Category Archives: opinion

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THE TIMES, THEY AREN’T A-CHANGING

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

  Alexander Hamilton

As my brother so sadly attested last week, smoke seems to be everywhere in the West this summer.  We have cut one vacation short and cancelled another altogether due to smoke.  It is a tragedy all around, not only from an environmental perspective but the impact it has on people who lose all of their belongings and the small businesses who count on tourism to subsist.  With that in mind, we have just been grateful to have a roof over our heads and Dash the Wonder Dog to keep us entertained.  The extra time at home has also aided my mission of slogging my way through Ron Chernow’s tome, Alexander Hamilton, the book that inspired the hit Broadway musical.  Weighing in at 832 pages, it has been a daunting task because most of my reading is done in bed at night.  Sometimes I’ll read for an hour or so but many nights I find that after three pages I’m slumped over and snoring.  That said, I’ve finally completed it and in an odd way, have found some solace in its pages during this politically turbulent time.  The following are some highlights from the post-Revolutionary period that seem strikingly familiar:

 

  • During the 1790’s the Federalists and Republicans came to view each other as serious threats to the country’s future, resulting in partisan animosity that was at fever-pitch for much of the decade.
  • Partisan warfare divided families in every state. It also broke up friendships, perhaps most notably and poignantly the friendship between the revolutionary collaborators Thomas Jefferson and John Adams.
  • Both parties exhibited hostility against recent immigrants who were believed to be supporting the rival party.
  • The partisan conflict of the 1790s brought sex scandals to widespread public attention. (Both Hamilton and Jefferson were touched by the latter.)
  • Newspapers were established by both parties in order to slant the news to reflect their positions.  Ironically, Hamilton, the premier Federalist, founded the New York Daily Post which is now the longest continuously published newspaper in America and is decidedly conservative.
  • Large and unruly anti-government crowds gathered in the capital city, and in 1793 “threatened to drag President Washington out of his House, and effect a revolution in the government.
  • The election of  Thomas Jefferson in 1800 was remarkable for several reasons but most notably that it ushered in the first peaceful transition of power after one of the most acrimonious decades of political backstabbing and infighting.
  • In 1813, Jefferson, in retirement, looking back on the 1790s, recalled that the “public discussions” in this decade, “whether relating to men, measures, or opinions, were conducted by the parties with animosity, a bitterness, and an indecency, which had never been exceeded. All the resources of reason, and of wrath, were exhausted by each party in support of its own, and to prostrate the adversary opinions.”  Imagine if they had social media back then.  Who knows where our country may have drifted?

          Thomas Jefferson

I avoid most news accounts these days because I find it too stressful.  I’ve gone from being a news junkie to eating junk food instead.  But reading Hamilton has made me less anxious about today’s conflicts.  I realize that as bad as things are right now, we have gone through worse and come out the better for it.  Somewhere out there is our Thomas Jefferson.  Despite his personal shortcomings, he managed to bring the country together, soothing both parties and accomplishing a sound economic and social foothold for our new country.

All we have to do until “our Jefferson” arrives, is not let the smoke get in our eyes…or blown up our keisters.

 

 

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THERE’S ALWAYS AN UPSIDE

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Here I am, once again in the middle of summer in Scottsdale where the average temperature rivals the inside of my oven.  It’s actually been okay this year, partly because I’ve had a lot of projects to keep me busy and partly because I ran into a person with a shitty attitude at the gym.  Nothing makes me more irritated than people who endlessly whine and complain.  So when I met up with a woman who went on and on…and on…about how hot the weather was I looked her in the eye and said, “It’s all in your attitude”.  I have been thinking about attitude and approach these past couple of weeks.  On our visit to Mammoth lakes we re-visited the Mammoth Museum where I reflected on the tributes to Jill Kinmont.  It was Jill – or at least a book about her – that first taught me about a positive approach to life.

       Jill Kinmont SI Cover

Jill Kinmont was an accomplished ski racer from Bishop, California in the early 1950’s.  She skied on the Mammoth Mountain team, coached by Dave McCoy (see my previous post about him).  To say that Jill was a sensation is an understatement.  She was one of the brightest American prospects for the 1956 Olympic team.  In addition, she was the very embodiment of mid-century good looks – blonde hair, blue eyes and a perky personality.  In January, 1955 she was featured on the cover of Sports Illustrated, and tragically was one of the worst examples of the “SI curse”.  The same week that her cover was published she fell on a run during the Snow Cup in Alta, Utah and broke her neck.  She was paralyzed from the neck down and the doctors told her family that she would only live another five years. At 18, her life as she knew it was over. But friends like fellow ski racer Andrea Mead Lawrence and Dave McCoy urged her not to accept that prognosis.  Jill, being a natural competitor, was determined to make a life for herself.  She insisted that she was going to walk – and ski – again.  She was never able to accomplish those goals but the remainder of her life was lived in a way that is a lesson to us all.

Despite being confined to a wheelchair, she had the use of neck and shoulder muscles and learned to write, type and paint with the aid of a hand brace.   She applied to UCLA and graduated with a degree in German and English.  But when she applied to the university’s school of education she was rejected because of her disability. Undaunted, she moved north with her parents, earned a teaching certificate at the University of Washington and taught remedial reading in elementary schools on Mercer Island.

            Jill Teaching

When she and her mother returned to Los Angeles after her father died in 1967,  one Southern California school district after another refused to hire her.  Finally, the Beverly Hills District employed her as a remedial reading teacher where she taught for several years.  She spent her summers back in Bishop teaching children at the Paiute Indian reservation.  In 1975 she and her mother moved back to Bishop where she was hired and spent the next 21 years with special needs kids at Bishop Union Elementary School. When a new high school opened in Bishop, the students voted to name it the Jill Kinmont Boothe School. She oversaw the Indian Education Fund, which provides scholarships to local Native American youth, and had a local following as a painter.  The proceeds from her art sales were donated to the scholarship fund.

