Herman Courtney

Think back in time.  Remember old pictures.  Scenes from old movies.  Etched in my mind are dark, shadowy men.  Rough looking.  Old threadbare military overcoats.  Tall hats.  Weatherworn, bearded faces.  The type of men who always stood with their back to the fire.  Their eyes always darting, always on the lookout.

My Grandad lived with a generation of such men.  Men that seemed to materialize when you built up a fire and turned your hounds loose.  Sometimes they came in old pickup trucks, but mostly on horseback, or maybe riding a mule.  Grandad always kept me close when those dark men showed up.  They were not to be bothered or distracted.  They liked their whiskey and they loved to hear the hounds running.  They did not care for people who talked too much, or bothered them, or particularly told them what to do or what not to do.

One Fall, early in the 1920's, a farmer in northern Kentucky decided he didn't want hounds running over his farm.  Tobacco was already housed,  corn already cut.  Hounds weren't doing any crop damage, but this particular farmer just didn't care for the bay of hounds at night.  He was known to have shot at and maybe even killed a hound or two.  Word spread about the farmer.

My Grandad got word to meet up with some out of town hunters one evening.  He gathered up a few hounds, saddled his horse and rode through Mayslick about dusk, heading for the meeting place.  When he got there, he met up with a small group of the aforementioned "men".  An hour or so after dark, they went up on a hillside above the farmer's house that didn't like fox dogs.  They proceeded to turn their hounds loose, pretty much right in his back yard.  Grandad thought it was a mistake, but before he could question it, the farmer came running out of his house, carrying a lantern and his rifle.  Grandad was ready to shout at him, to not shoot his dogs when the "dark men" all pulled their pistols.  There leader told everybody to hold their fire until the farmer got 40 yards or so from his house.  The he pulled out two German Lugers he had brought home from WWI.  His first shot he knocked the lantern out of the farmer's hand, then everybody opened up.  Grandad hurriedly asked what they were doing. Amid the fire flying out of the knuckle on top of the Lugers, Herman Courtney responded that they were "making a fox hunter" out of the farmer.

Turned out they didn't shoot him, but put a good scare into him.  Next day the farmer rode to Grandad's farm and told him that fox hunting was now welcome on his farm.

Grandad was not one of the dark men, who stayed back away from the fire.  But he was friends with them, and shared their love of fox hunting.

The Birthday Boy

In the sometimes dreary and sometimes sinister history of Ireland there was a little known fable or wives tale, what ever you want to call it, that still chills me to the bone.  Not that I want to scare anyone, BUT, I do think that more people should be aware of it, just in case.

It was said that many years ago a boy was born to a very poor family.  When his birthday came each year, his parents could only wish him Happy Birthday because they had no money to have a party or to buy him a gift.  At first the little boy didn't seem to even notice, but as he grew older he became aware of his friends all celebrating their birthdays with ice cream and cake and presents galore.

This started gnawing at the boy.  Each year he became saddened on his birthday.  Not actually mad at his parents, just disappointed with his lot in life.

Each year it seemed to intensify.

Each year, as the boy grew older, he became more and more upset.  At least that is how the story goes.

When the boy reached adulthood and moved out of his parent's house, he had very little to get him started on his own.  He lived in a small cave, back in the forest.  He learned to subsist off the land.  A very bleak life, but pretty much all the life he had ever known.

As time passed and he continued to see people around the area having birthday parties, he started to turn mean.  Why did everybody else have such a glorious day each year and he had nothing, but a small turnip and a drink from a pig track?  He wanted what others had.

At first it seemed coincidental, but after a few times, people started taking notice.  It seemed that right before someone's birthday party the cake and ice cream and all the presents would mysteriously disappear.  After the townspeople really started to take notice, they investigated.  It always seemed that there would be tracks in the yard around the birthday house.  Shredded wrapping paper, birthday cake crumbs, and drips of melting ice cream, they knew something was going terribly wrong.

Over time the locals just decided to quit trying to celebrate birthdays because the parties were always spoiled by this phantom party crasher.

They began to refer to him as the Birthday Boy, and the legend still continues.

Bring the Heat

                                                     

I heard a co-worker talking about a major league pitcher.  He was telling everybody who would listen about this awe inspiring athlete.  He said this pitcher could really "bring the heat".  I guess to civilians that means he can throw a fast pitch.

But, to me,  I think more about the USS Missouri, Marine Corps Artillery, B-52 bombers, F/A-18 Hornets, U.S.  Navy Seals, Marines Snipers, the USS Ohio and M1 battle tanks.  In my mind, and in the hearts and minds of our enemies all around the world "Bringing the Heat" has nothing to do with a fastball.

Sleep good, enemies of the USA.  Any night could be your last.

:-)

Life in the Open

OK, I stole the title from Marble's Products. But I really like it, and in this day and time, there probably aren't many people that remember when Marble's used that by-line.

I don't live life in the open as much as I would like to. If I could have chosen my exact path through life, I would have spent much more time outside. Not just outside the house, but OUTSIDE the normal American lifestyle as well.

