25 July 2007
Date with fate post 3 - Pipe in the stomach - Walk it off punk!
This entry was posted on 7/25/2007 1:30 AM and is filed under Fate Fairies.
I must have been in Second Grade. John F. Kennedy was still President. A heavy set kid named Jacky who was in the Fourth Grade was a bully of sorts. He and his neighbor Dave would chuck rotten apples at us little kids as we rode our bikes home. The three-room school was in the village of Lima (population 90?). There were about 60 kids in the six grades. We did not have kindergarten in those days.
One day Jacky manifested his chicanery on the play ground. It was basically an old farm field. The baseball backstop was some chain-link fence stretched between a couple of old telephone poles. There was a couple of rusty swings, a creaking merry-go-round, and a couple of monkey-bar climbers. The skeletal framework of one of the climbers looked like the capsule of the Mercury space vehicles. We were after all in the "space race" then. The monkey-bars always mysteriously had some parts missing. During recess on the day in question, I looked up from a game of tag with pals to see a monkey-bar pipe rotating through the air right at me. In the background of the ever approaching projectile was the laughing face of..., Jacky. The pipe hit me crossways in the stomach - thank God - if it had hit me like a javelin it would have impaled me. I remember Jacky running up to me and saying with a snarl, "don't cry kid, and keep your mouth shut." My stomach hurt for a month. I didn't cry, I walked it off; and, I have kept my mouth shut for almost 50 years, of course until I needed fodder for this vignette.
This week's Wisconsin soldier to remember is Specialist Michelle Witmer, 20, who died Friday, April 9, 2004. Her tour in Iraq was a few days from ending when she died. Her vehicle came under attack from enemy using a roadside bomb and small-arms fire in Baghdad. Witmer had been stationed in Baghdad since March 2003 with the 32nd Military Police Company of the Wisconsin National Guard. Michelle joined the National Guard in November 2002, going into the same military police unit her older sister Rachel, 24 was in and also in Iraq. Charity Witmer, Michelle's twin sister, was a medic with Company B of the Wisconsin Guard's 118th Medical Battalion, and was likewise stationed in Iraq. Michelle was the 16th Wisconsin soldier to be killed in Iraq since the war began in March 2003. According the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, Michelle and Rachel helped train Iraqi police. Michelle's job was during the night shift at the local police station. The Witmer children were home-schooled but Michelle went on to attend the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee before being sent to Iraq. At the time of her death, Michelle Witmer was survived by her two brothers Timothy, 22, Mark, 18, her sisters Rachel, 24, and Charity, 20, and her parents John and Lori Witmer.
3,644 Americans have been killed in Iraq since Spring 2003.
26,953 U.S. troops have been wounded in action in Iraq since Spring 2003.
78 Wisconsin soldiers have been killed in Iraq since Spring 2003.
112 journalists (several nationalities) have been killed in Iraq since Spring 2003.
Soldier of the week, military casualty, and journalist casualty information sources: Committee to Protect Journalists; cnn.com; and, Milwaukee Journal Sentinel.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Date with fate - post 2 - Crying 16-year-old Buick-girl vs old four-door Ford
18 July 2007
Date with fate - post 2 - Crying 16-year-old Buick-girl vs old four-door Ford
This entry was posted on 7/18/2007 1:30 AM and is filed under Fate Fairies.
The prevailing wisdom in Janesville for as long as I can remember is that our stop and go lights are in sync. The mantra has been for decades, "Catch one green light and you can get through them all down on Milwaukee Street." Nothing is farther from the truth. They are actually set out of sync to slow the flow of cars - "traffic calming." People have bought into the juxtaposed logic ("Wisconsin Logic") for so long they actually think the lights are in sync. And, like a well-kept family secret - people get cynical when they finally realize one of the kids came from the milk man so to speak.
I must have been in Fourth grade or so. Mom and Dad were carting Grandma around in our old four-door Ford car one afternoon. She could not drive. This was a periodic ritual. Even forty-five years ago the stop and go lights in Janesville annoyed me. Grandma and I were in the back seat as usual. She was going on about some doings in Janesville. She loved Janesville. Grandpa had moved the family there in the 1920s so he could work at General Motors. He died shortly after that and my uncles had to finish building the house. It seems like I am just about the only one left from the whole crowd in this story. Mom and Dad were in the front seat having one of their usual chats. Suddenly a car careened over one of the ubiquitous Janesville hills on a street to our side and slammed on its brakes at the stop sign. The car came inches from lambasting our car in a T-bone wreck. I could see the bumper of the car out my window. It was so close to our car I could see my own reflection in its shinny chrome. Grandma was looking out the other window as she prattled on about something. Mom and Dad were oblivious as the action was over their right shoulders by now. I could see the face of the sixteenish year old girl at the wheel of the screeching car. She was crying about something - no doubt what ever it is sixteen year old girls cry about.
