Over Due at Station Two - Alaska

I’m over due, at station two.  I know they’ll begin to worry.

The snow is cold, and the wind takes hold, and my mind’s in a little flurry.

I should have known, that to go alone, to my village by the sea,

Down cold trails, and through iced dales, was not my best idea.

When it’s forty below, you don’t solo, I’ve always heard it said,

So I’ll just fight, through the frozen night. The alternative is dead.

I feel my mind go, at forty below, but to where I’m not so sure.

I’ll cuss, and I’ll fuss, and if that weren’t enough, my vision is a blur.

It blurs to a time, that seems so sublime, back to a time that’s lost.

Back to the day, when yellowish hay, the wind swayed like froth.

The sun does shine, through silvery pine, while a boy plays only half clad.

The time seems sweet, and the youth not beat, out of this pristine lad.

But now I see, the boy is me. before the fever struck.

Before the gold, took right hold, and I went on a northern truck,

Then the temperature slid, and shut like a lid, all over my dreams and hopes.

Out all alone, in the great unknown, God I’m a miserable bloke.

But I figured it all, on the trail last fall, I figured what it’s about.

If I’d stayed a lad, only half clad, I’d never been able to shout,

To the malamutes, and their frozen snoots, “Onward and onward, now mush.”

I’d have been, like the rest of them, and never done real much.

I would not have seen, a world serene, cloaked in a whit fur coat.

Nor the mountains high, just short of the sky, a wreckage of purple boats.

Some men can venture, some great adventures, some stay with the city lights.

But I for one, have gone and done, so I’ll just continue the fight.

I fight the trails, and blistery gales, I fall down a slippery slope.

I can’t get up, I shout at the pups, there is no longer hope.

I’m over due at station two, they’ll send out a party I guess.

They’ll find me here, in about a year, hunched in a snowy rest.

I Won't Be Home for Christmas - Alaska

In all the years I spent in Alaska I only decided to return to the lower 48 for Christmas once.  My kids were a little up set, more for me than for them I suspect.  They had visions of me sitting in my little basement dwelling, watching television all alone with a little TV dinner while I cried into my eggnog.  That was not the case due to nice people that always seemed to take pity on a single person around Christmas time.  I always had a Christmas dinner and a New Year happening to go to.  The reason I did not return more than once had a lot to do about not spending the $1000 the trip would have cost and the hassle it involved.

The coming and going from the village over Christmas vacation was always a real mental and physical hardship let alone a financial drain.  Leaving from bush Alaska is not an easy task under the best of circumstances let alone over a busy holiday period.

The year I did return, my first year there, it went something like this -

Around the 20^th of December the teachers who were leaving congregated in the school office.  They waited for the fifteen minute warning call from a plane that would carry them off.  When the call was received all the bags were thrown into a sled attached to a snow-go and we piled on top of them and sped towards the landing strip.  We hoped our timing was right so as not to miss the plane or worse yet get to the strip to early and wait in the freezing cold longer than necessary.  The plane only held nine people plus baggage and it takes two and sometimes three trips in an out of the village to the regional airport, about an hour away, to get everyone on their way.

Once arriving at the regional airport, in this particular case Bethel, it is easy to transfer to a regular jet liner, seating about 50, for the trip to Anchorage.  We got into Anchorage around 10:00 PM and the flight to the lower 48 took off at 6:00 AM.  Going to a motel seems ludicrous so it is customary to find a soft metal bench or an even a softer portion of some indoor outdoor carpet and try and sleep. 

The flight I was on was going to Seattle first where you may or not spend the night.  Sometimes the flight goes to Chicago or even Houston non stop but not this time.  From Seattle we went to Denver then to Chicago, my final destination that year. 

After visiting that year the return trip I thought would be more relaxing due mostly to the fact I didn’t care if I got back on time or not.  However it turned out to be far more taxing.

It was a direct shot to Anchorage from Chicago.  What could go wrong?  Well, as we were going down the runway and were just about ready to lift off for our seven hour flight the engines suddenly unwound, setting the nose back on the tarmac and the plane started heading back towards the terminal.  The captain came over the intercom and explained that there was nothing serious but a light had come on indicating a pressure door was malfunctioning.  It needed to be checked out.  It took two hours to check the situation out and naturally we were not allowed to deplane. 

