tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27466554515680367512024-03-12T16:06:05.940-07:00Road Blog - Taking My Half out of the MiddleUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger35125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746655451568036751.post-17995495899294884482012-11-26T16:35:00.000-08:002012-11-26T16:35:47.582-08:00A "new" bike<br />
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Since today was a bright and sunny day, not to imply that it
was warm, I decided to take my recently completed (Saturday) project out for a
spin. So with that introduction I present my “Winter Bike” or as Brooklynn has taken
to calling it recently, “the rain bike”. </div>
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I’ve had this bike in since 1989, which makes it older than
some of my kids (Alessandra) who are now having kids of their own. ~Sigh~ if only
the bike could just produce “grandbikes”. </div>
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Anyway, this bike was completely rebuilt from the frame up. I
stripped it down to bare frame and since its steel I coated the inside with a
special product to prevent rusting. I then rebuilt the hubs on each wheel, the
bottom bracket and the headset. All of the shifting and braking was completely
refurbished and put back on the frame. The only things that are really new is
the bar tape, the red tires and the fenders.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3A9Fapboy-gRQbqsFAL0Pg9ITo4L3qTt03fR2vBsB0y9FyBWaKR2A9pmAs1mkUYhsaESohg2Q_ZORhO8HKFB9Sn8iroMZFV8ssSB2HIeMtWjOUBYQOgQ13La75Fmi6oAm7fRneALEA5E/s1600/wb+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3A9Fapboy-gRQbqsFAL0Pg9ITo4L3qTt03fR2vBsB0y9FyBWaKR2A9pmAs1mkUYhsaESohg2Q_ZORhO8HKFB9Sn8iroMZFV8ssSB2HIeMtWjOUBYQOgQ13La75Fmi6oAm7fRneALEA5E/s320/wb+001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I was quite pleased with the look but now that I’ve ridden
it I’m really thrilled at how well it came back together. No shifting or
braking problems at all and it felt great to be back on the old steed. After the ride, I hung the bike in the garage next
to the summer bike, the relatively new bike, and as I closed the garage door I’m
pretty sure I heard snide remarks coming from Summer. I just looked at the
black bike and in the sternest voice said “knock it off, you’ve been out all
summer long.” She’s always been the snarky one, being carbon fiber and all. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746655451568036751.post-70806527458173835272012-09-19T10:18:00.001-07:002012-09-20T13:29:52.195-07:00Life's Important Lessons<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
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Every now and again one feels the need, or maybe even the
direction, to share something special and personal. I’ve always been
comfortable telling stories and will do so from time to time. It’s much more
rewarding that way as I can feed off the reaction of the listeners and maybe twist
my storytelling style to generate a laugh. Anyone who knows me understands that
I enjoy making other people chuckle. It’s part of who I am.</div>
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This effort is not for that purpose. And as I begin to put
my experiences to paper I’m wondering to what end. This may just end up in my
drawer at home or on my blog or I may email it to my children and possibly my
mom and siblings. All I know at this point is that I feel very much like I must
write this down, and do it today.</div>
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Having been raised in a Christian home I can’t recall a time
that I doubted that God loves me. I was taught from an early age that God sent
his Son, Jesus Christ, to be my example and to be the Savior of all mankind.
While there were times in my life that I didn’t hold onto that promise there
has never been a time in my life that I doubted it. </div>
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My mind races back to that song
most of us learned before we were old enough to attend kindergarten.</div>
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<em><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal;">Jesus loves me</span></em><i><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial;">! This I know, For the Bible tells me so; <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial;">Little ones to Him
belong, They are weak but He is strong. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial;">Yes,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span></i><em><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal;">Jesus
loves me</span></em><i><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial;">! Yes,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span></i><em><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal;">Jesus
loves me</span></em><i><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial;">!</span><o:p></o:p></i></div>
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The scriptures also give readers additional confirmation. Luke
12:6&7 reads:</div>
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<b><i>Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, and not one of them is
forgotten before God? But even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.
Fear not therefore: ye are of more value than many sparrows.<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
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Additionally Doctrine & Covenants 84:80 gives a promise specific
to missionaries but I feel comfortable in my knowledge that my Heavenly Father
cares for me in similar fashion:</div>
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<b><i>And any man that shall go and preach this gospel of the kingdom, and
fail not to continue faithful in all things, shall not be weary in mind,
neither darkened, neither in body, limb, nor joint; and a hair of his head
shall not fall to the ground unnoticed. And they shall not go hungry, neither
athirst.<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
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There has never been a question that God loves me beyond
what I can comprehend. I often wonder why, since I feel that I often disappoint
and regularly don’t measure up to where He believes I should be. But the fact
remains that He does and the following 3 events are testimony-building
experiences that prove it to me one more undeniable time. </div>
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As you all know, I like to ride my bike and if I’m not
thinking about family, home or church and work duties, I’m probably riding or thinking
about riding, reading, researching something related to bikes, bike repairs,
bike travels, etc. It’s been this way for many years but the internet has
increased this hundredfold. </div>
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I’ve been riding bikes for nearly 30 years, having started
about 1983 in Bishop, California. The first few years were spent riding 7-8
miles per outing. Then I found challenge in trying to ride either faster than a
previous ride or further distance than previous routes. Before long my riding
became such that 25 miles wasn’t an issue provided I had the time to do it. </div>
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Over the years I’ve done a little local, fun racing. It
wasn’t anything too serious and I always knew that in any race I’d be slower
than some and faster than others. I wasn’t there to win or even compete, only
compete with my self-doubt. I’ve
competed in races that were as short as 10 or 12 miles and as long as 70 miles.
</div>
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In time, my racing days were over and my riding became more
focused on health and endurance rather than speed. The longest day ever on a
bike for me was 121 miles followed by 85 miles the next day as Alessandra and I
rode in the <st1:city w:st="on">Seattle</st1:city> to <st1:city w:st="on">Portland</st1:city> ride in 2004. </div>
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The reason I introduce this short chronology of my cycling
is to set the stage; in all these events, all these many miles that I’ve ridden,
I have never crashed. Sure I’ve toppled over a few times when I came to a stop
and couldn’t get my shoe cleats disconnected from the pedals. Anyone who rides
has done this. I’ve fallen over gently when I have accidentally veered into the
sand on a road shoulder and lost momentum. But in 30 years and probably between
15,000 and 20,000 miles I have never crashed. </div>
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That brings me to 3 cycling events that I’ve experienced in
the past 30 days or so. I’ll relate them one at a time.</div>
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<u>August 14 – <st1:city w:st="on">Mercer Island</st1:city>
Slough (<st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Washington</st1:place></st1:state>)<o:p></o:p></u></div>
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This was a Tuesday afternoon and I had found time to get in
a quick 20 miles before Melodie returned home from work. I had ridden over to <st1:city w:st="on">Mercer Island</st1:city> because it
had some hills and I wanted to do a bit of climbing to see how my legs felt. </div>
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This was a route I had ridden 30 or more times prior to this
day and would consider my knowledge of this route very good. I was riding on
the bike trail and coming off of the island and back onto the <st1:city w:st="on">Bellevue</st1:city> side under the I-90 bridge.</div>
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Because of the hills this particular portion allowed me to
gain speed as I approached a sweeping left hand turn. I estimate that I was
traveling at 22-23 mph. Now, in a car that seems awfully slow but when you are
on a 5-foot wide asphalt path and are riding on 23mm wide tires, which equates
to .905 inches wide, it is really flying. </div>
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As soon as I entered this turn and was fully committed I
felt my rear wheel slip from underneath me. Instantly I knew I was going down.
I was going to hit the pavement hard and slide into some low brush, including
some blackberry brambles. As quickly as that thought entered my mind I somehow
managed to shift my weight and get the rear tire under my center of gravity and
was able to avoid the anticipated crash. </div>
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Once I was back under control I pedaled another 10 feet
before I realized that my rear tire had gone flat. The air was completely gone
and had left the tube in seconds. What that meant is that I had entered that
turn with nothing more than a bit of rubber and a metal wheel that was touching
the pavement. The end result of this would be that the rim would act almost
like a metal skate on ice. There is literally nothing to be done.</div>
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I took about 10 minutes to change the rear tube with the
spare and tools that I keep on my bike, the whole time patting myself on the
back about my bike handling skills. While at that time I thanked my Heavenly
Father for watching over me, I really felt like he had protected me by giving
me the bike experience that I needed to overcome a potential disaster. How
arrogant was that? </div>
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Had I gone down I think I would have been ok enough to get
back on the bike and finish the ride. Certainly I would have been quite scraped
up and the bike would have been ok but all in all it would have been a minor
crash in my book. </div>
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<u>Saturday Sept 8 – Post Falls, <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Idaho</st1:place></st1:state><o:p></o:p></u></div>
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Between Sept 7-9 Melodie and I drove from <st1:state w:st="on">Washington</st1:state>
to <st1:state w:st="on">Utah</st1:state> to
visit Alessandra and Kyle in Springville. I’ve been training for a metric
century ride in early October so I knew I wanted to continue riding while
there. Consequently I transported my bike with us. For fun our driving route
took us the scenic route; from <st1:city w:st="on">Seattle</st1:city> to <st1:city w:st="on">Spokane</st1:city> and then to <st1:city w:st="on">Missoula</st1:city>,
<st1:state w:st="on">MT</st1:state> before we headed south on I-15 towards <st1:place w:st="on">Utah</st1:place>. </div>
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I planned to get on the bike in <st1:city w:st="on">Spokane</st1:city>
and ride across the state line to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Coeur
d'Alene</st1:city>, <st1:state w:st="on">Idaho</st1:state></st1:place> on
Saturday. This would give me a chance to train for the 37 miles I needed that
day while Melodie had time to have a pedicure and meet me in <st1:state w:st="on">Idaho</st1:state> and a predefined location. </div>
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This was a great ride. The <st1:state w:st="on">Washington</st1:state>
side was full of friendly walkers, runners and other cyclist while the <st1:state w:st="on">Idaho</st1:state> side had less
trail users and allowed me to enjoy the scenery and the ultra smooth, recently
paved Centennial Trail. It was a fantastic day for an awesome ride and I took
advantage of every opportunity to enjoy it. </div>
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About 25 miles or so into my day I was riding on the trail
which paralleled the freeway. As I entered the outskirts of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Post Falls</st1:city>, <st1:state w:st="on">Idaho</st1:state></st1:place>
I had an experience that sent chills up my spine. As I slowed and entered a
gentle turn I heard an unmistakable female human voice say clearly and loudly,
“I’m right behind you.” </div>
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I looked over my left shoulder to see if someone was passing
me. I thought that would be odd because typically one rider overcoming another
would holler out, “on your left”, or even less frequent, “on your right” to
warn the rider that they were going to pass. </div>
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However I heard “I’m right behind you” so clearly,
distinctly and without any doubt in my mind, then or now, that I turned over my
right shoulder to see if there was a radio blaring from the backyard of a
nearby house that could have been the source of that voice. There were no
houses nearby and no other persons that I saw. Nothing. I saw and heard nothing
more other than that one sentence. </div>
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I immediately slowed down and mulled this over in my mind,
wondering what I could have heard, or at least wondering what the source was. While
the source of the voice was unclear and somewhat creepy, I didn’t feel any fear
from that experience. I thought about
this for days and even then came up with the theory that it may have been a
disembodied spirit of some sort. Now don’t go “all weird” on my thought. This voice
was so real that I had to try to make some sort of sense of it. </div>
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Before we left to come home from <st1:place w:st="on">Utah</st1:place> I mentioned this experience, without
having any explanation, to Melodie and then later to Kyle & Alessandra. </div>
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In just a little more than a week later I would have my
third and most profound experience. </div>
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<u>Monday Sept 17 – <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Bellingham</st1:city>,
<st1:state w:st="on">WA</st1:state></st1:place><o:p></o:p></u></div>
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Because I was working out of town, in <st1:place w:st="on">Bellingham</st1:place>, for the next 2 weeks and because
I was still training I brought my bike with me. I typically end up back at my
hotel by 4:00 or 4:15 each day and there’s plenty of time to get good ride in.
