When water levels are high, the original boat launching ramps are under water.  As the water level fluctuates, fisherman leave behind a pretty fair amount of fishing gear caught in the rocks that make up much of shore line.  When water levels drop, boaters are able to use the once again exposed boat ramps, and animals get to re-acquaint themselves with their old stomping rounds.  Occasionally, a critter will get caught up in some of the old left-behind fishing line.

While on patrol one weekend; a very busy time, I received a call to go to one of the boat ramps to deal with a skunk.  The dispatcher wasn’t sure what the problem was, only that a skunk was interfering with use of the ramp.  When I arrived, there were people waiting to launch boats at the top of the ramp, people waiting to trailer boats out of the lake at the bottom of the ramp, and a really pissed-off skunk caught in fishing line and a brittle bush on the side of the ramp, about half-way down.  No one was willing to chance getting nailed with “odoriferous de skunk”, so the ramp was out of commission.

After sizing things up, I told everyone I would be back in fifteen minutes, and headed for the park headquarters, where I armed myself with what I hoped was going to be the necessary equipment deal with the problem.  When I returned, I was facing an even more upset skunk, and people armed with cameras to capture the moment.

After ripping three holes in a 55 gallon plastic trash bag; one for my head, and one for each arm, I put it on, grabbed a second bag and a shovel, and went to battle.  I was able to open the second bag enough to keep it in front of me for the added protection, slip it over the bush and skunk, dig the roots out of the ground, flipping the entire mess into the bag, tie it off, and put it in the back of the truck.  Not a drop of spray on me! 

It didn’t go quite as smooth when I went to release it.  The skunk had sprayed all over the inside of the bag, and had ripped a few small holes in it, so… there was no doubt a passer-by would know exactly what was going on.  I flipped the bag out on the ground, waited for the skunk to get loose and leave, put the “soiled” bag plus the one I had worn in a third plastic bag, headed back to headquarters, put the bags in the trash, parked the truck, and called it a day.

You know the next day when I went back to work; I got an earful from everyone who had to drive the truck that day.  No matter… me one; skunk zero!

At the base of the valley floor, a two-door sedan skidded off the road onto the dirt shoulder, spinning slightly before coming to a stop.  Approaching from behind, there was no driver visible in the driver’s seat, so I stopped to see if there was a medical emergency or some other problem I could help with.  I was not on-duty, so I had no radio.  As I approached the driver’s door, there was a man, leaning over to the passenger seat, holding a woman down, beating on her with his fist.  I opened the door, identified myself as an off-duty police officer, and ordered the man to stop.  Within a minute, the two were separated, outside the vehicle, and I was trying to calm them down, and get them back on the road.  The woman suddenly took off running towards the woods; when I started after her, as she was in bare feet, running through very rough ground, the man got back in the car and left.

When I caught up with her, she had crawled into a culvert to hide.  It took me about 20 minutes to talk her into coming back to the highway, as it was going to be dark soon, and she could get hurt walking around in the scrub, cactus, and broken glass at night.  When we got back to the highway, she ran out into the middle of the lanes, and started walking up the middle of the road.  I got into my truck, and drove behind her with my 4-way flashers on.  I couldn’t call for help without a radio, and couldn’t let her walk up the middle of the highway to get killed.  A catch 22!

Luckily, traffic was light, but… there was some.  Sure enough, a pick-up came along; she jumped out in front of it, causing him to swerve across two lanes, almost causing an accident.  He slammed on his brakes, pulled over, and came back to see what the hell was going on.  I had already grabbed the woman, picked her up, put her in the bed of my pick-up, and held her there.  I told the driver I was an off-duty police officer, and asked him to drive up to the top of the valley wall, flag down a commercial truck driver, and have him radio in that I was holding a mentally ill woman who was attempting suicide on the highway, which he did.