We tried the takeoff again and this time met with success.  The seven hour flight went smooth enough but every time we hit an air pocket I had visions of one of the doors blowing off.

Our landing in Anchorage was as smooth a landing as I had ever experienced.  We parked by our gate but then it took another two hours to get the door opened.  I guess they did a good job of closing it in Chicago.

By this time it was midnight and our plane to Bethel was leaving at 4:00 AM.  So I found another soft metal bench and some softer indoor outdoor carpeting close to the ticket gate and settled in.

I had planned on being first in line that morning but so did everyone else and I was number 29.  By the time I was number 10 an airline employee made an announcement indicating I was in the wrong line.  I informed whoever would listen that I was in the line I was told to be in.  I was then informed by a very polite soft spoken lady representing the airline that I was now being told to do something else and that I need not yell.

I am ashamed to say that I must have made quite a scene going to another line because two airline ticket agents came out from behind the counter and gave me special attention.  I was calming down and things were going well when it was discovered that the computer did not have me listed on the flight to Bethel and there were no seats left for over twenty-four hours.  Another scene arose.  As I was shouting out my confirmation number a phone call was made and security guards started congregating in the area.  The problem was soon rectified and I thanked the ticket agent the best I could through my hyperventilating and went off to my gate.

We took off without door problems or lights coming on and an hour later we landed in Bethel amidst a blizzard.  I took a $12, three block cab ride to the air carrier that would take me to Hooper Bay in about an hour.  I was informed that the flight had been delayed due to weather.  Ten hours later the flight was canceled.  I was put on a stand by list for the following morning.

In the mean time more teachers had arrived trying to catch a flight to the bush. They were more experienced than I about such things so I just sat back and listened to what they had to say.  The terminal was closing down and the authorities would not allow anyone to stay in the terminal over night.  To bad I thought because the metal benches seemed sort of comfortable.  The travel pros had made tentative reservations at one of the several motels and by the time I started calling around there were no rooms at the inn.  I pictured myself standing out in the cold all night when a teacher suggested I call the police to see if they had room.  I was a little perplexed until he informed me that sometimes the police let stranded passengers sleep in one of the cells if one was available.  I had no choice.

I made the call to the local constabulary and was told to come on over.  Twenty minutes and $15 later I was placed in a cell with two other transients for the night.  It was the first and only time up till now that I have ever been incarcerated as such.

The next morning I caught a taxi back to the airport, this time costing $20 and got ready for my supposedly 9:00 AM flight.  Nine AM came and went and around 10:00 AM I began to hear rumors that weather was still bad in Hooper Bay and that we would be in Bethel another night.  It was then that the luck of the Irish placed its charms around me.

 As I was leaning against the counter listening to the pros talk about what to do next, an employee came out of the back room from behind the counter and told the Eskimo ticket agent to get nine people on a manifest to Hooper Bay and he did not care which nine they were.  So much for a stand by list.  I immediately turned around and said, “Give me a ticket.”  The teachers began jostling and shoving their way to the counter and I got out of the way for fear of life and limb.  The plane took off about an hour later.

When we landed in Hooper Bay it was 10 below and the wind chill brought the temperature down to minus 42.  There was no time to delay.  We hurriedly through our bags on the sled trip to school, jumped on top and off we went towards the school about a mile away.  We zoomed across the tundra at 35 mph which was fast but not fast enough into the wind and a teacher later told me that he calculated the temperature was -75 degrees with the wind chill.

The following years I made no special attempt to go home fro Christmas.  It was too much of a hassle.  I had a choice and was fine each year I stayed in Alaska over the holidays.  I told my family and friends not to worry about me but to instead concern themselves with those young men and women that are really spending Christmas far away from home and really have no choice.  They are not teachers, I think the term used is "being in the military."

Hooper Bay Hoops - Alaska

Basket Ball

The Hooper Bay Warriors played the Chivak Comets one night a few years back, their biggest rival.  The game was decided by one point by a defensive maneuver that no one expected.

Eskimos love basketball.  They have their own NBA, the Native Basketball Association.  The village of Hooper Bay had I think six teams of men and four of women they called the City League.  Why they didn’t call it the Village League I don’t know.  It was and I am sure still is the ambition of many a young Eskimo lad and lassie to be on the school basketball team thus getting their training for the City League.  The teams are usually made up of family members and best friends.

