DEDICATION

It was in the fall of 1975 that a paralyzing phone call found me in New York City. My younger brother had passed away and Louise and I agreed to meet in our earlier home in Buffalo N.Y. We arrived at the funeral home the next evening but it was not a normal funeral where it is usually the elderly that have passed on, and while there is respect, it still has the undertones of laughter and smiles when meeting old friends. However this was a sober occasion with two uniformed Firemen flanking the casket of my brother,Burt. He was a fireman who had fallen in the line of duty while attempting to put out the fire raging through out an empty house.This guard detail stood at attention throughout the open hours of the mortuary and were continually replaced by others. It was obvious the Firemen were there to honor the death of a comrade and this was a time when respect, admiration and sorrow was on full display. I am remiss in the writing of this eulogy and my recall may be blurred because of the passage of the years and yet, there is much that has been burned into my memory even though some of the dates may be incorrect. The days there overlapped but my next memory is that of a very large church standing on the outskirts of the city that, much earilier than the anounced time of the ceremony, was filled with family, friends, neighbors and Firemen; with an overflow of standing room only. This standing room included many hundreds on the outside and this area also included a multitude of police. There had to be a contingent from every Fire Depaertment in the state and it was a sea of blue, With all those present, the spirit of God must also have been in attendance to mourn the passing of one of His children  At the conclusion of the service the casket was raised to the top of the nearby fire truck to head the cortege that was to roll through the city of Buffalo passing every fire station, where those on duty, would be in full dress, standing  at attention, as the truck passed by. It was a tremendous display of the honor reserved for those comrades that fell doing their duty. I am reminded of the firemen and police that were consumed by the flames of  9/11, along with the belief that there are men, when called upon ,who are willing to die in the performance of their duty. I am also reminded that there is irony accompanying this funeral. Burt was part of small group that were petitioning the city to permit them to have controlled burning of these empty shells so as to prevent the possible death of, not only the homeless sheltered there, but possibly more importantly,as in the case of my brother.The cemetery was teeming with so many that had been in the church grounds and I was again touched emotionally at the reverence displayed by these men. Forgive me if I am somewhat ambigous in my recollections but the spirit of my memory is there and this is a eulogy I gave in my heart those many years ago.  I give it now in dedication to Jimmie, Cheryl, Donna and Billie

The Joy of Family

• I think that this was the happiest I have been in many years. It all took place when I traveled to Utah for the wedding of my grandson, Dillon. He had returned from a mission for our church and had been at the BYU Idaho U.,when, surprise, surprise, he found his true love. I am not scoffing at this union, contrary, they were sealed in one of our temples which means they are bonded together forever and ever and  never to part. Its a serious business when you covenant to be together for the eternities but the excitement of the gathering of my family, both near and extended, was cause to mingle-nephews, nieces, great nephews and nieces, grandchildren and great grandchildren, sons and daughters and a mixtures of so many relatives I can't include them all, It took place at the wedding reception and as family after family arrived the excitement kept mounting, the cheering got louder and the smiles were the pinnacle of  happiness. I can't count the faces of all those I had often thought of and loved from a distance. I was in my glory to see the friendships that were struck or re-newed. Many had not seen their cousins, for example, in many years and the expressions of joy that surrounded this gathering was indeed cause for celebration. There were even a couple that I had to search my memory to come up with the names those that greeted me. I have returned home now and the warmth of that occasion still resides with me. How wonderful to bring together a group of this many and feel the love emanating from all in attendance. The philosophers have often spoken of the measure of a family. How deep is the ocean? How high is the sky? Those are the measurements that I feel personified  my happiness at this glorious meeting. This is the knowledge that families can be forever when this love is in place.