Now for the good part… three state troopers showed up.  One went over to talk to the woman, then immediately came over and asked if I had touched the woman.  I said yes, than started to explain that I pulled her off the road for attempting suicide by jumping in front of moving vehicles.  Before I could even finish my statement, he told me I was under arrest for assault.  He never asked me any questions, just placed me under arrest.  I identified myself as an off-duty police officer, and that he was not placing me under arrest!  One of the other troopers grabbed my left arm; I looked him right in the eye and asked if he really wanted to be part of this?  He let go.  The “arresting” trooper told me to sit on the curbing, which I declined to do.  I called over the third trooper, explained exactly what had happened, and expressed my condolences to her for having to work with such a complete idiot.  Evidently, my assessment wasn’t too far off; she chuckled.

Eventually, the man who had left the original scene came back.  It turns out they were married.  They got back into the car and headed for Phoenix, and the “idiot” commenced to tell me I was free to go.  I commenced to tell him I was always free to go, but stayed to make sure at least one of you got the right story.  He was not amused; I was.  And off I went.

It may be news to you, but these trees are manicured; fed the best we have to offer.  Yet they search for more… their thirst never quenched.  There are thousands of people whose job it is to clean up the mess these trees make, but the mess grows faster than the people can clean.  More people try to help slow the growth, giving more of what they have.  The trees seem to sense the added food, and they come back to take it.  All will never be enough, for they grow ever more out of control, requiring more and more.

The trees are the Legislative, Executive, and Judicial branches.  A thing of beauty, turned fungal and diseased.  Leaders, they are supposed to be… but they are not.  True leaders lead by example.  Ours cower, clothed in secrecy and lies.  “Deals with the Devil”, the order of the day.  Deals with each other… no matter… all will be taken.  Leading by example inspires, and promotes trust… things that have long ago been washed down the drain.  They pass laws that do everything except why they are there… to protect the American people.  But they don’t “feel our pain”, as they have exempted themselves from the laws they pass.

Why, you ask, would leaders not lead by example?  They know the terrible price they would have to pay… the same price they are selling us for… a price too high. To lead by example…  so much of the good life to give up:

Steak and lobster; Champaign and wine

$100.00 cigars to blow smoke all the time.

Trips to wherever, whenever they want

taxpayer’s dollars always ready to flaunt,

Votes for a jet ride, war chests full of gold

wanting baby cell miracles so they never grow old.

Golf on the weekends, banquets to attend

break laws without fear … their colleagues defend.

Pompous and arrogant, disingenuous; never held accountable for treasons committed.  Some representatives have been in office for decades, yet, the same problems that plagued us then still hobble us, as we spin in circles going nowhere.  Turning corporations into people… or was that acknowledging that people are corporations??  It is spelled out if you just look!

The first two rules of warfare… know your enemy; divide and conquer.  They know us so well!  We, as a people, have been divided into so many self-interest groups, and set upon each other, we spend all our time squabbling over scraps… the old “bait ‘n switch”; or “see what’s in my hand” as the other one is behind their back wheeling and dealing.  We all have to pull our heads out of our asses and take a look around at what is going on.  People… we are all being played like a violin, and we are dancing to their music.

My solution…

Rid us of this disease… uproot the evil things… vote everyone out of office, cycle after cycle, until there is no one left who knows their secrets… no one left to keep the trees alive.

While in the military, I was asked to take a lie detector test.  When I got out of the Air Traffic Control career field, I was required to be “assessed”; many controllers have difficulty adjusting to the fact they are not controllers any longer when they leave the field.  Seeing how my pre-enlistment test scores qualified me to do any job offered to enlisted airmen, with the exception of an interpreter, I wasn’t worried.

After I retired from the Air Force, I was surprised to find some businesses in the civilian world had taken up administering lie detector tests as a requirement for being hired.  I had many questions about what type of questions would be asked, who would have access to the information, how and where the results would be used, and how the managers and businesses reputations would hold up under such scrutiny.

I found myself applying for a job, and being asked to take a lie detector test.  Having a good sense of humor, I decided to turn the tables on the interviewer.  After explaining that I was very concerned about ensuring the company I chose to work for was “above board”, and the people I would be working with and for were all on the up-and-up, I asked the interviewer to take one also.

