everything from electric lights, to TV, to palm-sized computers.
Every modern day instrument, appliance, and means of communication, and transportation is the result of the generations of theoreticians, scientists, and engineers who have preceded us.
“Yes,” my angel noted, “it’s most astonishing. Frightening, too. Most every device, like the invention of gunpowder and atomic energy, may be used for good or evil. Let’s hope mankind can use them for good.”
“Finally I’m convinced there are other intelligent life forms throughout the universe. I have my doubts as to whether we’ll ever make contacts because of the mind staggering distances involved.”
“Who knows,” my angel concluded. “If you are ready, the Divine Soul will provide the means necessary to communicate with or visit distant planets. Just remember, just a few years ago no one thought we’d be communicating worldwide with hand held devices either.”
“Whew! I guess I’m finished with my summary.”
“Yes, we are. You’ve passed.”
“Can we go to D. Coy Ducks now?”
“No!”
“How about Feeling Swell?”
“Sounds good, but remember, I read your mind. Feeling Swell is just another bar and grill on Anna Maria Island. Sorry but you’ll just have to tell your friends you’ve talked to an angel, Jim.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Yes, I am.”
“They’d think I was nuts.”
“They might be right,” she giggled fetchingly.
With this, she hugged me, planted a kiss on my cheek, and jogged off down the beach and out of sight.
####

Chapter 19 -- Angels in the Sand

2010-12-15T13:11:00.000-08:00

ANGELS IN THE SAND
BY
JACK WILHELM

CHAPTER19 – IS SOMEONE OUT THERE?

I’m shivering. It’s cold. I have a warm sweater under my Tommy Hilfiger wind-breaking jacket. My hood is pulled over my head. I’m still cold. I hate cold; I didn’t move to Florida for cold.
Usually, when I complain to someone, they say, “It’s colder up in New York or Michigan or wherever they’re from.”
Aggravated by such remarks, I snarl, “Yes, but I’m not up in wherever. Here, it’s supposed to be balmy and pleasant.”
This leads to the remark, “I hate summers here.”
Which leads me to think, and, sometime’s say, “Then why don’t you move back up north and take a Canadian with you under each arm. Not that I don’t like Canadians, or New Yorkers for this matter. It’s just Florida’s getting too crowded.”
Of course, I’m a transplanted New Jerseyite myself but I’ve been here 50 years and consider myself a native Floridian.
Anyway, it’s cold and with the stiff north wind, the chill factor makes it feel like the temperature’s in the 30s.
Needless to say, no beach today! In fact, the only reason I’m out is I have to go to the store for some more coffee. Good hot coffee is the only thing keeping me halfway civilized. Therefore, I’m not at my pleasantest when a person stops me on the street and says, “I’ve been sent to talk to you.” He’s only clad in flip flops, shorts, and a T-shirt. He was stocky and shorter than me. I also noted he didn’t have much hair but his head was quite large; larger than mine.
“Are you crazy,” I ask. “Do you want to freeze or catch pneumonia? What is the matter with you?”
“Nothing’s the matter with me. It’s your attitude. Let’s go inside. You’ll be more civilized out of the cold.” I grumbled but led him into my apartment and offered him a seat.
“Thank you. I’m really quite tired. It’s been a long trip.”
He more or less collapsed on my sofa. “May I have a cup of coffee, please? I just love earth coffee.”
“Cream and sugar,” I asked.
“No,” he replied. “I much prefer it black so I can savor the aroma and appreciate the taste.”
Then, it hit me. "Earth coffee!" What did my guest mean by this?
“You said ‘earth coffee.’ What did you mean? This is French Roast, probably from Colombia, South America.”
“It has been a long trip. You must forgive my manners. I’m not from here. I’m actually from a planet in orbit around the star Alpha Centauri. My name’s Alpha 2130. It only – and I use the word ‘only’ very loosely – takes four light years to get here.”
I sank back in my chair. My head spun. This person in my house was actually an extraterrestrial. Either this or I met up with a lunatic. I slugged down my cup or coffee. I quickly poured another cup and started searching through my kitchen cabinets. I needed a stiff shot or two of brandy to go with the coffee.
My visitor sensed my bewilderment. “I should have broken this to you more gently. It’s true though. The Divine Soul sent me to explore your obscure little planet to see if intelligent life had survived there.”
“Well,” I replied. “I’m sometimes not certain if it’s intelligent or not; but it is life and it’s still surviving.”
“You see,” said my guest. “We tried to communicate with you for thousands of years but no one ever answered. Finally, we stopped trying. Then, just recently we started receiving a continuous transmission of stupid, childish stories; I think you earthlings call it television.
“And your commercials, I think you call them. Stupid appeals for insurance, hospitals, medicines. Is everyone sick on your planet? Cars and beer are the only things we relate to and your cars are all antiques compared to our modes of transportation.
“Frankly, we began to wonder if there really was any intelligent life on Earth. But, we define an advanced technical civilization as one capable of radio astronomy. You qualify.”
This is all true but I feel a certain amount of loyalty toward my planet. “What you’re saying may true but these commercials pay for the programs. Let’s change the subject. Why do you have such a strange name and what do I call you?”
“Fair questions! We have simplified our system of names, account numbers, etc. You have a name, a social security number, passwords for your bank accounts, e-mail accounts, and on and on. We don’t have to use valuable brain power to remember all this jazz. One name does it all. There’s no identity theft where I come from.”
Ok! For purposes of our visit, may I call you Al?”
“Fine by me but why give me the name of a predatory, nocturnal bird?”
I chuckled. “You’ve got owl and Al confused.”
“I admit I sometimes find your language confusing. Now, can we get on with our subject?”
“Just what is our subject?”
“It was supposed to be ‘Is anyone out there?”
“I guess then our discussion is over. You’re certainly out there.”
“Let’s get serious. There are other intelligent life forms throughout the universe and you are going about communicating with them all wrong.”
I bristled. “Hey, we’re trying.”
“Yes,” Al replied, “you are. Let’s summarize what you’re doing. Then I’ll tell you what’s wrong with the way you’re going about it.”
“Go ahead.”
“You have a two-pronged approach. First is listening for signals from outer space. Of course, it wasn’t until 1959 that you finally decided to use radio astronomy.
“Why was this?”
“Radio astronomy is a low energy system, travels with high velocity, and is capable of penetrating interstellar smog. You launched Project Ozma in 1960 and there are now more than 30 such projects. Then, your advances in microminiaturization and computer technology vastly increased your ability to analyze incoming noise. But, there’s problems with this approach.”
“What are they?”
“First, are any civilizations transmitting or, like us, have they given up. Secondly, do they even want to search. Have they advanced to the point they even think there might be other planets with life. Remember, for centuries mankind believed you were all alone in the universe and everything in the universe revolved around you.
“Also traveling at the speed of light, transmissions still take hundreds of years to travel from the depths of the universe. Civilization could have evolved and died in this time. Like your earthlings may do yourselves in with a nuclear holocaust.”
“Alright, what’s the second approach?”
“Sending messages. Do you know in 1974, messages were aimed at M13.
I proudly said, “I know this is a star cluster in the constellation Hercules. There’s about 100,000 stars in the constellation.”
Al squelched me as he said, “Yes, and traveling at the speed of light, it will take 24,000 years to get there. Then any intelligent life there will have to plan and transmit a message back which will also take 24,000 years. Do you have enough time on your hands to wait around 48,000 years for a reply?”
I admitted defeat. “What’s the third way?”
“The use of rockets to launch space probes, of course. You’re now using satellites for meteorology, navigation, communications, and to spy on other countries. Using space probes to try to find other life is a natural extension.
“In fact, you have launched two Voyager spacecraft bound for the stars. These spacecraft contain records, genes, brains, libraries, greetings in 60 languages, a record of the calls of humpback whales, and photos of the earth’s peoples. Only problem is, it will take tens of thousands of years to reach the nearest stars.
“You earthlings are even thinking of manned exploration of space.”
“Why not,” I queried? I’ve read about Einstein’s theory that time slows down as you approach the speed of light.”
“What spacecraft do you have which approaches the speed of light?”
He had me there but I didn’t quit. “Hey, we didn’t have any spacecraft until the 1960s. Who knows what may develop in the future?”
“Do you know anyone who will volunteer to spend years, even given Einstein’s theories, in a cramped spacecraft. The record to date is less than a year.”
“Where does this leave us,” I asked.
“Well, we know extra-terrestrials exist. As you said, ‘You are here.’ We also know there are several hundred billion stars in the universe. We have also discovered planets around some of them. Your Carl Sagan estimated there may be more than 100 billion planetary systems in your galaxy alone.”
I was dejected. “Even if this is true, we may never make contact with any of them.” Then I thought to ask, “So how did you get here.”
“Never say never,” my visitor said. “First, we have found a way to digitize ourselves and then make a copy. We are sent as a beam of light which, of course, travels at the speed of light. Then we augment this with the power of thought. The speed of the thought in the human soul is faster than the speed of light. Remember, Jesus said, ‘In my Father’s house there are many mansions.’ Isn’t the Divine Soul’s house the entire Universe? When you die your soul may go to a planet where life is better if you are good.”
“And, if you are evil, you may go to a planet where life is harsher,” I chimed in.
“Remember, too, the brain is really the next frontier of science. Who knows what advances in parapsychology lie ahead?”
“What do you mean by this?”
“Well, you're just talking to a copy. It's like seeing pictures of old movie actors by rerunning a film. I’m really just a hologram projected by my brain and the digitizing process. Now, it's time for me to go elsewhere on your puny, little planet.”

With this, he flickered and turned off just like my television set.

####

Chapter 18 -- Angels in the Sand

2010-12-08T12:35:00.000-08:00

Copyright 2010 John R. Wilhelm

ANGELS IN THE SAND
BY
JACK WILHELM

CHAPTER18 – LET’S STOP THE THEORY AND PUT SCIENCE TO WORK

I am just about to doze off when my cell phone beeps. Someone is texting me. Reluctantly I press the “read now” button. There is no name or number, just a terse message.
“Go home and look at your television!”
What does this mean? I am enjoying the beach and the Sun. I am in no mood to go home. Moreover, I am retired. I rebel at being told what to do. I’ve been told what to do by various bosses for 45 years of work life. Besides, my television is not on. I turned off ESPN’s Sports Center when I left for the beach.
Then curiosity kicked in. Obediently, I fold up my beach chair and head for home. I open the door to rousing rock and roll blaring out of my TV set which is certainly and unmistakably on!
The title is flashing a message. “Jim! Jim! It’s time for our visit.”
This sand angel is using technology to lecture me. A somewhat nerdy looking man appears on the screen. “Today, we’re going to have a two person teleconference with complete interactivity. You can talk to me and vice verse. I look at the screen and see me. Someone had planted a camera in my apartment. I look around searching for the device or the person who had done this.
“Don’t waste your time looking. All the angels read your mind, don’t they? I just take this one step further. I not only can read your mind, I can display your image.”
“Okay,” I pout, “you’ve ruined my day at the beach already so let’s get on with it. What’s the topic de jeur for the day? By the way, do you have a name?”
“Yes. It’s Theodore but I prefer Tad.”
“Lay it on me, Tad.”
“So far, most of what we’ve talked about is scientific theory. Today, we’re going to look at how this theory has been applied. Before we get down to the topic, I’d like to make one point.”
“It’s your show,” I reply.
“Yes, it is, isn’t it? The point is this. When we looked at religions and the advancement of science, you could always pinpoint the person responsible for the discovery. Today, science and religion, is so complex and so costly, the project is almost always the result of a program or project team.”
“Then, how comes one or two persons usually wins the Nobel Prize or conducts the religious program.”
“Simply because one person is the program manager and gets the credit. Without the team behind him, nothing would happen.”
“I can see this. Billy Graham is the leader of the revival but a cast of hundreds is required to plan, promote, and stage the event.”
“Exactly, and do you know who was the first to establish a project team in the scientific world?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Thomas Alva Edison. He put together the first full-scale private research facility and a research team. Today, of course, most projects and facilities are, at least, partially supported by Government resources. But, I’m getting ahead of myself. Before we could have scientific applications for mankind, we had to have the basic tools to use.”
“Where do we start?”
“The invention of the thermometer is as good a place as any.”
“Yes,” I pondered. “If I didn’t have a temperature scale, how would I know how to set my oven to 350 degrees to bake a pumpkin pie?”
“See. It was obvious two points were needed. One is the temperature at which water freezes and the other where water boils. Daniel Fahrenheit developed the scale named for him and Anders Celsius gave us the scale named for him.”
I couldn’t resist. “Those two screwed up every school kid and meteorologist forever more.”
“No more than having the linear and metric system for measurements.”
I retorted. “Yes, it does make every mechanic have two sets of tools, doesn’t it?”
“Good for business,” Tad responded.
“There were other discoveries which had to be made before mankind could start turning out consumer goods.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, kinetic theory was essential and so was a knowledge of electricity.”
“What’s kinetic theory?”
“Heat is a form of motion. Count Rumford came up with the theory. He also invented the double boiler, the drip coffee pot, and the cooking range. James Joule came with the mathematical equation for how much heat is produced by a given quantity of mechanical energy.
This knowledge eventually led to the invention of the steam engine, the steam ship, and the use of steam for other applications.”
“Of course, electricity was required for many inventions,” I comment.
“You’re right. At first, electricity was a party novelty.”
“You mean like scuffing your feet on a rug. Then touch someone and give them a shock.”
“Right. You are generating electricity. Your Ben Franklin flew his kite and found that lightning is electrical in nature. He also discovered positive and negative charges. He also invented bifocals.”
“I could have lived without the last bit of information,” I comment.
“Just wait till you need them. You’ll be glad he did,” Tad replied. Anyway, Charles Augustin de Coulomb found out electricity, magnetism, and gravitation follow similar laws.”
“You mean the stronger the force, the greater the attraction; the further apart, the weaker the attraction.”
“Hey, Jim, you’re smarter than you look.”
“Gee, thanks,” is the most I can muster.
“Anyway, in the early 1800s, Alexander Volta invented the first electrical battery. Then, Michael Faraday developed the first electrical generator by moving a magnet through a coil of copper wire. Magnetism could be converted into electricity.
“Then in the late 1800s and early 1900s, your Thomas Alva Edison really put electricity to work. He developed telegraphy, the stock ticker, the phonograph, the electric light, street lights, and motion pictures. He also developed the first electric power station and installed the first electric street lights in Menlo Park, New Jersey. Menlo Park was, of course, where he had his research facility.”
“I think I read Edison had over 1000 patents to protect his inventions.”
“You are correct. To tie electricity, magnetism, and gravity even more tightly together, James Clark Maxwell found light is an oscillating electric charge which may take the form of either a wave or a particle.”
“With all this tied together, the rush to develop consumer and industrial products was on,” I comment. “All it took now was for someone to invent the credit card.”
“I’m not sure the latter was a good idea. Mankind has been piling up its debt ever since.
Things really opened up in the late 1940s when it was found impure crystals work the same way as the much larger vacuum tube to control the flow of electrons.”
“I remember searching for the right vacuum tube when my television set malfunctioned.”
“Wasn’t this a lot of fun?”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“Kidding,” Tad laughed.
“Anyway, impure crystal technology led to solid state semiconductors and then to microminiaturization which is where you are now. Computers are reduced from room size to today’s hand held devices.”
“Worldwide communications has exploded,” I said. “We can see events around the world as soon as they are happening. My friends play electronic games with people from around the world. Almost everyone had a TV set, a cell phone, and access to a computer. It’s hard to believe all this has happened within a little more than 200 years.”
“Most of it within the past 50,” Tad commented.
“Is this good or bad,” I asked.
“It all depends on how you use it,” Tad replied. “In any case, it’s time for me to leave. I’ll leave you with this question.”
My television screen went blank; this angel was gone.
I sat in my room puzzling over the last question. Certainly, instant worldwide communications can lead us to a better understanding of each other. It can also be used for propaganda purposes to inflame our emotions. The internet can lead to much improved interpersonal relations. It can also be used by unscrupulous persons to prey upon unsuspecting victims.
Just like atomic energy and all other of mankind’s inventions, either good or evil can result depending on how they are used.
We can only hope the Divine Soul will guide us to use them as they were meant to be used. For the benefit, not the destruction, of mankind.

#####

Chapter 17 -- Angels in the Sand

2010-11-17T12:49:00.000-08:00

ANGELS IN THE SAND
BY
JACK WILHELM

CHAPTER17 – WE’RE ALL BOOGIE BOARDING

The Gulf was calm; not good for surfing but just right for boogie boarding judging from the number of kids with their boards. They’d throw their boards, run to catch up, and jump on them for the ride. For most of them, their ride ended in a spectacular fall, face down in the sand. I had to admire their persistence. No matter how much sand they ate; they came back for more.
Suddenly, I noticed an adult using his board. He made one run and looked at me. I gave him two thumbs up and said, “Aren’t you a little old for this sport.”
“Hey,” he retorted, “we’re all boogie boarding. The whole Earth’s made up of moving boards. Of, course, the high brow scientists call them plates and their movement tectonics.”
I got the message. “You’re this week’s angel.”
“You got this right. You can call me Clyde.”
I couldn’t resist. “Because you glide?”
He groaned but put his board down. It was decorated with the picture of a turtle. He was tan and fit; wearing orange swim trunks also decorated with images of turtles. He plopped down beside me sitting on his board.
“Are you the guardian angel for the Island’s Turtle Watch,” I asked?
“No, but it’s a good idea,” he answered. “A guardian angel job on Anna Maria Island would be paradise. Certainly, a lot better than some of the places I’ve been selected to guard.”
“Okay,” I said, changing the subject. “What’s your message?”
“First of all, you know the Earth is composed of an inner core, an outer core, a mantle, and a relatively thin lithosphere made up of plates – boogey boards if you will. These plates are rock but lighter than the denser material underneath so they float. We live on these plates.”
“I’ve read these plates are almost like a gigantic jigsaw puzzle. In fact, you can look at a world map and imagine Africa and South America fitting together. I’ve heard Alaska may have been connected to Asia, too. Our Indians may have migrated to North America by land. At least, it would have been only a short boat ride.”
“It’s fun to speculate about things like this but let’s stick to what we know.”
“Sounds like a winner to me!”
Clyde continued. “The mantle consists of molten rock. It’s 900 to 1600 degrees Fahrenheit at its top which is where the plates float. Temperatures reach over 7000 degrees at the boundary where the mantle meets the core.”
“This is an awfully hot, hot tub,” I ventured. “Why is the interior of the Earth so hot?”
“We’ll get to this in a moment. Let’s look at the dynamics first. The extremely hot material rises, then cools somewhat and becomes heavier as it nears the surface. This heavier material sinks deeper into the mantle again. This phenomenon sets up convection currents which move the surface plates.”
“So this is what you compare to a boogie board?”
“Right. Of course, it’s a very slow process. The coastal segments move apart at 0.4 inches per year in the Atlantic and about two inches in the Pacific.”
“No wonder we never fall off. Even I can balance on that little movement.”
“Remember, though, this little movement has been going on for most of the 4.6 billion years since the Earth was formed. Sometimes a little goes a long ways.”
“What do you mean by this,” I asked?
“This movement causes the plates to bump into each other. This builds up tremendous pressure causing mountains, volcanoes, and fault lines. Plates slipping past each other causes the fault lines. Slippage along fault lines causes earthquakes.”
“How do we know all this?”
“Scientists use echo measuring devices and airborne magnetometers to measure such movements. Also, NASA launched the LAGEOS in 1976 to measure the movement of the plates.”
“What does LAGEOS stand for,” I queried?
“Laser Geodynamics Earth Orbiting Satellite,” Clyde answered. “Let me point out a few other things scientists have found out. Many think the Pacific Rim is still being formed.”
“Is this why so many earthquakes take place and volcanoes form in this region?”
“Possibly. In addition, scientists believe the North Atlantic ridge is the spot where new ocean crust is being formed. This same great ridge connects with the Great Rift Valley in eastern Africa and has created Lake Victoria and Lake Turhana.”
“You still haven’t answered my question,” I interjected. “If the Earth has been here all these billions of years, why hasn’t it cooled off?”
“There are three reasons. The first is some heat remains from the original formation of the Earth. Secondly, the convention currents generate frictional heating. The third is the decay of radioactive materials in the Earth generates heat somewhat like heat produced in a nuclear reactor.”
“This has certainly been fascinating,” I ventured, “but where is all this heading?”
Clyde chuckled. “I know it’s hard to understand in winter but we need this heat here on the surface. It’s sort of like radiant heat in the floor of your home. It sure makes living a lot more comfortable.”
“Won’t the Earth cool off someday though?”
“Not for four or five billion years. When this happens, the Earth will be dead like your moon. Of course, by then, the Sun will have expanded into its red giant phase and the Earth will be burnt into a crisp anyway.”
“Somehow I think I’ll put this way, way down on my list of things to worry about,” I commented.
“Good thinking,” Clyde replied. “Well, I must be off. I’ve enjoyed our talk. Thanks, too, for the suggestion about the Anna Maria Island Turtle Watch. I’ll put my bid in for next turtle nesting season as soon as I get home.”
Clyde stood, whipped his board into the surf, leaped aboard and was off. Last time, I saw him he was skimming out over the Gulf.
Once again, I was faced with the task of discerning what all this interesting information meant. The complexity of the Earth’s inner workings certainly suggested the presence of divine planning. It was impossible to believe this all could have just happened. But, it also was a plan with faults—pardon the pun. Earthquakes and volcanoes certainly exact a terrible price in terms of human lives and suffering.
I was starting to get a headache again. I decided to put all these mind-blowing, philosophical questions out of my mind for now. The Sun had set and a chill was in the air. I stood and headed for my nice warm home and a boiling hot cup of tea or coffee.
####

Chapter 16 -- Angels in the Sand

2010-11-16T12:55:00.000-08:00

Copyright 2010 John R. Wilhelm

ANGELS IN THE SAND
BY
JACK WILHELM

CHAPTER16 – MAN CAN NOW CLONE LIFE. CAN HE CLONE A SOUL?

As usual, I was setting on the beach people watching. Two fishermen caught my eye. Both were dressed in the height of fishing fashion – for a trout stream in Wyoming – but not for surf fishing on the Gulf of Mexico.
Both were wearing chest high waders, long sleeve shirts, British expeditionary hats which also covered the back of their heads and necks, and mosquito netting. Their fishing gear consisted of fly rods. A creel hung from their necks. Each one was simultaneously casting a streamer fly which was consistently being whipped back at them by the wind and pounding surf.
The strangest thing about them was they were identical. My goodness, I think; these are cloned angels come to talk to me. I was almost right.
They put up their fly rods, pulled up their beach chairs, and sat down beside me. “Hello, Jim, we’ve been sent here to talk to you about cloning,” they chorused.
“I’m against it,” I replied immediately. Particularly, I thought, if you two are an example of the result.
Whoops!” I forgot angels could read my mind.
“It’s okay,” they echoed, “we’re not really clones. We’re identical twins. Close enough alike so the Divine Soul chose us to talk to you about cloning.”
“My mind is closed on this subject. I don’t even want to think about it. Suppose Hitler had cloned himself. What a mess it would be.”
“How about Einstein,” they chorused.
“Can you guarantee Einstein’s clone would have the same brain power?”
“You have a reputation for being open minded. At least, hear us out,” they chorused.
They hit me where it hurt. I did pride myself for being open minded. “Okay, I’ll listen but you’ve got to stop the chorusing. It’s making it hard for me to understand you.”
“Okay,” they chorused. “Sorry,” they said as they noticed my exasperation. “It’s just hard to break the habit.
“Most people just close their minds when cloning is mentioned because of the possibility of human cloning. This began when scientists at Roslin Institute, in Scotland, created the sheep Dolly in 1997.”
“It certainly did for me,” I replied. “If scientists can clone a sheep, sooner or later they’ll clone a human. It’s just the nature of scientific curiosity. But, can they clone a soul?”
“You’re probably right. Remember the Divine Soul gave man freedom of choice. If mankind wants to do something, only government can stop it.”
“This is a helluva comment.”
“But, it’s true,” they chorused. “Oops, sorry! However, to answer the second part of your question, only the Divine can breath a soul into a life."
"So, we'd have a bunch of human being without souls?"
"There's enough of them around already! Just read the newspaper or watch the TV news.
But back to our topic. The media are usually talking about only one type called reproductive cloning. There are three different types of cloning: recombinant DNA technology or DNA cloning, reproductive cloning, and therapeutic cloning.
“Recombinant DNA cloning was used by Human Genome Project researchers to copy genes and other pieces of chromosomes to generate enough identical material for further study Basically, this process just provides enough material for various researchers to use.
“Reproductive cloning is using the DNA from one animal to generate another which has most, but not all, of the characteristics of the first animal. Scientists take the genetic material from the donor and transfer it to an egg which has had its nucleus removed. The nucleus, of course, is what contained the genetic material of the donor egg. The egg is then transferred to the uterus of a female host. It remains there until birth.”
“Whatever happened to Dolly,” I asked.
“Dolly was given a lethal injection in 2003. She was suffering from lung cancer and crippling arthritis. Dolly was the mother of six lambs made the old fashioned way. In fact, hundreds of cloned animals exist today, but the number of different species is limited. Attempts at cloning certain species have been unsuccessful.”
“I won’t ask why! I’ve already heard enough. Tell me about therapeutic cloning.”
“Scientists hope that one day therapeutic cloning can be used to generate tissues and organs for transplants. To do this, DNA would be extracted from the person in need of a transplant and inserted into an egg from which the nucleus has been removed. After the egg containing the patient's DNA starts to divide, embryonic stem cells which can be transformed into any type of tissue would be harvested. The stem cells would be used to generate an organ or tissue which matches the recipient’s genetically. In theory, the cloned organ could then be transplanted into the patient without the risk of tissue rejection. If organs could be generated from cloned human embryos, the need for organ donation could be significantly reduced.”
“Isn’t this the stem cell research controversy I hear so much about?”
“Yes, it is. The basic question is, are we creating human life, and then destroying it. Another application of cloning which might be more palatable is the creation of genetically modified pigs from which organs suitable for human transplants could be harvested. The transplant of organs and tissues from animals to humans is called xenotransplantation, by the way.”
“Thanks but this another tidbit of information I could live without. Why pigs?”
“Primates would be a closer match genetically to humans, but they are more difficult to clone and have a much lower rate of reproduction. Of the animal species that have been cloned successfully, pig tissues and organs are more similar to those of humans.”
“Well, I’ve enjoyed our talk. I’ll let the moral issues to persons more qualified than I am.”
“All the angels told us you were a smart man. You were right about our fishing fashions, too. We’re going to head to New York for our next conversation with human. I hear there’s lots of trout streams there.”
“Only in upstate New York,” I replied.
“Maybe we can talk the folks there into cloning gigantic trout,” they said in unison as they headed north.
“I’m sure you can. Just don't do it in unison or no one will understand.”
I sank thankfully into my chair. I spent the next hour watching real fishermen catching mackerel and pompano in the surf.
####

