North in Alaska - The Twins, Settling in, Halloween Warning

The "Twins," Sally and Sara, are delightful girls.  Their eyes sparkle, their voices radiate friendliness and their constant chatter overlaps and completes each others sentences.  Their uncle, Uncle Frank, on the other hand is as dower and uncommunicative as anyone I have ever met.  I immediately found out that if you wanted to talk to him you did so through one of the Twins.  He claims not to speak English and given his ever present scowl I am not sure he would if he could.

Apparently the Twins parents were killed in a bear attack while the Twins were still infants and as is true in many Native American families the mother's uncle took charge of the girls and has raised them like his own.  Regardless of his demeanor he must have done a good job because the Twins seem well adjusted, well read, well versed in the practical arts, and just all around good girls given the fact that they had spent the last 14 years in near isolation conditions.

There is no electricity in the cabins.  The girls occupy one cabin and Uncle Frank has his own smaller version.  The Internet was out of the question so I spent a little bit longer than normal in discussing with the girls how we ought to proceed with their education.  Uncle Frank seemed to ignore us and continued working on some sort of animal hide.   We, the Twins and I, agreed that I would come by each Tuesday and Thursday and spend three to four hours going over the previous lessons and assigning the next.

I asked Uncle Frank, through the Twins, if he had any questions and he just stared at me, turned and walked away.  The Twins giggled and then hugged me goodby which I thought a little out of character for a student teacher relationship specifically and an Athabaskan in general to a non relative or tribal member.  They were so natural about their physicality that no awkwardness was felt among the three of us.

It took me about an hour and a half to get back to our cabin.  Bev had done wonders with organizing the place and our little house in the woods really looked like something Laura Ingles would have been proud of.  We ate dinner consisting of beans and franks and she reminded me that Halloween was tomorrow and that for me not to plan any trips out to see students. 

I looked at her rather puzzled and she said that Mr. Sam came by with a load of old Civil Defense hard candy in a great big tin and informed her that Halloween is a special time in this part of the world and that the trick or treaters start early and do not stay out past dark.  We should expect visitors all day long he said.  He was afraid that the school officials had not informed us of the local custom and he wanted us to get off on the right foot with the "neighbors."

He said there was much interest in us and that we would surely have people from miles around come by to get candy and visit.  He said to offer the kids candy and the grown ups tea. 

As he left he told her that there would be no visitors after night fall and that if anyone came to our door tomorrow after the sun went down not to answer the wrap at the door.  He said that the little people would be roaming around and it was just not a good idea.

Neither of us have any idea what he is talking about.

North in Alaksa - Eddie Joe

Eddie Joe lived about an hours ride on a well travelled wooded trail.  He was the son of Ida Jones and Willie Smith.  Ida and Willie had adopted Eddie Joe from Ida's older sister Sally.  Sally already had 5 kids and Ida had none so it was just the thing to do.  It is a custom that is very common in this part of the world.  No one seems to go through any legal entanglements and everyone knows whom everyone is.  No surprises later in life.

Their cabin was not as nice as the one we have and not as well kept.  Ida and Willie have more important things to do, like make sure they have enough food on hand to get through the winter and are able to stretch their state dividend check far enough to buy ammunition, gasoline and things like that till the next dividend check or the Indian Corporation money comes in from the yearly profit sharing. 

Ida and Willie were very hospitable and welcomed me as a long lost cousin.  Eddie Joe and I talked for awhile just to get to know each other.  I soon learned that Eddie Joe was pretty well versed in English and math.  He did not know a whole lot about government or history other than his tribes history but even then only locally.  His former teacher had left me notes about Eddie Joe and they were very accurate.  

I gave him his assignment for next week along with my email address and told him if he needed any guidance along the way to please contact me. 

I asked Willie about how to get to my next stop and he showed me on the map and put aside my fears that the map may not be all that accurate.  After a cup of tea and a biscuit we bid farewell.  My next stop was to be Sally and Sara Meaghan, the twins.  It was another hour away.

North in Alaska - At the Cabin

It took us about 4 hours to make it to the cabin. It is sort of a nice looking place, just like I pictured it to be.  The men unloaded the gear from the sleds and the women helped put the canned and dry good away and filled up the smoke house which was a pleasant surprise. 

Before they all waved good by and left us alone they did make sure that the boat, generator and four wheeler was working and that we had plenty of gas to run all of them for what they estimated would be about two weeks.   They assured me that they would be back with more sooner than that.  They also left me a rifle with a box of ammunition "just in case" they said.

Tomorrow I will take the four wheeler and start my visitations.  This ought to be interesting.  I guess the map is accurate.  If you don't hear from me for several days you will know it wasn't.

North in Alaska - It Will Be Fine

Well I guess I should not have been so hard on everything the other day. I was just tired from the long trip from Tucson to the little Athabaskan village just north of the Arctic Circle.  Besides we will only be here for a few weeks but it can be a culture shock.  I had forgotten the reality of the bush.

She was not down because of the surroundings, it was I found out later, more because she knew I was upset fearing I had lead her astray.  Oh well.  The supplies should get in tomorrow and the convoy to our cabin should take place soon after that.

When I got the offer to be a travelling teacher I jumped at the chance even if it was only going to be for a few weeks.  How really could I turn it down.  A log cabin and four wheeler along with a motor boat came with the deal and all I had to do was venture out two times a week and make home visits to kids and answer any of their questions from the lessons they took over the Internet from long distance schooling at the University of Alsaks-Fairbanks.  This ought to  be a pretty good adventure.  The only down side is that I have to keep the generator running and I am not mechanically inclined.  In a pinch they told me Big Bear Sam lived about a mile away and he could always be counted on to help. Between the out board motor, four wheeler, and generator I suspect Mr. Sam and I will become good friends.

