Sgt. 1st Class Lance Amsden, platoon sergeant for the 1st Platoon, Company C, 1st Battalion, 501st Infantry Regiment, 4th Brigade Combat Team (Airborne), 25th Infantry Division, watches as CH-47 Chinook Helicopters circle above during a dust storm at Forward Operating Base Kushamond, Afghanistan, July 17, during preparation for an air-assault mission. — Army Flickr Stream
On this Veteran’s Day, in honor of those who served and died, I share this song written and recorded by Tom Russell, which was also recorded by Johnny Cash.
One of the blogs I follow is So Far From Heaven. Old Jules writes about his old running buddy, Phil:
“I hadn’t thought about my old running buddy, Phil, for a while. That last blog entry got me chewing on thoughts of him. I’ll tell you a bit more about him.
Phil went to the Marine Corps as the result of being a 17-year-old driving from Temple, Texas, to Austin with a case of beer in the car. A Williamson County Sheriff’s Deputy stopped him on a tail light violation, asked for his driver’s license, and saw the case of beer. Old Phil, being a clever youth, gave the officer a Texas Drivers License with an altered date of birth so’s to keep from being arrested as a minor in possession of alcoholic beverages.”
Veteran’s Day
Well I used to hang out down at the VFW hall And stare at the photographs up on the wall Of the neighborhood boys that died in the wars we’ve been through And the hand lettered sign that said remember Jimmy McGrew Well Jimmy went to Nam back in 1965 But there’s a lot of men here that think Jimmy McGrew’s still alive Though they carved his name on a stone in Washington DC His brother said that stone don’t prove a thing to me
It’s veteran’s day and the skies are gray Leave the uniforms home cause there ain’t gonna be a parade But we’ll fill up a glass for the ones that didn’t make it through And leave a light in the window tonight for Jimmy McGrew
Well I used to hang out down at the VFW hall And stare at the photographs up on the wall Of the neighborhood boys that died in the wars we’ve been through And the hand lettered sign that said remember Jimmy McGrew Well Jimmy went to Nam back in 1965 But there’s a lot of men here that think Jimmy McGrew’s still alive Though they carved his name on a stone in Washington DC His brother said that stone don’t prove a thing to me
It’s veteran’s day and the skies are gray Leave the uniforms home cause there ain’t gonna be a parade But we’ll fill up a glass for the ones that didn’t make it through And leave a light in the window tonight for Jimmy McGrew
You know it ain’t easy For these thoughts here to leave me There’s no words to describe it In French or in English
`cause diamonds they fade And flowers they bloom And I’m telling you
These feelings won’t go away They’ve been knockin’ me sideways They’ve been knockin’ me out lately Whenever you come around me
These feelings won’t go away They’ve been knockin’ me sideways I keep thinking in a moment that Time will take them away But these feelings won’t go away
Well, it might have been a bluebird, I don’t know But he’d get stone drunk and talk about Alaska
The salmon boats and 45 below
He got that blue wing up in Walla Walla Where his cellmate there was a Little Willy John And Willie, he was once a great blues singer And Wing & Willie wrote him up a song
(They sang,)
“It’s dark in here, can’t see the light But I look at this blue wing when I close my eyes And I fly away, beyond these walls Up above the clouds, where the rain don’t fall
I don’t know, why I don’t Put it out baby We kiss and the flames Just get higher But yeah I know When I hold onto you baby I’m all tangled up in barbed wire I get burned, I don’t learn I’ll be back, give it time Yeah, I know it sounds crazy But guess I like playing with fire
View of Lower Sabino Canyon and the Tucson Basin from Phoneline Trail — Panorama by kenne
On a clear day Rise and look around you And you’ll see who you are. On a clear day How it will astound you That the glow of your being outshines ev’ry star.
You’ll feel part of ev’ry mountain sea and shore. You can hear, from far and near, A world you’ve never heard before. And on a clear day… On that clear day… You can see forever and ever more!
— from On A Clear Day You Can See Forever by Burton Lane and Alan Jay Lerner
‘Drove My Chevy To The Levee’ (Bisbee, May 18, 2012) — Image by kenne
I started singin’ bye-bye, Miss American Pie Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye And singin’ “This’ll be the day that I die This’ll be the day that I die”
The November 13th posting, “Chevy Bel Air Taillight Art” took me back to a June 1, 2009 posting, “We Have Lost Another Piece of The Pie.”
We Have Lost Another Piece of The Pie
“. . . bye-bye, Miss American Pie. Drove my Chevy to the levee, But the levee was dry. And them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye Singin’, ‘this’ll be the day that I die. “this’ll be the day that I die.'”