Chapter 15 -- Angels in the Sand

2010-10-08T12:23:00.000-07:00

Copyright 2010 John R. Wilhelm

ANGELS IN THE SAND
BY
JACK WILHELM

CHAPTER 15 – THE SUN’S POWER UNLEASHED

This day is not one to make sun worshippers happy. Foreboding, ominous-looking dark clouds cover the sky although there are small patches of bright, blue sky here and there.
I’m not surprised when a slender man with an angular face sits down beside me. “This weather fits right into my topic today. Nuclear energy has bright promise but is fraught with danger.”
I study him closely. He is wearing bright red swim trunks, a brilliant orange tee-shirt, and white beach shoes. Bright as the Sun, yet my overall impression is one of darkness, apprehension, and danger. The man has a brilliant smile and a pleasant face. He is certainly a man of contrasts.
I notice a fly circling around the man yet he does not slap at it or try chasing it away.
“Doesn’t the fly bother you,” I ask. “Flies drive me crazy.”
“Oh, you mean the electron circling my body? The Divine Soul disguised me as a hydrogen atom when I was selected to talk to you about nuclear power.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I gaffawed.
“What’s to laugh at? I represent one proton and the one electron makes me a hydrogen atom. This is the basic energy source of the universe’s stars.”
I know, of course, our Sun is just a small star.
“Besides,” the man continued, “haven’t you watched TV lately? The Saving the Watts Guy has a low energy light tube circling his whole body. You don’t laugh at him.”
“Well, actually I do,” I retort. “Anyway, what is your name?”
“Come on now; you must know it’d be Hy.”
I rolled my eyes heavenward. All these visitors were almost as corny as I. Not to be outdone, I said, “Hi, Hy; don’t split on me. Get it, splitting the atom to release energy. Ha! Ha!
Hy gave me a disgusted look. “Let’s get on with the subject.”
Chastened, I agreed with him.
“When the universe was formed, there were untold amounts of interstellar gas and dust. These formed clouds which gradually became denser as the universal laws of gravity took hold.”
“I know these clouds eventually became so dense, they formed the stars, the solar systems, and the galaxies. But, what turned on the lights?”
“The collision of gas molecules heated the cloud to the point where thermonuclear reaction took place. The rest is history, so to speak.”
“So, essentially, our Sun is a gigantic nuclear reactor?”
“You’re right. The hydrogen fuel turns into helium as it burns. Helium doesn’t burn. So, eventually, in a few billion years, our sun will burn out. Please, don’t worry about it; you’ll be long gone.”
I couldn’t resist. “We used to have a beauty shop on the Island named Hair Today; Gone Tomorrow Salon. Then, the proprietor decided to add a bar. Now it’s the Hair Today; Gone Tomorrow Salon and Saloon.”
“What does this have to do with our topic,” Hy asked disgustedly?
“Nothing,” I replied, please continue.”
“As an aside, the Universe is composed of 99 percent hydrogen and helium which are the two simplest elements. Your Sun has a surface temperature of 6,000 degrees. The interior is 40,000,000 degrees.”
“Whew, “I said, “instant crispy critters.”
“Before man could begin to duplicate the Sun’s energy, he had to understand radiation. This didn’t happen until the late 1800s and the early 1900s. Probably, the most publicized scientists working in the field were Pierre and Marie Curie. Marie is credited with coining the word ‘radiation.’ They pinpointed the source of radiation to uranium, found thorium to be radioactive; discovered polonium, and then radium.”
“None of these scientists realized the long-term effects of radiation,” I added.
“You’re right. Because, it glowed in the dark, radium was applied to things like watches so they could be read at night. Of course, this led to an increase in cancers until the cause was realized.”
“Didn’t understanding radiation lead to the development of the bomb,” I asked.
“Yes, Einstein theoretically proved the awesome potential of the atom. Then, with the storm clouds of World War II gathering, Einstein was persuaded to go convince American President Franklin Delano Roosevelt to begin a crash program to develop an atomic bomb.
“First, a chain reaction was required. Enrico Fermi built a reactor which would produce a slow chain reaction. He used alternate layers of uranium 238 to promote reaction and layers of graphite to slow the neutrons. He added cadmium rods to block the reaction. When the rods were pulled, the heat increased. This, of course, was the world’s first nuclear reactor.”
“I’m old enough to remember our Nation ended World War II by using the bomb but I don’t remember the details.”
“FDR initiated the Manhattan Project to develop the bomb and named J. Robert Oppenheimer director. He located the highly secret project at Los Alamos, New Mexico. It took four years to develop two types of atomic bombs.”
“It was probably the only secret in American history which some politician didn’t leak to the press,” I noted.
“In July 1945, two bombs of two types were completed and one of each type was successfully tested. Little Boy was powered by uranium. Fat Man was a plutonium implosion bomb.
“On July 26, 1945, President Harry Truman released a document known as the Potsdam Declaration. This document, signed by President Truman for the United States, and representatives of China and Great Britain, called for Japan’s unconditional surrender or face utter destruction. Japan intended to keep fighting.
“On August 6, 1945, the B-29 named Enola Gay dropped a Little Boy on Hiroshima. Four square miles of the city were wiped out completely, 90 percent of the buildings were destroyed, and temperatures reached 1000 degrees.
“On August 9, a Fat Man was dropped on Nagasaki, destroying the city, and killing 40,000.
“On August 14, Emperor Hirohito surrendered. On September 2, World War II came to an end with terms signed aboard the battleship USS Missouri. The War was over but the atomic age had just begun.”
I interrupted. “I was old enough to remember the debates about whether or not the United States should have used the bomb. I know one thing though. I knew many, many service men who served in World War II. I never talked to one who would have done it any other way.”
My visitor continued. “In any case, mankind now has the power of the Sun. The various Nation’s went from radioactive bombs to hydrogen bombs, to fusion bombs, to miniaturized bombs and on and on. Today, many nations have a nuclear capability. Mankind is worried about nuclear proliferation, rogue nations, terrorists use of nuclear weapons.
“On the other hand, you have harnessed the atom to power ships, to generate electricity, to perform medical miracles.
“Even with its many benefits, mankind has to worry about nuclear waste disposal and accidents like Chernobyl. This accident on April 26, 1986 in the Ukraine resulted in the evacuation of an entire city which is now uninhabitable.”
“It is truly a Pandora’s box,” I said.
“Well,” my visitor said, “it is time for me to go.” He walked off up the beach impervious to the stares of beachgoers. The damn electron was still buzzing around his head.
I sat on my beach chair deep in thought. Mankind now has the power of the Sun and the stars. Is this an experiment by the Divine Soul? Will we use it to the benefit of mankind or will we destroy ourselves? Only time will tell.

#####

Chapter 14-- Angels in the Sand

2010-09-22T15:40:00.000-07:00

ANGELS IN THE SAND
BY
JACK WILHELM

CHAPTER 14 – THE HUMAN BODY IS COMPLEX; ITS INVADERS ARE SIMPLE

The Lehigh Valley spreads out below me. September in the Great Appalachian Valley; leaves already turning brilliant shades of yellows, orange, and reds. I hear the screech of the ailerons being lowered; then the thump of the landing gear locking in place. Within minutes, the Allegiant MD-83 touches down, tires smoking and screaming, thrust reversers roaring as the jet slows then taxies to the landing ramp.
Only a short time ago, I reluctantly left the hot, sandy beaches of my beloved Anna Maria Island. First destination, Tampa International Airport then via the non-stop jet to the grandiosely-named Lehigh Valley International Airport serving the Allentown/Bethlehem/Easton Pennsylvania area, and Warren County, New Jersey.
I climb into the Ford Fiesta which Hertz has waiting for me. First stop is check-in at the Lafayette Inn; an 1895 Georgian Mansion converted into a Bed and Breakfast. As I drove past Lafayette College on Cattell Street headed to the B&B on Monroe Street, memories flood in. I didn’t go to Lafayette but friends did. This made me eligible for wild parties at the Sigma Nu frat house and pickup basketball games in the college’s gym. Also, Lafayette College football games plus the annual Thanksgiving Day Easton-Phillipsburg annual football game nee half-time gang fight in the college stadium.
Also, my friends and I, who lived in Phillipsburg – just across the Delaware River –visited girls who lived on Cattell Street. In the summer, we swam and flirted with them at the Eddyside B&B – beach and bar -- on the river. I remember they were attractive but, for the life of me, I can’t remember their names; all this was too long ago.
I’m not into nostalgia or reminiscing about the past. The only reason I’m here is to do some quick research on the Raubsville area for a piece I’m writing on the Pennsylvania Dutch in the eastern part of the state. My parents and ancestors were among them.
Even thinking this, I decide to visit Phillipsburg where I grew up before I head to Raubsville which is only a few miles south along the river and the old Delaware Canal.
I drive across the “new” bridge connecting Easton, Pennsylvania, to New Jersey – or vice versa. Of course, the bridge is around 60 years old now but I know folks on both sides of the river still refer to it as “the new bridge.”
Not much has changed in P’burg. The apartment house where I grew up was still there; kids are still playing two-hand tag football in the streets. The sweetshop is gone; so is Bus Fox’s Butcher Shop where I delivered groceries as a teenager.
The high school is still there and so, today, is football practice in the stadium. The town, like so many other small towns, revolves around their high school football team. The local sports writers, trying to emulate the big city hot shots, names the team the Gallant Garnet, the Klein Klan, Bellis’ Bombers. The name depends on who happens to be coaching at the time. Easton’s players call us the “Dirty Red and Dirty White” or “The Old Grey Mare.” Our colors are garnet and gray; theirs are red and white. Phillipsburg High has a web site which I go to every once in a while. Currently, the football team is called the Stateliners. The team is still one of the best in the state.
I drive on past the stadium. I don’t know a soul here anymore. I head back to Pennsylvania and turn south on state road 611 toward Raubsville. I’m driving along the river and the Delaware Canal. The National Canal Museum is located in Easton near where the Lehigh River flows into the Delaware. Long ago, anthracite coal, steel, and other goods were moved by mule-drawn canal boats down to Philadelphia. You can take a canal boat ride down the canal at the town of New Hope. Of course, you can also walk or bicycle the all the way to Bristol on the tow path.
My aunts lived in Raubsville and I remember swimming in the canal with my cousin. Both of us came home covered with coal dirt. Very little coal is mined in Pennsylvania now. Of course, none is moved by canal. The canal is a lot cleaner. I’m sure boys still swim there.
Raubsville hasn’t changed much. Of course, there’s little room to change. The main street is state highway 611 which runs right along the canal and river. I turn right on Canal Drive which becomes Royal Manor Drive. The cemetery hasn’t moved. It’s located just where I remember. There’s a new development nearby but the cemetery, itself, is still surrounded by corn fields. All but one of my ancestors, from our country, are buried here.
My brother had traced our ancestry back to the first of our family to arrive in America in the early 1700s. Hans Michael had come by boat from the Palatinate region in Germany with his wife Margaretha. The couple landed in Philadelphia, and settled in what became Raubsville. His son, Jacob, fought in the Revolutionary War. Hans Michael is buried in the Old Straw Church cemetery outside Phillipsburg. All the rest, including my parents and one brother and sister-in-law, are buried here.
Of course, the graves are scattered in various plots throughout the cemetery. The old ones are so weathered I can hardly read them. I am so intent on trying to find each one; I don’t hear someone coming up behind me.
I’m startled by a deep voice with a German accent, “Vot took you so long here to get?”
My adrenaline mainlined, my heart rate jumped, and I was primed to run.
“To scare you, I didn’t mean,” he apologized. “Sent I am to talk to you. You don’t remember your great, great…. Oh, hell, I don’t remember how many great grandfathers’ I am away from you. The first Jacob I am.”
I calmed down. This might be a ghost or it might be an angel but he obviously meant me no harm. He was slightly built, sported a full beard, and a kindly smile. He was dressed in dark bib-overalls, a blue short-sleeved shirt and wore a black hat. He looked like many of the old Pennsylvania Dutchmen I had seen around Lancaster. I could also see my Father in him. His genes had obviously been dominant.
“You’re the one who fought in the Revolutionary War and then apprenticed and became a witch doctor.”
“Ja. I vas known as the Saylor doctor because I was apprenticed to Peter Saylor. A vitch doctor I vasn’t. I vas a gute hex doctor. No funny outfits; no wild dancing; no tongues of bats, lizards, or black cats.
I knew there had been a hex doctor in every generation of my family. The knowledge was passed down from father to son. My grandfather had been both an M.D. and a hex doctor. So had my uncle, Arthur. He had no sons and so the lineage was broken. There were no more doctors – hex or medical -- in any later generation.
“Yes, but you did use incantations and all sorts of herbs and the barks of trees and other natural stuff.
“Vot’s wrong mit those things? From a mold, Alexander Fleming developed penicillin. It killed staphylococcus germs responsible for scarlet fever, pneumonia, gonorrhea, meningitis and diphtheria. Penicillin is mass produced from a strain of mold found in Illinois.”
He had me there.
My great, great, etc. grandfather was on a roll. “From a mold found in a chicken, Selman Waksman developed streptomycin und literally wiped out the tubercle bacillus which causes tuberculosis.
“Today, scientists search soil funguses to discover new antibiotics. This search led to drugs that cure Rocky Mountain spotted fever and typhus.
“Getting ahead of myself I vas. The Divine Soul sent me to discuss the complex human body and the simple bacteria, germs, and viruses.”
I had to interrupt with burning questions. “Grandfather, do you come back here often? Do you see other family members?”
“You shouldn’t be asking these questions. Every person must for himself find out. I vill say, however, my body is dust. Only my soul und the genes I passed on still exist. This is the first time I have ever been back here. I’ll not come again.”
“Then, how do you explain why you are here?”
“With the Divine Soul, everything is possible. The Divine Soul has a fine sense of humor und thought you’d be scared.”
“I sure vas. I mean I certainly was.”
“Let’s get on mit der subject. I want out of here. Cemeteries scare me!”
Before the 1500s, very little was known about the human body or about reproduction. Disease was believed to be caused by such things as punishment for sin or from “bad” air. Medicine often consisted of bloodletting by incision or leeches. Barbers often doubled as surgeons and surgeons doubled as barbers. Cleanliness and sterilization were practically non-existent. Anesthesia often consisted of a bottle of whiskey. About human anatomy little was known
I was talking like a Pennsylvania Dutchman.
My grandfather read my mind, of course, just like all those sent before him. “Right you are. Some of the early studies were pretty crude. Und quit trying to talk like a Dutchman.”
“What do you mean by this,” I asked.”
“Vell, around the middle 1500s, Andres Vesalius – dat’s spelled vit a real “v” --started dissecting human bodies to understand the structure of the human body. Can you think of the poor students sitting in a room with the stench of rotting flesh.”
“Ugh! No refrigeration back then.”
“Think about the understanding of digestion. One scientist started by examining the indigestibles regurgitated by his pet hawk. Another attached a string to his food and pulled it back up his throat. He found that after 23 hours and numerous string retrievals the food was gone.
“Or, consider reproduction. Pants were put on male frogs; no sperm no reproduction. We all owe a debt of gratitude to Gabriel Fallopius. He not only examined the inner ear and the tubes named for him, he invented the condom.”
The last surprised me. “I always thought some guy named Trojan invented the condom.”
My grandfather just gave me a sour look at this attempted humor.
“Anthony von Leeuwenhoek made quality microscopes in the 17th century and vas the first to see microbes and bacteria. Connect them wid disease, he did not. Der microscope became a major tool for biology. Paracelsus thought diseases were caused by external sources; not sin. Most everyone back then thought disease was punishment for some sin
“The floodgates of anatomical and biological knowledge opened up in the 1700s. Nerves were shown to be the instruments of sensation sending messages to the spinal cord and brain to enact voluntary and involuntary movement. The circulation of blood, the structure of capillaries, arteries, and veins were understood. Iodine, strychnine, morphine, and bromine were introduced.
“In the 1800s, Louis Pasteur the founder of germ theory became. This led to what we now know as pasteurization and vaccines were developed by he and others. Anthrax, rabies, chicken cholera, tetanus, smallpox, and diphtheria vaccines were introduced. This after my time on Earth was.
“Gregor Mendel, an Augustinian monk used peas to conduct experiments in plant hybridization and developed statistical laws of heredity including dominant and recessive genes.”
I proudly commented that his work would not be recognized until the 20th century when he would be considered the father of the science of genetics.
“Then, just before the turn of the century, Wilhelm Conrad Roentgen discovered x-rays which were destined to become one of the greatest tools in medicine and biological research. Chust imagine, inside der body you could see.
“Before the 20th century, infectious disease was the major cause of death. Now due to the discovery of antitoxins and antibiotics, most infectious diseases had been conquered. One of the most frightening diseases, infantile paralysis, or polio, finally was on the way out. Jonas Salk produced the vaccine in 1955 which bears his name. Later, an oral vaccine was developed. Der kinder liked this better because shots were not required.
“Also, scientists learned diet deficiencies and absence of various vitamins caused diseases including pellagra, scurvy, beriberi, rickets, and some forms of night blindness. Vitamin supplements helped prevent and cure many of these. Putting iodine in salt nearly eliminated goiters.”
I broke into my grandfather’s monologue. “I’m confused about the differences between bacteria, germs and viruses. Can you clear this up for me?”
“Dis is not easy but I’ll try. There are thousands of different kinds. All of them are single cell, self-reproducing organisms. We used to lump all bacteria together. Now, we know that they are broken down into Bacteria, Achaea, and Eukarya. They evolved differently. We call them germs if they cause disease. Actually, many of them are good. They are used to produce cheese, wines, yoghurt and other products. They are useful in waste processing and even cleaning up oil spills.
“Just not good enough; at curing oil spills this is.” I was thinking about the BP disaster in the Gulf.
“I don’t know what a BP is. I do know dat a virus is a parasitic, submicroscopic organism. Bacteria, Achaea, and Eukarya reproduce by simply dividing. The virus must have a cell host to duplicate itself. The virus causes diseases because it often causes the death or alteration of the host cell. Scientists can now use electron microscopes to see viruses.”
“This is enough on the subject,” I interrupted. “If I want to learn more I’ll go to Wikipedia.” I was getting antsy. I wanted to go back to the B&B, have a good dinner, then get up early and catch my flight back to Anna Maria Island. I could see my great grandfather was ready to get back to wherever he came from, too.
“Yust one more thing, I have to tell you,” he said. “Maybe most important of all.”
“Lay it on me,” I responded.
“Vell, basically cells are nature’s building blocks for all plants and animals tissues. All life starts as a single cell. An egg is a single cell from which an organism develops. I told you Gregor Mendal found dominant and recessive genes which determine the plant’s or animal’s characteristics. Each cell has a nucleus and a chromosome. Each human male and female normally has 21 chromosomes. Within each chromosome are genes. Each gene controls a specific trait. Each gene supervises the production of just one enzyme. The genetic information is carried by the DNA molecule in the cell.”
“What does DNA stand for,” I asked.
“Deoxyribonucleic acid. The information is carried from the DNA by the RNA to the cell. This is Ribonucleic Acid. The only difference is DNA has one less oxygen atom. RNA predates DNA in evolution.”
“I changed the subject somewhat I’ve heard of genomes. What are they,” I asked?
“A genome is the entire set of instructions in the nucleus of every cell. Each cell has two genomes; one from each parent. One genome has 3,100,000,000 components. The entire human cell system has 100 trillion cells.
“The double helix was discovered in 1953. Very simplistically, think of two spiral staircases in which the steps are connected and then merge so the two become just one staircase. These are the parents’ two genes merging into one to form the new human.
“So this is when the Human Genome Project began,” I query?
“Yes, and the first draft was not complete until June 26, 2000. On this day, then President Bill Clinton and British Prime Minister Tony Blair simultaneously proclaimed ‘Today, we are learning the language in which God created life. With this profound new knowledge, humankind is on the verge of gaining immense new power to heal.’ Note they included the word God.”
“I noticed this. I’ve also read somewhere 2,000 diseases are genetic in nature,” I add. “These may now be cured by something called gene splicing.”
“Yes and another visitor will discuss this at greater length.”
“Thank goodness,” I sigh.
“Just a couple more minutes,” my great grandfather said. “The last angel noted the discovery of DNA and gene mapping proved more valuable to the theory of evolution than anything Darwin and Wallace dreamed.”
“I remember this,” I replied, “but how so?”
“The human and mouse genomes, in fact, all mammals are remarkably similar. Human and chimpanzees genomes difference in sequence by only one percent. The big difference is the gene involved in language.
“Another example is the Parsees of India who believe they are descended from the Zoroastrians rather than from the Indians. Genetic analysis agrees. Also, Jews are practically indistinguishable from all other Middle Eastern groups.”
“I know. Both Jews and Arabs had Abraham – or Abrahim -- for a father.”
“Well,” my ancestor said, “it’s time for both of us to go home. We’ll probably not meet again but it’s been nice meeting a descendent of mine.”
I hugged my great…..great grandfather. He felt solid. I guessed this is the way the Divine Soul wanted him to be for this visit.
I kept glancing at him as I made my way to my car. When I opened my door, I looked again. He was gone.
The next morning so was I. As Thomas Wolfe wrote, “You can’t go home again.” I didn’t even want to. Anna Maria Island was now my home and Anna Maria Island here I come!

#####

Chapter 13 - Angels in the Sand

2010-09-14T12:49:00.000-07:00

Copyright 2010 John R. Wilhelm

ANGELS IN THE SAND
BY
JACK WILHELM

CHAPTER 13 – THE UNIVERSE, THE EARTH, AND MANKIND EVOLVES

I’m in the crystal clear water of the Gulf. Anna Maria Island has, thankfully, not been touched by the oil spill which has done untold damage to northern Gulf beaches, marshes, and its marine and bird life.
All of a sudden, I feel literally thousands of tiny creatures hitting my legs. I look down and see a cloud of tiny, translucent fish. They are only a fraction of an inch long with only the head and gastro-intestinal tracts visible. They seem to be an aquatic equivalent of a swarm of hatching gnats or May flies you encounter on land. Suddenly, the cloud begins to bunch up and turn black.
As I watch, schools of baitfish dart in to feed on the tiny defenseless creatures. Next come flocks of birds – pelicans, terns, and seagulls – ravenously tearing up the baitfish. I realize I am watching an example of the food chain.
I begin to fear the next predator’s approach. The predator may be large enough to think I am just another part of the food chain. I cautiously head back to the beach.
Just then, a friend, whose job is raking and cleaning the beaches, drives by. Anxious to know what the tiny creatures were, I flag him down. Bill had been a lifelong commercial fisherman who lost his livelihood when gill nets were banned by the government. Fortunately, he found a job with the county cleaning the miles of public beaches on the Island.
I tell him of my experience. “What were those tiny critters,” I ask.
Bill knows exactly what they are. “They are glass minnows,” he replies. “They are fascinating because they bunch up and turn black when threatened.”
“I noticed this,” I reply.
“If they are really scared,” he continues, “they bunch up into a tiny ball and turn red. It’s their defense mechanism.”
“Their defense wasn’t working, considering how many were eaten. Maybe they’ll turn red next time,” I said as I thanked him and returned to my beach chair.
I reminisced. I had been around water all my life but had never seen glass minnows before. Strange. Stranger still was the approach of a man in clerical robes. He sat down beside me and introduced himself.
“I am Athanasus Kircher. I’m famous for being known as the father of Egyptology. I’ve been sent to discuss the evolution of the universe, the Earth, and mankind with you.”
Just what I needed on a beautiful, relaxing day at the beach. Also, I couldn’t help wondering why the Divine Soul didn’t dress all these messengers in appropriate clothes for the hot, humid Florida sun. Oh, well, there must be a reason.
“Not necessarily,” my visitor commented, “the Divine Soul has made three mistakes I can think of. Besides not clothing his angels appropriately.”
Damn, all these visitors can read my mind. I obviously must be pretty simple-minded. “Please explain yourself,” I said.
“First of all, don’t even use profanity in your thoughts,” he remonstrated. Then he began to explain. The Divine Soul created the Universe somewhere around four billion years ago and decided to just let it evolve by itself.”
“Today, we call this deism,” I chimed in.
“Exactly,” my visitor answered, “and until about 500 million years ago the Universe, the stars, and their planets just prepared themselves for the introduction of life. Then, the Divine Soul decided to introduce life. After all, a lifeless universe isn’t very interesting.
“A proponent of science, the Divine Soul just let life evolve. Today, your archeologists call this explosion of life forms the Cambrian age which was part of the Paleozoic era. This was the Divine Soul’s first mistake.”
“I’ve studied all these various stages of the Earth’s evolution in school sometime,” I interject. “Frankly, I don’t remember much about them.”
“You can look all this up on-line if you want,” my visitor replies, “but you don’t need to know about them for our discussion today.
“Unfortunately, the evolutionary process and the survival of the fittest resulted in dinosaurs ruling the earth for nearly 200 million years. The Divine Soul realized his experiment had gone wrong. He eliminated the dinosaurs and gave mammals a chance.”
“I’ve read scientists believe asteroids striking the earth may have eliminated the dinosaur,” I comment “Although this and other theories can be questioned,” I add.
“How the Divine Soul chose to eliminate the dinosaur is immaterial. The important point is the Divine Soul eliminated them. The Divine Soul should have eliminated them sooner and this was the second mistake.”
“Like my Momma used to say, ‘If you don’t start something, you don’t have to end it.’ She was talking about the types of girls I ran around with though!”
“She was right,” my visitor replied. “A corollary is to always solve a problem early before it goes too far and becomes a crisis.”
“I’ll remember this,” I promise. “What was the third mistake?”
“Just like modern day scientific discoveries, evolution evolves a step at a time. One discovery leads to another—a building block approach. The Divine Soul saw one evolutionary improvement after another finally ending up with man.”
“Yes,” I interjected. “Human beings have only been around for about 400,000 years.”
“Right,” my visitor replied, “and this is just a blink of an eye compared to eternity. Man developed a thumb so he could grab things, binocular vision so he could use his eyes without turning his head, and a brain with which he could think. This enabled him to develop speech, then writing, then printing which let him pass learning on to others.”
“So where was the mistake?”
“Allowing a building block brain development,” Athanasius replied.
“I always thought the human brain was a marvelous development,” I commented.
“It is. The brains convolutions increase the surface area available for information storage. Its circuitry is more wonderful than any devised by humans. It has two hemispheres; a right for pattern recognition, intuition, sensitivity, and creativity; a left for rational, analytic, and critical thinking. Together, the two hemispheres generate ideas and test their validity. They are bridged by a bundle of nerves named the corpus callosum.”
“Once again, where is the mistake.”
“Because the brain was allowed to evolve in successive stages. The oldest, the brain stem conducts the basic biological functions including heartbeat and breathing. Next is the R-complex which is the seat of aggression, ritual, and territorial and social hierarchy.
“The limbic system – or mammalian brain – surrounds the R-complex and is the seat of moods, emotions, including care for the young.
“On the outside, is the cerebral cortex which is the site of intuition and critical analysis. This is what really differentiates our species from others. Our knowledge is encoded in cells called neurons which are microscopic electrochemical switching elements. There is something like 100 billion such connections in the human cerebral cortex.
“Even in sleep, the brain is pulsing, throbbing and flashing. It is dreaming, remembering, and figuring things out.”
“I understand this. Sometimes I stay awake all night because I can’t stop thinking. All in all, though, the Divine Soul did a fine job. I still don’t see a mistake.”
“The R-complex was left. It evolved millions of years ago in reptilian ancestors.”
“You mean this part of the brain was the brain of Tyrannosaurus Rex and today’s snakes, crocodiles, and alligators.”
“Right and it’s the cause of most of mankind’s prejudices, aggressions, overpopulation, religious dogma, and wars.”
“Wow! Maybe there’s something to the temptation of Eve by a serpent in the Garden of Eden.”
“There’s always an element of truth in every fable which satisfies mankind at its early stage of development. The problem is most people don’t realize it for what it is – a fable.
I am ready to go back in swimming. I can’t invite my guest to go also. In the first place, I’d don’t have an extra bathing suit. In the second place, I don’t know if anyone who lived in the 1600s even bathed much less swam. I decide to ask the final questions.
“How do we know about the evolution of the Earth and mankind,” I query?
“Those are fair questions,” he replies. “First, let’s look at how we determine the age of things. We determine the age of rocks by their rate of radioactive decay. We know the moon rocks returned by the astronauts who landed on the moon are about 4.6 billion years old. So are meteorites which have been survived the Earth’s atmosphere.
“The oldest earth rocks are about 3.9 billion years old.”
“Why the difference,” I asked?
“It’s believed the Earth was molten and took time to form a solid crust. Our moon and meteorites were smaller and, therefore, cooled faster.”
“How about the age and evolution of life?”
“You know untold numbers of fossils and bones of various animals have been found. These can be dated by carbon analysis and radioactive decay. The strata of earth in which they are found also help scientists determine the era to which they belong.
“Charles Darwin and Alfred Russell Wallace jointly announced the theory of evolution and touched off a firestorm from the religious zealots who took the Biblical story of creation literally. Today, only the fanatics disagree with the theory of evolution. Evolution in no way negates the existence of the Divine Soul, or God.
I interrupt again. “Didn’t the discovery of DNA and the genome program corroborate the theory of evolution?”
“Yes, it did. Unraveling DNA proved Darwin and Wallace more right than those two men ever dreamed.”
“Can you explain DNA to me?”
“Sorry, an explanation of DNA is the subject for another angel’s visit. You’ll just have to wait. I will mention another disturbing theory, however.
“Which theory is it,” I ask.
“Malthusian theory,” Athanasus replies. “Thomas Robert Malthus postulated human population is increasing geometrically while the means to support this population is only increasing arithmetically.”
“You mean population expands 2, 4, 8, 16, 32 but means of support increases 1, 2, 3, 4?”
“Yes, and you’ve seen or heard tales of starvation in many parts of the world. Malthus maintains overpopulation leads to disease, war, poverty, vice, and survival of the fittest.”
“I’d thought of this,” I say, “and advances in nutrition and medicine result in more people living longer which only adds to overpopulation.”
“You’re right. The population of newborns is increasing geometrically at one end of the human spectrum and fewer people are dying at the other end. There’s a definite imbalance occurring.”
“Does this mean the Divine Soul may step in and eliminate us as the dinosaurs were eliminated?”
“No,” my visitor stated as he rose to leave, “I think the Divine Soul will let you eliminate yourselves – or not – it’s up to you.”
After he left, I sat on the beach thinking about all the wars, the religious conflicts, the pollution, the energy crisis, the dependence on fossil fuels, and the widening gap between the ‘haves’ and ‘have nots’. Boy, I thought to myself, this guy certainly knew how to screw up my perfectly lovely day!

