July, 2015

 

BINGO:

          The speaker calls B-14, “Beeeeee-for-teeen”. She repeats the call several times. People move their tokens on the board, or like me sit there silently muttering to themselves, “I hate this card. I’m getting nothing on this. How are you doing Momma?” “I’m not doing too bad, but I can barely see it.” says Mom. She stares intently at the card of numbers and letters. She probably could use some reading glasses. She’s cozily tucked into her wheel chair with a red polar fleece blanket across her legs for warmth. Surveying the room, participation is thin today. This is the main community room/dining area/Bingo Parlor. It’s a large, low ceiling room with the walls tastefully decorated with paintings likely procured from the home styles section of the local “Big Lots” and/or furniture/office outlet. They say nursing homes smell. “I just can’t go in there, the smells.” I’m lucky. My sense of smell is practically nonexistent. A lifetime of allergies and sinus infections has rendered my olfactory senses oblivious to all but the most pungent/rancid insults to the nasal passageways.

          Dad was always saying, go play Bingo with your mother. So I did, maybe not every time, but enough. Sitting there with mom staring at the cards moving tokens around. Making sure she get the numbers right. First, I learned that Bingo is a decent way to gauge peoples mental status, or lack thereof. Mom, has the incentive to get in there and play. She can hear them call the numbers. Then, she can find the numbers on the card, and not only that she makes the connection when she has her winning hand. Oh and when she gets the coverall, the look on her face is simply grand and she talks about it for days. It may not seem like much, but when your parent has dementia. Bingo takes on this whole new meaning and serve as a means to interact and engage with people who might otherwise seem distant (comatose). Give your time to your loved ones, it will help you immeasurably. Bingo is great!

          Bingo has a long and storied history. Its origins can be traced to Italy during the 1530’s. It was called “Il Giuoco del Lotto d’Italia”. The game spread to France and Germany where cards and tokens were introduced. In Germany, the game was used in school to educate children in letters and numbers. The game in Germany acquired the name of “Beano” as they used beans to mark their numbers. Eventually, the game arrived in America where traveling circuses would use it as a quick money making gimmick. Games would last into the wee hours of the morning. Ed Lowe an American toy salesman is credited with creating the Bingo game as it is now played. He happened upon one of the late night carnival games, and from that moment he was hooked. He started by teaching his friends to play and their enthusiasm for the game lead to his commercial success. However, the early cards had too many repeating numbers, and thus multiple winners. To cure this, Lowe enlisted the help of Mr. Leffler a retired mathematician. Lowe desired to have 6000 cards with nonrepeating numbers. This herculean task took several years to accomplish and in the end was costing $100 per card. Finally, at the height of Bingo mania in America Lowe had 64 printing presses working 24 hours a day, and had a thousand employees.

          We didn’t get the elusive “Coverall” today. We played a couple of games, and won some quarters. The “Coverall” is where you cover your entire card with tokens. I wheel mom back to her room and put her to bed, making sure she’s tucked in cozy. Like she used to do for me. I guess everything comes full circle. It makes me sad. I’m grateful to be able to do some things for her, and spend time with her. I sh ould do more.

DEPLOYMENT ORDERS:

          Finally, received my orders in June for 366 days of fun in Southwest Asia. They read like nothing you’ve ever heard of:

LINE 1 UNDER PARTIAL MOBILIZATION AUTHORITY REFERENCE A YOU ARE HEREBY INVOLUNTARILY ORDERED TO REPORT FOR ACTIVE DUTY IAW REFERENCES B THROUGH I FOR A PERIOD OF 366 DAYS, UNLESS RELEASED SOONER BY ISSUING AUTHORITY. THE BOOTS ON GROUND REQUIREMENT FOR THIS EVENT IS 240 DAYS IN THEATER.