Shortest job interview I ever had!

One of the requirements for being a paid instructor at the university level is a four-year degree in the area you would teach in.  I had years of experience teaching survival, and many college credits, but no degree.  Arizona State University (ASU) had a degree program, so I had my experience and existing credits computed, and identified the last couple of classes I would need to become a certified instructor.  (I would like to clarify at this point… I wanted to be certified, but was already certifiable!)

One of those classes I needed to take was with Arizona State University West.  It was being taught by a fellow instructor from the Maricopa County Parks Department.  He and I had taught many classes together all over the state of Arizona.  On the first day of class, he got sick, and could not talk, so… I ended up teaching the class which I was taking.  I had to pay tuition; never got paid for teaching the class; but… I did get a really good final grade for the class!

Trust me… no written words are necessary other than to state that no critters were hurt during the filming of this video! 

Trust me… no written words are necessary other than to state that no critters were hurt during the filming of this video! 

Baja California Desert in the Cataviña region, south of Ensenada, Mexico. Saguaro cactus. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I recently moved from the Arizona desert after having lived there for 25 years.  Like everyone, I had my favorite things to do… and some things  that were reserved for those “special times”… you know… when you’re out in the desert with a few buddies, you’ve been drinking a little hootch, and you’re bored.  Our game was “desert darts”.  The equipment necessary to play  desert darts consisted of two sticks, a whole slew of “darts”, a piece of cloth with a target drawn on it, and a dart removal tool.  It is played with a minimum of two people… slightly to heavily intoxicated.

Teddy-bear cholla (Cylindropuntia bigelovii) at the Cholla Cactus Garden, Joshua Tree National Park (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The name being a little misleading; desert darts was
one person tossing ”teddy bear cholla balls” towards
you, while you would try to catch them on the piece
of cloth.  The object was to catch as many cholla balls
on the target as possible, while keeping as many of
them off yourself as possible.  Sounds easy, however,
when the hootch kicked in, it was a little tricky… but
always entertaining to watch.

A little about cholla balls… they are also called “jumping cholla”.  That’s because the ends of the needles are difficult to see, so it appears that if you get too close, they actually move towards you, and stick into you.  Once in, without the proper tool, you end up rolling the ball all over your body, leaving the tell-tale signs of your encounter… hundreds of little prick holes identifiable by the tiny spots of blood marking each one.
Other than the obvious, the main drawback was you needed to have several pieces of cloth with targets.  With each successful
catch, the cloth would shrink, as the cholla balls would pull the material into an ever smaller size… kind of like trying to pick up
six or seven pieces of chewed bubble gum with a single facial tissue.  No extra points for using “really” small pieces of cloth to catch with… only more needle pricks.

I never claimed to be real smart… 

Lake Ossipee (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Many years ago, my family; parents, three sisters,
brother and I, would travel from Massachusetts to
New Hampshire for summer vacation. My grand-
parents owned property in the Lake Ossipee area.
Using the property as a staging area, we were able
to travel quite extensively around much of New
Hampshire.

Lost River from Prospect Point, North Woodstock, New Hampshire (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Through the years of travel, we established our
favorite attractions to visit like Clark’s Trading Post,
and Lost River; places to play such as Lower Falls on
Swift River, Lake Ossipee, Lake Winnepausauke, and
White Lake; and there were our favorite places to shop.  One such place was a family owned farm that sold
home-made Pure Maple Syrup… by the gallon!
Godfrey mighty, it was good!  It wasn’t just I who
thought that… my Dad liked it so much, he would
buy two gallons at a time.

We’ve all heard the cliche′ that “all good things
must come to an end”…  We had just arrived back
home after a trip to New Hampshire, and a stop to
pick up two gallons.  The ride home was about two
hours from the time the syrup was purchased.  The
five of us children bailed out of the car, and headed
off to do our own things.  My Mom was in the
kitchen making a late lunch, and my Dad was out in
the driveway, uttering words that I’m sure he did not
intent me to hear.