####

Chapter 11 -- Angels in the Sand

2010-08-11T16:14:00.000-07:00

ANGELS IN THE SAND
BY
JACK WILHELM

CHAPTER 11 – THE UNIVERSE IS INCOMPREHENSIBLE TO ME

The final loud booms, the sparks, and the “ooohs and aaahs” of the crowd were just fading. Anna Maria Island’s annual Fourth of July fireworks were over. I sat on the beach waiting for the crowds to clear.
The sky was clear. I could see the moon and a few stars – actually, the planets Mars and Venus. The sea fog obscured most of the stars but I could barely make out the Big Dipper. I thought back to a camping trip in Nova Scotia where the whole sky seemed to be ablaze with stars.
Suddenly, a man sat down beside me. My initial impression was this wasn’t a man; it was a walrus. Two tusks, which I later identified as two moustaches, extended from the man’s nose and continued past his chin. His clothes indicated he was from the 1600s. He wore a black velvet greatcoat which came up well above his neck set off by a huge white collar. A closer inspection showed blond hair and goatee and blue eyes. He wore a gold or copper cup over his nose.
I was embarrassed but I couldn’t stop staring. He seemed not to mind. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Tycho Brahe, mathematician and astronomer to the King of Denmark and, later, to Rudolph II, the Holy Roman Emperor.”
Golden throated me, I blurted out, “What are you wearing on your nose?”
“Oh, this is just a little souvenir I earned from dueling,” he smiles. “My antagonist cut off my nose. Of course, we didn’t have plastic surgeons back then so I fashioned a nose cup.”
“Well, it’s certainly a conversation piece,” I mumble. “A nose cup is certainly better than just two holes in your head where your nose used to be.”
“Enough about me,” he interrupts. “I notice you were star gazing. I kept detailed records of our clockwise universe’s movement for twenty years. My assistant, Johannes Kepler, used my data to develop his laws of planetary motion.”
“So, you’re the father of astronomy,” I ask?
“Heavens, no,” he replies. “Ptolemy, who worked in the Library of Alexandria, in the 2nd century, is credited as being the father of astronomy. He first named many stars, listed their brightness, and set rules for predicting eclipses.
“Of course, mankind has always been fascinated by stars and their movement. Primitive man used celestial time to predict the migration of the animals he hunted, when to plant his crops, and when to meet with other nomadic tribes. In medieval times, most people thought the stars ruled their lives. Astrology really boomed.”
“Astrology is still very important to many people,” I rejoin. “You can read your horoscope every day in your local newspaper.”
“Whatever turns you on,” he replies.
My visitor was certainly hip but I knew his visit was to do more than trade ‘coolness.’
I also knew Galileo Galilei, an Italian mathematician, was the first to use a rudimentary telescope to study the heavens.
“Yes,” my visitor responds. “He found the first satellites orbiting a planet like the moon orbits the Earth. He named Jupiter’s moons Io, Europa, Ganymede, and Callisto. Astronomers later on found 12 more moons circling Jupiter making a total of 16 satellites. The first four are still known as the Galilean moons.”
“Isn’t the telescope still the primary tool of astronomers,” I ask?
“Yes, it is,” my visitor responds. “There are two types of optical telescopes which use the visible spectrum. The one used by Galileo is the refracting telescope. Newton devised a better one which is known as the reflecting telescope.”
“What’s the difference,” I ask.
“Look it up when you’re ready to buy one,” Tycho answers.
“Actually, I probably won’t buy one since you can hardly ever see the stars here anyway.”
“Actually, the earth is a lousy place to observe the heavens because of clouds, and natural and manmade smoke, and debris.
“Anyway, the Earth’s largest optical telescopes are Keck 1 and 2. They are located in Hawaii on Mauna Kea, an extinct volcano, at an elevation of 13,790 feet above sea level.”
“At least you hope it’s extinct,” I remark.
“So far; so good,” Tycho responds.
“There’s also special telescopes for observing the Sun. These use a rotating mirror to guide sunlight down a tunnel. The tunnel is buried to keep temperature constant. The light is reflected to a secondary mirror for viewing and spectral analysis.”
“Isn’t there another type called the radio telescope,” I ask.
“Yes, there is. Optical telescopes capture visible light radiation but stars also emit radio waves which have longer wavelengths which the human eye can’t see.”
“Don’t stars emit signals across the whole electromagnetic spectrum?”
“Yes. As you know, the electromagnetic spectrum includes radio waves, microwaves, infrared, visible, ultraviolet, x-rays, and gamma rays.
“The stars emit streams of photons, which are particles without mass in a wavelike pattern traveling at the speed of light. Each photon contains a quantum, or bundle, of energy. The only difference is the amount of energy each quantum contains. The Sun also gives off neutrinos which have little or no mass but travel at nearly the speed of light. Trillions of them pass through you body every second.
“The only electromagnetic waves which reach the earth to any extent are those in the visible or radio portions of the spectrum. Some ultraviolet waves reach earth but most are absorbed by the Earth’s atmosphere.”
“Some UV must get through,” I observe,” or I wouldn’t be wearing sunscreen lotion. Also most dermatologists would be out of business.”
“True enough. Also, astronomers can observe some of the stars’ infrared waves from on top of mountains or from an aircraft or satellite.
“This is all very interesting but you still haven’t told me how a radio telescope works.”
“Basically, radio waves from stars are collected by a ‘dish’ antenna which bounces them to a feed antenna which transforms them into an electrical signal. These electrical signals are changed into an image by a computer.
“The world’s biggest single dish radio telescope is located in Arecibo, Puerto Rico.”
“How big is it,” I ask?
“It’s 1000 feet across. However, the Very Long Baseline Antenna, known as the VLBA, strings ten different dishes across the hemisphere from Hawaii to Puerto Rico and has them coordinated together. This arrangement, operated by the National Radio Astronomy Observatory, has been scoping out the stars since 1993.”
“What about the Hubble Space Telescope,” I interject.
“I said the Earth was a lousy place to observe the universe. So The Hubble Space Telescope was launched to get clear of the Earth’s atmosphere. It is 380 miles up, and has a reflecting telescope with cameras to record both visible and IR light. It also contains a spectrograph, and instruments to measure the position of the stars. The information it obtains is transmitted to other satellites and thence to the ground.”
“How much better is the Hubble telescope than telescopes on the ground?”
“At least, ten times better, partly because it has no atmosphere to contend with.”
I am getting impatient. I’d been up all day and it was getting late. “How much more do you have to tell me,” I ask.
“Hey, we’re talking about infinity,” he answers. “How long does it take to explain infinity?”
I groan.
“By the way, did you know the Earth is the brightest object in the solar system at some frequencies as well as the most powerful radio source?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m talking about radio, TV, and radar transmissions. Radio transmissions began in the early 1900s. Television broadcasting began in the 1940s and has increased dramatically since then. Every radio and television program broadcast is on its way to outer space.”
“Even the commercials,” I exclaim!
“Even the commercials,” Tycho responds.
“My God,” I moan, “what will the extraterrestrials think of us when they get Law and Order, Bones, or House. Or worse yet, a Bud Light commercial or Howdy Doody?”
“Well,” Tycho replies, “they may like football; I do. Unless it’s the Tampa Bay Bucs!”
“Let’s talk about happier things. Tell me how big the Universe is.”
“I can’t tell you because it’s still expanding at nearly the speed of light. I can give you some highlights, however.
“The Earth is 7,026 miles in diameter; the Sun’s is 864,000 miles. The earth’s orbit is 186,000,000 miles across.
“By contrast, he Milky Way is 100,000 light years across; what we call our Local Group is 6,000,000 light years across; and the Observable Universe is 26 to 30 billion light years across. That’s billion with a ‘B.’ Remember, light travels 186,000 miles per second or 6 trillion miles per year.”
“My God,” I exclaim again, “I can’t even begin to comprehend those distances. They’re almost as incomprehensible as Obama’s budget and the U.S. deficit.”
My visitor chuckles. “Let’s finish off this session by talking about the star which is most important to you.”
“You mean the Sun?”
“Right you are. The earth is part of the solar system which has one star, nine planets, 63 moons (at last count), 6 large asteroids, and vast numbers of smaller asteroids, comets, and meteoroids. There are also countless particles of dust and gas known as interplanetary medium.
There is also gas from the solar wind.”
“I’ve read asteroids often hit the earth and other planets. Isn’t this what eliminated dinosaurs?”
“It’s one possibility,” Tycho replied. “Most asteroids and meteorites burn up in the earth’s atmosphere. In fact, you’ll have fireworks again next month.”
“What do you mean,” I query?
“Each August, the Earth travels through the Pleiades which are millions of tiny particles also in orbit around the Sun. The burn up when they hit the earth’s atmosphere creating a spectacular display.”
“I’ll be sure to watch it,” I enthuse. “But suppose, we were hit by a really large asteroid?”
“It would be a disaster just as bad as the explosion of a nuclear bomb. In fact, one did explode in the air over central Siberia, near the town of Tunguska, on June 30, 1908. It first was seen as a giant fireball and then exploded. The explosion leveled 2000 square kilometers of forest and burned thousands of trees in a flash fire near impact. The shock wave circled the Earth twice. So much dust was in the air for two days you could read a newspaper by scattered light in London which is 10,000 kilometers away.
“There was no impact crater so scientists believe it was an icy comet fragment, probably about a hundred meters in diameter, weighing a million tons, and traveling about 70,000 miles per hour.”
“What if this happened today?”
“The Earth is much more heavily populated today. It would be like the effect of a one-megaton nuclear burst except there would be no gamma radiation or radioactive fallout.”
“It sure might trigger a nuclear war as well,” I speculate.
“Yes, it might,” my visitor replies. “But, you said you were ready to go home. Let’s finish up.
“The sun is a gigantic nuclear reactor, is mostly gas, and is a gigantic magnet. Because, it is gas, its magnetic field lines act differently than those on Earth. The Sun rotates faster at its equator than at its poles. The magnetic field lines at the equator are ahead of the poles. They also rise and fall with the currents of hot gas. They rise to the surface of the sun where they form sunspots and release energy as prominences and other eruptions. Eventually, the magnetic fields weaken, the surface calms down, and activity decreases. Then, the process starts all over again.”
“Tell me a little about the solar wind,” I request.
“The Sun loses charged gas particles called plasma. Plasma escapes from the Sun’s magnetic fields and build up tremendous speed – up to 470 miles per second. Most of this solar wind goes around the Earth. When it hits the atmosphere, the particles hit atoms and molecules in the Earth’s atmosphere causing them to glow in eerie colors.”
“We call these effects, the Northern Lights or the Aurora Borealis,” I answer smugly. “Don’t these solar flares also cause disruption of radio signals and electrical power.”
“Yes, they do. On March 10, 1989, shortwave radio operators lost all contact for 24 hours. Communications were lost with satellites. In Montreal, a power surge shut off the city’s electricity for nine hours. Even, automatic garage doors opened and closed for no apparent reason.”
It was almost past my bedtime. “Let’s finish up this session,” I plead.
“Just remember, our Sun, like all stars, is a mass of glowing gas. Pressure causes the nuclei of hydrogen atoms to start smashing into one another. This causes nuclear fusion throwing off energy in the form of heat and light. It also produces helium. Our Sun’s life depends on how fast it turns its hydrogen into helium.”
I yawn. “If I need something to worry about, I’ll worry about the Sun’s life tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry,” he comments, as he turns to leave. “You won’t be around to see it.”
Wanting to have the last word, I respond, “Not unless I happen to be reincarnated at the time.”
Tycho smiles and disappears into the darkness. I head for home, trying desperately to comprehend this universe the Divine Soul has created. I give up knowing it was useless. I vow just to enjoy what has been made.

####

Chapter 11 -- Angels in the Sand

2010-07-14T11:54:00.000-07:00

Copyright 2010 John R. Wilhelm

ANGELS IN THE SAND
BY
JACK WILHELM

CHAPTER 11 – THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE IS MADE OUT OF NOTHING

It was misting and looked as if it were going to really rain. Ominous clouds were moving in from the south. I looked to the north. There seemed to be a storm brewing there, too. Suddenly, a beautiful rainbow appeared. It stretched across the sky from one storm cloud to the other.
I had to sit and enjoy the beauty of the rainbow. So what if I got wet; after all I was in a bathing suit and was going swimming if it didn’t lightning.
Within a few minutes, the Sun broke through, the clouds dissipated, and the rainbow disappeared.
Almost as suddenly, a strangely dressed man approached.
“May I sit here,” he asked politely. He had a Dutch accent.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Antony van Leeuwenhoek. I’m here to discuss the basic composition of the universe with you.”
He wore a long-sleeved velvet coat and was obviously uncomfortable in Florida’s summer heat. “Why don’t you take off your coat,” I suggested. “You’ll be more comfortable.”
He did but this only revealed a white, starched long-sleeved shirt with ruffles around his collar and wrists. He had long brown curly hair. This reminded me of the long, white curled wigs worn by British jurists. Except, in this case, van Leeuwenhoek’s hair was real.
Fortunately, a sea breeze sprung up and this made the heat more bearable.
I remembered my old science classes. “You’re the gentleman who invented the microscope.”
“Not exactly. Others put lenses together to improve vision. I did design better lenses and became the foremost manufacturer of microscopes of my time. This was acknowledged by the outstanding scientific fellowship known as the British Royal Society. The Society said my microscopes were the best available.”
I knew lenses had been used for centuries. The Assyrians used lenses and ground lenses were found in the ruins of Pompeii and Nineveh.
“Can you imagine,” he continued? “I took a drop of water and found it full of living organisms. I scraped plaque off my teeth. The plaque was full of microscopic protozoa and bacteria. I was both excited and dismayed. I had living creatures living inside me and living in the water I drank! I didn’t know what to call these living creatures, so I called them ‘animalcules.’ No one had ever seen these living, microscopic creatures before.
“Only a few years earlier, Galileo had used a series of lenses to build a telescope and was exploring the heavens more extensively than others had been able to do.
“The scientific race was on. Scientists were exploring the building blocks of the Universe on one hand and the limitless depths of the Cosmos on the other. I am discussing the very small. Another angel will talk to you about the very large.”
“It seems as though all scientific progress stopped for almost 2000 years,” I interjected.
“Do you think the Divine Soul did not feel mankind was ready for a giant leap in knowledge?”
“It’s possible,” van Leeuwenhoek mused.”Whatever the reason, there’s no question, however, scientific advances all but stopped during what historians call the Dark Ages. Consider the world’s basic building block; the atom. An ancient Greek, Leucippus speculated you could reach the smallest particle too small to be seen. He called the particle the atom.”
“What does atom mean,” I questioned?
“It is the Greek word for unsplittable. His student Democritus” he continued, “said nothing but empty space existed between atoms.”
“When was this,” I questioned.
“Somewhere during the third century BCE. They thought the atom was a microscopic round ball. Which wasn’t too far off the mark,” he added. It’s actually a nearly empty sphere; a microscopic solar system.
“As we discuss this subject, I want to make one thing clear,” he added.
“What thing,” I asked?
“In our discussion, I’m only going to mention a few names. Actually, the advance of science involved hundreds – even thousands -- of scientists. If you are interested in all their names and contributions, there’s many good books on the history of science. Go see your friendly librarian.”
“My librarian is blond and a real dish,” I exclaimed.
“So much the better. You’ll enjoy exploring the history more. However, let’s get back to the subject.
“In the late 1600s, Isaac Newton came up with laws of inertia and the law of inverse square. The law of inertia states a moving object tends to continue in a straight line unless something influences and moves the object out of its path. This force is gravity which applies to the very small and the very large.
“The law of inertia says gravity declines inversely as the square of its distance from an object. The rules of gravity apply everywhere in the universe.”
I had studied Isaac Newton in school. He is generally considered to be the outstanding scientific genius of all time. Albert Einstein was thought to be the only one who even approached Newton’s capability. I also knew Newton had even invented integral and differential calculus. This boggled my mind because I just barely got through algebra, geometry, and trigonometry.
“Let me try to simplify this,” I said. “What goes up must come down unless the object goes fast enough that it gets far enough away to break free of the force of gravity. Or, like our satellite launches, our moon, and our earth itself, the object reaches a balance with gravity and remains in orbit.”
“This puts it nicely,” he agreed. Now, let’s back up a minute. Various chemical elements were known and others were being discovered. Also, it was generally accepted atoms had protons and electrons. Also, each chemical element had a weight of its own.
“In 1894, a Russian scientist, Dmitri Mendeleyev classified known chemical elements into periodic tables by atomic weight. Where gaps existed, he realized the element had not been discovered. He left room in the table for the undiscovered elements.”
“Give me an example,” I asked.
“Okay, an element with one proton is hydrogen, two is helium, three is lithium, four is beryllium, five is boron, six is carbon, seven is nitrogen, eight is oxygen, and so on up to 92 which is uranium. Uranium is the last element found in nature.”
“What does this mean?”
“There are now 118; all past 92 are manmade; most discovered through use of an apparatus called a particle accelerator. These are usually highly radioactive and decay rapidly. In any case, everything in the universe is made up of combinations of these elements.”
I couldn’t resist. “I know an old limerick from grammar school days which explains the idea.”
“Do I have to listen?”
“Hey,” I replied, “I have to listen to you; why shouldn’t you listen to me?”
“Go ahead,” he grumbled.

“Here goes.
“Johnny was a chemist.
“Poor Johnny is no more.
“What Johnny thought was H2O;
“Was H2SO4.”

“What a stupid limerick. Who’d ever drink sulfuric acid?”
“It does illustrate the point doesn’t it,” I replied?
“Okay. This is enough about elements for now,” I said. My head was beginning to hurt again.
“Back to the atom. In the early 1900s, Ernest Rutherford learned each atom must have a number of negative charged electrons equal to the number of positive charged particles, or protons, in the nucleus. The view of the atom was like a tiny planetary system. A nucleus was the Sun of this little planetary system and the electrons were the planets. And, just like planets, the electrons must be in different orbits. .
“One thing remained. There was a discrepancy between atomic number and weight. This led to the discovery of the neutron. In 1910, Cambridge University scientists added a final touch to the nature of the atom. Deep inside is a nucleus composed of positively charged protons and neutrons which have no charge. Electrons are negatively charged but they determine the chemical properties of the atom. Atoms are mainly empty space. Just think, three units – electrons, protons, and neutrons – put together in various combinations with other atoms form everything in the world.”
“So,” I declare triumphantly, “since everything is composed of atoms the whole world is composed chiefly of nothing.”
“It gets to be almost less than nothing. The nucleus of an atom is 10 trillionth of a centimeter. For you Americans, a centimeter is roughly 0.4 inches. So a centimeter is less than one half inch.”
“Whew,” I shook my head. “It’s really small.”
“It gets worse yet. The invention of the electron microscope and huge particle accelerators led to finding subatomic particles. Some of them have never been seen and scientists only know the probabilities of where they were but not where they are. Some of their names are Hadrons, Baryons, Antibaryons, Mesons, Leptons, Muons, and, at least, four Quarks.”
My headache was getting really bad. “I’ll go look all this up on the internet sometime. For now, just tell me about the electron microscope and particle accelerators.”
“An electron microscope was developed which trains a stream of electrons, instead of light rays, on the object being examined. The electrons are guided by magnets which deflect the electron stream and act like glass lenses in an optical microscope.
“The beam passes through the specimen and is projected onto a viewing screen or photographic plate.”
“Is there more than one type of electron microscope,” I asked.
“Yes, there is. I have explained the transmission electron microscope. There’s a scanning electron microscope in which the electron beam reflects off the specimen rather than passing through it.”
“How much better is an electron microscope than an optical microscope?”
“The best optical microscopes magnify objects 2000 times. An electron microscope magnifies as much as 250,000 to 300,000 times. With this instrument, man had his first look at a bacteriophage which is a bacteria devouring virus. In 1945, the first detailed view of cell anatomy was published.”
“Sir,” I said, “I hate to end this discuss but I really have to go for my swim.”
“I just want to mention three more instruments which are allowing scientists to explore the world of the very tiny.”
“All right,” I said.
“The first is the spectroscope. Each element registers a different color and line on the spectroscope. It allows scientists to determine the elements in any matter. This is particularly important to astronomers exploring the universe. It also is useful right here on earth.
“The second is the interferometer which measures the wavelengths of light and distances.
“How does it work,” I wondered.
“The interferometer transmits two radio signals or beams of light and notes how they reinforce or neutralize each other to determine the measurement.”
“This is clear as mud,” I muttered.
“Trust me; it works,” Antony answered.
“The third is the particle accelerator which uses electromagnetic fields to propel charged particles in well-defined beams. The cathode ray tube in your TV set is a simple form. Particle accelerators are used to study atomic structure, chemistry, physics, biology, and medicine. Huge linear and circular accelerators are used to study the subatomic particles we’ve discussed.”
“I’ve got two burning questions,” I exclaimed. “When I look around, I see solids, liquids, and gases. What is the difference between the three and what holds everything together?”
“Fair questions. The answer to the first is gases, liquids, and solids are just different states of the combination of atoms, molecules, and/ or ions.
I jumped in, “You just mentioned ions. What are they?”
“Ions are just atoms or molecules with either a net positive or negative charge.
“In a gas, the atoms or molecules are far apart, have no regular arrangement, and vibrate and move freely. A gas is compressible, fills the space of its container, and exerts pressure.
“Atoms or molecules in a liquid are close together, have no arrangement, vibrate, but slide past each other, and are not easily compressible.
“In a solid, atoms or molecules are tightly packed in a regular pattern, may jiggle but do not move, and are rigid.
“To answer your second question, everything is bound together by electromagnetic forces. Simply stated; like charges repel and opposite attract. If it weren’t for these forces, everything would fall apart.” He continued. “This is it for now. Your next visitor will talk about the very large; in fact, the universe.”
He got up to leave. I thanked him for his visit and wished him a pleasant journey. I couldn’t believe it when he took out a cell phone and called a cab to take him to Tampa International Airport.
What were angels coming to when they had to use human communications and transportation? Maybe, they were just being oriented to modern civilization.
I sat for a moment in silent contemplation. The Divine Soul had certainly made a simple, elegant, yet very complex, universe out of almost nothing at all. Once again, I couldn’t understand how anyone could believe anything so marvelous just happened.

####

Chapter 10 -- Angels in the Sand

2010-07-07T10:42:00.000-07:00

ANGELS IN THE SAND
BY
JACK WILHELM

CHAPTER 10 – THE WORLD WASN’T CREATED IN SIX DAYS

I sat on the beach considering which bubble was going to burst today. I didn’t have long to wait. A kindly-looking old man with a long flowing white beard sat down beside me. He was dressed in a Tampa Bay Buccaneers T-shirt, knee-length red surfer pants, and flip flops.
He obviously wasn’t Rasheed Morris or, even, Tony Dungee.
“Today,” he said, “you and I are going to take a look at creation.”
I was well aware of the controversies surrounding this subject. I really didn’t want to get involved.
As usual, my visitor read my mind. “Sorry, Jim, but this is one of the subjects which must be resolved if science and religion are going to get along.”
“Where do we begin,” I asked.
“At the beginning,” he chuckled.
I groaned. This guy was as corny as me.
“The Biblical story of creation is in Genesis, the first of the five books of the Pentateuch. Genesis was probably written between 1446 and 1406 B.C. Scripture and church tradition says Moses was the author.”
“I’ve read the story,” I agree.
“The first two chapters are among the most beautiful and influential pieces of prose ever written.”
“You can say this again,” I nodded.
“The first two chapters are among the most beautiful and influential pieces of prose ever written,” my visitor repeated.
“Okay, Okay, alright already.” I was certainly getting a dose of my own medicine.
“Anyway,” he continued, “I’m going to summarize the story just to remind you of the salient points.
I tried to stop him but he was on a roll.
“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth…
“And God said, Let there be light and there was light…the first day
“And God said, Let there be an expanse between the waters to separate water from water…the second day
“And God said, Let the water under the sky be gathered in one place and let dry ground appear…
“Then God said, Let the land produce vegetation…the third day
“And God said, Let there be light in the expanse of the sky to separate the day from the night and let them serve as signs to mark seasons and days and years…the fourth day
“And God said, Let the water teem with living creatures and let birds fly above the earth across the expanse of the sky…the fifth day
“The God said, Let us make man in our image, in our likeness…
“So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him: male and female he created them…the sixth day
“Thus the heavens and the earth were completed in all their vast array
“By the seventh day God had finished the work he had been doing so on the seventh day he rested from all his work…
“Hey,” I say, “you’ve got a pretty good memory.”
“I’m an angel,” he replied.
“I’ve got a couple of nitpickies,” I say. “First, he didn’t get around to separating the day from the night until the fourth day. What did he use to measure the first three days?”
“You’re indeed being nitpicky,” he replied.
“I’ve got a bigger nit to pick.”
“Say away.”
“All religions say no one has ever seen the Divine Soul, God, Allah, Brahman, or whatever. Some medieval artist dreamt up the grandfatherly look with the white flowing beard.
“Okay,” he said, “what’s your point?”
“Have you ever considered when it says ‘made in his image’ he meant spirit or soul not physical body? The artist could not come up with a way to paint a spirit or soul so he used a physical being.”
“Ummm,” my visitor stroked his beard, “there’s Casper the friendly ghost.”
“Get serious,” I said. “You’re not even funny.”
“All right,” he continued, “for century’s people of the Judaistic and Christian faiths have taken these paragraphs in Genesis as fact. This is the way it is.”
I chimed in, “All religions have similar stories in which their deities created everything. Even primitive cultures had similar stories.”
“You’re right,” he said.
Then he continued. “The age of the earth was worked out by Irish prelate James Ussher in 1654. He used careful calculations of Biblical chronology to set the earth’s first day as October 26, 4000 BC, probably at 9 a.m.”
“But there was no time or calendar back then,” I protested.
“As is often the case, there is often a basis of truth in these stories. In this case, the Divine Soul’s time is not our time and a day may have been 100,000 years. We simply do not know. Also, with the unraveling of DNA, scientists and theologians think James Ussher may not have been too far off in determining the roots of the Hebrew and Arab branches of mankind.
“He was, however, way off on the beginnings of the universe and the solar system.
“Of more importance to mankind is not the beginning but the end.”
“I read somewhere the universe and all the suns within it were born, will mature, and die. Our sun will run out of hydrogen to fuel its nuclear reaction and expand as it dies to encompass all the planets.”
“This is one theory. Another is the universe will stop expanding and then contract upon itself. This isn’t too far from the Hindu mythology which believes the universe is infinitely old and has recycled forever.
“Anyway, don’t get worried. We’re talking about millions or billions of years in the future.
“I guess if you really want to worry, worry about catastrophes which are much closer and more realistic to you.”
“You mean like global warming, depletion of the ozone layer, pollution, oil spills, or a nuclear war.”
“Certainly! Now I have been instructed to tell you of the current scientific theory of creation.”
“You mean the big bang theory,” I queried?
“Yes and hold your wiseass remark about there being no time until I’m finished.
“The big bang theory holds that 10 or 20 billion years ago, a small amount of extremely dense matter exploded in pure energy in a fraction of a second. In one second, particles – protons, neutrons, and electrons – expanded to the size of our solar system. These particles were one million times the heat of the center of the Sun.
“In five minutes – of course, there was no time then – a dense fog of protons and neutrons joined to create the first nuclei of atoms. Electrons were attracted to the protons and neutrons to form hydrogen atoms.
“Clouds of hydrogen and helium atoms compressed and thermonuclear reactions began forming protogalaxies. The first stars form and begin emitting light.
“Groups of stars come together forming galaxies.”
I couldn’t contain myself any longer. “I’ve heard the universe is still expanding rapidly. How do we know this?”
“Astronomers can tell the galaxies are still moving away using the Doppler Effect.”
“Isn’t the Doppler Effect the phenomena which makes the changing sound of an emergency vehicle’s siren as it gets closer and then further away?”
“Yes, it is. Then around 1940 astronomers were predicting leftover radiation which hadn’t been transformed into stars should still be there.
“Radio astronomers at Bell Telephone Labs, in Holmdel, New Jersey, heard a weird hum in their antennas. Astronomers recognized the leftover radiation was discovered.
“In 1989, the Cosmic Background Explorer (COBE)…”
I couldn’t resist. “Is this where Cobe Bryant’s Mother got his first name from?”
“No and besides it’s Kobe not Cobe.”
Damn, I thought. This is frightening. This angel even knows about LA Lakers basketball greats.
“Anyway, COBE recorded microwave radiation left over from the Big Bang.
“By the way, if you want to get an idea of an expanding universe, get a balloon and a magic marker. Mark small dots or circles on the balloon. Now inflate it. The dots will expand and move away from each other. A small example of a cosmic fact.”
My visitor left. Once again, I sat pondering all this information. Yes, the Divine Soul
may have taken 20 to 30 billion years rather than six days to build the universe. Does it really matter?
Also, it sounds as if all life, including the stars, are born, mature, die, and are then reborn in a different form. Sounds as if religions aren’t far off when it comes to describing our outcomes. It’s only a matter of detail.
In any case, it is much more important to each of us to ponder where we are going and to live in the here and now. After all,right now is the only life we have.
It is interesting to talk about the formation of the Universe, however.

