Arturo

 

I first started college at COCC back in the early 80's, expecting to major in accounting.  But, after seeing the computer program, I decided that both would be of importance since accounting would obviously be done on them in the future.

I took my first computer class and had trouble with the teacher.  He did not teach from the book that I was told to purchase.  In fact, some of his teaching went totally against the book.  So, when he had his weekly tests, I soon found myself not passing them. 

I stayed after class and confronted him, showing him how my answers were from the book.  “I am teaching this class!”, he contended.  “And you will listen to me and not that book or you will fail this class.”.

I went to my counselor and told him that I would have to back out of that class and obviously, that major.  My counselor introduced me to the new teacher who was to teach computer science there.  His name was Arturo (Art) Sanchez.  Art took me into his office and asked me if I truly wanted to learn about computers.  When I said yes, he said, ‘Then I will tutor you myself.  You will finish this class with me.”.  I would meet him in his office and he taught me one on one.  I aced the class.

Art became one of my favorite teachers and we became friends.  We both had young families and we often spoke of them.  We even visited each other’s house and met the families.  Because of him, I graduated college with two degrees….Accounting and Computer Science.

I continued working at Jake’s and offered to build the computer programs for his accounting department.  Jake allowed me to purchase one of the first personal computers from Oregon computers.  It was the one that they used to start their business that later turned to ORCOM.  I also purchased their large printer, and the hand built shelving unit lined with carpet to keep down the sound.

With that, I designed and developed the first accounting package at Jake’s.  When I ran into a problem, I called my friend, Art, and he would help me through it. 

COCC decided to start training on personal computers, but Art had no practice with them.  He came to me and asked me if he could practice on mine.  I was about to start on the hardest part of my accounting package, Payroll.  I made Art an offer.  We could work on the program together.  He agreed and we worked hard together throughout that summer.  I worked on the main part of the program and Art worked on the reports. 

He ended up combining some of the reports into a very nice end result.  When I took it to the office manager, he did not like it.  He was used to three separate reports, and he liked it that way.  I called Art to discuss it with him and he answered, “What do you mean, three reports?”. 

I reminded him of what he had taught me at school.  He taught me that we make programs for the end user and give them what they want.  He laughed and agreed to rewrite the program accordingly.

The program was a success, and Art was able to teach PC at the school with confidence.  He even took our program and went back to his alma mater and got his master’s degree using it. 

Our laugh from then on was always, “What do you mean, three reports?”.  To this day, when we saw one another or called, it was the first thing that either of us spoke. 

When the diner started in 87, it took up much of my life.  But Art and I would see each other from time to time and catch up on things. 

I always admired Art for his sharp business sense.  He invested wisely and I always felt that he would be very successful. 

And then, when I took over the diner, I saw even less of my good friend.  But my admiration of him never waned. 

I ran into him from time to time with always whoever saw the other first saying, “What do you mean, three reports?”.

On Monday as I worked to get the Band of Brothers meeting together, Casey stopped me to show me a text message from Art’s daughter, Natalie.

It read:

My dad passed away suddenly and unexpectantly on Christmas Eve morning.  It’s been an incredibly difficult last handful of days.  Worst pain that I have ever felt in my life to date.  We are trying to help my mom with everything as you can imagine.  She wanted Lyle to know as my dad always thought so highly of him. 

The last few days have been hard with many memories.

We all have people in our lives that make huge marks in who we are and what we become and Art was one of them in my life.  Without knowing me, he took me into his office and spent his own time teaching me.

And after I graduated, he was always there when I needed him. 

And, there is a side of me that is angry with myself.  I have no pictures of the two of us…only memories.   I should have reached out and just said hi.  Or, just called him and said, ‘What do you mean, three reports?”.

I will miss you my friend.  And will ever be grateful for your influence in my life and for being there for me so many years ago.

 

Marcus

 

The first time that I met him was back in 2013.  It was the first year that we were invited to the Duck practices.  We watched them scrimmage in the indoor facility and then took a few pictures with the team afterwards.  I got a great picture with him that is up on the wall today.

After the practice, we got to talk with the coach for a bit and then were invited over to Autzen stadium.  As we walked to the stadium, I noticed someone leaning against my car. 

