When Governor Sarah Palin was nominated to be John McCain’s running mate, I mentioned to a friend that she would have every aspect of her life flyspecked. He said that she had already been Governor, so there wasn’t much not known about her. I said, “Wait and see, they will try to “bork” her.
I am absolutely certain that I do not want my last name to become a verb. Robert Bork had been Solicitor General, Attorney General and a judge for the US Court of Appeals for the DC Circuit. But when President Reagan nominated Bork to be a justice of the Supreme Court, the attack dogs came out. You would have thought that President Reagan had nominated a Klansman. Bork’s opposition went over every opinion he had ever written. They reviewed his speeches. They even checked on every movie he had ever rented! I guess they didn’t mind violating his individual rights in order to protect theirs.
Bork’s credentials were unimpeachable, but there were strong objections to his conservative views. He was not confirmed by the Senate and thus, the verb, to bork, came into existence.
There was a strong attempt to “bork” Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas. He was accused of sexual harassment by a subordinate, Anita Hill. In my opinion, neither his story, nor hers made a lot of sense. He was in her apartment a number of times, but there was no allegation of wrongdoing on those occasions. Plus, she followed him from one job to another, and even after she quit working for him, she still made personal calls to him. Not the normal activity of someone who has been sexually harassed. Thomas was confirmed by the Senate.
Now, it is Sarah’s turn. In their effort to find something on Sarah, we’ve got “wardrobegate.” Supposedly, $150,000 was spent on clothing for Sarah (really about a third of that amount). Some staffer did it and went to stores she had been instructed not to go to, and now it is shame on Sarah. It all sounds kind of sexist to me, but I don’t expect the feminist movement to come out and support her. But life’s not fair and I think Sarah already knows that. She must have known they would try to “bork” her.
I got on the computer today to go to the Obama Tax Calculator. This is supposed to tell me whether I will be better off under the Obama or McCain tax proposal (key word is proposal). I found the page and put in all the financial information, but then they wanted my email address. Why? I thought the Democrats don’t believe people should have to show an ID to vote, so why do I have to give them my email address? I saw in another place on the web page that if I gave them a donation I would receive a free gift. It reminds me of the old joke, “Please write your name and address on the back of a twenty dollar bill and we will send you your free gift.”
I really didn’t need the tax calculator to know I would do better under the Obama proposal. The politician who promised a chicken in every pot lost the election, because his opponent promised two chickens in every pot. How do you think the chickens felt about all that? Well, I feel like a chicken and I am hoping that next Tuesday, I don’t feel like I have been thrown into the pot.
The Former Springfield Mixing Bowl
Every town should have something that they are proud of. Back in the 1950’s, my home town had a large billboard as you entered town that said, “Welcome to East St. Louis. World’s Largest Hog Market.” I was impressed, but not surprised. That’s because when the wind blew from the North, you knew something big was going on.
Springfield, Virginia is a bedroom community in the greater Washington DC area. What it has been known for is nothing to be proud of. It was known for its Springfield Mixing Bowl. The Mixing Bowl was where I-95, I-495 and I-395 came together. The reason it was called the Mixing Bowl is because local traffic and interstate traffic had to fight their way across each others lanes. Long delays would build up in all directions. In the early 90’s, in one year, there were 179 accidents. That’s just about one every other day. Delays were bad without accidents. With accidents, bring your lunch. No one changed the radio station or talked on the phone while negotiation the Mixing Bowl.
During the time I worked in the Pentagon, We had to fight the Mixing Bowl every day. While driving home, South on I-95, we had to cross two lanes of interstate traffic to exit in Springfield. My carpool had strict rules for the Mixing Bowl. The driver concentrated on the traffic in front of him, never looking back. The person riding shotgun would announce when the driver could move to the right. He would announce, “one lane.” The driver would immediately pull one lane to the right. This was repeated until we were in the Springfield exit lane. The only other command for the shotgun rider was “two lanes,” but crossing two lanes at one time was considered the same as winning the lottery and was cause for celebration.
Now, the Springfield Mixing Bowl is history. Something to tell the grandchildren about. “Kids, back in 78′, your Grandpa spent four and a half hours stuck in the Mixing Bowl.” “Golly Grandpa, did they have cars back in 78′?”