#####

Chapter 9 -- Angels in the Sand

2010-06-26T10:40:00.000-07:00

Copyright 2010 John R. Wilhelm

ANGELS IN THE SAND
BY
JACK WILHELM

CHAPTER 9 – THE WORLD IS NOT THE CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE

The Gulf is calm. The water is just right; warm but not yet bathtub temperature. I sit there watching terns dive bombing bait fish. A snowy white egret stalks along the shoreline looking for minnows venturing too close. The terns are scoring repeatedly. They hit the water like little white kamikazes with black heads. Each time, they emerge with a bait fish in their beaks.
The egret isn’t having any luck. You can practically see the envy emanating from him as he watches the terns chow down. Finally, he runs awkwardly but quickly and his neck strikes the water quick as a striking snake. His head emerges triumphantly. A minnow quivers in his beak.
High above, I notice the white contrail of a commercial jet liner; probably out of Orlando International. I wonder where it is bound for and am struck by the contrast between nature and man’s technology displayed right here for my viewing pleasure.
A man walks up. I cannot believe my eyes. This visitor’s wardrobe demands description. This particularly galls me because I have railed against authors who fill two thirds of their novels with just such junk. In fact, this character almost defies description.
He’s of average height and weight; swarthy complexion. His clothes hark back to the Middle Ages. He’s wearing a white, silk shirt with a ruffled collar and black knickers. The pants look as if they were made of velvet. He has long, white stockings, and square-toed, leather shoes. His hair is long and curled with something on top which I can only describe as a beret.
He pulls up a chair and sits down by me. I inch away. The beach is full of sun worshippers and this visitor is causing many of them to gawk. It is certainly a strange outfit for the beach.
“Are you an angel,” I ask.
“Yes but I’m still taking a lot of flak for bursting mankind’s egocentric bubble.”
“Let me guess,” I say boldly. “You’re Galileo.” By now, I’d had so many visitors; I expected anyone to show up.
“The man recoils. “If I were alive, I’d challenge you to a duel for even suggesting I was Galileo.”
“I don’t like guessing games. Who are you?”
“I am Nicholas Copernicus, a Polish Catholic clergy.” He stood and bowed low.
“Oh, you’re the guy who had guts enough to say the Sun does not revolve around the Earth nor do the stars and heavens. We are not the center of the universe.”
“That’s me.”
I don’t know whether to address him as Father Nicholas or Mr. Copernicus so I decide to ask. “What should I call you?”
“Nick will do just fine,” he replied, “when in Anna Maria Island do as the Anna Maria Islanders do.”
“I read somewhere your book was banished and you were placed under house arrest and branded a heretic by the Church.”
“The worst of it is was; I didn’t originate the concept. A man, named Aristarchus, defined the ‘heliocentric’ theory is 280 B.C. His theory was repressed for 1800 years until I published my book in 1543 A.D.
“Then, Galileo had the gall to describe me as the ‘restorer and confirmer’ not the inventor of the heliocentric hypothesis. Galileo, the wimp, genius that he was, recanted the theory to avoid persecution by the Church.
“Nevertheless, Aristarchus and I were right. Neither humans, nor the Earth, enjoy a privileged position in the universe.
“Believe me this was hard for humans to swallow. In fact, the Catholic Church didn’t recognize this until the 1920s.”
“I can understand this,” I interject. “Hell, I know a lot of people who think the universe revolves around them.
“You know,” I muse, “we’re still not much better. We say the sun rises and the sun sets but, really, the Sun stands basically still. It’s the earth which revolves once each 24 hours; not the Sun. The Earth also revolves around the Sun once a year.”
“Actually, not quite,” Nick responds, “which is why we have leap year.”
“Of course,” my visitor notes, “the Sun revolves within our galaxy and our galaxy revolves around the Universe.”
I change thoughts. “This is kind of like the ancients who thought the Earth was flat or square and you’d sail off the edge. Logic should have told them differently. If the Earth was flat or square, a boat’s stern would have been the last thing you saw when it disappeared over the horizon. Instead, the sails are the last to disappear. This should have indicated the Earth was a sphere.”
“It took mankind a long time to realize this,” my visitor comments.
“Anyway, the more civilization advanced, the worse it got,” Nick replied. “The mythical goddess of Samos, an Island in the Aegean Sea, supposedly squirted her milk across the heavens causing what you call the Milky Way.”
“This babe must have had a set of boobs like fire hoses,” I comment.
“Astronomers believed the Milky Way was the only galaxy in the Universe. Then in 1924, Edwin Hubble discovered a spiral galaxy, named M31, which is two-million light years away.”
I am at a loss because I have no reference books on the beach. I only know a light year was a long, long way.
As usual, my visitor reads my mind. “Light travels at 186,000 miles per second. A light year is the distance light travels in a year. When the light we see from M31 left for Earth, there were no humans on our planet.”
I was like the guy in the Staples Company’s TV commercial who says “Wow, that’s a low, low price.”
“Wow, that’s a long, long time,” I say.
“This is nothing,” Nick said, “the distance to the most remote quasars astronomers have discovered are 8-10 billion light years away. We see them today as they were before the Earth, or even the Milky Way, was formed.
“The truth is the Earth is an obscure part of an obscure part of an obscure galaxy in an obscure part of an expanding Universe.”
I try to salvage some small part of my rapidly deflating ego. “The good thing is we are the only advanced civilization in the Universe.”
Nick kept raining on my parade. “As far as we know but this could change, too. Your Carl Sagan, in his book, Cosmos, asserts that the number of stars in the Universe is greater than all the grains of sand on all the beaches of planet Earth.”
“Yes,” I sighed, “and now astronomers have found at least one of these Suns has planets circling around it.”
“There’s one thing to remember,” Nick summarized. “The Divine Soul has always chosen the insignificant as the ones to be truly influential.”
“This is true,” I added. “Genghis Khan, Augustus Caesar, Napoleon, or even Hilary Clinton, are not the ones who truly impacted civilization over the centuries. It was obscure prophets in Israel, the Upanishad seers, Mohammad, a gentle carpenter from Nazareth, and the Buddha who truly changed our world.”
“Perhaps, this is true of the Earth in the Universe,” Nick said. “In any case, enough philosophizing for now. I must be on my way. He bowed and left. I notice he heads for the street. He apparently does not want sand between his toes.
I sit there thinking about all this. There is usually an analogy in nature. Perhaps, mankind is meant to strive to reach the Divine Soul just as salmon strive to reach the place where they were born.
Certainly, I make a case for this. I think of moon landings, of unmanned space exploration, plans to go to Mars, radio telescopes searching for communications with other intelligent life, unmanned satellites leaving the solar system. Perhaps, subconsciously, mankind is searching for “home.”
After all I muse, isn’t this one of the basic tenets of all religions?

#####

Chapter 8 -- Angels in the Sand

2010-06-23T12:37:00.000-07:00

ANGELS IN THE SAND
BY
JACK WILHELM

CHAPTER 8 – STOP QUARRELING OVER RELIGION VS SCIENCE

I’m sitting on my favorite beach chair meditating. Actually, I’m procrastinating because it’s time to take my daily swim for exercise.
All of sudden a thought flashed through my mind which made me shudder. Scientists and religious fundamentalists should not be antagonistic; but are. The scientists’ position is the existence of the Divine Soul cannot be proven scientifically; therefore the Divine Soul does not exist. The religious fundamentalist says the scriptures say this is the way it happened, I believe the word of God, and this is the way it is.
Why am I having these thoughts? I don’t want anything to do with this discussion. It’s worse than discussing Obama’s liberal philosophy with someone belonging to the Tea Party. I tried to shut these thoughts from my mind but they wouldn’t go away.
Things got worse.
All of a sudden, my thoughts shift slightly to my older brother, Chet. Chet, along with my equally older sister and another brother were my childhood ideals. I spent long hours with them fishing, hunting, hiking, camping, and learning about life in general.
Chet was a high school science teacher. His BS was in Chemistry. He eventually earned his doctorial degree in educational administration and ended his career as a superintendent of schools in New Jersey. In fact, it was probably sibling rivalry which motivated me to get my own college degree and, eventually a doctorate. Of course, this is another story.
Chet was religious. He went to church, taught Sunday school, and sang in the church choir but he was a scientist as well. Moreover, he saw no incongruity in being both.
It did disturb him greatly when so many of his students, coming from religious fundamentalist families, had closed their minds to science. He saw no disparity between the two
and explained his view to me.
He told me, “Jim, religion tells you how to live; not why you live.” He expanded this thought.
“Humans have been around for 250,000 years according to scientists or 4,000 years according to biblical scholars. Archaeologists base their calculation on the study of human remains and excavated artifacts.
“Biblical scholars took all the “begats” in the Bible and added a factor for the age of each succeeding generation.
“Take your pick. It doesn’t really matter.
“Think of it this way. When your four year old daughter asks you where babies come from, how do you answer?”
“I give her enough information to satisfy her at her level of understanding,” I replied.
“Exactly. You would not tell the child about eggs and sperms and that impregnation occurs from Daddy’s penis being inserted into Mommy’s vagina.”
“Of course not! I might tell her the stork brings them. More likely I’d say God puts a seed in Mommy’s tummy and the seed grew into your baby brother.”
“Remember, all religions’ sacred scriptures were written almost 2000 years ago. Man was just beginning to form what we call civilizations. He was only a few centuries from being primarily a hunter and gatherer and living a nomadic life.”
“Of course,” I replied, grasping the underlying concept, “how would have you explained electricity, magnetism, or atomic theory to someone at this level of development. You cannot explain evolution and the big bang theory to an infant.”
“So,” my brother finished the thought, “the Divine Soul provided enough information to satisfy mankind’s questions and curiosity at the stage of development mankind was at when the scriptures were written.”
Mind you, these thoughts were unexpressed; they are all part of my meditation.
Suddenly, a gentle, slender man walked up to me. I immediately thought of a nerdy scholar or a timid professor. His bright orange swim suit stood out like a beacon.
“Bravo! I couldn’t have put it better myself.”
I groused because I hadn’t uttered a word. I was tired of all these angels, or whatever they were, reading my mind.
“Hey, mind reading is one of an angel’s fringe benefits,” he said.
“So tell me what it is you’re here to tell me,” I countered.
“Slow down, Jim. Let’s first talk about events which stood the status quo on its ear. The Chinese were the first to discover fire, the wheel, and make metal implements. Most of the earliest advances in mathematics and science began in India and the near East.”
“Right where most of the world’s religions began,” I inserted.
“Yes, isn’t this interesting,” he replied. “Unfortunately, primitive transportation and communications kept these advances isolated. There was a great library at Alexandria but it was sacked. Then the western world entered into the “dark ages.” The Catholic Church became the repository for most of western art, literature, and knowledge. Church leaders decided the “common” man did not need access to it. Remember, the average person could not read or write; particularly the Latin language. Also, there were no printing presses so copies had to be made by hand.”
“This reminds me of a joke.”
“I was afraid of this,” my visitor said, “but go ahead and tell it.”
“Monks and priests are celibate. One day, the monk teaching the novitiates was asked why they were celibate. He stated the Holy Scriptures commanded this. The novitiate suggested the possibility of a typographical error because there was no spell-check back then. The monk offered to prove it and went to the original document in the catacombs. In a short while, he came back with a bloody head and proceeded to continually bang his head against the wall.
“When asked why he was doing this, he replied the original copy of the Holy Scriptures said to celebrate; not be celibate.”
My visitor groaned. “Please no more jokes anymore.”
“Please tell me where are we going with all this ancient history,” I queried?”
“The Divine Soul thinks humans have progressed far enough to handle the interaction between science and religion maturely. This is where people like you come in.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” I cried. I looked at the beach hoping to see a whale. Being swallowed by a whale was preferable to tackling this subject.
“Sorry,” said my visitor but you are ‘it.’ The Divine Soul picked you. Frankly, the Divine Soul’s been wrong before. Remember the dinosaur. You’ll have another visitor soon.”
“Thanks a lot,” was all I could think to say.

####

Chapter 7 -- Angels in the Sand

2010-06-16T13:16:00.000-07:00

Copyright 2010 John R. Wilhelm

ANGELS IN THE SAND
BY
JACK WILHELM

CHAPTER 7 – PRAYER AND MEDITATION

I’m sitting on the beach doing my usual exercise routine, reading a daily message from “Our Daily Bread,” and a chapter or two from the Bible. I end the session with prayer and meditation. This routine has become a habit. Anything which keeps me from my habit bothers me mentally and emotionally.
So I’m annoyed when my routine is interrupted by a slender young lady walking up to me. She is wearing the traditional Hindu sari which looks slightly out of sync with other young ladies clad in their string bikinis.
However, this seeming incongruity doesn’t bother her a bit. “I have been sent to talk to you,” she says.
I notice a lot of beach goers looking at her curiously. She doesn’t mind so why should I?
“I’ve watched you for several weeks. Prayer and meditation is a daily habit.”
“Yes although I change times because I’m retired and very seldom have any pressing engagements.”
“No need to apologize. Everyone should have this good habit. The timing can depend on when is best for you. The important point is you do it regularly. This requires discipline which everyone should try to develop.”
“I take it we’re going to discuss prayer and meditation today.”
“Right you are. You do know all religions include prayer?”
“Some of my other visitors have mentioned this.”
“All religions use prayer to express thankfulness, repentance, ask for forgiveness for themselves or others, or to make a supplication to their version of the Divine Soul.”
“I understand Moslems have very strict rules of prayer.”
“They do. They must pray five times a day to Allah. They must face Mecca and use prayer mats.”
“I’m spiritual so I pray directly to the Divine Soul; usually at the beach but also anytime I feel the particular need.”
“Do you pray for your own needs or the needs of others?”
“I try to concentrate on requests for others. I do pray for the ability to handle my relationships in the way the Divine Soul wishes. I also ask for knowledge of what I should do with the rest of my life and the will to do it. I firmly believe the Divine Soul knows my needs and takes care of me. I am always thankful for being allowed to live in this beautiful place the Divine Soul has made and for letting me live to enjoy another wonderful day.”
“Do you believe the Divine Soul knows what’s best for you and provides guidance which you can accept or fight?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Give me an example of how you learned this. Most humans keep fighting the Divine Soul all their lives.”
“Come on now, Hindu Angel, or whatever your name is. You all know my life better than I do.”
“Humor me.”
How could I resist such an exquisite young angel?
“I grew up in a family which had very little money but believed in the value of education. So, off I went to college. During vacation at the end of my freshman year, I contracted polio.”
“How did this make you feel?”
“I was devastated. I was an athlete; a good one although never great. I wondered how a merciful Divine Soul could do this to me.”
“Sorry to interrupt but I remember polio; it crippled and killed thousands. But, continue your example.”
“As it turned out, I recovered, received a rehabilitation scholarship, anddeclared 4-F. I was exempt from the draft and missed the Korean War where I would have had a good chance of being wounded or killed. After graduation, I competed for a job and received the job offer. I won not only because I was qualified but because I would not be drafted.”
“So the Divine Soul knew what was best for you.”
“Yes and he led me where I needed to be regardless of how much I tried to rebel.”
“I’ll give another example,” she said. I knew this chick knew all about me!
“How did you end up living on Anna Maria Island, Florida?”
“You’re right. My business career led me to Orlando way back in 1962. It was a paradise then with almost 2000 beautiful lakes, most of which were open for family swimming, fishing, and boating.”
“Why aren’t you still there?”
“Gradually, the area suffered what I consider malignant growth. The developers moved in, Disney moved in, celebrities moved in. Suddenly, the roads were congested, many lakes were polluted, and celebrities began claiming the lakes as their own. It was harder and harder to find a place for public use.”
“What did you decide to do?”
“I retired and decided to move.”
“Why did you choose Sarasota?”
“I guess the Divine Soul guided me because I have no idea why I chose Sarasota. I liked the Florida Keys, the Stuart area, and Crystal River and Homosassa. Something led me to choose Sarasota.”
“Sarasota isn’t Anna Maria Island.”
“It surely isn’t.”
“So, how did you end up here?”
“I visited some friends in Bradenton. On Sunday, they suggested we take the free Beach Express to Manatee County Public Beach on Anna Maria Island. We did and I fell in love with the whole charming area.”
“You’ve been here six years now.”
“Yes, I have and I’m going to be here until I die.”
“Let’s try another one of your life stories.” I wondered where the angel was going this time.
“Did you pray for help when you learned you had prostate cancer?”
“Not really. By this time, I had faith the Divine Soul would do whatever was best for me.”
“Did the Divine Soul?”
“Yes, apparently the Divine Soul wanted me to be cured. Of course, I was happier with this ending than a negative one.”
“Suppose your cancer had not been cured?”
“You know the doctors will not say it’s cured. They say it’s in remission.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I firmly believe I would have accepted it and still placed my trust in the Divine Soul’s wisdom and will for me.”
“Let me get back to other religions’ approach to prayer. You know, Hebrews pray three times a day and have special prayers for their Sabbath, holy days, and holidays.
“Catholics pray at mass and at Eucharist’s, and for penitence, of course.
“Protestants pray at weekly services, prayer meetings, and celebration of the Last Supper. All religions allow their practitioners to pray whenever they wish.
“Many Buddhist and Hindu sects pray for hours at a time. Taoists, Shintoists, and others pray regularly to their ancestors.”
“Let me interrupt for a moment to tell you another story,” I interjected.
“Go ahead,” she answered.
Three years ago, I was setting on the beach reading my Bible. A man, too sunburned to be a native, stopped by and began a conversation. He was a fundamental Christian who believed in prayer and the laying on of hands. Somehow, the conversation got around to my need for knee replacement surgery. He suggested he pray for my recovery. I was nervous about the surgery and figured I’d take all the help I could get.
“He placed his hand on my knee and said a prayer. The surgery was successful.
“This past year, I learned of my prostate cancer. Darned if the same gentleman didn’t show up again. Somehow, the conversation got around to my prostate cancer. Once more, he offered to pray and lay on his hands.
“I politely declined. I didn’t mind the prayer but I sure didn’t want any strange male laying his hand on my crotch! Now, one of you angels would have been a different matter entirely.”
“The other angels told me to watch out for you. Now, let’s get back to the subject. One of the basic differences between Catholicism and Protestantism is the former uses priests, saints, and the Virgin Mother as go-betweens between man and the Holy Trinity. Protestants believe in direct dialing.”
I was getting bored. “Okay, I think I’ve heard enough about prayer. How about meditation?”
“One more question,” she said. “You do believe prayer works?”
“Yes,” I answered truthfully, “I’ve seen it work in my life and the life of others.”
“Just remember,” she concluded, “the Divine Soul may not grant every prayer because what you want may not be the best for you. Also, the Divine Soul operates on universal time which is frustrating to you humans because you want what you want and you want it now!
Waiting teaches patience.
“Also, remember ‘no answer’ is an answer; just not the one you want.”
“What I want right now is to switch the topic to meditation!”
This angel was amused. “I was told patience was not one of your virtues. Meditation is concentrated focusing and thinking on spiritual matters. In this way, you achieve calmness, serenity, wisdom, and release from worldly thoughts.”
“Aren’t Buddhists’ the major proponents of meditation?”
“Yes, they are because they achieve enlightenment through meditation. However, all religions include meditation as a way to gain wisdom and understanding.”
“You know,” I interjected, “I use meditation as a means of making decisions or determining how to handle a difficult situation. I focus on some object on the beach or in the water and clear my mind of all thoughts but the problem.”
“Are you sure you’re not practicing systems analysis or a brainstorming technique?”
“No, because I don’t consciously list alternatives or concentrate on a solution. I just concentrate on the problem and let my mind go blank.”
“This, of course, isn’t hard for you to do,” the angel said. “Getting a blank mind, I mean.” She was getting almost as wise-assed as me.”
I ignored the remark. “Anyway, the correct answer to the problem or the way to handle a situation just pops into my consciousness.”
“Just for a moment, let’s close our eyes and try meditating,” she suggested. I figured why not. I closed my eyes. All of a sudden, the thought popped into my mind that she was gone.
I opened my eyes. She was!

#####

Chapter 6 -- Angels in the Sand

2010-06-09T12:58:00.000-07:00

Copyright 2010 John R. Wilhelm

ANGELS IN THE SAND
BY
JACK WILHELM

CHAPTER 6 – WHY DO WE HAVE SORROWS AND SUFFERING?

The sun was out, the sky was dark blue and cloudless, and the Gulf shimmered with brilliant blues and greens.
I guessed this was my next visitor arriving. He was the saddest-looking person I had ever seen. His shoulders slumped and his brow was furrowed with permanent worry lines. He looked as if he carried all the burdens of the world. He was sniffling.
He pulled up a chair next to mine, sat down and the chair immediately collapsed. As he picked himself up, a flock of gulls flashed overhead and their droppings rained on the poor fellow.
I offer him my towel. I have never felt so compassionate toward someone in all my life.
“Are you an angel?”
“Yes and I hate my job.”
“Just what is your job?”
“I have to explain to humans why they have to suffer. Have you ever tried to explain to a Mother why her daughter had to die of cancer? Or, to a Father why his son was the only one of his squad who was killed by a roadside bomb? Just yesterday, I had to try to explain to a Father and Mother why their only son drowned cave diving. He had promised them it would be his last cave dive. It was; but not the way he’d intended.”
“How long have you had this job,” I questioned sympathetically.
“Since about the time of your Civil War. That was a bad one; World War I and II were even worse. I did have help then. Just one angel couldn’t have carried the load.”
“Why did you get the job?”
“Well, as another angel said ‘why not you?’ Besides, this is my purgatory.”
“In this case, I hope you finish soon. Tell me, aren’t sorrow and suffering the Divine Soul’s will?”
“Certainly not,” he replied vehemently! “The world’s religions mostly agree suffering is not the Divine Soul’s will.”
“My visitor from the devil said it wasn’t the fault of his master either. So why does it happen?”
“Well the so-called Western religions mostly believe sorrow and suffering is made possible by man’s own sinful nature and by his free will.”
“Yes,” I replied, “I remember the Biblical story of Adam, Eve, and the Serpent in the Garden of Eden and the knowledge of good and evil.”
“There’s also the passage which says the sins of the Father are visited on the sons even to the third and fourth generation,” he added.
“So you are telling me my sorrows and suffering may have been caused by something my great, great grandfather did?”
“Possibly.”
“I don’t think it’s fair to punish me for something I didn’t do.”
“Don’t you remember what your fourth grade teacher used to tell her class; ‘no one ever said life was fair.’”
“Hey, it’s been almost 70 years since I was in the fourth grade.”
“Sixty eight years to be exact,” he replied.
This was scary. These angels not only could read my mind but seemed to know everything about me from the time I was conceived. And, maybe before!
“Let’s continue the concept of free will for a moment. Even humans including Sigmund Freud and C.S. Lewis agree the concept of free will makes evil, sorrow and suffering possible. They also say free will also makes love, goodness, and joy possible and worth having. They both agree most suffering – particularly mental and emotional suffering – is mostly caused by other human beings.”
“I remember all the sorrow I went through when my wife left me. I took me months to get over the hurt and the feeling of loss.”
“Right. Your ex-wife did the deed but you provided the pain and emotional suffering yourself.”
“Actually, I remember my Father-in-law telling me time would heal the pain although there might always be a scar.”
“When did you start recovering?”
“When I stopped feeling sorry for myself and got on with my life.”
“What happened,” my visitor asked? I was certain he already knew the answer.
“I returned to my normal life and in time found another female companion who I love even more.”
“In other words, you were your own worst enemy.”
“Exactly!”
“Buddhism puts it another way,” my visitor continued. “Buddhists look at pain and suffering as an illusion which disappears with enlightenment.”
“Doesn’t their saying mean the same thing? If we can learn to control our minds, thoughts, and emotions, we won’t suffer as much and get over the pain quicker.”
“Yes, it’s kind of like the power of positive thinking philosophy. If you go to the dentist thinking the procedure is going to hurt, it will hurt more than if you go concentrating on how bright your smile will be when you are finished.”
“The old mind over matter routine. You know what used to be said; if she doesn’t mind; it doesn’t matter. I’m not sure what this means but it seems appropriate.”
“The angels warned me about your warped sense of humor,” my visitor retorted. Anyway, I have a few more thoughts.”
“I’m ready.”
“One is the Divine Soul may use pain, suffering, and danger to make humans understand and acknowledge the Divine Soul.”
“You mean there are no atheists on the battlefield.”
“Right on! There are three other possibilities which are worth considering.”
“What are they?”
“The first is predestination; life, events, and death are all preordained.”
“Isn’t this about like ‘the devil made me do it’ so I’m not responsible for my actions.”
“This is the way I view it,” my visitor replied. “It’s a cop out.”
“What is the second possibility?”
“This is the law of probability. I’m not about to discuss this is detail with you. If you want to know more about probabilities, get a statistics text from your local library. There are actions, however, you humans take which are more likely to cause accidents and catastrophes than others.”
“You mean like if I join the Army I am more likely to be shot or killed than if I don’t join?”
“Yes. Or you are more likely to overdose if you use drugs than if you don’t use them.”
“Or, I am more likely to be bitten by a shark if I swim where sharks are known to be than if I don’t swim in these places.”
“Or, you are more likely to have an auto accident if you drive than if you walk and don’t drive.”
“Okay, I get the general idea. You said there was yet another possibility. What is it?”
“It’s known as deism. Your Benjamin Franklin believed in this. Basically, it holds the Divine Soul is like a model railroad buff. The Divine Soul built the railroad and, then, let it run by itself. If the train ran off the track or smashed into another train, the railroad buff could step in and fix it; if he chose.”
“This sounds as if we’re about to talk about communicating with the Divine Soul.”
“You are beginning to catch on. I’m not the one to discuss this with you, however. You’ll have to wait until the next meeting.”
The sad man tripped getting up, asked me to throw his chair into the junk pile on my way home, and walked off down the beach.
I swear I couldn’t help thinking about Joe Btfsplk in the old Little Abner comic strip. Joe was the little guy dressed in black who always had a black cloud hanging over him wherever he went.
####

Chapter 5 -- Angels in the Sand

2010-06-01T10:33:00.000-07:00

ANGELS IN THE SAND
BY
JACK WILHELM

CHAPTER 5 – WHY IS THERE EVIL IN THE WORLD

A week later a scary-looking bastard sat down by me. Actually, he isn’t so much scary looking as weasel looking. He is thin, almost emaciated, not too tall, and his legs look deformed, more goat-like than human. His hair is black and oily, plastered down. He has a pencil-thin moustache and a scraggly goatee. He looks for all the world like the caricature of an insurance salesman, a slick used car salesman, or, better yet, a politician.
The old Speedo suit he is wearing doesn’t help the picture either.
He oozes into, rather than sits down into, the beach chair he pulled up beside me.
“I’ve been sent to talk to you,” he said, laying an ice cold hand on my shoulder. Then he extended his other hand to shake mine and, when I touched it, my fingers felt as if they were on fire.
“What’s the subject,” I ask, my voice quivering.
“Why is there suffering and evil in the World,” he replied?
I thought to myself whoever sent this visitor certainly sent the right person.
“Yes, it did, “he replied taking my thought as a compliment.
“May I ask your name,” I say out loud. (I realize if I think it, my visitor will just read my mind again.)
“Actually, I’m just a demon but I’ve been sent by the one with many names.”
“Let me guess. It might be the Devil, Beelzebub, Lucifer, or Satan.”
“That’s just a few of them,” he replied.
“You know I have never believed such things existed.”
“Come on now, Jim. There’s not a religion in the world which does not believe he exists.”
“Okay, let’s start with this.”
“Christianity, Judaism, Islam, and Zoroastroism all believe the devil is the supreme adversary of God. The first three believe the devil began as an angel who fell from grace.”
“What about the other religions?”
“They have different names but the end result is the same. Hinduism has Shiva, the destroyer. They also have a female destroyer, Kali. Buddhism recognizes lots of devils and destroyers. One, Mara, is not only a devil but the lord of desire.”
“Didn’t God allow the devil to tempt Jesus?”
“Yes, he did but other founders of religions were similarly tempted.”
“Name one.”
“Mara tried to get Buddha to give up his quest for enlightenment. When he failed, he sent his beautiful daughters to seduce him. They failed, too.”
“So,” I said, “the devil, or whatever you call him, is the cause of all the sorrow and evil in the world.”
“Jim. Jim. Jim. There you go wanting a simple answer again. You can’t just say ‘the devil made me do it’ and dodge all responsibility. Mankind, itself, causes more sorrow and evil in the world than my master could ever think of.”
My visitor warmed to his task, if you’ll pardon the expression.
“The religious fanatics are the easiest. We just put in a little untruth here and a little prejudice there and the fanatics do the rest.”
“Give me an example.”
“Let’s start with the mid-east where we have wars and revolutions going on all over. What a bonanza of suffering and evil this has been.”
“I know about Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, and Chechnya, and the enmity between the Arabs and the Jews.”
“The latter is an excellent example. Abraham – or Abrahim – is the father of both the Hebrews and Muslims. The Hebrews descended from Isaac the son of Abraham and his wife Sarah. The Muslims are descended from Ismael the son of Abraham and his wife Hagar.”
“Serves Abe right for having two wives,” I wise-assed. “Besides, I have a step-brother I don’t like too much, either.”
“Get serious. What a bonanza for my master,” my visitor oozed. “They’ve been killing each other for over two thousand years. Let’s take this a step farther.”
“Okay,” I agreed anxious to get off the subject.
“The main problem in Iraq today is the enmity between the Sunni and Shi‘ah (Shi’it) which goes all the way back to 680 BC. After Muhammad died, his son-in-law, Ali, took the title of Caliph. Muawiya, Arab governor of Syria, refused to recognize Ali, took the title, and moved the capital from Medina to Damascus. Ali was murdered.
“When Muawiya died in 680 BC, Ali’s son, Hussein, rode to claim the caliphate. His group was massacred and Hussein’s head taken to Damascus. Ali’s partisans, the Shi’ah, broke away from the Sunni.
“Today, there are about 200 million followers of Islam; roughly 60 million are Shi’ah.
“You can read or view in the media what my master accomplishes with this one every day,” my visitor finished proudly. “Of course, the religion holds those slain in the way of Allah achieve instant Paradise. This makes jihads with their suicide bombers, roadside bombs, and killing westerners very rewarding pastimes. For my master, in particular,” my visitor concluded!
“This is an awful long time to hold a grudge,” was all I could think to say.
“Just think,” he continued, “about the Crusades in the Middle Ages. This was Christians and Islamics fighting each other hundreds of years ago over the city of Jerusalem. Look at the Islamic Moors conquest of Catholic Spain. Then came the Inquisition. Accused heretics were tortured to confess. If the person didn’t confess, he was killed. If he did confess, the person was killed to save his soul. Persons accused of witchcraft – or devil worshippers -- were tortured and burned at the stake with no actual proof or fair trial. This occurred frequently in both Europe and your own Colonies. Both Catholics and Protestants participated in this lovely pastime.
“The Conquistadors wiped out two native cultures – the Incas and Aztecs – in the name of religion. Protestants and Catholics killed each other in England and France for centuries. They are still killing each other sporadically today in Northern Ireland.”
My visitor practically licked his lips. “All this was delicious. I’m especially proud of the Holocaust. The Nazi’s were the executioners but religious groups stood by and pretended this wasn’t happening.”
“You’ve made your point,” I interjected. “You’ve certainly caused a tremendous amount of death and suffering in the world.”
“Yes, my master has,” my visitor did lick his lips. “Think of all the success we’ve had and all the souls we’ve fried.”
“Let’s change the topic a little,” I suggested. “All of us have problems, sorrows, and sadness in our lives as well as happiness, joy, and contentment. Are all the bad things your master’s doing?”
“Sorry, we can’t take credit for this. Usually, you do it to yourselves. Humans are their own worst enemies.”
“I’ll buy what you’re saying for the most part. I also know death is a part of life. But, how about suffering caused by things such as disease and accidents? Why do these things happen to me and not to someone else? Or, why to someone else and not to me?”
“Sorry, these are not my topics,” my visitor observed. “Others will tell you about bacteria, germs, viruses, and probabilities of occurrence.”
“So, once again, I’ll just have to wait.”
“Yes, you will.”
My visitor picked up his chair, took a few steps, and vanished in a cloud of black, oily smoke. Sunbathers looked but it was like seeing a large fish jump. They weren’t sure what they saw. They soon went back to whatever they had been doing – swimming, reading, sunning, or throwing Frisbees.

