Who Will Bring Them Flowers

     Last Sunday, May 20, 2018, Kay's brother Rick passed away, he was 69 years old.
     Being the youngest of the family, like Kay, you expect the older siblings to pass before you but that bit of knowledge doesn't make the passing any less painful. We were there for two days, close to tears one minute and laughing at a memory from long ago the next. Kay's family lived in Gainesville, Ga. most of their life and many old friends and distant relatives came to pay their respects and celebrate the life of Rick Kiser. I have known the members of Kay's family a short time, they welcomed me with open arms and from the first moment I met them I have never been a stranger in their home. I have attended their gatherings and listened to their stories of the past, I have heard their laughter and seen their tears. I look upon them as brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, I too feel the pain of Rick's passing - you will be missed Rick, rest in peace my brother.
     Kay and I took a break from the overwhelming joy and sorrow and went outside for some fresh air. We found a nice bench under an oak tree and sat down. The bench was next to a flat bronze grave marker with a removable flower vase which was holding a bouquet of silk flowers. My curiosity got the better of me and I read the names and dates on the marker, the husband was born in 1898 and died in the mid 1980's, the wife was born in 1902 and died in 1995.  I don't remember their names, they were nobody I knew so I had no knowledge of their lives  or family but they must have someone who still cares for them because there were flowers on the grave.
     I am 71 years old and have attended the funerals of several people that I loved and over the years I have seen a change in the way people look upon death. For centuries people were born, lived and died within a small area of their known world, it should not surprise you to know that many people as late as the 1930's and 40's never ventured farther than 50 miles from the place they were born. Generations of families were born and lived in the same community and family graveyards were not uncommon so when a loved one brought flowers for their spouse they probably brought along extras for mom and dad, granny and grandpa or maybe uncle Joe.
     After World War II families started moving around, my great grandfather, his two wives and youngest daughter are buried together but their sons and daughters are buried in cemeteries all over three or four counties and at least two states on opposite sides of the country. The family graveyard is no more. I attended the funerals for both sets of grand parents and my parents, for whatever reason I have had no desire to return for a visit, memories of them are forever branded into the memory cells of my mind and that is enough for me. Linda and I decided long ago that we wanted to be cremated and our ashes scattered, we didn't want to take up the real estate or have our sons grieving over a marble marker that would eventually erode away, we wanted them to get on with the business of living. Kay and her husband Wayne also chose cremation.
    Very few people achieve immortality in this world those that do eventually are remembered in name only after a couple of generations. Once again my curiosity forced me to gaze upon the bronze marker of the old couple, sadly I wondered, after more than twenty years how many more bouquets the future would hold for them, would someone sit and talk to them, would there be tears of joy or sorrow ?
     Who will bring them flowers ?
   
   