North in Alaska - The Adventure Begins

We arrived yesterday. This is the most dismal looking place I have ever seen.  Nothing like the pictures you see.  The village is dirty, the houses are little more than plywood shacks and the teacher housing, at least for us, is some where next to the type you would find in the ghetto.

There are fly's all over the place, our food has not arrived, we have no phone or TV yet and we only get one station on the radio. We are very remote here, you can feel it, we feel forlorn and even with both of us here we cannot help feeling alone and isolated. A silence has fallen between us but it isn't out of anger. I think I might have made a mistake.

Women are the ones who are the real pioneers and are the back bone. They make a house a home.  She is doing all the right things but I can tell her heart is not in it. It pains me to see her unhappy.

It is 52 degrees outside, the wind is out of the west at 17 mph.

The school building is the pits. My classroom is OK and in all fairness everyone we have met, native and teacher, have been very nice and helpful. This is a good thing I guess given the fact that yesterday we were all strangers.
 

Fishing With the Moose

By: Paul Fender                                                            

Fishing With The Moose

While living in Spokane, WA in 1993 my brother Chris came up for a fishing trip.  I had talked with several area fly fishermen about good places to go.  After much discussion and investigation I decided that we should explore the tributaries of the Clear Water in Northern Idaho.  The time of year was early September.  The weather was in the sixties during the day and the night time temperatures were still above freezing in the mountains.  Our plan was to leave Spokane on Friday morning and drive through Northern Idaho on I90 into Montana then back over the mountains through the Hoodoo pass back into Idaho and down to the confluence of Moose Creek and Kelly Creek where there was a camp ground.  We would make our camp site there and fish Moose Creek, Kelly Creek, and Cayuse Creek.  We would be fishing for trout.  We would be wading the creeks fishing with five weight fly rods, floating lines and 3lb tapered tippets.  The dry flies that were suggested for the area and this time of year were Yellow Humpies, Renegades, Stimulators, and Wooly Bugers.

The construction project that I was working on had been completed and we were just finishing the punch list.  I had workers on site so I could take off Friday and Monday. Everyone had been lined out so all was in place.  However, as usual I get a call earlyFriday morning that there is a problem with one of the new Chillers installed and it was leaking gas.  This was a federal project so anything leaking into the atmosphere was a big deal.  The mechanical room was actually located three stories below ground level with a specially designed venting system just in case this type of leak occurred.   This was the only project in my career that even had this safe guard.  Leave it to our government to waste money.  I had to be present to analyze the repairs.  I called the company responsible and they provided a tech that morning.  When we left before noon all was ok. 

We are now several hours behind schedule but being the adventurous souls we were, we pressed on.  We headed east on I90.  I had scheduled a few stops along the way so that my brother could experience some of the local ambiance.  Our first stop was the Snake Pit in Catalpa, ID.  The Snake Pit is and old two story western bar and whore house back in the day.  It dates back to the 1880’s.  Looked like it belongs on a movie set.  It is a favorite stopping off spot for bikers touring along I90.  We stopped for burgers and fries and a few adult beverages.  We continue along through Kellogg and Wallace.  These are two towns that were mining towns in there day.  Kellogg is where Hemmingway lived and where he is buried after his suicide.  Wallace is famous for their Sheriff.  He had been indicted three times by the feds but all three times the jury acquitted.  They could not get a jury to convict the sheriff and the federal judge would not change the venue. The sheriff was the man who controlled illegal gambling, prostitution, and other trades the feds frown on.  You need to remember this is still the old west.  A lot goes on in theNorthwest woods and that will take another story.  We press on.

We make another stop at the $100,000 bar for some additional reinforcement.  There actually is a $100,000 dollars in silver dollars laminated into the bar top.  My dream has always been to own a convenience liquor store in NW Montana with the slot machines allotted, with a small no tell Motel out back with illegal gambling and fancy ladies. Never happened.  When we leave it has begun to drizzle and it is getting dusk.  Superior is a little further East on I 90.

At this point I will write out the directions we were given by my friend who now lives in Anaconda, Mt.  They go like this:  “Go to Superior and take the exit off I 90.  You will need to get back to the other side of I90 so go West until you come to the creek and turn left under I90 you will see a lumber yard.  There is a drive between the lumber yard office and the storage barns.  The drive is really a road up the mountains.  It is unimproved but it is really pretty good.  As you go up the mountain the roads splits many times but always stay to the right except for one spot about half way up where you go left.  You will be able to tell as it is the most used.  When you go over the Hoodoo pass into Idaho the road becomes paved.  Go down the road until you come to the camp ground.  You better by gas in Superior before you start up the mountain because there won’t be any where you are going.  If you have an emergency  there is a Ranger Cottage at the confluence of Kelly Creek and Moose Creek and there is a phone.”

We buy gas and start are trek up the mountain.  It is dark now and the drizzle has turned to a light rain.  This road up the mountain starts out like many country roads but as we go up it winds around.  There are many switch backs and as we continues to it turns into nothing more than an old logging road.  We continue on.  My brother begins freaking out as the downhill side is very steep.  You can really see it with all the lightning strikes going on.  There are no markings along the road.  We keep going right at the Y’s in the road and after a good hour and a half we are at Hoodoo Pass.  It is raining harder now and getting colder.  We are now at the Idaho border and the paved road.  We are home free now.  Just have to find the camp site.