As if her physical injuries weren’t enough Jill also had to endure losses in her romantic life.  At the time of her injury she was dating the skiing phenom Buddy Werner.  After her accident he couldn’t handle her injured state and broke off their relationship.  He died a few years later in an avalanche.  She then dated and became engaged to daredevil skier Dick “Mad Dog” Buek but before they could marry he died in a small plane crash.  All that tragedy in one life is almost unimaginable.  But luck was finally on her side when she met John Boothe in Bishop.  They were married in 1976 and they lived a wonderful life until her death in 2012.

                       Jill Painting

I first learned about Jill Kinmont’s story in 1969 when someone gave me a copy of “A Long Way Up”, the story of her life to that point.  The book was subsequently made into a popular movie, “The Other Side of the Mountain”.  Her story was so inspiring that I’ve often thought about her during tough times.  Her spirit and attitude provide a positive and upbeat touchstone.  I wish I had 100 copies of her book because in my fantasy life here’s what I’d do with them: when someone complains endlessly about 105 degree weather, I’d shove Jill’s book in their face and tell them to get a life.  Or, perhaps, I would quote Jill herself, who told the LA Times when they named her Woman of the Year in 1967, “To get mad, to scream and holler, to tell the world off— that doesn’t get you anywhere.  You look for what’s good that’s left, I guess.”

Posted in opinion • travel

California Road Trip: Golf, Wine and . . . I Don’t Remember (continued)

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Sonoma/Napa

Buena Vista wine cave

Tuesday – It’s a driving day from Paso Robles to Sonoma over the Golden Gate Bridge with a stop in Sausalito for lunch – a beautiful day in the ‘City by the Bay’. We arrive in Sonoma just in time for our private guided tour of the Buena Vista Winery in Sonoma Valley. Buena Vista is the oldest commercial winery in California, founded in 1857. Our guide, who called himself ‘The Count’, portrayed himself as the original founder of the winery and regaled us with stories of how he had come to create the winery as well as his death by alligator in Central America. Dressed in 1850’s garb, replete with a knob handle cane, he took us deep into the Buena Vista caves that were carved out of solid rock many years earlier and was now serving as the ‘tasting’ and ‘barrel’ rooms for storing wine in a perfect temperature.

Our hotel was just off the Sonoma Plaza, which was buzzing with the ‘Every Tuesday during the Summer’ farmer’s market, including food trucks, fresh vegetable carts, cold beer and a live band. We hung there for a while, but opted to have dinner at the Swiss Hotel, a favorite of my parents who had retired in Sonoma. We were seated in the back patio for a delicious dinner on a delightful evening.

Silverado Golf Course

Wednesday – 9:30 tee time at beautiful Silverado County Club in Napa. Thanks to our golf pro Matt Kliner, we were able to get on this beautiful private golf course that is used for professional tournaments. Beautiful golf course, beautiful day. After golf we had most of the afternoon free to cruise around the Sonoma Plaza or just relax. I took this time to visit my dearly departed best friend, Don Klapperich, who now resides in the Sonoma Military Cemetery.  I reminded him of what a good best friend he was and how he was the person who most influenced my life, and still does. We had a great conversation, although I must say he was a little quiet.

For dinner, feeling very European, we bought some baguettes, cheese and wine and sat in our Sonoma Inn patio on a refreshingly cool summer evening and ate dinner.

Sterling Winery

Thursday – We started our day by driving north over the mountain range that separates the Sonoma from the Napa valleys and hit the northern-most town in ‘wine country’, Calistoga, where the ladies did some shopping, mostly for windows. First winery stop was Sterling winery, which requires a gondola ride from the valley floor to the top of a hill, where you can taste their delicious wine while enjoying a spectacular view of the Napa valley.   We stopped in the next town going south, Saint Helena for lunch, on our quest to find the Prisoner winery, as we wanted to get Ron, who gave us the Sprinter for the week, and his wife, Shelly, a case of their favorite wine. We were to learn that the Prisoner winery is temporarily shut down, but the wine is still available at Total Wine – where we got the case of wine.

Silver Oak

Being a collector of Silver Oak wine, Jack wanted to make sure we got to the winery, which was just a few miles down the road. We drive through the city of Napa proper and back to Sonoma.

Fresno?

Cocktail cruise on ‘Lake Spradling’

 

 

One doesn’t necessarily think of Fresno as a must-see destination on a California golf-wine trip, but we wanted to visit our good friends, Don & Marilyn Spradling, who moved from Yorba Linda to Fresno five years ago to be with family. Don reminded us that Fresno is the leading grape-producing city in the world; while there are a few wineries, most of the grapes are for eating and raisins. After dinner, our evening was spent on the Spradling’s boat on the lake their home sits beside – a beautiful evening. As for golf, the Spradlings belong to Copper River Country Club, which is where we played early on Saturday morning, to beat the 107-degree heat, prior to heading home after a great road trip with great friends.

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A MAN TO MATCH HIS MOUNTAIN

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

      The Terrifying Cornice Bowl

In 1986 I stood atop the 11, 053 foot Cornice Bowl at Mammoth Mountain, skis strapped to my feet and my heart in my throat.  As I peered down the 2.100 foot drop I was simultaneously petrified and thrilled.  I was in my mid-30’s and I knew that if I was ever going to conquer “The Cornice” the time was now.  So, slowly, VERY slowly, I made my way down.  When I reached the bottom I bent over in relief and was cheered by people who had watched my descent.  Right then I knew it was a moment I’d never forget.  To this day it is one of my proudest achievements. Every year when we visit Mammoth in the summer I gaze up to the Cornice Bowl and marvel that I once skied it.    And I thank Dave McCoy.