Responsibilities

     Turning eighteen was a big step for me, I was coming of age, no longer a teenager not yet a man. I couldn't vote or drink beer but I could be charged as an adult for any crimes I might commit and more importantly I could be drafted and sent off to some foreign war and die for my country. If I didn't hurry up and make a decision I would be drafted into the Army and that just wouldn't do, so I joined the Navy like my father before me.
     They say that the military makes men out of boys and I think they might be right, mom was not there to pick up after me so I had to do for myself. There were a lot of things involved in turning boys into men and I must say that a lot of the schooling was not taught by the Navy, it was taught by older sailors who at times took some strange pleasure in walking young boys down the path of manhood. Such was the case of learning the arts of drinking and gambling. The lessons were hard and some times painful but you eventually figured out the basics, never draw to an inside straight and don't mix beer with liquor.
     My first year in the Navy found me rooming with two older guys in their early twenties, they were both from Boston. Leo was the younger one and we became good friends, he took me under his wing and guided me along in the ways of manhood.
     My first lesson was in the art of drinking and I must say that I was not really looking forward to this as my father was an alcoholic and I never really liked the smell of beer much less the the taste but being called a chicken in front of your peers was frowned on so I thought, awe what the heck, one beer won't hurt. Well the first beer didn't hurt and by number six or seven I felt no pain and somewhere around number fifteen I didn't feel anything at all.
     It all started one Friday night when several of us went to what was called the gee-dunk (don't ask why), it was a sorta restaurant / bar where enlisted personnel could go and have a burger and beer and sit around shooting the breeze, it was the only place those of us who were under twenty one could legally be served beer. So there we were, about six or eight of us guys sitting around and one of the older guys bought everyone a beer which at first I turned down until someone said something about no hair on my rear end ( I am trying to watch my language ), the gauntlet had been laid down, the line was drawn in the sand and for the honor of all the sailors who came before me I had to step over it. I grabbed a cold can and took a sip, it didn't taste any better than it smelled and the guys could see by the expression on my face that I needed to be encouraged so they told me it would be better if I just turned it up and chugged it down, in other words turn it up and drink the whole can real fast, so I did, my eyes watered and I started to feel a numbness spread thru out my whole body starting in my brain. They say beer is an acquired taste and they were right, after you acquired the first one the rest didn't taste as bad.
     There was another boy in the group from Chattanooga, Tn., he was what we called a mama's boy and he was teased about it often. After my first beer the guys started teasing him and finally talked him into his first beer, the next thing I knew he and I were pitted against each other in a beer drinking contest. Bets were made as to which of us could drink the most beer, there was cheering, slaps on the back and the popping sound the beer tabs made when a fresh beer was opened, the race was on.
     I can't remember how long it took for me to chug-a-lug those eighteen beers but I won the contest sitting down because I was a little unsteady on my feet. My good friend Leo again took me under his wing and walked me back to the barracks, it took time because I couldn't feel my feet touch the ground and I thought it was funny. Once back in my room I fell into my bed and closed my eyes. I was at peace with the world until Leo came in and woke me up to take a couple of aspirins to ward off tomorrows hangover. As I opened my eyes the whole known world started spiraling off its axis and I was about to fall off if I didn't make it to the head (bathroom) on time. I spent a good fifteen minutes with my head buried in a commode puking my guts out. Once I determined there could not be anything left inside me I crawled over to the wall and pulled myself up to a standing position, fortunately the hallway in the barracks was not very wide and that made it easier to brace myself with a supporting hand on either wall as I made my way back to my room. I laid back down and hoped the worse was over but it wasn't as what is called the dry heaves came along and I started trying to puke into a waste basket beside my bed, there I was stretched out on the bed with my head hanging over the edge trying to puke into a waste basket but there was nothing left inside me. At some point I think I might have passed out.
     So ended my first step into manhood. I did continue to drink on into my early thirties but never again did I have a night like that one and when Danny was born I quit all together. I have an occasional drink now and then but I learned a long time ago that life is more fun and beautiful with a clear head.
     My first stab at gambling came when I stood my first watch as a duty driver, it was a Saturday and things were slow so the duty petty officer ask if  I wanted to play some cards, "sure I said what kind of cards". He suggested that we play 500 Rummy for a penny a point, little did he know that I had been playing rummy since I was about ten years old, some twenty minutes later he handed over ten dollars.
 Most of the guys played Poker - draw, stud, seven card and baseball to name a few of the variations. We played in one of the rooms with the door closed, the room was small and quickly filled with blue smoke from the long green cigars we purchased for just the occasion. The bets were nickle, dime and quarter with a maximum of three raises that way nobody could lose too much.
     When I got to my outfit in Vietnam a whole new world opened up as those guys would bet on anything and they took their gambling seriously. I walked in on an Acey Ducey game on the ship one night, there were about eight guys playing with another half dozen backers. Acey Ducey is a card game where each player is dealt two cards after putting an ante into the pot, let's say five dollars. Both cards are dealt face up and the object of the game was to bet that the next card dealt to you would fall between the two you had, in other words if you had a five and a ten you had to get a six, seven, eight, or nine, any other card and you would lose your bet. You could bet any portion of the pot or all of it. This particular game was hot, when I walked in there was $2500 in cash and the title to a two year old Mustang in the pot. The betting was frantic, several players had all of their money in the pot and had to work a deal with the backers to remain in the game.
     Once we were on board ship we kept a running poker game which we played at lunch and at night, rather than have money laid out on the table we used poker chips. All winnings and losses were recorded in a book and all players had to settle up every pay day or they couldn't play until they did. Poker was not the only game we bet on, there was also Blackjack and when the monotony set in we adapted other card games into games of chance.
     I played my share of Poker and Blackjack even long after I left the Navy, once I won over eight hundred dollars playing Blackjack in Lake Tahoe but generally I probably broke even at best. Years later when I worked for the SBA, my boss invited me to join a small group of four guys who had been playing poker every Tuesday night for some thirty five plus years, one of the guys had to drop out for health reasons and they were looking for new blood. There was a special bond these guys had, I was honored that they asked and I did play with them a few times. I am sure they continued on but I wonder if they ever replaced their friend, I think this was one of those times where the last hand was played when the last man drew his last breath.
      I was a little slow to grow up even though I did finally become old enough to vote there was still enough of the boy that wanted to play. When the pressures of responsibilities finally overwhelmed me I achieved my manhood, drinking and gambling as it turned out had very little to do with a boys right of passage into manhood, it is how he handles his responsibilities, and yes the world is a more beautiful place when you are not looking at it thru bloodshot eyes.