Fixing the Mixing Bowl took eight years and $676 million. It was a remarkable project. In fact, I commuted to DC throughout the project and never was delayed because of construction. Confused, but never delayed. They did have to shut down major arteries about six times. But, they always did it late at night on weekends. These events, which usually involved placing huge chunks of concrete into flyovers, drew large crowds of onlookers. No, not me. I was tucked away.
Now that it is done, let me tell you my pet peeves on the project. These only apply to those of us coming out of Springfield. We are traveling East on Old Keene Mill Road heading for I-95. The I-95 intersection has everything backwards. If you want to go right (South to Richmond), you must get in the left lane. If you want to go left (North to DC), you must get in the right lane. This is just the opposite of every interstate entrance and exit you can think of.
You can say, “Well, as long as it’s clearly marked, it shouldn’t be a problem.” But, it isn’t clearly marked. In fact, it is deceptively marked! The overhead sign pointing to the lane for I-95 South is pointing at the white line between the two lanes (one lane going North, one South). That’s right, the arrow points down at the white line between the lanes. I have seen hundreds of cars change lanes at the last second. I suspect thousands have just gone in the wrong direction.
I have studied this overhead sign (I am sure the traffic engineers have too). You can’t move the sign over where it belongs, because that space is occupied by a large reinforcement to the overhead structure. I know they know of the problem, because they have painted all kinds of directional information on the roadway. Have you ever tried to read directional information on a roadway when cars are bumper to bumper? It’s tricky. It may work on the interstate, but not on Old Keene Mill Road during rush hour.
I know how to fix the problem. I have studied the sign every time I pass it. All they need to do is tilt the sign. Tilting the sign will move the arrow so it points to the correct lane! It sounds easy, but I am sure there is some regulation against tilting directional signs. Some state transportation attorney will mention the word, “liability,” and that will be the end of that. I’ve thought about doing it myself. It would probably guarantee me my 15 minutes of fame. But, I am fearful that if I get up that high, my nose will bleed.
Old Fuds and Memories
Last Thursday, the Old Fuds met on the third floor of Tony Cheng’s Restaurant in DC’s Chinatown. The Old Fuds consists of Retired Army JAGs who can still climb up to the third floor. There were about 50 of us and we do this twice a year. That is the sum and total of the physical training for a number of the Old Fuds.
We usually have a guest speaker and we buy him lunch, unless he speaks for over ten minutes. Then, he is on his own. This time, we had Royce Lamberth speak to us. He is now the Chief Judge of the US District Court for the District of Columbia. In earlier days, he was one of us. In fact, back in the early Seventies, he defended me when I was accused of trial misconduct back in Germany. I had to appear in the US District Court in Baltimore and Royce was a young JAG captain working in the Pentagon in the Litigation Division.
Back in 1969, I prosecuted a soldier named Alsop for sale and possession of hashish. Alsop was sentenced to two years in Leavenworth and a dishonorable discharge. The key witness against Alsop was a soldier named Jones, who had purchased hashish from Alsop. When Alsop’s civilian appellate attorney reviewed the case, he observed that I had dismissed the possession charge against Jones. If I had done that as part of an agreement with Jones to get him to testify, then that fact must be shared with the defense. They insisted that there had been a secret agreement between Jones and me and consequently the conviction should be thrown out.
Alsop’s case had already gone through all of its military appellate appeals when they discovered my alleged misconduct. Therefore, they filed for a writ of habeas corpus to overturn the case. I guess it is kind of obvious, since I am telling the story, that there wasn’t any misconduct or secret agreement.
The whole episode happened in Germany. Jones was stationed in Crailsheim and was suspected of using drugs. A criminal investigation detachment (CID) agent went to Jones’ unit. He was advised by the charge of quarters (CQ) that Jones was off post on a pass. The CID agent told the CQ that when Jones came in, he should be escorted over to the CID office. That is what happened and at the CID office Jones was searched. He was clean.
Then, the CQ told the CID agent that a funny thing had happened as they were walking over to the CID office. Jones had taken a Marlboro crush-proof pack out of his pocket and thrown it in a snow bank. The CID Agent told the CQ to go back and retrieve the Marlboro pack out of the snow bank. He did and surprise, surprise, it was packed full of bricks of hashish. Jones then gave up Alsop and a search of Alsop’s wall locker found enough hashish to float his entire company.