 

There are few people in business who devote their entire life to the enjoyment of others, but Dave McCoy, founder of Mammoth Mountain, is just such a person.  McCoy almost single-handedly turned Mammoth, an extinct volcano in the eastern Sierra Nevada, into one of the premier ski mountains in the world.  To me, he epitomizes all that is great about the American Dream.  He was born in 1915 to a somewhat dysfunctional family.  His parents divorced when he was 13.  His mother moved him to Washington but for the next several years he continuously hitch-hiked between there and Independence, California (near Bishop) where he had fallen in love with the scenery and quiet solitude while on vacation a few years previous.  He eventually was hired as a hydrographer for the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power.  His job was to ski the backcountry, measuring snowpack to predict the following year’s water supply. He covered most of Owens Valley sometimes skiing as much as 50 miles per day.  His salary was $4 a day, but the truth is, he would have done it for free.  He just loved to ski.

Dave McCoy in the ’30’s.

In 1935, he and some buddies built the first rope tow out of an old truck frame and engine to haul skiers uphill in Gray Meadows near Independence. They built it for themselves for weekend play but word spread, and others came to see what all the ruckus was about skiing. McCoy charged 50 cents a day to ride it and some days made as much as $6!   It was 1937 when McCoy started the project that would become the largest ski resort in Central California.   Even while he was building the resort from the ground up, McCoy was always skiing. He was headed toward the 1940 Olympics in Japan but because of World War II, no Olympic Games were held that year.  (Later, he would go on to coach 14 Olympic skiers, never charging them for his time and personally paying their entry fees for race events.)

After World War II record high snowfall in the Eastern Sierras served to attract more and more people from Southern California to ski in the Mammoth area.  The Forest Service took notice, asking for bids to develop Mammoth into a ski area. McCoy made his pitch. To his – and our – good fortune, it was the ONLY pitch the Forest Service received.  He took a piece of paper and drew three lines, which were for chairlifts. That was the business plan.  He always said that the only reason he got the bid was because no one else wanted it.

The first chair lift opened on Thanksgiving Day, 1955.  Without a college education or formal training in business or engineering, McCoy spent the next 60 years growing Mammoth. For millions of skiers, it was the place to ski. For thousands of employees, it was the place to work. McCoy was doing the impossible and people wanted to be part of it. He was encouraging, supportive and most of all, his mission was for people to have fun.  The bottom line was an after thought.  He once told the Los Angeles Times, that skiing had been so good to him at Mammoth, he couldn’t help but to return it to the skiers and see that they had a better place to ski.  I can personally attest to his philosophy.  One day almost 30 years ago my husband and I were walking in the Main Lodge after a day on the slopes and we passed Dave on a stairwell.  He stopped us and said, “Well, did you have fun today?”  We assured him that we did.  At the time, I just thought he was some friendly guy but my husband recognized him right off and stood there, stunned, in awe of the man he had idolized for so long.

Dave, planning his masterpiece

Building a ski resort was just a piece of his contributions to Mammoth.  He personally spearheaded the effort to incorporate Mammoth Lakes and attract businesses to the area.  He was responsible for building a hospital in town.  And in 1989 he and a few friends founded The Mammoth Lakes Foundation to be the catalyst in bringing higher education and the arts to the Eastern Sierra. Today, anyone is who has lived in Mono County for at least two years can receive tuition free of charge at the Cerro Coso Community College that the Foundation built.  The town is what is it today – all because of Dave McCoy.

But in 2005, at the age of 90, he had had enough.  The bureaucracy was too much.  He commented that he enjoyed running the business as long as he could do the planning and the building and permits were easy to get. But it got to where there were too many regulations and politicians telling him how to do things.  It was just too much for this entrepreneurial genius.

 

Dave McCoy at 100

There is a wonderful bronze statue of Dave in the center of the Village complex in Mammoth.  Each year I watch people walk by it, not even stopping to read the plaque that graces the base of it.  Little do these people know that but for Dave McCoy, they wouldn’t have the hill they ski, the trails they bike or the restaurants they enjoy in the evenings.  It probably bothers me more than it would bother Dave if he witnessed it.  On the occasion of his 100th birthday in 2015 he commented, “Life is just what you make of what falls in your lap. “Be happy, make the day happy. It’s all in your attitude, the way you open your eyes in the morning. You got to jump up and go do something.”  He’ll be 103 next month and, God willing, this example of the American Spirit will still be doing something.

 

 

 

 

 

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WHEW! BOB REALLY IS MY BROTHER

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

             Bob, me and brother Jack

You faithful readers may recall that I had my DNA analyzed by Ancestry a few months ago.  Last week, brother Bob got the results from his Ancestry “spit” and, much to our relief, we actually are brother and sister.  Since we like each other so much we were praying that one of us isn’t the product of mom and the milkman.  But while our DNA proves we’re siblings, it also offered an interesting insight into how different we are.  If you’re like me, you may have assumed that siblings would have the same exact DNA since they have the same parents.  But as I explained in the blog about my test, that’s just not the case.  As a refresher, here’s the explanation:

According to Stanford genetic scientist, Dr. Barry Star in “Stanford at the Tech” website, it logical to assume that brothers and sisters should have the same ancestry background since they both got half their DNA from mom and half from dad. But DNA isn’t passed down from generation to generation in a single block. Not every child gets the same 50% of mom’s DNA and 50% of dad’s DNA, unless they are identical twins. So it’s possible, really probable, for two siblings to have some big differences in their ancestry at the DNA level. Culturally they may each say they are “1/8th Danish” but at the DNA level, one may have no Danish DNA at all.