It was Marcus.  He was waiting for us and stopped to shake hands with every veteran that had come along.  We were all quite impressed that the young man would take the time to stop and honor them.

The next spring was his senior year and we were outside for practice.  That was the year that he won the Heisman and played in the National championship.  After practice, I had herded the guys toward the facilities and was walking across the field deep in thought when I heard a voice:

“Nice Aloha shirt”

“Thanks and I play ukulele also”

“Well, I don’t”

“Yes, but I can’t throw a football but that doesn’t even make us even”

We both laughed and just stood there and chatted for a small time.  He thanked me for bringing the guys over and I wished him well for the coming year.

He graduated that year and I felt that I probably would never see him again. 

Then in 2016, we were invited to a practice scrimmage.  It was quite an honor as it was the first scrimmage that anyone outside of the Ducks themselves had been invited to.

We were brought into the stadium in carts and I stayed behind to ensure all went well and rode in the last cart with two of the Sheriffs that had brought us in their busses.  As we came into the field, I noticed two guys standing down in the end zone.  It was Marcus and Hronus Grasu (who was now playing for the Chicago Bears).  I asked to be dropped off there and walked over to them with the sheriffs.

After taking the picture, I talked with Marcus and congratulated him on his successes.  I pointed out the old veterans who were over sitting in the stands:

“Do you see all those old veterans over there?”

“Yes”

“They really enjoy watching you play football.  But there is something about you that they are impressed even more than that”

“And what is that?”

“Your character.  They still remember how you stopped and talked with them a few years back.  They see how you carry yourself.  How you remain humble.  That sort of thing means far more than how far you can throw a football.  Don’t you ever forget that”

“Yes, sir”

We shook hands and I joined the guys in the stand. 

As I look back on those times, I am sometimes overwhelmed at how blessed that I have been.  Most feel honored just to meet a legend such as he is in the Duck world.  I have actually been able to have conversations with him. 

Interactions that stay with you…..that you never forget.

Jimmy Johnson

 

When I would come into the diner in the morning, one of the first things that I would do was scope the floor.  I would be looking to insure that all had been seen and greeted, for people that I knew that I needed to greet, or for people that looked out of place.  Jimmy was in the latter. 

He was sitting at the counter hunched over his breakfast.  The first time that I saw him, I thought he was a driver.  The second day, I figured he was waiting for a load.  On the third day, however, I figured that I might want to know this new customer that graced our counter three days in a row. 

I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down next to him and asked him how his breakfast was.  He smiled and said it was great.  I introduced myself and he gave me his name, Jimmy.  I then thanked him for coming in three days in a row.  He explained that he was staying in the motel across the street.  When I asked him what brought him to our town, he said that he was selling autographs over at Walmart.  Now, I am real curious but did not want to embarrass myself or him in not knowing who he was so I just asked him how long he would be around.  He said through the weekend.

So, my next move, later on that day was to look for him at Walmart.  I found him up toward the entrance sitting at a small desk.  The banner behind him read, “San Francisco 49er Hall of Famer Jimmy Johnson.  Now, I know that the NFL did not pay like they do now but my curiosity was spiked by why this man would be so far away from home.

The next morning, I grabbed a cup of coffee and sat next to him again and the conversation went something like this:

Morning, Jimmy.

Morning, Sir.

Jimmy, you didn’t tell me you were a football player.

You never asked.

So, why are you staying in the  motel across the street. 

It’s close to Walmart and I don’t have a car.

You have a comfortable room?

Not really, the heater is kind of loud and I am not getting as much rest as I would like.

So, Jimmy, you are a big time football player and you are here in Bend, Oregon so far away from home selling your autographs at a local Walmart.  I know it is none of my business, but I am curious as to why.

I am trying to raise money for a charity.

And what does your charity do?

It helps young boys down in Oakland get off of the street and keep them out of trouble.

Now, I am kind of overwhelmed.  This quiet, soft spoken football hero is probably missing his family and neighbors and is so far away from home trying to raise money to help out kids.

I thought about it for a minute or so and said:

Jimmy, I really appreciate what you are doing.  Is Walmart covering your expenses?

Well, they help me with  my lunch  and dinner but my room and breakfast are on me.

Well, to show you how much  we appreciate what you are doing, your breakfasts now are on us.

Thank you!  Can I do anything for you?