I remember being so nonchalant about it. Growing up on a dairy farm gives one such a "some you win, some you lose," outlook in life. I did not scream or warn the others in our car. I just thought for a couple seconds and remember saying as if it were yesterday, "God, I hate Janesville." Grandma looked truly hurt and began a monologue on how wonderful Janesville had been to her considering they used to live in a shack in Harvard. The rest of the way to Grandma's house and then all the way back to Lima, I was likewise lectured by my mother on the nuances of thinking before I spoke.
I never did tell them we all almost kicked the bucket that afternoon - killed in a gory mess of tangled metal and glass - smashed to bits by a crying sixteen year old in her daddy's Buick.
This week's Wisconsin soldier to remember is Private First Class Ryan M. Jerabek, 18, of Hobart who was killed in Ramadi, Iraq on April 6, 2004. Jerabek was in the 2nd Battalion, 4th Marine Regiment, 1st Marine Division, 1st Marine Expeditionary Force. He was killed in what has been described and a long firefight against insurgents. Ryan was the Fifteen Wisconsin service member to die in Iraq. He had been in Iraq less than a month. According to the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, Pfc. Jerabek enlisted in the delayed entry program for the Marine Corps in his junior year in high school. He did his boot camp in San Diego in July, 2003. Ryan is survived by his mother and father Rita and Ken Jerabek. Dad Ken Jerabek served in the Army during Vietnam.
3,618 Americans have been killed in Iraq since Spring 2003.
26,695 U.S. troops have been wounded in action in Iraq since Spring 2003.
76 Wisconsin soldiers have been killed in Iraq since Spring 2003.
112 journalists (several nationalities) have been killed in Iraq since Spring 2003.
Soldier of the week, military casualty, and journalist casualty information sources: Committee to Protect Journalists; cnn.com; and, Milwaukee Journal Sentinel.
Date with fate - post 2 - Crying 16-year-old Buick-girl vs old four-door Ford
This entry was posted on 7/18/2007 1:30 AM and is filed under Fate Fairies.
The prevailing wisdom in Janesville for as long as I can remember is that our stop and go lights are in sync. The mantra has been for decades, "Catch one green light and you can get through them all down on Milwaukee Street." Nothing is farther from the truth. They are actually set out of sync to slow the flow of cars - "traffic calming." People have bought into the juxtaposed logic ("Wisconsin Logic") for so long they actually think the lights are in sync. And, like a well-kept family secret - people get cynical when they finally realize one of the kids came from the milk man so to speak.
I must have been in Fourth grade or so. Mom and Dad were carting Grandma around in our old four-door Ford car one afternoon. She could not drive. This was a periodic ritual. Even forty-five years ago the stop and go lights in Janesville annoyed me. Grandma and I were in the back seat as usual. She was going on about some doings in Janesville. She loved Janesville. Grandpa had moved the family there in the 1920s so he could work at General Motors. He died shortly after that and my uncles had to finish building the house. It seems like I am just about the only one left from the whole crowd in this story. Mom and Dad were in the front seat having one of their usual chats. Suddenly a car careened over one of the ubiquitous Janesville hills on a street to our side and slammed on its brakes at the stop sign. The car came inches from lambasting our car in a T-bone wreck. I could see the bumper of the car out my window. It was so close to our car I could see my own reflection in its shinny chrome. Grandma was looking out the other window as she prattled on about something. Mom and Dad were oblivious as the action was over their right shoulders by now. I could see the face of the sixteenish year old girl at the wheel of the screeching car. She was crying about something - no doubt what ever it is sixteen year old girls cry about.
I remember being so nonchalant about it. Growing up on a dairy farm gives one such a "some you win, some you lose," outlook in life. I did not scream or warn the others in our car. I just thought for a couple seconds and remember saying as if it were yesterday, "God, I hate Janesville." Grandma looked truly hurt and began a monologue on how wonderful Janesville had been to her considering they used to live in a shack in Harvard. The rest of the way to Grandma's house and then all the way back to Lima, I was likewise lectured by my mother on the nuances of thinking before I spoke.
I never did tell them we all almost kicked the bucket that afternoon - killed in a gory mess of tangled metal and glass - smashed to bits by a crying sixteen year old in her daddy's Buick.