And that, dear readers, summarizes exactly the results that Bob and I got.  While he is 22% German, I am only 3%.  I am 41% British but he’s only 6% Stiff Upper Lip.  I am immensely jealous that he is 36% Irish/Scotch, while I’m a paltry 19%.    And while my DNA is 21% Scandinavian, he is just 11%.  We also both have a smattering of French, Russian and Iberian Peninsula (which I learned while in Ireland is a result of the Spanish Armada invasion of Ireland in the mid-16th Century).  In actual fact, history would tell us that our Scandinavian DNA is also due more to invading marauders in Great Britain and Ireland than to ancestors from those countries.  I’ve researched our family tree back hundreds of years and the closest Scandahoovian relatives we have go back at least 15 generations.

                           Happy Irish!!

Given our differences I got to wondering what part, if any, our DNA plays in our personalities.  Turns out, that’s a controversial topic, with scholars on both sides arguing divergent facts to prove their point.  So I decided to Google what the generally accepted traits assigned to our ethnic backgrounds are to see if I could discern if our inherited cultures influence us in any way.  Bob is mostly Irish/Scotch – they are known for strong family values, penetrating wit and laid back lifestyles (which I think is a nice way of saying they spend a lot of time at the pub).  I couldn’t describe him more accurately if I tried.  He also has a strong German component and they are known for being punctual, efficient and well-organized.  The study I read also said they were known for their sense of humor.  Wow.  Not sure I have met any Germans with a great sense of humor.  Then again, Bob is one of the most humorous people I know so perhaps if we can overlook German behavior over the entire 20th Century we can find their funny bones.

          Greta Garbo

My mostly British DNA did not surprise me since we have several ancestors who came to the US directly from England.  In fact, I’m more surprised that Bob didn’t have more British DNA.  The British are known for good manners, witty sense of humor (I think it’s an acquired taste), pride of country, love of a good gin, and friendliness.  I think that could describe me pretty well except for when I flip off weaving, texting drivers.  Not sure all my British great-grandparents would approve of that.  My Scandinavian heritage is the yin to my British yang.  Although they also love to drink, Scandinavians are not social, they are in love with “middle of the road” for any decision and their home is their temple.  They are perhaps best exemplified by Greta Garbo’s quote, “I want to be alone”.  Fits me to a “t” on any given day.  I can be a real homebody, perfectly content to curl up with a book, my knitting, a good movie and, of course, Dash the Wonder Dog.

I found our results illuminating.  Whether DNA really makes a difference in our personalities may never be conclusively determined in our lifetimes but it’s fun to speculate.  Now all we need to do is get our brother Jack to spit into a tube.  If he comes back as our sibling at least it will let mom off the hook for any rumors about her fooling around with the milkman.

Posted in opinion

WITHER COMMON SENSE?

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

 

Lately I’ve been thinking about common sense, mostly because there seems to be such a staggering lack of it.  So I decided to take a closer look at a phrase that is ubiquitous but not really well understood.  As far back as the early Greeks philosophers people were trying to define behavior or reasoning that society in general could agree was “common”.  But as Voltaire concluded, “Common sense is not so common”.  Merriam-Webster defines it as, “sound and prudent judgment based on a simple perception of the situation or facts.” Thus, “common sense” equates to the knowledge and experience which most people have, or which the person using the term believes they do.

And therein lies the problem –  the words “most people”. Until the past decade or so our society has been able to broadly agree on behavior or actions that would be acceptable to “most people”.  A few months ago I read an article (author’s name has escaped my memory) arguing that the divisiveness that we are experiencing on a grand scale these days has eroded our common sense because we have less and less in common.  I think about that article when I turn on the news at night. I sure don’t know how we got here but I did receive an email the other day called “An Obituary for Common Sense” that’s been around a while but I found some portions worth sharing:

“Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don’t spend more than you can earn) and reliable strategies (adults, not children, are in charge). Its health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a 6-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.

Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job that they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly children.

Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement.

It is survived by his 4 stepbrothers:

I Know My Rights
I Want It Now
Someone Else Is To Blame
I’m A Victim

Not many attended its funeral because so few realized it was gone.”

I thought this article was pretty entertaining, but there are a few trends I’d like to add:

Participation trophies

No income verification mortgage loans

Low flow toilets

“If it only helps one person…”

“Safe spaces” preparing students for real life

Tattoos.  One look at Lady Gaga’s arm tattoos and one can only imagine those arms at 65.  I hope I’m alive to witness it.

Clearly Common Sense, if not dead, is on the decline and I have a theory why.  For generations Americans worked hard to figure things out –  using logic, reasoning and common sense to make decisions.  Now, every answer is literally in our hands.  Too many of us aren’t learning how to gather facts and come to a logical conclusion because Google does it for us.  Too many people rely on social media for their research and news, following the herd right off the end of the cliff.

I’m not sure I’d get a lot of support for this but maybe we should give up the phones and go back to the Encyclopedia Britannica.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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THE MYSTERY WORKOUT

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

reading on treadmillI’ve never loved exercise.  Gym class in high school was an ordeal, made worse by having to wear a “onesie” that rode up on my rather sizeable thighs.  The wearing of the outfit only got worse as the school week wore on.  By Friday, when we were required to take our gym clothes home for washing, it was so odiferous that it would have repelled a magpie off a sewage truck.  That said, all through my life I’ve endeavored to do some sort of activity to stay in reasonable shape.  And, to be honest, so that I can consume the occasional piece of cake.  After my recent indulgence in Guinness I knew that I had to figure out a way to drop the three pounds I’d gained in Ireland.  It being summer in Arizona, long walks or hiking up the nearby mountain trails was just not an option. Then I came up with a novel idea – reading on the treadmill.

