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.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Saturday, August 20, 2011
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.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Uncle Bill
My only Uncle on my mother's side was William Tully. He joined the Air Force after college to become a pilot. Actually he eventually wanted to try to get into the Astronaut program. So to enhance his career, he volunteered for the 1st Air Commando Wing, heading for Viet Nam in the fall of 1961.
He flew as navigator on a B-26. They flew actual combat missions when supposedly we were just in an "advisory" status over there.
Each aircrew was to fly100 missions before rotating back to the States. A good friend of my Uncle Bill was shot down with a few missions left before rotating. Due to only having a handful of aircrew over there, my Uncle volunteered to fly out the remaining missions after he had already completed his 100. 5 November 1962, on his 109th mission, their plane was shot down near Ca Mau and Uncle Bill and the entire crew were killed.
I was pretty young and never got to spend too much time around my Uncle Bill, but I was really drawn to his military life. He showed me around one of the planes he flew in. Let me wear his combat gear, gave me an ammo can to keep my treasures in. He will always be my hero.
He flew as navigator on a B-26. They flew actual combat missions when supposedly we were just in an "advisory" status over there.
Each aircrew was to fly100 missions before rotating back to the States. A good friend of my Uncle Bill was shot down with a few missions left before rotating. Due to only having a handful of aircrew over there, my Uncle volunteered to fly out the remaining missions after he had already completed his 100. 5 November 1962, on his 109th mission, their plane was shot down near Ca Mau and Uncle Bill and the entire crew were killed.
I was pretty young and never got to spend too much time around my Uncle Bill, but I was really drawn to his military life. He showed me around one of the planes he flew in. Let me wear his combat gear, gave me an ammo can to keep my treasures in. He will always be my hero.
The Gypsy and the Pocket Knife
About a million years ago I accompanied my Grandad to the big county fair at Harrodsburg, KY. They had all the usual rides and games and 4H and FFA competitions. Grandad loved to go because they had a horse show and a big dog show for foxhounds.
One day during the fair, Grandad was heading out to the stable area with some friends to look at a horse. He asked me if I wanted to go, or just wander around the rides and games. I opted for the latter. He gave me a pocketful of change and told me to meet him at the dog show when it started. I looked over all the games to see which one had the best prizes. I found one that you operated a little derrick and clamshell inside a plexiglass box. You tried to pick up a toy and drop it down a slot. If you succeeded, you won the little toy.
Well, I saw a pocketknife in amongst the toys. So I tried the game over and over. I was a smart kid, but try as I might I couldn't get the little knife to drop straight. The clamshell seemed to always jerk at the last minute and the pocketknife would bounce clear of the slot. I used up all the nickles Grandad had given me and walked away pretty sad.
Met up with Grandad at the dog show and he immediately knew something was wrong. I explained to him what had happened and that I suspected the whole game was rigged so you couldn't win. He didn't say much, just told me to take him over to the game tent. When we got there he gave me another coin and told me to try again. Same results. Almost. Grandad was in his seventies but still a good man. He politely asked the Gypsy running the game to walk over to where we were standing. When the ne'er-do-well finally came down there, Grandad got a hold of him and spoke softly into his ear. The Gypsy reached right down into the plexiglass box and pulled the little knife out and handed in to me.
Little Kevin has that knife now. It's probably 50 years old by now.
We still don't know exactly what Grandad said to the Gypsy, but apparently he got his attention.
One day during the fair, Grandad was heading out to the stable area with some friends to look at a horse. He asked me if I wanted to go, or just wander around the rides and games. I opted for the latter. He gave me a pocketful of change and told me to meet him at the dog show when it started. I looked over all the games to see which one had the best prizes. I found one that you operated a little derrick and clamshell inside a plexiglass box. You tried to pick up a toy and drop it down a slot. If you succeeded, you won the little toy.
Well, I saw a pocketknife in amongst the toys. So I tried the game over and over. I was a smart kid, but try as I might I couldn't get the little knife to drop straight. The clamshell seemed to always jerk at the last minute and the pocketknife would bounce clear of the slot. I used up all the nickles Grandad had given me and walked away pretty sad.
Met up with Grandad at the dog show and he immediately knew something was wrong. I explained to him what had happened and that I suspected the whole game was rigged so you couldn't win. He didn't say much, just told me to take him over to the game tent. When we got there he gave me another coin and told me to try again. Same results. Almost. Grandad was in his seventies but still a good man. He politely asked the Gypsy running the game to walk over to where we were standing. When the ne'er-do-well finally came down there, Grandad got a hold of him and spoke softly into his ear. The Gypsy reached right down into the plexiglass box and pulled the little knife out and handed in to me.
Little Kevin has that knife now. It's probably 50 years old by now.
We still don't know exactly what Grandad said to the Gypsy, but apparently he got his attention.
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