Such was the case on Monday the 17<sup>th</sup>. </div>
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I had a planned route to ride which would have me climb
gradually from downtown <st1:city w:st="on">Bellingham</st1:city> past <st1:placetype w:st="on">Lake</st1:placetype> <st1:placename w:st="on">Padden</st1:placename>
and towards <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">Lake</st1:placetype> <st1:placename w:st="on">Samish</st1:placename></st1:place>. I would turn around at the
firehouse and head back to town on this rural road. The ride out was uneventful
and as I returned my speed increased about as rapidly as the “bike lane”
deteriorated. I use quotes around the “bike lane” because it really wasn’t an
official lane. </div>
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Unfortunately there was a painted white stripe between the
auto lane and this area that was wide enough to fit a bike, and such that the
drivers thought I should be there, but in reality it wasn’t really suitable and
presented a lot of obstacles such as debris and uneven pavement. I “popped” in
and out of this lane as often as the circumstance required me to. </div>
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Once again I’m traveling about 25 mph and just as a car
passes I look back and realize that there aren’t any cars coming and this lane
is wide open for me to use. </div>
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I decide to pop out of the bike lane one more time and as I
do something causes me to loose complete traction. Before I know it I am
sliding sideways (at 25 mph) across one lane of traffic and then across another
lane of traffic. Of course I had made this move because there were no cars so
there wasn’t any concern about them. </div>
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Both of my wheels had stopped turning and I was literally
sliding sideways for about 35-40 feet. Both feet had come unclipped so that my
legs were flailing all over the place. I don’t think I was even centered over
the bike at this point. </div>
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The first thought that entered my mind is that I was
definitely hitting the asphalt on this one. Nothing was going to prevent that
from happening, it was just a matter of when and how hard. My center of gravity
was leaning into the direction of the slide and I felt like I was going to hit
at any second. Before I know it the bike rights itself slightly and before I
can process another thought I’m back into the same position for a second time,
my center of gravity was way to the left and I realized a second time that I
was going to hit the pavement after all. </div>
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A moment or so later, which felt like hours, the bike seems
to right itself one more time. I really had no control over my body weight or
the bike, so when I come to a stop in the intersection of a connecting roadway,
pointing nearly opposite from the direction I had been traveling, with both
feet firmly on the ground; all I can do is laugh. I think if I hadn’t laughed I
would have cried.</div>
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I don’t know if I’d say I saw my life flash before me
because I knew I would survive this fall. But as I was sliding I calculated,
very quickly mind you, that I would probably break a shoulder, an arm
(certainly a wrist), or a clavicle and possibly all three. I honestly believe
that I would have been hospitalized for a day or two. It was that big of a
potential crash.</div>
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Needless to say, before continuing, my laugh turned into a
very sincere and thankful prayer of gratitude which has continued until this
writing. I can’t prove anything to you or to myself but I am positively
convinced that the Lord has been watching over me and protecting me for many,
many years and evidently more intensely for the past 30 or so days. </div>
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Some might call these experiences coincidence or luck. I do
not. I know it was the steadying hand of God that has kept me safe. </div>
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I believe in angels. Today, I believe that I have at least
one angel assigned to me as a guardian. That first flat and slide where I had
patted myself on the back for my bike handling skills was the work of an angel.
Somehow he or she was able to keep me from that first fall.</div>
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When I was in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Post
Falls</st1:city>, <st1:state w:st="on">Idaho</st1:state></st1:place> and
heard that female voice I am now convinced that this was my angel, there by
assignment to be “right behind you [me]” possibly slowing me down enough to
keep me out of another potential trouble spot that day. </div>
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And without any doubt or equivocation it was an angel or
angels working under the direction of my Heavenly Father to right that bike on
the 17<sup>th</sup>. There was not just one time but two times that I was on my
way to the pavement and miraculously, and I do mean that literally, I was
lifted back up and positioned to stop that bike before a serious injury.</div>
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We often hear that having cancer is such a life changing
experience. That wasn’t the case for me. I didn’t have a battle on my hands as
many cancer patients typically do. I even joked about it as “beginner” or
“apprentice” cancer. </div>
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I don’t know maybe I was supposed to learn something then. But
now it seems like my Father in heaven has decided to take a different approach
to get my attention. These combined experiences have profoundly changed my
life. </div>
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So, what am I to learn from this? Well, first and foremost I know that God
loves me and cares about me. I have never known this to this depth and degree
before. Secondly, I need to slow down. I have felt so good on the bike this
year, post cancer surgery (ala Lance Armstrong) that I have been riding much
faster all year. Thirdly, for reasons unknown, I am being protected, preserved
if you will. It’s His reason. I need to prayerfully seek to know what that is
and then work and be prepared to respond to what he may need from me. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746655451568036751.post-11699335940209546932011-06-27T17:32:00.000-07:002011-06-27T17:32:13.076-07:00The Nail (originally written in May 1997)<div class="MsoNormal">I took a quick glance at my watch. 8:25 a.m. Great, I should be at Seattle U in 15 minutes, 20 tops. And that’s if there’s a “traffic slowdown”, which can be counted on like rain.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I am heading north on I-5 in my Honda Civic, just south of Boeing Field when it happened. I never even saw it, I don’t even know what it was but I sure heard it. There was a loud thump under the car. I mean loud. I quickly assessed the damage. The oil pressure looked good. The engine temperature was fine. Turning down the radio, I could hear that the engine sounded normal. Then the noise. It really didn’t sound fatal, but it was enough to make me pull over. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I signaled and made a quick maneuver across the 2 lanes with the skill and confidence of a seasoned Indy driver heading for the pits. I found the emergency lane and coasted to a stop. With only one foot on the ground I could already see the problem….. a flat tire. No problem, I can handle this, no one really looks for me until about 9:00 anyway. I’ll just grab the spare and get started. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Moving mountains of stuff that always seems to be above the spare tire compartment, I reach and find……oh no!! It’s one of those wimpy temporary tires about the size of a bagel. No Problem. I’ll change it and head into <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Seattle</st1:place></st1:city> and have the original repaired for the drive home. I grab the jack, the lug wrench and all the other junk they give you for this experience and head up to tackle the job. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">With cars whipping by at 70 miles an hour (ok, it <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Seattle</st1:place></st1:city>, 35 mph) I kneel to loosen the lugs nuts. Oh no! The wrench is too small for the nuts. No problem. I am prepared. I’ll just grab my cell phone that I have just for this purpose and call AAA Road Service. By golly, I’m getting my $40 worth this year. I grab the cell phone and my wallet with a single movement only to find that I don’t have my AAA card. It’s in the van which is in front of the house. I’ll just give Melodie a call and ask her to get me the number. Oh no! I forgot that she was up all night with Alessandra who is sick with the flu. The poor girl has vomited nearly 15 times. The last I saw Melodie was finally getting some sleep. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Well I don’t have much choice. I’ll call and hope she understands. With some apprehension, I dial anyway. The line is busy. Well that’s OK at least I know I won’t be the one waking her. A few tries later, I finally reach her only to find out she was up because Ali had vomited once again. After a quick explanation she agrees to get the number and call me back. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">5 minutes, 10 minutes, man its 8:45. She hasn’t called me back yet. Well I don’t want to act impatient, but I gotta get moving. I’ve been sitting on the side of the road for nearly 20 minutes reading the sports page. Traffic has slowed to about 10 miles per hour, and I notice that people won’t even look my direction. They probably would feel compelled to help me. It’s better to just pretend I’m not there. Even the cops ignore me.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I muster the nerve to call her and decide my strategy is humor. She answers and I say, “Melodie, I wanted to let you know that I actually have a flat tire right now instead of planning on having one, and I really need that number”. She tells me, “I did call, I left you a voice mail at the office, I didn’t know where you were.” I can’t believe it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Melodie, I thought if I told you that I had a flat tire, it might dawn on you that I was in the car and to call the cell number.” We had a good chuckle and I finally contact AAA. No problem they tell me, “Rudy’s Towing will be there in 15-20 minutes”. Great I’ll finish reading about the upcoming Sonics/Rockets game tonight. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I lift my eyes from the paper only to see a “WaSP” pulling in behind me. A <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Washington</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">State</st1:placetype></st1:place> Patrol. Down in <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">California</st1:place></st1:state> they have “Chips”, up here we have WaSPs. No problem, I tell him. I’ve got AAA on the way. I’m standing next to the epitome of machismo here in <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Washington</st1:place></st1:state> and decide I’ll save face by telling him I would have been done and on my way if my lug wrench had of fit the lug nuts. Oh Great…. He wasn’t to take a look. Does he think I’m some ignorant stranded motorist? Sure glad I’ve got <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Washington</st1:place></st1:state> plates on the Honda.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He takes one long look and tells me to remove the hubcap in order to get to the lug nuts. I get down and look again. He’s right; the nuts I was trying to fit the wrench onto are only plastic mock ones on a $5 wheel cover. The WaSP is really starting to bother me now. He actually wants to change the tire for me. I’m an American, keep your hands off my lug wrench. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I manage to regain my manhood and change the tire in such a fashion as to show him that it wasn’t my first. I lower the newly installed bagel to the pavement and thank him for his help. My pride is bruised, but I did appreciate his help. He lets me know that he’d already cancelled the tow truck. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I climb back in my car and pull into traffic, taking caution to follow all the steps one follows after having just received a ticket. Once I get back into the flow of things it occurs to me that I am still the object of ridicule and scorn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People are actually staring and pointing at the bagel I was calling a front tire. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ignoring jeers and insults, I fight my way to the office and found in the Yellow Pages a tire shop nearby. I limp in and they quickly repair the flat. I wait and wait for the bill. Finally I go up to the counter. “No charge”, he says. Maybe the day is going to turn for the better after all. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I have a genuine smile on my face as I pull away, windows down and enjoying the nice weather of the day. The sun was shining ever so brightly and the birds were singing. I turn onto <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">South 4<sup>th</sup> Ave</st1:address></st1:street> and as I do a large 5 ton flatbed truck comes barreling by. It passes, and then I hear it. “Ching…….ting………ting.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I glance out of my window and see a large rusty nail that has just fallen of the truck. In slow motion I watch as it cartwheels across the warm asphalt right towards the path of my newly repaired tire. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m able to slow and swerve in time to miss the nail and its torpedo attitude. It comes to a completed stop just inches from where my tire is. I smile to myself. It’s going to be a great day after all. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746655451568036751.post-53466445428397822932011-01-27T10:56:00.002-08:002011-01-27T11:03:45.494-08:00The Mouse That Roared!! – Part 3 “The Next Issues and Period”<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 22px; ">Editorial note: This is the third installment and will make little sense if read out of order. Please see earlier posts directly below.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 22px; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 22px; "><p class="MsoNormal">Well once the members of SODE’ learned that Gary McCoy, company President had asked for more, we felt obligated to deliver. After all he was the boss. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We spend another week putting together the next issue. We continued and may have even upped the level of intensity.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We attacked about 3 or 4 departments in this issue and even more in the subsequent issues.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Since <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Gary</st1:place></st1:city> had asked for “more of it” we felt we had been given a free pass. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We attacked and attacked, making less effort to cloud who and what we were attacking.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Names of departments and certain managers was alluded to and in some cases spelled out entirely. This proved to be a poor decision. I believe if we had been less specific and left names out of the publication all would have gone as expected. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Another bad decision was that we as editors felt we could own up to our efforts. It wasn’t that we put our names on the paper but we didn’t keep our efforts anonymous either. If asked, we all agreed, we would admit we had been behind this. In hindsight it was a good thing that we had disassociated SODE’ with the paper because that would have put all of us, and maybe me individually, responsible for making Kandi cry a year or so earlier. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">About 4 issues and 6 weeks later the word came down. Kevin, Bill, Ryan and I were “invited” to the ivory tower at the request of Gary McCoy. As we arrived at the admin office and looked at one another it was clear that no one really knew what was going on. But at the same time we were pretty sure that it had to do with our brainchild “The Mouse That Roared”. