Monthly Archives: August 2010

The Judge Says

The Judge Says – Too Good To Be True


September 11, 1981

“Folks, we are going to give you a new camera, and the film is also free and all you have to pay for is a small processing fee to have the film developed.”  Does that sound familiar?  Yep, the old door-to-door huckster.  Have you ever wondered how these salesmen make a living when they give everything away free?  The answer is you will pay big for everything you get.

Here are some of the door-opening gimmicks.  “This offer is only available to members of the Armed Forces (Golly, they found a soldier living in Junction City – What a break).  Another way they get in your door is they tell you they are only taking a survey.

They will look you right in the eye and swear that what they want to talk about won’t cost you a cent. (that’s true, it’s going to cost you big bucks).  They will tell you that your name was randomly selected out of the phone book (so was your next door neighbor and his neighbor).

Back to the camera deal.  The camera is free, the film is free and over a two year period, you only pay $450 for film processing.  For 450 bucks you can get an oil painting.  Such a deal!

Let me give you a couple of rules for handling these turkeys.  First, no honest salesman is going to insist that you must sign the contract at the time he gives his pitch.  This bit about “this offer is only good tonight” is bull.  What do you think he will be doing the next night?

I have had salesmen in my house (whom I thought were reputable) who insisted that the offer was only good that night.  I turned red, my upper lip puffed out and I escorted them to the door.  They do this every night for a living, but your offer is only good for that night.  Think about that.  Balderdash.

Second, if you get taken in by these smooth talking snake oil salesmen, I have good news for you.  Under Kansas and Federal law you have a three-day cooling off period in which you can cancel the contract.  But you need to move fast.  If they can slip and slide, they will.

Another gimmick they will use is to tell you they will pay the down payment and you can pay them back later.  They want your signature in the worst way.  Once they’ve got it, they gotcha.

There used to be a clothing store in St. Louis that when you bought a belt, they threw in a free pair of trousers.  But, of course, the belts were not cheap.

Ladies and gentlemen, you may receive this totally free introductory offer simply by writing your name and address on the back of a ten dollar bill and sending it to me.

My Military Daze

My Longest Day in Vietnam

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No, I am not a hero and this isn’t about a firefight.  I am not trying to compare my experiences with those who lived and fought in the bush.  I was just a major assigned to the 1st Cavalry (Airmobile) Division as the Deputy Staff Judge Advocate.  It was 1970, so I remember parts of this adventure better than others.

A few days before, the executive officer of the 8th Engineer Battalion came into my “office” (my office had air conditioning – flaps down or rolled up) to explain that he was investigating an alleged rape that took place in Pleiku.  Our headquarters was in Phouc Vihn, about 30 miles north of Saigon.  Pleiku was approximately 300 miles to the north.  This young major advised that he would take care of the transportation, but he needed me along to advise him.

I agreed to go with him and a few days later, at 0-dark-30, we were in a chopper flying down to Saigon.  There, we loaded onto an Air Force C-130.  This old prop job must have flown a milk run to Pleiku everyday.  It was loaded with Vietnamese and their animals.  You sat in a canvas-strap sling trying not to draw attention, while the NCO load master screamed and yelled at everyone.  It’s hard to feel important when your butt is almost on the floor and you are staring at your knees.  I had no idea how long the flight took.  All I remember is noise and vibration.  We filed off the plane right behind a mamasan and her chickens.

We were picked up at the airport and taken to the CID (Criminal Investigation Detachment) Office.  The rape took place in a truck park.  In order to supply Pleiku, supply trucks were constantly traveling back and forth from Quy Nhon to Pleiku.  The drivers would overnight at the truck park.

We were able to interview the driver who brought the girl to the truck park.  She had planned to spend the night at the truck park and had been duly paid.  It turns out our suspect was in a nearby truck and he was lonely.  He remembered what he learned in kindergarten about sharing and went over to the other truck to find out if that driver had gone to kindergarten.  The driver with the girl was not interested in sharing.  So our suspect pointed his loaded weapon at the non-sharing driver and changed his mind.  “Oh yes, kindergarten.  Now I remember.”

Miss Su, the young Vietnamese girl, went with our suspect and was paid for her visit.  Since she was paid twice, I thought about making reference to double dipping, but I won’t.  Later, she returned to driver number one.  I was having trouble putting a rape case together.  It gets sticky when they accept payment.  But, if the fact checked out, I thought we had a pretty serious aggravated assault. Even though the Army was living with their weapons in Vietnam, we frowned on soldiers pointing loaded weapons at other soldiers in a threatening manner.

Now, we had to find the girl.  I don’t remember anybody mentioning it, but I guess the CID Office was at Camp Holloway.  Now we needed to go into Pleiku.  We were in luck.  Pleiku had been off-limits for years, but we arrived the day the off-limits was lifted.  I suspect we could have gone anyway as we were on official business, but it wouldn’t have been as entertaining.  As we drove in, young girls were trying to stop us on the street.  GIs were waiving around cartons of cigarettes.  I think I was observing the barter system in full operation.