Oh sure, I’ve been reading on a treadmill for almost 25 years – usually either a magazine or whatever novel I was reading at the time.  It became infinitely easier in 2010 when I bought a Kindle, which eliminated the necessity to break the spine of every book just so it could lie flat.  But usually my mind would wander or some tidbit of news on the TV screens up on the gym walls would catch my attention and my workout either slowed down or stopped altogether.  Again, I am not a committed exerciser.  At a friend’s suggestion I tried listening to audio books but that only led me to discover that I might be suffering from a slight case of attention deficit disorder.  Every shiny object diverted me away from the story and by the time I was actually listening again I had completely lost track of the characters and plot.  I find this true of audio books in the car as well.  Every time I get distracted by a three-legged cow or a giant ball of string I completely lose my “place” in the book.

working outIn any event, three weeks ago I once again committed myself to losing weight and eating well.  At the time I was reading a good mystery novel that was hard to put down.  When I began reading it on the treadmill 45 minutes passed without me realizing it.  Maybe I was on to something.  I repeated it again the next day and have now done it every day for the past three weeks.  Since I’ve read most of what’s been written by the most popular authors of the genre I have been seeking out new ones. I love authors who write a series of books with the same protagonist and have found several. For those of you who also like mysteries or want to spend more time on the treadmill the authors are Melinda Leigh,  Scott Pratt, Robert Dugoni and Matthew Fitzsimmons.

I think the secret to the “mystery exercise program” is that I don’t allow myself to read these books except when I’m on the treadmill.  So if I want to find out who murdered Colonel Mustard in the Library I have to haul my butt up to the gym to find out.  And as an unintended consequence, my arms are also getting some exercise these days. When I’m not on the treadmill I’m reading “Hamilton”, the 817 page tome that inspired the Broadway hit. I always buy history books hardbound so the simple act of lifting “Hamilton” has done wonders for my biceps.

I think I’m on to something. I wonder if LAFitness would be interested in a partnership?

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THEY WERE SOLDIERS ONCE, AND YOUNG (2018)

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

This is my annual Memorial Day piece, written in remembrance of the boys from my high school who died in the Vietnam war. After I first published this in 2014, I heard from many people who related similar stories about the loss suffered in their home towns – or worse – their families. So this weekend, as you commemorate the holiday, please take a moment to remember all of the brave young men and women we’ve lost in conflict.

Five boys from my high school were killed in the Vietnam War. For a small town like Novato, that was an enormous number. We were such a close-knit community that even if we didn’t know one of them personally, we knew a sibling or friend. So on my trip to Washington D.C. last month I scheduled time to visit the Vietnam Veterans Memorial to see their names on “The Wall”. To refresh my memory I pulled out my high school year books and found them all – smiling for a formal portrait or posing for a team picture. Each image reflected a boy, fresh-faced and full of hope, his life stretching out before him. I looked at those young faces and found it hard to believe that their lives ended so shortly after the bucolic days captured in the photos. None of them reached the age of 22. While we, their classmates, lived long enough to enjoy the internet, smart phones and streaming movies, most of them didn’t live long enough to see a color television. I reflected on the stories I’ve read of WWII vets who speak so reverently of the “boys who didn’t come home”. As I perused the yearbooks I finally understood their sentiment. It is only when looking back through a 50 year lens that one can appreciate just how young these soldiers were and how many of life’s milestones they missed. So on this Memorial Day, I’d like to pay tribute to “The Boys from Novato”.

 

Robert Johnson

Bob Johnson joined the Army in the fall of 1965, in what would have been his Senior year in high school. I remember him as a quiet guy, but very nice. Before he enlisted he asked his high school sweetheart to marry him – it would give them both something to hang on to while he was gone. His entry into the service occurred just as the war was escalating. He was sent to Vietnam in March of 1966 and three weeks later he was killed by enemy gunfire during “Operation Abilene” in Phuoc Tuy Province. As his former classmates excitedly anticipated prom and graduation, Robert had already made the ultimate sacrifice. In the 1966 yearbook, where his senior portrait would have been, his mother placed this photo of him along with a tribute. He was the first Vietnam casualty from Novato.

 

 

Mike Tandy

Mike Tandy graduated from NHS in 1965. His sisters, Sue and Sarah, also attended NHS. Mike was very smart and participated in the first swim team our high school fielded. He was an Eagle Scout and according to his friend Neil Cuzner, “he was highly intelligent, a great guy and an excellent scout. He was in the Senior Patrol and a young leader of our troop. He lead by example”. After graduation Mike joined the Marine reserves and was called up in January, 1966. He was sent to Vietnam shortly after that. On September 8th he was on patrol in Quang Nam with another soldier when his footfall detonated a landmine. He was killed instantly. He had celebrated his 19th birthday just five days prior. His classmates had moved on – either to college or working – but the Tandy family was left to grieve the loss of their son and brother. In 2005 Sarah posted to the virtual Vietnam Wall: “Thanks to all of you who come here and remember Mike. All of our lives were changed and I thank you for not forgetting.”