It continues in this vein for about 15 pages. The “event” to be is SPMAGTF CC-CR 16.1 and will be taking place in Southwest Asia. Namely Kuwait and Iraq. We are to be the Shock Trauma Platoon Crisis Response portion of the MAGTF. The orders also refer to me as a “candidate”. Like I’ve won a prize, or I’m just one of many options that will be voted on at a date to be announced in the near future. Also, these orders don’t say where I’m going, except for “In support of Operation Enduring Freedom. These orders come with its own gear list. The gear list is an entire page – single spaced. They want me to bring 30 day supplies of shaving cream and toothpaste. I’m ecstatic.

    Line 7G LIST SECURITY CLEARANCES IN ORDERS AS REFLECTED IN A/PUS AND VERIFIED BY UNIT COMMAND. E-6 AND ABOVE MUST HAVE AT A MINIMUM A CURRENT CLEARANCE WITH ADJUDICATION OF SECRET OR TOP SECRET……………………….

    Speaking of clearances, mine expired this year and had to be redone. It was a nightmare. Eight hours of compiling references, previous addresses, old employers, girlfriends, and mistresses. Frantically digging up dates for old parking tickets. You name it, inquiring minds want to know it. How many countries have you visited in the last 10 years – A bunch. Unfortunately, I had to go into great and exquisite detail about everything. Then you click send and off it goes into the State Departments byzantine bureaucracy. It takes them months to get these squared away. I didn’t have the time really to wait, my report day was rapidly approaching. Every day I’m getting hate mail from the higher up. Sir, you’ve got to get this taken care of. Sir, but Sir please have you attended to this URGENT matter? I’m calm, responding “LINE 7.G LEAVE ME ALONE REFERENCE 1A STATES CLEARLY THAT LCDR SHORES SHOULD BE LEFT ALONE ONCE HE HAS SUBMITTED HIS CLEARANCES TO THE HIGHER AUTHORITY AND SHOULD THEREFORE BE ALLOWED TO ENJOY HIS COFFEE AND NEW YORKER MAGAZINE ARTICLES IN RELATIVE PEACE”. Finally, with not a moment to spare, it came throug

REPORTING FOR DUTY:

CS Gas is amazing for your complexion.

          Reporting on July 24^th at the NOSC rushing to complete all the appropriate paperwork and online courses. In due course I get everything done and manage to have plenty of time to go for tacos with my good friends Rusty & Misty Kirby, Sara & Kane and others. Sunday morning plane flight at 0900. Waffle House with my Sister Faye and Scott. They drive my car home for me which is awesome. Camp Lejeune NMPS, Navy Marine Processing Center! Here we are vaccinated and molested. This is where we humble reservists are duly transmorgafied into full blooded, rip roaring, active duty types with all privileges and benefits. It’s mostly painless. We ate sushi. There about 5 of us officer types. I’m the only nurse. I haven’t met my counterparts yet they’re in California. It takes about 5 days to get us through the process. I was worried about my Cholesterol being too high, but it was fine. They’ll get you on the little things, and send you home for good. All the time and effort to get ready wasted! However, honestly this go round I had mentally prepared myself for the big rejection, prepare for the worst and hope for the best. At the end of the week we fly from North Carolina to California, it’s not too much fun. Luckily, nobody loses their luggage or gets murdered. We get our fancy rental cars. Mines a mini car, a magnetic blue Toyota Yaris, which to me sounds like a woman’s birth control pill. “Honey have you had your Yaris today?” Warning! Yaris may cause: Vomiting, bloating, rash, insensibility, diarrhea, constipation, Lock Jaw, Night Sweats, Ambulation, Diaphoresis, and infertility in lab gerbils. Women who have a history of diabetes, awkward obscenity, hypertension, enuresis, and blotchy skin should consult a physician prior to consuming Yaris. Thank you for your time.

Oceanside California.

          The Harborsite Inn, at Camp Pendleton is a low slung cinder block complex. Looks like a low budget crime scene. The AC has been nonfunctional for the last decade or so, and there are no plans to repair it. My room smells like sweat pants. I open the windows and turn on the fan. I light a match, which helps a little. This place is strange, but at least I have my own room, privacy is an expensive commodity in the military. There’s no elevator and I’m perched high atop the 3^rd floor. Luckily, I have an excellent view of the Pacific Ocean. “Ocean in View, Oh the Joy!” – Lewis & Clark. The smell of the ocean is always fantastic and I’m enjoying every moment.

