Snakes

My buddy, Tommy L., a door gunner in Viet Nam for two tours, told me this story…”We were at a forward camp awaiting orders to do medical runs if needed. It was about eleven at night. Most of the guys were in these large tents with wood floors and canvas roofs, drinking beer, playing chess, writing letters. Our duties were patient transport, so, we were pretty relaxed. The sounds of artillery and mortars could be heard off and on, but not that close to our camp, so, that was cool too. Now, it’s jungle dude. Heavy, thick jungle. It’s why they would spray agent orange. To defoliate. And boy, did it. One pass from some low flying bombers spraying it and instant dead area. No one knew about the repercussions on humans until a lot later, or, they just didn’t give a crap. So, everyone is also just in shorts, skivvies or no shirt. Medical choppers are a lot different then troop copters. People were always glad to see us.‎..These tents had four entrances since they were square in shape. Each entrance had wooden steps and a cover to pull down to block the light for snipers. We were forward, but, it was so hot, the two apertures away from the jungle were rolled up and tied off to let some air in. It was hot. Hotter then you can even imagine, even that late at night. And muggy? You would sweat taking a shower. One of the guys at our table volunteered to go for some more beers. About twenty other men and a couple of nurses were scattered around the other long tables filling these giant tents. Some music was playing at low volume from a small radio. All the lights were dimmed. You could pull them down on chains, but no one did. It was hot enough already. As I was shuffling the cards and getting ready to deal another hand of poker, our beer guy came back in across from us, camp side since the tent opening was clear. He froze all of a sudden. He had a look on his face that said it all. DON’T MOVE. He was stopped in mid-step. At the table, all conversation stopped. As it did at the other tables who noticed his odd behaviour. Next to me was this odd ball who wore his sunglasses constantly. Even in his rack. I could see in the reflection off his glasses, something moving right behind my head. Actually, a bit higher then my head. It was a snake’s head. Swaying back and forth. No one moved. No one talked. Just the radio made a noise. The snake had slithered in out of the jungle and through a gap in the canvas doorway behind me. Another man came in through the other open doorway. At this, I could see the snake’s hood shoot open. It was a King Cobra. Had to have been fifteen or twenty foot long since its head was over six foot off the floor, easy. I started to sweat so bad, it was cascadiing down out of my armpits and crotch like mini rivers. I’m not lying. Like rivers. I was frozen solid as a rock. The new man froze, too, as he picked up on everyone’s odd behaviour. Weaving back and forth, the hood went down, and the snake was gone. In the blink of an eye…

Something about Mary [Part 4 of 4]

“Sadly, if you are not of Africa, most soon will be. In the time it took our group of sixteen to secure our first bull elephant, six were dead. None over forty. Most younger. Two died fifteen minutes apart. All from illness. We had no penicillin in those days. A small rash could turn fatal in a day. It was a reversal of the problems your American Indians had with European disease. No imunities. Africa has fifty times the virulent diseases, plus, billions of ways to spread them almost instantly. Insects. From spiders you can eat like lobster, to twelve inch dragon flies, the insects would keep our Entomoligist busy twelve hours a day. We soon had species named after us in Latin. Now the mosquitos and other poisonous insects were nothing to laugh at. Where our new compound was located, there was a river cutting past one corner that swept into a wide, shallow area, before becoming shallow rapids about a half mile away…We had set up nearby these shallows for our soon to be procured elephants to bathe and cool off in. In our services were mahouts with two female cows to help gentle the new arrivals. They told us the running water was essential. I think this is what started all the sickness. Those horrid mosquitos would NEVER go away. Spraying kerosene from a hand pump seemed to work the best. Dilute it with mineral water first. Our tents had nets to keep them at bay, but there was no relief during the day. I would say I was spared for a couple of reasons. First, I became African. I ate what they ate, stayed away from things they stayed away from, and, most important, never ran myself down. Being lazy saved me, I’m positive. Since I was mainly an interpreter who picked up some dialects quickly, I would make sure I attended trips for supplies, meeting new arrivals, and things like that. I tried to never do any real work. Now, on the other hand, the men drove themselves constantly. Even while sick. They also stuck to European diets as much as they could. No African eats one hundreth of the staples of a white man. No refrigeration tends to do that to a people. Also, meat was a rarity. Too many people in a large village to share kills. Most made do with potato-like yams and garden grown squash and melons. Maily crops that insects couldn’t wipe out completely. Once our elephants were being trained, the pace accelerated to prove that the money being spent was viable. Alas, more died and the program failed. Oh, we had some elephants trained to pull logs, but, their main draw back was their size. They ate more money then they produced. Also, they were killers. We would constantly be searching for new mahouts to handle the beasts. Men were killed by normally placid animals for what seemed no reason at all. Also, that stretch of the river helped do us in. It was also a favorite sunning spot for the largest crocodiles I have ever seen in my life. Oh, just terrible animals. Finally one of our drivers brought back some cases of dynamite from the railroad men. When the villagers came to see what was making all the racket, they lept and danced in terrific gyrations. Using our small diesel tractor, we pulled some of the larger carcasses out and put them onto the tree refuse where the branchs were trimmed prior to stacking. The skins burst from the heat and huge sections of white flesh billowed out. A feast enough for the entire King’s compound and a smaller village across the river. It was about the best night I spent in all those years. Not long after this, our director died of a cobra bite. I was shipped to a Catholic school in Mozambique, then, spent the rest of my career walking from village to village, winning over the people that would listen to the Belgian propaganda. I would leave, but always went back. Now, here I am, the last one alive. Telling my tales and remembering my adventures!”