Pure Maple Syrup, Grade B (Photo credit: artizone)

I asked my Mom what the problem was, and was
quickly advised to stay clear for a little while.  That is
like telling a fisherman to throw a record sized trout
back into the lake… it ain’t gonna happen!  Out I went.
I was able to get close enough without my dad noticing
me, to where I could see one of the gallons of maple
syrup had sprung a leak, and had soaked everything in
the trunk… I mean everything.  Before I could stop
myself,  my lips started moving… and out came the
words…  “Dad, on the bright side, you have the sweetest
car in town”.  He was not impressed, I was out of arms
reach, and that was the last time we had home-made
Pure Maple Syrup from New Hampshire.

We had great fun hiking along, catching up to older hikers, squirting on a little Woodsman’s, lighting up a cigar, and blowing right passed them while puffing on those Wolf Brother’s Rum Soaked Crooks.  After we had achieved a little distance between them and us, we’d put the cigars out, and wait for the next encounter.

On one hike, we climbed Mount Washington.  There were two other alternatives to be able to enjoy the view from the highest peak in New Hampshire for those unable to make the climb… there was a road on which you could drive to the summit, as well as a cog railroad you could take.  As for my brother and I, when we arrived at the summit, we were beat, hungry, and thirsty… very thirsty.  There was a small store on the top of Mount Washington, where you could buy fast food items.  Much to our dismay, the cog had just arrived, and the store was packed, and the line for food and drinks was to the door.  What an opportunity though!  Holding true to our “tradition”, we doused ourselves with Woodsman’s, lit up cigars, opened the door, and slid in.  It should be noted that Woodsman’s Fly Dope can kill a moose at 100 yards simply by opening the container.  That stuff would make a skunk envious!  It was about 30 seconds before a very well dressed, older gentleman stopped the conversation he was having with another man, looked around, then down, saw my brother and I standing behind him, Woodsman’s and cigars doing their best to announce our presence.  The nice man, with the wrinkled nose, motioned for us to go to the head of the line… a rather long line, commenting how “these two young boys who had climbed the mountain needed food and water more than everyone else.  Much to our surprise, everyone else in line saw the wisdom in that, ushering us to the front of the line.

It wasn’t until several years later that I realized what had actually transpired.  In retrospect, I guess my brother and I should be happy we weren’t thrown off the top of the mountain, or tied to the railroad tracks like they used to do in the old-time western movies.

As a side note…I believe the United Nations has banned the use of Woodsman’s Fly Dope during International conflicts.  

Tuckerman’s Ravine credit:  http://www.hikethewhites.com/photos/tuckr5.jpg
Mount Washington Cog Railway credit:  http://www.flickr.com/photos/jps246/2240914462/

A Philips EL351 reel-to-reel tape recorder. 1958. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My older brother was a whiz at electronics.  He had inherited that from my Dad.  I, on the other hand, had no interest in electronics.  As far as I was concerned, as long as the lights came on, and there was ice cream in the freezer, all was good.  In high school, my brother landed the job of doing all the sound effects for all the school productions.  He reworked the speaker system, rewired everything, and had the control center up on a catwalk off to the side of the stage area.  There was an old reel-to-reel tape deck for laying out the sound effects for each production, and a bird’s-eye view of the stage, which made it much easier to pick up on the cues for the effects.

Not too many students were interested in taking on this responsibility, as , if you made a single mistake, it would stick out like a sore thumb.  Anyways, having no interest in electronics, I was curious about what my brother was doing, so I started to hang around when he was putting sound effects together, and when the productions were running.  I did learn a little, but didn’t understand how everything was put together, how to fix the electrical equipment when it broke, how to use meters, and on and on.  What I failed to notice was that no one else had any interest.  I was not a part of the stage crew, I was merely a “groupie”.  That came to a sudden end when my brother graduated, I was the only student who had any familiarity with the system, and was drafted… under duress.