####

Chapter 4 -- Angels in the Sand

2010-05-27T11:36:00.000-07:00

Copyright 2010 John R. Wilhelm

ANGELS IN THE SAND
BY
JACK WILHELM

CHAPTER 4 – OKAY, WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE?

I’m just about to sit down when a young, very attractive oriental woman put her chair beside mine. “Did you oversleep today, Jim?”
I’m irritated. I’d stayed up until midnight watching the Orlando Magic basketball game on TV. I retorted, “I’m tired because I was up late. I’m retired so I can sleep as late as I want.”
“Not if you want to keep meeting with angels. After all, we’re on celestial time.”
“I’ll see if I can’t find you an old Timex lying around somewhere.”
This wasn’t going very well at all. I looked at this beautiful young woman in a silk bikini and felt ashamed. I should have thanked whoever sent me another angel rather than a Buddha or Sikh. “I’m so very sorry,” I apologized, “I’m really not awake yet.”
She nodded acceptance. “I am sent to you to talk about differences in the earth’s religions.”
“I’ve been wondering about this. What are the differences?”
“Jim, Jim, Jim. You always want to rush into things.”
“It’s the American way,” I said smugly.
“Well, it isn’t the universal way. Slow down. Smell the roses or the fresh salt air. Relax.”
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and pretended to snore.
“Whoa,” she shook me, “don’t get too relaxed.”
“Gotcha,” I said, snapping awake and copping a feel.
“Stop it, you bad boy. Angel told me to watch out for you.” She slapped my hand playfully. “Let’s get on with it.”
“Oh, darn! Just when I was beginning to have fun.”
“Go home and have fun with your wife.”
I hated my visitors’ ability to read my mind.
She began. “Do you realize all the major faiths we follow were formed by inspired ones in the very short time between 800 BCE and 650 AD?”
“One thousand four hundred and fifty years doesn’t seem like a very short time to me,” I answered.
“This is because you’re a human. It’s a blink of an eye in universal time.”
“What do you consider major faiths,” I countered?
“There were the prophets of Israel, Zoroaster in Persia, and the Upanishad seers in India.”
“I guess this includes Buddha in India and the Far East.”
“Yes, it does. Confucius and Lao Tzu began faiths in China.”
“Of course, there was Jesus in Palestine,” I added.
“And last, but certainly not least, Mohammad in Arabia.”
I am impatient. “So there are a lot of faiths. I still don’t know the differences.”
“There are really very few differences except in the minds of religious fanatics. For example, what difference does it really make if church bells, the muezzin’s sound, the gong, or something else calls you to worship. It’s coming together for worship which counts.
“What difference if I pray personally, engage in regimented prayers to Allah, or use rosary beads, or a prayer wheel? The communication is the only important thing to the Divine Soul.
“Does it matter if responsive readings, chants, hymns, or rap music is used to help get us in the mood to worship? The important thing is to achieve the right mood.
“Does it make the experience of the celebration of the last supper any less meaningful whether the sacraments become the blood and flesh of Christ or if they are wine, grape juice, and bread?" “Well,” I interjected, “it must make a difference. Proponents of different religions have killed each other for thousands of years over just such differences.”
“I can’t argue with you on this point. But, it causes the Divine Soul great pain to watch such insignificant things cause so much human suffering.”
“You’ve explained the insignificant differences. Now, let’s get on to the biggies.”
“Here we go! Judaism, Islam, Zoroastrianism, and Christianity believe the soul endures through all eternity.
“All four believe in heaven and hell. Judaism, Zoroastrianism, and Islam believe we go to heaven, paradise, hell, or the fire based on our deeds, our adherence to sacred commandments, and how we live our lives.
“Christians believe heaven is achieved by faith in Jesus and the grace of God although you will be good because you are trying to emulate the life of Jesus.
“What do Buddhism and Hinduism believe,” I asked?
“Buddhists and Hindus see the soul striving through successive rebirths to achieve liberation from worldly existence and achieve union with the universal soul. Whether the soul advances or retreats depends on ‘karma,’ the chain which links your actions and the results of those actions.
“Isn’t this just the reward or punishment bit with variations in outcomes? Sounds like another similarity to me.”
“Let’s save your question for a moment,” my visitor interjected. “I want to touch on the other religions first.”
I nodded approval but I was getting impatient. Again!
She continued. “Taoism and Confucianism maintain man, nature, and heaven are inextricably bound. Shang Ti, which means Lord on High, watches over the actions of the people and rewards or punishes them in accord with their actions.”
“Isn’t this the same as Judaism, Islam, and Christianity,” I ventured.
“You’re observant. Yes, it is,” she replied.
“Shintoists,” she continued, “believe when a person dies, their soul loses identity but joins with ancestral ‘kami’ and is sometimes reincarnated.
“There’s two other less important differences, too.”
“Which are,” I questioned, chomping at the bit.
“All religions had different founders and all interacted with the cultures in which they were formed.”
“What does this mean?”
“It means the culture where the religion was formed influenced the religion and the religion influenced the culture.”
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
“It’s too complex to discuss in one session. If you’re interested, study the history of a region or country and its primary religion. You’ll see what I’m saying.”
“Can’t you give me an example?”
“Here’s a quickie.”
“Oh, goody, I like quickies. In fact, quickies are about all I’m good for any more.”
“Not that kind of a quickie, ding dong! Get serious!”
I made a straight face.
“The Roman Catholic Church was a feudal entity in the 15th century and highly involved in the politics of several nations, including Spain. The Church wanted to spread the faith. This led to the discovery of the New World and the exploitation of Central and South America.”
“Didn’t the lure of a direct route to the Far East and the lure of gold have a great deal to do with all this?”
“Of course it did. The King and Queen wanted gold in the coffers. The Church wanted to expand and extend its influence. This is an example of the interaction of religion and culture as well.”
“Oh, you mentioned different founders for each religion. Let’s get this over with.”
“The prophets were the founders of Judaism and the believers are still waiting for the Messiah to come.
“Christianity began with Jesus who was both human and divine.
“Mohammad is the final prophet of God and the father of Islam.
“The Upanishad seers formulated Hinduism.
“Guddhartha Gautama was the Buddha.
“Confucius was a teacher, sage, and man of moral conduct.
“Lao Tzu was the old master of Taoism and to Taoists he is a god.
“Mahavira was the most important force in Jainism which believes in reincarnation and whose believers will not even step on an insect.
“Guru Nanak was the founder of Sikhism.
“How about Martin Luther,” I queried?
“Yes, he formulated what became the Protestant movement in Christianity. If you want to go down a little further, you can mention Joseph Smith and Brigham Young who formed the Church of the Latter Day Saints, known as the Mormons.
“Then, there’s Bab and Baha’u’llah who tried to establish one faith, known as Baha’i.
“Finally, I’ll mention Mary Baker Eddy who formed the Christian Scientist movement. I could break down offshoots in almost any one of the major faiths but this is probably enough for now.”
“Amen,” I added thankfully.
“Now, what were you so eager to say,” she questioned?
“The religious beliefs in the hereafter have both good and bad things about them.”
“What do you mean?”
“The good thing about Judaism, Islam, and Christianity is the soul only has to go through earthly joys, sorrows, burdens, and death once.
“The bad thing about them is the soul only gets one chance; you live, you die, it’s heaven or hell.
“The good thing about Hinduism, Buddhism and the Far Eastern religions is the soul gets to try it over and over again until it gets it right.
“The bad thing is the soul has to do the whole endless sequence over and over until it gets it right.”
“You’ve about summed it up,” my visitor nodded.
"I've got another question."
"Go ahead."
"Do we got to heaven as soon as we die? Or do we have to wait for the resurrection? Do I get a new body? Am I still Jim?"
"This is four questions."
"Okay, answer the four questions."
"It all depends on what you believe. Moslems and many Christians believe you go right to heaven. Hebrews and many Christians believe you have to wait for the resurrection. They all believe you will keep your identity."
"I don't want to be resurrected with my old body," I complained.
"Paul, the Apostle, explained it this way in Corinthians 15:42. 'So also is the resurrection of the dead. It is sown in corruption; it is raised in incorruption.' In verse 15:44, he continues. 'It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body. There is a natural body and there is a spiritual body.'"
I scratched my head. "He must have meant the soul. At least, I get a new body and I keep my identity."
She turned to leave.
"Please don't leave yet. I have one more question." I could see she was getting antsy.
"Oh, all right. One last question."
"Suppose, I'm reincarnated. Do I remember my previous lives?"
"There's different opinions there as well. Some believe you do and others believe only your soul survives. Mahatma Ghandi explained it like this. 'It is like a candle lighting another candle. There is a new flame but it is not the same candle.' Others explain it like this; 'a plant dies and its seeds produce a new plant but it is not the same plant.'"
She got up and turned to leave.
“But, which one is right,” I cried.
“Take your pick. You’ll find out someday. Until then, just keep on living, hedge your bets, live a good life, and keep thinking about the possibilities.”
Like the angel, this visitor gave me a quick hug and walked off into the sunset.

#####

Chapter 3 -- Angels in the Sand

2010-05-25T10:55:00.000-07:00

ANGELS IN THE SAND
BY
JACK WILHELM

CHAPTER 3 – I’M SPIRITUAL; YOU’RE RELIGIOUS. WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE?

I go for my daily swim. I swim the backstroke because my butt is buoyant. Swimming free style lets my butt come up and my head go down. So, I am a backstroke specialist. I suspect this is more than any one wants to know about me.
Finished, I settle into my lounge chair and wonder who my next visitor will be. I don’t have long to wait. A gigantic physical specimen – at least six feet five and 250 pounds – drove his chair into the sand by mine. “I will sit here,” he said with a commanding but surprisingly mild voice.
He is built like a bull; veins lay out on his arms and legs like hoses in a sprinkler system. He is wearing a blue denim shirt and knee length denim shorts set off by a bright red turban. He has a bushy, full beard.
Even I know he is a Sikh. After all, I am old enough to remember the Orphan Annie comic strip. The huge Punjab was Annie’s and Daddy Warbucks’ bodyguard. The Sikh sitting beside me looked like one bad boy. As far as I could tell, however, he didn’t have a scimitar.
Being a wise-guy, I ask “Where’s your buddy the Asp?”
He looks puzzled, “Who’s the Asp?”
I realize he’s either younger than I or was underprivileged – never read Little Orphan Annie. Probably never read Captain Marvel either.
“SHAZAM,” I said.
“Whatever are you talking about,” he said, his temper rising.
“Never mind,” I said hurriedly, “let’s get on with it.”
“The one who sent me decided you needed to learn the difference between religion, spiritualism, and philosophy.”
“Yes,” I replied, “I’ve always wondered about this. I have friends who claim they are religious and those who claim they are spiritual. I’ve never understood the difference.”
“How about throwing philosophy into the mix,” he asked.
“Quite frankly,” I replied, “most of the philosophers I know usually philosophize after having had too much to drink.”
“Really,” he said, “religion and philosophy, along with politics, are things which never should be discussed when drinking.”
“True, but let’s get on with the subject.” I was a little less intimidated now because of my visitor’s mild manner.
“Let’s take a simple explanation first.”
“Here we go again,” I remarked. “Each one of you start with a simple explanation then tell me it’s very complex.”
“Well, this is the truth,” he stated rather harshly. Maybe I should be a little more intimidated by this giant of a man after all.
“A religion is a formal system of rituals, uses both reason and revelations, and believes in miracles. Membership is required.
“Spiritualism is like a belief smorgasbord. You choose what appeals to you, Membership is not required. It is deeply personal; not systematic.”
“Spiritualism sounds like a democracy,” I interjected. “How do you know whether what you choose is right or wrong?”
“The Buddha told me you had a hard head. Get over it. There is no right or wrong; only what you personally believe. You have to wait to find out whether what you believe is right or wrong.”
“But, then it might be too late,” I lamented.
“Live a good, helpful life, and believe in something. Then trust the Divine Soul’s grace to reward you. Or vice versa.”
“How about philosophy,” I queried?
“Philosophies use reason to determine what is right and wrong; not revelations.”
“This is scary.”
“Why do you say this,” my Sikh asked?
“How many reasonable human beings do you know,” I replied. “How many times do acquaintances use faulty logic. They arrive at a logical conclusion but it’s wrong.
“You’ve got a point. Not many!”
“I remember the system analyses from my working days in the aerospace industry. The systems analysts used all sorts of logic in their computer simulations to prove our proposed system was the best. If their logical use of facts showed our system was not the best, they simply changed the facts. Eventually, they always got the answer they wanted.
“I used to kid them. Tell them in some proposal we couldn’t or didn’t want to win, the analysis should show our proposed system was not the best. This would add to our credibility with the customer the next time we entered a competition.”
“Remember, we’re basically talking religion and spirituality; not philosophy,” the Sikh countered.
“It’s getting late. How about getting on with more detail?”
“Sure! First, though, I’d like to tell you little about our Sikh religion. I like to think it’s interesting. We started out spiritualistic but a 15th century guru, named Nanek, turned his spiritualistic beliefs into a religion. He combined the Hindu and Moslem beliefs. He took the Hindu ethical system, reincarnation, and karma and added Islam’s monotheism, disavowal of image worship, and rejection of the caste system. As a special added feature, all of our last names are Sikh.”
“You’re right; this is interesting. Now, let’s get on with the detail.”
“For one thing, all religions have eight similarities.”
“What are they?”
“They all believe in a supreme divinity, all have sacred scriptures, and they all have a systematized theology to relate their teachings to man’s life.”
“What else?”
“They all have a priesthood or ministry and they all have rituals and prayer techniques.”
“I understand ministers, priests, rabbis, and mullahs but what rituals are you talking about?”
“All religions have rituals for birth, coming of age, dedication to the faith, marriage, and death.”
“How about prayer techniques?”
“Well, there’s the Lord’s prayer, the rosary beads, the prayer mat, facing Mecca, and the prayer wheel.”
“Finally, all religions have symbols and pilgrimages. Symbols are things like the cross, the veneration of cattle, yoga, and prayer beads. Christians and Jews make pilgrimages to Jerusalem. Christians make pilgrimages to the Holy Land, Rome, Guadalupe, and Lourdes. Moslems journey to Mecca. Shintoists travel to temples to acknowledge Kami – unification with ancestors.”
I decide to show I have a little knowledge, too. “Do you realize anthropologists have not found any culture – primitive or modern – without a religion? As soon as man could think, he wondered about death and what was beyond, how to cope with life’s sorrows and hazards, and who he was, why he was here, and where he was going.”
“Isn’t this what the angel, the Buddha, and I have been telling you for three visits?”
“Yes, but you haven’t given me any answers yet.”
“You’ll have to find your own. We will guide your thinking into the right channels but you’ve got to find your own beliefs.”
“You mean I’ve got to find my own religion or spirituality?”
“Bingo!” I will tell you one overriding principle which all religions have in common however.”
“Which is what?”
“Well, I’d call it the Golden Rule but this sounds too Christian.”
“Lay it on me.”
“Christians say ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’
“Judaism says ‘What doth the Lord require of thee: only to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God.’
“Moslems say ‘man who gives his substance to kinsmen, and orphans, the needy, travelers, and beggars.’
“Buddhism says ‘boundless heart toward all beings.’
“Hinduism requires ‘looking on his neighbors as himself.’
“Confucianism says ‘Do not do to others what you would not want others to do to you.’”
I was dumfounded. All this was requiring me to think. I’m not sure I liked it.
“You mean basically there’s no difference between religions.”
“I didn’t say this. There are differences but with one exception they are all inconsequential. Does it really matter if you’re baptized by immersion, sprinkling, or pouring?”
“I get it,” I broke in. “The point is to pray. Does it really matter if you go direct or through a priest or the Virgin Mary?”
“Or,” the Shikh exclaimed, “if you really are facing East.”
“Or,” I added, “if you use a prayer wheel or prayer beads or not?”
“It’s all what you believe and makes you feel good,” he concluded.
“What’s the real difference,” I waded in impatiently.
“Let’s save this for another time. You’ve had enough for one day. At least, I have.”
I sputtered but I wasn’t about to try to stop this big boy from going. “If you gotta go, you gotta go,” was all I could think of.”
The Sikh got up, folded his chair, and stalked off down the beach; his muscles rippling in the twilight.
I noticed all the adulterous looks of the female bathers as well as the jealous looks of their men.
Damn, I thought, when exercise is not enough get some steroids and go on a weight lifting program. Then I remembered how old I was and quietly headed for home and a peaceful evening of television. No pumping iron for me!

#####

Chapter 2 -- Angels in the Sand

2010-05-19T12:17:00.000-07:00

Copyright 2010 John R. Wilhelm

ANGELS IN THE SAND
BY
JACK WILHELM

CHAPTER 2 – HOW MANY SUPREME BEINGS CAN THERE BE?

Here I am at the beach again. Surprise! Surprise! I’m here every day. In fact, I’ve been here every day for the past two weeks hoping to see my angel again. No such luck!
I figure I’ve been kicked to the curb again by a female. Oh, well! The view is invigorating and so are all the strollers in their string bikinis. The thought crosses my mind that Jesus said whoever thinks of such things commits adultery. I’m only one of many adulterous males on the beach today. I figure there’s some female adulteresses, too!
I salve my conscience by rationalizing I’m not being lascivious; just continuing the Hellenistic tradition of admiring the human form.
Almost ready to give up for the day, I suddenly remember the tale of Muhammad waiting for the angel Gabriel. Muhammad became so frustrated he contemplated throwing himself off the mountain.
I consider throwing myself into the still-chilly Gulf waters. I’m a natural born chicken; no mountaintops for me.
I sensed someone behind me. Turning, I see a thin, oriental-looking man carrying a beach chair in one arm and a Big Gulp covered cup in the other. He apologizes profusely for being late.
I smell beer and point out it is illegal to bring beer on the beach.
He replies, “This isn’t real beer; it’s Budweiser.”
“Budweiser is called beer here.”
“I guess whoever calls Budweiser beer has never tasted a good European beer, Tsingtao, or fermented Yak’s milk. But I’m not here to discuss the relative merits of different beers.”
My visitor is wearing a pair of day-glo orange, knee length swim trunks, flip flops, and a
short-sleeve shirt decorated with bright red flamingo prints. I cringe; quickly checking to see if anyone is noticing. Everybody is!
I offer a silent prayer of thanksgiving because we are on the beach. My description of my visitor’s wearing apparel only takes a second. I’ve read too many 400 page novels which devote 300 pages to descriptions of all the characters’ wearing apparel and furnishings of their habitats. I don’t have the problem here; nor want it.
“Are you an angel,” I continue the conversation?
“No, I’m a Buddha.”
“Gee,” I replied, “every Buddha I’ve seen is short and fat with a big belly. We used to have a statue of one in our garden back in Orlando.”
“Stereotyping is one of the failings of the human race. Actually, most Buddha’s are very thin. Remember, we tromped around Asia with a pot begging food. You ever seen a fat beggar? Have you ever seen the Dalai Lama? No fat boy there.”
I felt argumentative, still pissed because it took so long for a second visitor to show up and particularly one with day-glo orange shorts and flamingo-print shirt. I wanted my first angel visitor back.
“In the first place, the Dalai Lama isn’t a beggar the last time I heard. Also, most beggars today are fatter than hard working people. The beggars walk from the Salvation Army to the Gospel Mission to the Resurrection House chowing down at each one. Then, they go lounge on a park bench until its time to feed their faces again.”
“You’re right. I tried a Salvation Army meal just the other day. Much better than anything I had back in 650 AD when I was meditating around Asia. No Social Security back then either but this is not why I’m here.”
“Okay, okay,” I replied. “I’ll concentrate on your message rather than your avoirdupois. What’s the topic?”
“Well, you’ve been asking about the nature of the Divine Soul.”
“Oh,” I perked up. “Your boss liked my idea?”
“It’s still being mulled over but you’re avoiding the issue again.”
“Sorry. What’s the answer?”
“Like most humans, you’re looking for a simple answer. Jim. Sorry, but the universe and eternity just ain’t simple. So shut up and listen. We’re not going to find the answer today but, at least, we’ll get started.
“Let’s take the ancient Hebrews first. They thought of themselves as Yahweh’s chosen people. Yet, whenever they disobeyed, they were enslaved. Egypt, Assyria, Babylonia, and on and on. Right through the Holocaust, today’s battles with various Arab countries, and prejudices wherever they live.”
I chimed in. “You almost might ask the question: ‘chosen for what?’”
“The sword cut the other way, too. The Old Testament books of Samuel, the Kings, and the Chronicles tell the history of the Israelites slaughtering hundreds of thousands of men, women, and children of neighboring tribes.”
I interrupted again. “I remember a paragraph which went something like this. Saul has slain his thousands and David his ten thousands.”
“Yes.”
“So the Divine Soul is warlike and vengeful.”
“There’s another way of looking at it. Along came Jesus and said this same Yahweh – or God – is a loving father.”
“What a switch,” I exclaimed. “How do you explain it?”
“One rationale is the Divine Soul, like a human father, will discipline a child who disobeys but never stops loving the child.”
“How about the other major religions,” I interjected, “how do they view the Divine Soul?”
“They all believe the Divine Soul rewards you if you are good and if you have faith. If you are bad, you will be punished. You will be judged on how you behave on earth. How this happens, who does the judging, and what the reward and punishment is varies between religions.”
I remember a parable in the Bible ‘as ye sew so shall ye reap.’ I knew Jesus wasn’t just talking about wheat and alfalfa.
I asked the Buddha to tell me more about this.
“Islam, Hebrews, Zoroasters, as well as Christians, believe in one God; they are monotheistic. While there is disagreement on the timing, they all believe in a heaven – or paradise – and hell – or the pit.”
“What do you mean by timing?”
“Some believe you go to your reward or punishment as soon as you die. Others believe there is a judgment sometime in the future. Take your pick.”
“You mean like resurrection versus immediate ascension?”
“Yes”
“I read somewhere Hebrews and Muslims will argue the Christian’s “holy trinity” of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit is polytheism – several gods – not monotheism.”
“Once again, does this really make any difference in the sum total of things? Jesus once said about the religious doctrine of his time, ‘you swallow a camel but strain at a gnat.’ This about sums it up. If we could all learn not to sweat the small stuff, we could all get together.”
I was impatient. “What about the other religions?”
“Hinduism has Brahman as its supreme being but allows for some 33-million lesser gods.
Brahman is the source of universal life sun, air, sky, earth, and water. Several of the gods, notably Vishnu and Krishna return to earth periodically.
“The Sikh religion blends Hinduism with Islam and believes in just one god. Taoism, Shintoism, and other Far Eastern venerate and seek the help of ancestors and dwell with them in the afterlife.
“This leads me to my religion – Buddhism – which like Hinduism sees god as a universal soul. As we phrase it, all individual souls merge as a dewdrop slips into the shining sea.”
“You have promise as a poet,” I say.
“Thank you, I take this as a compliment. Anyway, Hinduism, Buddhism, and Sikhism all believe in reincarnation. Taoism and Shintoism allow for either reincarnation or reunification.”
“So these religions believe if you are good you are reincarnated to a better life and if you are evil, you are reincarnated to a worse life than you are experiencing now,” I proudly stated.
“Well, close enough for now. You’ll discuss this some more later.”
I point out one of my daughters is a born-again Christian; one of my sons is a Hare Krishna. Both of them can’t be right.”
“How do you know,” my friend interjected?
Exasperated, I stated, “One must be right and the other wrong.”
“This is another problem with human nature; everything has to be black or white; right or wrong. Have you ever considered maybe they both are right,” he suggested mildly.
“Or both wrong,” I exploded.
“Quit looking for simple answers. I told you there’s no simple answer. Consider what the Dalai Lama said, ‘There are different religions just as there are different kinds of food in each culture. People eat what grows best where they live.
“Speaking of food, I’m hungry and it’s time to go.” He folded his chair and pulled out a pot he’d stashed in his shorts. “There’ll be another angel here to talk to you soon.”
With this, he headed down the beach to beg from several beachgoers who were barbequing their evening meals. The delicious aroma of grilling steaks, pork ribs, fish and charcoal mingled with the salt air and drifted to my nostrils. Overhead, nature’s aggressive beggars, the seagulls, raucously call all their winged friends to dine.
I almost wish I had one of the Buddha’s beggar pots.
Instead, I hurry home to my hot dogs, beans, and macaroni and cheese. I wonder who will be next on my agenda?
#####