Along with being the general courts-martial prosecutor, I was the Chief of Military Justice for the 4th Armored Division. We decided to try Jones by summary court-martial. A young major (not a JAG) was assigned to be the summary court officer and to decide whether Jones was guilty. On the day of the trial, the major asked Jones how he wanted to plead. Jones said he wanted to plead guilty. The major told Jones he didn’t have to plead guilty, but could plead not guilty and require the Army to prove his guilt. So Jones said, “OK, I plead not guilty.” The summary court officer then handed Jones his confession and asked him if he signed it. Jones said he had. The summary court officer then said, “OK, I find you guilty.”
Unlike television, books and movies, in the real world you have to lay a foundation before you can accept a confession. The summary court officer needed to hear the testimony of the CID agent as to the circumstances surrounding the taking of the confession and that Jones had received his Miranda warning. He also needed to hear from the CQ to put the hashish in Jones’ hands.
I was the one who received the trial record on Jones’ conviction. It was clear that we needed to retry Jones. I can’t remember whether we were planning to use the major again or find a new summary court officer. It turned out it didn’t matter. There could be no second trial. In the time it took for all this to play out, the CQ’s enlistment had expired and he had returned to the United States (the land of round door knobs) and was no longer in the Army. We could not bring him back to Germany and the case against Jones was toast.
As I mentioned earlier, I was also the Chief of Military Justice and, in that capacity, I dismissed the charge against Jones. Wanted to prosecute him. We tried. We just screwed up. Jones was the most surprised when the charge was dismissed. Clearly there was no secret agreement.
In Baltimore, Royce explained that there were valid procedural reasons the case should be dismissed and that I probably would not have to testify. Then the judge came in and told us he had not had time to review the case and since I was present, he might as well hear from me. So, I got my chance to tell the judge what I have just told you. The opposing counsel was hearing what had happened three years before for the first time. He was not equipped to challenge it. The beauty of telling the truth is you don’t have to remember what you have previously said.
Since the trial in Germany, I had spent a year at Northwestern University getting a masters degree in criminal law, spent a year in Vietnam getting a different sort of degree and was now teaching at the JAG School in Charlottesville, Virginia. Royce called me a week after my testimony and told me the judge had dismissed the case. I was vindicated. Hooray for the good guys!
Thirty-five years later, for the first time, I saw Royce at a Vietnam Reunion. I mentioned to him that he had been my lawyer in Baltimore in 1972. He smiled and nodded his head. What does that mean? I don’t blame him if he doesn’t remember. I was the one on the hot seat. He is still one of the good guys.
My Bow Tie and The Prom
A year ago, last October, I told you about the annual Arent Fox retreat (the Prom). I mentioned we do it every year, so, hey, it’s October. Even though I am retired from the firm, Carole and I are invited to the Prom.
It was in Baltimore down by the harbor and it was great. Most of the people present see each other everyday. But, they hadn’t seen me in many moons. People were really happy to see me. Isn’t it crazy? When they saw me everyday, they didn’t give a rat. Now, that I’m retired, it’s “Hey Jack, it’s great to see you.” I got hugs from people who didn’t know my name!
About ten years ago, I thought it would be neat to tie my own bow tie. I now own two tie-your-own bow ties and I hate them both. I only go to two or three formal events a year, so I haven’t had a lot of practice. I have to get out the instructions each time. I can’t tie the tie with my glasses on and I can’t read the instructions without my glasses. It takes me 30 to 40 minutes to tie a reasonably balanced, not too sloppy bow.
The last thing I said in last years blog was that this year I would be the proud owner of a clip-on. Well, here it was the day before the Prom and I still hadn’t purchased my clip-on. I played golf on that morning, so on the way home, I swung by the Springfield Mall. I don’t like to go to the mall. People get mugged in the parking lot and about a month ago, a woman got carjacked. The bad guys took her along and there was a car crash. She and one of the bad guys were killed. So I spent 20 minutes driving around the damn place trying to find a spot that looked safe. Parking in the garage was not an option. I finally gave up and parked.