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When we stepped into <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Gary</st1:place></st1:city>’s office that morning and saw all the past issues of TMTR our suspicion was confirmed. <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Gary</st1:place></st1:city> invited us to sit down and then got right to the point. He held up the issues that were on his desk and said. “Enough, the only reason I don’t fire you here and now is that I stood in front of 45 managers and asked for more of this. However, it has gone too far. If you want to keep working for this company not another written word out of the four of you. Is that clear?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Well I can’t speak for the other 3 members of SODE’ and coauthors of TMTR but I understood exactly what he meant and needed no further explanation. I reflected back on how foolish I had been in and felt really lucky that I hadn’t lost my job. I never mentioned this to Melodie. The SODE’ cartoons, the issues of TMTR or my brush with unemployment were not known to her until years after I left Mammoth</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As we got into the elevator in the tower and headed down to “where we belonged”, there was no snickering or scoffing at how close we had come. We knew we had dodged a large bullet. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">However, by the time we got ready to carpool home that night our spirits were lifted up and we came up with one last plan. We decided we needed to cease publication in a classy manner.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We took our TMTR masthead and on the front page, just below it, put a large 4” black dot.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The next day we sent out 10 copies as usual and let the Xerox crowd do the rest.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">There was much speculation as to what it meant. Some thought it was a hidden message. Others thought it represented a hole that the mouse had crawled into. For us it was simply a punctuation mark, a period if you will, indicating that our work was finished.</p></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746655451568036751.post-74277839874358525432010-12-07T11:51:00.000-08:002010-12-07T12:01:05.029-08:00The Mouse That Roared!! – Part 2 “Dormancy and Resurgence of SODE`”Editorial note: This is the second installment and will make little sense if read out of order. Please see earlier post directly below.<div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal">Well, it didn’t take long for Dave, Earl and I to realize that we may have ruffled either too many or the wrong feathers with the Titanic cartoon. While Dave and Earl were single, I had a family at home. Regardless we all decided that softening the blow and the frequency of the cartoons might be a wise move, if we wanted to keep our jobs. We continued to put out some cartoons but we much more cautious about this effort. Over the next 18 months or so it got to the point where we put nothing out at all. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">About 1990 things had not improved much for the company and Earl was caught up in a layoff and a year or so later Dave moved on to other pastures. One could never know if the pasture he moved to was greener or not. Dave was an interesting guy. I remember one afternoon I saw him in our office and noticed that he had missed a button on his shirt which forced his collar to be so off kilter that it stuck up in a very obvious and peculiar way. I simply said, “hey, Dave, you collar is sticking up because you’ve misbuttoned it.” He looked at me and replied, “Oh yeah, I noticed that this morning at break.” and he simply went on with his day. He didn’t care at all. I miss Dave…sorry for that brief tangential walk down memory lane. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I found myself as the lone founding member of SODE`. No one, except for Dave and Earl even knew what the acronym stood for or who was involved. I never spoke of it to anyone. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In the fall of 1991 there was a large layoff at the ski area. Once again moral was down as employees found their friends and co-workers were gone and wondered if they would have a job next week. The company bus and van-system up from Bishop had all but disappeared and we were forced into carpools. I found myself riding with Kevin, Bill & Ryan each and every day. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">With nearly an hour drive each way it didn’t take long before the four of us began to complain, once again, about fiscal decisions that seemed harmful to the health of the company. Someone brought up the topic of the cartoons from years past and how they missed SODE`. After a few more drives of this topic I decided I could trust these 3 and tell them of my involvement. After swearing them to secrecy we talked of the originally meaning and purpose of SODE`. They wanted in!!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After contact Dave & Earl and receiving permission to admit them we made it official. Kevin, Bill, Ryan and I were now the only four active members of the newly awakened Secret Order of Disgruntled Employees. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We never discussed any of our activities outside of the car we traveled in. This assured no else knew or overheard. We decided that we did not want to go the path of cartoons and that like a sword, the written word, if carefully wielded could be more effective. A newspaper, written and copied offsite for security reasons, and distributed in the same fashion would be most impactful. The only change is that we would not put the name SODE` on the work. We didn’t want to associate the new campaign with the former campaign at all. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We talked of content, length and format of the newspaper. But what most of the discussion involved was the title. Since <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Mammoth</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Mountain</st1:placetype></st1:place>’s mascot was a woolly mammoth it made sense that we choose a mouse, a nemesis to the elephant, as our mascot. We hoped that our printed voice would be loud and clear so we named our newspaper “The Mouse That Roared”, or TMTR as we referred to it. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We worked on the first issue of our rag for weeks. There were first efforts and group revisions all done within the drive to and from work. In our first anonymous printing we included some humorous things but we also took some pretty direct editorial shots at departments and at department managers. We were careful not mention anyone by name but our efforts were so clear that it was easy to know who we were targeting. The first edition of TMTR grew from the initial 10 copies until we noticed them on nearly every desk. It was a huge response as far as distribution went. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">About a week after the first issue was released there was a normally scheduled department manager’s meeting in the ivory tower. I heard this story from my manager who was in attendance. Normal matters of business were discussed and then towards the end, Gary McCoy, son of Dave McCoy (brother to Kandi), and President of Mammoth Mountain stood. He slow held up a copy of TMTR and said something like, “I don’t know where this came from, (pause) I don’t know who is behind this, (longer pause) but this is some of the best damn writing I’ve seen in a long time. I want more of it. It’s efforts like this that keep us thinking and keeps us on our toes.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This proclamation didn’t take long to reach the members of SODE` and in our subsequent drives we talked of what our next step would be.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal">Within a matter of a few weeks we gave Gary McCoy exactly what he asked for. The question is, “Did he get more than he bargained for?”. </p><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none">To Be Continued. “The Next Issues and Period”</p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746655451568036751.post-61165790922057857352010-12-02T09:57:00.001-08:002010-12-02T21:36:50.834-08:00The Mouse That Roared!! – Part 1 “The Birth of SODE`”<p class="MsoNormal">Disclaimer # 1. The actions of the individual(s) described in this blog were foolish. I was a much younger and shall we agree a stupider individual 20 plus years ago. May the follies of my youth not hinder me any further than they already have. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Disclaimer # 2. I have changed the names of all guilty participants in order to protect them from any association with the imminent description of said stupid actions. It is possible that some of the participants may still be employed at this business. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Ok…with that out of the way I’ll get started. In the mid to late 80s I worked for Mammoth Mountain Ski Area. It was then a large, family owned ski resort that employed about 600 people year round and nearly 1500 during the peak of the ski season. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Many of the department managers, capable as they were, had worked themselves up through the employee ranks from the 60s and 70s and enjoyed what seemed to be quite an easy existence. They were provided company vehicles, free gas and seemed to do very little but drive around. It appeared that they spent most of their time skiing, golfing and cycling. Looking back with more years of experience I’d have to say they probably worked a lot harder than I knew. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This was also a challenging time for the company. They had purchased a much smaller ski resort, <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">June</st1:placename> <st1:placename st="on">Mountain</st1:placename></st1:place>, and ran it separately as its own entity. <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">June</st1:placename> <st1:placename st="on">Mountain</st1:placename></st1:place> never seemed to be able to make a profit and seemed to be a cash pit as we tried to make it viable. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I had two fellow employees, Dave & Earl, whom I shared a common office with. We would sit there and discuss all of the bad decisions the company was making, the cash we seemed to be dumping into <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">June</st1:placename> <st1:placename st="on">Mountain</st1:placename></st1:place> and also how the managers seemed to be on a vacation all the time. Dave, Earl and I formed an informal group, SODE`, (pronounced So Day) which stood for Secret Order of Disgruntled Employees. We were the founding and charter members, yet there was no effort to grow this group. We had plans and too many cooks in the kitchen would ruin the porridge. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none">Earl was a cartoonist by hobby and one day showed Dave and I some things he had worked up. They were essentially some rough “corporate political commentary” cartoons. This innocent effort turned into our first official plan. We decided to draw up some well-done cartoons that allowed us to exhibit our frustration. Once we completed enough we would distribute them around the company and see what reaction we got. Our plan was to distribute 1 cartoon each week and each cartoon would be signed SODE` giving credit and credence to this unknown organization. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none">We drew up four or five. Dave, Earl and I all had a hand at creation but some were better than others. We knew that we could not do any of this drawing at work so we worked on them on our own time. We also knew that if caught making copies of these cartoons with company copy machines that could be problematic. So our decision was to copy them at a public machine, which in those days meant a library or Safeway, and then simply post them, clandestinely, around. We would make only 10 copies of each cartoon. We put 2 or 3 in a few mailbox cubbyholes in the mail room and we posted the rest near time clocks in multiple buildings. We were pretty confident that if we kept it simple our fellow employees would become our distribution network with very little encouragement on our part. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none">The first cartoon that we posted was of a company truck, logo and all, with bicycles mounted in the back. In the truck were two managers with $$ dollar signs coming out of the tailpipe. It was that simple. The statement was made and the SODE` movement had been launched. Within days there were many copies of this cartoon circulating throughout the company. There was a lot of buzz about who this “person SODE” was. The three of us joined in the discussion as if we knew nothing of it. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none">After a few more cartoons had been distributed in the same fashion we put out our most controversial cartoon. This depicted Mammoth Mountain Ski Area as the Titanic and <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">June</st1:placename> <st1:placename st="on">Mountain</st1:placename></st1:place> as the iceberg that sunk the great ship. It was the opinion of SODE` that <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">June</st1:placename> <st1:placename st="on">Mountain</st1:placename></st1:place> was going to ruin the main resort and jeopardize our jobs. This cartoon seemed to be the most popular. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none">A week or so later there was a company wide meeting where about 500 employees gathered in the lunchroom. The company was in financial trouble and the owners felt like we needed to know what the plan was to climb out of debt and back into prosperity. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none">Dave, Earl and I found a seat near the front of the hall and sat at a table not too far from the family. There were introductory comments and then it was opened up to a Q & A. We had no plans to ask questions but there were many who did. One of the questions offered was about the financial viability of <st1:placename st="on">June</st1:placename> <st1:placename st="on">Mountain</st1:placename> and its impact on <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Mammoth</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Mountain</st1:placetype></st1:place>. The CEO decided to turn that question over to Kandi McCoy, daughter of founder Dave McCoy, and President of June Mountain. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none">Kandi stood and began to do her best to answer the question but her answers seemed so empty. Then things went from bad to worse. She began to get emotional and teary eyed. While this was unfolding I glanced over at the family and some of them were lowering their eyes and shaking their heads in embarrassment. I’m sure they felt that this was no way for a company President to act. I was embarrassed for them and for her. Then things went terribly awry.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none">Kandi, through her tears and intermittent sobbing said the following, “We here at <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">June</st1:placename> <st1:placename st="on">Mountain</st1:placename></st1:place> are doing the best we can. Maybe you all think that we are the iceberg that is gonna to sink Mammoth, but we’re not. That’s not gonna happen, it’s not I tell ya.” It was pitiful. It was more like a rant that spewed from the mouth of a 3<sup>rd</sup> grade kid. The family was shamed beyond description. Sitting less than 10 feet from her brother, I could feel it. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none">Dave McCoy, her dad, stood up and tried to gain control of the situation and give us all hope but the damage had been done and the meeting quickly came to an end. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none">Dave, Earl and I couldn’t even look at each other. We left the meeting and met up a few minutes later in our office. Although there was some laughter and some congratulations about how much of an impact SODE` had had on this meeting, we did feel bad. Our intention was to be a thorn in the side of the corporation, cause some discussion and hopefully some change. It was never our goal to embarrass an individual or make this personal. Nonetheless that is what we had accomplished so far. It would be a year or more before SODE made another impact. This one was much larger.....