2010-05-19T12:16:00.001-07:00

Angels In The Sand -- Chapter 1

2010-05-11T10:36:00.000-07:00

Copyright 2010 John R. Wilhelm

ANGELS IN THE SAND
BY
JACK WILHELM

CHAPTER 1 – ON THE BEACH

The shore birds are just beginning to return to the beach. A flock of sand pipers probe the sand looking for food with their tiny beaks. They choose another spot; their little legs moving a mile a minute to get there. Nearby, their bigger cousins, the Willets, move quickly but less comically, probing deeper with their larger beaks.
Nearby, a great blue heron stalks majestically along the shoreline neck poised; then swift as a striking snake spears an unsuspecting minnow and gobbles it down. The heron strides on looking for more prey.
Overhead, several awkward looking, yet graceful, pelicans fly in a line with the leader flapping its wings and each one flapping their own sequentially taking their leaders’ cue. Spotting bait fish, one by one the Pelicans peel off and dive, folding their wings just before hitting the water. Fishing is good and each bird tosses its head back indicating one fish being swallowed.
Small, white terns dive after fish like miniature kamikazes while, much higher, dark frigate birds with graceful wings and forked tails move in ever widening circles floating majestically on the air currents like accomplished hang gliders.
A dolphin family cruise slowly along an offshore sandbar rising lazily to the surface at intervals to breathe the brisk salt air.
The sun is out and the weather warm. The Gulf, still chilly, shimmers bright blue and green inviting swimmers to take their first dip of the new season.
I sit on my beach chair, thanking the Lord, and my Social Security check, for allowing me to take in this awe-inspiring, breath-taking spectacle.
I’m retired, older than I like to admit, but awfully fortunate to have retired to beautiful Anna Maria Island. Kiddingly, I go to “happy hour” at the local pub and heckle my younger, still-working friends. “Sitting on our white, sandy beaches is a tough life but someone has to do it.”
Later, I watch the sky turn yellow, orange, and red as the sun puts on its spectacular nightly show and sinks quickly out of sight. I sit there watching the moon and stars appear. I meditate. No one can convince me this just happened. There is a supreme something which created this wonderful universe in which we live. .
Next day, I’m on the beach again. Exercise, reading, and meditation have become a daily ritual. Of course, I like to watch the pretty young ladies march by wearing their tiny bikinis, too. I may be old but I’m not dead yet.
Still, I am amazed – actually dumbfounded – when this beautiful young lady comes by and asks if she may sit here and talk to me. She is blonde, tall, exceedingly well-built: altogether astonishingly beautiful. Her stark white string bikini isn’t bad either and shows her off to best advantage.
I stammer, “Of course not.” Whatever happened to my silver tongue?
Trying desperately to make small talk, I manage to say “Let me introduce myself. My name’s Jim. What’s yours?”
“I’m an Angel.”
I recover my golden tongue. “You certainly are but what’s your name?”
“I don’t have a name. I’m a real angel.”
Now I remember the Apostle Paul in his letter to the Hebrews said “Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing, some have unwittingly entertained angels.” I think to myself, if all angels look like this, you’d have to be out of your mind not to entertain them.
Recovering, I say, “I thought all angels had halos, wings, and harps.”
My angel replies, “Silly! Just think of the hullaballoo I’d create if I wore my wings and brought my harp. Besides, wings make it very uncomfortable to lay on your back and work on your tan.”
“Well, lady, don’t look now but you create quite a stir with just your bikini. There’s not a man within a hundred yards who is not drooling and whose eyes are not bugged out.”
“Anyway, this is not why I’m here.”
“I knew there was a catch to all this. What are you after?”
“Frankly, the boss and I have been watching you. We like the way you think. You’re quite creative. Of course, we also know you have a lot of time on your hands. We’d like you to help us.”
She had me there. I raised my eyes to the heavens and thought “Why me Lord?”
The angel read my thoughts. “Like they say, why not you! Besides, remember Jonah. When the boss wants you, he’ll get you.”
I certainly didn’t want any whale swallowing me next time I dove into the water. “How can I help?”
“That’s my boy. My boss is tired of all this fighting and killing among you humans. He knows one of the big reasons you do this is because you quarrel over him. He needs to come up with one name which every race, creed, color, and religion can embrace.”
“This is ALL you want? Why don’t you just go recruit Barak Obama. He thinks he can solve everything.”
“Right,” she giggles, “he can’t even solve health care, Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, the energy crisis, global warming, or the economy.”
“Hey,” I reply, “at least he’s trying.”
“Anyway, the boss chose you so let’s get busy.”
“What’s wrong with God,” I offer.
“Too, Christian,” she replies. “It offends every other religion. And Christians are always trying to convert the others; sometimes with force. Just ask any Aztec or Inca survivors if you can find any.”
“Okay, what about Allah?”
“Conjures up the thought of roadside bombs, jihads, and virgins.”
“What’s wrong with virgins?”
“Nothing, except there aren’t enough to go around anymore plus feminism and women’s rights are the big, new things in heaven, paradise, and nirvana these days.
“What about plain, old, Lord?”
“Too medieval!”
“Yahweh?”
“The entire Arab world would have a fit.”
“Brahman?”
“Sounds too much like something you’d find on a ranch. Come on, Jim, we can do better than this.”
“Well,” I sighed, “what about Universal Spirit or Universal Soul?”
“Problem is most words like this are too long so humans come up with acronyms.”
“So, Universal Spirit would be US.”
“Yes, and to three quarters of the world, US means Uncle Sam, the guy with the white goatee wearing a red, white, and blue clothes and a top hat and he’s Satan incarnate.
“What about Higher Power?”
“No! Alcoholic and Narcotics Anonymous organizations use Higher Power. It means anything greater than they; the police, the probation officer, the boss at work – even the wife. Besides, every computer buff knows HP stands for Hewlett Packard.”
“How about Cosmic Spirit or Cosmic Soul?”
“No better! Every Yankee and Rebel in your country knows CS stands for the Confederate States.
I was running out of ideas. Reaching way back in my overworked brain, I pulled out two more possibilities.
“No one’s actually seen your boss but I read someone once asked for a name. Your boss answered ‘I AM.’”
“You’re right. He was in a cloud or a burning bush or some such sort of thing when he answered. I AM’s not bad,” Angel mused.
I was on a roll. “Another possibility would be Divine Spirit or Divine Soul.”
Angel stroked her very lovely chin. “DS isn’t bad either. It’s close to an abbreviation for a dentist’s degree but there’s only one D; not DDS.”
“There’s two possibilities,” I almost groaned. “Can we change the subject now?”
“Sure! I’ll run these two by the boss and see what he thinks of them. What do you want to talk about?”
The little testosterone I had left at my age, as well as my libido, took over. “Well, actually…,” I stumble.
“No,” she says firmly, “we are not going to talk about having sex!”
Damn, I thought, it’s very disconcerting when a beautiful girl reads my mind.
I recover nicely. “Sitting here on the beach I feel closer to your boss than I ever have in a church. I think the natural wonders of his universe are far better than any manmade church, synagogue, mosque, shrine, or temple.”
“I agree completely,” my beautiful companion replies.
“Then why did you boss allow them to be built. All the founders of all the religions taught outdoors or in public places, didn’t they?”
“The quick answer is my boss gave man free will to do as he pleased.”
“How about a longer answer?”
“You are entirely right. Mohammad taught on the mountain. Buddha taught in the countryside. Jesus taught on the mountainsides, the seaside, and from boats. Only the Jews had synagogues where they worshipped. Jesus also taught there. Of course, the Hindus had built temples long before.
“However, mankind thought my boss needed a home and since they had free will they proceeded to build edifices to honor him. Of course, being human, they all proceeded to try to outdo each other.”
“It might have been because all major religions began in the near east where it was hot and dry,” I venture.
“Yes,” Angel agrees. “As religions spread, it got too uncomfortable to worship outside in the monsoons or in temperatures way below freezing.”
“I’ve got to admit,” I add, “millions of people thought they were honoring your boss by building and worshipping in these structures. I still prefer the beach.”
“Whatever floats your boat,” she smiles. “Each of us can worship wherever and however we want. My boss hears us all and appreciates our prayers and meditation wherever it takes place.”
She continues. “The important thing is to take time to think about these things which are, ultimately, most important to us all. Too many of us these days look to science or to Oprah for the answer to everything. Actually, no human can answer the ultimate questions.”
“Which are,” I query?
“Who are we? Where did we come from? Where are we going? Of, course, you’ll all find out for yourselves one day.”
I catch her drift. “If it’s alright with you, I’d rather wait a long time before finding out the answer to the last question.”
She smiles and glances at her watch. “Time for me to go.”
“But, I have so many more questions to ask,” I interject. I certainly wasn’t ready to have her leave.
“Sorry, but we angels also have things to do, places to go, and schedules to keep.”
She gives me a hug, kisses me on the cheek. “Keep coming back to the beach. There’ll be other angels coming by to talk to you.”
She walks away. I expected her to ascend into heaven. She didn’t. She just slowly disappeared into the distance.
I gather up my towel and beach chair and head for home wondering if anyone would believe this story up at D. Coy Ducks’ bar and grill! I decided I wouldn’t even try.

####

Angels in the Sand

2010-04-30T11:00:00.000-07:00

Copyright 2010 John R. Wilhelm

Angels in the Sand
by Jack Wilhelm

Introduction

This is a work of fiction interspersed with facts. The resemblance of any characters, except those of a historical nature, to actual persons is entirely coincidental. Scientific facts and information about religions was gathered from the bibliographical materials listed below. Any mistakes are purely the fault of the author. Opinions or speculations herein are strictly those of the author.

Bibliography
Bojowald, Martin, “Follow the Bouncing Universe,” Scientific American, Vol. 299, Number 4, October 2008, New York, NY

Davies, Paul, About Time, Einstein’s Unfinished Revolution, Simon & Schuster, New York, NY, 1995

Gellman, Rabbi Marc & Hartman, Monsignor Thomas, The God Squad: Religion for Dummies, Wiley Publishing Co., New York, NY, 1993

Great Religions of the World, National Geographic Society, Washington, D.C., 1978 edition
Introduction – Huston Smith
Buddhism – Joseph M. Kitagawa
Judaism – Elie Wiesel
Islam – Edward J. Jurgi
Christianity – W. D. Davies
Reformation – Hans J. Hillerbrand

Jung, Carl J., Man and His Symbols, Anchor Press, Doubleday (a Division of Doubleday Dell Publishing Dell Publishing Group, Inc.) New York, NY, Reprinted 1988

Milanovich, Jerald T., Florida Indians: from Ancient Times to the Present, University Press of Florida, Gainesville, FL

Morris, Richard, Cosmic Questions, John Wiley & Sons, Inc., New York, NY, 1993

Nicholi, Dr. Armand M., Jr., The Question of God, Free Press (a Division of Simon & Schuster), New York, New York, 2002

Ragden, Anthony, Worlds at War: The 2,500-year struggle between East and West, Random House,Inc., New York, 2009

Redfield, James, The Celestine Prophecy, Warner Books, Inc., New York, NY, 1994

Sagan, Carl, Cosmos, Random House, New York, New York, 1980

Spangenberg, Ray & Moser, Diane K., On the Shoulders of Giants: the History of Science from the Ancient Greeks to the Scientific Revolution, Facts on File, New York, NY, 1991

Spangenberg, Ray & Moser, Diane K., On the Shoulders of Giants: the History of Science in the 18th Century, Facts on File, New York, NY, 1993

Spangenberg, Ray & Moser, Diane K., On the Shoulders of Giants: the History of Science in the 19th Century, Facts on File, New York, NY, 1994

Spangenberg, Ray & Moser, Diane K., On the Shoulders of Giants: the History of Science from 1895 -- 1945, Facts on File, New York, NY, 1994

Spangenberg, Ray & Moser, Diane K., On the Shoulders of Giants: the History of Science from 1946 to the 1990s, Facts on File, New York, NY, 1994

The Universe, Time Life Books, Alexandria, VA, 1998

#####

Index of Posted Novels

2010-04-27T11:29:00.000-07:00

Novels for Your Reading Pleasure

Angels in the Sand – Angels hold light, comical discussions of various spiritual and scientific topics with a retiree as he sets on the beach at Anna Maria Island, Florida. Initial posts begin the first week of May 2010.)

Our Dogs’ Tales Plus Our Cat’s Meow – The story of family dogs and one cat in which the animals tell the stories of both their lives and those of their human owners’ families. Covers the years from the 1930s to the 2000s. (Click on December 2009 archives.)

Resurrection Pond – A polluted pond spews out its human jetsam. The resurrected persons are transported into today’s world from their own eras with hilarious consequences. (Click on July 2009 archives.)

Only One Thing Wrong – A young genius has brilliant ideas but always forgets one vital thing leading to disastrous results. (Click on November 2008 archives.)

Katrina II – Is there a government agency which can direct and dissipate hurricanes? (Click on April 2007 archives for original or April 2008 for second edition.)

The House of Pain – A poor young man deals drugs to support his younger siblings and his addicted father. Meet the denizens of his crack house. (Click on May 2007 archives.)

The Hunt for Secret Agent 000 – A college professor disappears on a trip to the former USSR. Is he a secret CIA agent? (Click on June 2007 archives.)

The Devil’s Rock – A young man is hooked on crack cocaine. Follow his trip through women, jails, institutions and, finally, to killing. Is the killing self-defense or murder for revenge? (Click on October 2007 archives.)

Chapter 7 - Our Dogs' Tales & Our Cat's Meow

2010-04-21T12:42:00.000-07:00

Copyright 2010 John R. Wilhelm

OUR CAT’S MEOW
BY
JACK WILHELM

CHAPTER 7 – FLACO

I’m the biggest, toughest tiger in the neighborhood. Actually, I’m only an orange and white tabby but I have a tiger’s ego; I rule!
It didn’t start out this way. I was a poor, bedraggled kitten some cruel soul left on the side of the road. A rather attractive girl, street-named Angel, picked me up and took me home. She named me Flaco which, I understand, is the male version of “skinny” in Spanish.
One day, when I was just a few weeks old, she took me with her when she went to visit Jack. I was scared by my changed surroundings and took off running; Angel thought I ran out of the house.
She (I was about to say “acted like a woman” but I don’t want to sound prejudiced) immediately had a crying fit. The only way Jack could get her to stop crying was to promise to scour the neighborhood looking for me.
Somewhere in the next block, he found a small orange and white tabby and tried to pick it up. Immediately, the tiny cat started biting and scratching. Jack was not about to let it go. He took off his T-shirt, wrapped the cat in it, and headed for home.
Proudly, he displayed “Flaco” to Angel. She took one look and branded Jack an idiot. “This is a female cat and Flaco is a male! Couldn’t you tell the difference?” Jack admitted he had never known how to tell a female from a male cat.
“You dummy,” Angel informed him. “Male cats have balls just like you; females don’t.”
Jack sheepishly realized he had kidnapped someone else’s cat. Carefully rewrapping the cat, he carried it back to where he had found it.
Total damage; several bites and scratches, one T-shirt ripped to shreds, and one badly damaged ego.
Oh, yes. About this time, I emerged from under a bed where I had hidden. Angel was glad to see me. I don’t think Jack was.
Anyway, to prove I was male, I immediately started spraying my odor all around the house so any other cat would know not to invade my domain.
It was several weeks before Angel brought me to Jack’s again. I didn’t know it at the time but she had to go visit her Mother in Maryland and didn’t want to take me. So, she sweet talked Jack into taking care of me for a few days.
Jack reluctantly agreed. As soon as Angel left, he put me out the door! If I was to stay with him, I was going to learn to be an outdoors cat.
Angel’s few days turned into six months. I became known as Jack’s cat although, as anyone who has ever had a cat knows, I was really the cat’s cat.
Jack and I finally reached a friendly relationship. He let me in the house. I turned my fleas loose in his carpets. Then rolling over, taught him to scratch my ears and my belly. He finally gets a collar and a license for me and treats me for fleas.
By the time Angel comes back, I am an adult. She sits down on our couch. I jump on her lap and spray all over her. As I spray, I think, “Take this you bitch for deserting me like you did.”
Actually, I am quite content at Jack’s and Angel decides to just go find another kitten for herself.
After this episode, I really start to assert myself. Jack feeds me, of course, but it is fun going next door. The lady who owns the home has two cats and she feeds them outside. I chase them away and eat their food.
Then they mew and complain they are hungry. It takes the lady several weeks before she discovers what is going on.
One day, she knocks on Jack’s door and suggests he buy her a bag of cat food since I am eating all of hers anyway. Jack grumbles, tells me I am a bad cat, but buys a bag of food for the lady. Then, he scratches my belly and chuckles. I think he is rather proud of me. He likes being the owner of the toughest cat in the neighborhood.
Jack has numerous friends who stop in. I hear them talking about the 1980s. Seems the USSR is dissolved but there are still plenty of wars to go around. There’s the first Gulf War, two Congo wars, two Chechen wars, the Kargil War, the Kosova War, three Yugoslav wars, and numerous civil wars and guerilla wars. Terrorism becomes a real threat with the rise of Al-Queda, the first World Trade Center attack, and the Oklahoma City bombing.
The Columbine high school massacre occurs, the OJ Simpson murder case drags on, and Jack Kevorkian keeps helping the terminally ill commit suicide. Hurricane Andrew decimates Homestead, Florida.
Politically, President Bill Clinton survives the Monica Lewinsky scandal but provides much fodder for the late night comedians.
By the end of the decade, 50 percent of Western Countries have the internet and 25 percent have cell phones. E-mail becomes popular. There are digital cameras, CD burners, CD-ROM, DVDs begin replacing VCRs, and web browsers. Apple introduces the iMac.
On yet another technology front, planets are detected orbiting stars just like our earth orbits the Sun. The human genome project begins, a sheep (Dolly) is cloned, DNA is unraveled, the Hubble space telescope and the International Space Station are launched, and England and Europe are linked by the Channel tunnel.
Most of Jack’s friends are baby boomers and they are reaching middle age. The counter culture is on the rise. Body piercing becomes popular as does the Rave movement.
I hear them talking about movies, TV programs and their stars, and top entertainers. Frankly, there’s so many of them I can’t remember them all. But, now, you can just go to the internet if you’re interested.
Anyway, I am becoming the terror of the neighborhood. Soon there are orange and white kittens running all over.
Something must be done. Jack and Erika coax me into a cage and I am whisked away to an animal hospital. I know something is up and then, all of a sudden, I don’t know anything. When I come to, I realize I have been neutered. No more orange and white kittens in our neighborhood. I am royally pissed off and don’t speak to anyone for quite a while.
Being a cat, I am picky. I like some of the people who visit our house. Some of them I don’t. If I like them, I make myself a pain by jumping up on their laps whether they want me or not. If I don’t like them, I spit and hiss and claw them when they try to pick me up.
One of the guys who come to the house, is a big wheel in the county government. I hear he is in charge of all county computers. He tells everyone he is worried because no one knows what will happen when the new millennium arrives. Can computers handle the year 2000? I also hear some people think the world will come to an end!
I don’t think it’s a big deal but he does. Anyway, there’s a big party at the house on New Year’s Eve. Guess what? The computers handle it just fine and we’re all still here.
My world soon changes, however.
Jack decides Orlando has grown too big, too crowded, too Disney and decides to move. He chooses Sarasota; I don’t know why. He doesn’t know either!
We pack up and leave. I don’t like being in a cage. I don’t like being in a car. I remember the last time I was in a car; I lost my balls.
Even worse, when we arrive in Sarasota we stay in a motel while Jack looks for an apartment to rent. I hate being cooped up. I hate leaving my old neighborhood.
I decide I have to get out of the motel. My chance comes when the motel manager knocks on the door. As soon as Jack opens the door, I bolt.
We’re on a major highway and there’s lots of traffic. This doesn’t bother me because I’m an outdoor cat used to city traffic.
I see a group of young people across the highway and head for them. I put on my best act purring and rubbing up against a pretty young girl. She takes me back to where she stays. It turns out to be a dormitory at the local school of art and design.
She feeds me a bowl of milk. I know Jack will miss me but there’s no way I’m going to be cooped up in a motel again.
####

Chapter 7 - Our Dogs' Tales & Our Cat's Meow

2010-04-09T12:47:00.000-07:00

MY DOGS’ TALES
BY
JACK WILHELM

CHAPTER 7– TRAPPER

I’m a puppy; small body but big feet. Everyone says this will change fast. The body I mean; not the big feet. This is because I’m a Labrador Retriever/German Shepherd mix.
Because of this heritage, my fur is a mixture of brown and black but my feet are pure Lab; webbed and made for swimming. This means I am a perfect fit for the family.
I have a kennel mate, named Mowgli who is literally on her last legs. Yes, I know, Mowgli was the man-cub in The Jungle Book but Tom, who named her, didn’t know the difference. He liked the name and, so, it stuck. But, I digress.
Tim and Jim the two youngest family members, want a new puppy. The family’s Mother is a registered nurse working in the operating room at the regional hospital. No, I’m not digressing again. This is the crux of my story. One of the nurses she worked with had a dog and a new litter of puppies. Our family’s Mother, whose name is Erika, took the boys to pick out a puppy and they picked me. I think my name came from a character in the TV series Mash which the boys watch religiously.
So here I am, living on a lake with a family who loves the water and the outdoors almost as much as I do.
As you can imagine, while still a puppy, I don’t stay tiny very long. Soon I am big and clumsy. So the family decides Tim must take me to training classes. Off we go to the classes which are held at the local National Guard Armory. They last for several weeks. I never learn not to have a good scratch right in the middle of whatever I’m being trained to do.
After several weeks of this boring activity, the school is out and we are awarded a certificate of completion. This certificate does not come with a guarantee that I am trained. Tim thinks he has me trained. I know better; actually I have him trained.
Mowgli is getting worse every day. Soon, I hear Erika and Jack discussing youth-in-Asia. I don’t know what this means but I know they take Mowgli away never to return. Hopefully, the poor, old dog regained his youth when he reached Asia.
I hear Tim, Jim, and their friends talking about all the happenings in the 1980s. Ronald Reagan is elected President and the Cold War ends with the breakup of the Union of Soviet Socialistic Republics. However, the Russians invade Afghanistan and we invade Grenada and overturn the government in Panama. There is a rising fear of nuclear incidents and, in fact, there is a major nuclear disaster at Chernobyl in Russia. There is also the war on drugs as addiction becomes a major national problem. Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome (AIDS) becomes a major public health problem. On the social scene, political correctness, gay rights, and women in the workplace are hot topics. Fast food chains expand and Rubik’s Cube becomes a national rage. Video games are introduced with Pac-man, Super Mario, and Donkey Kong are the favorites.
Communications explode as cable TV becomes popular. Synthesizers, keyboards, and drum machines are marketed. MTV features Michael Jackson, Duran Duran, Prince, Madonna, and Queen. There is hard rock, punk rock, heavy metal, and hip hop. Among the popular performers are Bruce Springsteen, Lionel Richie, David Bowie, Cher, Jon Bon Jovi, Tina Turner, and Whitney Houston.
The most watched TV shows include the A-Team, MacGyver, Magnum PI, Night Court, Miami Vice, Golden Girls, Cheers, Seinfeld, Dallas, Dynasty, The Cosby Show, and Married with Children. The Simpsons air at the end of the decade and many parents forbid their children to watch which makes the show all the more popular.
Featured movies include Chariots of Fire, Terms of Endearment, Amadeus, Star Wars V and VI, Top Gun, Indiana Jones, Back to the Future, and Crocodile Dundee. Some of the noted performers are Michael J. Fox, Eddie Murphy, Woody Allen, Whoopi Goldberg, Tom Cruise, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Christopher Reeves, John Belushi, Dustin Hoffman, Alan Alda, Bruce Willis, Mel Gibson, and Clint Eastwood.
In sports, Jack Nicklaus, Magic Johnson, Larry Bird, and Wayne Gretzky are household words.
In the area of fashion, teased hair, ripped jeans, neon clothing, hair gel, leg warmers, head bands, and pastel colors are popular. BMX bikes are preferred although all members of our family have worked and purchased their own cars by now. Tom graduates from West Point and is an Army officer. Robin graduates from Clemson University and is teaching school.
Jim and Tim graduate from the University of Central Florida and are beginning their careers. All are married.
I’m getting ahead of myself (which is not unusual for a Lab. My big feet come to a stop but inertia keeps my body going forward). But, let’s get back to my life.
One day, my nose catches a strange smell which I don’t understand but my brain compels my body to search for the source. (I later learned the scent is from a female dog in heat and I am experiencing my sex drive.) Whatever! Off I go through the canal leading from South Lake Conway to Big Lake Conway. I wallow in mud and swim part way through this lake. Still the scent calls me on through North Lake Conway then through the swampy canal leading to Gatlin Lake; the fourth lake in the chain. I arrive at a large, white brick house; the source of the scent. I circle the house barking and whining piteously. Obviously, my female paramour has been outside but is now safely shut away.
Soon my plaintive cries and moans catch the attention of a young, aristocratic-looking woman. She is obviously an animal lover. Ignoring all the mud and other filth I have acquired in my search, she pats me and looks at my license. Then she calls my family, tells them she has found me, and asks directions to my home so she can return me to my owners.
Jack and Erika cannot believe their eyes when the lady pulls up in a brand new BMW. She opens the door. Out I jump, still wet and muddy although I’ve managed to rub most of it off on the lady’s brand new upholstery.
Needless to say, Tim’s first task is to take me to the lake and give me a bath. He wonders why I complain. Let me tell you, it isn’t the bath but the frustration I’ve just experienced!
Speaking of experiences, here’s another one I won’t forget. Father Jack and Tim decide to take me hunting with them to the Three Lakes Public Hunting Grounds. I must admit this is a logical choice seeing as how I am fifty percent Labrador Retriever.
After several hours without seeing any game, the two decide to have some target practice. Jack has brought along a hand trap and clay pigeons for just this purpose.
Jack lets fly, Tim fires his shotgun. I think he breaks the clay pigeon but I just take off running. I have never been so scared in my life as I am from the shotgun blast. I ran and ran, tired, panting, and panicked.
I hear the two men calling me but I am not about to return. They may fire the damn shotgun again. Finally, it grows dark. I know the two humans have driven home and left me. This makes me panic all the more. I run around aimlessly until I think I’ll drop. What am I to do?
My nose saves me. Tim has deliberately left his coat where the car was parked. I chase my tail round and round until comfortable and exhausted settle down to sleep.
There are lots of strange and scary night sounds but I am snug in Tim’s coat. I can almost feel his presence comforting me.
Sure enough, Tim talks his father into coming back to look for me the next morning. I jump up on Tim; he pets me, I lick his face. He is glad to find me. I’m not sure if Jack is or not.
In any case, Tim and his wife, Lori, soon set up housekeeping. I go to live with them.