This is a big, big mall. I think at one time, it was the biggest. Now, quite a few shops are closed. People don’t think mall shopping should involve serious risk. This mall should have to put some type of a warning symbol in their parking lot. “Caution! Parking here may be hazardous to your health.” I thought I had parked close to Macy’s, but I hadn’t. It probably took me ten minutes to find Macy’s. As I entered the store, an overly effeminate guy came rushing up to me and tried to spray me with the latest fragrance. I still have my quick speed, so I got away. If it had come down to it, I think I could have taken him.
The men’s department was in the far end of the store. When I got there, I found three salespersons chatting. Business, business, what business? I asked them where their bow ties were and I was advised they didn’t carry bow ties. I inquired where I might purchase one and they, in unison, shrugged. I could tell they were well practiced at that. As I was walking out, avoiding the fragrance section, I remembered there was a tux rental place somewhere in the mall. I found it and accomplished my quest.
Attending the Prom gave me a chance to catch up with what had been going on with the Fox. When I retired, I shut down. I do go on line once a week and delete all my messages. It’s important to be tidy. One message I had read was from our chairman, Marc Fleischaker, announcing that he planned to step down at the end of the year. Well, at the Prom, he announced that he would be staying on as Chairman of the Executive Committee (if elected by the firm – duh!) for an additional year. That is great news for the Fox.
Marc also mentioned that by opening the branch in Los Angeles, we now represent more dead celebrities that any other firm. Hey, I’m serious. I don’t think I can explain this, but if you want to use the Marx Brothers or Mae West in some commercial or TV show, you better come see us. I found out we have just about tripled the number of attorneys in the LA office and we are in the process of building out again. Even in these tough economic times. Love the Fox.
I tried to avoid politics during the Prom. Most of the firm is Democrat and I am not. I’ll say this for the Democrats, even with their massive majority, they still treat we few Republicans well. If the situation were reversed, I’m not sure we would even keep them. They are excited about Obama being elected. Then, they pause and say, “I sure hope he doesn’t turn out to be another Jimmy Carter.”
The JAG Vietnam Reunion
Last night, we had our first full blown reunion of JAGs that served in Vietnam. There have been other reunions, but this was the first that included everyone. It was held at the Hilton Garden Hotel in Fairfax, Virginia. JAGs showed up from every corner of this country. The number from California was remarkable. Chuck Spradling, Barry Steinberg and Bill Suter were principally responsible for making this reunion happen.
We had about 80 JAGs, plus their wives and friends. It was not a riotous affair, but it was great. Thank goodness, the organizers judiciously scrubbed the wet t-shirt contest. I guess the younger JAGs in attendance were in their mid-sixties, but those in the seventies and eighties were well represented. Energy dissipates, but not spirit. Spirit sores.
We were seated, to a great extent, by the units we served with. There were so many JAGs present who were with the 1st Air Cavalry Division that we took up two plus tables. The 1st Air Cav could deploy most of the division through the air. This lead to the motto, “Freed forever from the tyranny of terrain.” This lead my boss, Lieutenant Colonel Ron Holdaway, back in 1970, to poke his head out of the office tent during one of our nastier monsoon storms and say, “Ah yes, freed forever from the tyranny of terrain.”
Our guest speaker was Fred Borch, the Army JAG historian. He had been instructed not to speak over ten minutes I think that’s a bit harsh to tell an historian not to speak over ten minutes. I think we should have given him at least twelve minutes.
Fred did provide us with some remarkable information. We had JAGs in country from 1959 to 1975. Of course, in the early years, they were very few and they were part of a military advisory group. And, toward the end, we had just a few closing doors and turning out the lights. The vast majority were from 66-67 to 70-71. Fred advised us that his research determined that 352 JAGs served in Vietnam. John Hatcher, who was sitting next to me and served as one of my captains was quite impressed that he was part of such a small number. I thought about that and decided that within a few years, we may be placed on the endangered species list. I think what that means is that developers will not be permitted to encroach upon our habitat. I am not sure that will solve our problems.
When we were in Vietnam, there were only two places you could be. One was “in country,” which meant you were in Vietnam and the other was back in the “World,” which meant you were anyplace other than Vietnam. The airplanes taking soldiers back to the World were called, “Freedom Birds.” Toward the end of my tour, the 1st Air Cav headquarters moved from Phouc Vinh to Ben Hoa. My second boss, Lieutenant Colonel Joe Conboy and I used to drive out by the airport and watch the Freedom Birds take off. It was relaxing. It was sort of like stretching out in your den with a brandy and listening to your favorite music.