</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none">To Be Continued. “Dormancy and Resurgence of SODE`”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><o:p> </o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746655451568036751.post-31418216444242258162010-07-29T09:59:00.000-07:002010-07-29T10:10:52.180-07:00Green Motors Fire – Epilogue<p class="MsoNormal">So I finally have gotten around to writing the fourth part of my 3-part story. Just the fact that I have taken this to 4 parts has been enough to discourage me from finishing. However, if I don’t get it done this week it will be mid to late August before I do and it’s already been too long since I posted Part 3. So here goes. The events that followed the trial and acquittal of Joe Green transpired over many months but will be condensed here as if it was only a few weeks.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Once I learned that I would be a witness in this trial I was informed that my travel and lodging expenses would be covered by the City of <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Bishop</st1:place></st1:city>, as I was acting on their behalf when the fire occurred. Although I had plenty of vacation time as an employee of Mammoth Mountain Ski Area I decided to ask the city if they would be covering my wages that I would be losing from taking off 3 or 4 days from work. There simple answer was “no”, you are a volunteer firefighter. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I questioned that decision. There were full time police dispatchers that had spent their entire time sitting in a rolling chair in front of the radios who were also being required to testify. They would received travel & living, PLUS lost wages. I protested. They didn’t budge. I asked them the following question. “If I was self employed and had been asked to take off days at a time to testify, there would be no compensation?” The answer was yes and if you don’t like it, you can resign from the fire department.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Well, the end result was that I took time off, with pay, from my job but I was not happy with the way it had been handled. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Months after the trial had ended I decided to contact the CSFA (California State Firefighters Association) about my concerns. I was put in touch with the liaison to the Volunteer Departments. After many phone calls and letters written, explaining the situation the CSFA committee for volunteers decided this was a cause worth championing. I worked for many months with a state Senator (name long forgotten) and his staff person, Terry, to get a bill authored and to a committee for consideration. The bill would require city and counties to pay volunteer firefighters for lost wages when they are required to testify in court proceedings stemming from their volunteer firefighting efforts. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In the spring of 1992 I was invited to come to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Sacramento</st1:place></st1:city> to speak to this committee. Terry wanted to be sure that I came in full dress uniform, as this would give some level of importance to my efforts. I took Charlotte and Cara with me. They were 11 and 9 respectively. We ended up staying at the late Cory Wolfersberger, Suzie’s brother’s house and were very comfortable there. One side note about this trip is that we traveled to <st1:city st="on">Sacramento</st1:city> via <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Stateline</st1:city>, <st1:state st="on">Nevada</st1:state></st1:place>. While in route the discussion between the girls and me was about eating at a buffet. We stopped at Harrah’s there and learned that their lunch would be $12 each. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Mine was $16. That was a lot of money then but we went ahead and entered the buffet. My kids have always been good eaters and will try just about anything. Let me just say, they got my money’s worth. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The next day we arrived at this senator’s office and were given tours and other fun stuff prior to my testimony. We had a great lunch in a nice Chinese restaurant not too far from the capitol. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Testimony came and went. <st1:personname st="on">Travel</st1:personname> home was uneventful. Within days I learned that the bill was passed and that this senator would continue to move it forward and I was thanked for my efforts. I wish that I had written down more information about which senator, bill number etc. but at the time I didn’t see the significance in it. Today it feels good have fought back and won. </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746655451568036751.post-16343303628596845622010-07-09T09:20:00.001-07:002010-07-09T12:52:14.682-07:00Green Motors Fire – The Trial (Part Three)<p class="MsoNormal">The very next morning, the second day after the fire, I found myself being deposed. As I sat at the Bishop Police Department interview room, which could be called an interrogation room depending on which side of the law you found yourself on, it was very hard to be comfortable. I knew that I was there as a witness only and not as a suspect of any sort but it still was difficult to relax with both Scotty Baker, a commissioned police officer along with his fire investigator status, and Detective Bruce Dishion sitting across the table from me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">There were some welcoming comments and niceties designed to help me relax, then "click". The old cassette recorder was turned on. Introductions were made so that anyone listening would know who was being recorded. They asked me to introduce myself, my role as a fire fighter and acknowledge that I had given them permission to record the deposition. Once that was over, the questions began to fly.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">For the next 2 hours I was asked and gave answers to any question that either of the interviewers asked. There seemed to be little formal process to this as either would ask any thing that came to mind. When it was all said and done I was thanked and allowed to go about my day. I didn’t know it at the time but this interview had produced over 18 pages of typed text. Somewhere I have a copy of it, on yellow paper for some reason. Was that standard for a deposition or just the color that was left in the copy machine? It’s an answer I’ll probably never get.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My testimony in the deposition along with much more evidence resulted in the arrest of Joseph Green for the crime of “Arson”. The theory of the <st1:place st="on"><st1:placetype st="on">County</st1:placetype> <st1:placename st="on">Prosecutor</st1:placename></st1:place>’s office was that the business was in debt to the tune of approximately $150k. They believed that the evidence showed that Joe Green had entered the place of business just after closing and had poured a flammable liquid in and around the parts department before lighting it. It was their theory that since the bank owned the autos for sale and the building was leased, the parts department was the only thing literally owned by the Green family that could be cashed in for insurance. The value of the parts department inventory was approximately $160k. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The investigators were convinced that what I had witnessed was remnants of the flammable liquid pour that had not ignited until I was there to witness it. Pockmarks and burn patterns seemed to show evidence of what I had witnessed as well. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The arrest of Joe Green was big news in our little town of <st1:city st="on">Bishop</st1:city>, <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">California</st1:place></st1:state>. Everyone in town and possibly the entire county of 18,000 residents seemed to have an opinion on whether he was guilty or innocent. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Before the trial could start the defense was successful in getting a change of venue and the trial was moved to <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Ventura</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place>. I do agree that it would have been impossible for the accused to get a fair trial in <st1:placename st="on">Inyo</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">County</st1:placetype>, although before I received my subpoena to testify for the prosecution I knew that a trip to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Ventura</st1:place></st1:city> would be in my future travel plans. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">There were about 6 of us, from me all the way to Assistant Fire Chief, Stan Lloyd who were called to testify. John Williamson, who entered the fire service with me in a class of 8 back in 1984 was one of the 6. Because of when the prosecution expected us to testify we traveled together and shared a hotel room. We were to travel in Engine 11 to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Ventura</st1:place></st1:city> and back. Engine 11, was really nothing more than a red pickup truck with lights and siren that the chief drove from time to time. Chief Phil Moxley drove his personal pickup most of the time so Eng 11 was often used for hauling iced pop and water out to a fire scene. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We were happy to use it, either way.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">On our way to the courthouse we heard over the radio LA County Fire dispatch a bunch of trucks and engine companies to a structure fire. One of those dispatched was “Engine 11, Please respond”.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>John looked at me, I looked at him and said “hey we’re Engine 11, right?” In our stupidity we lit up the lights and siren and drove code three, to nowhere of course, weaving in and out of traffic through <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Ventura</st1:city></st1:place>. Had we been discovered there would have been serious consequences, the least would have been removal from the Bishop Fire Department. We were young and dumb and didn’t always think things out, but we had fun for more than 2 miles before we decided to “cancel” our self-imposed dispatch.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The trial was a blur. I only saw my side of the testimony. I was never able to see anyone else testify or hear any other questions by prosecution or defense. The bottom line here is that the defense prevailed. Joe Green was found “not guilty”. The defense was able to put doubt in the minds of the jury that what I saw was actually fuel poured by the defendant. The claim by defense experts was that what I saw was actually petroleum based roofing products that had dropped down from the roof the floor as the fire progressed. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I wasn't troubled at all. I had done my duty and told what I had seen. The jurors had done theirs. That’s the system. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">TO BE CONTINUED:<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Green Motors Fire – The Aftermath (Part Four)</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746655451568036751.post-74270233679783510332010-05-24T11:36:00.001-07:002010-05-24T13:38:00.014-07:00Green Motors Fire – The Investigation (Part Two)<p class="MsoNormal">It was well after midnight that March day that I finally crawled into bed. Melodie rolled over, as she had hundreds of times before and would hundreds of times after this day, and whispered to me that she was glad I was home safe. I don’t think she was ever 100% behind my desire to “play fireman” but I also think she knew there was no stopping me. She kissed me on the cheek and we talked briefly as I unwound and fell asleep.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Later that morning I stopped by the fire scene on my way to work. There is something about a fire this large that just gets under your skin and it was common for me to want to go back and see what had actually occurred once the smoke had cleared and the morning sun arrived to signal the new day.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I arrived and found 2 or 3 chief officers there already, along with Scotty Baker, an Arson and Bomb Investigator with the California State Fire Marshall’s office. He had driven all through the night from the <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Sacramento</st1:city></st1:place> area to be on scene first a.m. and had already begun to gather data and samples. Scotty was an excellent, well-respected investigator with a good ol’ boy, slap you on the back, southern boy attitude that seemed to have a connection with the Bishop Fire Department. I never knew if he had a work assignment that included our jurisdiction or if he just jumped on every chance to come to the Eastern Sierra that he found. Nonetheless, I worked along side of him more than once after this point.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">One might think that an Arson Investigator is called only when there is a suspicious fire, but in a situation like this where there is likely to be lots of financial loss followed by much finger pointing, an investigator is always summoned to not only try to determine the point of origin but also to try to determine the cause. Once the investigator has thoroughly made a visual inspection, taken hundreds of photographs, interviewed as many witnesses as possible he or she must then make one of the following determinations. A fire cause can be listed as:</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Accidental</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Incendiary</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Mechanical</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Electrical </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Natural</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">While a fire scene might be suspicious, this is not a “cause”. Although there is much science with this effort to put it into a nutshell an investigator looks at burn patterns, char depth, fuel load indicators to “read” the fire. With much experience the investigator can effectively locate the place of origin and then narrow down the actual cause.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As I approached the small group of men through the same door that I had crawled through and hastily retreated through just a few short hours before, I looked on as they discussed various areas of particular interest. I stood quietly for some time as to not disrupt the brain storming session I was observing. I looked down and realized I was exactly 60 feet in and standing near a tow truck that I had knelt next to. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It was then that Dick Moxley, Battalion Chief and baby brother to the Fire Chief Phil Moxley, broke away from the group with Scotty Baker. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The two of them began discussing an unusual mark on the concrete floor. The two of them mused about the mark, more than 30 feet in length that just didn’t make sense to them. One of them said, “This just doesn’t make sense, I can’t understand what happened here.” <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Without thinking I uttered a sentence that would impact me far beyond what I could have comprehended. I butted in “I can tell you exactly what that is because I watched “it” happen.” Scotty turned to me and said, “Tell me more”.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I went onto explain that during fire suppression I was leaning against the front passenger tire of the tow truck. I had been directing a hose stream above me and to my right to the seat of heavy fire. Something caught my eye and I glanced to my left to see a portion of concrete about 6 inches wide catch on fire and then run about 30-35 feet to my left in just a few seconds. It reminded me of how lighter fluid might catch on fire. I recalled that I had turned to Dick Weller who was behind me and tried to ask through my mask and the noise and excitement of the fire if he too had seen what I had seen. He didn’t respond and I went back to my duties. I had actually forgotten about what I had seen the night before until I was there listening to the investigators. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Before I knew it I was scheduled for a deposition with Scott Baker and Bishop Police Detective Bruce Dishion, who would later become police chief. I was interviewed for about 2 hours and every word that I said was documented. Without knowing it, I would become a key eyewitness to one of the largest arson cases in <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Inyo</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">County history</st1:placetype></st1:place>. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">TO BE CONTINUED: <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Green Motors Fire – The Trial (Part Three)</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746655451568036751.post-18412758000751186362010-04-28T14:54:00.000-07:002010-04-28T15:14:18.761-07:00Green Motors Fire - The Attack (Part One)OK, I think I’ve finally mustered the courage to start this particular story. It’s 3 parts so I think that the daunting task has discouraged me. So, here goes….<br /><br />This story begins on a weekday evening, March of 1990 or possibly 1991. Honestly, I don’t remember the correct year, but because we were still living on Moffett Drive, it was before Alessandra was born.<br /><br />This particularly beautiful spring day I had taken Charlotte and Cara skiing at <a href="http://www.campsnowdream.com/assets/images/snowdream_mammothmountain.jpg">Mammoth</a>. We had returned home about 4:00 in the afternoon and things were just settling in for the day. About 5:30 as the sun was still shining brightly outside, my pager went off, “Attention Bishop Volunteers, Attention Bishop Volunteers, we have a report of a structure fire at Green Motors on Main St., please respond.”<br /><br />Green Motors was a fairly large Chevy dealership in the middle of town. It had a showroom large enough for 2 or 3 new cars and a repair center that seemed to be able to hold 20 cars inside, 10 on each side the large garage portion of the building. It was owned by Joe & Jan Green whom we knew from town; in fact Melodie had worked for the dealership for a while when were first married.<br /><br />Before the announcement was even finished I was heading out the front door to jump in my pickup and drive to the firehouse. From Moffett I could look about six blocks west and 2 blocks north and immediately saw a large thick column of black smoke. I took just a moment to stop and holler to Melodie and the girls to look outside, this was going to be a big one. In fact, little did I know then, but this fire would be the largest fire I would ever respond to.<br /><br />I arrived at the Main Station to find that Engine 10 had already responded and the next truck to roll would be Engine 6, a <a href="http://yourfirstdue.com/manager/data/1216353002/apparatus/1959e1alf.jpg">1959 American LaFrance</a> with an incredibly low 6300 miles on it. It was in mint condition and was capable of pumping 1250 gallons per minute. It had room for a crew of 6 , 2 in the cab, 2 in the jump seats and 2 more on the tailboard. However on this particular day the Engineer rolled with just 2 in the cab and 2 on the tailboard, Alan Kendrick and me.<br /><br />With full lights and siren and all the air horn we could muster we turned north onto Main Street only to see that the column of smoke had continued to increase in size and anger.<br /><br />Alan and I knew that we would be “taking a hydrant” on this fire, it was going to be a long night. Note: Most fire apparatus carry between 250 and 1000 gallons of water and on large fires it is necessary to find a source, typically a hydrant. Pumping at ½ of its capacity Engine 6 would be out of water with in 120-180 seconds of arrival, but this should be enough time to connect the hydrant to the intake of the pump to continue the assault on the advancing fire.<br /><br />The discussion on the tailboard was about who would take the hydrant while the other began donning a <a href="http://www.safetysuppliescanada.com/newcatalog/images/Scott%202.2%20Industrial%20Airpack%20001.bmp">SCBA (Self Contained Breathing Apparatus)</a>, a tank that should last 30 minutes. It was pretty obvious that I would be closest to the hydrant and it made sense that I wrap the fireplug and send the truck down the road a bit while I worked to connect the source. I was disappointed because this meant it was likely that I would not be on the hose of the initial attack. It was my favorite place to be, on the tip of the nozzle, where the most action was to be had.<br /><br />I completed my task and moved quickly back to Engine 6 that had pulled across the road closer to the structure. I noticed that the initial attack had not been launched so I quickly put on my SCBA, a task that I could do in less than 60 seconds. As I came up to the tip of the hose I realized that Chief Phil Moxley had decided to wait until we had multiple lines charged and ready before we opened the locked drive through door to the garage. This was my lucky day. Alan would be on the tip and I would get the chance to be right behind him after all.<br /><br />The padlock was broken and we began to crawl our way in. The fire was raging in a fairly large but confined area about 75 feet beyond the doorway. It was dark and smoky as we moved forward. Within 5 feet of entering the smoke, Alan dropped the nozzle and motioned to me that we were backing out. Apparently he had not taken enough time to put on his mask properly and was taking smoke in through the seal. He was going back outside to adjust it. As I picked up the tip I really knew it was my lucky day. Before I reentered I felt the presence of a second firefighter and turned to see Battalion Chief Dick Weller behind me. Dick was the training officer for the department and with 25+ years of experience there was no one else that would give me more comfort in this situation.<br /><br />We crawled our way into the building through heavy thick smoke. After about 60 feet we began our assault on the seat of the fire before us. In the meantime additional men and equipment began to arrive, setup and also make attacks.<br /><br />We had been working on our knees for about 20-25 minutes when I felt a loud, heavy thump on my left shoulder. It was Weller and through his mask he told me to we were to drop the tip and get out as fast as possible. I knew that something was wrong because in a typical situation you back out with the tip in your hand as others pulled the slack from the outside. His instructions were very clear and he pointed to the ceiling of the building. I knew his point was that the roof was coming in and we were in danger.<br /><br />Even though the smoke had cleared some it was still very difficult to see more than a foot or so in front of my face. I turned and immediately became disoriented. There was no way to find my bearings. Weller was there and calmly grabbed my hand and placed it on the hose. From that point my training kicked in and I simply crawled out to safety using the hose line as my guide.<br /><br />Within a minute after our exit the entire roof did collapse as expected and from that point on the firefight went from “offensive” to “defensive”, in that we conceded that we had lost this building and our job now as to contain it so that no other neighboring buildings were also lost.<br /><br />In less than one hour the Bishop Volunteer Fire Department was 100% committed to this fire. Of the 55 men on the department, 52 were on scene, 2 were out of town and one was home in bed with the flu. We were so committed that we asked an Engine Company from the neighboring town of Big Pine to come and sit at our station just in case a second call came in while we were mopping up at Green Motors.<br /><br />TO BE CONTINUED: Green Motors Fire – The Investigation (Part Two)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746655451568036751.post-83683586230063360042010-01-30T09:45:00.000-08:002010-01-30T11:36:57.621-08:00Let's Go Camping!!Well these are words that I don’t think Melodie will ever answer positively to again. We’ve done plenty of camping over the years but our last trip might have been the trip to end it all. Let me explain.<br /><br />This trip occurred over Memorial weekend 2008. It was sort of a last minute idea to hook our tent trailer to the pickup, put our road bikes in the back of the pickup and take ourselves up to the Skagit Valley; a lush, fertile valley about an hour and a half north of Seattle. The area is abundant with flat country roads perfect for cycling. When we weren’t riding we’d stay around camp and read and such. It was a perfect plan.<br /><br />The first challenge we has was to find a location. Since we had waited until just a week before the holiday we felt lucky to find a space at a KOA near Burlington. I’ve always thought of camping as fairly cheap, but campsites were $35 per night. Kind of pricey but that did include wireless internet near our site and since I was on call that weekend, that was an added bonus.<br /><br />As we were packing to leave on Friday morning I noticed my lawn was looking pretty shabby and since there was no time to get it done while camping I found a lawn maintenance company driving by that would give it a quick trim for just $40. Next we had to buy food and gas for the trip. Groceries came to about $100 and to fill the pickup was $55.<br /><br />We checked the weather and it looked like it might be cooler and wetter than we liked and might end up spending the weekend in the trailer. Rather than cancel the trip I went to Costco and bought a portable DVD player. That would be our plan if the weather was bad.<br /><br />We arrived at our site Friday afternoon and it wasn’t long before we were so cold that we needed to buy firewood from the KOA store. Each bundle was about $20.<br /><br />The first night was miserable. We couldn’t get our heater to work in the trailer and after waking discovered that the much needed, yet 5-year old battery, had died. Into town we went to buy the replacement battery. Oh, and it’s really too late to go back to camp and make breakfast so we decided to eat out in town.<br /><br />The rain was relentless. Alessandra and I tried to sit outside next to the fire, reading and playing cribbage, proving we were troopers, while Melodie stayed inside watching DVDs and reading. Over the weekend we continued to run back to the KOA store to pickup bundles of firewood. The weather never did get nice enough to even take the bikes out of the back of the pickup. Finally on Monday we took our wet selves back to home and took warm showers as they were much needed.<br /><br />On our trip home we did some quick calculations.<br /><br />3 nights stay at the KOA @ $35 = $ 115 <br />Lawn service = $ 40<br />Food for weekend = $ 100<br />Gas for pickup = $ 55<br />New battery = $ 60<br />Breakfast out = $ 45<br />DVD player = $ 100<br />5 bundles of firewood @ $20 = $ 100<br />Saturday evening ice cream social = $ 15<br /><br />Total for the cheap camping weekend $ 630<br /><br />After totaling this Melodie was a bit frustrated as she wasn’t 100% behind this camping weekend anyway. I was more optimistic about the weather, she was more realistic. But she looked at me and said that this may be her last camping trip. Her exact words were “For the money we spent we could have had 2 nights stay at the <a href="http://www.fourseasons.com/seattle/">Four Seasons Olympic</a> in downtown Seattle.” This might have been a better weekend.<br /><br />She was correct. I had no argument.<br /><br />Anyone want a tent trailer? It's a great way to have a cheap weekend away!!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746655451568036751.post-21556635182513786302010-01-05T17:55:00.000-08:002010-01-05T20:32:00.928-08:00The Comeback in the nick of time!You know those situations where you have an encounter, you don’t know what to say and then you mumble some lame, nonsensical comment, only to think of the perfect comeback hours later? Well me too, except for yesterday.<br /><br />I was standing at the Membership counter at Costco, waiting for the employee to finish with the current customer. Rather than standing right at the counter where I might make the employee uncomfortable, I stayed back about 3 or 4 feet from the counter. There was an older man, 75ish, in line behind me and just as the guy was finishing up with the first customer, the man walked past me and went up to the counter. <br /><br />The Costco employee finishes and then walks to where the old guy is and says “can I help you?” I’m waiting for him to point my way and reply, “no, he was first”. That didn’t happen and I was pretty hot about it. I didn’t say a thing, just simply stepped closer to the counter, making the employee nervous as previously avoided. He looks up and says “do you need something”, to which I reply “I was just waiting for you to help me.”<br /><br />The man who stepped past me looks my way, winks at me and then says, “I didn’t mean to cut in front of you.” This was the defining moment. I paused for a few seconds, looked directly at him and said, very clearly, “Actually, I think you did. You knew I was in line ahead of you, but you just decided that your time was more valuable than mine.” I think he was surprised that I didn’t just roll over. No further words were exchanged; no victory was obtained. But I felt a lot better for having given him my perspective, rather than simply raising my hand and saying, “no problem”. What do you think?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746655451568036751.post-56920325604521195512009-10-29T07:20:00.001-07:002009-10-29T14:38:30.468-07:00Mom & Dad, What Were You Thinking?This story goes back as far as the early 70s, long before I met Melodie but not before I first met a bicycle. For many troubled youths bicycling became an escape from a rough family life. They would travel into worlds unknown for as long as they could before returning home to a turbulent life. This was not the case for me.<br /><br />I loved being on a bike for the simple joy of having the air blow in my face. I love to hear the sounds and smell the smells. I don’t know, maybe I’m part cocker spaniel or something. Anyway, I have had a bike (or 2 or 3) ever since I was old enough to ride “a two wheeler”. I dreamed of one day taking my bike on the open road. I had little, ok no, idea of what that entailed; but I was going to do it someday. <br /><br />That day finally arrived in 1971, the summer between my years at James Monroe Jr. High and Burroughs High School. I don’t really recall where the genesis for this trip was but at some point my friend, Gary Woods, and I decided we would take a bike trip. I was 14 years old and Gary was 13 years old. Neither of us had a bike worthy of going but that didn’t deter us. Mine, was actually my sister Nancy’s bike, an old 10-speed Schwinn that she had paid $10 for at a yard sale. <br /><br />We didn’t have modern day “panniers” which are bags that are attached to the frame near each wheel, so we improvised with what we knew. Being avid backpackers we simply devised a plan to secure my backpack to the bike rack on the rear. Dad found some angle metal that allowed us to cut and fashion the perfect solution. Once completed, I could take my backpack, set it on the base of the frame, just above the rear wheel, and strap it to the uprights. Gary’s bike came over for the same retrofit job. Once loaded this 25-30 pound pack made the bike extremely heavy and unstable, the entire weight of it all resting on what were probably $.15 bolts (only 3) attached to the bike frame. <br /><br />Our plan, albeit loosely defined, was to get dropped of at Lone Pine where we would camp and fish for a few days and then we would ride our bikes back to Ridgecrest, a distance of 80 miles. The route would be Hwy 395, which even now is not a route I would call safe. Then it was mostly a 2-lane road with an occasional 3rd center lane for passing. The “bike lane” then and now could not have been more than 4 feet wide at its most generous point. <br /><br />My dad drove us to Lone Pine on the appointed day and dropped us off at Tuttle Creek Campground, just about ¾ of a mile from the town center. There was a stream for fresh water and bathrooms nearby. The proximity of the town would facilitate both food and entertainment. We each had about $20 for the 4-day trip, but since we expected to catch and eat most of our dinners that seemed very doable. <br /><br /> We explored town and many of the side streets on our bikes. One day we rode our bikes about 4 miles up Whitney Portal Road to where we found excellent fishing. We both caught our maximum, coasted back to our camp, unloaded and head back up to do it again. Our youthfulness knew no limits of energy. One day we rode north to Independence, a distance of 32 miles round trip, just to eat a burger and milk shake. I don’t remember if the burger joint was our destination or simply what we did to once we arrived at the smaller town and county seat. <br /><br />For four days and three nights we had an absolute blast. There were no beds to make, certainly no lawns to mow but best of all we were our own captains. We rode when we wanted, ate when we wanted, slept when we wanted and arose when we were good and ready. However there came a time when we were expected to be home so we prepared ourselves for the ride south. <br /><br />We woke early that day and packed up our equipment and loaded them on the bikes. This was really going to be our first effort to ride any considerable distance with the racks fully loaded. After a few miles I knew this was going to be tougher than expected. Although we each had one water bottle fitted snuggly in a new bottle cage recently purchased from Western Auto on China Lake Blvd, we had absolutely no training; we had no tools or extra equipment for repairs and to top it off we didn’t have a two pennies to rub together. <br /><br />I think my most vivid memory is of the heat and my unquenchable thirst. My water bottle became bone dry after 10 miles or so. At one point we were coasting down a hill and saw some greenery along side the road. There were a few cars pulled over there so we figured it must be a rest area of sorts and would certainly yield us more water for our bottles. We stopped. Not only was there no water to be had, we also lost all of our downhill momentum in the failed effort. <br /><br />We continued on and after 20 miles we were nearing Cartago. There wasn’t much there, and certainly less today, except an auto repair shop and a few homes. About a mile from town I spotted and retrieved from the side of the road an 8-inch Crescent Wrench that someone had the misfortune of losing. I put it in my pocket for safekeeping. <br /><br />Just as we were approaching Cartago part of the framework my dad and I had fashioned broke. This loose piece wanted to work its way into my spokes and made riding impossible. Now, you probably think that I’m going to tell you the wrench I found allowed me to fix the problem and triumphantly finish the ride. Not so. Who do you think I was, a 14-year old MacGyver? <br /><br />The breakdown was a big problem. It quickly became evident that this was a showstopper. Gary and I never talked about it but I believe both of us were somewhat relieved that we had an excuse to abandon the trip. In our youthful excitement we had clearly bitten off more than we could chew or swallow. Today I wonder if our parents knew this and were willing to simply let us learn a life lesson. If not, then I have to ask, “Mom and Dad, what were you thinking?” Were you crazy? We were just 13 and 14.