The story of them

Whiles searching through a bin of odds and ends at the local thrift, I came across a number of wonderful animals all waiting for their next adventure. With their fresh faces and bright colors, I knew it would be only a matter of time before some child would take them home. In the midst of “the pretties” I found some odd-looking, unlikely to be leaving, misfits. I’m a bit of a oddity myself so after debating my inability to leave them…I grabbed these unloved creatures and took them with me. At home, I sat pondering them while they watched me eat my lunch. I began to wonder about their stories…and that’s when they began to whisper…

Dwight Threetoe was born to Livingston and Maudette on the Island of Amphibianina, a lost sister to the Galapagos. Dwight showed an amazing afinity for style at an early age and, while his siblings could change color to match their surroundings, Dwight could also sparkle like sequens. His parents found this wonderfully entertaining on dark nights while preparing the evening meal. But at 15, Dwight felt his calling and left to follow his dream of becoming a Fashionista. Sadly his toenails kept snagging the fabrics and he had to leave the dream behind. His search for new interests brought him to the big Apple where, after competing on a food show called “Chopped”, executives realized his true potential and offered him his own pilot. Viewers at home became mesmerized by Dwight’s unusually flamboyant clothing (which in reality was his skin) and his ability to chop, dice and mince with a single toenail. The show “Slice and Dice” became an instant favorite and now Dwight’s three toe impressions can be found on the Walk of Fame.

Memphis, future King of Bongo, fell into a tourist’s suitcase while imitating a James Bond low evading tuck and roll manuver. Once the case was reopened, he found himself on the West Coast, making friends easily with his natural good looks and charm. He was offered many choice roles in Hollywood but the bright lights soon bored him and he found himself drawn to Monster Trucks. His career was cut short when Dumai, his loyal bodyguard, found him chattering away with a group of grease monkeys and took him back the Motherland after a thorough cleansing and trip to D-Land.

Dumai (loyal friend and bodyguard to Memphis) was born into a family of tactical warfare extremists. He trained early in marshal arts, bull riding and missile deployment… though his mother felt ballet would give him a “extra little something”. Through his skills, he came under the notice of Kong, King of Bongo, and was chosen to shadow his son. At Dumai’s appointment ceremony, King Kong made note of his combat knowledge, sheer bulk and lethal piercing eyes but admitted it was Dumai’s natural grace that finally won him the opportunity to serve. Dumai’s Mother beamed. Memphis and he were inseparably until the suitcase incident. They were both relieved to be reunited, then took the trip to Disneyland before returning back home.

Lola is the love child of a famous actress/dancer and a mystery man she met in the jungle trees on a long gone vacation. Born with the natural grace of a dancer, Lola trained for years as a ballerina, only to slip on a banana peel in the middle of a perfect pirouette. Once recovered, she made her way to the city of lights where she was invited to join the cast of Jungle Book. She can be heard singing on Tuesdays and Saturdays at the Fried Plantain Theatre and Review.

Hamburgler was born into a family of vegans who noticed early on his habit of nose twitching when neighbors would barbeque. Afraid for his future, his Mother would hide his allowance which, unknowingly ignited his life of crime. Dressed in his bedtime pajamas, he would sneak out at odd hours of the night in search of a local butcher shop. With fresh ground chuck in hand, he would then locate the nearest barbeque grill and fire up. After receiving several complaints of pickle chip litter, the authorities followed a trail of mustard and found Hamburgler consuming mass quantities of stolen red meat. He was released to the custody of Ronald MacDonald, where he spends his days in “grilling-but-not-eating restitution”, forced to wear red neckties.

The Civil War comes to town

Each year during Labor day weekend, my city hosts an annual Civil War Re-enactment in the beautiful 365+ acre Central Park. These folks look (and sound) so real… you literally look over your shoulder to make sure there are still people dressed like you. This year was no exception with magnificent costumes, smoky cannons and pointy bayonets galore. This Yankee slathered on SP 100, wished President Lincoln a happy 200th birthday and proceeded to stalk the troops…
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Untold Story

On this Memorial Day, I am reminded of my Father’s adventures as an Army Scout in WWII (a prelude to the Army Rangers) which made him front runner to alot of excitement and danger. Most men of that generation never spoke about the war but my Father was a great story teller. He would have us girls all mesmerized by his recollections… some funny, some clever and of course many sad ones too.

We actually wrote a book about his adventures and it got into the hands of a person that knew my Aunt and Uncle. The man said he was stationed with my Father and remembered him well for his heroic deeds and honor. My Sister’s and I were very proud.

While he was still alive, my Sister Julie decided to re-collect all the medals he had earned in the War as the originals were long ago gone. She filed all the necessary paperwork with information he could remember and the process began. Unfortunately some of the records from WWII were destroyed in a fire and the process of re-creating such a thing was a long process. The medals arrived 3 months after my Father had passed away.

Julie called me to let me know they had arrived and when I got there, she handed them to me so I could look through them. They’re really beautiful to look at…colorful ribbons and bars. I knew he had 2 purple hearts but had only received one in the mail. But it was the largest Black leather box that caught my eye.