It is now Sunday morning and there are no pills in my idiot pill container. My idiot pill container handles two weeks for me. It makes sure that I take the right pills on the right day. No double dipping. I need to get out my pill bottles and load up. So enough of this JAG Vietnam nostalgia. I’m back to the serious stuff.
Mizzou Law Professors (Continued)
After writing my last article on my law professors, I thought I would get it out of my system. I didn’t. The thoughts keep flooding in. Even though these experiences happened over 40 years ago, some are as vivid as yesterday. And, each year, the stories enlarge and get better.
I mentioned in my last blog that Torts was also a six-hour, year-long course. It was taught by Dean McCleary. He had been the dean from 1939 to 1958 (I arrived in 1959). Any number of times during the course of the year, he would hand out true-false questions. Each time he would hand them out, he would say, “This is something I prepared for the boys coming home from the war [no, not the Korean War]. They might be helpful to you, but you will probably never see them again.” I found out late in the second semester, by accident, from an upperclassman, that the true-false questions were always on the final exam. All of them. He told me the questions were always the same. Sometimes the answers changed.
One day in class, Dean McCleary called on me. I just didn’t hear the question. So, I said, “I’m sorry sir, what was that?” Dean McCleary didn’t hear too well and he responded, “That’s right, a question of fact,” and fired another question at me. The good news for me was that as Dean McCleary asked each question, he would nod his head up and down or sideways. All I had to do was observe his head and answer the question accordingly. I must have answered a dozen questions, all correctly, without having a clue as to what he was talking about.
In the previous article, I mentioned Professor “Rosie the Goose” Anderson. Rosie taught Remedies and his exams were notorious. Upperclassmen told me that you had to make sure you inserted the magic words in answering his exams. The trouble was, no one knew the magic words. The day before the exam, he went to the chalk board to discuss it. He wrote an 80 on the board and said, “There are 80 points in the exam. If you get 60 of them, you get an “A.” If you get 40, you get a “B.” I felt like I was listening to a pitch man at the carnival. “Come right up and knock over the pins and you take home a Kewpie Doll.” I vaguely remember Rosie saying that 28 points will get you a “C.”
After the exam, I checked and Rosie gave out one “A” and two “B”s. The rest of the class got “C”s and “D”s. So much for the 50% “B.” We were still looking for the magic words.
I participated in the light opera spoof of the faculty. I was to play Professor Willard L. Eckhardt. Professor Eckhardt was renowned throughout the state for his treaties on real property law. He co-authored his books with Professor Peterson. Professor Eckhardt wore a 1940’s type hat with a wide brim. I needed to find such a hat for the performance, but wasn’t having much luck. Then, a few weeks before the performance, Professor Eckhardt approached me and offered me one of his older wide-brimmed hats. It was the real deal.
I played Eck and Hank Westbrooke played Pete (Professor Peterson). We sang our song to the music of Gilbert and Sullivan’s HMS Pinafore. The issue addressed was who should be the dean. Our lyrics went like this:
I’m Eck, I’m Pete, Co-authors we
The Keaton and Prosser of the Faculty
If we keep on writing at our present pace
We’ll outsell Tobacco Road and Peyton Place.
Together we’re twice as witty and wise
As any one of these other guys.
We collaborate on our books it’s true
But it’s not hard to figure where the credit’s due
I work day and night and I never miss a thing
Yes, watching the construction on the new west wing.
Two deans is what this school requires
Yes, one for the boozers and one for the dry’s.
Then came the Finale with every performer singing.
Now you may question the propriety
Of our castigation of the faculty
And we realize with some remorse
That the Dean and the professors have the last recourse.
But, if we succeeded to amuse you all
We really don’t object to flunking out at all.
FINIS
Law School Professors at MIZZOU
It doesn’t take much to get a lawyer talking about his law school professors. During that three-year law school experience, the law professors were bigger than life. I have heard so many times a lawyer tell me, “I don’ think anybody can match the cast of characters I had as law professors.” After hearing that often enough, I decided that maybe my situation wasn’t unique. But, then I thought, they didn’t have Rosie the Goose or the Gray Fox.