At this point I think it would be nice for you all to see a more accurate set of directions to the camp site.  You have to remember back in the 1990’s we didn’t have GPS or Google maps.  I used Google maps and followed it up the mountain.  It goes like this: Take I90 East to exit 47 at Superior, MT.  Turn left onto State Road 257, turn Right ontoRiver St. and then left onto Diamond Road.  Diamond Road still goes through the lumber yard.  Diamond Road becomes Trout Creek road.  Trout Creek Rd. is also named County Rd. 250 as you go over Hoodoo Pass.  Up to this point it is still an unimproved road. County Rd. 250 is improved and is also named Moose Creek Rd.  As you continue on the name changes to Black Canyon Rd. but it is still County Rd. 250.  Continue on to theHidden Creek Camp Ground.  Now the camp ground has a name.  This is where we stopped.  If you continue to follow the road on down you will run into the confluence of the North Fork of the Clearwater River.  If you continue on down the river and take the progressively better road you will take Hwy. 11 to Hwy. 12 to Orofino, ID.  If you check this out it is a very long way and you are still 100’s of miles from Spokane.  However, this a beautiful drive.  So our trip home will take us back over Hoodoo pass into Montanathen back west along I90.

We arrived at the camp site about 11:00 pm.  There is only one other group in the whole camp ground.  It is raining  pretty hard now and a lot of lightning and thunder.  By brother suggest that we sleep in the truck until morning.  I am not for that as I absolutely hate to sleep in the front seat of a truck.  Being the older brother I get my way.  Naturally we have a new tent that has never been erected before.  I open the box up and get the directions  and get back in the truck to read them.  Simple enough we can do this.  My brother again suggest that we sleep in the truck.  I get my way.  So we dawn our rain gear take a swig of Patron and we head out into the elements like true mountain men. Jim Bridger and Jeremiah Johnson had nothing on the Fender Brothers.  After we struggled with the tent for an hour we had it up including the rain fly.  As the years went by my granddaughter and I could erect the tent in about 15 minutes.  Must have been the Patron.  I remind my brother to leave the food locked up in the truck as there are Grizzly bears in this area.  We put our gear in the tent and we immediately fall to sleep listening to the rain fall gently on the tent.

About 3:00 am my brother wakes me up.  “Do you hear that?  I think there is a bear out there.”  It had quit raining and you could hear a crunch crunch like a cow eating corn. My brother is sure it was a bear.  He gets out his hunting knife.  I ask him what are going to do with that, slit your wrists, because you come after a bear with that knife he will eat you and I’ll laugh.  We hear the crunching sound continuing then the animal begins walking towards the tent.  I could tell that whatever it was it was on all fours.  It came up alongside the tent and stopped.  My brother is getting really nervous at this point. Then all of a sudden the animal begins pissing on the tent.  It smelled really bad.  At this point I had had enough and curiosity was getting the best of me.  The animal had begun walking on.  I came out of the ten with my big Mag Lite.  I shined the light in the direction of the animal.  It was a huge Bull Moose.  He just looked back over his shoulder at me and wondered off.  It was a big Moose close to 1,500 lbs.  All this time my brother was still in the tent and I was  outside being quiet.  He kept calling my name and I crept back over by the tent and started pawing at the tent with my hands.  He came roaring out the tent in a rage.  It was hilarious.  The other group of campers had been watching all this and we all roared with laughter.  My brother was not a happy camper.  We went back in the tent and went back to sleep enduring the smell of Moose piss.  Over the years when I and my grandkids would sleep in that old tent they always asked what that smell was.  It never went away although lessened over the years.  So at night after the kids were tucked in I had to tell them the Moose pissing on the tent story.

The next morning we found out from our neighbors what the crunching sound was.  The Moose had been going from camp site to camp site eating the wet coals from the fire pits.  They had also heard the crunching and began watching the moose.  They were a group of college students from Idaho State out for a weekend of trout fishing.  We built a fire with the dry wood we brought with us and cooked breakfast.  After breakfast we went fishing back up the creek from where we had camped to an area the students had suggested.  On our way up the creek we heard a bull elk bugling and the a cow answering.  The bull really began bugling up a storm.  My brother being the outdoorsman he is says, “Is that some ones car alarm?”  Enough said.

The fishing started out slow.  I wasn’t catching anything and brother who is an excellent fisherman caught a few.  We fished for three or four hours and went back to camp.  We noticed one of the students fishing way back up in a notch a long way from the road.  He was facing into the current casting up stream and stripping line as his line came back to him.  He was catching a lot of fish.  He came back to camp soon after we had.  We shared some beers with him and he told us what he was doing.  He was getting back away from the road where most fishermen would not make the effort and was stripping Stimulators with the current.  The bank on the road side of the creek was extremely steep with the road about a hundred feet above the stream bed.  You would have  to hike along the road and find an accessible way down to the stream.  Then wade the stream back away from the road back where it cut back into the mountain.  We caught a lot of cut throat trout.  Fish is good.  The weather cleared and we fished till Monday, broke camp and headed back over Hoodoo to I90 then West to Spokane.

Columbus Day

If you have been following my Appian Way saga, you might have picked up on the fact that the end of my adventure coincided with Columbus Day Eve, if there is such a thing.

It is up for interpretation but Christopher Columbus was born on October 31, 1451 and due to the change in the calender it was moved to October 12 of the same year. Due to the Monday thing the celebration is a different date every year.  He died around May 20, 1506.

As grade schoolers we learned that Columbus discovered America.  When we got to high school we found out that perhaps that was not entirely true, but his voyage in 1492 for shadowed European colonization of the Americas.

There are a few places in the United States that hold Columbus Day celebrations but not as many as you might think considering America's large Italian/American ethnic group.  The patron saint of Italians, St. Joseph, celebrated on March 19, is a much bigger deal in many communities especially New Orleans.  The parade they hold there every year honoring the husband of Mary is only surpassed by MardiGras.  However that is odd in and of itself because New York is where most of the Italian immigrants disembarked and New Orleans for some reason was the main port of entry in the 19th century for Sicilians.  Do not confuse the two.  Sicilians and Italians are as different as Eskimos and Indians.  You don't call one the other.