#####

Chapter 6 - Our Dogs Tales & My Cat's Meow

2010-03-25T13:37:00.000-07:00

Copyright 2009 John R. Wilhelm

OUR DOGS’ TALES
BY
JACK WILHELM

CHAPTER 6 – MOWGLI (1970 - 1980)

In the l970s, our family’s water sports change from the lakes to the swimming pool. Swim classes at the YMCA indicate Tom has promise as a competitive swimmer and he is encouraged to join the swim team. Soon all the children are on the swim team and Jack and Erika are certified officials, volunteering to work at all the local swim meets. Swim practice is every day, both before and after school.
Tom gets a monopoly on mowing the neighbors’ lawns. This monopoly is passed down to Jim and then to Tim. Weekends finds the family on the lake water skiing. Robin is slaloming; the boys are soon bare footing.
The overgrown, vacant lot across the street becomes a battleground in which to play war. A mowed lot up the street becomes a football and baseball field depending on the season.
I hear the grown-ups talking about the decline of the hippy culture, the closing of the Vietnam War. Apparently, there’s no shortage of wars, however. There’s the Yom Kippur War, the Soviets invade Afghanistan, and the cold war continues with the USSR. Something called international terrorism is in the news; at the 1972 Olympics Israeli athletes are kidnapped and murdered.
Politically, there’s the Watergate scandal which culminates in the resignation of President Nixon. Economically there’s an oil crisis and “stagflation.” Eva Peron, Indura Gandhi, and Margaret Thatcher become presidents or prime ministers of countries thereby pushing the feminist movement into the limelight.
Technologically there’s the birth of modern computers and video games. The first face lifts occur in 1970; soon most older women want one. Music changes radically. The Carpenters, Elton John, John Denver and Chicago popularize soft rock/pop rock. Stevie Wonder leads the rhythm and blues group. The Bee Gees, ABBA, KC and the Sunshine Band usher in disco. TheWho, Pink Floyd, AC/DC and Arrowsmith lead the hard rock/heavy metal movement. Bob Marley headlines reggae and Kenny Rogers leads the country movement.
The family goes to see movies including Star Wars IV, Jaws, Grease, Apocalypse Now, Clockwork Orange, and the Godfather. When they watch TV, they watch shows including All in the Family, Mary Tyler Moore, Bonanza, Gunsmoke, Sanford and Sons, Good Times, and The Love Boat. Detective shows like Charlie’s Angels are popular. During the day soap operas like As the World Turns are popular as are game shows like The Price Is Right.
The family begins reading paperbacks as well as hard cover books. Some of the popular writers are Stephen King, Virginia Wolf, Agatha Christie, and J.R.R. Tolkien.
The men grow long sideburns and beards. Blacks grow Afros. The women wear bell bottom pants, platform shoes, and turtle neck shirts. They either wear their hair long and straight or in feather cuts a la Farrah Fawcet.
The youngsters all want Lava Lamps and Chopper bicycles although they are eying the used car ads and readying for their driving tests. Tom and Robin are the first to become drivers. Tom buys a used Ford Mustang which is the envy of his friends. Robin buys a VW Beetle.
All this time, we’re all growing older but I’m still playful as a puppy. This frequently gets me in trouble because I want to join in all their games. One game we all enjoy is King of the Dock. In this game, the guys throw me off the dock. I swim to shore and come charging down the dock barking ferociously. Everyone jumps into the water then sneak back onto the dock. I pretend to not notice them sneaking up on me and they push me into the water. Then, it’s my turn again.
Naturally, all the neighborhood kids want to play, too. The problem is I get carried away and nip someone playfully.
This inevitably brings the kid’s mother and the animal control officer. I stand contritely behind my family’s Mother or Father wagging my tail and looking as pitiful as I know how.
Nevertheless, I get quarantined to make certain I’m not rabid. I whine and plead but I’m not allowed to play King of the Dock until released.
Tampa Bay is awarded a team in the NFL in 1976. Jack and Erika have gone to the exhibition games and now have the opportunity to purchase season tickets. The team is made up primarily of cast offs from other teams. The team, named the Buccaneers, suffer through 26 straight losses. Finally, they defeat the New Orleans Saints who are so bad their fans wear bags over the heads and dub the team “the Aint’s.
In 1976, Tom graduates from Oak Ridge high school where he is voted president of his senior class and class valedictorian. Everyone is proud of the fact he is appointed to West Point. Home for the holidays, he sort of looks down his nose at the gung-ho cadets who volunteer for airborne ranger training in the summer. When summer comes, he somewhat sheepishly tells his Mom he won’t be home because he has volunteered for airborne ranger training.
Soon, Robin leaves for Clemson University in South Carolina. She becomes the only one in the family with a southern accent
One incident drives home the discipline instilled at West Point. Tom brings home some friends. When they leave everything is immaculate and you can bounce a quarter on the beds.
Robin arrives with friends. They leave everything a big mess which Mom has to clean up!
Our boats for fishing and skiing keep getting bigger. We go from a small Critchfield, to a Larson tri-hull, to a Robalo. Regardless of the size of the boat, we still go skiing, fishing, shrimping, and oystering.
I have to tell four stories about our forays to the Keys. When there, my family enjoys going conching. The queen conch provides excellent food; conch fritters, conch chowder, conch steaks, and seviche. The problem is extracting the meat from the shell without spoiling it or breaking the shell. There is a place where a knife can be inserted severing the muscle and breaking the suction. Jack can’t find it. Someone tells him to insert a hook in the foot and hang it up. According to this theory, the weight of the conch shell will tire the muscle and the shell will drop off.
Sure enough the sea snail (for this is what it is) begins extending further and further from the shell. Anxious to begin cooking, Jack takes it down. With a large “slurp” the muscle quickly retracts back into the shell.
Jack boils the conch, shell and all. The meat comes out. The family enjoys the result.
My next story also involves conch. Different year and we’ve moved up to a condo rental but the ocean is still the same. The family locates a bed of conch and harvests several. We head back to the dock. A bunch of curious oceanographic students from a university in Indiana are there and curious. (Jack can’t figure why someone would go to Indiana to study oceanography when the University of Miami is right up the road.) Anyway, the students are there and want to buy some.
You can almost see the dollar signs as Erika’s eyes light up. Before Jack knows it, the entire catch has been sold. Jack grumbles. Erika tells him to just go back and find some more. Jack can’t find the bed. The family has hamburgers for dinner.
The next two stories involve waterspouts; those tornados which form over water. The first takes place at the same condo but a different time. All the family, except Jack, wants to relax on the condo porch. Jack goes fishing alone on the Gulf side but in sight of the family sitting on the porch. All of a sudden, Jack looks up and sees a waterspout bearing down on him. He up anchor’s, starts the engine, and speeds off for “home.” The whole family kids him. They say, “Now we know the meaning of hauling ass!”
Oh, yes. The waterspout hit a small island, discharged its water, and disappears.
My last story involves the Keys and trolling the Gulf Stream. Jack is fishing with son, Tim, and a friend. After a long time trolling without so much as a hit, Tim spots a large red piece of canvas – perhaps, a sail or a tarpaulin. In any case, they troll around it. Immediately, dolphin fish (mahi mahi) strike all three lines. The action is fast and furious. Tim, Jack, and friend are in a school of fish. It is the best fishing they have ever experienced in the ocean.
Something prompts Jack to look up. A waterspout is bearing down on them. Fishing is forgotten as the need for self-preservation kicks in. The boat easily outruns the waterspout but fishing is forgotten for the day. They head for home. The fish are delicious and the tall tales get bigger by the minute.
Back to the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. With two season tickets, Jack brings one child to each game. This not only provides quality time but, as they reach legal driving age, gives them experience driving in heavy traffic. Finally, in l979 the Bucs fall just one game short of making the Super Bowl. Jack and Robin sit through driving rain watching the Bucs clinch making the playoffs by beating the Kansas City Chiefs 3-0 on a wet, muddy, slippery field.
Jack manages to get tickets to the playoff game for all the children. They watch the Bucs beat the Philadelphia Eagles 29 -7. Erika stays home thankful to get some time to herself. (I hear the Bucs fall to the Los Angeles Rams who advance to the Super Bowl only to get clobbered by the Pittsburgh Steelers.)

*****
It’s 1979 and I’m getting old. I notice gray hairs on my muzzle. My arthritis bothers me. I lay around and sleep much of the time. Of course, all children are getting older, too. There's school and part-time work and social activities. Less time for me.

Almost before I know it, there’s a big party again and I hear everyone yelling “Happy New Year 1980.”
#####

Chapter 5 - Our Dogs' Tales & Our Cat's Meow

2010-03-10T14:02:00.000-08:00

Copyright 2009 John R. Wilhelm

MY DOGS’ TALES
BY
JACK WILHELM

CHAPTER 5 – MOWGLI (1960 to 1970)

I’m a medium sized, black and white – with just a few brown patches – mostly fox terrier with a whole lot of other breeds mixed in. Most people call me a mongrel. I prefer to think of myself as a made-to-order children’s dog ideally suited to be a playmate, caretaker, and companion. Thank you very much for referring to me like this!
It’s the 1960s. I hear the humans saying the world is changing breathtakingly fast. They talk about such things as anti-war movements, environmentalism, feminism, civil rights, video games, personal computers, population explosions, stagflation, moon landings, space stations, Vietnam, the Cuban Missile Crisis, and the Peace Corps.
Others are talking about a president’s assassination, riots in the cities, the space race, a movie called Star Wars, the first heart transplant, Woodstock, psychedelic drugs, an ATM, a touchtone phone, and other movies including Mary Poppins, Rosemary’s Baby, and Bonnie and Clyde.
Still others are listening to the Motown sound, folk rock, soul, and reggae sung by singers like Elvis Presley, the Beatles, Johnny Cash, Janis Joplin, Joan Baez, and Simon and Garfunkel. They talk about bands with such ridiculous names as the Grateful Dead, Led Zeppelin, the Rolling Stones, the Beach Boys, Jefferson Airplane, and Creedence Clearwater Revival.
I don’t what any of this means or who these people are. I only know my life has changed radically for the better. The change began when my family’s father, Jack, played a trick on some friends. His friends’ children wanted a kitten – yes, a cat; can you imagine! Anyway Jack got one and gave it to the kids. The children whined so piteously their mother let them keep it.
In retaliation, the friend found a poor, bedraggled puppy – me – which someone had abandoned on the side of the road. She picked me up, cleaned me up and left me on Jack’s family’s doorstep. The children pleaded, Jack caved-in (I’ve noticed Jack has a hard time saying “no” to his children.) Here I am; warm and cozy with a big bowl of food and the attention of the entire family.
It’s getting to be quite a large family. Besides Jack, and his wife, Erika, there’s Tom and Robin. Sue and John, the children from a previous wife, spend the summers with us. Erika treats Sue and John like her own.
I love the water which is a good thing since we live right across from the Conway chain of four lakes. There’s also the nine-lake Butler chain in nearby Windemere. Naturally, Jack and Erika buy a second hand boat. Now we can spend nights after work and weekends on the lakes.
Soon the children all become excellent swimmers. Jack told me the story of the family going to a motel in Sarasota for the weekend. The motel had a swimming contest for different age groups. Three year olds had to wear a life preserver made of Styrofoam on their backs. Robin doesn’t win her race because she’s totally confused. She’s never worn a life preserver in her young life.
In 1964, a new son, Jim, is born. A baby doesn’t stop my family! He just gets taken along. First, they decide to take a weekend trip up the Oklawaha River to the Silver Springs resort. Actually you can then return almost to Orlando by way of the Silver Springs run, pass through locks in canals connecting the Dora chain of lakes which terminate at the Mount Dora city boat ramp on Lake Dora.
However, my family and a friend’s family decide to just take the Oklawaha run, spend the night in a motel at Silver Springs and return to the town of Oklawaha where their cars and trailers are parked.
Jack later tells me it is like a trip back in time. They have a map of the river but soon find out all the beaches noted on the map are just six foot strips of sand. There is only one road crossing the river and only one store with pigs running free in the yard. If you need gas, this is where you must get it.
Snakes, turtles and alligators sun themselves on rocks or logs all along the way. Their friend’s wife is terrified of the surroundings. She ducks under the cabin and does not surface until the flotilla reaches Silver Springs. Jim rides serenely in his playpen which fits nicely into the boat.
It is Saturday. There are fishermen all along the way; some fishing from shore, others in old, battered wooden rowboats. Most are dressed in bib overalls, smoke corncob pipes, and wear straw hats. Returning on Sunday, Jack notices all the fishermen have brought their wives, or girlfriends, along. They are dressed for Sunday; cotton dresses and bonnets.
You’ll note most of my tale concerns exploits on the water. This is because I am not allowed to go with Jack to his work in marketing communications nor to Erika’s work in a hospital where she is an operating room nurse. Any tales other than on the water are strictly hearsay.
Back to my story. The family takes a vacation in the Florida Keys. They camp in the Florida State Campground on Bahia Honda. Jack decides to hold a fishing contest with the children. There’s too many for him to handle at once so he pits the boys against the girls. Tom and John go out in the boat with him and return in an hour with twelve assorted varieties of snappers. Then he takes Sue and Robin in the boat. Soon they catch eleven fish. Jack says it’s time to go in. Boys win!!! Sue knows they haven’t been fishing as long as the boys. She knows Dad has cheated in favor of the boys. She never lets Dad forget it!
The highlight of the trip is a visit to the Seaquarium which allows the children to swim with a dolphin. Each gets a ride by holding on to the dolphin’s dorsal fin. John’s grin is so wide we are afraid he may drown.
In 1966, another son, Tim, is born. He, too, soon becomes a water baby.
Camping trips include Homosassa Springs, Crystal River, and the Brevard County Park at Sebastian Inlet. All include swimming, fishing, clam digging, and oystering. Also hours spent trying to keep the tent from blowing away during violent thunderstorms.
Soon all the family is water skiing. They also have something they call a battleboard. This is a four-foot square of plywood with a rope harness attached to the back of the boat. They all learn to control the board by shifting their weight. They can go over the boat’s wake. They can also make it dive. Then, it becomes a contest to see who can stay underwater the longest. Jim and Tim are younger and can’t compete with the older ones. So I am pressed into service. I am put on the board with each one. I quickly come to the surface. However, the two are proud because there is someone – me – they can beat.
One night, all the neighbors get together for a party. I’m not invited but I crash the party because I know no one will mind. Everyone is wearing silly hats, dancing and drinking various liquids which make them laugh and blurs their speech. Then, at midnight, they start blowing on things which make a horrible racket. Then, they all hug and kiss. I hear someone say Happy 1970.

####

Our Dogs' Tales & Our Cat's Meow

2010-02-10T14:04:00.000-08:00

OUR DOGS’ TALES
BY
JACK WILHELM

CHAPTER 4 – DIXIE AND BESS

True to his word, Jack no longer took me, Pete, hunting. This made me happy and Jack less frustrated. But, I’m ahead of my story. I’ll turn the story over to Dixie who is the senior citizen of the Dixie/Bess team.
I am indeed a senior citizen; even my fur is turning white with age. I still have the greatest nose in the county, so I’ve been told by my master, Paul. I live in a dog coop with another part beagle named Bess. She is not related to me but, frankly, I’m too old to be interested in sex; particularly since both she and I are both females. Of course, if I were inclined towards other females, relationships wouldn’t bother me anyway. I’m not so we have a purely platonic relationship; unless she gets on my nerves. Bess is a pup and is frisky and playful. I want none of this and can still show her who’s boss.
Paul is a few years older than Jack. This meant he was in World War II. He served in the Navy as a Coxswain’s mate on landing craft. He obviously learned the art of boat handling well. I hear Paul takes Jack out fishing in the Atlantic Ocean navigating inlets in a 14-foot, square bowed, flat bottomed, aluminum John boat powered by a 10 horsepower Johnson motor.
One time, Paul and Jack go fishing for flounder in the Intercoastal Waterway. Paul brags about the trick he shows Jack. Before they leave the dock, Paul fills a bucket with sand.
Jack asks what the sand is for. Paul points out flounder are bottom feeding fish. Chumming with handfuls of sand fools the flounder into thinking other fish are feeding and stirring up the bottom. They want to get into the action, move into the cloudy water, and start to look for food. The trick works and the men bring back a whole stringer full of the tasty fish. Of course, I don’t eat fish but I do receive a very nice bone to gnaw on.
Paul is a handsome man in a sort of French-looking way I’ve been told. I’m not certain what this means. I do know he’s inherited his looks from his Father and Mother who are immigrants from France. They had come to the United States to find work in the lace mills here. True to old country practice, his Father apprenticed Paul as a lace weaver instead of sending him to college. Only problem is lace mills are going out of business and, now, Paul is having trouble finding work.
He and his wife, Rose, and his two children own a house including a separate apartment which he rented to Jack and his family. This is how the two families became acquainted. Rose came from a farm family. She is an attractive, down-to-earth person, a good Mother, and completely devoted to Paul.
Soon, Jack and his wife buy their own Colonial-style, two-story house nearby. This is when Jack buys Pete and houses him in the backyard. The two families remain close friends.
This, of course, is a long-winded way of introducing myself and my much younger partner, Bess.
The first time Paul and Jack go hunting together, they take me, Bess, and Pete. The logic is good; the results disastrous. They think the younger dogs will learn from me but Pete won’t hunt and Bess goes tearing off on a trail way ahead of me. This disguises the bunny’s scent. Then, inevitably, Bess either loses the trail or goes running off on a tangent.
I am not perfect. I never lose a trail but I become plumb tired quickly. Old age has caught up with me. In fact, I have to sit down on my haunches to bay. This means the rabbit soon is way ahead of me. This creates a problem for Paul, Jack, and the rabbit.
Jack and Paul don’t know when the rabbit will come by them. The rabbit gets complacent because I am so far behind. It makes him a sitting target. However, no matter how far ahead the rabbit is, I never lose a trail or fail to bring the rabbit in range of the guns.
I guess I should retire but my heart and my determination keep me hunting. I never give up. Often times, the men have to carry me back to their station wagon because I am exhausted. Sometimes the men, pitying me, load their guns into Paul’s station wagon and try to sneak away. This never fools me. My nose picks up the scent of the oiled gun or boots. Then I bark and whine until they relent and take me along. They never regret this decision.
Jack and Paul completely give up on Pete. He becomes the children’s full-time play toy. They do take Bess a few more times. Bess is willing but she completely frustrates me. One time I actually bite her and tell her not to get ahead of me. I think if she would only follow me she might learn not lose the trail or go off on an old scent.
She might have, too, because I am a good teacher. Except Bess won’t listen. She’d tries to stay with me but then her hound genes kick in and off she goes.
After a few times, Paul and Jack decide to keep Bess home during hunting season. They’ll try to train her after the season when actual hunting wasn’t involved.
This might have worked eventually. Except for two things. First, Jack takes a job in Florida. Secondly, Paul loses his job when the lace mill closes. Neither of these things happened at once. Paul and Jack spent several years hunting and fishing together. As I said, the families became close social friends and certainly miss each other when they part company
They still remain friends, of course. When Jack and his family come north to visit relatives, they get together. Paul and his family take the opportunity to vacation in Florida.
Two years later, Paul tells Jack he has opened a Sub shop in an industrial section of town. This solved his employment problem; he can’t be laid off now. Soon, the shop is doing very well. Well enough, in fact, for their son and daughter to tend the shop. Paul and Rose can visit in Florida once more.
Then disaster strikes. Paul’s leg breaks for no apparent reason. After many tests, he is diagnosed with bone cancer. Within a short time, Paul dies.
*****
Hello, I’m Bess. One matures quickly when you lose your master and your coop-mate one right after the other. Right, Dixie died soon after Paul. Dixie loved Paul and I believe she died of a broken heart. Dogs do this, you know.
Here’s the rest of the story.
Rose is a very religious person and she cannot understand how a loving God can take her soul mate from her. Paul has been a good man as well as a good husband. Certainly, he is in heaven. So, she begins trying to contact Paul in the beyond. She begins attending séances with no success.
Finally, one spiritualist tells her she might contact Paul through intercourse with his best friend. She contacts Jack. Now I don’t know what these big words mean. I do know Jack’s wife wants nothing to do with Jack and Rose having intercourse no matter how good friends Jack and Paul might have been.
I am given to another family member who wanted a young hunting dog. I don’t know if Paul was ever contacted in the beyond or not. I’m sure Rose and Paul will be together again.

#####

Chapter 4 - Our Dogs' Tales & Our Cat's Meow

2010-01-27T12:18:00.000-08:00

Copyright 2009 John R. Wilhelm

MY DOGS’ TALES
BY
JACK WILHELM

CHAPTER 4 – PETE

I’m a Beagle hound registered by the American Kennel Club. My family tells me I’m as cute as Charlie Brown’s dog, Snoopy.
My family consists of Jack, his wife, and two children, Sue and John, Jr. Right; it’s the 1950s. Jack has graduated from college and has a steady job. I hear he was greatly impressed by all his fellow students who were in World War II as well as by those who had been called back to service during the Korean War. They lost several years of their lives and were charging ahead as hard as they could to make up for lost time. School on the GI Bill, marriage, jobs, and family; not necessarily in this order. These friends were Jack’s role models so he tried to emulate them and succeeded.
He has changed jobs two times as a means of advancement. He now works in marketing and public information for an electronics firm. He’s a member of the local Jaycees and active in the church and other civic activities. We live in a small town surrounded by farms whose main crop is potatoes.
I have a coop in the backyard which I hate. I want to be a lap dog and play with the kids. Jack wants me to be a hunting dog. The kids and I won out and this is the gist of my story.
Jack takes me out in the field to get me used to hunting. It doesn’t work because he takes the children along. We romp and play. I refuse to go into the bush and brambles; although we do get into a hatch of ticks one time. Jack has to pick ticks from all of us, including himself.
I am not allowed to come into the house to watch television which is the center of family entertainment. The kids watch Sky King, Superman, Lassie and the Lone Ranger. Jack and his wife watch Lucille Ball, Arthur Godfrey, Steve Allen, Pat Boone, Dave Garraway and Ed Sullivan.
Ed Sullivan introduces Elvis Presley on national television and a legend is born. The big bands give way to rock and roll. Jack tells me Elvis and rock and roll changed the whole culture. As if I care. All I want is food, shelter, my ears rubbed and my belly scratched, and to play with the children.
Jack’s wife wears her hair in a beehive and dresses in jeans, pedal pushers, pleated skirts, and blouses with peter pan collars. Jack wears more casual clothes and grows sideburns and longer hair. Sue and John learn to use the hoola hoop, play pickup sticks, and go roller skating and bike riding.
I am allowed to go along when the family goes to a barn dance. This is held in a real barn. Everyone brings their kids and we watch TV in the main house. The adults square dance to recorded music with a live caller. The barn has been swept and mopped but the folks still can hardly see through the cloud of potato dust raised as they dance. A keg of beer kept them from choking.
During the DJ’s break times, everyone dances to modern recorded music. They do funny dances with names like the twist, the swim, and the bunny hop. Most appropriately, they dance the mashed potato. After all, they are dancing at a potato farm in a barn used to store potatoes.
After they go home, they all coughed and spit dirt for the next week. Nevertheless, they are all ready to do it again. I decided all humans are a little touched in the head.
Fall comes and with it hunting season. As expected, I do not want to hunt. Josh drags me out anyway. Actually, I trained him well. He wades through the brush and brambles while I walk along waiting for him to chase out a rabbit or pheasant. Then the only problem is I am not interested at all in chasing anything. I am perfectly content to humor Jack by going with him as long as he doesn’t expect me to hunt. Really, I am just putting in time until sunset and we can go home. Then I get to play with the children, which is what I wanted all along.
There is one time when I get closer to the children than I really want to and vice versa. Jack decides it would be a good experience to go camping. (The man does have some hare-brained ideas!)
Dutifully, we load the station wagon with a big wall tent, air mattresses, clothes, and food. Then we head to a place known as High Point State Park. The park is way up in north Jersey almost to the New York border. The country is hilly, beautifully wooded, with a swimming lake. We arrive, Jack sets up the tent and, fortunately, he digs ditches so the water will run off if it rains. Then we all go romping off through the woods and to the lake.
Guess what? It rains. Not just rains; it pours. As the folks in north Jersey say, “It’s a frog strangler; it’s a gully washer.” We’re all stuck in the tent. I like togetherness. I don’t like being used for a pillow.
Jack, ever the optimist, says the sun will be out tomorrow. So much for optimism! It rains all day tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. The kids want to go, the wife wants to go home, I want to go home. Jack is not only hare-brained, he is stubborn as a mule. Finally, there is a mutiny in the tent. Everything is soaked. We are all damp. The kids say I stink (which I resent even if true.) The wife says she is taking the kids and leaving. I tell her she’s not leaving without me.
Jack capitulates. He loads the tent and all the equipment in the station wagon and we go home. I have never been so glad to get into my nice, warm, dry dog coop.
A holiday called Thanksgiving is approaching. One day, Jack and the missus pile us all into the family’s station wagon and head to Grandma’s. I don’t know what a grandma is but she turns out to be a very pleasant, heavy set woman with her hair rolled up in a bun. I can tell she is happy to see us from the way she hugs the children and gives them cookies. I resent the fact she doesn’t offer me one.
Soon, other members of the family start arriving. Nutch and his wife arrive with their son, Dick. Chet and Eddie come with their three children, Diane, Donna, and Chett. Ethel and George are already there.
I learn this is the family’s favorite holiday; the one when they all get together and celebrate every year. Other times, like Christmas, they humor the children who want to stay at home with their friends.
Thanksgiving morning, Jack, Chet, and Nutch go hunting. George and I don’t go along. George says he has marched so much during the war he will never go hiking again. I heard one of the men say they haven’t had a good hunting dog since Mickey, whoever he was. I wasn’t bothered a bit. I’d rather stay at home and play with all the children.
While the men are hunting, the women all begin preparations for dinner. This is fine by me because I am always ready to eat. It is not to be.
Everyone but Grandma and the children bundle up and go to something called a traditional Thanksgiving football game. It seems thousands of crazy fans go to this game between our high school and the one from the twin city right across the river. Someone says Phillipsburg and Easton high schools have been playing this game each year for over 80 years.
It is dark when the adults all came back happy because their team has won. Finally, we can eat turkey and all the fixings. Boy am I hungry. I’m not disappointed. In addition to my own bowl, all the children keep feeding me under the table. Grandma knows what is going on but looks the other way.
All too soon the holiday is over and the family groups all leave for their homes. Seems they had to do something called “work” come Monday morning.
Obviously, it is still hunting season and I am dragged into the field. I must say Jack is patient. He keeps hoping I will at least chase a rabbit. No such luck. Nevertheless, this activity or, rather, lack of activity goes on for several hunting seasons. I decide I no longer want to humor Jack; I am a play dog period. The difficult task is convincing Jack of this. I lay my plan carefully although I know it involves danger.
My chance comes one day in late November. Jack and I are hunting in a cornfield. The corn has been harvested, of course, but the stalks are still there rattling in the wind. The air is nippy and snow is falling which makes animal and bird tracks clearly visible.
Suddenly, a cock pheasant, all brown and gold with green neck feathers, rockets nosily into the air. Jack fires his shotgun and the bird, wounded, falls to the ground. It is the perfect chance and I go into my act, baying, and leaping in pursuit.
It is a strange and laughable procession. The pheasant in the lead, me right behind being careful not to catch up, and Jack in the rear yelling for me to get out of the way – actually, I think he is yelling “Get the hell out of the way you stupid dog or I’ll shoot you.” This is the dangerous part. Jack may really decide to shoot me. Finally, I move out of the way. Jack fires and the pheasant expires.
Jack tells me he is not taking me hunting again. I do nothing but get in the way. From now on he is going to hunt with his friend Paul who has two good hunting dogs, Dixie and Bess.
Of course, this is what I planned all along. Now I can devote all my time to playing with the children or snoozing in the sun.
I am told the roast pheasant dinner was delicious. The children put the colorful tail feathers in their hats and proudly wear them to school the next Monday. During “show and tell,” they tell the class all about their great hunting dog—me!