Memories Of The Past

 





     Growing up in the 1950's there were many things that we just took for granted, they were plain ordinary things, very common place. Take for instance, every body had a telephone but unlike those of today it was wired into the house, your voice was transmitted thru the mouth piece over wires that were hooked to other wires attached to tall poles that ran along the road on into oblivion. We also had small screen TV's that plugged into the wall and generally had tall antennas attached to the outside of the house, the picture was often grainy, black and white and you could only get three channels and programming stopped at midnight.
     My point is, there were so many things that my generation took for granted that my grand kids will never believe existed. Every now and then I run across something else that is so rarely seen and I feel sorry for this latest generation - they will never know what they are missing.
     Last week Kay and I were in South Georgia and Kay wanted to get something for the grand kids that would show them about the things we saw and where we had been. Now let me say that it would have been easy to just dial them up on Kay's super duty full of all kinds of apps smart phone and swing it around so they could instantly visually see everything that we were seeing but that would be to easy and Kay would rather put a more personal touch to the communication - we are a little old school.
      When I was growing up in the 1950's, communicating with each other was done by one of several different ways. Of course the number one way was talking, easy enough to do if the involved parties are in the same room if not you have to go to another form of communicating, the telephone. Telephoning someone was easy just pick up the receiver and stick your finger into the rotary dial finger hole matching the other persons phone number and dial the seven digit number. Utilizing the telephone to talk with someone far away was easy but not cheap especially if you had to factor in long distance charges and if they were not home when you called there was no voice mail so you had to call back later.
     Now another way to communicate with someone who lived away from you was to hop into the family car and drive over to see them, of course if you called them beforehand you might have figured out they were not home when they didn't answer thus saving yourself a trip. In the case of someone living way far away like about 2000 miles, driving was still an option if you had maybe two weeks just to get there and two weeks to get back. The interstate system as you know it in 2018 was invisioned by President Dwight Eisenhower in the early 1950's , work on the interstate system continues as I write this story, it is never ending.
     All of this leads us to the most generally used system of long distance communicating - writing.
Writing as a form of communicating was around long before telephones, twitter, skype, e-mail and whatever else we use today. Writing was easy, just write your thoughts on to a piece of paper or two or three, place the paper into an envelope with the address you want it to go to and stick a stamp on it. The postal service will pick it up from your mail box and deliver it to anywhere in the world sometime in the next few days or weeks or months, not to worry tho, they will deliver the mail no matter how long it takes.
     My Grandmother Riggan was a big writer, she would write half a dozen letters a week plus pay bills via the U.S. Mail, first class postage was a whopping three cents per letter back in the 1950's. When she didn't have much to say Granny often used what was then called a penny post card .
     Strangely enough a penny post card cost only a penny but it cost two cents to mail. Post cards were much like there name, they were a three by five card that was blank on one side so you could write whatever you wanted to say and on the other side you wrote the address you it wanted it to go to and placed a two cent stamp in the corner. A smart person could write a three page letter on a post card simply by writing very small, the problem was that every Tom, Dick and Harry that handled the card could and often did read what you wrote.
     Granny lived out in the country on what was called a rural delivery route and instead of a street address she had a box number. The postman would drive up six days a week and pick up the mail, because it was so far to the post office she would leave the postman a note and some money and he in turn would leave her postage stamps and post cards. Now days you go to a site on line and create post cards, birthday cards, Christmas cards and cards of all occasions and send them via e-mail, twitter, text or whatever it is.
     Post cards were also found in drug stores, gift shops, gas stations and hotel lobbies everywhere, these were called picture post cards because they had a picture on one side usually of some local scenery or something picturesque. They were funny, they were serious and they were beautiful. People would go on trips and buy these cards and send them to friends and relatives with a short note on the other side. They would say things like " wish you were here " or " arrived safely ". The big thing about picture post cards was that people saved them, My Grandmother had a couple of shoe boxes full of them and I would spend hours looking at them, these things were literally works of art just Google "Vintage Postcards " and see for yourself.
     So to bring us back to the original line of thought, Kay decided she wanted to send each of the grand kids a picture post card pertaining to where we were and what we were doing on vacation. Turns out that finding picture post cards is not as easy as it once was, we went to three different convenience stores, one had no cards, one had several cards but the pictures depicted were of places over 50 + miles away. The last store had two different cards, one was a map of the Georgia coastline showing the names of the barrier islands  and the other card was of Dolphins with "From Georgia With Love " written across the picture. They were not exactly what Kay wanted but but she made it work by putting an "X" on the map to show where we were staying and writing that we saw Dolphins on the other card, we signed Grandmama and Mr. Mike on the cards to Benjamin and Abigail and signed Grandpa and Mrs Kay for the cards to MJ and Matthew.
     It is sad to see another part of the past slowly disappear, what is even more sad is to see a way of communicating ones feelings of love disappear. The Grand Kids will be thrilled to get the cards and one day they will remember that we loved them enough to send them, indeed it is the simplest things that bring back the greatest of memories.