In actuality Sicilians have made more of an impact on American culture and folk lore, mainly because the Mafia and Cosa Nostra, with their code of silence, Omerta, started in Sicily during the Roman times.  It was established to take care of "families" against the evils of the Roman Empire.  It served a purpose back then and has eventually been disbanded.  There is nothing like them that exist any more and what stories you do here are myths and urban legends.  I mean really have you ever really met a mob guy?

For instance I know this lady who is a third generation Sicilian.  She takes great pride in her heritage and bristles when people ask her if her family is part of the Mafia or if she knows anyone who was a "made man."

She adamantly rejects such notions and silences the inquiry immediately.  She points out that all her brothers are professional men and work in the family business.  One is a doctor, another a lawyer, and the youngest one a CPA.  Her uncle she proudly states is the head of the family now.  He runs the family business from Cicero on the south side of Chicago.



I asked her once what type of business it was and she told me it was a consulting enterprise and provided special services for private parties that wished to remain anonymous.  She did not know much about the business other than that and never understood why her father was annoyed with her brothers when they went to work for the uncle.  She said it must be a very profitable enterprise.  She said one brother told her that they were successful because they offered services and provided opportunities that were not  available normally and that the intrinsic exchanges were of such a nature that they could not be refused.

Appian Way - #10, Going Home

Appian Way - Last Diary Entry

March 5, 1992

Just some observations.

Clothes - The men usually do not match or are their clothes cut to western standards.  However the very rich do look rich.  The young men are attractive. The older men not so unless they are wealthy.  The average woman is not that good looking when they are my age, again unless they are wealthy.  The young women are not that attractive as our average woman, but there is an air about them that is appealing.  Perhaps it is the confidence they display.  There were a lot of unattached women travelling around.

Food - I have not been impressed by the food.  It's OK but nothing to write home about so I wont.  The servings are smaller and there seems to be a difference on how much they charge if you are waited on or not.  No sandwiches as we know them.  The tea is good, the coffee bad.

The women are not modest on the beach.  They go topless a lot.  People say this is just natural to them but if it's so natural why do the men point and stair.

TV - There are an overabundance of commercials.  Everyone is trying to sell you something.  They act like the barkers in the carnival.  There is is lot of nudity on TV.  Some shows have nudes and and a lot of string bikini's.

Hotel - We stayed in a nice place.  The rooms were small and so were the beds.  The towels were like dish washing towels but much larger.  The telephone was rotary.

Most things were expensive.  A coke cost L2,500 or $2, a can.  An average meal cost about $14, beer L3,500 and it keeps changing from day to day.  The room cost L120,000 per day.  It doesn't seem like much really.  I guess it is because it is a resort area where we stayed.  The BMW I drove around would cost about $50,000 in the states. More later.

Pisa Airport.

One thing that always strikes me when I am on overseas active duty (which is only three times) is that the military hold many opportunities for travel and excitement.

Well my great adventure ends today.  The only highlights are slim ones really.  My flight will pass over Shannon Ireland.

Yesterday we visited the Leaning Tower of Pisa.  Ate in a road side restaurant.  Pasta was served first, followed by salad, meat and french fries.  I had veal, three of the guys had wild bore, another stuffed pork chops.  I bought two bottles of Dom.

My feelings are mixed.  I feel like I have nothing really to go home for.  I miss the kids but I miss more not having a normal life.  A man my age is supposed to have a different life than the one I have.  It really gets me down sometimes.  But I am a survivor.  I'll carry on and shake the depression.  It is one thing to be depressed now and then and another to let it run your life.

This undoubtedly will be my last "great adventure" (note:  I did not know that I would ever teach Eskimos in bush Alaska)

I have read James Michner's "The World is My Home" while here and I find it very inspiring.  I wish I had his character and fortitude and belief in life.

I guess one of the more interesting things that happened to me is that I met a Dutchman in an American Bar and had many interesting evening with him over drinks discussing his country and mine.  His name was Hans Boot.  I have his address and I will write him now and then.

Unless something really unusual happens this will be my last entry.  We arrive in KC at 4:17 PM, 5 March.

Just remember that what ever happens between the time this narrative is written and the time it is read that I've loved you all.  When one is away from those he loves he ponders and thinks - usually to much, but that is life.

I am going back home with no resolve just some tasks to be done, much to do before I sleep, and miles to go.

Love Dad, 1992, Pisa, Italy

Post Script:  It is now 2007, Oct. 23,  I stored this book in a box that I put in Shannon's garage.  I've rented a house on Spring Street and thought I better get the box.  I re read all of what I have written and it is all true - facts are left out however but in the main unimportant ones.

After returning from Italy I went to a couple of drills.  Flew to Virginia to help at pre camp.  Ate at Virginia Beach.  But that is about it.  The National Guard got very time consuming.  I was made the XO of our unit but really received no guidance as what was expected and I wanted to leave on a good note.  I told the LTC I was retiring and then after 20 years and nine months I walked away.  This year, last May, I received my first retirement check.

Staying and being a member the National Guard was the smartest and most interesting thin I have ever done.

Appian Way - #9 (Rome)

Friday, April 15, 2011

Appian Way - Rome

Sunday morning we got up early and went to the Pisa Terminal which was different than the one at the airport.  We were told that the train to Rome did not leave until 9:30 but we could catch one in Florence if we left immediately and it would take us there.  We did.  We got to Florence just in time to catch the train to Rome and had to run to do that.  It was a different kind of train than the one we took to Florence, it was more like the ones you see in the movies, you know like side compartments and a small hall way running down one side.  We had to split up and sit in different compartments. 

The trip took about 3 hours so along the way I walked up and down the length of the train.  I met a guy from Romania who I some how figured out was a reporter.  We didn't have a real long conversation because he couldn't understand me more than I him.  Mostly I just looked at the country side going by.  There were many farms and now and then you could see what looked like ruined castles in the distance. 