 

To the Mountains of Madness, there & back again with

R.T. Gault

 

People have influenced me for good, bad, or indifferent. I am largely a mass of other people’s ideas and tastes. Of course, I have made them my own. Taken their idea’s, proclivities, and notions; internalized, distilled them, used them to create what I hope is my unique outlook and experience. We are products of those around us, and I am no different.

          I started reading comic books in Junior High, around age 12 or so. It started small with just a few here and there; then like a kudzu vine sprouting from the virile soil of adolescent literature. My hunger grew exponentially. I was the Borg of the wire rack newsstand. Devouring comics in the way Mighty Galactus devoured home-worlds. Discernment, was not my forte. Fantastic-Four was read along with Teen Titans, Robot Fighters, and Weird War. Somewhere along the line I heard about Centaur Books and Comics, in Tullahoma.

          I begged my Mom, a long suffering woman that loved/loves her child. I used logic, passion, and desperation to get my way, but in the end my Mom took me to the Comic Shop simply because she loved me, and probably knew I was not going to shut up about it any time soon. There’s a moral here, be careful of your desires. Because, you might just get it, you might just get it in spades. Those fairy tales where the loud, precocious child comes to bad end because of his unreasonable desires, they’re true. But at the time I didn’t know that. All I knew was I wanted some comic books and Speedy-Mart was no longer cutting it. I had to go to Tullahoma, had to go to Centaur Books and Comics.

 So Mom would drive me out there once a week, after my allergy shots. I would be so excited………so excited. Centaur Books & Comics was located in a single line strip mall of desperate venues. There was a Musical Instrument Store, a tax service store (read money laundering) and then there was Centaur, located on the very end. Out front and in plain view, just in case you were confused there was the sign. Lit large with florescence was a dancing centaur with the face of R.T. Gault wearing glasses. This was Centaur Books & Comics. Inside, the front was replete with rack upon rack of comics. He had all your main stream comics, and I immediately went for these. Enthusiastically, I would dig into back issues squealing with delight over G.I. Joe “America’s Hero” or Marvels “Secret Wars”. I’m sure R.T. was annoyed to no end by my gushing enthusiasm. However, over time we sort of developed this odd relationship. Me, the eager student and him the all-knowing, all wise sage of comic-literature.  

          R.T. Gault was a big man. Very tall, stoop shoulder he had the worst posture imaginable. He wore glasses, big brown 1980’s shatter-proof style glasses. His dress habits are sort of what you’d expect, and he smoked, but who cared? It was the 80’s and second hand smoke wouldn’t be invented for another 10 years. You could tell he wasn’t from around here and he informed me that he was from Indiana, and his family had once owned Roark’s Cove out in Decherd. Not sure why he decided on Tullahoma as a place of residence unless he was hiding from somebody.

          I guess he got sick of me reading such garbage or what he thought was garbage, or maybe I was his little Guinea Pig. He was probably just bored. Who knows but one day he starts recommending comics for me to read and before long I’m into all this bizarre stuff.

·        Cerebus the Ardvark

·        Watchmen Series

·        Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (when they were still B/W)

·        Miracleman

·        The Shadow

·        Swamp Thing

·        Epic Illustrated

·        Heavy Metal

Of course there were some misses as well, but I’ll forget all about “Radioactive Black Belt Ninja Hamsters” if you will. His store also probably had the largest collection of “Omaha the Cat Dancer” in the entire state of Tennessee at the time. He had all the R. Crumb stuff, back when everybody thought R. Crumb was just a dirty old man with his dirty old picture books. Yeah R.T. was a visionary in some ways. His store ran the gamut. “To catch many fish cast your net far and wide”, as the saying goes. R.T. is probably the reason I still enjoy comics.

