"It was March 29, 1973, in Saigon. And Master Sgt. Max Beilke was officially designated as the last American combat soldier to leave Vietnam".

When they broke into the programs on television to announce that not only was the war over but the last American was out of harms way, I felt jubilant and extremely happy and I ran outside to blow the horn on my 63 Chevrolet Impala, but I noticed everything was quiet. People were not coming out of their houses. It seemed that no one wanted to celebrate the ending of the war that we quit without finishing.

When our boys went into a battle in Vietnam, no matter what the cost, they won it. It would be hard to find any action in Vietnam that was not appropriately dispatched by our servicemen and women. Anyone that thinks otherwise has been badly misinformed.
So when the war ended, I was not only happy about the fact that I would not have to worry about going to Vietnam and wondering if I would have what it took to be a soldier or not, but the biggest concern I had was that my friends, the people that I grew up with, would not have to go and die. I know that I was being selfish but I could not help it because I had seen the list of names grow every single day and when they started to be names that I knew it was both painful and scary. When it's just a story on a news program it doesn't mean as much as it does when it's Kelly, the young man up the street.

I celebrated the end of this war in Vietnam, then by myself and I celebrated it today because so many of my friends have families and are living wonderful lives because they didn't have to go to the rice paddies of Vietnam and they didn't have to give their lives, because of the brave men and women that served our country so valiantly and bravely, they did what had to be done and it saved so many.

I want to thank all of you who serve our country, whether it's the European countryside or it's in the rice paddies of Asia or the desert sands of the Middle East, from the bottom of my heart. I love you each and every one of you for what you do.

I also would especially like to thank the veterans from Vietnam for a job well done and take this opportunity to tell each and every one of you a heartfelt thank you and welcome home.

Just a River Rat

I grew up in an area where most people in our neighborhood had come from the farms and the mills of the upper Mississippi River Delta lands in Mississippi. They were all good, decent, hard-working people that loved their community, their children and they worked to make their communities a strong and loving place for their families. Because they came from the river deltas, they had these ethics instilled deep into their souls. I know this because I, too, am what I consider a “river rat”.

I want to take you back to the late 50’s, early 60’s, driving down Highway 78 to MS-15 to 64 South  to MS-346 West, in a ‘55 sky blue Plymouth, to a very small town called Hurricane, Mississippi, where my mother's family is from. I remember the first house I ever saw my grandparents in and, it may be strange to some of you, because it was built like a standard A-frame house with a roof over the bedrooms to the left and the kitchen and living room to the right, but there was no center part of the house. It was as if you put these rooms on the big huge deck and never built walls for the front and back. There was what we call in the South the breezeway right through the center. The bedrooms were fully enclosed and so were the kitchen and the living room and there was a big porch on the front and a similar porch on the rear of the house.

You have to understand that when these houses were built there wasn't any such thing as air conditioning and even if there was, they were sharecropper and they could not have afforded it anyway. The house was a stick frame house and the outside was sheeted with roofing material that looked like bricks, you know, just like a roofing shingle but all one big huge sheet that was made to look like bricks. The inside was sheet rocked, or at least stuccoed or some type of material that was paintable and wallpaperable.  The old potbelly stove sat in the middle of the living room and it was the only source of heat in the living room. None of the other rooms had heat other than propane standing space heaters with open flames. I don't even know if those type of heaters are allowed in today's society with all of the safety regulations that we have. I used to have a blast running all over that porch as a small boy with this old mangy Collie dog.

I remember family get-togethers that had all the men, brothers, brothers-in-law  and my grandfather sitting around the living room or out on the porch talking. All the sisters and sisters-in-law, my grandmother and all of the daughters and daughters-in-law were in the kitchen preparing some of the best food you could ever imagine. My grandmother made the best most moist pecan cake you could ever eat. It melted in your mouth and no one to this day makes frosting like she did. The women would start off fixing breakfast for all of us. The men would sit down at the table in the first setting and then all of us cousins would sit and eat after our fathers had eaten and lastly our mothers and our grandmother would sit and eat. This was the tradition for every meal that goes back to the days when men worked the fields and ate first, then the children came second and the women would eat last.

There would be arguments, there would be laughter, there would be all kinds of commotion going on in the kitchen as they washed the dishes from breakfast and started to prepare lunch for all of us. I remember it so well because of the smells and the tastes and they would run all us kids outside and tell us to go play. Most of the kids were either older or younger than I was, so I would take my cap pistol and my transistor radio and that old Collie dog, and go big game hunting in the pastures that were next to my grandparent’s home.