When we got to the out skirts of Rome the train stopped and we were told not to get off until the second stop if we wanted to be in the heart of Rome.  Rome Central, as they called it was much bigger and more crowed than the terminal in Florence.  We ventured outside and found a little cafe, sat and drank coffee while trying to figure out our next move.  No one thought about getting a map or anything so we just started walking in a general direction that some body in the cafe told us the Colosseum was. 

On our way we came across a lot of interesting looking landmarks and ruins but had no idea what we were looking at most of the time.  I do recall that one place I think might have been the Forum smelled like cat urine and I guess that was because I bet there were a hundred cats just lazying about.  We did see the tomb of the Italian unknown soldier and witnessed a change of guard ceremony.

We had no trouble recognizing the Colosseum of course and I was surprised they just let you walk around the place with few places being off limits.  They had some guides giving lectures to small groups but they were not in English so we just wondered around for about an hour.

We did mange to ask directions to the Vatican and ended up catching a bus that would take us there.  The bus ride was free only because when we got on it was to crowed for us to give the money to the driver who didn't seem like he cared much.

When we reached the Vatican we entered the city/country from a side entrance and a whole bunch of people were in the square looking up at this guy on a balcony.  A voice was booming over a loud speaker.  The guy was Pope John Paul II.  We had accidentally gotten there as he was giving his Sunday blessing to the faithful.

If any one regardless of his religion has any historical perspective or interest in history you had to be impressed to see one of the most powerful men in the world. After the blessing I bought a crucifix blessed by the Pope and it hangs in my house to this day.

We went on an unguided tour of St. Peters.  It was more grand and ornate than anything I had or have seen.  The Piata was near the front entrance, two weddings were going on, a group was singing and a mass was being held.  We ventured down a little stair case and saw a place where a lot of the Popes had been buried and even saw the supposed burial place of St. Peter. 

I stopped a priest on the street and asked him where the Sistine Chapel was.  He pointed it out but also told us it was closed for repairs.  I was disappointed.  That is one thing I really wanted to see.

We walked back to the train station. We crossed the Tiber River, ate in a cafe, saw another Basilica and countless other strange, interesting, and beautiful places. 

We ended up getting on the right train back to Florence some how, our trek was over.

Appiean Way - #8, (Florence)

Feb. 1992

After winning the bowling bet and paying for every ones ticket we left Saturday morning by train from Pisa near Camp Darby.  The train station was also near the airport.  The train ride was only one hour and when we got to Florence their central train station was extremely busy.  It reminded me of what the US train stations must have looked like back when commercial train travel was in its heyday.  Apparently most of the larger cities in Europe have train stations just as big and just as busy.  We immediately found our way to the Galleria dell' Accademia where resided Michelangelo's David.  The Galleria was sort of a small place considering the giant reputation of the statue.  There were other statues and painting and many tapestries of a religious nature.

We then ventured towards the center of town and visited a big church  known as the Duomo.  It was huge, impressive, artistic, and being used for several weddings and religious services.  I had never seen anything that large and that majestic.  Across the street was the Basilica and the best I could tell was a church smaller than a cathedral and larger than a chapel.

I went off by myself trying to find a Gucci store.  I stopped several people on the street and asked them directions.  It soon was apparent that unless I stopped middle aged well dressed people it was a waste of time.  Finally I stumbled onto enough people and in their broken English they guided me to the right place.  Sort of small and unimpressive for such a big reputation on the out side.  The inside was lavish and expensive as one would suspect.  The sales person was not very helpful and if one can look down ones nose he did.  It might have been because I was unshaven, dressed in jeans, and had a flannel shirt on and I asked him what was the cheapest thing they had in the store.  I ended up buying a key chain for $50.

I ran into the LTC and he and I shared a spot of tea and a pastry.  It cost about 17000 Lira, about $15.  This was before the Euro and the rate of exchange if I remember correctly was $1 for every 1,225 Lira  It was really something I thought to carry around L500,000 in your pocket.

We caught up with the rest of the group and went to the Medici palace I think it was and saw all kinds of painting.  We did not know what we were looking at and no doubt saw a bunch of famous paintings not realizing how famous they were.  There were two big pictures by Michelangelo and Leonard Di Venci which for some reason I recognized, probably because the plaque on the wall beside them.  They were impressive of course.  If I had been up on my art work or paid closer attention in Art Appreciation I might have had a more enriched experience.

My overall impression of Florence was that it was large but quaint, dirty but had an individual sparkle.  There were small cars and many scooters.  Many girls held hand and arms as they walked around town, a sign of friendship nothing else.  To a lesser extent men did the same thing.  Not sure about them though.

I saw men rowing on the river, saw people from all over the world with all types of dress.  I was surprised to see as many Africans as I did.  Their cultural dress were just so so, but they held themselves with dignity.  The Italians were not dressed that well but for those who did they rally stood out and smacked of money.  The men wore their coats over their shoulders without using the sleeves.

There were no bars like we know them.  There were many cafes however that sold bear, wine and liquor and coffee, ice cream always being available along with Coke. 

I just walked around most of the day and observed and eventually made my way back to the train station and back to Pisa.  The next day would be Rome.

Appian Way - #7

Appian Way - A Diary Entry

Feb 27, 1992

Camp Darby is supposed to be the resort area of those soldiers stationed in Italy.  I don't see it.  They have some camping grounds and some cabins for rent and it is next to the Italian Riviera, so I guess it counts as one.  The official use for Darby, named after Darby's Rangers they claim, is for prepositioning equipment in case there needs to be a rapid deployment to North and Northeast Africa or Northwest Asia.  It is sort of like our poncus sites in Germany.