Sister Mary [Part 1 of 4]

It’s been raining all week. I’m goofing off at a Nuns’ rest home in North Pasadena. I’m replacing old cord pair switchboards with a newer system. I had been whining and crying for the last two days for some help, but, with the rain, forget it. Old cables and dial tones are out all over the city. I had the job about completed, but, it was raining out. I left the back off the last switchboard and some tools laying around, then headed for the cafeteria. The place was old and sort of decrepit, but it had a great cafeteria. Hal Roach, the guy from the ‘Our Gang’ movies, had donated the place to the church back in the forties, so, it retained most of that era’s look. High ceilings since no central air in those days, large, tall windows. Spacious. Colored tiles everywhere. I had been at the job for three days so all the staff knew me. Especially one of the cashiers I had been trying to get interested in me. I strike out again…I take my tray and sit down at one of the long, wooden tables set in rows with different style chairs to sit in. All donated I guess. I start eating my eggs. A chuckle comes from a big overstuffed chair four chairs past me. I had thought I was the only one at this table. I say to the unseen voice, “Are you laughing at me?” A tiny head pokes around the tall back and nods, then goes back out of sight. I figure to straighten her out. I slide my tray down and sit across from her. I can only see part of her. She’s wrapped up in a big multicolored blanket, She has her legs under her but a foot sticks out. I look harder at that foot. Its really tiny. It also has no toes. Naturally, being an idiot most of the time, I say, “Hey, what happened to your toes?” Thus began one of the most interesting days of my life…She told me her story. In a strange sort of English, mixed with words I didn’t understand at times. She would move her head when she spoke so you had no idea she was blind. About ninety. Very frail and small. Used up she called it…Sister Mary: “I was raised in Holland. My parents were Dutch and Belgian. My father was a customs man who worked for the Belgian government. I went to the very best schools. I have a knack for languages, so, a friend of my father who noticed this, set me up with an easy government job in the Belgian embassy in Paris. It was in the early thirties. No hint of the war to come in Paris. Plays, parties, men chasing me. It was grand. But, I was soon bored. One day, I’m looking at some papers at a fellow employees desk. Languages and dialects always interested me, so, the odd writings captivated me. My co worker wonders if I would like to take a shot at translating them. This is what started my fifty years in Africa!”…(Now, during the five hours I sat with her, a lot of nurses, nuns and friends of hers came by and sat to listen along with me. They all just nodded at me, sipped their coffees and enjoyed before going back to work)…”I studied on my own time and learned some basic Burundi. The Belgian government was investing a lot of money into a new project in Central Africa and desperately needed translators. Once a big shot found out about me, I was signed on with promises of promotions and you name it. Since I was only twenty, I fell for his lies. I also had to pretend to be a Catholic. Oh, I did all the motions and such, but, I never really believed in religions. I did it to appease my superiors. Now, once off the boat, I thought it would be cars, boats and planes to get us around. Not so. We walked. Yes, walked. I must have walked thousands of miles through terrain you would not believe. Its was the only way you could get to the out of the way villages. Some people say a rifle is your best weapon in Africa. Nonsense. A good pair of water proof hiking boots will do you far more good. You see, all the villages are just filthy. The people aren’t. The places they live are. They have to keep all their livestock inside these kraals at night to protect them from predators. There is horrible mud everywhere except the main village where the Burundi chief and his extended family reside. Now, my first month in what was to be called the Belgian Congo, I get these horrible parasites in my feet. They get beneath your skin, then lay eggs. Just terrible itching. Then, your feet swell up. I was going to be flown back to France for medical care when a Swahili medicine man informed my boss that he could heal me for five goats. I would have gone through anything to get rid of those things. He first puts my foot up onto his knee, then, lays out an assortment of very thin, sharp sticks. Actually, they were thorns from a bush I was to find out later. He is also stuffing his toothless mouth with a mixture of tobacco and herbs. Once he felt he had the correct mixture, he spits the mass onto my bare foot. It drove the heads of the parasitic worms out of my foot. As they wriggled in the juice, he would hook them with one of his thorns and extract them very slowly so as not to break their segments. It took him about an hour for one foot. After he completed my other foot, He gave my feet a liberal spitting and waved me away, cured. His young assistant later told me to keep putting tobacco juice on my feet for a few days to wipe out an residual egg cases. He told me the rest of the herbs and such were mostly for show and effect. I spent a few days resting, then, end up going off with a Belgian team who needed an interpreter for a big project they were conducting. It ended up taking up almost five years of my life. (to be continued…)