As that Collie dog and I ran as hard as we could into the pasture, I could hear my mother screaming out off the back porch ”you watch what you step in young man” , after all it was a pasture full of cows, don't you know. But I made sure that I didn't wander so far that I couldn't hear my uncle Jimmy yell “dinnertime”. One thing this little boy was, was never late when my grandmother was cooking dinner. I guess I really didn’t have to listen for my uncle Jimmy because the smells would come wafting up the hill of that pasture and I would know it was getting close to dinner and so did that old Collie dog because he knew there would be some biscuits and bacon fat and his dog food waiting when we got back.

It seemed no sooner had we gotten out there and started hunting big game that it was time we turned around and went back just as hard as we could go. What I'm getting at is the whole social interaction of my mother's family was wrapped around the kitchen and the appreciation of good food. The women of her family never passed on to me the secrets of what it took to make that food so special, but after years of trying, I got the secret of those old biscuits and that ultra-moist pecan cake, as far as the ingredients go, down pat. The one thing that I wish I had the secret to, was hearing the joy and, yes, sometimes the anger that they put into making them the most loving meals a family could ever have.

The river was a lifeline to all of these families because they needed the moisture to grow their crops and  because they needed to get their crops to the big cities and the markets that would pay the best prices for what they grew along the river.

That's why they needed to live near the river. These wonderful folks that I call “river rats” raised wonderful children and they, in turn, raised wonderful grandchildren, but we were all “river rats” because we needed the river to exist. All of the communities that grew up around the Mississippi River Delta at one time looked after each other and made sure that they at least had food and a warm place to sleep. It was this kindness and the strength of community that the families that made up the community that I grew up in, in Memphis, Tennessee, a loving and wonderful place to have a family.

When my family and I started out in this community it was known as Charjean because of the elementary school that we all went to and the park nearby that we all played at. My father was a member of the Charjean Civics Club, along with many of the other fathers from this community. They kept a close eye on what the planning commission had in store for all of us and they fought hard against the things that they did not want in their community and, also, just as hard for the things that they wanted in their community. The Charjean Civics Club sponsored baseball teams during the summer and tried to make sure that school supplies and things were gathered for the coming year of school.

Our mothers ran the PTA and had bake sales and anything else they could to make sure that the educational needs of their children were met. This was the norm until ground was broken on a brand new junior high school that would not only service the Charjean area but two other major areas known as Bethel Grove and Cherokee. For those of us now in our late 50’s and early 60’s this would combine those neighborhoods into a homogenized group known as the Airways Jets. Yes, I obsess over those years because those years were the years that I met Nancy, Sheila, Debhora, Debbie, Ricky, Mike, Donnie, Sidney, Eddie and many others that would take too long to mention, but they were all some of the most important people in the world to me in those days.  These kids that I grew up with were absolutely like family to me, not just because of my family’s strong family ties, but because all of their parents were also so dedicated to making our neighborhoods like a huge family.

I told recently the Superintendent that is in charge of the school system today in Memphis that we came from blue and brown collared workers and that our parents had pulled themselves’ up out of the fields of the Mississippi Delta to a community that they had worked lovingly hard to build and to be proud of, even though most of Memphis looked down upon us and that this school that was built just for us was our chance to show the city of Memphis that we could be a beacon of cooperation in education, in a city that was struggling to find how to educate its children and I think we succeeded to make ourselves an example for students to come.

I believe that I am a proud “river rat” who has accomplished much in his life but, without the help and love of so many people that I grew up with and the help of my God and my parents, I would never have achieved any of what I have achieved.

My loving wife has been my guiding inspiration and my light of love throughout the latter half of my life. When I have been so angry at someone that I wanted to tear their head off, I could see myself looking into her loving green eyes and all of that anger and hate would just melt away.

When things would get hard and I didn't feel like I could take that next step or lift that next heavy load, I would remember a man that was adorned with a crown of thorns and carried a heavy cross as he was beaten along his path to his death and my burden became light. I can still hear the women of my family talking and laughing as they talked about their old men. It's that love of life that they brought from those old houses with the breeze way through the center to keep them cool on the most extremely hot, muggy Delta days that gives me strength to carry on today.

All of this instilled in me a love of history that always made me want to have a piece of my history that goes back in these United States to the 1620’s. So, when I moved back to Tennessee, I decided that the perfect house for us would be a log house in the hills of the Great Smoky Mountains. This house was dedicated with the love and the blood of all my ancestors that came before me to make their house loving family homes.

That is what I want to have, the love of all those that made themselves a part of my family to make this Appalachian style log house our home.