The King and I (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The first production I did sound effects for was “The King and I”.  Surprisingly, it was fun going over the script, working with the director on what he needed in the way of sound effects, tracking them down, coordinating the effects with the cues, laying the tape down.  There was however, one effect that I could not find, that met my expectations… the sound of the fireworks display.  I looked for weeks, listened to dozens of effects, but could not find what I wanted.  The day of the production, I still had not found the effect I wanted.  Time was short.  I had to come up with a plan.  Plan “B”… my saving grace.  I acquired what I needed, went to the catwalk to run through everything in my mind, so the timing would be correct… I was ready.

The production started.  All the effects leading up to “Plan B” went perfectly.  My cue for the fireworks effect was approaching.  It went of exactly as I had planned… well, almost.  I had failed to take into consideration, one very large factor, which did make itself known in the coming minutes.  As the production continued, a rather thick cloud of smoke started drifting down from the catwalk, and across the stage.  I had not taken into consideration the smoke that would be created when I lit off a bunch of firecrackers.

Needless to say, I made myself scarce for the next few days.  I did receive an “ass-chewing”, but was kept on as the sound effects man.  That was over 42 years ago.  I can still “see the sound” effect in my mind’s eye today.

Weeks Junior High School was an old brick, three-story, multi-winged building.  Each wing had classrooms on both sides of the hallway.  The floors were tiled, the stairway steps were cement, and there were metal handrails.  Although the janitors did there best to keep the building up, it was an old building, and showed its age proudly.  Classrooms were set up for about 30 students; the school desks were the individual seat and desk top style, set up in multiple rows and columns. The air conditioning intake vents in each classroom were located in one of the corners adjacent to the hallway, at floor level.  They had rather large openings, maybe 30 inches wide by 30 inches tall, with, if I remember correctly, about a two foot diameter ducting going up through the ceiling.   Each classroom was layed out with the intake vents always located behind the teacher’s
desk.

I had thought about this plan for some time… it was harmless, would be fun for all my classmates, and I would certainly move me up in the trouble-maker ratings.  It was a go!

My target was a teacher with little sense of humor… thus the draw, a challenge.  I made sure I was in class early, English I think.  I made a beeline for the vent, and with flashlight in hand, I crawled up inside the vent, jammed my feet against the lower rim of the ducting, and settled
in for a 45 minute cramp session.  The vent actually caught the teacher’s voice, amplifying it, making note taking easy.

After class, I slipped out of the vent, and wanting to ensure the teacher saw me, walked up behind her to ask a question about something she had said during class.  She immediately informed me I had been marked absent, and that the principal would be notified.  I countered,
explaining that I had all the notes from class, and showed her my scribblings.  She looked confused, and insisted I had not been in my seat.  I countered again with the notes I had taken… after all, how could I come up with notes covering the entire class if I hadn’t been there?

Original description was I took this shot while playing darts with friends at Desperate Annie's in Saratoga Springs, NY. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It started with darts, baseball, archery, sling shots made
out of strips of bicycle tire inner tubes tied to our shoe
laces, and probably a few other fun things that young boys
can be entertained with.  Some of my friends and I got together,
and tried to figure out how to mix them all up, throw in a little
imagination, and come up with some new twists on some old
favorites.  In retrospect, I figure it’s a miracle that I ever made it
to 15 years of age.  It’s also a miracle that the huge beech tree in
the front yard had any branches left, as they would surely have
been used up on my butt, in the form of switches, if my parents
had known what I had been up to.

baseball bat (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Our first attempt at combining activities culminated in the
sport of bat-darts.  My recollection is that it was really fun.  We had a full-length basement available for our use.  One would stand at one end with a handful of darts; and one would stand at the other end holding a baseball bat.  The object of the game was to swing the bat at darts that were “pitched” to you, trying to stick them into the bat’s emblem.  The one who caught the most darts in the emblem was the winner. The one who got hit with the most darts that were whacked
back at him after he “pitched” them was hurtin’ the most.  It was a
great way to train for moving quickly… those darts sure did smart
some when they made bodily contact!