<br /><br />Well, we limped our way into town and pulled into the auto repair shop. The mechanic took time to look at our problem and agreed there was no way to repair it without the likelihood that it would fail again just 5 miles down the road. We were going to have to call home to get rescued. <br /><br />We had no money……but I did have that wrench. With little hesitation I accepted the offer from the mechanic to trade that wrench for 4 quarters. It was enough to make the call home and buy each of us a pop to quench our thirst while we waited for the ride to show. <br /><br />I really wish I had pictures from this trip, as it was such a blast. Was it a failure? In some respects yes, and in other respects it was a launching pad to bigger and better things. I have continued to cycle since those days and have had much more success at planning and executing successful trips. Please see http://www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/ttfc for an example. Thanks for joining me on this adventure.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746655451568036751.post-910096930560650182009-08-19T12:07:00.000-07:002009-08-20T11:41:50.853-07:00It’s a Burger To GoEach year the BFD would host an awards dinner. We would take all of the engines out of the main bay at Station 1, sweep, mop, set up tables and chairs and throw ourselves a party. This was the one and only time when alcohol was available at the firehouse, as wine was served that night. You might think it’s stupid for the one and only fire department in town to start drinking together but it wasn’t really that way. There was always about 15 or 20 men who didn’t drink at any time and this was no exception. Addtionally there were always designated firemen who were not allowed to leave the city limits. We called this “on standby” and this assignment rotated every 2 weeks. These 5 men had to stay at the firehouse even if the rest of us left the city limits. The logic being that we needed to be able to respond with a full engine company to the city limits at any given time. If you were designated as “on standby” during this dinner you also couldn’t drink. So, out of 55 firemen there were nearly half there that didn’t drink wine that night. Now that I have managed to digress a bit, I’ll continue. <br /><br />This special awards dinner was the culminating night of the year for everyone. Awards and promotions were given and we wanted to honor each other and do so in front of our families that supported us throughout the year. I remember that every year as the event approached, Phil Moxley, the fire chief would always remind us to bring our families and guests in this manner, “Bring your wife or your girlfriend, but please don’t bring both. We don’t need that kind of mess that night”. <br /><br />Here is another digression that I must take. At this dinner there were nearly 100 -120 people. Some had attended the dinner for years, others were new to the department or had just recently married or begun dating a fireman, but it was a huge crowd. Every year, Stan Lloyd, the Assistant Fire Chief would get up and without notes introduce everyone in attendance. He would simply go down the tables and say “This is Steve Perkins and his wife Melodie, next to them is Ray Walker and his date, Susan. Across from them is longtime friend of the fire department and widow of…..”, until everyone in that room was introduced. Occasionally he’d have to pause to remember a name of someone he had just met that night, but he’d do an amazing job. At the end there would be an applause. It was awesome.<br /><br />Anyway, because the dinner was hosted by the members, we created a committee of about 5 guys to plan and present the awards, etc. For many years I was on that committee and enjoyed taking the time to plan and prepare. This required about 5 or 6 meetings in the months just proceeding the dinner. One Tuesday night I had barely made it home from work in time for the meeting so I simply picked up a couple of burgers and arrived just as the meeting started. <br /><br />We began our discussion and I started chowing down my first burger. It was so good, because I was so hungry. I was only a few bites into it when our pagers went off, “Attention Bishop Volunteers, Attention Bishop Volunteers, please respond to an auto accident, with possible extrication at North Sierra Highway and Tu Su Lane.” Before the announcement was finished we were all scrambling for the trucks. I ended up dressed and in the driver’s seat of Engine 5, our utility vehicle. I fired it up and realized since we were at the station it was still going to 2-3 minutes for enough men to staff that rig before I could roll. I hopped out, leaving Frank Carr in the passenger side and ran back and got my 2 burgers. <br /><br />Shortly we had our crew and headed north on Main Street, full lights, siren and air horn, which by the way is so fun you wouldn’t believe it. <br />After a few blocks Frank looked over at me and said, “What are you doing?” It was at that point I realized I was driving code 3 with one hand and eating my burger with the other. I just looked him and said, “it’s a burger to go”, reached in the pocket of my jacket, pulled out my second and offered it up. “Do you want one?” <br /><br />At this point we started laughing so hard at our ridiculous situation that it made it very tough to continue, but we managed to settle down by the time we had to pick up the radio and transmit, “Engine 5 to Bishop Base, We are on scene and in service”.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746655451568036751.post-75999911352725114952009-07-22T09:10:00.000-07:002009-07-22T09:19:24.721-07:00A sheepish Standby CallI should have known this was going to be different. It was very unusual for my fire pager to go off and request a crew without being specific what the need was. This was one of those unusual calls.<br /><br />It began about 2:00 in the morning. I don’t recall what year, but it was a wintery night. My pager went off like this, “Attention Bishop Volunteers, Attention Bishop Volunteers, We need a standby crew to report to Station 1 for assignment”. My assumption was that we were receiving snow and needed to chain up trucks “just in case”. <br /><br />I got dressed into my turnouts and drove to the firehouse with a bit less urgency than normal. My thoughts raced as questions entered my mind. If we needed to chain trucks, wouldn’t we do so at all 3 stations? And, how come I don’t see any snow at all?<br /><br />I arrived at station 1 within minutes of the call. I stood and waited with the others until Chief Phil Moxley explained our assignment. North of town there was a wide sweeping turn near the “town” of Laws. It was a turn that could be taken at 50 mph, but not on an icy night. This particular night a tractor and trailer rig hauling a load of sheep was heading south and had not successfully negotiated this turn. It was on its side with the sheep trapped in the trailer. We needed to get the sheep out before a Class 1 wrecker could even attempt to right it.<br /><br />We arrived on scene to find the scene exactly as described. There were about 200 sheep in this trailer that lay on its side. We had access to the side door but because the way the trailer was, that door was about 8 feet in the air. There was no way we could lift that many sheep to safety. <br /><br />We made the decision to cut a section out of the back of the trailer, using a metal cutting saw blade and the Jaws of Life. It was harder work than imagined and we only opened a hole large enough to send small men in and sheep out. There was no way these sheep would exit on their own. Many sheep had not survived the accident and others were trapped beneath them. Those that were free were so scared from the accident and then from the equipment we used that they weren’t going anywhere near the hole we had just created. <br /><br />We sent 3 men in; John Williamson, Dick Weller and Donny Kunze. All 3 were about 5’6” or so and weighed about 150 lbs. The sheep were scared beyond imagination. Most had urinated on themselves or each other. Add that smell to the natural sweet smell of 200 sheep, coupled with a cold crisp windless night and you had a situation that was nearly unbearable. It was great to be 6’1” at that time because the work inside the trailer was horrific.<br /><br />My job along with the other 15 or so guys was to herd the sheep as they exited. Once the 3 men inside got a “victim” outside, the sheep would run the first direction it saw, which in most cases was back towards the highway. We had to grab and stop them, settle them down and give them a shove back towards the rest of the herd that was slowly growing about 75 yards from US Hwy 6.<br /><br />After about 4 or 5 hours, we eventually extricated all of the living sheep but there were more than 80 that did not survive. Even though they were “just sheep” it remains a tragedy that could have been avoided by a more cautious driver.<br /><br />Oh…my turnouts were not allowed in the house for weeks. They continued to smell like sheep urine and the only way to resolve this was to continuously scrub them and let them sit in the sun day after day after day, until the smell was gone.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746655451568036751.post-42384363490711819032009-06-05T06:37:00.001-07:002009-06-05T06:52:00.463-07:00Happy Birthday Melodie - 2009Wow…it wasn’t easy converting my thoughts about Alessandra to words. This task however may prove to be impossible. Alas, challenging as it may be, I must try. There is no way that I can write a tribute to my wife in a page or two, but I will try my best to convey through images some of our experiences.<br /><br />I first met Melodie in the fall of 1973. She was a 14 year old, giggly, outgoing freshman in high school. I, on the other hand, was a sophisticated junior. We were introduced by Melodie’s sister Candy, whom we lost to an untimely death in April 2005. It was my opinion that she was about the cutest girl to ever step foot on that campus. I didn’t let on to that but simply kept that opinion stored away.<br /><br />Melodie & her mother Charlotte - 1976<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4zB82Emu3kBu4wlgJn1P-YJP-KsUcm5zzvJredE3vAAlz5e5w6npJTpAi8IvnSgK28WxzAFWqTQti4rvIw6jPE3zbCrdZbngQKok5OtndlotaWywGkfyeZcOwKNo7kEfF3RqFnPwC8CU/s1600-h/scan0005.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343837346820755554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 226px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4zB82Emu3kBu4wlgJn1P-YJP-KsUcm5zzvJredE3vAAlz5e5w6npJTpAi8IvnSgK28WxzAFWqTQti4rvIw6jPE3zbCrdZbngQKok5OtndlotaWywGkfyeZcOwKNo7kEfF3RqFnPwC8CU/s320/scan0005.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>My best friend, Gary Tharp, and I would go to the campus early enough to sit down in the main portion of “The Quad”. Like most of our days we had no real purpose, other than to entertain ourselves at anyone else’s expense.<br /><br />Melodie and her seminary carpool would arrive on campus shortly there after and walk past us. Occasionally she would stop to say hi, or wave as she passed, always with that awesome smile that has brought me so much joy over the years. One day after she gave me an encouraging look, I turned to my friend and said, “I’m gonna marry that girl someday.”<br /><br />Our friendship continued for the next few years, most of that time spent somewhere between good acquaintances and friends. Let me just say that even though we had a few common interests, we ran in different circles.<br /><br />After my High School graduation, I left town and went to Bakersfield to work and attend college. I returned to Ridgecrest (R/C) in the early fall of 1976 and spent much of my leisure time with my very good friend Dave Colpitts.<br /><br />Melodie in front of my pickup - 1977<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCJMiI8H4Fx_Zrp42hS-ge-XBe4t0L0nx-lcNhPAYADBVDsEY0vENl22WW1VjnI9pD_QMhd-aB0CfDhc5VZfrq9h4PRMwTw-h0T68XeWF1b6zTiXkpGHXJLS44hOLOktQziQeGcPtX0kc/s1600-h/scan0006.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343837928278675698" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 220px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCJMiI8H4Fx_Zrp42hS-ge-XBe4t0L0nx-lcNhPAYADBVDsEY0vENl22WW1VjnI9pD_QMhd-aB0CfDhc5VZfrq9h4PRMwTw-h0T68XeWF1b6zTiXkpGHXJLS44hOLOktQziQeGcPtX0kc/s320/scan0006.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />One evening Dave and I were walking through K-Mart when this same giggly, outgoing, now 17 year old senior literally jumped out from behind a clothing rack to stop me. She had seen me approaching and wanted to be sure to say “hi”. Well in the midst of our conversation she asked how long I had been back in R/C. When I replied, “since September”, she quickly retorted with these exact words. “You’ve been back for 4 months and you haven’t called me yet?” I stumbled out a befuddled reply, “er, I guess I’ll have to”. She confidently said, “Yes, it’s in the phonebook, on Coral”. She then turned on her toes and walked away.<br /><br />Even with that obvious provocation, it took me 3 weeks to muster the courage to call her. Well I did and we had our first date on January 25, 1977 when we went to see the movie “Noah’s Ark” which was showing at the Ridge Theater.<br /><br />We were inseparable for many weeks until I moved north to Bishop California where I had started a job as a firefighter with the California Dept. of Forestry. Unfortunately time and distance caused us to break it off after months of a “long distance” relationship. A work injury and 2 subsequent surgeries brought me back to R/C for recuperation later that year.<br /><br />Melodie at my parents house - 1977 (no wonder I was twitterpated, sheeze)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixAYIsjZE1h8-cL47mowfvHB6hbenPnxUDNYXe0k_jhEqdbVwGQFipKflKm4i1BgIqbuZ1FhY___RHx2PXK6JfiqJQCD7EHBHRSUN6RljREYW40FVDh3_YCeoGpy74vwGRHzBbNer9H5s/s1600-h/scan0007.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343838294529028690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 254px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixAYIsjZE1h8-cL47mowfvHB6hbenPnxUDNYXe0k_jhEqdbVwGQFipKflKm4i1BgIqbuZ1FhY___RHx2PXK6JfiqJQCD7EHBHRSUN6RljREYW40FVDh3_YCeoGpy74vwGRHzBbNer9H5s/s320/scan0007.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />I got in touch with her and she came by for a visit with her friend Kathy Kruse. It must have been extremely awkward for Kathy, because I felt there was this instant spark and rekindle between us and it seem like Kathy wasn’t even there as we visited.<br /><br />Well, we’ve been together ever since. We were engaged in 1978 and married in 1979. Our union has brought me immense joy and satisfaction. Melodie has always been a blast to be with, always with a positive attitude. Never has there been a worry about what her mood would be like. She is fun, laughable, loveable, and beautiful beyond looks, caring, giving, and selfless.