Believe me, it is the memories of the love of my family and friends that has influenced me to do the right thing my entire life.

Who are You

I once heard a story about a young lady working on an assembly line at a plant in Memphis,Tn. building supplies for the war effort in 1943. When from behind her there were two Army Honor Guards carrying a letter framed in black.

One soldier reached out and tapped her on the shoulder because the assembly line was so loud that they could not be heard, she turned around and knew immediately what they were there for, and she grasped the letter and held it to her heart. The soldiers saluted her and grasped her hand and told her they were sorry for her loss.

The assembly line stopped all of the young ladies working on that assembly line gathered around her and once she had composed herself, she said to all of her companions we have to get back to work so that this never happens to any of you. Some 50 years later the young woman had grown old and had died, when one of her granddaughters was going through her things she found an unopened letter framed in black. The letter that was framed in black was addressed to her grandmother with the last name she had never known.

 I have no idea if that story is true, but there are so many of the greatest generation we have ever known are passing away without telling their stories for future generations to know, what they went through and who they were.

It's not that we want to pry into their private lives, it's that their families, there granddaughter needs to know why that letter framed in black was never opened.

Years from now when you are gone and your great granddaughter looks into your granddaughters eyes and ask who were your grandmother and grandfather? What will she be able to tell them? Have you told your story to your children or grandchildren? Do they know you played football or you were a cheerleader? Do they know in your younger life you were a member of the Allstate band? What, I ask you again what will they know to tell your great granddaughter? If you are not here to answer the question she asked and you never wrote it down or told anyone.

Memories keep us alive and happy, so I ask you to keep you with us for generations to come, share your precious memories of who you are with those you love.

Memories are the greatest gift we can give to those we love and future generations of those that will love us.

As a small boy I always wanted to know how things work, or what made them tick. I would take apart just about anything I could get my hands on and, I must admit, the first few things probably never went back together or if they did, they didn't go back together right.  After each thing I took apart I learned how things worked, how they were put together, so that I could put them back together and they would work. I remember my favorite toys were building toys such as girders and panels, where you had little replicas of steel girders that you could put together and square semi-square could be put together to make buildings such as skyscrapers. The panels would resemble windows and brick-and-mortar and various façades of buildings. They would snap onto the exterior of the girders to make the outside of the buildings. I had an uncle who was a mechanic that could fix just about anything. He inspired me to be something greater than what I was because I didn't get the encouragement from the people around me as I did from him.  Watching him fix cars was magical to me. How did he know how to fix them, what wizard powers did he have?

I figured out that I had a talent that few people had. I could read instructions and make things. I finally got to where I could look at something and either make a replica or fix it. It was kind of a connection between my brain and my hands, if I could feel it, I could understand it. It was almost like I could think with my hands better than I could think with my head. I grew patience for mechanical things and technology. The downside of this was that I grew impatient with people and things that I found frustrating, about what most people call normal life. I was always happiest when I could tear something apart and put it back together and it would work better. I remember I had three or four bicycles that were no longer working for one reason or another and I had a little bike that we called Stingrays back in my day. They had big slick rear tire with the normal size tire in the front. I looked at the parts of some of the older bicycles that I had that were 16 inch bikes and the tires were much bigger than those of the Stingray. I had always liked the fancy choppers that the motorcyclists had back in that day, so I thought I could use the front spoke of the bigger bike if it was interchangeable and if it fit in the front collar of the yoke of the smaller bike.

Without another thought I took both of the front yokes off of both bikes, taking the handlebars out, taking the handlebar shaft out and then undoing the collar, sliding it out and taking the bearings from one to the other and seeing if they fit, seeing if the bearings fit the shaft of the front spoke and they did. That made the front stand about 8 inches higher than it did before, even though it would accommodate a much larger circumference tire and rim, I left the smaller rim from the Stingray on it, which gave it more of a chopper look.

I don't want you to think that I had finished my alterations of this bicycle yet because I had not. I noticed that the sprocket was bigger on the 16 inch bicycle and the length of the rods from the pedal sprocket to the peddles was a few inches longer as well. This meant that it would change the gear ratio from the output of the chain to the smaller sprocket on the rear tire giving it more speed and torque. That's right, you've got it. I took it apart to see if it would fit and it did. I spent probably about the next 10 years of my life working on cars, in one form of another, helping my buddy Rick with any project he had with his racecar until I moved to Canada and married my Ursula. I had decided that even though I loved doing automotive electrical work, probably more than anything else I had ever done, when I worked for Tom Bell Chevrolet and Tim Fuss Chevrolet in Memphis. I decided to give it up and I went into auto parts and being a service writer, which I was also good at both of those jobs as well.