One of your autographs would be awesome.

He pulled one from a brief case that he had next to him and started writing on it.  He seemed to make a mistake and said that he would get another. 

I told him no, that I knew that the pictures cost him and I didn’t want him to have to pay for another just for me.  I told him just use the one that he had.

He smiled and finished off the picture and I had one of my first pictures for the wall.  And when I look at it and see where he rewrote his line, I remember the story behind it.

Others will see a autographed picture of a football player who ate at Jake’s.  For me, it is the memory of meeting a great man who used his celebrity status to help out others not as fortunate as himself.  A man who had left his family to sleep in a small room with a noisy heater and eat at a truck stop counter with strangers to make a difference with the people around him.

I see that recently the world lost this great man and I found his obituary online:

Lester

 He was a friend of my brother when I first met him.  Quiet and shy but a huge heart that could be seen by all.  I believe my mother saw that early also as she accepted him like another son.  I remember him as another brother.  

I had two brothers so with Les, we had 4.  Tie in with the 4 Petrie boys and we had a good foundation for a baseball game or whatever.  I found some old videos of my brother, Marvin coming out of the house with him before another video of a baseball game in our back yard.  First and maybe second base were stumps while third was the side of the garage.  It was a whole lot different than the video game era that we are in now.

I think alot of the glue that we had back then was our local pastor, Ned Landers.  I have written of him in previous posts.  His influence on our life then and in all of our adult lives have been very evident.  

I don't recall if Les graduated with Rudy and soon both Rudy and I were serving our country in the Navy.  Lester was Air Force, I believe and was a guard at the gate.  

The 70's seem to go similar for all of us.  We all got married in the middle of them and all had kids toward the end of them.  Les, Rudy, and I had daughters inside of a year.  While Rudy had a daughter two years later, Les and I both had sons.  I believe Marvin's son came along that year also or close to it.  

Towards the end of the 80's, we got back together.  Les and Margo started going to the same church and Judy and I.  We seem to link up again.  I remember them coming to our house and we to theirs.  Whether it was birthdays or Bible studies, we hung out.  

Les volunteered to lead the Junior High boys class and soon found himself under water.  It was a rather spirited class and one person could not have a chance at any control.  Les came to me and asked for my help.  It was my first opportunity at teaching in church and I was honored to have him ask.  I remember using some MC Hammer songs and playing them to the class.  Then, I read the lyrics to the class showing them that how his positive words can help them in their lives.  

I enjoyed being with him and Margo.  Margo's laugh and humor was so infectious.  

Sometime toward the end of the 80s, my family had a reunion of sorts at my folks house.  Mom still considered Les another son and invited Les, Margo, and their family to our get together.  Melissa hung out with the girls, while Russ and the boys had some sort of competition out front.  I have old videos that document the happiness of the event.  

In the late 90's, graduations came.  As I recall, Russ was involved with a local Christian band playing bass.  Les and I went to a club downtown to listen to the group.  

Russ garnered a job with the City of Bend and I remember encouraging him to stay there but he got bored and moved to LA.  Soon down there, he also managed to get another government job and once again, we encouraged him to stay for the future benefits of it.

But Russ was still unsure what direction he wanted to go so he joined up....the Marines.  And he went away to fight in Iraq.  

I was involved with Men's ministry at church and Les and I amongst others started a group called Dad's on their knees where we went in early Friday morning and prayed for our children.  

The turn of the century brought change to quite a few things.  911 affected me far more than I wanted it to and I backed away from my position at the church.  

The next few years seem to blur for me a bit.  Lots of things happened.  I struggled at work and then just 3 short years later, the biggest change in my life happened when I managed to keep the diner.  

I was soon working seven days a week and found my opportunities to socialize become almost non existent.  I barely had time to stay up with my own family let alone others.  

But, Les and I remained friends.  My memories are harder and pretty much most of my focus was on the diner.  

I don't remember what year Les and Margo moved to the apartment behind Safeway but I do recall going over to their place to help them with their electronics.  I believe we had some Bible studies their also.  Margo would always have treats for us.  

Les was an avid supporter of the Gideons and would meet with them at the diner on Saturdays so I at least saw him there.  