#####

Chapter 3 -Our Dogs' Tales & Our Cat's Meow

2010-01-12T10:18:00.000-08:00

Copyright 2009 John R. Wilhelm

MY DOGS’ TALES
BY
JACK WILHELM

CHAPTER 3 – MONK

I’m Monk, a mostly black and white, medium-sized dog. I’m a mongrel. Mostly fox terrier but larger; likely with some Labrador Retriever judging by the way I love the water.
Chet’s wife, Eddie, picked me up after someone had abandoned me by the side of the road. This was probably the luckiest day of this puppy’s life. And, if I may say so, probably one of the luckiest days for my family, too.
I love to do tricks and, as I said, I love the water. This is good because the family still spends summers in the Delaware Water Gap. Things have changed, though. There’s no more group camping. Most all of the campers are away fighting the war. The owner of Kittatinny Beach property built three cabins and is laying out plots for more. My family purchased two of the three.
They’re pretty rough, built of wood, set on concrete blocks. Just one room. Chet and Eddie have strung curtains to separate the bedroom from the living, dining, and kitchen area. No indoor plumbing. There’s a double seat outhouse facing Mount Tammany, on the New Jersey side of the Gap; Mount Minsi’s on the Pennsylvania side. The humans love to sit there and read or contemplate the mountain. One human at a time, of course. The second seat is only for emergencies.
Chet, Nutch, and Jack have dammed a pool way up Dunfield Creek and laid a pipeline down the mountain which provides a source of water and a cold, cold shower outside the cabins through the force of gravity.
Cooking and light are provided by kerosene stove and lantern. Electricity isn’t available in this area yet.
Chet and Jack still earn spending money running the beach and bath house. There’s not much of a beach. Most of the swimmers swim to the raft anchored off the beach and do their sunning there. There’s hardly any beachgoers except on weekends. Everyone is either in the service or working in the defense industry.
I swim with Jack and a couple of other kids living in the area. Other times, I snooze in the shade under one of the cabins.
Eddie often invites her niece, Vonnie, to stay with us. She is a coltish, gawky pre-teen girl just in the stage before becoming a shapely, attractive young woman. Jack is a skinny, rapidly growing early-teen with a squeaky voice.
I can’t figure the two of them out. They say they hate each other and fight and wrestle. In the water, they duck each other and push each other off the raft. Then at night, around the campfire, I catch them holding hands and stealing kisses when no one but me is looking. Humans should learn to be straight up like dogs. No one has to guess at my true feelings.
Several times a week, Chet and Jack take their rowboat and go fishing. The Delaware River is home to smallmouth bass, sunfish, crappy bass, and walleyed pike. Chet is a purist. He wants to catch smallmouths or walleyes. Jack just wants to catch fish. We usually bring home a stringer of sunnies and crappies. Sometimes a legal-sized smallmouth. Hardly ever a walleye! Eddie cleans the fish, which Jack has caught, rolls them in flour or cornmeal and fries them to a golden brown. I, of course, want to go along fishing but Chet and Jack won’t let me in the boat because I shake water all over the place. I’m determined though. I swim behind the boat all the way across to the Pennsy side, then go chasing rabbits along the rocky shore. At least once a year, I confront a copperhead or rattlesnake and lose. Then they gently put me in the boat, say all sorts or nice things about me, and take me to the veterinarian for treatment. I’m sick for a few days but I bounce back quickly. I never learn; next time they go fishing, I’m swimming right behind them, doggy paddling as fast as I can. It’s the only stroke I can do. I can’t do freestyle or the backstroke.
Some days, Chet and Jack have to get bait first. They beach their boat and wade in shallow water near rapids and turn over rocks to find hellgrammites. They also dig in muck to find lamprey eels which are the preferred bait for Walleyes.
One time, I watch Jack playing a joke on Chet. He is pulling the same lamprey eel out of the bait can and saying “Look, Chet, here’s another one.” Soon Chet thinks he has a dozen and they shove off to fish. This is what Jack wants. He doesn’t need lamprey eels to catch sunfish and crappy bass. It’s not too long before I hear Chet – mad as hell -- yelling at Jack. He’s discovered he only has three lamprey eels in the bait can. Not much for all the digging he’s done!
Chet retaliates later by holding Jack so some of the older women who think Jack’s cute can kiss him. Jack is so mad he takes a punch at Chet. Chet puts a half-nelson move on him and ducks him under the water until he “gives up.” I know who’s boss!
As I said, there’s still no electricity in the cabin so a kerosene stove is used for cooking and kerosene lamps provide the only lighting. The family goes to bed early most nights unless they’re out around a campfire.
They do have a battery-powered radio. The shows they listen to include Amos ‘n Andy, The Shadow, the Inner Sanctum, the Lone Ranger, and Gangbusters. It’s still the big band era, too. Sometimes, I hear them talking about the War and events like Stalingrad, El Alamein, and Midway. Apparently, the tide is turning.
In the Pacific, the Marines are fighting on island after island. I hear names like Guadalcanal, Iwo Jima, and Tarawa. Then all the humans are either cheering or praying as the Allies return to the European continent. It’s D-Day, June 6, 1944. Soon they are discussing Anzio in Italy, crossing the Rhine, the Battle of the Bulge and the advance on Berlin.
Jack proudly displays a German helmet which George, now fighting in Europe, is able to send him.
I’ve got my own battles. I discover my first porcupine. I yelp and whimper as Chet and Jack use pliers to pull all the quills out of my snout. I know they have to do it but it sure does hurt.
Summer’s over. I go home with Chet and Eddie. They’re my humans after all. I hear Jack is starting high school. I’ll miss him but summer will be back and so will Jack.
I’m proud of Chet. He’s no longer just a teacher. He’s been made the principal of his high school. Of course, his new job cuts into the time he has for me. Fortunately, he tells me there’s still no summer school.
While we’re home, Germany surrenders on May 7, 1945. The humans are all excited because Ethel’s husband, George will be coming home soon. I hear he likes to fish so he’ll also like to scratch me behind my ears. I know what you’re going to say! Fishing has absolutely no correlation to ear scratching. Hey, after all, I’m a dog; not a rocket scientist. What do you expect?
We arrive back at our cabin to find it’s been broken into. The police tell us it was two guys on a bender. They apparently lay in the bed, drinking beer, and firing a .22 rifle at anything they considered a target which, apparently, was everything. Dishes, glasses, lamps, windows; whatever struck their fancy.
The owner of the property knew there was way too much shooting to be hunters and called the state police. They apprehended the two but this didn’t help Chet and Eddie much. There was a lot of repair work to be done which they had to pay for themselves. Jack helped with the labor.
Pretty soon, things were back to normal.
Then, on August 6 and 9, 1945, newspaper headlines screamed and radios blared the news of the atomic bomb which had been dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I remember Chet saying the world would never be the same.
Japan surrendered on August 15, 1945. Thank goodness I’ve never been gun shy. It seemed like the whole world was firing off shotguns. Fireworks lighted up the sky and every horn was honking incessantly. It was, indeed, a happy day for the humans.
Within a few months, George did come home and he and Ethel bought one of the cabins. He went back to work but joined us on the weekends. Now, there were three humans in the rowboat. I still had to swim.
From then on, life was much the same for me. One time, Chet managed to hook George in the head with a fishing lure. This was about as much excitement as there was.
Then one day, as we were closing up the cabins and going to our winter quarters, Jack patted my head, scratched my belly, and told me he was going off to college, whatever this is.
I only saw him off and on from then on when he came by to spend the weekend fishing. In 1950, he had finished his first year in college and was home for the summer working construction. As usual, he came to fish on the weekend.
One weekend, he told his sister, Ethel, he didn’t feel too good. Eddie and she took no pity on him. As usual, they combine to wrestle him to the ground. When they let go, he can’t get up. Everyone knows something is very wrong. They are right.
The humans take him to the doctor. He is diagnosed with Polio, the most feared disease of the time. From this point on, my tale is hearsay because I am not allowed to visit him in the hospital. I am told the doctors are using the Sister Kenny treatment which is the best available at the time.
It consists of taking old Army blankets and putting them in a portable washing machine with a spin dry cycle; although I suspect the machine has a much more sophisticated name. The very hot, very damp blanket is then wrapped around Jack’s legs. At first the blanket burned it is so hot; as it cooled it itched. Then it is into a whirlpool where a physiotherapist worked the affected muscles.
Jack has no paralysis; only weakness. Other patients are not so fortunate. Several are in “iron lungs” because the muscles controlling breathing are paralyzed.
In fact, Chet told me Jack has a ball – at least, as much of a ball as you can have in a hospital. His roommate owns a still in the country; he is a moonshiner. His wife sneaks booze to him when she visits. He and Jack party with the physiotherapists and nurses almost every evening. One is a pretty redheaded, Pennsylvania Dutch woman a little older than Jack. Jack ends up dating her when he is released. They can party because polio victims are isolated in a quonset hut structure separated from the main hospital. Polio is thought to be contagious.
In addition to his exercise with the physiotherapist, Jack rehabilitates his affected muscles in other ways. He helps Nutch who is building a house for his family. He also spends a lot of time tramping through the woods hunting with me. I never claim to be a hound. Every once in a while, though, I’ll stumble over a rabbit or scare up a pheasant. I may not be a good hound but, at least, I’m not gun shy like that ersatz hound dog, Pal.
Oh, yes, Jack also receives a rehabilitation scholarship which pays for his tuition and books for the rest of his college years.
I heard his sister, Ethel say “Some people just have all the luck.”
Brother Chet put it more succinctly. “Jack could fall down the hole in a shit house and come up with gold!”

######.

Chapter 2 -Our Dogs' Tales & Our Cat's Meow

2010-01-07T10:23:00.000-08:00

Copyright 2009 John R. Wilhelm

OUR DOGS’ TALES
BY
JACK WILHELM

CHAPTER 2 -- PAL

I’m Pal, Mickey’s successor. The family needed to stop grieving over Mickey. Actually, between you and me, I think I made most of the family grieve even more. I am no Mickey; just a rather fat – I prefer to think of it as “rotund” which sounds better -- mostly beagle. Frankly, I don’t like to hunt. I don’t like brambles and brush. I don’t see any reason to chase rabbits. I like to play with Josh and lay around.
It is 1940, my country isn’t at war but it seems as if most of the rest of the world is. My family’s Father is working harder than ever. Chet and Ethel are teaching school and actually getting paid. Nutch has a job as a welder for a company building compressors to send to Great Britain.
From what I hear, the war is not going well although I am happy and my dog bowl is always full.
I remember one weekend the family made a holiday trip to the New Jersey shore. Everybody there is afraid of German U-boats, whatever they are. I see windows blacked out and streetlights turned off so these U-boats can’t use them as direction locators. Cars have black tape over half of their headlights to cut down on light.
Also the beach is full of gooey, black gobs which someone said are part of the flotsam and jetsam from an oil tanker which has been torpedoed by one of those U-boats off the Jersey coast. The U-boats aren’t choosy about their targets.
*****
Summer means baseball. All the kids gather in a local lot to play pickup games every day. All the kids have an old, beat up glove. One has an old ball which he’d carefully wound with black electrical tape. Jack owns the only bat. He’d earned it by selling subscriptions to the Saturday Evening Post to all the local neighbors. I am proud of him because he’d also won an Eisenhower medal by collecting several thousand pounds of used newspapers. I have no idea what they are used for; probably just something to keep the kids busy.
In the fall, the vacant lot turns into a football field. The field is on the border of the Hill and Hillcrest. This leads to some ferocious football games between the Hill kids and the Hillcrest kids.
Sometimes the lot is flooded and becomes the local hockey rink.
In basketball season, the lot is deserted. The kids have a peach basket hung on a telephone pole in the back alley. There are some wild, rough games there. There are no pads on basketball players and the macadam street is hard and rough.
Through it all, I just lay around sleeping and scratching; hoping for a pat on the head, a belly rub, or an ear scratching.
Back to the story. Jack’s Mom wanted him to learn to play a musical instrument like his Father and brothers. Jack didn’t want to learn to play an instrument but his Mom is boss. First came the piano. This was a disaster. The elderly Pennsylvania Dutch piano teacher finally tells Jack’s Mother exasperatedly, “Dis boy no talent has he got.” End of piano lessons.
Undaunted, Jack’s Mom said he should try the trumpet.
One day, the kids want Jack to come play baseball. Actually, they don’t care whether Jack comes or not but they need the only bat in the neighborhood.
Jack’s Mom said, “Not until you finish practicing your trumpet lesson.”
Jack grumbles but decides to throw the bat out of the second story window so the kids can play while he finishes his lesson.
As luck would have it, a younger boy ran past just as Jack dropped the bat. Bingo! If Jack were older, he would have made a fine bombardier. Fortunately, Chet is home and knows first aid. There is lots of blood and stitches but no one ever is sued over the incident. Imagine this!
*****
Chet and Ethel are off from school during the summer as are many of their teacher friends. No year round school back then. One of the teachers mentions this creates a budgeting problem because there is no pay either. Anyway, they all get together and go camping in the Delaware Water Gap. The Gap is one of the natural wonders of the eastern United States. The Gap was created by the ice age, whatever this was. Some humans say they can see the faces of Indians in the Gap’s rock formations. Can’t prove it by me. I don’t even know what an Indian looks like! The Delaware River runs through the Gap and serves as the boundary between New Jersey and Pennsylvania.
The camp consists of two large tents; girls in one tent; boys in another. Anyway, Jack is my buddy. He wants to go but won’t go without me. He and I are relegated to one very tiny tent all by ourselves. Now, I know why it is called a pup tent!
The campers spend the day swimming, fishing, and hiking. Most of the time, I just stay at the campground and doze in the sun. One day, Jack comes to the tent with tears running down his cheeks. He is carrying a jacket which smells like fish. He explains he, Chet, and another camper have gone trout fishing in Dunfield Creek which is a small, fast moving stream running down the mountainside and emptying into the Delaware River.
The problem is trout season isn’t open. However, there is a humungous brown trout residing in one of the few pools in Dunfield Creek large enough to swim in. Lots of people have tried and failed to catch this granddaddy trout. Chet thinks he has the secret weapon for success – a turned inside out hellgrammite which then resembles a grub but is much harder for the trout to eat without getting hooked.
For the uninitiated, a hellgrammite is the larval stage of the Dobsonfly found under rocks in rivers, streams, and ponds. It is dark brown, about two and a half inches long, and has pinchers which can hurt, believe me. Hellgrammites are a favorite food for bass, trout, and other fish.
Back to the story. The big trout isn’t fooled into biting hellgrammites because it knows they aren’t found in Dunfield Creek; therefore the granddaddy trout knows a hook is hidden in them.
Once in a while – not often – man is smarter than fish. Chet tales a stick and turns the hellgrammite inside out. The insides were white which makes it look like a grub; the trout’s favorite food.
It works; granddaddy trout bites and after a short, furious fight, the trout is netted. Legal or not, Chet wants to take this trout home to show off. He knows there may be game wardens around. He also is sure a game warden won’t stop a kid carrying a coat. So Jack and his coat are pressed into service.
Jack will do anything his big brother asks. However, he can’t stem the tears because he knows he is doing something wrong.
******
At night, all the campers gather around a campfire, roasting marshmallows, singing songs, and playing games. I always join in. My singing sounds like howling to the humans. Frankly, I think I have a very mellow bass voice. The humans don’t agree and I am tied to a tree a long way from the campfire where my howling won’t drown out the human voices.
******
The nearest town to the Delaware Water Gap is Columbia, New Jersey, which is connected by a wooden, covered bridge across the Delaware River to Portland, Pennsylvania.
Only a dirt road leads to Columbia although the Pennsylvania 611 highway runs along the Pennsylvania side of the River. The New Jersey Central railroad tracks run along the New Jersey side and the Pennsylvania Railroad’s tracks run along the other side.
The point of all this is it isn’t easy to get to town and get ice and groceries. The campers sometimes go by car. However, most of them are limited to “A” gas rationing cards or “B” at the most. So, much of the time, they often hike to town then treat themselves to ice cream sundaes. Much as I like ice cream I dislike walking so I never go along.
Our campsite is at a place named Kittatinny Beach which is the only sandy beach for miles around. The hotels and resorts around the town of Delaware Water Gap often boat guests here to swim.
Chet and Jack often pick up some spending money by tending the beach, assigning lockers, and acting as lifeguards. No one worries about certification or training. Jack's Boy Scout life saving merit badge is enough.
******
When the leaves begin turning colors, I know it is time for the campers to take down their tents and head for home and school.
However, fall is another trial for me. Fall means hunting season and I am Pal; the hunting dog who doesn’t like to hunt. I am dragged into the brush and told to chase rabbits. No way!
At the first sound of a gun firing, I panic and head for the next county or wherever there are no guns.
*****
I hear these are exciting times, both for the nation and for my family. First, Jack’s brother, Chet, finally marries the girl he had been dating for several years. Jack likes her very much, too. He told me he is almost jealous. Then his sister, Ethel, marries a boyfriend, named George, who Jack likes very much, also.
She chose a little white colonial church outside Freehold, New Jersey. This church, the Old Tenant Presbyterian Church, was founded in 1692. A new church was built in 1751. It is historically important because it is adjacent to the site of the Revolutionary War’s Battle of Monmouth in 1778 which was a turning point in the war for Independence. This battle is noted for the exploits of Molly Ludwig Hays who became famous as Molly Pitcher. She brought water to the gunners, one of whom was her husband. When he was wounded, she manned the cannon.
The Old Tenant Church, itself, was used as a hospital during the battle. Many of the slain soldiers, both British and Colonials, are buried in its churchyard. Last time I heard, there were still bloodstains on the pews.
This choice may have been an omen for Jack’s sister. Shortly after the wedding, Japan attacks Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941 and the United States is at war. Three months later, Ethel’s husband, George, is drafted into the U.S. Army and spends the war as a gunner on a tank.
*****
None of the rest of the family is drafted; they are considered vital to the war effort. While George is in the country, Ethel visits him when she can but she has her teaching job to consider. So, she and Jack become company for each other.
Jack likes to go to the Saturday matinee at the local Philmont Theater. Ethel usually comes up with the 25-cents for the movie which includes some candy or popcorn and a soda. Gene Autry and Roy Rogers are his favorite cowboys; Zorro his favorite serial. I usually go along and lounge outside until the movie is over. I am not allowed along when Ethel takes him to see the new Walt Disney films which include Pinnochio (1940), Dumbo (1941), Fantasia (1941), and Bambi (1942).
Ethel loves the big band sounds of the era including Tommy and Jimmy Dorsey, Louis Armstrong, Harry James, Count Basie and Glenn Miller. Perry Como, Dinah Shore, Peggy Lee, and Vaughn Monroe are some of the featured vocalists. The music all made me howl, of course, which leads to being chased away.
As the war goes on, shortages begin to be commonplace. Almost anything needed is being sent overseas. Rationing of meat and gasoline begins and, therein, lays another of my tales.
Remember, television is invented but isn’t commercially available. No one has air conditioning, either. So on hot summer evenings every one sits on their front porches fanning themselves with handheld fans usually provided by local funeral homes. Everyone listens to radios and watches the world pass by.
Ethel is having company for dinner and has used all her ration stamps for pork chops; my favorite food. You see what’s coming!
Jack and I went to visit Ethel. While she and Jack are playing cards in the living room, I am chomping on pork chops. Suddenly, Ethel realizes what is going on. She grabs a broom and starts swatting at me. I start yelping and dash down the street.
Boy, the lady is fast. She swats, I yelp. She swats, I yelp. Between the two of us, we provide an evening’s entertainment for the whole neighborhood. And a story to tell for several weeks afterwards.
*****
As long as I am with the family, there is always another fall which means another hunting season and a time of being thrust into brambles and forced to flee from the sound of shotguns blasting away.
This year is worse. Nutch promises Jack he can hunt. I stay home worrying while Nutch instructs Jack on hunting and gun safety. The fateful day arrives, Jack is decked out in hand-me-down hunting pants and coat, well decorated with patches of red, and a red hunting hat. Best of all, from Jack’s standpoint – not mine -- is a brand new Stevens 12 gage, double barrel, shotgun.
I try to hide but Jack forces me into the car. Nutch and Jack choose a hilly field overgrown with brush and brambles. As luck would have it, I no sooner try to find the easiest path I can, than a cottontail bounds away. Just what Jack has been waiting for! Jack fires both barrels. I see the bunny roll over as I am running away terrorized by the sound.
Nutch made Jack field dress the rabbit. Jack gags and gags but Nutch makes it plain. If Jack wants to hunt, he has to clean what he shoots.
It is almost an hour later when I come slinking back. Wouldn’t you know it? I am just about to ask for forgiveness when out bounds another rabbit. Same result. Josh fires, the bunny drops, I run. Never realized I could run so fast.
At twilight, Nutch and Jack whistle for me. I can see the weight of two rabbits in Jack’s game pouch and how proud Nutch is of his little brother. There’d be meat on the table, and lucky rabbits’ feet – lucky for everyone except for the rabbits -- for Jack to show his buddies.
The next time I am coerced into going hunting, I’ve had enough. At the sound of the first shot, I take off and never stop running until I find a friendly farm with kids. I put on my best and cutest performance. They pet me and scratch behind my ears. I love the attention. I lick their faces. They give me a big bone. I’ll miss Jack but no more hunting for me!
#####

Chapter 1 - Our Dogs' Tales & Our Cat's Meow

2009-12-29T09:38:00.000-08:00

Copyright 2009 John R. Wilhelm

MY DOGS’ TALES
BY
JACK WILHELM

PREFACE
This is a work of fiction because the author has interpreted the dogs’ and cat’s speech and their views of humans. The animals and humans really existed. The events really occurred. Sadly, most of the characters have passed on.

CHAPTER 1 – MICKEY

I’m Mickey. Didn’t think dogs could talk, did you? Well, we can. If you don’t believe me, ask any dog lover. Anyway, bear with me while I tell you my story. (My dumb editor thought “dogs’ tales” was a cute take off on “dogs’ tails.”) You don’t think so? I don’t either. Tales implies falsehood but this story is true; only told through my eyes not through the pages of some dry, old history book.
It’s the 1930s and I’m part beagle hound. My fur is a mixture of white, black, and brown. My Mother is an old slut which accounts for my lack of a pedigree; she’d let any male dog hump her. What counts in a hunting dog, though, is the nose and ears and mine are pure hound.
Mom is fertile, too, so I am one of a litter of six. Remember, the 1930s is the time of the Great Depression. People are out of work and hungry. Thank goodness, this isn’t Asia; I’m not eaten. I am given away because the humans can’t afford to feed me and the kids, too; let alone themselves.
This is how I end up in a family consisting of a Father, Mother, three sons – one a baby – and one daughter. The human Mother isn’t a slut but she is certainly fertile. During the time I am with the family, the youngest boy was born and grew to the age of eight. The others are in their 20s.
As I said, times are tough, there was no money coming in to buy food. The Father is an out-of-work railroad fireman. The one son, Chester, nicknamed Chet and the daughter, Ethel, are teachers. They are paid in “scrip” which is a worthless IOU issued by the school board. Almost worse than Confederate money. The second son, Nelson, is an out-of-work welder who picks up a few dollars by teaching banjo and violin lessons. He is nicknamed Nutch although no human can tell me why.
The baby of the family, John, nicknamed Jack, has a ball. Everyone in the family makes him a part of their life. The Father has a patch of land and raises vegetables. He takes Josh to help him in the garden; at least Jack thinks he is helping. The harvested vegetables are stored in a cold storage bin; basically a grave-sized hole in the ground, lined with wood, and with a wooden lid. When it is empty, Jack and his neighborhood buddies use it for a trench as they play soldier. Something called World War II is brewing in Europe.
Anything which needed to be kept really cold is kept in an icebox. The family doesn’t have a refrigerator yet because they can’t afford one. There is an ice house nearby and ice is lugged into the house by an iceman. Jack and his buddies walk to the ice house and beg slivers of ice from the owner. Always get them, too. I like it when they gave me some to lick. There is also a baker who delivers bread and a milkman who delivers milk in bottles. The cream is on top and in winter it freezes and pushes through the paper top. Jack loves the frozen cream and usually gets to it before the parents. This, of course, gets him a stern lecture. Then, they chuckle at his exploits when he isn’t around to hear.
Since the Father isn’t working, Jack is his play toy and companion. As I said, he “helps” in the garden. Better yet, they go to the nearby river to swim whenever the weather is warm enough. In the winter, there is sledding, snowmen, snow angels, and snowball fights; even an icy igloo once in a while.
On the way to the swimming hole, Jack sees men, and families, living in the huge cardboard crates used to ship large appliances such as refrigerators. Some have ramshackle rooms built from scrap lumber. He asks his Father why people live like this rather than in rented apartments like they do.
His Father explains these are hobos, not bums. They just can’t find work and have no rent money. Many of them hide in the box cars of the railroad trains which run along the river. This way, they can go from town to town looking for work.
Our family doesn’t have much money to purchase anything, either. However, small grocery store owners run tabs for our family, and others, knowing they will be paid when the families find work. Almost all of them have a free bone for me, too.
One year, the Father plants the whole garden in turnips. Turnips for breakfast, lunch, and dinner – although they call the meals breakfast, dinner, and supper. Not one person in the whole family will ever eat a turnip again.
Something called television has been invented but no one I know has one. Our main forms of home entertainment are the windup Victrola, radio, and reading. My whole family likes band marches and symphonies although something called swing is becoming popular. The band directors include John Philip Sousa and Edwin Franklin Goldman. Lots of cities sponsor very good bands. There are also loads of different radio shows. The adults like shows like Easy Aces, Fibber McGee and Molly, and the Palmolive Hour. Jack likes such shows as Jack Armstrong, the All-American Boy; the Lone Ranger; Tarzan; and the Green Hornet.
The family reads books written by such authors as Ernest Hemingway, Theodore Dreiser, Somerset Maugham, etc. The Bible is read often. Jack prefers comic books. All the superheroes are just beginning to be published: Superman, Batman, Captain Marvel, the Phantom, Captain America, Green Lantern, the Green Hornet and on and on.
Jack reads so many comic books his Mother becomes worried. She has heard somewhere reading comic books will damage children’s eyes. The family doctor laid her fears to rest. He said the only thing comic books will do to Josh is improve his vocabulary!
I have to back up here. The town where I live has a population of about 20,000. The hilly geography of the area breaks the town into distinct entities. We live in a middle class area called the Hill. The areas by the river is called the Flat and the North End. Other middle class areas, higher in elevation, are named Firth Town, Steel Hill, and Purcell Hill. The company executives and wealthier folks live in Hillcrest.
As I said, Chet and Ethel teach school, Nutch and the Father work when they can. Jack goes to school.
He entered first grade in the Freeman Elementary School. The teachers are good but the school building is not. It is a dilapidated fire trap. At the end of his first year, the building is condemned. Jack starts second grade in the Firth School which is so crowded his class is on a three day week, half day schedule. More time to play with me. No school buses; Jack has to walk to and from school. No school cafeteria; Mother makes his lunches. I go with Jack and wait patiently outside the school when I can slip my collar, which is often.
The walk to the Firth School goes through Firth Town which is enemy territory inhabited by another boy, the same age as Jack, who pretends he is the Green Hornet. He wears the half mask but does not have the faithful valet, Cato. Jack pretends he is the Mighty Atom. However, he is at a major disadvantage because his Mother will not let him wear his magic cape to school nor drink his magic potion.
You can be sure sometime during the walk to school or the walk home, the Green Hornet will spring out from his hiding place and attack the Mighty Atom. A tussle ensues which ends when one or the other starts crying. When I am there, I growl, show my teeth, and always turn the balance of power in favor of the Mighty Atom.
By the time Jack is in fourth grade, the brand new Freeman School is opened and the daily warfare ceases.
After this preamble, I can finally get around to telling you about my job. My job is to bring meat to the family. If I don’t hunt, my family doesn’t have much meat in their diet. Maybe, I should amend this. My job is to bring game into position where the older male family members can kill it with their shotguns. Problem is, neither of the sons is a very good shot and the Father isn’t much better.
Boy, I get irate when I bring a rabbit around; then boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom (three double barreled shots from three 12 gauge shotguns) and the rabbit is still running. Didn’t even touch the bunny. Although, come to think of it, many of the rabbits probably catch pneumonia from the breeze caused by number 6 pellets whizzing by.
Then I just have to bring the bunny around in another circle. By this time, my tongue is hanging out and I am panting like mad. Of course, pheasant, grouse, and squirrels just plumb get away.
I give the boys my most terrifying evil eye looks but always forgive them when they pat my head and give me some water and a treat.
To be honest, the boys do kill enough game so there is usually some meat on the table. This is supplemented by an occasional pot roast which the butcher shop puts on the family’s tab.
We hunt in several different places but our favorite is along the railroad tracks. The whole area is very hilly so the railroad was built along the relatively flat river banks. There is lots of brush and brambles there; ideal hiding places for rabbits and birds. Plus, the game has easy access to water and to farmer’s fields which lay in the same flat areas as the tracks.
As you probably know, hounds are notoriously stubborn and I am no exception. In fact, I am more stubborn than most. As a great hunter, this is my prerogative! The boys can call and call but if I am on the trail of a rabbit I won’t come until I am good and ready. I hate to give up the chase.
I have been an important part of the family for nearly a decade now. Someone said it is 1939. If World War II has been brewing for several years, it is rapidly reaching the point of boiling over. While the United States is still neutral, the decision is made to help Great Britain and the Allies by providing something called “lend lease.” Some family member snidely remarked this meant we are going to give a lot of arms and ammunition away. And be paid with scrip, much like the teachers in the family.
Apparently, this “lend lease” does spark the economy and the arms and ammunition begins rolling from the factories. The only way to get them to Europe is by ship. The only way to get from the factory to the ports is by rail. The trains started rolling, too; the air around the railroads are filled with the engines’ smoke and the noise the trains make as they rumble endlessly by. Their shrill whistles hurt my ears.
My family’s Father is called back to work. We hardly see him again because he is working so much overtime.
They still need me, however, and the boys and I continue to hunt by the railroad tracks. This, and my stubbornness, is my undoing.
It is a Saturday, I believe. In any case, I catch the scent of a bunny and immediately begin baying alerting everyone to the fact I am on the trail. I am so intent on the chase I don’t pay attention to the sound of an approaching, hi-balling train. I hear Chet’s voice yelling at me to come but my stubbornness comes into play.
The rabbit runs across the tracks. I am hot on its heels. He makes it across. I almost do.
The wheel of one of the freight cars runs over my hind end. I have never felt such pain. All I can do is crawl away on my front legs. My rear legs refuse to move.
The boys gently wrap me in their coats, take me to their car, and drive home. I bravely try not to cry out in pain but I can’t help whimpering.
There are no veterinarians in town. There is nothing a vet could do if there had been one. I look at the boys, pleading with my sad, brown eyes for them to put me out of my misery. The boys are crying unable to do anything to me. Jack sits by me petting me. There is nothing he can do, either.
Fortunately, our Father is home and he does what Fathers must do. He kneels by me. I see the revolver in his hand. I beg him to go ahead. Tears in his eyes, he puts the gun to my head.
He fires one shot. My last memory is of his quickly turning and running into the house so the boys can’t see he is crying, too.

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Index of Posted Novels

2009-12-22T09:25:00.000-08:00

Novels for Your Reading Pleasure

Our Dogs' Tales Plus One Cat's Meow - The story of family dogs and one cat in which the animals tell the stories of both their lives and those of their human owners' families. (Chapter 1 downloaded next week.)

Resurrection Pond - A polluted pond spews out its human jetsam. The resurrected persons are transported into today's world from their own era resulting in hilarious consequences.

Only One Thing Wrong - A young genius has brilliant ideas but always forgets one vital thing leading to disastrous results. (Click on November 2008 archives.)

Katrina II - Is there a government agency which can direct and dissapate hurricanes? (Click on April 2007 archives for original or April 2008 for second edition.)

The House of Pain - A poor young man deals drugs to support his younger siblings and his addicted father. Meet the denizens of his house. (Click on May 2007 archives.)

The Hunt for Secret Agent 000 - A college professor disappears on a trip to the former USSR. Is he a secret CIA agent? (Click on June 2007 archives.)

The Devil's Rock - A young man is hooked on crack cocaine. Follow his trip through women, jails, institutions, and, finally, to killing. Is the killing self-defense or murder for revenge? (Click on October 2007 archives.)