I have spent time in the jungle, the desert, on the ocean. I've drank beer on the Carlsberg brewery tour. I've walked up Perdiz on the Patagonia. I've shot geese in the grain fields of Saskatchewan and Eiders off the coast of Maine. I've canoed some "rowdy stretches". I've been bitten by a rattlesnake. I had a Beagle run a pair of wolves. I've seen the "foxfire" in the woods. Carried home a pocketful of persimmons wrapped in my handkerchief. Cooked fish over a can of Sterno. Had 10 feet of air under my Jeep. Cleaned a 571 pound Black Bear with a pocket knife. Killed a whitetail deer, running, at over 400 yards. Killed a 100 ducks in a morning. Killed more rabbits that 2 men could carry to the house. Shot pigeons in a blizzard at 10 below zero. Locked out of a submarine. Made a crash landing in a C5 Galaxy. Sat on the Little Mermaid's lap. Watched the Celtics play at Boston Garden. Saw Van Halen live. Stood on the Royal yard of the Eagle. Killed a banded Brant. Won a bronze medal in the National Trophy Match at Camp Perry.

But I've never camped a night in the high mountains. Never watched a herd of African plains game come to a water hole. Never seen a Polar Bear swimming in the open sea. Never been in a gunfight (in peacetime). Never got to meet Earnhardt, Ray Nitschke, or Larry Bird. Never seen a Leprechaun. Never lived in a log cabin. Never seen a steam locomotive. Never had to treat a "sucking chest wound" (on a human). Sorry to admit, I'm not all that good with an ax. Never seen Sasquatch. BUT, I'm only 57 so I might accomplish a few of those things before I die.

Part of my mental picture of "life in the open" is the literal sense of those words. Knowing how to predict weather from looking at nature around you, for example. Many times I can tell when rain is coming. Sometimes I can tell how severe the Winter is going to be. I like being able to look over the landscape and immediately be able to pick a likely place to camp, hunt, fish, find a little natural snack, watch for anyone coming, that I don't want to find me. I see more wildlife than most people, just because I am always on the lookout for what is around me. I enjoy the extremes of weather more than anyone I know. But I am far from being a true outdoorsman. I probably know more than I can recall, maybe if I was put in a certain circumstance, some of my suppressed memories would come back.

I have tried to teach my sons everything that I know. In some areas they have surpassed me; in others they aren't even close. So I keep working at it. I want my grandsons to be totally comfortable outdoors. My sons and I are pretty well set, and with life slipping away from me at an alarming rate, I guess I could just relax and enjoy what I have. But there is so much more out there, and I think I want a bigger piece of it.

Extortion 17

On a great day in American History - May 1, 2011, members of the United States' premier fighting force, Seal Team 6, killed Osama Bin Laden.  He was a murdering terrorist, mostly responsible for the World Trade Center bombing.  He was a coward.  He hid behind his god, behind thousands of ignorant cowards, behind crooked politicians.  He hid fairly well.  It took us a long time to find him and bring him to justice. Battlefield justice.  Now he is but a rotting corpse, and in a few years people will have all but forgotten him.

Unfortunately, due, I am sure, to some other cowards, the members of Seal Team 6 were targeted for revenge.  Whether from an infiltrator, or due to some carelessness, somehow the Taliban or Al-Queda got information that Seal Team 6 was the emergency reaction force that was on call at the time.  On August 6, 2011, when an Army Ranger unit was in a grave situation, Extortion 17 (call sign for the Seal unit) was sent to help them out.  No one should have known, but somehow the intel was leaked and an ambush was set.   Their CH-47 Helicopter was shot down and all hands were lost.  Gone but never forgotten.

SOC Chris Campbell, USN

'Long Live the Brotherhood'

We did nothing wrong

Some of us came here on purpose, some of us were born here, some of us couldn't afford to go anywhere else. We all ended up right here just because we did. We all have a few choices in life. People with a lot of money seem to have more choices than us poor folks, but, we could have moved on somewhere.

But we didn't. We all tried to make a home here in Jacksonville. We work, at our jobs, at side jobs to make extra money, on our houses, on our yards. We have tried to make the best of what we have, whether it is a lot or a little.

Then, a hurricane comes along. There is nothing you can do to stop it. There is no way to escape it. The rich people have corrupted the laws to make sufficient insurance on our property impossible for us to afford. So we suffer.

We worry all year, each year. We know the hurricane that ruins our life could come at any time. The news reminds us of the official beginning of hurricane season each year, and a little part of us dies each year when they announce it. You work in the heat all summer, knowing that at any time, for no apparent reason, a hurricane can come take away everything you have worked for your entire life.

I wonder why that is. I wonder why their are hurricanes? To test our will, to punish us for some deed. No, they are random acts of violence. Created by the mere existence of the earth. But they are evil. They can break a man's spirit. You can act brave and act like it is no big deal. "I'll just rebuild". Bull shit.

The real truth is when you see a man taking pictures of his life. Not for insurance purposes, but just so he will have them to remember what life was before a cruel act of nature took it all away forever. Why? We didn't do anything wrong.

Heroes

SO1 Chris Campbell died in Afghanistan 8/6/11, along with 29 other men.






I don't know all the rest of their names off the top of my head, but I have read them and studied their pictures.


I hope that their lives were not given in vain.