Then, he lost the love of his life.  I remember when he came in to see me.  He talked of how he knew she was gone when he looked at her in the morning.  The muscles that made it hard for her to smile had relaxed and he told me that her smile was beautiful.  He knew she was at peace but he missed her so deeply.  

Soon after when I would see him, his speech seemed to change and things became harder for him to speak of.  

Soon, he was in a home and I know that I should have been more diligent to go see him but I focused on other things....and I missed out.

I heard that Russ was putting him a home close to where he was at so he could keep a closer watch on him and I lost touch.  

Through Facebook, Melissa and I conversed and as I look back on the messages, she not only told me of her mothers struggles but also kept me appraised of Les's plight with memory care, falling, and later going into hospice.  

All through it, I prayed but was never able to get over to the valley to see him.  

And now, like so many others that I have known and loved....he is gone.  

But, I will hold on to those memories because I know....that I will see him and Margo again.  

Written after the Ducks loss in the last Pac 12 game

 

There comes a time in every game where you feel that your team will win or lose.  For me, last night, mine was the very first offensive play of the Ducks. 

Bo Nix was confident.  He had been working up to this moment and he was prepared.  In his mind, all was calm.  He watched as his primary ran a crossing route.  He took a deep breath and saw the point where his pass and the receiver would meet and he threw to it. 

The problem was that at that exact spot…stood a ref.  As the receiver ran behind the ref, the ball hit right in the numbers….of the ref. 

Immediately, in my head, I saw an ad.  In the ad, a group of people are so excited to have football again after Covid.  But, in the first play, something happens that is so intense, so stark, that they feel their year is over. 

I had that feeling as the ball bounced off of the refs chest.  And, I feel that play also shook up Bo.  In fact,  the most accurate passer in college football missed five of his first six passes.

As I wrestled with the disappointment of what I had just saw, it actually helped to lessen the disappointment of the loss coming in those few hours.  Even when they went up by 4 towards the end of the third, I just did not feel right. 

As I watched Bo’s parents wrestle with the desire to have their son win.  After all, the platform in front of Bo was clear.  Win and the Ducks are probably in the playoffs, Bo probably wins the Heisman, and the dreams of a magical season are bright. 

I remember seeing a woman close to them who had her hands folded in front of her.  She seemed to be praying.  I wondered if she was asking for the same thing that I was asking for.

In my head, I envisioned players throughout the stands asking for the same result.  A win for their team.  Their were believers on both sides asking God to allow their young men to be the ones that come out on top. 

Now, hours later, in the middle of the night, that one play resonates in my mind.  It actually changed my perspective of the game. 

I still watched the game, still hoping for the win.  But I saw other things also.  I saw people that I have personally met and actually have talked with.  Some of whom I actually have their phone numbers and have spoken and texted with.

Dan Lanning, Osman Kamara, and Matt Noyer.  I thought of conversations, of meetings, of texts. Recently, I had texted Osman in the middle of a game down in Arizona where I watched him have a player sign a shoe and place it on a trophy. 

As I watched Trae Holden catch the ball and score bringing the Ducks within 3 and I remembered taking a picture with him and talking to him on the sidelines.

As I am writing this, I have youtube playing various Christmas songs.  One of them was of an old man who was putting up his tree and various things on and around the tree brought back memories to him. 

Memories…the foundation of your life, of your perspective, of your health. 

The Admiral

 I remember seeing him the first time.  He was not very big in stature but there was something about his presence that caught your attention.  He just seemed....confident.

We averaged around 100 men and women every week in our meetings.  While most were enlisted, we had our officers.  But, he was our first Admiral.  Admiral John C. Shepard.  And, he just wanted to be one of the guys.  

I don't know how many times he had been there but after one of the meetings was over, he approached and introduced himself to me.  I do realize that his title held quite a bit to me but there was something about him that words cannot describe that held my attention even more.  

After he had introduced himself, he stuck out his hand to shake.  "You are doing a good job here.", he said, "Keep it up.".  My head dropped a bit as I tried to grasp the minute.  A steel grip brought me to the present.  I looked into eyes that grabbed and captured you.  "Did you hear what I said?", he asked.  "Yes sir.", I answered.  He smiled, turned and left the meeting.  

I have met many dignitaries.  Politicians, musicians, athletes, and the such, but this was an admiral.  He had commanded many men who commanded many more.  