You must understand that I grew up latched onto my Father’s pinky finger and I followed him around through my teens. I was a confident in many of his secrets and I thought I knew everything there was to know about the man…or at least all that he would let on.

When I opened the black leather box… I was momentarily stunned. To be honest… I couldn’t believe what I was looking at. After all those years of stories and all the time I thought I really knew my big hearted, humble Pop…there was a story left untold until that very day…sitting on my Mother’s couch. My Father had received the Silver Star, our Nations third highest honor for Valor…and none of us, not even me…had ever known…

Remember those who came before… and those who carry on…

The Towers

I live across the street from the State Beach and each year I see the life guard towers towed in for another winter. They sit huddled together until close to summer and that’s when they get their yearly makeover. This year I saw some new kids in town…sitting off to the side…all fiberglass, modern sleek and shiny new. I fear for these elderly statesmen.

The maintenance is costly…all that sanding and painting…but I can’t help but be saddened by the thought of them finally gone. I woke up real early today with a bad case of Asthma which I’ve been fighting for a while. I threw on my baggy jeans, grabbed my trusty 5D, hopped in Mangie Rangie and rode over to the beach. The poor booth attendant couldn’t understand a word I was saying…all that wheezing and arm waving. He finally looked me in the eye and said…”Ahh…Just go on in Lady”. I smiled to myself…

I wasn’t about to pay for parking that early in the morning. I wasn’t there to surf. I came to visit…to breath freely…and to capture a moment in time. The old towers all stood at attention, patient and willing to be my subjects…while off in the wings, the new kids on the block took notice of my neglect. Good. I hope they were jealous…

The Race Track

Courtesy of Desert USA: The Racetrack is a unique attraction of Death Valley National Park that not many park visitors get to see. It’s a dry lake-bed in a very remote and beautiful area. On the north end of the lake-bed is a rock formation known as the grandstands. Rocks from the grandstands and other nearby formations break off and fall onto the lake. There, they perform feats that make this remote playa world-famous. They move! But after all these years, a hundred or more since this phenomenon was brought to the attention of naturalists studying Death Valley, no one has ever seen them move. These rocks aren’t boulders; most are perhaps a foot or so tall, but can still weigh a lot and are not easy to lift. The evidence that they move is in the trails they leave behind them as they scoot around the lake. You’ll find a rock sitting innocently anywhere on the playa — from next to the grandstand to the far southern edge — and behind it will be a trail, from the rock sliding across the fine clay surface of the lake-bed.

Now, I have to say I didn’t see any rocks move but I did see trails behind many. It rains very seldom in Death Valley and they tell you if the lake-bed is wet, don’t walk on it because your footprints can remain for years and years in the dry clay surface. Hard to say how old these were but what I can tell you is… I felt like I was on the Moon…

Pueblo Cows

Recently I was very fortunate to be able to visit Acoma Pueblo in the beautiful State of New Mexico. But at this moment I am preparing to take a a few family members to visit China Town and Alvera Street in Downtown Los Angeles…to see the sites, make a few purchases…and EAT! So, this is only a photo of the road that leads the way…

Acoma still awaits showing. In the meantime, so you’re not left in darkness…Acoma Pueblo, a 70 acre village, happens to be the oldest continuously inhabited city in the USA. I figure a few more days waiting won’t hurt. There are fewer than 50 Acoma Indians living on the mesa top year-round and though quite camera shy, I was lucky enough to meet 10 of them… Apparently their cows are shy too because they all tried to pry themselves into this cement drainage tube when they saw me coming. 😉

Turning back time

I’m your Huckleberry…

Tombstone: Too Tough to Die

When you hear the name Tombstone, it makes you think of gunfights on dusty streets and the romance of the Old West with characters like Wyatt Earp and Doc Holiday. Tombstone itself was formed around an area called Goose Flats, after a prospector named Ed Schieffelin, discovered a wealth of silver in 1877. He was warned of only finding his “tombstone” while searching for his treasure.

Tombstone is legendary for many things but none more so than the most famous shootout in the History of the American West…the Gunfight at the O.K.Corral. The gunfight itself happened at about 3pm, Wednesday, October 26th, 1881 in a vacant lot behind the corral in Tombstone. About 30 shots were fired in about 30 seconds. The gunfighters, Wyatt Earp, Morgan Earp, Virgil Earp and Doc Holiday fought Frank McLaury, Tom McLaury, Billy Clairborne, Ike Clanton and Billy Clanton. Ike Clanton and Billy Clairborne (who later claimed he had been unarmed though reports credit him with shooting one of more times) ran away from the fight, unharmed. Both McLaurys and Billy Clanton were killed and Morgan Earp, Virgil Earp and Doc Holiday were wounded.

Of all these infamous Cowboys of the West, Doc Holiday has always held the most interest for me personally. Wyatt Earp was quoted once saying “He was a dentist whom necessity had made a gambler; a gentleman whom disease had made a vagabond; a philosopher whom life had made a caustic wit…” Famous Gambling legend Bat Masterson (one of my favorite tv shows as a kid) was quoted as saying “Doc had but three redeeming traits. One was his courage; He was afraid of nothing on Earth. The second was the one commendable principle in his code of life, sterling loyalty to friends. The third was his affection for Wyatt Earp”.