 

 

 

Allan Nelson

Allan Nelson played football at College of Marin with my brother, Bob. Allan’s sister, Joanne, was in Bob’s class and his brother, Steve, was in mine. So we were well aware when Allan was drafted into the Army and sent to Vietnam in July, 1966 at the age of 20. Five months later, on December 1, we were devastated to learn he had been killed by gunfire during a battle in Binh Dinh Province. I still remember the day Steve came to school after Allan’s death; red-faced with tears streaming down his cheeks. He had always been such a happy guy but was now changed in ways that were hard for 16 year-old kids to understand. As I look back now, I can’t imagine what it must have been like for him to go home from school each day and face parents who were shattered by grief. Joanne posted the following on a memorial page and perhaps sums it up the best: “Allan was my brother, not just a brother, he was my best friend. All I know is December 1, 1966 was the saddest time for me and my family. My family loved each other so much, but when Al was killed the joy died in my family. Allan had his whole life planned. He had just turned 21 on Oct. 20th. When we were young, he couldn’t wait to be 21. I am so sorry for all the families that lost a son and a brother. It will be 33 years in Dec. The everyday sad feelings of loss are gone but on special days it still hurts.”

Jim Gribbin

Jim Gribbin graduated from NHS in 1966. He was on the football team and very active in school clubs. His brother, Dennis, and I were in school plays together and my mom and his mom, Molly, were friends. Jim was well-liked by everyone who knew him. He joined the Army Reserves and when called up, became part of the Special Forces where he rose to the rank of Captain. He served two tours of duty in an elite MIKE unit. In March 1970 his unit was on a night defensive mission in Kontum Province when they were ambushed by enemy troops. Jim sacrificed his own safety by running into open territory – twice – to aid and retrieve wounded soldiers under his command. He was shot both times and taken to a rear medical facility where he died from his wounds. Ironically, for this affable Irishman, he succumbed on St. Patrick’s Day. He was awarded the Silver Star and the Bronze Star for Valor. Jim’s dad was a veteran of WWII who died in 2011. He requested to be placed in the same grave with Jim, with his name and vitals carved on the back of Jim’s headstone. One can only imagine the grief that he carried all those years. Hopefully he is at peace now that they are forever reunited. (Update 2018: to read about a wonderful tribute paid to Jim this past March on the date of his death you can read my post about it here: https://fromabirdseyeview.com/?p=7111 )

 

Wayne Bethards

Wayne “Ed” Bethards was in my graduating class, but I didn’t know him well. His family moved to Novato just before the start of our senior year. His mother, Betty Bethards, was the author of the international best-seller, “The Dream Book”. Again, Neil Cuzner has provided a bit more insight: “Wayne was a good person. He had a great love of baseball and had actually started a small league while over in Nam. He was sharing his love of baseball with the Vietnamese children.” Cuzner went on to say that Wayne was a religious person and did not want to kill anyone; he struggled greatly with his deployment. He was drafted into the Army and was sent to Vietnam in October of 1970. In January, 1971, he was killed while on patrol by the accidental detonation of a mechanical device in Quang Tin Province. He was the last boy from Novato High School to die in the war.

 

Jerry Sims

Update from 2017: In April, 2017, I heard from a former schoolmate, Dennis Welsh, about Jerry Sims, a boy who died in the conflict whose hometown was listed as Novato. I found in my research that sometimes the Novato “hometown” designation were for those affiliated with Hamilton Air Force Base, not graduates of Novato High School. Since there were no records of Jerry at NHS I assumed Jerry was from Hamilton, but that was not the case. Dennis told me that Jerry moved to Novato from Texas in the Spring of 1966 to live with his sister. He tried out for the football team during spring training and made the squad. But despite that automatic inclusion into a social group, he nevertheless was unhappy living in California and being the “new kid” going into his Senior year. Dennis said that he never saw him again after football tryouts and didn’t learn of his fate until he spotted Jerry’s name on “The Wall”. The fact is that Jerry left Novato and joined the Army in June, 1966 and was sent to Vietnam in November. On February 13, 1968 he and several others in his unit were killed by small arms fire in Gia Dinh province. Jerry was 19 years old. His former platoon leader said this on his memorial page: “I was Jerry’s platoon leader on the day he died. He didn’t have to be there, since he had a job elsewhere in Vietnam, but he requested a transfer. He had already spent a year with the Wolfhounds, but for reasons all his own, he wanted to come back to this unit. He died doing his job as a squad leader in my platoon.” It would seem Jerry finally found his home – and some peace – with his Army brethren.

 

A Kingston Trio memento

I found all of the boys from Novato on “The Wall”, each name etched in granite. I thought about all of their families and the sorrow they endured. It was overwhelming to realize that same sorrow had been replicated 58,286 times. Each of the names on that black, shiny surface represent a family forever destroyed. As I walked along the pathway I looked at all of the mementos that were left as tributes to the fallen – notes, flowers and flags mostly. But then I spotted something different – a tribute from Jim Dart to his brother, Larry. It was a Kingston Trio album (pictured left), along with a note about the good times they shared learning the guitar and singing songs together. I was overcome with emotion reading Jim’s note. My brother, Bob, owned that same album. He and his best friend, Don, often entertained our family playing their guitars and singing songs from that record. Bob was a Naval officer in Japan during the Vietnam war and was safely returned to us. I wept as I stood looking at the album, realizing that but for the grace of God – and military orders – how easily it could have been Bob’s name on that wall and me leaving a Kingston Trio album in his memory. I can’t imagine what our family would have been like without him. I ached for Sue and Sarah and Joanne and Steve and all the other siblings who never got to see gray hair on their brother’s head; their family gatherings forever marred by a gaping hole where their brother should have been. When I stooped down to take the photo I noticed that several other visitors had stopped to look at it too. As I glanced at those who were of a certain age I could see my own feelings reflected in their eyes. We know how much of life these boys missed. We mourn their loss – and ours

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CASTLES, CUISINE, AND A CAUTION