He was not there that many times before we lost him.  His service was set for the Catholic church.  In his short time with us, he was greatly admired (no pun intended) and many showed up.

I made sure that my dress was ship shape that day.  I got my hair cut, made sure my ribbons were straight, and my shoes were shined.  It reminded me of getting ready for inspection back when I was in.

As a Navy man myself, I was asked to be one of his pallbearers.  Another first in my life and a great honor of it's own.  And, if I do say so, we looked pretty good for a bunch of old sailors as we attempted to keep in step, rolling his casket up the isle.  

After the service, we formed again and wheeled him outside.  When we got to the hearse, we lifted him up and rolled him in the back.  

At that moment, I felt a steel grip on my right hand and heard the words, "You are doing a good job here.  Keep it up.".  

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I watched his last ship depart.  

This all happened ten years back but it seems just like yesterday and its memory seems to be burned in my conscience.  One that I will cherish the rest of my life and become one of my life's many stories.  

The admiral's obituary

Jack

 There are probably quite a few people in your life that make a mark.  Some more than others.  Jack Mangin was one of them.  

I first met him back when the diner first started.  I had been working for Jake for a few years but running the restaurant had only been a part of what I did.  I had spent much of my time working on the software to run the accounting part of Jake's business.  

The restaurant was small and really did not need much supervision.  I actually spent much of my time there purchasing and staying on top of the numbers.  In actuality, I spent more of my time working the software.  

So, when Jake built the new diner, he asked me to help him find a manager for it.  But, I enjoyed being in the diner and talking with the local customers and steady drivers that passed through.  I told him that I would like to manage the diner and would help him hire someone to manage the software that I had created.  

I soon found out just how little that I knew of actually running a restaurant.  It became quite overwhelming and I struggled to stay on top of it all.  

I am unsure when I first met Jack but his reputation proceeded him as he had built the Pilot Butte Drive in which was fast becoming the best burger restaurant in town.  Jack and I became fast friends and he offered to help me with things.  If I struggled with something, I would just call Jack.  His usual response was, "Buy me breakfast and we will talk.".  He became my mentor.  

All through the 90s, we stayed in touch.  I learned so much from that good man.  From how to run a restaurant, how to treat people, and how to be honest in all that we do. 

So, when it came time to decide whether or not I could actually take over the diner, Jack was one of the key people that I called up to make the ultimate decision.  I remember well sitting in my back room, crunching the numbers and discussing the feasibility of it all.  We realized that I actually could make a go of it borrowing off of my house but I also knew that if I did that and failed, that I would lose everything that I had worked for. 

 I had a man who I had been working with for the monetary side.  I had been offered a 6 month lease on the present building and the money guy had told me not to take it as if you fail after only 6 months, you would lose more than you put into it.  As Jack and my buddy, Frank Patka, worked on the numbers, I got a call from the money man.  He told me to take the lease.  I asked why and he said, "Because I told you to.".  I told him that it was my neck on the line and asked him what had changed to change his mind.  He got angry with me and said, "Look here, I have worked with you for a few weeks and have not gotten a dime from you.".  I got a bit angry then and hung up on him.  

I turned to Jack and Frank and said, "Well, I guess I best just give up.".  Jack grabbed me by the shirt and looked straight into my eyes and said, "Lyle, if you don't do this, you will regret it the rest of your life!".  It was the push that I needed.  Without it, I would not be where I am today.  

My life became very busy after that day but from time to time, I would call up my old mentor to just...talk.  

When news came out that I was moving to my new location, he called and talked of the move.  He even dropped by and looked at the building giving me thoughts and ideas.  

After I moved and when things settled down, we talked of the craziness of it all.  Moving just down the road from him had actually brought more people to this side of the town and had helped both of our operations.  

Jack talked of his retirement but he said that he enjoyed going in and cleaning tables and such.  

Then, one day, he called and told me that he was selling and retiring.  I actually saw little of him after that.  I ran into him one day at Whispering Winds where he and Dee had moved to. 

When I started backing away from the diner myself and turning it over to my son, Casey, I had plans to stop in and see my old friend and mentor.  In fact, one of my customers gave me his cell phone number and I placed it in my pocket with the intention of relighting an old friendship.  