Pillar to Post

I was reminded recently that I had never  blogged my Naval exploits in the ring--the boxing ring that is. Now this is a bit of ancient history but it did take place and has always occupied  one of my pleasing memories. So to back up a bit, I was newly stationed at the Chapel Hill campus in North Carolina and this was what was pre-flight and consisted of a great deal of physical fitness, four hours of studies dailey, leaving six hours of working out. As a welcome gift, I was placed on the boxing team. Oh there were several other athletic groups I could have gone to but somehow, some wag, decided I looked like a boxer. The only time I had ever put on gloves was in the basement of Billy Harrisons house where he forthwith took advantage of my lack of experience by smashing me in the solar plexus where I immedately collapsed to the floor and died for several minutes. Remembering that in great clarity did not thrill me when I received my assignment. My first fight  explains the title of this blog and I was the recipient of of a pounding that literally took me form pillar to post. I learned a lot that first fight. I learned to avoid any further activities that had to do with leather. I also learned that boxing is not a good sport in which you come in 2nd. I took such a beating that you would have thought I had faced Mohammet Ali. So with a week to recover before my next fight I approached that day with a mixture of terror and cowardice. But with three guys pushing me I ventured into the ring to find a muscular gentleman who terrified me by bouncing his biceps as he stared at me. However, I advanced as the opening bell rang and decided that running was the best defense. I'm not sure how I won that fight but it might be that he was more frightened  that me. Now thats laughable! Anyway I managed to go on and win my next 14 fights and could see I was advancing to fight for the  battalion championship. I tried to calm my hysterics when I realized this because the man I was to fight was built like a hydrant. Actually I had been watching him because it had become evident that he and I would clash and he had a certain set of punches--a solid left jab immediately followed by a right cross and  then a vicious left hook. I learned these identifying characteristics by hearing my coach speak to his class. He only talked about them. He never suggested how I might avoid them.So here I am stepping into the ring with a former fleet sailor who incidentally had won the fleet championship. I had about as much chance in beating him as the proverbial snowball in Hell. However I had figured out that if I would counter jab at the same time as he did, he would be unable to follow through with the rest of his punches. And so it was, he jabbed as I jabbed and the two of us spent the first two rounds countering each of the others punches. Ah but then the axe fell. The bell rang ending the 2nd round and I opened my mouth to grab some air. This took place when coincidentally he was in the midst of throwing a right cross. The bell had rung and he hit me. I know he would not have done this unfairly but it happened. I walked back to my corner, sat on the stool and my coach is shouting words of encourragement and ended them by saying "Winspear, you're doing GREAT"! How do you feel"? I thought it was nice of him to finally show some concern about my well being but I answered him by trying to say in a mumbling sort of way, "I feel good but my teeth don't meeth"! It was true, the punch at the end of the round was such as to knock my jaw askew and my coach called the fight. What an ignominious end to such a glorious career. He was one tough guy and the best part was that even though I lost, at least I was not beaten from pillar to post. I had fought him even for those two rounds.  On a serious note, this had been a great expeerience for me. It had taught me discipline and confidence. I learned lessons that stayed with me for the rest of my life. Do I want to fight again? Yes, if the Navy called again, I would be proud to serve my country in any way that I was able. God bless America!!