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

muckross

Muckross House

All good things must come to an end, as some wise person once said.  But that doesn’t mean that they can’t come to an end in style.  As we departed Killarney we headed off to Dromoland Castle, where we planned to live like the princesses we are on our final night in Ireland.  Dromoland, however, was not the only castle that we saw on our trip.  In fact, like most countries that have a long history, Ireland is full of castles.  Most of them are ruins and we saw many instances of crumbling rock.  But there were a few exceptions worth noting.  First off, is Muckross House, which technically is not a castle but did house Queen Victoria for a couple of nights in 1861.  It has spectacular grounds and gardens, sitting right on the lakes of Killarney.  Our guide, Jack told us that in the late 1850’s the owner of Muckross House, Henry Arthur Herbert, spent a fortune prepping the house for Queen Victoria’s visit on the implied agreement that he would receive a Dukedom for his efforts.  Unfortunately, the Queen’s husband, Prince Albert, died just three months after her visit and she forgot entirely about Herbert.  By 1897 the estate was in financial ruin that is partially attributed to the money spent on the Queen’s visit.  I guess even then it paid to get things in writing.

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Bunratty Castle

On our way to Dromoland we stopped at Bunratty Castle and Folk Park.  The ‘folk park’ part of the title should have been our first clue that the fine people at Bunratty have figured out how to make a buck.  I wonder if they’re Americans?  The original castle was built in 1277 but the structure that still stands is a relative newcomer, erected in 1455.  It is said that William Penn‘s father defended the garrison in 1646 as William lay in his crib inside the fortress.  Who knows where Pennsylvania would be today if his father had been defeated?  The folk part consists of many structures that were chosen from many different areas of Ireland to form a collection of typical 19th century buildings including the School, Doctor’s house, Pub, Printworks, Grocery, etc.  It was enlightening to see how primitively they lived – two rooms for a large family with more room for the horses than the children set aside within the house.  The gift shop at Bunratty is a money-maker – really one of the nicest gift shops we saw so we all were calculating just how much more we could squeeze into our suitcases.

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The bar at Dromoland Castle

Finally we arrived at Dromoland Castle, our lodging for the night.  The castle grounds have been the home of castles for centuries but the current structure was built in 1800.  It has been preserved with little change since the mid-19th century. In 1962, Donough O’Brien, the sixteenth Baron Inchiquin, sold Dromoland Castle to American Bernard P. McDonough who converted it into a luxurious hotel.  The luscious green gardens and golf course line the entry and we looked forward to exploring the pathways that meander throughout the property.

Dromoland dinner

The Last Supper

Unfortunately our Irish luck on weather that had blessed us all week let us down – it was pouring rain.  The weather, coupled with the fact that our room wasn’t ready, led us to repair to the lounge where they provided us with coffee and pastries.  Once settled into our beautiful room we hoped for sunnier skies but, alas, it was still raining so…what’s a girl to do? We checked out the bar.  It was everything an elegant bar should be and was the perfect setting on a gloomy day to continue our lager/Irish whiskey taste testing.  Dinner was in the Earl of Thomand dining room, again elegant and intimate with service beyond compare and delectable food.  What a way to end the trip of a lifetime – beautiful scenery, wonderful cuisine and lasting friendships.

The next day we left for the Shannon airport at 6 a.m. and from there flew to London.  Twenty-one and a half hours later I was greeted at my front door by Dash the Wonder Dog.  Ireland was great, but so was coming home.

I know several people going to Ireland this year so in the spirit of sharing, here are my recommendations:

The Killarney Park Hotel:  This hotel is the only five-star hotel in Killarney and it’s easy to see how they gained their reputation.  The friendliness of the staff is beyond any I’ve ever experienced.  By our second day there they knew us by name and always went out of their way to help us.  The food and grounds are also magnificent.  You cannot go wrong at this hotel.

Killarney Tour and Taxi:  Jack Hayden is the owner of this business and his five stars on Trip Advisor are well deserved.  He is humorous, knowledgeable and a native of Kerry so he really knows his stuff.  He figured out very quickly that we did not want to see every church and cliff so he would slow down, we’d open a window, snap a photo, and off we went.  At times he insisted that we visit some historical sites and afterwards we were always glad he had. Besides his knowledge and humor, how can you go wrong with a guy who played “Red Solo Cup” so we could sing along?

Guerin’s Path to Cliff Walk:  As mentioned in my first Ireland post, Martin Guerin is a farmer who owns land that includes the visitors path at the Cliffs of Mohr.  Read my first post to learn more about it, but all I can say is his personal tour beats the Visitor’s Center hands down.

The Celtic Whiskey Bar and Larder and Sheehan’s Pub are both terrific places to visit.  If you are lucky enough to be in Sheehan’s on a Saturday night you will most likely experience several “hen parties”, which only add to the experience.  Irish people are friendly and like to drag us into their shenanigans!

Mobile Passport App:   We were advised by our travel agent to download the app and it was some of the best advice we got.  We had pre-loaded it with our passport information and once we were taxiing to the gate in Phoenix we activated the passport clearance feature and we were through Passport Control in less than a minute.  It also came in handy as we passed the Gestapo agent at customs.

Diet:  Okay, not really a recommendation but more of a caution.  I was horrified when I got on the scale the day after my return.  Unfortunately, my eating and drinking in Ireland closely resembled the hog we saw at Bunratty Castle.  Oh well, I’ve got all summer to work the Guinness off my thighs.