In the Don McLean song, “American Pie,” he wrote about “the day the music died,” referencing the 1959 plane crash causing the deaths of Budd Holly, Ritchie Valens, and The Big Bopper. Now it’s the Chevy’s (GM) turn to test destiny.
These were also the days when “See the USA in your Chevrolet” rang through the head of many a young boy, such as I. The first car that made me aware that I was hooked on cars was my grandfather’s 1945 Chevy. My first car was a 1950 Chevy, followed by a 1953. Emotions are the makings of the human experience. What would life be without feelings, without passions, whether short-lived, or life-long?
A part of me has always been a “car guy,” struggling with the other me (like a marriage), resulting in an intense love affair to this day. As with all relationships, the thrill of driving is about closing the gap. Connecting with a car is not about becoming one but about maintaining identity while always seeking to close the gap. Even though the evidence that GM would file for bankruptcy has been apparent for some time, today’s formal filing still came as a shock. Chevy and GM will live on, but an age has died – another piece of the American pie. Now we are singing:
“. . . bye-bye, Miss American Pie GM drove to the Feds But the Feds exposed their lie. And them good old boys were still Drinkin’ whiskey and rye Singin’, “this’ll be the day that I die. “This’ll be the day that I die.”
We Have Lost Another Piece of The Pie. As Michael Moore recently wrote, “It is with sad irony that the company which invented “planned obsolescence” — the decision to build cars that would fall apart after a few years so that the customer would then have to buy a new one — has now made itself obsolete.” For the “car guy” in me, I experienced a real blow to my psyche. The pragmatic me is saying, “it’s about time!”
The “car guy” would now like to share a couple of blog posts over the last couple of years:
Soul of a Car
Signs of age Tell the story Miles on the gauge Count the glory
Now at rest In the shade Once the best Of the fifties decade
There is a key Only to a past Now rest free At long last
A rusty door A broken fan blade Longing for more Feeling only frayed
Having a heart A few remaining horses Seeking a start From special forces
Old cars can rust But never the soul Covered with dust Stuck in cruise control
Moving On…
How do you measure the worth of a “driving machine?” Miles? Miles per hour? Drive-ability? Reliability? Attractiveness? Safety? Maybe all these.
But the real worth of the 318i that I bought, September 1983, and sold, September 2007 can only be measured by those intangibles by which we measure passion.
It is not my nature to dwell on the past, but parting with something that was an extension of my very being was not easy. If there is one image that reflects more than a third of my life, it was this little BMW.
… A long, long time ago I can still remember how that music Used to make me smile And I knew if I had my chance That I could make those people dance And maybe they’d be happy for a while
… But February made me shiver With every paper I’d deliver Bad news on the doorstep I couldn’t take one more step I can’t remember if I cried When I read about his widowed bride Something touched me deep inside The day the music died
… So, bye-bye, Miss American Pie Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry And them good ol’ boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye Singin’, “This’ll be the day that I die This’ll be the day that I die”
You know that old trees just grow stronger And old rivers grow wilder every day Old people just grow lonesome Waiting for someone to say, “Hello in there, hello”
So if you’re walking down the street sometime And spot some hollow ancient eyes Please don’t just pass ’em by and stare As if you didn’t care, say, “Hello in there, hello”
— from Hello In There by John Prine
As a Veteran and an old person in general, I’m trying hard not just to fade away — “Old soldiers never die, they just fade away.” Like many people my age, we are familiar with the line in General Douglas MacArthur April 19, 1951 farewell address to the U.S. Congress. A great line for a General but not for older people. I, for one, am not ready to just fade away.
As older people, we experience daily the looks of people we may come in contact with, and in their eyes, we have already faded away — they stare straight through us. In the last decade, I have seen more doctors than in the total of my eighty years, and just once, I would like, “Hello in there, hello.”
Hey hey, my my Rock and roll can never die There’s more to the picture Than meets the eye
Hey, hey, my, my Out of the blue and into the black You pay for this, but they give you that And once you’re gone, you can’t come back When you’re out of the blue and into the black
Just like the white-winged dove Sings a song, sounds like she’s singing Ooh, ooh, ooh Just like the white-winged dove Sings a song, sounds like she’s singing Ooh, baby, ooh, said ooh
And the days go by, like a strand in the wind In the web that is my own, I begin again Said to my friend, baby (everything stopped) Nothin’ else mattered
He was no more than a baby then Well, he seemed broken-hearted Something within him But the moment that I first laid Eyes on him, all alone On the edge of seventeen
Just like the white-winged dove Sings a song, sounds like she’s singing I said ooh, baby, ooh, said ooh Just like the white-winged dove Sings a song, sounds like she’s singing I said ooh, baby, ooh, said ooh
Becoming is Superior to Being 