For the last several days I tried to figure out how I could get the guys to take advantage of their free trip to Italy.  I came across an idea and it worked.   They had been pestering me all day today to take them bowling at the camp.  I finally relented and said I would.  When we started bowling I suggested we make a bet to make it more interesting.  They complained that they didn't have as much money as I did, so I told them that I would put up a $100 that could be split between them if any of them beat me and that if I beat all of them they had to let me plan a weekend excursion for them this coming weekend.  Well, I won.  I even picked up the 6,7,10 split.  We will be going to Florence this Saturday and Rome on Sunday.  I'll even pay for the train tickets.  They complained about losing the rest of the evening.  Go figure, I wouldn't mind losing several bets like that.

Appian Way - #6

(Diary kept while in Italy)

25 Feb 92

Yesterday was a long day.  There is some sort of problem with the orders but I really don’t care, I am here now.  At least the lodging and transportation is working out fine. 

The BMW we rented is really too small for all six of us but some how we all manage to pile in.

Last night we all walked around Tirrenia stopped to drank some wine and eat spaghetti and bread.  Sgt. Kennedy and I left the others, went to another restaurant/bar and just sat around till one o’clock in the morning talking and drinking beer between wines. 

26 Feb 92

I get my days mixed up.  Yesterday, or I think it was yesterday, I got the Sgts started on a project and scanned some secret op-plans (they didn’t seem to secret to me.)  The only highlight of the day was when Sgt Ball, our interpreter, and I went to Livorno.  I thought it might not be a bad idea to put boots on the ground at the place we were developing new defense plans, albeit never to be used I suspect.  Sgt. Ball readily agreed just to get off post and besides he said he wanted me to know where the bars were.  It seems like that is all he ever has on his mind.  Ever since he brought up the subject, the first time I met him, I have continually told him I wasn’t interested.  He said he realized that but suggested that perhaps some of my enlisted men would be.  Two might I think. 

We road around the city dodging traffic, weaving in an out between cars (I was driving) and he pointed a couple of the bars out.  The trip was so confusing and I was so turned around that I could not get back there if I wanted – which I don’t.  The two guys who might be interested will just have to suffer.

Other than all the traffic my observations were of narrow streets, cars parked on sidewalks, and an extremely dirty city over all with trash on the streets and dried dirt on what would other wise be very attractive edifices.  The buildings could use a good sandblasting.

As we were driving along I kept wondering what type of businesses were in the buildings, what did the insides look like, wondered when they were built, and if they had any significant history attached.  Sgt Ball, who has lived in Italy, France, and Germany for the last 19 years has no idea and cares less.  He is much more interested in the whores.

As we went back towards camp he said he knew a short cut and thought I would like the scenery along the way.  I soon found out what kind of scenery he was talking about.  The whores apparently stand along the road in some areas that look like a rural setting.  There were a couple of whores he knew standing along the road.  One looked like a nice young girl, the other whom he apparently knew better than the other, looked every bit the part of being of whore – short dress, low top, bad teeth.  Of course he had to stop.  They muttered something in Italian.  He said she wanted to know if I wanted a “date.”  I said no.  He pinched her on the boob, they both laughed and we drove off.  He wanted to know if I thought she was good looking.  I tried to be polite and be non committal because I feared she might look like his wife.  He thought she was hot.

Appian Way - #5

 

 

Saturday, January 8, 2011

Appian Way - Tirrenia

I appreciated the use of the interpreter, but I told him the next morning after leaving the restaurant in Livorno that I thought that his time would be spent better helping out the younger members of our contingent.  I decided to explore the surrounding area on my own. 

I started out not real early, perhaps around 10:00 and decided to walk around Tirrenia on my own.  It was a modern little Italian village but different in a lot of ways.  The center section of the town had cobble stone streets with a lot of little shops of all kinds that seemed to specialize in different products.  Tobacco, wine, pottery, clothes, jewelry, and several quaint little cafes.  I found an ice cream shop and bought a cone of some strange flavor that I really can’t describe.  There was a festival that the local Catholic Church was having to raise money I guess for some worthy cause, so I bought some flavored coffee, which wasn’t much good, sat on a park bench and just watched the people parade around in their Sunday best. 

I went to Mass that afternoon at the local church and was able to follow the service pretty well.  I understood every part of the Mass except for the serman of course.

After leaving Mass I ran into one of the young men that was part of our group named  Terdoff.  He was a little older than the other guardsman and had grown tired of pretending he was on just another army post.  He too wanted to take advantage of seeing the local Italian scene.

We went to a place that was a combination deli, ice cream parlor, and bar and had a glass of wine.  I joked with the owner about him giving us California wine (it was a white wine from Tuscany.)

We ventured back to the festival area and ate a pastry that was creamy on the inside and fried on the out side sprinkled with sugar.

We went to a spegatteria  across the street that served different kinds of pasta but it was run by some Arabs.  After another glass of wine we decided not to eat there and walked down a side street that I had not noticed before  We stumbled across a quaint little café that reminded me of the restaurant where Michael shot the Turk and the corrupt police captain in the Godfather.

We ordered a dinner that consisted of red wine and spaghetti with white sauce that had small chunks of ham infiltrated though out.  They served some interesting flat bread sticks, a small pizza with mussels, a chocolate éclair and some of the worst coffee I ever tasted in my life.

We both went back to the spa and to bed.  I woke around 3 am, still suffering from jet lag, went down to the main lobby and started writing some letters and post cards.  The desk clerk thought I was crazy.

I noticed during my meanderings that day that the normal people, the middle class I guess, dressed a little different.  They all seemed to be just a touch more poor than our middle class, but that might have been because it was a small town and not very cosmopolitan.  Their clothes did not match it seems and their shoes were not up to our standards. Many of the women who walked around held hands and the older ladies dyed their hair a deep red, almost purple. 

I just hung around the lobby writing and “reading” magazines until breakfast and hoped that the coffee would be better in the morning.

Appian Way - #4

Appian Way – The Interpreter

Four days on the coast of the Italian Riviera, a BMW, living in a spa overlooking a nude beach, on an expense account, and now an interpreter.  Fighting communism could not get much better than this.