Doc stood about 6 feet tall and despite all movies, he was a fair haired, platinum blond, built long and lean. Doc’s weapon of choice in his early days was an 1851 Colt Navy revolver given to him by his Uncle. Later in his western career, he carried a nickel-plated .41 caliber Colt Thunder or the .38 caliber Colt Lightening, both double action pistols. He never chose to use a shotgun but was handed one by Virgil Earp during the famous battle, which after firing one shot, threw down the gun in disgust and jerked the nickel-plated Colt, his favorite weapon.

Doc is known to all of us (who’ve watched the most recent Tombstone movie) as a bit of a wise guy with sayings like “I’ll be your Huckleberry” and also making reference to the term “Daisy”. Eye and ear witnesses present at this shooting say that when confronted by Frank McLaury at the gunfight, Doc’s reply to McLaury’s challenge “I’ve got you now!” was “Blaze away! You’re a daisy if you have”! Back then the slang “Daisy” referred to “the best in it’s class” or condensed to “the best”. His celebrated line “I’m your Huckleberry” was also a slang term meaning “I’m just the man you’re looking for”!

It was my privilege to walk down the same streets once walked by these legends and get to see this famous old town. The old courthouse is completely intact, along with the gallows in the courtyard. Allen street is still dusty, lined with buildings from the past, including the spot where the O.K. Corral stood. I looked very much the part as I walked it sporting my new black “Wyatt” hat while holding onto my newly minted “Tombstone Sheriff” badge. Sadly, my mystique wore off quickly when it blew off my head in a strong wind (or was pushed off by an old ghost) and I had to chase it damn near that whole street. I’m sure this “City Slicker” made the “Townies” days. 😉

Tombstone’s Boot Hill

One of the few precious childhood memories I have is of wearing a holster with two 6 shooters, a black suede, fringed vest sporting a most beloved sheriff badge, a pair of black cowboy boots and my head topped with a beautifully embroidered black cowboy hat. Now back then, as is still now the case, I tried never to take sides when the choice between good and evil was blurred. Even as a small child of 5… I alternated back and forth between my cowboy getup and my giant colorful Chieftain headdress with feathers that ran all the way down my back, accompanied by my war drum and bow and arrows. I do have to admit, I always wore the vest with that badge, regardless of the rest of the ensemble. Kinda Switzerland even then.

This past week we were lucky enough to go back in time (if you will) to the land of Cowboys and Indians. Crossing plains that Geronimo, Cochise and Sitting Bull rode over and visiting towns that Billy the Kid and Bat Masterson gambled in…well that’s just plain old cool stuff to someone who loves history. Along the way there were characters who take this stuff mighty serious and have tried their darn best to preserve what’s left for people like you and me to enjoy. I saw things that saddened me, some that plain angered me and things that absolutely enchanted me. I’ll do my best to share them with you…a little at a time.

Upon arriving in Tombstone, the first destination was Boot Hill. Now, if you don’t know what Boot Hill is (or was) it’s a place of rest for some of the most notorious gunslingers and even some innocents that died in childbirth, or of cholera…or even hung without cause… all in one large graveyard. Many old western grave-sites are referred to as “Boot Hill” but to me… there’s always been only one. Now I’m here to say that sadly Boot Hill was left for many years to decay, and in it’s forlorn state, some well meaning folks resurrected these old grave-sites and now everything is completely new. I asked an old Cowboy caretaker inside, with as much patience as I could muster…”Why?”. He told me with equal patience (for a City slicker) that the graves were destroyed, lost forever and had to be researched and rebuilt. He had no idea I currently have 5 of my Father’s vintage rifles in my closet and I take History quite serious. I think in the end we came to understand each other and each loved this place in our own way. He passed me a little map and we followed it on the trail to all those laid in infamy.

As we walked, I could not help being angry. Why would people let something so important to this country’s roots…disappear? Why is there so much money spent on things like researching who used steroids in Baseball (when they weren’t even illegal and who bloody cares anyway?) or analyzing trendy colors and names for the next generation of cell phones…but no one see the significance in holding on to something so precious? Why leave history keeping in the hands of folks with barely enough funds to live on, let alone try to finance the restoration of the most famous American Western Grave Site in the US? WHY? That’s a question someone in power needs to answer to to our Children, our Grandchildren and those beyond. Me, I’d just do the obvious. I’d make sure they had the cash to restore it properly.

I have no photos to share of Boot Hill. Nothing to give you an idea of where Gunslingers like Frank McLaury, Tom McLaury and Billy Claiborn were laid to rest after dying in the most famous gun battle in American Western History. I left without taking a single one. I have only some words and the memory of yellow crosses made of simple wood and piles of rocks, tenderly laid by well meaning folks… paying a simple man’s homage to the bones that lie beneath.

AS YOU-PASS-BY
REMEMBER-THAT-AS
YOU ARE

SO-ONCE-WAS -I
AND-AS-I AM-

YOU SOON-WILL-BE
REMEMBER-ME