Then, Covid hit, and my intentions of backing away were turned around.  Like so many others, my life changed.  I spent much of my time looking at ways to keep the diner from collapse.  

Every once in a while, I would run across the phone number and think that once this all settles down, I need to give Jack a call.  

That call never happened.  I heard that Jack had passed but saw nothing in the papers.  I finally talked with another friend who lives at the home who acknowledged that Jack was gone.  

I have looked for the obit and found it today.

https://www.bendbulletin.com/obituaries/jack-thomas-mangin/article_d0ae9a64-c807-11ec-9d24-8f9776ce92a5.html

To be honest, I was saddened by the fact that it said so little of the man that I knew.  It stated quite simply that he had passed and the list of his family members that were left behind.  Nothing of the life that he had lived.  Just a quiet goodbye.  

His service is coming up in June.  I intend on being there to say goodbye to a friend....a mentor....and a great man.

A once in a lifetime friendship

I fight to remember the first time I saw them.  My memory just sees them as that cute little old couple towards the back of the room.  The only couple in the room full of mainly men.  I do remember sitting with a cup of coffee and chatting with them.  They were...easy to talk with.

One of the guys took me to the side and said, "That guy got the Medal of Honor.".  "Oh, really?", I thought.  I remember looking at the average build kind man and could not vision him storming a pill box taking out a group of Germans single handed.  That 'John Wayne' vision was what I thought of that medal.

I think it made me step back a bit.  I probably skirted their table a bit...feeling somewhat unworthy, I guess.  But, they both always had a smile on their faces and sought me out with a bright hello.  'Love' seemed to radiate from them and soon I was back with my cup, chatting with them before one of the meetings.

They didn't live in a big house up on the hill.  They had a small mobile home in one of the local lots.  Humble digs for a humble couple. It was the early days of my coming back out as a veteran so their warmth and acceptance encouraged me.

He had a birthday and a local retired officer made a huge deal of it with a big cake.  Bob just shrugged and went along with the fan fare.  I could see that he appreciated the gesture but certainly did not feed off of it.  'Just another day', I believe he said.

The more that I got to know them, the more I loved being around them.  Honestly, I don't recall an angry word coming from either and that is how I wish to remember them.....Loving.

In those early days, it was a rarity when Bea was not by his side.  I can only remember a very few like the time that he wanted to honor another close friend of mine, Bob Shotwell with a rock from Normandy beach.  We sat quietly at one of the LaPine meetings, him not wanting his stature to be greater than the honor that he wanted to bestow.

The two Bob's had a few things in common beside the war.  In fact, both of them had started up departments at our local college, COCC.  Bob Shotwell starting the Journalism dept and Bob Maxwell the Automotive. 

I recall a day that Bob called me up and asked to have a cup of coffee.  I never turned down that opportunity.  Bob and I sat in a booth at Jake's and he asked me if I had any ideas for fund raisers.  He was trying to raise money for Honor Flights where they were sending WW2 veterans to Washington DC.

We threw back and forth a few ideas, when I looked over at the table next to us to find another friend, Don Devore, who owns a business up on the Sandy river and makes our T shirts and sweatshirts at Jake's.  I invited Don over to the table and in the conversation, one of us came up with the idea of coats.  It was something that most could afford and that could be popular if well received.  Don agreed to make the coats at his cost to help in the fund raising.

In a matter of minutes, the three of us had designed a jacket.  On the front would be the person's name and his service.  On the back, we would have "Band of Brothers, Central Oregon.  We all agreed that the back would look better with a logo of sorts.  About that time, a veteran walked in and on the back of his vest, he had a patch.  In the center of the patch was an Eagle.  "What of that?", I asked.  We found a picture of the eagle online and with that, the logo of the Band of Brothers was created.  In fact, the jacket that wear on a normal basis was the prototype for the jacket that became a uniform and a way to bring all of the now various groups together.

I was honored to put the medal around his neck three times.  Every time, it was an extreme honor.  The first time was just before I introduced him to the Oregon Ducks Football team.  Putting the medal around his neck was a far greater honor than talking to the Ducks on their knees in the middle of the field so you can imagine how I felt that day.  That day will always be a red letter day in my life.

We persuaded him to be the Grand Marshall for the Veteran day parade and Judy was able to ride them around in the back of her Model A.  My father rode up front and really enjoyed that parade.  