The interpreter the commanding officer lent us was a Staff Sergeant who was getting ready to rotate back to the U.S.  He was going to be assigned to the 101^st Air Assault Division at Ft. Campbell, Kentucky.  His father had married an Italian and he had lived in Italy most of his life including most of his tour of duty.  His assignment to the 101^st was going to be for four years and he was not looking forward to the assignment.  He loved Italy.

He was full of questions about the states and Kentucky in particular, and for reasons that I guess were typical European, he was interested in whores.  He asked if I knew what the whore situation was like in Kentucky.  I told him I did not know and even though I had served two short tours there I never saw the reason to find out.  Other than that he seemed like any other young American soldier being sent oversees, or I guess I should say he was typical of any young man being sent away from home for the first time.  Women have always been a high priority to young men away from home.

I told my contingent that we had the sergeant’s language expertise at our disposal but they seemed unimpressed.  They had developed their own itinerary for the next few days and decided to leave me out of their plans.  I did not mind. There was a difference in rank and ages and I am sure they thought I would be a drag.  I am glad they felt that way, besides I had the car.  I did tell them that we needed to be back at the base no later than 0800 Friday and not to be late.

I asked my interpreter if he would mind taking me on a tour of the surrounding area.  He was more than happy to oblige.  He picked me up at the spa that evening and suggested we drive into Livorno.  We headed toward the Italian seaport, weaved in and out of traffic, up and down the streets of the old section of Livorno, and eventually arrived at a spaghetteria.  A spaghetteria, according to my guide, is a restaurant that serves typical types of food common to Italy but specializes in different kinds of pastas. 

The tone of any Italian meal differs from one part of the county to another and so to the differing restaurants.  First was wine, then some shelled muscles, next a pasta dish, a fish of some sort accompanied by crushed spinach, garlic, olives and bread.  Then came a fresh salad followed by fruit with a demitasse of espresso.  If that were not enough a rich thick creamy pudding followed.  Of course wines of different sorts were brought out with each course ranging from dry to sweet. 

I staggered back to the car, not from the wine but from over indulging my gastronomic side.  The sergeant thought we should now go out and look for some whores but I declined the invitation and he returned me to the spa. 

I needed to rest up for the county side tour the next day the sergeant had promised to take me on.

Appian Way - #3

Appian Way - The Plan

We checked in at the headquarters building where we were to begin the re-write of the defense plan of Liverno. The commanding officer, an LTC, was on leave so I sought out the first sergeant.

He did not look like a first sergeant, more like Homer Simpson. He was waiting for his admin personnel to return from their morning run. His job I figured was to fix coffee and get the doughnuts ready, which both were in ample supply.

His office was a mess. Field gear was piled in a corner, he was waring sweat pants, and a T-shirt adorned with a picture of Elvis.

We were offered coffee and doughnuts. He asked what he could do for us. I suggested he could show me to a work area and provide us with the current defense plan. No problem he said.

He took us down the hall to a large room, punched in a security code, and asked if the room seemed adequate. It had all the necessary things: pencils, chairs, tables, paper, television, couch, easy chair, coffee pot and of course doughnuts. In the corner was a file drawer with the words secret written in red across the front. The drawer was already pulled out.

He retrieved the appropriate file. I asked for the combination to the file and a sign in/out sheet. He said the combination lock was not working but he was not concerned if they had an inspection because he had a work order on file. As far as the sign in/out sheet went, they never used one. He did give me the door combination however. It was nice to be trusted.

I took the folder and read through the plan while my men watched Italian television, drank coffee, and of course ate doughnuts. It took me about thirty minutes to read the plan and hand out to my little band of brothers the parts they were responsible for reviewing and suggest changes. It was getting close to lunch and I did not want to leave the plan in the room, so I put it in my brief case and headed to the mess hall.

Two hours past lunch my guys had made their recommendations on unit assignment, re-deployments, and calculated the troop strength needed.

The next morning we made a draft of the document and presented it to the commanding officer who had returned from leave. He thanked me for our efforts and said he would have his staff review the suggestions and for me to be in his office noon Friday. It was now only Tuesday morning, so I asked if he had anything else he wanted us to do. He said "No, enjoy yourself, Italy can be very accommodating to military personnel, and by the the way do you need an interpreter while you are here?"

Appian Way #2

Appian Way - The Spa

Upon arriving at the Tirrenia di Navigazione spa we were greeted with warmth and enthusiasm.  The desk clerk assigned us rooms along the beach side.  The men in our little contingent shared two to a room and I being a field grade officer got a suite all by myself.  The room was comfortable and luxurious, at least for a guy from Independence.

The group planned on meeting in the lobby around 6:00 that evening to decide what we were going to do for dinner.  I had a couple of hours left after getting settled in, so I called room service, ordered a bottle of some sort of Italian red, tried to tip the bell hop who refused my lira but did take a couple of American dollars.

I sat on the balcony in very comfortable chairs, watched the rolling Ligurian Sea and thought how nice it was to protect my country from the evils of communism.  The only thing that disappointed me was that for being a nude beach there were no swimmers or sun bathers.  It was in mid February and even close to southern Italy it was to cold for such things.

I left my room in plenty of time to meet up with my small band of brothers and explored the spa. There was a huge outdoor pool but no pool side loungers, a very large drinking establishment in the  basement area but closed for the season, a work out room with no one there, no one in the sauna, a good sized restaurant, but again closed for the season.  I started thinking that I might run in to Jack Nicholson, when I came across  what was advertised as an American Bar.  It was full.

After ordering some red wine it was immediately known to all in the bar that I was an American and for the next 45 minutes I never had to buy a drink. They were friendly and were not that interested in what I was doing in Tirrenia.  They eluded to the fact that they knew I was a soldier and they were use to soldiers not being to specific on what they were up to or where they were from.  I found out later Livorno, just down the road from Tirrenia, was the center for the Italian Communist Party.  I gave no state secrets away.