I am not a sports writer so I can only try to make a few comments and a couple of observations about what I observed that night. 

After the team introductions the crowd grew quiet.  Everyone stood for what I assumed was going to be the national anthem.  Instead the packed house turned in the direction of the flag near the main entrance and in walked the eldest of the Elders.  He took a seat on a folding chair that appeared with great fan fair next to the entrance.  He looked over the crowd, smiled, waved and sat down. Play soon began. 

Referees call the games in the bush a little looser than they do in the rest of the world I think.  Not being a basketball fan I am not real sure, but few high school or college games I have attended did not have a representative from the health clinic strategically placed.  I heard later that the particular game I was watching was a lot less physical than most.  Only four players were treated for minor cuts and abrasions.

The game seesawed back and forth.  It was one fast break after another.  This continued until about the last thirty seconds of the game.

The score was tied 87 to 87.  Hooper Bay had the ball.  Barney passed to Obadiah, Obadiah to Masontoo, back to Barney, up he went with a jump short  when from out of no where a Chivak player bounded off the knee of one of his own teammates  and grabbed the ball out of mid air before it started its downward decent, thus eliminating a goal tending call.  Now the Comet’s had possession, fast break back to the Comet goal, up for a lay up but missed because number 32, Barney, got in the way.  The ref determined that Barney had fouled.  Two shots.

Chivak missed the first shot but made the second.  88 to 87.  Back toward the Hooper Bay goal.  Passage down the court went like clock work until Barney had the ball within five feet of the net.  Up he went for a sure two pointer when again a Chivak player grabbed the ball out of mid air just as it was leaving Barney’s hand.  But then Obadiah grabbed Masontoo lifted him up in the air.  Mansontoo made a gesture toward the Chivak player that loosely interpreted meant, “May you mother be mistaken for a walrus.”  The Comet got mad and through the ball at Mansontoo, who caught the ball in mid air and just as his feet were ready to hit the court he tossed the ball up toward the goal….nothing but net.  The Warriors won 89 to 88. 

All slept well in the village that night.

The Power of Ten - Alaska

The Power of Ten – Alaska

The winter snow, wets the valley below, and I know I must get through.

Fred’s on the sleigh, from the previous day, and he’s turning a ghastly blue.

As I look down the path, through frosted lash, I spot a possible trail.

“Onward,” I cry, to the huskies backsides, as they howl and whip their tails.

Off we go, though weary and slow, and I swore I would not fail,

To get ‘ole Fred, to a comfy bed, and out of the freezing gale.

Now it weren’t Fred’s plan to put his hand, into a beaver snare.

He seemed quite sure, he could grasp the fur, as his face wore a greedy glare.

Then a cry split the cold, and pain took hold, it darned near killed the bloke.

He flopped all around, on the cold white ground, and my shoes got blood red soaked.

All I could see’ was a new amputee , as he pointed the reddish stub,

Right at my face, through the white falling lace, it looked like a bloody club.

“It weren’t real smart, to trap in the dark,” He said with lips so thin.

“I may not be, as quick as you Lee, but I’s been proud to count to ten.”

So I searched the ground, for the hand laying round, and found it to no surprise.

The red soaked meat, I tucked away neat, into my parka’s side.

Three days have passed, and the wintry blast, makes me wonder why we’re alive.

“Look here Bub” as he shows me his stub, “All I can count to is five.”

“Don’t worry,” says I, with frost in my eye,“you still will be able to.

Your hand I’ve hid, in my parka lid, although a finger’s turning blue.”

“You will be able again, to count to ten, as long as we keep it chill.

There’s a Doc up ahead, whose able it’s said, to attach it with expert skill.”

We mushed into Kline, I seek and then find, the Doc we needed to see.

The Doc looks at it, and then thinks a bit, and pulls on a large whiskey.

He works all night, by candle light, just a sewing and stitching and such.

And then with a grin, through a breath of gin, “There, that weren’t so much.”

He thumps on his chest, “I’m one of the best,”

He says with saintly pride.

“He’s got all ten, success once again,”

Then Fred just ups and dies.

Appian Way - The Interpreter

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.