 

 

Animal Farm

My wife is the animal lover in our household. Now, I love animals too. With the right gravy on them…Once again, the family hits the road for a vacation without me. I have to work. I don’t mind. I can watch all the WW2 movies and westerns I want without all the whining and wringing of hands. So I get the big list for the feeding of all our little pals. Oh, and the ‘Special’ way they have to be fed. Horse’s have their bins and times. Snacks before bed. Huh? Chickens, ducks, pea cocks, etc, special grains and corn servings. Dogs have meals heated in the winter. What the? Koi, turtles, cats, even the wild Ravens, have long notes on their proper care. Hey, guess what? They eat the way I feed them. Fast and no sissy crap. Do I ever lose one? NO! Once again, I give them some hard love. As I toss some grain to the chickens and reach for the gate, an egg hits the gate top, just missing me. I turn. All are pecking at the ground…


Moving sure brings out long forgotten times….Read some of my notes from conversations with my Uncle Melvin Koontz, the MGM lion man. In a nutshell, he loved big cats, giraffes and elephants the best. His least favorites were bears and primates. He would travel all over looking for animals to fill his acts when he went on tour with circusess. He told me about a really odd attraction he once tried to obtain from a private collection in Florida. He had heard about it from a former circus clown, turned promoter. While having coffee in the owners kitchen, the ‘animal’ strolled into the room. It was a large, erect walking chimp. My Uncle told me at first glance he was ticked off for wasting his time on an ape. Then, it did something quite odd. ‘It’, pulled out a chair, hitched up the pants it was wearing, then, crossed his legs and started looking through a magazine that was laying on the kitchen table. My Uncle said it was no act…Not only did the mannerisms catch my Uncles attention, it was the way the ‘ape’ looked at you if you addressed it. My Uncle saw intelligence in its eyes. Even more then that. Contempt. It knew my Uncle was there to purchase him and had already classified my Uncle as a worthless soul….My Uncle couldn’t meet the man’s price, so, he went on his way. Mel told me that in all his years training, caring for and spending countless hours with animals of all sorts, this incident made him question not only his entire career, but also his own humanity….I asked him if it was just a smart chimp. He said no. He said he had the feeling it was a hybrid human/chimp. That’s what he told me anyways..