When I moved back to the US in the Smoky Mountains, my wife and I both changed professions again. I went into retail and she went into managing a hotel. I longed to have that creative sense that I had lost. I couldn't help myself. I wanted to be creative. It was a need-it was something that I had to do. I loved working on my computer and touching up photographs and working on videos. The computers that I was working with were commercially bought.  My first was a Sony back in 1999, but it just didn't have the power or speed or memory to do what I wanted to do. So my next one was an HP which was much faster and quite a bit better, but it too lacked what I needed. You guessed it,  I decided to build my own computer. It was the best decision I have ever made. I now have a six core, 3.7 GHz, 16 GB of DDR3 RAM, an Asus motherboard and an HD eyenfinity AMD 6770 graphics card. By the way, the graphics card is the weakest link, but for what I'm doing that graphics card is more than enough at this point. I also have 12.5 TB of storage for movies, pictures, stories or whatever I want.

As with everything that I do in my life, I find I have a fear of failing, so it takes me a long time to build up the courage to get started on any project I start. The only thing I think that I ever went head over heels deep into as far as a project was concerned with the building of our log house. I did have a contractor, but I worked on every single aspect of this house. I did 100% of the plumbing and electrical and they passed inspection and are still working some 27 years later. I put in all the windows and doors. I helped set the logs and even helped pour the foundation. So, to all the naysayers, including my father, to my abilities and intelligence, I have to tell you that it may have taken me years to find out, but I am as intelligent as anyone else. I tell you this with the frustrations of failure at times but I never gave up because I know this now, if a man built it, I can build it myself, if any man can do it, I sure as heck can do it myself. I now sell electronics and I guess they keep me around there because I know more about computers than they do, but the thing I love the most about what I do right now is I help people.

Entertainment is important to people that don't have a whole lot in this world and I can show them things that can get them entertainment for very little money. I can sell them computers that will do the things that they need to make themselves happy. I have helped people with computer problems fix their computers. It's not that I'm a computer genius, because I'm not. I can't write code and I don't want to. I can't reprogram their computer any more than they can, but if the worst scenario is true, I can still show them how to get their computer back to the point that it was when it was brand-new. I've taught people how to get viruses off of their computer, how to keep their computers clean and running smoothly.

It's not fixing the machine that makes me happy. It's the grandmother that can look at the picture she has stored on her computer of her grandchildren that she thought she had lost, thanking me with a smile. It was the lady at Christmas time that wanted somehow for her husband to be able to see the old Western movies that he once had enjoyed as a child and wanted to see now, but because of their bills with cancer and his surgeries, they didn't have the money to pay these ridiculously high cable bills. I showed her how, if they kept their Internet access, she could access at least five or more old Western channels on the Roku box and we both cried, her with the joy of being able to give her husband, in his remaining years, something he loves and me because it was a blessing from God.

I see so many people every day that are so angry and hateful and rude because they are miserable. I refuse to live that way. When I was brought into this world I had nothing and when I leave it I will have nothing.

So, I no longer am going to worry about it, what I have no control over, because I got my abilities in my brain and the knowledge through my hands from He who can fix anything. I am so grateful for the people and the things that pass through my life giving me wisdom and keeping my spirit true and clear because it is He that gives me the courage every day through the pain and the fear to carry on.

I have always said that our lives are the sum of the experiences, places and people we have met. They may not always be to our liking, but they make up a part of us. If any one of those experiences places or people would have been removed from our life we would not be exactly who we are. We were a product of the 60s. We grew up and went to school in the area that became Airways. The people we met in our life were both good and bad, I would like to believe the majority of them were good. This is not to say that family, faith and inspiration. Don't make up a part of who you are, because they do. It's not just one thing that determines who you become. it is the sum of everything that makes you who you are. I would not remove even my worst experiences or places that I would not return to. I especially would not remove any one that I ever met from my memory good or bad. I have loved and I have hated, but most of all, I have tolerated differences that annoyed me or made me sad, because I believe things happen for a reason. The experiences, places and people were different than I was as I confronted them, they made me a much better person and I'm sure that they had to tolerate me because I was different than they were. My point is that I never gave up and I kept moving forward and those annoyances have become some of my most favorite memories of all time. If you look for the best in people, you'll find it. If you ask for the worst in people, you will receive it. I tried to ask nothing of anyone else as much as humanly possible, because I expect nothing and when I get something in return, I am overjoyed and I am overjoyed with all of you that called me friend. I do not use the term friend lightly, so when I call you my friend,that puts you in a special place in my heart.