This week's Wisconsin soldier to remember is Private First Class Ryan M. Jerabek, 18, of Hobart who was killed in Ramadi, Iraq on April 6, 2004. Jerabek was in the 2nd Battalion, 4th Marine Regiment, 1st Marine Division, 1st Marine Expeditionary Force. He was killed in what has been described and a long firefight against insurgents. Ryan was the Fifteen Wisconsin service member to die in Iraq. He had been in Iraq less than a month. According to the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, Pfc. Jerabek enlisted in the delayed entry program for the Marine Corps in his junior year in high school. He did his boot camp in San Diego in July, 2003. Ryan is survived by his mother and father Rita and Ken Jerabek. Dad Ken Jerabek served in the Army during Vietnam.
3,618 Americans have been killed in Iraq since Spring 2003.
26,695 U.S. troops have been wounded in action in Iraq since Spring 2003.
76 Wisconsin soldiers have been killed in Iraq since Spring 2003.
112 journalists (several nationalities) have been killed in Iraq since Spring 2003.
Soldier of the week, military casualty, and journalist casualty information sources: Committee to Protect Journalists; cnn.com; and, Milwaukee Journal Sentinel.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Date with Fate - post 1 - Semi vs Old Four-door Ford
11 July 2007
Date with Fate - post 1 - Semi vs old four-door Ford
This entry was posted on 7/11/2007 1:30 AM and is filed under Fate Fairies.
It must speak to passing 50 years old. I never pondered it much 20 years ago. That slide into mortality consciousness one realizes with age. It happens one day without fanfare. You suddenly have an epiphany one day as you step back out of an intersection to avoid a car and say to yourself, "Woe, I could of just died here." There have been so many of these instances in my life, I feel it begs visiting them.
Hence begins, "Fate Fairies." You know the fate fairies. Those spiritual trouble makers that answer to what ever god you carry with you. If you are lucky they are preoccupied with minutia like hiding your car keys and wallet and other such nonsense. Mine, however seem to act as if they smoke pot and party all night - then only to show up for work and spend a great deal of intellectual resources figuring out ways to almost kill me but not succeeding. My fate fairies seem to bask in orchestrating perennial near misses for me with the after life - or what ever you would like to call the place one goes after your services are no longer needed here on earth - make up your own name for it.
One of my first vivid memories is of mom and dad heading home as we drove out of Janesville back to the farm. Highway 26 north of Janesville has always been notorious. It must have been around 1960-61 or so. Dad had to get back home to do the never ending farm chores. We had probably been to Janesville to see my Mom's mother. Grandma lived alone in the house my grandfather built on the near north side of Janesville. He had died in the mid-1930s. My Dad headed out of town on the then narrow, two-lane, hilly, State Highway 26. All I remember is Mom hollering at him to look out. An eighteen wheeler roared over the hill in our lane as it passed a car. In those days the trucks and cars were built like tanks - iron welded to iron. Wrecks often looked like film footage from war movies - heaps of iron and steel with a tire or two sticking out. Also, in those days the road shoulders did not always exist like today. Dad flung the old Ford four-door (we never owned a new car) into the ditch. Some of those old ditches were deep. The old Ford held, the semi passed within inches, and Dad slung the car back out into the lane. I do not remember the conversation on the rest of the 14 mile ride home to the farm. I never remember the instance ever, I mean ever, being brought up again as long as either one of my parents were alive.
This week's Wisconsin soldier to remember is Corporal Jesse L. Thiry, age 23, of Casco, Wisconsin. Jesse was in the 1st Battalion, 5th Marine Regiment, 1st Marine Division, 1st Marine Expeditionary Force. Corporal Thiry was killed by hostile fire in Anbar province, Iraq, on April 5, 2004. Casco is a small town just north east of Green Bay. Thiry died in Fallujah, where a mob attacked, killed, and mutilated four U.S. contractors just the week prior. Jesse was the fourteenth Wisconsin military member to die in Iraq. At the time of Thiry's death, 631 U.S. service members had been killed in the Iraq war. According to the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, Thiry had been in Iraq less than a month when killed and was part of the 1st Marine Expeditionary Force's mission of occupying Fallujah, Ramadi and other cities about 30 miles west of Baghdad. At the time it was one of the areas of Iraq with the most intense fighting during the U.S. military's 11-month deployment in Iraq. The Journal Sentinel also mentioned that Cpl. Thiry was a Marine weapons instructor in Quantico, Virgina. He transfered to an assignment that would take him to Iraq just eight months before he was scheduled to leave the military. Jesse Thiry is survived by his mom and dad Susan and Randy Thiry and seven siblings. He is the fourth of eight children and a graduate of Luxemburg-Casco High School where he wrestled and ran track. He entered the Marine Corps shortly after graduation.