<br /><br />Melodie in San Diego - 1978<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3rqMrCZ3VrXZsb7fKcLw5Ahw65h9U2F96cPK-OgZzKGyXXEahIC6biKTW1nE0KhEoz4D-hpWkXAycwrqufs5lif-9AtPQ-pgDLPnBu0YIqXYGC7DP4ckOwTXTks9ZGPmYy9WT8g3mRb0/s1600-h/scan0008.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 234px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3rqMrCZ3VrXZsb7fKcLw5Ahw65h9U2F96cPK-OgZzKGyXXEahIC6biKTW1nE0KhEoz4D-hpWkXAycwrqufs5lif-9AtPQ-pgDLPnBu0YIqXYGC7DP4ckOwTXTks9ZGPmYy9WT8g3mRb0/s320/scan0008.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343838944851869506" /></a><br />We celebrated 30 years (28 beautiful years, not bad out of 30) just last April. I wonder how and why she invested so much in me. I’ll never understand her commitment to me but will always appreciate it. She is my rock, my buddy and pal, my partner in crime, my cycling mate, and the one who keeps me motivated. She has provided me with 3 daughters that bring such joy and blessings into my life.<br /><br />Melodie & first fish - 1979 Bishop California<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcYrcUdPcvjwPKTFcQcxreVzN2EEYTsuROPkwafXdQzIBKLesb0DG_8f3wT_KzyLQ5MZpj5vZvC5tMoif0orCtM_Fg6h0pQxOBDpE1H2Mbs1_-DCoVBBZH8h5y0NhmSB9FlhyQiGWNie4/s1600-h/scan0009.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 234px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcYrcUdPcvjwPKTFcQcxreVzN2EEYTsuROPkwafXdQzIBKLesb0DG_8f3wT_KzyLQ5MZpj5vZvC5tMoif0orCtM_Fg6h0pQxOBDpE1H2Mbs1_-DCoVBBZH8h5y0NhmSB9FlhyQiGWNie4/s320/scan0009.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343840628395340610" /></a><br /><br />So, Melodie , Happy Birthday**. I love you….looking forward to many more of these great years with you.<br /><br />(** Editorial note: This was posted one day late ‘cause yesterday was just crazy busy.)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746655451568036751.post-24899795153447652732009-06-01T10:53:00.001-07:002009-06-01T10:58:14.198-07:00"I'm a Walker"For some reason I am feeling a bit nostalgic this morning. It’s not because I turned 50 a few years ago; it’s not because Melodie is about to turn 50; it’s not because we recently celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary; it’s not because my mom just became a great-grandma on the 28th of May (welcome Ryder Walden); I think it’s because my youngest, the baby of the family, our little boogerbutt is turning 18 on Wednesday.<br /><br />Wow…I remember very vividly the day she was born. It was in Bishop, California and she was my third daughter. For some reason I was in much better shape mentally to be a positive part of this birth and it was a great experience for me. After all of Melodie’s hard work the nurses whisked her off to be gently washed and wrapped so that I could hold her. They handed her to me a few minutes later and I didn’t let her go for nearly 4 hours. I’m not even sure I looked up at Melodie much. I studied that face and without really trying I had it memorized. It’s not that I was worried about it, but I thought to myself if someone mistakenly swaps babies, I’ll know it right away. I could have picked her out of 100 little girls, with one eye open and both hands tied behind my back.<br /><br />At the time I had Sundays and Mondays off. Melodie said to me, “I don’t think that we can afford to send her to Mama Gail’s on Monday too, you’ll need to watch her by yourself.” Now even before Melodie had said that I just always assumed that I would be super dad on Mondays.<br /><br />Monday did become my favorite day. While she slept I tidied the house, when she was awake I held her. As she got older, I would hold her in my arms and we spent hours dancing together to country music. (No wonder she considers herself a country girl). When she was a toddler we baked bread and made homemade bagels together as we waited for her older sisters to get home from school. Once they were in the house, I was forgotten as she moved on to play with them. She never knew she was younger than the others, always thinking she should be doing what they did.<br /><br />When she was about 4 she wanted to learn to ride a 2 wheeler, as trikes were for kids. We put her on a tiny little black bike and started her out on the grass. This way is she fell down she would at least land on soft grass rather than pavement or concrete. Within days she was ready to graduate to harder surface so she could increase speed and momentum.<br /><br />I took her next door to the parking lot of the Kindergarten at Elm St. School. She managed to ride very well right away, but it was amazing because with all that room to park 100-150 cars, she couldn't help but ride in circles around me and kept running into my legs. My shins were bruised for days.<br /><br />It wasn’t long before she headed to Kindergarten class. He teacher was Mrs. White, who drove a Black VW bug and also Mrs. Black, who drove a white car. Our house was about 60 yards from the front door of the kindergarten class so she was expected to walk home. If you didn’t ride a bus, the teachers would put a yarn necklace around your neck with a laminated card that read, “I’m a Walker. I still have that card, it’s hanging with my bike tools in the garage.<br /><br />She has been a walker, and often a runner, ever since, never slowing down to accomplish something she wanted to do. Like her two older sisters, Charlotte and Cara, she has made being a dad very easy, and extremely rewarding. With all my girls they succeed despite my limited efforts. I have had people tell me how good my girls are and what nice ladies they have become and I simply tell them that I just stayed out of the way.<br /><br />In 2005, Ali and I rode hundreds of miles together on our tandem bike while we circumvented Washington State as we raised awareness for Celiac Disease. What a champ she was and continues to be.<br /><br />So Alessandra graduates and heads to college soon. We will have an empty nest before fall sets in. A part of me is looking forward to this time but most of me is really sad. I love my girls. I miss having them around as much as they used to be. On the other hand I am so proud of who they are all becoming and it’s exciting to watch them grow.<br /><br />So, to Alessandra, Ali, Alioops, Alibaba, AliBob, Bob & Robert; I wish you the best years to come. Thanks for the chance to be your dad.<br /><br />Remember, You ARE a Walker.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746655451568036751.post-39953367745248416472009-05-24T21:47:00.001-07:002009-05-24T21:51:20.276-07:00"Dodge Darts" Anyone?So the other day I was listening to my favorite radio talk show host, Dori Monson. He read a news story where an “adult” was injured slightly while playing “Lighter Fluid Tag”. His clothes had caught fire and it seems he was burned a bit.<br /><br />Duh… Apparently the game is played by squirting some lighter fluid on your own clothes. The fluid is lit by someone else while you try to put the fire out. You are “IT” until you put it out and can then light someone else on fire and the whole process starts over.<br /><br />Well this led to a radio discussion of how stupid these guys were but it didn’t take long for the conversation to change to all the stupid things the rest of us had done, including some surprisingly near death experiences. Turns out these morons weren’t that different at all.<br /><br />So at dinner that night Ali asks me to tell the story of “Dodge Darts”. Apparently mom had put her up to it. Well I told it and of course then realized it needs to be put on my blog of stories.<br /><br />So here goes nothing…..<br /><br />This story begins in the 60s when I was about 7 or 8 years old. My family was headed over to Bill and Marilyn Porter’s house for dinner one night. David and I were dressed and ready to go while the rest of the family was pulling it together. It was cool fall evening so we were wearing sweaters with stylish baggy sleeves.<br /><br />We headed outside and before we know it we found a dart with a sharp metal tip. We tossed it around for a bit and then we had the bright idea to begin a game of “Dodge Darts”. We had never played before and rules were not established. That didn’t matter as each of us soon realized the dart is thrown at you and it was your job to avoid it.<br /><br />Because David was 10 years old, was much more skilled, and carried an ornery streak, he was much better at this than I was. Before we both knew it he had landed a solid strike in my inner forearm of my left arm. He looked at me, I looked at him and neither of us had the nerve to pull it out. At this exact moment my parents came out the back door with the announcement. “in the car, let’s go”. I acted quickly. Knowing my dad would be furious at our stupidity I did what any smart kid had would do. I pulled my rolled up sweater sleeve back down to my wrist and hid the dart under it. “That’ll fix it”, I thought. “We’ll just deal with this later”.<br /><br />Well the drive to the Porters was at least 15 minutes to get from our house and onto the base. We had a good dinner but I really wasn’t in the mood for much food. The dinner had been served and all the kids were in the backyard tossing balls, climbing trees, etc. I, for some reason, felt more like sitting inside with the adults and remaining still. It had probably been about an hour and a half since the initial impact and I was turning green.<br /><br />My dad came over and said to me, “Son, why are you sitting in here with us old folks, why don’t you go out and play with the others?” By this time I was about in tears from the pain in my arm. I tried but couldn’t utter a word. I simply reached down and pulled the sleeve of my sweater up to my elbow exposing the dart still stuck in my left arm.<br /><br />Well I don’t remember exactly what happened after that. I am pretty sure my dad pulled it out….hold on…yeah it’s gone. I don’t recall what kind of trouble I got into for that stunt but if history repeats itself I would guess that I went to bed as soon as we got home and David was given seconds on dessert.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746655451568036751.post-10705951362760728532009-05-14T09:50:00.000-07:002009-05-14T17:28:27.240-07:00"a helluva job”It is my experience that firemen are really just boys who have grown up enough to play with fire and do it legally. During training sessions we built our own fires, the bigger the better, and practiced putting them out. The day we were given an abandoned house “to burn”, was like winning the lottery. It was what we enjoyed doing.<br /><br />That being said, there is nothing worse for a fireman, especially a volunteer, than having days or even weeks go by without a fire call. I know that this sounds weird, but it gets depressing. Well this story begins at the end of a 3-week dry spell for fires in Bishop California.<br /><br />Our pagers went off at about 4:00 in the afternoon. “Attention Bishop Volunteers, Attention Bishop Volunteers, we have a report of a brush fire in Round Valley near Horton Creek Campground, Please respond.” Immediately my heart pounded. Was it excitement, was it joy, or a combination? Who cares!!<br /><br /><br />I responded to Station 1 and knew that we were to take the large brush trucks. I jumped into Engine 14 and looked to the driver’s seat to see Hugh Henderson. Hugh had joined the fire department a few years after I had, but was very experienced and I had no concerns about responding with him as the Engineer. I preferred to be “just” the firefighter on this rig anyway because the action was better. I would get to stand on the front deck and run the permanently mounted nozzle as Hugh slowly inched the former military AWD vehicle through the fire scene.<br /><br />As we approached the scene, which was about 10 miles from the firehouse we could see a large column of black smoke. We got so excited that we looked at each other and then shared an enthusiastic high five amidst our whooping and hollering. We knew that there was going to be lots of action and we would tackle a good portion of it.<br /><br />As we pulled onto the scene we could see that nearly 60 acres were already blackened, smoldering or on fire. The area was completely fenced with a barbed wire and 6x6 post fencing. We came to a stop and Phil Moxley, the fire chief, stepped up onto the side running board. He looked at us and he said, “There is a CDF (California Dept. of Forestry) truck that has gotten themselves in a bit of a pickle. They went too far into the fire scene and the engine on their truck has died. They can’t get it restarted and the crew of 4 is in danger. Go in and get ‘em out.” Knowing there was no time to find a gate to enter, he looked at the fence then back at Hugh and said, "take it out".<br /><br />Hugh put the 6 wheel drive vehicle in low gear and we proceeded to simply drive over the fence line, knocking down fence post and wire as if it were made of balsam wood.<br /><br />We went directly to the stranded crew, attached a chain to the front of their vehicle and with little or no effort we were able to pull them about 200 yards into the burn area** and to safety. Here the CDF mechanics would be able to restart the engine without any concerns of safety.<br /><br />(note: ** When you are on a brush fire and you are in danger of being overrun by a fire that may have turned back, the safest place to be is “in the burn”. It’s hard for a fire to come back through and burn an area that has been burned previously. It might be smoky, but it is safe.)<br /><br />Once this crew was safe we could put our efforts into fire suppression. By this time Engine 9 had also arrived and between the 2 of us and one small dozer from the US Forest Service, we knocked that fire down in a few hours. Our tactic was to attack each flank with a different rig and try to pinch it at the point. This took careful work as the fire could always flare back up behind you and surprise you. Once we and Engine 9 met at the point we had pretty much surrounded the entire fire with only a few small spot fires within. This allowed the local hand crews, staffed by prisoners, to complete the mop up work.<br /><br />The engine crew we had saved still had not been able to get their rig running so we really handled the fire all by ourselves, even though it was within the jurisdiction of the CDF. And to top it off we managed to keep it from running up the face of Mt. Tom, which would have been extremely disastrous as the fire entered the Inyo National Forest.<br /><br />As if the fire fighting that day hadn’t been enough, the crowning moment was when the Chief for the CDF station came on the radio and said for all of humanity to hear, “you Bishop boys did a helluva a job out there today.”Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746655451568036751.post-63505319719117270072009-05-04T06:44:00.001-07:002009-05-04T06:50:24.600-07:00Where in the world is Alessandra from?For years we have been astounded at the individuals that will ask Alessandra what race she is. She has had school chums ask her if she was part black, part Mexican, full Mexican or Asian. I mean to tell you this has happened probably 40 or more times over the past 8 years or so. It’s uncanny.<br /><br />What is even stranger is that people will ask her are you “fill-in-the-blank”? And the most common fill in the blank is “Guatemalan”. I once was talking with a ward member who had served a 2-year mission in Guatemala and I asked him his opinion about this. His answer was, “you know I can see it. Put her in native dress and she definitely would pass as a Guatemalan native”. Crazy!!<br /><br />Anyway the reason I bring this up, the other day Ali was cleaning her room and came a cross a notebook where she had written down a few of these exchanges with strangers and/or school mates. Here are a few good ones.<br /><br />1. The three of us are at Taco Bell in Yakima. Ali is holding our table while Melodie and I order the food. Her hair is braided very tightly for a week of Young Women’s Camp. A 60ish black woman walks by and stops. She says, “Who braided your hair?” Ali replies with “My mom”. The woman says back, “Oh is she black?”<br /><br />2. Troy, a black student in the high school band, asks Ali to produce a picture of her mom. He wants to figure out why she turned out so “not white”.<br /><br />3. While on a trip to Washington DC after 8th grade a young lady, who has one white parent and one black parent confesses that she thought Ali was always of the same parentage.<br /><br />4. During a band performance the Saxophone section queries Ali.<br /><br />Saxes: Are you black?<br />Ali: No I’m not.<br />Saxes: Asian?<br />Ali: No.<br />Saxes: You mean you’re white?<br />Ali: Yes.<br />Saxes: You sure you’re not Puerto Rican?<br /><br />All this racial background and there’s no college money. Where is the “<strong>Guatemalan/Part Black/Asian/Maybe Puerto Rican College Fund</strong>” when you need it? It’s just not right.