Professor Anderson was referred to as Rosie the Goose. It may have had to do with the way his head moved up and down when he talked – or perhaps the high pitched squawks that came out while he explained a point. He taught Remedies and I never figured out what he was getting at. One day while we were waiting for him to arrive, a third year student stepped to the front of the classroom and put a large egg in the professor’s seat. I suspected it was a goose egg, but don’t know that I had ever seen one. It was clearly too large to be a chicken egg. The student ducked into the back of the room and in came Rosie.
He stopped as he got to his seat. I guess examining the seat before sitting comes from years of teaching experience. He starred at the egg. There were snickers running around the room. Not me. I was holding my breath and hoping nothing bad would happen to me as a member of the irreverent class. Rosie picked up the egg and examined it. He then exclaimed in his high pitched voice, “I presume this was laid by the last professor.” The class roared and that seemed to please Rosie. When the class finally settled down, we returned to the study of law.
Professor William H. Pittman was the Gray Fox. He was very distinguished looking with gray to white hair and mustache. By the time I was a student, we probably should have called him the White Fox. But, in fact, he was universally known just as the Fox.
The Fox taught first year Contracts. It was a six hour course – three hours the first semester and three hours the second semester. The problem was there was only one exam and it came at the end of the year. So you would go the entire year without knowing how you were doing (Torts was the same). It made for a long anxious year.
The Fox, like most professors of that time, used the Socratic method of teaching. He would call on a student to recite on a particular case and then pose questions to the student until the student was unable to construct a thought. When he called on me I was clueless. The issue was what constitutes the acceptance to an offer. I had done my homework. I knew the facts. I knew the court’s rationale. And, further, I knew that the present day law was consistent with the court’s opinion. But, the Fox kept showing me that the court’s opinion didn’t make sense. I would agree with him. Then, he would ask me what the present day law was and we would start the cycle over again. Finally, he called on someone else. I felt foolish, but relieved.
The Fox also could lean way back in his chair and while looking at the chalk board upside down, write clearly. It didn’t help. Contracts just didn’t make any sense. We were told by upperclassmen that we would wake up on Easter morning and it would all become clear. Easter came and went. Nothing was clear. How far could I get with “a contract consists of an offer, an acceptance and consideration?”
I went to see Professor Pittman. I think I told him that while I was preparing everyday, it just wasn’t coming together for me. He was very pleasant and we talked for about twenty minutes (he talking – me listening). I think what he was telling me was that he considered his role in the classroom not to teach me Contracts, but to teach me how to think. The problem was the the final exam would expect me to know Contracts. I went out and bought a Contracts hornbook.
Sometime toward the end of the second semester, I was shocked when I heard a student tell the Fox, “Professor, that doesn’t make any sense.” I never heard the Fox raise his voice. He just quietly said, “What do you mean?” The student said, “If the facts are one way and you get the results of this case, then if you change all the facts to the other way, you will get the opposite result.” The Fox said, “Can you give me an example?” The student paused, then said, “If you have a force moving in one direction and you get one result, then, if the force moves in exactly the opposite direction, you will get exactly the opposite result.” The Fox smiled and said, “Try that on the door when you leave.” The door only opened in one direction.
As I said earlier, I never heard the Fox raise his voice. Plus, he would write on the board without leaving his chair. His lay back approach to teaching law was noted when, in my second year, the students put on a “light opera” spoofing the faculty. Here is what we sang about the Fox. “Conserving strength for the days ahead, teaching all his law, like he’s tucked in bed.”
I graduated with very close to a “B” average. But I never fooled the Fox. He gave me all “C’s.”
California Gold Coast – Tauck Tour # 18
Carole and I just got back from a twelve-day vacation in California. We traveled with a tour group called Tauck World Discovery. We have previously used Tauck to go to Australia/New Zealand, Ireland, the Canadian Rockies and Hawaii (and a few more places). They are not cheap, but you stay at great hotels (for example, we stayed at the Ahwahnee Lodge at Yosemite), and you come away really feeling good about your vacation. It is obvious that careful consideration goes into all of their tours.