archery target (Photo credit: Leeds Museums and Galleries)

Archery, the sling shots, and baseball brought about the game
of catch-score.  Unlike bat-darts, this was an outdoors game,
but could be played by either one person, or two people… never
three, as you will discover while I explain the rules.  The gist of
the game was to shoot an arrow straight up, pick up a straw
archery target, and while holding it, catch the arrow when it came
back down.  The one with the highest score was the winner.  You
could also have someone else shoot an arrow for you so you wouldn’t
have to pick up the target and try to re-acquire the arrow in flight
before it came down.  The first few times you would play were really
hairy!  Once you get the hang of it, and providing you were not laying in
a hospital bed or on a slab at the morgue, it was fun, and was very
useful in developing hand-eye coordination.  ‘~’

If you haven’t figured it out yet… the idea was “not to get the point”. 

Steve's Barber Shop (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

There was an old Italian man… Louie, who owned the corner barber shop where
I grew up.  Louie was a good man, but never once gave me a haircut, leaving me
with the confidence, that I could wander out into the public without being ridiculed.
He was an expert at cutting hair, and he should have been, as he knew only one way
to cut hair… the infamous white-wall.  My Dad was a firm believer in the white-wall,
and since he was footing the bill…, well, enough said.  However, my Dad was a fair
man, he knew how much it bothered me getting those haircuts, so he would give me
a quarter to buy myself a soda at the corner liquor store while he got his haircut.  What
a deal!

Growing up in the 60′s,  it was easy to spot me, as I looked like a vizsla in the middle of a pack of saint bernards.  Finally, in my junior high school days, a new men’s “hair stylist” opened up just around the corner from Louie’s.  Cuts were about $8.00, so I couldn’t afford to go there, and,  reluctantly, wore that distinction until I was about 15 years old.  Then… I landed a job, small amounts of money started rolling in, and I was able to purchase my very first “styled” cut.  Now I fit in, I was “cool”!  I would even go so far as to say it improved my golf game. 

Life was better now, I finished high school, went into the Air Force, and in basic training… let’s just say it was worse than the white-wall.  But it was alright, as everyone looked the same.  After serving in Germany, I went back home on leave to visit my parents.  Curiosity got the best of me, so I asked my Dad about Louie; how he was able to stay in business when he couldn’t cut hair?  My Dad laughed, and explained the whole thing…

He asked me if I remembered when he would take me to Louie’s, he would always give me a quarter, and tell me to go around the corner to the liquor store and buy myself a soda?  Of course I remembered… it was the only good thing about getting a “Louie” haircut.  He laughed again, and continued on.  Louie kept a bottle of “hootch” behind the cash register.  When I was on my way to the liquor store for soda, Louie and my Dad were on their way to a “buzz”.  By the time I got back, they had thrown down a couple, my Dad was just finishing up, and it was my turn.  By then, Louie couldn’t see straight.

All good things come to those who wait!!  Absolutely!!  A few days later, my Dad told me he was going to Louie’s for a cut.  YES!  The moment of revenge was upon him!  As soon as he cleared the back door, I was heading for my car with a bottle of bourbon, two shot glasses, and a $1.00 bill.  Seeing how I was on a mission, I arrived at Louie’s well in advance of my Dad, and took up hiding not 6 feet from Louie’s door.  As my Dad entered Louie’s, I pushed past him, gave the bottle and two shot glasses to Louie, gave the $1.00 to my Dad, and told him to go get a soda.  He was a good sport, and did so; I poured, and was able to put down two before Louie was able to get his first one under his belt.   I thought I’d killed old Louie… he was red in the face, and was laughing so hard, I thought he was going to have a heart attack!

That was the best haircut I almost ever had!

Yes… that is me… licking a building.  I’ll tell you about that a little later.

You may enjoy reading my stevehallsbooks.wordpress.com blog as well… poetry.