Fathers Day

It took 20 years but I finally gave the talk, prepared long ago, in a church meeting yesterday. I spoke about my Dad and what he meant to me. He was a very interesting man and while I was still a child my memory is that of a funny man who could tap dance and make funny faces that would make me laugh. He had no control over the circumstances that changed his life and they were many. First of all the depression came and having a job was at the heart of whether you got by, or whether you had to call on family to help you through it. Dad was a proud man and when the bank took his $3700 home, he became despaired and sometime after that a very serious heart attack knocked him down again. Things were so bad that he and Mom had to move into the basement of Louise' parents basement. No money,no home no pride and he became a very reclusive person with only his immediate family to cling to. And cling he did and became a wonderful grandfather. I truly think that it was my children that helped him restore some semblance of personal respectability. While he loved my Mother, she alone was not sufficient to help him back on a path to the man he once was and he displayed his love for the kids by having a patience that might have been his life support. I think I may have been somewhat of a disappointment to my Father. He expected his sons to be the fix-it personality that in an earlier day, was one of his strengths. He could do ANYTHING from sewing clothes for me and my brothers to re-wiring a house if it was needed. He was a fine musician and at a younger age became an Eagle scout and won the bugling contest  for the city of Rochester, N./Y. I, on the other hand had no interest in fixing things. I was into sports and enjoying the social activities of high  school. However, with all his talents, he was not a demonstrative man. I don't ever recall him telling me he loved me. Still, when I entered the service and became a commissioned officer with my gold flight wings, I know he was proud of me. One night when I unexpectedly came home on leave and was talking to Mom in their darkened bedroom, he awoke and instinctively reached up, grabbed me and embraced me.That was the only time in my adult life that any demonstration of affection occurred and that one episode has been in my memory for all these years. Today, people are much more effective in professing their love for members of their family or for friends. That was not the case in the generations of yesteryear. The depression, the hunger, the war, the economic distress all added up to a need stronger than the bonds of love,---survival. And so it was. Did my Dad love me? I never had a doubt. I excused his apparent lack of affection because of these factors just mentioned. He was trying to keep a family afloat and when it was apparent that we had all survived, although he was still a recluse, he realized his sons had grown up, his grandchildren were a delight and his job was completed. He died at the age of 59. I miss him - a lot!

Memories of the long ago

It was last night I stumbled onto a movie that has caused me to get up in the very early hours remembering some of the thoughts of the nostalgia of my early days. It was about baseball and I was drawn back to the days when  thoughts of a career in the national game were on my mind. You know, some kids want to be firemen, soldiers or pilots. I wanted to be a ball player. At a very early age I was permitted to get on a street car which carried me to our old Offerman stadium in Buffalo N.Y. where I could sit in the bleachers and   watch the Buffalo Bison'  home run hitter, Ollie Carnegie, knock a horse hide ball over the distant fence or watch Greg Mulleavey turn a doube play. I was deeply impacted of what might come to pass in those days  and this movie stirred my mind. Beauty McGowan used to play center field and he had such a flawless running stride that his nick name was so fitting. Yes, at that age, I knew each player, his batting average and maybe, what chewing tobacco was his favorite. I was really into the game and not only for the local team but my memory was also about many other players in the Major Leagues. I was a baseball nut! The movie had to do with a high school science teacher who doubled as the baseball coach of a mediocre team  and in a peak of anger challenged them to do better. He had a reputation of being able to throw a ball at a very high speed - throwing the cheese, as it was sometimes called, and his team returned the challenge that they would try harder if he would agree to a tryout for a authentic baseball team. His age had already put him almost over the hill, certainly past the age of a rookie and thus the name of the movie, "The Rookie". So there I was with the dawn beginning to break and me  deep in my memories of days gone by. I had to get up and put my thoughts on paper for sleep had fled and left me wide awake. In the final days of the movie his team had won the district championship and he was bound to attempt a tryout. In the conclusion he had become a relief pitcher for a major league team and was called to show his "heat" by striking out the hitter for the opposing team. The result was successful and he became a local hero. The movie had other poignant interests like his divorced father who had not been interested in his son's exploits or having to take his three children to the major league tryout and the ignominy of needing to change the babies dirty diaper as he was being called to the mound. The film went far into the night and while I was able to fall asleep, when I awakened, the movie reel of my mind was activated and here I am. Was I ever a really good ball player? Not really, but that doesn't stop a childs mindset of what he would like to be. However a war came along and any dreams were set aside. The irony of all the above is that this was the third time I had seen the movie but  we should all acknowledge that the dreams of long ago may never come to pass nevertheless they still reside in our memories and will be there for a long as we live. May those recollections never leave us or be dismissed for they are a part of what we are today. They are a part of the  days of long ago - our childhood, where dream and memories are forever.