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IRISH DREAMS – PART TWO

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Carol Feller and her Groupies

Carol Feller and Groupies

Our visit to Ireland made clear why Irish eyes are smiling – friendly people, a pint of Guinness and perhaps a tot of Jameson’s gives the world a roseate hue.  We experienced all of that during the second part of our trip which focused on knitting – a passion we all share to the point of needing a 12-step program.  After our evening at the Celtic Whiskey Lounge and Sheehan’s Pub we sobered up the next morning for our class with Carol Feller.  As I wrote in my previous post, Carol Feller and Kieran Foley (more on him in a moment) are the equivalent of playing golf with Rory McElroy or Padraig Harrington.  I should note here that the Killarney Park Hotel was truly one of the finest hotels I’ve ever visited.  They are five star not only for their accommodations and food, but for their outstanding service.  On the morning of our class they provided us with a cozy room with a wood-burning fireplace and brought coffee for our enjoyment – all free of charge.   Carol spent more than three hours with us and was not only informative, but charming as well.  It seems to be an Irish trait.  Most of us have been knitting for decades but Carol provided us with some new tips and techniques, proving that you CAN teach an old dog new tricks. Some of our group had pre-ordered yarn from her while others said they would abstain.  After three hours with Carol everyone ordered mounds of yarn.  So much for willpower.

            The Dingle Peninsula

The following day we climbed into Jack’s van and embarked on a tour of the Dingle Peninsula.   The scenery, like everything else we’d seen in Ireland, was spectacular. The little town of Dingle is touristy and quaint at the same time.  It was here we experienced more Irish hospitality.  One member of our group stumbled and skinned her knee so we sought out first aid materials.  The local pharmacist didn’t just sell us the bandage and antibiotic ointment, she took it upon herself to clean and dress the wound herself.  Heck, I can barely get the staff at my local Walgreens to point me to the bandaid aisle. The waters surrounding the peninsula are crystal clear and the hillsides verdant, as one would expect in Ireland.  We had the opportunity to stop and pet some newly-minted lambs but, cute as they were, we declined.  I was struck by the many historical churches that remain along the route.  One is the Gallarus Oratory, a simple dry-stone structure built in the 12th century that  has remained waterproof and in near-perfect condition to the present day.

     Kilmaekeder Church and graveyard

Just as interesting is the Kilmaekeder Church, built in the mid-12th century on the grounds of a previous structure built in 636.  A stone from that period still sits on the alter.  The church grounds are filled with gravestones, some ancient and some rather recent (in fact one poor sod hadn’t actually been buried 6 feet under yet as the family was waiting for the headstone).  There were tributes to Irishmen killed by the English during The Uprising as well as markers for whole families that included listings of those who went to America and were lost at sea.  Once back in Killarney we traipsed over to dinner at the Ross Hotel’s Lane Café Bar.  The service was slow but the food was delicious.  I’d recommend it if you’re not in a hurry.

                  Us with Kieran Foley

The following day was our “marathon” day to Dublin.  The kind people at the hotel had a bag of pastries and fruit waiting for us as we left for the train station at 6:10 a.m.  The train service to and from Dublin was wonderful – clean, fast, and quiet.  Once in Dublin we headed for The Constant Knitter shop where we had a private trunk show with designer Kieran Foley.  Again, he was as kind and generous a person as one could hope to meet.  Are there any crabby people in Ireland????  Kieran brought out an array of his designs which are so complicated and intricate that I’d only contemplate starting one prior to entering the insane asylum.  Each piece is reminiscent of an Oriental carpet or fine piece of fabric.  We left him inspired to “up our game”.

After buying scads of yarn we we went in search of a great spot for lunch…and beer.  We ventured up to the Temple Bar area of Dublin (the featured picture this week) which is a hopping place, full of tourists and locals alike.  There is no end to the dining possibilities but we chose Boxty, which received rave reviews on Trip Advisor.  Once we were sated with Smithwicks lager and fish and chips we ventured to This Is Knit yarn shop. The store is elegant in design and content, located in the Powerscourt Townhouse building, a former mansion that has been transformed into a fabulous shopping center with a central atrium and boutique shops.  We bought more yarn, despite our resolve to be on a “yarn diet”.  From there we walked 40 minutes back to the train station for our return to Killarney.  When we dragged into the hotel at 8:30 p.m. we were greeted by hotel staff inquiring about our day and asking us about what we saw in Dublin.  I’m not sure they are used to anyone making Dublin into a “day trip”.

           We can smell the banana

Morning came too soon when we once again traveled in Jack’s van to Kinsale and Cork.  Kinsale is a darling seaside village, filled with cute shops and an outdoor market.  We could have spent several days there. We ambled in and out of the stores, buying knick knacks and two people bought beautiful leather purses fashioned by a local designer.  We relied on Trip Advisor again and ate lunch at Fishy Fishy, where we continued our quest of the perfect pairing of lager and fish and chips. Next we headed to Cork to visit Hedgehog Fibers.  Hedgehog is a very popular yarn, more so in the States than in Ireland.  In fact, we learned from all our Irish knitting contacts that the Irish like to spend money on food and drink, but not on yarn.  We bought MORE yarn (by now we were contemplating buying extra luggage) and then headed out to the Jameson Whiskey Distillery.  We decided to go for broke, splurging on the premium whiskey tasting.  It turned out to be a wise decision.   We were taken to a private room where a young woman gave us the particulars of each whiskey we sampled.  I was tempted to chug one down but she instructed me that I needed to savor the banana, oak, berry, vanilla, honey, etc.  Geez, it all just tasted like whiskey to me.  I don’t think I’m sophisticated enough to taste premium whiskey.  As we finished up she kind of chuckled and said, “I’ve worked here four years and have never had an all-woman group before.”  So…I guess we broke the glass ceiling for whiskey tasting!

Next week – castles and some final recommendations.  Slainte!