My comrades and I met in the lobby and we discussed where to eat.  No one but me was over the age of 21 so our food desires were not the same.  One wanted to go back to Camp Darby because he saw a sign in the mess hall that informed everyone that it was Taco night at the bowling ally.  Another saw a McDonald's sign as we came into town and thought that would be interesting.  Yet another said he had walked a little bit around town and just down the block was a place that advertised American Pizza.

I was weary enough that I did not want to point out the obvious so I just told them we had been in each others company for over 24 hours and perhaps we ought to go our own separate ways that evening and meet up in the breakfast cafe which was on the second floor at six the next morning.  Besides I said I was tired.  I threw the senior sergeant my car keys and headed back to the America Bar for one more drink.

Breakfast was good.  All you could eat buffet and part of the room price so we all were able to save part of our Per-Diem that morning.  Eggs, bacon, sausage, something that looked like hash browns, oatmeal, flaked cereal, hard rolls, and, don't ask me why, pork and beans. 

We piled into the BMW and headed to Camp Darby, that with pin and pencil we would begin doing our part to win the cold war.
                                    

Appian Way - Day One

Appian Way - Camp Darby

A small contingent of National Guard personnel were sent to Camp Darby, Italy to rewrite the defense plan for Livorno.,one of the main sea ports in Italy. I was the Major in charge of rewriting the plan.

We had a lay -over in London for a few hours and were subjected to a high degree of security as only one would suspect for Heathrow. We eventually were notified that our flight to Pisa on Alitalia was ready to board and we proceeded to the appropriate gate. That is when security stopped.

You might say that Italians are a little more lay back than most. We passed through the passenger gate with hardly even a glance from the airline attendants, took whatever seat we wished, received no instructions on how to fasten our seat belts or where our life preservers were, or anything else that might help us survive an un-forseen occurrence. To prevent a hijacking a curtain was drawn across the cabin separating the cockpit and the passenger section. I felt safe, sure.

The attendants were gracious and served all the espresso, biscotto , and wine that we could eat and drink. They were not bad looking either, the attendants not the biscotto. I began to feel safer.

When we landed in at the Aeroporto di Pisa we were left on the runway to pick up our own bags while the other passengers walked to the terminal building. That turned out not to be as bad it sounds. While the rest of the passengers were working their way through customs and machine gun carrying Carabinieri, we shouldered our duffel bags and walked right past everyone. I guess they thought if we were carrying OD duffel's we were OK.

My worst fears were realized when I soon realized there was no one at the airport to meet us. There was not an American uniform in site. I made my way to a public pay phone, figured out how to use it and called Camp Darby and identified myself as if my first name was Major. The operator switched me to the Officer of the Day, a 2LT, who said that they did not expect us until next week. I asked if he thought I ought to camp out on the front lawn and wait. He said he would send someone to pick us up right away.

An hour later a young captain picked us up and wanted to know where we were staying. I said I had no idea and that he better figure something out soon because I had some people who needed food and sleep and I as getting cranky.

He took us to Camp Darby which was about 5 miles away and were shown a cabin that four could sleep in. Unacceptable I informed him. We went to an enlisted mans barracks and found 8 empty beds and I told him that too was unacceptable. I suggested we go to the housing office. The captain explained our plight to a GS whatever and that accommodations on post were not available. I and my rank and crankiness suggested that we be given off base lodging. Everyone agreed and we were given a government voucher to be used at a hotel in Tirrena, just three miles down the road. Fine I said, but how are we going to get back and forth. No problem the lady said, here is a voucher to rent a car. Later my little entourage and I were driving to the Tirrenia di Navigazione spa over looking a nude beach on the Italian Riviera in a five speed BMW.

I could tell this was going to be a hardship tour.

Casino Paul

                                   

This is a guest Blog from Paul I. Fender.

I was the owners representative on two Indian Casino projects. The first was in Canyonville, OR. Right on I5 between Roseburg and Grants Pass. Its was for a re-established tribe, the Umquah Tribe of Indians. During the late 80's under Regan thay achieved tribal status and with their grant bought a track of land along I5 in Canyonville, OR. They originally built a bingo hall. While I was there in the mid 90's we built a 5 diamond hotel and a first class casino. It is named Seven Feathers Casino and Resort. It was a tribe of sorts but really a group of decendents of an old trapper by the last name of Jackson who had an Indian wife. He was originally from St. Joe, MO. I guess he was kind of rough on his women. As time went the mining and lumber baron's ran off the indians. The tribal leader, a woman, was one the decendants. When she found out I was from Missouri we ceased getting along.
Tribal politics being what it is, that was not a good thing. She was a good business woman and knew they needed me. They are doing quite well.

I built a second Indian Casino a little closer to home. The Harrah's Potowatomi Prairie Band Casino in Mayetta, Kansas. This was a band of Potowatomi that were relocated from around the great lakes and the eastern united states. We actually have a trail of tears through Jackson County, MO to Kansas. The Prairie Band are a real tribe with a real reservation. Its located in Jackson County, Kansas. Harrahs was the manageing partner and the developer of the Casino. They brought our firm to the table. After the Casino was finished, I stayed on with the tribe for about 3 years helping with construction projects on the Res. They liked to spend the money from the Casino. I made it through two tribal elections but on the third I was fired along with all the other "white men". The newly elected tribal leader was a pow wow bum who hadn't been past the 5th grade. He was a huge man. Probably 6'6" 300lbs. You did not want to piss him off. My contract was terminated on Christmas Eve. By Spring he had gone off to California for some sort of Indian meeting and never came back. According to the others I stay in touch, nobody knows what happened to him. The tribal leader now is a Harvard Business school graduate and they manage the Casino themselves. They are doing a good job.