3,607 Americans have been killed in Iraq since Spring 2003.
26,558 U.S. troops have been wounded in action in Iraq since Spring 2003.
76 Wisconsin soldiers have been killed in Iraq since Spring 2003.
108 journalists (several nationalities) have been killed in Iraq since Spring 2003.
Soldier of the week, military casualty, and journalist casualty information sources: Committee to Protect Journalists; cnn.com; and, Milwaukee Journal Sentinel.
Date with Fate - post 1 - Semi vs old four-door Ford
This entry was posted on 7/11/2007 1:30 AM and is filed under Fate Fairies.
It must speak to passing 50 years old. I never pondered it much 20 years ago. That slide into mortality consciousness one realizes with age. It happens one day without fanfare. You suddenly have an epiphany one day as you step back out of an intersection to avoid a car and say to yourself, "Woe, I could of just died here." There have been so many of these instances in my life, I feel it begs visiting them.
Hence begins, "Fate Fairies." You know the fate fairies. Those spiritual trouble makers that answer to what ever god you carry with you. If you are lucky they are preoccupied with minutia like hiding your car keys and wallet and other such nonsense. Mine, however seem to act as if they smoke pot and party all night - then only to show up for work and spend a great deal of intellectual resources figuring out ways to almost kill me but not succeeding. My fate fairies seem to bask in orchestrating perennial near misses for me with the after life - or what ever you would like to call the place one goes after your services are no longer needed here on earth - make up your own name for it.
One of my first vivid memories is of mom and dad heading home as we drove out of Janesville back to the farm. Highway 26 north of Janesville has always been notorious. It must have been around 1960-61 or so. Dad had to get back home to do the never ending farm chores. We had probably been to Janesville to see my Mom's mother. Grandma lived alone in the house my grandfather built on the near north side of Janesville. He had died in the mid-1930s. My Dad headed out of town on the then narrow, two-lane, hilly, State Highway 26. All I remember is Mom hollering at him to look out. An eighteen wheeler roared over the hill in our lane as it passed a car. In those days the trucks and cars were built like tanks - iron welded to iron. Wrecks often looked like film footage from war movies - heaps of iron and steel with a tire or two sticking out. Also, in those days the road shoulders did not always exist like today. Dad flung the old Ford four-door (we never owned a new car) into the ditch. Some of those old ditches were deep. The old Ford held, the semi passed within inches, and Dad slung the car back out into the lane. I do not remember the conversation on the rest of the 14 mile ride home to the farm. I never remember the instance ever, I mean ever, being brought up again as long as either one of my parents were alive.
This week's Wisconsin soldier to remember is Corporal Jesse L. Thiry, age 23, of Casco, Wisconsin. Jesse was in the 1st Battalion, 5th Marine Regiment, 1st Marine Division, 1st Marine Expeditionary Force. Corporal Thiry was killed by hostile fire in Anbar province, Iraq, on April 5, 2004. Casco is a small town just north east of Green Bay. Thiry died in Fallujah, where a mob attacked, killed, and mutilated four U.S. contractors just the week prior. Jesse was the fourteenth Wisconsin military member to die in Iraq. At the time of Thiry's death, 631 U.S. service members had been killed in the Iraq war. According to the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, Thiry had been in Iraq less than a month when killed and was part of the 1st Marine Expeditionary Force's mission of occupying Fallujah, Ramadi and other cities about 30 miles west of Baghdad. At the time it was one of the areas of Iraq with the most intense fighting during the U.S. military's 11-month deployment in Iraq. The Journal Sentinel also mentioned that Cpl. Thiry was a Marine weapons instructor in Quantico, Virgina. He transfered to an assignment that would take him to Iraq just eight months before he was scheduled to leave the military. Jesse Thiry is survived by his mom and dad Susan and Randy Thiry and seven siblings. He is the fourth of eight children and a graduate of Luxemburg-Casco High School where he wrestled and ran track. He entered the Marine Corps shortly after graduation.
3,607 Americans have been killed in Iraq since Spring 2003.
26,558 U.S. troops have been wounded in action in Iraq since Spring 2003.
76 Wisconsin soldiers have been killed in Iraq since Spring 2003.
108 journalists (several nationalities) have been killed in Iraq since Spring 2003.
Soldier of the week, military casualty, and journalist casualty information sources: Committee to Protect Journalists; cnn.com; and, Milwaukee Journal Sentinel.
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