          R.T.’s store was truly unique. My mom even said as much when after perusing his shelves she remarked, “He has some strange books”. Little did she know that she was gazing upon what was at that time likely the largest collection of occult material East of the Mississippi, South of the Mason-Dixon Line. He had it all. Allister Crowley, Golden Dawn, Atlantis, and Lemuria: you name a conspiracy or obscure mystic order, R.T. had it. Centaur Books & Comics was a vast cavern of occult esoterica that has fueled my imagination to this very day. R.T. introduced me to H.P. Lovecraft and the Cthulhu Mythos, Edward Abbey and eco-terrorism, and finally one of my favorite fantasy books of all time he simply handed to me and said “Why don’t you read this?” “Little, Big” by John Crowley which is still to this day one of my favorite books. Not only is it still in print; it is hailed as an “unrecognized masterpiece”. The book is good, and yes I still have my copy.

          R.T. told me stories about writing “romance novels” to make extra money while he was in college. “It’s all very formulaic” he said with a chuckle and downward glance. One day while listening to him lecture about the JFK assassination………he went into the back and returned with a book “The politics of Heroin in Southeast Asia”. R.T. says, “this book talks about the Heroin Trade and the Golden Triangle, did you know they smuggled heroin inside coffins coming back from Vietnam?” Of course how could I know this I was like fourteen. He had to “decide” whether or not to sell it to me, as it was his only copy. Reluctantly he did.

          Here’s a review of the book he sold me for like $2.

 “This in-depth academic study researches the central role that opium plays in the economy, politics, and wars of the region. It follows the trial from the highlands of Laos, where the opium is grown and harvested by the Hmong tribespeople, to the Golden Triangle, where it is refined into heroin. Published in 1972, this was the first printed account of the USA's massive engagement in a "secret" war in Laos. It documented the use of CIA helicopters to bring Laotian opium to market in Vietnam (where, ironically, it was sold to addicted US soldiers.) This was done to finance weapons for the army of Hmong highlanders, being led by CIA "advisors", who were fighting the Laotian communists.
There was only one edition of this book; immediately after its first printing, the entire publisher was bought by the U.S. government, and all warehoused copies were destroyed. However, with a bit of luck it can still be found in used bookstores.”

This review stresses a simple fact, yes R.T. was a bit misanthropic and eccentric, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t know what he was talking about. He was one of the smarter more interesting people I’ve met. R.T. certainly had a lasting impact on my literary tastes and view of the world, and I’m good with that. Yeah, I was reading this stuff when I was in Junior High School. His reading list and my own geekiness combined with Edward Abbey, Anton Wilson, William Faulkner, and George Orwell’s 1984 to make me truly paranoid. I was ready to pop smoke and vacate Western Civilization for the remainder of my days. If R.T. was alive today he’d have a fit with all these 9/11 Theories and CIA Torture Planes. I imagine him to be doing 360’s in his grave as I write this.

          My good friend, Alex would come over to the house to hang out. He’d find me dressed out in a hybrid blend of combat boots, camouflage pants and Native American regalia either reading the Flaming Carrot or some occult history of the JFK assassination, I’d start yammering about Masons, Lee Harvey Oswald and the Iran-Contra affair. It also didn’t help that down the street the family of Tupper Saucey was selling his book on the Martin Luther King assassination. How James Earl Ray didn’t do it, that it was the FBI who framed him. All this came to roost inside my little head sitting up in my room, tweaking on Sun-Drop, and listening to Pink Floyd’s “The Wall”. Yeah, it was a perfect recipe for madness and I jumped in with both feet begging for it.  

“I was going to the worst place in the world and I didn't even know it yet. Weeks away and hundreds of miles up a river that snaked through the war like a main circuit cable plugged straight into Kurtz. It was no accident that I got to be the caretaker of Colonel Walter E. Kurtz's memory any more than being back in Saigon was an accident. There is no way to tell his story without telling my own. And if his story really is a confession, then so is mine.” – Captain Willard from “Apocalypse Now”