California Gold Coast – Tauck Tour # 18
We started in San Francisco, and we looked around the city,
Then, over the Golden Gate Bridge, Sonoma Valley was the ditty.
We swirled and we sniffed, we viewed and we tasted,
They brought out more bottles, but nothing was wasted.
Then on to Yosemite and what the heck,
Searched El Capitan for climbers, got a crick in our neck.
But the time raced by, we had to leave soon,
But at least we ate breakfast with a raccoon.
In the San Joaquin Valley, we saw the crops grow,
Peaches and walnuts and grapes don’t you know.
Silage, pomegranates, pistachios and such,
Almonds, alfalfa, plums, figs – it’s too much.
Monterey and Carmel, the whole area is cool,
Make sure when you start out, your wallet is full.
Pebble Beach is fantastic, the golf course brings glee,
And to top it all off, the score cards are free.
Big Sur was foggy and scary to boot,
As Bob made the turns, we all began to root.
But then we were startled, each person turned their head,
When Carole announced, the elephant seals were dead.
The Hearst Castle was special, it really did swing,
But stay on the carpet and don’t touch anything.
Los Angles was clear, what a beautiful day,
No smog, but bad traffic, what can you say?
The Getty, the Getty, an incredible smash,
Look all you want, just don’t use a flash.
We wrapped in San Diego and visited the zoo,
We saw more plants and animals than we could ever chew.
The tour was a big success, Mike’s leadership was great,
We made lots of friends and no one was ever late!
So here’s a toast to Tour 18, we knew it couldn’t last,
We’ll say goodbye tomorrow, it really was a blast.
The Golf Gods
Yes, every golfer knows about the Golf Gods. When you hit a screaming hook into the dense woods, it is the Golf Gods that decide whether to swallow the ball so it is never found, or to spit it back out into the middle of the fairway. I have never read this in a golf magazine, but I know it is not wise to anger the Golf Gods.
Golf is such a wonderful game. It doesn’t matter whether you are a scratch golfer or have never gotten under 100, you can have a good game or a bad game. It is a game where you are constantly learning. It truly is one of the puzzles of life. If, however, you should mention to a friend or your spouse those unforgivable words, “I think I’ve got it,” the Golf Gods will swoop down and crush you. They will have you questioning everything from your grip to your follow through.
That is my present dilemma. I am playing well. I play every Thursday in the Northern Virginia Retired Members’ league. And, for the last four weeks my scores have been great (for me). My scores are lower and my handicap has dropped three points. That means the Golf Gods have me in their sights. I am high on their victim’s list. Just writing that I am playing well may have inflamed them.
You can always get advice from those you play with. I have learned that after hitting a bad shot, never, never ask, “What did I do wrong?” One fellow will say, “You’re standing too close to the ball after you hit it.” Yuk, yuk. Another will say, “You’re swinging way too hard.” Wait a minute. Wasn’t that the guy who told me last week, “Just grip it and rip it.” If I wasn’t watching and someone asks me, I would say, “Your head came up.” You don’t have to watch to know that. The Golf Gods love for you to ask, “What did I do wrong?” That’s part of the slippery slope.
What about reading golf magazines? I’ve read those magazines like they were the bible. I’ve cut out articles and put them in files – putting, short game, sand shots, more powerful drives, strategy and probably most important, a file on golf exercises. I don’t think they have helped me. Many times they conflict with each other. I read one article on putting that said that on long putts, don’t look at the ball, look at the hole. I tried it, but I didn’t hit the ball solidly. I wonder how that happened?
Putting is such an important part of the game. I always keep track of the number of putts. A couple of weeks back, I had 41! Two per hole is 36. Get the picture? When your first putt goes twelve feet past the cup and you realize for the first time that it was a downhill putt, it’s time to regroup. I also can guarantee that your next putt will not get to the hole.
A TV commentator, a while back, said that Tiger Woods never hits a putt off line. I was amazed. That means that every time he misses a putt, he didn’t hit it hard enough or he misread it. When I make a long putt, I usually accept the fact that I misread the putt just enough to compensate for hitting the ball off line. Poor Tiger never gets that compensation. Of course, the Golf Gods are trying to set you up when you make one of those long curving putts. It doesn’t work on me. I know it was just dumb luck. Blind hog, etc.