Deutschland Diary - 1

Deutschland Diary – 1

9/4/84

Today is Seann’s birthday.  I am not there to celebrate it because I am on my way to Germany to participate in an army exercise called Return Forces to Germany or REFORGER for short.  This exercise is held each year and consists of moving an army division, usually, from their home base in the United States to Germany.  Once there they participate in a gigantic field exercise, pitting the state side division against the U.S. Division  stationed in Germany. The idea is to let the Soviets know that we still had the resolve and ability to move a large number of troops on short notice quickly.

It will be a great experience for me and the guardsman I will accompany.  On a more personal note I realize that I will be the first McAnally to cross the Atlantic going east and only the second McAnally to visit a foreign country.  My dad spent time in Korea.

Marty and kids drove me to Sedalia armory.  From there are band of brothers boarded a bus and immediately the driver went the wrong way.  We missed a turn in outside Little Rock, Arkansas and ended up lost for awhile.  We did drive by the State House where my great great Grandfather Copeland was discharged from the civil war according to family documents.  About ten hours later we arrived at Ft. Polk, Louisiana.

9/7/84

Things are very unorganized here in Ft. Polk, or so it seems to me.

This morning we got up at 0400 to catch a truck at 0500 that would take us to the chow hall so we could eat at 0600 only to find out it did not open until 0630.  We did not eat because we were supposed to be at a processing center at the same time.  Typical army hurry up and wait.

Processing consisted of standing in line, carrying our two duffel bags through a warehouse and being stopped several times to sign papers and answer questions.  There was a screened off area where you could go behind with your duffel bags and unload anything that you needed to dispose of after being told in the line that that you could not take with you.  It was called the amnesty area.

We then were trucked to a gymnasium, made to line our nap sacks in a line and let drug dogs sniff the contents while we all sat in bleachers waiting for the dogs to finish.  Half way through the sniffing all the dogs seemed to congregate around one certain nap pack.  So did the MP’s.  Pretty soon an announcement was made over the intercom for Major Jerry Sonderegger to come forward. 

Jerry walked to where the MP’s and dogs were and opened his pack for them to explore further.  They confiscated a large jar of peanuts.  It was considered contraband and not allowed.

We were then trucked to a large opened area to wait for more busses to come by and pick us up and take us to our departure area.  We waited for over four hours.  Eventually we all piled on busses and drove to the landing strip.  We began loading, all 500 of us, on a 747 Jumbo Jet.

Log 8 - Alaska

Continued from Log  7 

11-1-02

November already, amazing.  The computer is set up, I am on line but still need to hook up the scanner and printer.  Paula got her second pay check today.  The twist is she was supposed to get it yesterday but the plane was not able to come in – where else does that happen? 

Halloween was calm. Nothing exciting.  Big to do  tonight.  Dance and a spook hallway up in the school.  Looks good, will have to walk through it later tonight. 

One couple has been here twenty years, love to camp, own a boat, four wheeler, and snow machine.  They live in one of the nicer places.  He is a jack of all trades, fixed our cable when it went out, let us use his satellite unit, very helpful but remains isolated a little from the rest of us.

11-05-02

We had a housing inspection yesterday by the central office.  They are looking at all the teacher housing in the district to levelize rents. Some units better than others but the rents are not equal.  Ours is OK for the most part, don’t expect the rent to go up or down.

One of the new teachers is kind of a sad case.  Flunked out of a PhD program, should not be teaching middle school, poor class room management.  No real friends, no TV, no stock pile of food.  We had him over for dinner once, nice enough guy to talk to, seems to know a lot about Russia.

11-12-02

Megan had Eva yesterday or the day before depending on the time between here and there.  Seems as though Dad left an insurance policy to be divided between us kids and Marsha – don’t know how much.  There is little to write about my Alaska adventure right now and it is too cold to go out exploring without transportation of some sort.  Been writing some stories.

11-14-02

One of my students is dieing from a head injury she suffered from a four wheeler accident.  Chasing around at night, hit a log on the beach, flew off.  She is on life support.  Benise Smith, 13,  Two other girls were hurt also.  Benise is in the hospital in Anchorage. Her parents flew there, they have no money to speak of.  The father is one of our janitors and her mother is a sub and works with Paula sometimes.  We will have to go to the funeral – I hear it is an ordeal.  I will let you know, dear reader.