Well, we found Miss Su and she verified what we had previously heard.  No rape, but a pretty serious assault with a deadly weapon.  On the way out of town, I began wondering what “Hey GI, I love you too much” really meant.

I don’t remember meals, but I think we got some lunch before we had to race out to the airfield to catch our cattle car back to Saigon.  More mamasans, more chickens and a louder load meister.  Hello knees.

We arrived at Tan Son Nhut Airport at dusk.  I think my engineer major, whose name stole away from me 40 years ago, felt his providing of transportation was completed.  But somehow, we needed to get out of Saigon.  We walked over to Hotel 3.  This was the tower for all the helicopter traffic.  I had used it a couple of times before with good success.  The tower was 50 to 60 feet above you and you, periodically, looked up to make sure it was still there.  Every so often a loud speaker announced that a bird was leaving for somewhere (eg. Tay Nihn or Bearcat) and could take so many passengers.  People would shuffle off.  It was getting darker and there were fewer announcements.

We wanted to go to Phouc Vihn, but would have taken Bien Hoa because our rear headquarters was there.  No announcement and we were the only two left.  It had been a long day and there didn’t seem to be any end in sight.  Suddenly, they announced that a bird was leaving for Long Binh.  I figured we could find a phone there and get someone from Bien Hoa to come get us.  We were desperate.

I have no idea where the pilot dropped us off.  It looked like a helicopter landing strip that was 300 yards wide and at least two miles long.  There were wooden one-story buildings lined up on one side of the strip, but no lights were on in any of the buildings.  Well, Long Binh had sounded good earlier.

There was a helicopter about a half mile down the strip and it looked like it was refueling.  We started walking toward it.  It would be nice to ask somebody where we were.  So much for the lieutenant with the map and a compass.  How about two majors wandering around in the dark on a helicopter landing strip.

When we got about 200 yards from the Huey, we saw the most beautiful sight.  There was a large yellow horse blanket on the nose of that bird!  We started running towards the Cav patch.  The crew was getting ready to take off, but saw these two crazy majors running towards them waiving their arms.  It was too good to be true.  They were on their way home and, now, so were we.  The pilot had a long white silk scarf wrapped around his neck.  Definitely Cav.  He kept smiling at us and we kept smiling at them.  It was like a long lost reunion.

I slept in my own bed that night.  I was really hungry the next morning.  Lunch had been my last meal.  But thinking about that Cav patch on the front of that Huey kept me smiling over and over.

Golf Daze

A Bad Golf Day

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The only thing worse than losing a golf ball is sometimes finding it.  The other day, after looking for my ball for over four minutes, I found it.  I could identify it as mine.  I just couldn’t retrieve it.  No, it wasn’t in water.  It was a cruel thicket.  Thorns and poison ivy.  I declared the ball not only unplayable, but unrecoverable.  It still lays there as a monument to bad luck.

I am one of those unusual golfers who acknowledges that what went wrong was probably my fault.  Whenever the ball is in a bad spot, I just say to myself, “hell, you hit it there.”  I am convinced most golfers are trained never to acknowledge a mistake.  “I never should have swung with that butterfly sitting on my ball.”  “Did you hear that noise at the top of my backswing?”  Or, on the green: “Did you see that ball jump?  “It must have hit something.”  “Something bit me.”  You have to give them “A” for inventiveness.  When I got home from my bad round, I found a good size rock wedged between the spikes on my right heel.  It probably affected my balance.

Is this a head game or what?  Tiger at Firestone is a classic.  Woods had won on Firestone seven times.  The course was made for Tiger’s game.  So what does he do this year?  He shot four rounds over par with a 78 on Sunday.  It’s time to borrow Tin Cup’s psychologist.  On second thought, never mind.

I had a good round going a while back.  Everything was in sync.  Good contact, good direction, and chips rolling close to the hole.  Then, I missed an 18-inch putt.  It must have hit something, because the ball darted off to the left.  Well, regardless of fault, that was the end of my good game.  Bad contact, bad direction and chips just dribbling onto the green.

All the books say, forget about the bad shot.  Move forward.  Concentrate on the next hole.  Blah, blah, blah.  I decided what I had done wrong (it was me) and what I needed to do on the next short putt.  Unfortunately, my next short putt was for a double bogey.

I’m 130 yards from the green and there is a sand bunker right in front of the green.  I hit a crisp iron and the ball lands on the fringe between the bunker and the green.  It trickles forward and rolls down toward the pin.  What a great shot!  But the same crisp shot could have landed six inches shorter in the same fringe and rolled back into the bunker, finally settling in a foot print where some jerk had failed to rake the bunker.  I guess that’s a bad shot.  And that six inches may be the difference between feeling good or bad about yourself.  I think the really good players have figured this out.  I’m still working at it.

After I got home, I found out that Mike Thomas, editor of www.DCguide.com is picking up my blogs and publishing them on their web site.  That made me feel good and anyway, I think I know what I did wrong on that 18-inch putt.