I love the game and all its challenges. You have to accept that things will go wrong. Last Thursday, I was playing a par five at Mount Vernon Country Club. After two shots, I had 150 yards to the green. There was a substantial pond between me and the green. I was also in the light rough and had a downhill lie. I decided to choke down on my seven wood and move the ball back in my stance. So far, sounds pretty good. I factored everything in. Then, I hit my ball over the pond, but not by enough to clear the stone retaining wall. My ball swims with the fishes.
This Spring, I was playing on the golf course at Fort McPherson. This was part of the RAJA (Retired Army Judge Advocates) meeting. We always play golf. My partner was Allan Toomey. On the first or second hole, I hit my ball into a small creek that ran parallel to the fairway. I could see the ball, but I couldn’t reach it. I asked Allan if he had a ball retriever. He said, “I’m having it regripped.”
Insurance for the Military (One of the Bennies)
I have written a couple of blogs recently on our indoor waterfall and the trauma surrounding water damage through the house. I now report that it is done. We may never be back to normal, but the house is.
The final anxious episode was dealing with the insurance company. You’ve all heard the horror stories. Well, in our case, it turned out to be a pleasant experience. I notified Armed Forces Insurance that we had paid out a little over $30,000 in bills and forwarded the receipts. We received notification from Jeanne Priddy, Senior Staff Adjuster, the next day that they were paying for everything (less the $500 deductible). The check arrived shortly thereafter. It is really a pleasure dealing with insurance companies dedicated to assisting the military.
Between Armed Forces Insurance (AFI) and United States Automobile Association (USAA), military personnel have great insurance available to them. I have my house and personal property with AFI and our cars with USAA. Granted, I don’t have a gecko working for me or a goofy woman named Flo, but when I’m in trouble, AFI and USAA are definitely on my side.
I think this is only the second claim we have filed with AFI. Previously, back in the Seventies, we had two ceramic elephants (BUFEs -pronounced boofies) stolen off our front porch in Charlottesville, Virginia. By driving to the pottery “plant” in Vietnam with my boss, Joe Conboy, we were able to pick up BUFEs for practically nothing. After they were stolen, Carole took some pictures of the BUFEs to the local department store and got a quote on replacement costs. We made so much money on the stolen BUFEs that we seriously considered putting two more out on the porch.
My first experience with USAA was when I was assigned to Goeppingen, Germany in 1966. I am reasonably certain that our 64′ Chevy Impala Super Sport (bright yellow with black interior) had rough handling at the Bremerhaven port (like it was dropped). On the ride home, I found a tire bubble that indicated to me that the tire had been pinched during a short drop. Then, on my first trip to Nuernberg, while driving down a cobblestone road, my rear window shattered. What a mess.
I notified a Mr. Schwartz, with USAA in Heidelberg. I told him I was driving to Stuttgart to the Opel dealer to get my window replaced. He told me I probably wouldn’t have much luck and when I got tired of trying to find my rear window in Germany to notify him. He said he would find it and ship it to a local auto repair shop. I tried for three weeks, then contacted Mr. Schwartz. My replacement glass was flown in from Denmark. I doubt whether any other auto insurance company would even have an agent in Germany.
What did I do with no rear window? No problem. The Army solves all their problem with green tape! We cut a piece of clear plastic and slapped it on with green tape. The Army used green tape for every conceivable purpose. It would stick to almost anything. There was only one problem with my car. When I took the green tape off, it took the yellow paint pigment with it. Powerful stuff. I had a pale white strip around my rear window.
On my second tour in Germany, we were on vacation and I was driving the entire family from Munich to the Neuschwanstein Castle. I hit some black ice and ran into a tree. The car was totaled. We all survived and USAA paid us for the car. A good samaritan German assisted in getting us back to Munich. No Neuschwanstein, no vacation. That’s not covered in the insurance policy.
When I started working at Arent Fox, I had to park in the garage under our building. Driving around support posts was not my strength. I kept scraping the side of my car. USAA kept putting new doors on my car. As you would expect, my insurance rate went up, but they never deserted me. I wonder if some of the cheapo insurance companies would have put up with me. I’ll never know, cause I ain’t switchen.
We have an expression, “The Army takes care of their own.” But, if the Army can’t, there’s a good chance that military insurance will cover it nicely.