Fishing Re-visited

As we are driving Eastward, the Sun, an orange orb,is slowly rising, ahead of us and my excitement is at a peak. For we are going to fish the Atlantic and I am wondering what the day will bring. I had arrived in Orlando the evening before and Jeff and I are now en route to try our hands at rod and reel to see what the waters will hold for us. Jeff is my grandson and I found has a real passion for fishing. He used to go with his step Father, who was a commercial fisherman and had begun to take Jeff out on the water when he was a youngster--thus the passion was acquuired early on. As we begin our quest a decision had been made to fish the first day by putting heavy weights on our lines and fishing the bottom--some 150 feet. The beauty of the ocean is not only the varying sea life you could view, the porpoise, the sea turtles, the schools of Dolphin just under the surface, and we saw our share, as we felt the bottom bump of our weights hoping the next bump would be a Red Snapper or a Grouper, both of which could be in the 20-30 pound class. Pure excitement mingled with hope!  It is a known fact that, indeed, hope springs eternal in the heart of a fisherman although the quest is not always rewarded with fish. On this day  our hopes were dashed with only a few small finny creatures were to stir our imaginations as we pulled them up from the deep. One of things that impressed me was the line of the horizon out to the East. The sea went on forever and it seemed as though the horizon did as well. That straight line was occasionally affected by a distant vessel but it was as though a ruler in Gods hands had been the instrument used to mark his territory. And so the day ended with little to show for it--fish wise. But ah, another day would soon dawn and we would go at it again, undaunted and positive to-morrow would be different. See what I mean when I say all fishermen are  of the same class-there is always tomorrow. However, I must admit that while we would use a different tactic the end result would be pretty much the same--no fish of any consequence. The weather, the ocean, the sights have all cooperated but the fish had taken some time off. I reminded Jeff that I had once visited Cape Cod several times with no luck until my host there had playfully informed me he had called all the charter fishermen to tell them to take the week-end off  because I had returned to try my luck. This bit of tongue in cheek humor caused Jeff to call our time, the days of the Winspear curse!! And so it was to be. I returned home to Arizona , although a bit disappointed, my many years of fishing had brought many fruitless ventures and this was another of hope being dashed. Still, my disappointment was minor compared to several points of pleasure--being on the water, seeing the various sights, spending time with a grandson with whom I had been delinquent, seeing a family that I had hardly seen before and in general having a damn good time. This adventure which could be my last in the  great outdoors.Would I do it again? Just as soon as I can pack!! Wait for me. I'll be right there.

Fishing

• Now this that I am going to write about will have to be written in two phases. First, to tell of the excitement I am feeling and the next will be to report on the success or lack thereof on my adventure. I have talked about fishing in the past but there is a new excitement swelling in my heart these days for I am about to embark on an old but now, new venture. One of my grandsons, living in Orlando, has invited me to join him in fishing the Atlantic ocean--no, not the whole ocean but some part lying East of Florida. And I am tripping!!! Now you would think I could contain myself having fished many places around and even beyond the confines of these United States but it has now been many years since I have ventured into the deep sea fishing variety and so by hook (pun intended) or crook, I'm going to have a go at it. I have known Jeff was a fisherman for some time but for some reason never inquired of his exploits. However, in a recent phone conversation, when he finished by saying, "Grampa, they are so big that I will have to help you pull them in". Now if that isn't enough to stir the blood of an old fisherman, I don't know what is. I have fished Northerns in Canada, Dolphins off Venezuela, Striped Bass at Cape Cod and Walleye all over this land but the thought, now, of Snappers or Groupers near Florida will be a new and hopefully successful expedition. I have to qualify my last sentence containing "hopefully" because there have been  almost multiple time where I have not been sucessful in the catching of those wiley denizens of the deep. I have seen them laying on the bottom, with me literally bumping their noses with my bait with nary a bite. I have become arm weary casting for trout in fast waters all in vain. I have even done jigging in waters teeming with fish only to have an up and down experience (There's a bad pun in there if you have ever fished)  but Jeff has laid down the gauntlet and I am accepting the challenge. To horse!!?? A fishing we will go!!