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746655451568036751.post-21231564282966722582009-04-27T10:30:00.000-07:002009-04-27T10:35:28.331-07:00Me, Bucky and a Standby CrewBishop Fire Dept had a well-established rule that rookies of 2 years or less could not ride on the first responding engine unless he was the third man. The logic being that the engineer had to run the pump upon arrival and if you were the only other first responder you should have more than 2 years experience and know what hose to deploy and how to do it effectively and safely. <br /><br />This rule applied to both Standby Crews and a full response fire alarm. Let me explain the difference. 9 times out of 10 our pagers would go off and we would respond Code 3, full lights and siren, to the scene. Other times we would be asked to send a “standby crew”, which meant send one or 2 trucks to help out with a situation or to check out a situation further pending a full response. We would drive the speed limit and not use any lights or sirens to respond to a standby call. Examples of a standby crew call would be to help free a horse whose foot had gotten stuck inside a cattle gate, or maybe to a small brush fire the size of a bathroom that had no chance of spreading. <br /><br />This particular day in 1985 our pagers went off, “Attention Bishop Volunteers, Attention Bishop Volunteers, please send a standby crew to the 2900 block of Mesquite Drive to check a report of an electrical smell”. I responded, as did others, to Station 1 and Jeff “Bucky” Stewart was firing up Engine 10. Bucky was always excitable and did all but order me into Engine 10. He wanted to get going and didn’t want to wait. I reminded him that I was a rookie and shouldn’t respond in Engine 10, to which he replied, “it’s only a standby call…get in”.<br /><br />We headed west on W. Line Street and less than a block later our pagers went off again. “Attention Bishop Volunteers, callers report a heavy electrical smell.” We continued on and once more our pagers went off 2 blocks later, “Attention Bishop Volunteers, we now have a report of smoke coming from electrical sockets”. As we debated whether we should hit the lights and siren our pagers went off a third time in less than 5 blocks, “Attention Bishop Volunteers, this is now a possible structure fire”. <br /><br />By this time I realized someone was going to have a word with me about why I was on Engine 10 as a rookie. I was getting more nervous and our pagers went off one last time, Attention Bishop Volunteers, attention Bishop Volunteers, we have a fully involved structure fire, please respond full Code”. <br /><br />We were at the intersection of W. Line and Home Street, a distance of only 7 blocks from the firehouse and this call had escalated from a standby call to a fully involved structure fire. Amazing! I looked at Bucky and wondered what he had gotten me into. <br /><br />We arrived on scene to find the fire was contained in the garage, but it was ‘burning good” as we used to say. As Bucky put the PTO in gear and started the pump I pulled the 1 ½" line off the middle compartment and stretched it toward the garage. We carried about 400 gallons, our pump at full capacity would deliver 150 gallons per minutes; so that meant that I had just under 3 minutes to get a handle on this fire all the time praying that Engine 4 would be right behind us. <br /><br />Well, we did a good job that day. We managed to knock the fire down enough for Engine 4 to come in and complete the mop up with its payload. The assistant Fire Chief, Stan Lloyd came up to me and complimented my efforts, turned to walk away and then paused. He looked up and said don’t get yourself in that situation again, Perkins.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746655451568036751.post-36483240316912186452009-04-11T13:55:00.000-07:002009-04-11T20:16:41.022-07:00Alessandra – Seldom at a loss for wordsI have a couple of stories that will illustrate Alessandra’s vocal skills. Not only can she talk a lot, but she can “say the darndest things”. <br /><br />1. Until she entered Kindergarten she spent much of her days at “Mama Gail’s”, which was at Gail Paul’s, her babysitter. It seemed like so much happened during those short hours that during the 7 minute drive home she would just talk my ear off. If she got done with her stories before we got home then she’d just start back at the beginning and go through them again. <br /><br />One particular day, when she was about 3, my mind was mulling over a technical problem at work and I just wasn’t up for any noise beyond what was already going on in my head. As she began a rerun of story she’d just finished, I stopped her rather abruptly. “Ali”, I said “you’ve gotta stop talking, I need to think”. There was a brief silence until I glanced over at her and noticed she was quite upset. She looked at me through her glistening eyes and quietly said, ‘I just don’t know how to stop”. <br /><br />2. In the mid 90s we got our first cellular phone. It was that ever-popular Motorola flip phone that weighed about 2.5 pounds. One day when she was 3 years old we let her place a call to one of Melodie’s friends. They talked for just a few minutes and then she hung up. She handed her mom the phone back and with no emotion whatsoever said, ‘hmm, now I know how to use a cell phone”, as if it was on a “to do’ list to be checked off.<br /><br />3. About this same time we were driving in my pickup on North Main Street in Bishop. A 60s era Chevy El Camino passed us on the roadway. She exclaimed, “Hey Dad….look at that thing. It’s not really a car and it’s not really a truck. What’s the point?” I looked at her and in all the seriousness I could muster simply uttered back. “That’s a question that no one is able to answer.”<br /><br />Oops….gotta run, Ali’s calling on the phone.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746655451568036751.post-86970923363189223642009-04-05T08:19:00.000-07:002009-04-05T17:20:22.020-07:00Who’s Gonna Kick Daddy’s Butt?When I joined the fire department in 1984, they gave me a BFD ball cap and a badge. Eventually I was given a white uniform shirt with Bishop Fire Department and American flag patches, etc. This shirt along with a clean pair of Wranglers and cowboy boots combined to make our “dress uniform”. Why we had a dress uniform is beyond me. We seldom wore them except during Fire Prevention Week each October, at parades and solemnly at funerals. <br /><br />Regardless of the reason I had one, I was very proud of it. It was a source of much pride and unfortunately, in my case, much trouble. <br /><br />The story begins in January of 1988. It had been a cold, snowy day in Bishop and when we all got home from work and school it was decided that we would go get some dinner. The four of us (pre Alessandra) all piled into our 1986 Nissan Sentra and headed through the dark of the night to El Charro Avitia on North Main St. We liked going to this place because Melodie knew the owner and half the time he’d walk by us and take our bill from us before we could pay it.<br /><br />While driving there, a large Ford truck turned into the lane next to me and nearly cut me off. When the driver saw how close it was he made a pivotal decision. Rather than slow down and come in the lane behind me, the driver gunned it and whipped in front of me, fishtailing as he did so. This only served to further fuel the ire that had welled up almost instantly. <br /><br />The actions of the driver caused me to presume it was a 17 year old local boy with no common sense and I began the chase. I pulled up along side of him just to see what this idiot looked like. Without any thought to the matter and certainly no thought to the potential outcome I whipped out my fire department badge and flashed it at the driver. After all, this kid wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between my badge and a cop’s badge. He needed to learn a lesson and I, in my wisdom, had appointed myself the teacher. <br /><br />As the badge was flashed I realized this wasn’t a kid at all, it was an adult. By the look on his face I could tell he had taken notice. Well….it didn’t matter; even adults, lousy driving adults, could use a scare now and then. <br /><br />I pulled ahead and by this time had passed my destination. Chips and Salsa were calling and I wasn’t going to waste any more time with this guy. I pulled into the Copeland Lumber parking lot so that I could turn south on Main St and back to dinner. I look in the mirror…geez this guy pulls in behind me and by now I can tell he’s a big dude.<br /><br />I’m already getting looks from Melodie for flashing the badge, but I take off anyway and head south, but this guy follows me South on Main St. Now I don’t want to give you the wrong impression of my wife, because she is awesome in every situation. However, the first words out her mouth are, “he’s gonna kick your butt.” She repeated this several times as I headed south.<br /><br />Cara and Charlotte unbuckle themselves and start defrosting the rear window with the sleeves of their jackets, all the time 5 year old Cara is asking, “who’s gonna kick daddy’s butt…who’s gonna kick daddy’s butt?” I tell the girls to sit back down and put their belts on. They do so as Cara asks again, "but who's gonna kick your butt daddy?". <br /><br />By this time I decide that if that is going to happen it’s going to be at the police station. I drive there and park on the side of the station, all the while I was pretending I never saw this guy following me. <br /><br />With all the confidence that Melodie had recently instilled in me I stepped from the car only to find he had parked behind me and was exiting his truck too. This guy was huge, probably 6 inches and 100 pounds bigger than me. He called out, “hey, I wanna talk to you”. I looked up and feigned that I was surprised to see him. He continued, “man I owe you an apology…I’m a retired state police from Nevada and I was way out of line back there. I was trying to get your attention, didn’t you see me?” I answered that I hadn’t seen him behind me at all. <br /><br />After a few minutes of his apologizing and my accepting of his apology, he asked, “so what were you doing here?” Once again, quick on my feet, I declared, “this is the police station; I was going in to file a report.” Of course we agreed that there was no reason to do so. <br /><br />After about 5 minutes of visiting by the hood of his truck we shook hands and departed company. The whole time the occupants of my car were staring through the rear window at the exchange we were having. I entered the car to Melodie’s silence. Finally she broke it, “what happened”, she asked? I thought for a moment and said, “I gave him a warning.” <br /><br />From that moment on my fire department badge went on a long sabbatical, only returning to my possession in time to wear it to a funeral of longtime firefighter and friend of the department, Bobby Richards.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746655451568036751.post-58115473281305129212009-04-02T11:10:00.000-07:002009-04-02T11:33:55.541-07:00Another Face to Face Encounter with a CHiP<strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">** Be warned. This story will make no sense if you read it before you read the post below. Proceed at your own puzzlement **<br /></span></strong><br />So one afternoon, about 2 years after the day I said NO to the CHiP officer I was traveling in my silver Nissan pickup eastbound on W. Line St. Alessandra was in the pickup with me, probably in her car seat, and undoubtedly talking. This talking may have been the root of the problem because where the speed limit lowers drastically from 45 to 35 and then quickly to 25 I was not paying attention to my speed. This implies that I was paying attention to Alessandra’s stories, but that may not be true either. I digress.<br /><br />Somewhere between the 45 mph zone and the 25 mph zone I was traveling about 35 mph, or possibly more. Next thing I know lights are flashing behind me and I am pulled over between See Vee Lane and Sunland Ave. It’s the California Highway Patrol.<br /><br />Interestingly he pulled in front and then walked back towards where I was stopped. I recognized him immediately. It was THAT officer. I braced myself for the worst. I knew this was going to be costly.<br /><br />He approached my window and we exchanged all the obligatory documents and he stepped back to his car and presumably “ran my plates”. As he walked back towards the truck he noticed the red and white “Fire Dept.” reflective sticker mounted above my license plate and took silent notice of it. I must have come back clean because he gave me a warning to “keep your speed down”, and he sent me on my way.<br /><br />I was stunned. I expected to be cuffed and stuffed, leaving Ali on the side of the road to walk home or something. Nonetheless, with warning in hand, I watched him walk back to his car to leave so that he could ruin someone else’s day.<br /><br />He got about 30 feet from me and stopped in his tracks. He raised his right hand to the side of his head and snapped his fingers together as the light bulb when off. With the precision of an Nazi SS officer, he turned sharply around on his right toe and with reddened face marched quickly back to my window.<br /><br />“Oh crap, here we go”, I thought. He arrived at my window and stuck his right pointer in my face and said, “You’re that firefighter from Collins Road aren’t you?” I said “yes” and braced for the onslaught. He was speechless. He was so red in the face he just stood there for about 30 seconds and couldn’t utter a word. Realizing he had already given me a warning he resorted to pointing to me once again and saying, “I’ve got my eyes on you Perkins.” With that he marched back to his vehicle and departed.<br /><br />How I escaped that, I’ll never know. After he drove off, I took one look at Ali and she continued with her story.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2746655451568036751.post-50791491193703463342009-03-29T16:14:00.001-07:002009-04-02T16:50:51.985-07:00The Day I said “NO” to the California Highway PatrolIn the summer of 1992, we received a call for extrication. “Attention Bishop Volunteers, Attention Bishop Volunteers, we need an extrication crew and fire response on Hwy 395, South of Warm Springs Road, Please respond.” <br /><br />Extrications always added a greater sense of urgency. There was at least one victim trapped and at any car accident there was always a chance the fuel was leaking and could catch fire. That is not a good combination when someone is trapped. <br /><br />I arrived at Station 1 and was the 3rd or 4th in the door. Engine 10, our quick response truck, was already warming up and was close to responding. I got into my turnouts and grabbed my coat and helmet. I jumped into the driver’s seat of Engine 5 and fired her up. This was our rescue rig and it carried all the equipment needed to complete the extrication. Another firefighter climbed into the passenger seat and when the back compartment had 3 more men, I hit the air horn and headed out south of town. <br /><br />We arrived on scene and found there was a victim trapped in a car that was badly mangled and resting in the dirt meridian of 395, the major (translated to “only”) artery through the area. Traffic was all but stopped as they were rerouting it onto the dirt shoulder. The fire equipment, my truck included, was in the paved lane closest to the meridian. <br /><br />After about 25 minutes of work we were making great progress to get the victim out of the damaged vehicle. It was then that a particular California Highway Patrolman came up to me and asked if I was in charge of “that rig”, as he pointed to Engine 5. I looked up and said, “yes, that’s my truck.” He responded by saying, “Great, I want you to move it to the other side of the roadway so we can get this traffic moving.” Now, keep in mind I still had men working to return equipment back on Engine 5. If I moved it then my men would have been crossing 2 lanes of traffic to accomplish the task and I didn’t feel it was a safe thing to do.<br /><br />I looked back at him and said, “No”. Needless to say he was caught off guard and said, “what did you say?” I replied, “I’m not moving that truck.” He quickly retorted, “you’ll do as I say’, to which I replied. “See that man over there in the white helmet….Well that is the Fire Chief and I work for him. I’m not moving this truck.”<br /><br />Completely steamed he marched off to have a word with Chief Phil Moxley. After 3 or 4 minutes of what seemed to be a disagreement, the officer stormed off in another direction. <br /><br />A few minutes later the Fire Chief motioned me over. “Perkins” he said, “did you refuse to move Engine 5?” I responded, “sure did.’ To which he replied. “Good job…wait about 10 minutes and move the truck on the other side of the road.”<br /><br />Stay tuned for my next post regarding another interaction with this same officer years later.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2