The little woman is always giving the dog huge bones to gnaw on. I’m constantly tossing them off the living room floor and out the front door. Yesterday, I notice the dog dissapearing into the brush after slinking out of the barn. I decide to follow him. His trail led to a small aperture in the mountain side, covered by brush. I crawl inside. After a short crawl, I’m stunned. The dog has almost completed a life sized T-Rex skeleton from all the bones the wife has given him inside this huge cavern. He gives me the ‘sad dog’ look. I then spot some of my missing tools. I say, “Bad dog”! Then, I cut him some slack. “Hey, nice job doggie, but, how do you intend to get this thing outside”? He just thumped his tail. I didn’t like the sound of that….

We now have another member of the family. Blessed events are few and far between, so, there to be cherished. Actually, its not really blessed. More like somethng we’re stuck with….Being so far out in the country, we have lots of visitors from the surrounding hills and mountains. Our cats take care of most of the small stuff, so, I usually toss the remnants of successful hunts out the front door in the morning. Sometimes it sounds like an old time bar brawl as a cat chases his prey all around the front room, the kitchen, and sometimes the bathrooms. One of our closets was getting linens and sheets chewed up, so, I placed a small catch ’em alive trap inside. I tried leaving the door open, no dice. The door would get shut and more damage would ensue. I catch the little prick. A round eared wood rat. He was so calm, I let him go far from the cat…I’ve now caught him FIVE times. So, he now bunks in a cage with Rick, AKA Tent boy…

Jumbo the Elephant

In the long history of animal draws, none could ever equal Jumbo. Even to this day. In his prime, Jumbo came to the attention of P.T. Barnum. P.T. just had to have him. Sure, the gigantic pachyderm had toured Europe many times and had his off tour home in England, but, had never been seen in the United States. Barnum offered a fortune for the beast. Not only was Jumbo big, he was also an African Elephant. Much more impressive then its Asian cousin. Also, much more dangerous. Barnum finally gets his animal. Actually, he paid three times as much as he thought he would. It seems Jumbo wouldn’t do a damn thing without his little pygmy elephant stable mate. Barnum paid up again. P.T. made a fortune with Jumbo. One day, while in a railroad yard, the animals we’re being loaded for another tour. A train whistle spooked the pygmy. It took off down the tracks. Jumbo raced after his little pal. An engine killed Jumbo, saving him…Jumbo was racing the locomotive to reach his little pal. The engineer was a real asshole. He kept blowing the whistle to make the pygmy elephant keep running. Another engine was coming from the other direction. Its engineer couldn’t see the little guy. The pygmy had run up onto the other tracks. Jumbo came up from behind, reached ahead, swatted his buddy out of the way, then was hit head on by the other engine. The impact knocked the trains front wheels off the rails. Barnum had the skeleton saved, wired together, then show cased it in his museum. The display had a plaque telling the story…

Been on the loader the last few days, cutting a road back into the rear of the ranch to access the mountain behind us. Four days ago I found a neat Raven feather lying next to the barbwire fence. I stuck it in one of the barb links so it sticks straight up like an Indian braves would of. Now, Crazy Horse of the Sioux only wore one feather, and his was straight down with a small pebble attached. It signified that he had killed, yet, wasn’t proud of it…Every day since I put that feather up, we’ve had at least ten giant Ravens lined up on the barb wire on both sides of it in the morning…

I’m still building book shelves. Since I detest sagging book shelves, making them all out of 2×12’s. Anyhow, all my material is stacked on saw horses just off the end of the house so I can skillsaw the boards, then, slide them through the master bedroom window to save a walk around the house. My wife felt it was also a good spot out of the wind to put up about six thousand hummingbird feeders. Well, five thousand and 999 since the bear ate one. These feeders have brought an easy twenty five different hummingbirds in aerial battles ALL DAY LONG. Now that they have no respect for me since I’m always working, they literally fly through my armpits when I raise a board to move it in these elaborate dog fights to control a favorite feeder. Finally, at days end, I hit the sofa as the sun was going down to enjoy the sunset minus dog fighting birds. Still have no screen door. Whoosh, then, the sonar sounds. Have three big eared bats flying through the house. Does it ever end?