Then, a few years back, he lost his partner.  I was in Portland at the time, watching a Lacrosse game that my grandson was playing in.  Friends kept me appraised of things as we all began to pray for Bea and him.  By the time that I got back to Bend, she was gone.  We had a huge service at Eastmont Church with a procession that led to the small cemetery close to Terrebonne.  Police from four different agencies blocked intersections so that we could get to the graveside together.  Our area had not seen anything like this.  A testament to how much the couple meant to all.

Bob began to falter in his health and many of us felt that he would probably follow close behind as we knew how much he loved Bea.  But God had other plans. 

Bob went to live in a local home and because he was struggling a bit a couple of us guys decided we would stop daily to encourage him to eat his meals.  I chose breakfast and really enjoyed having coffee with him every morning.  It just started off my day right.  They had put a few tables together in the middle of the lunch room and made it the veteran table.  Even when Bob didn't really feel well, he always took the time to check with all on the table to make sure they were ok.  Once, I caught him with his hand under his head.  "Are you ok?", I asked.  He smiled and said, "Only way that I can hold it up".  

He got shingles once and was unable to come down for a bit while he was contagious.  I would call and check up on him.  I could tell he was not feeling well one day and told him that I was sorry that he had to go through this.  He replied, "It might as well be me.  I have nothing better to do.".

And Bob continued to be the same giving Bob.  Most days, he welcomed whomever wanted to visit and was always so gracious.  He would give his visitor one of his coins and always listened and shared God's love in the way that Bob would.  He would give me a stash of his coins and asked me to give them to people that I ran across.  He said that you will know who to give them to.

I met a lady from the other side of the country when I was trying to fix a problem with my cell phone.  Her name was Kimberly Munley.  I found that she was the person who stopped the shooter at Ft Hood so many years back.  I told her that you never know what hero you might be talking to and she asked me not to call her a hero.  But Bob did.  We sent her a message from Bob and one of his coins.  She cherishes it to this day. 

I took my grandson to see him a few times.  He always enjoyed it and called the home, Bob's home.  He was a bit confused when my mother moved in.  "She lives in Bob's house?', he asked.  

I took him in on a Thursday to see her and as we walked by his room, I could see he was praying with someone so we left him alone.  On the way back out, Bob's friend was gone and we stopped by.  Bob said that he wished that I could have met the man he was praying with.  He called him the best of the best.  I needed to know more about that since Bob was the best of the best to me.

I dropped my grandson off and went back.  "Tell me about the best of the best", I asked.  Bob shared that the man had been his pastor in Eugene at Santa Clara.  I asked if it was the Santa Clara Church of Christ and he said, 'yes".  I asked if he knew a Marion Glick there and he said, "Yes, she was a nice lady.".  Marion Glick was my grandmother and it was there that I came to know that he knew her.  That was our last conversation.  

I left town the next day to go to Portland to an event and came back on Saturday.  On the way home, I was called and told that Bob had gone to hospice.  It was late when I arrived so I decided to go there first thing in the morning....but Bob passed away that evening.  

When I heard I felt numb.  No more would I sit at his table.  No more would we talk over a cup of coffee.  No more smile.

On Sunday, I drove to the diner to help out.  I felt so empty as I drove I drove into the lot.  On the radio, there was a song playing called "Shangri-La".  I remember saying out loud, "That is where you are right now, my friend".  I looked down at the screen to see that the man playing the song was named....Robert Maxwell.  The tears started to flow as I grieved the loss of my old friend...and mentor.  

I know that I will see him again one day.  But till then, I have my memories. 

  

Andy and Lynnette

An old friend came to see me last week.  It reminded me of a story of my early days at Jake's  We discussed it and she asked me to write it down so here it is, Andy!

 I began my management career at Jake's with the crew that was in place and pretty much doing what they wanted.  They were good, confident, and pretty much, unsupervised.  So, as I took the reins, there were, as you can imagine, some problems with the new guy who knew nothing about the restaurant game.  I had managed other things but not food.  So, I will admit there were was a large learning curve for me.  

Two young women ran the floor.  Andy and Lynette.  They knew their customers and they knew their craft.  But, I was the new boy on the block who was now their boss.  

I honestly don't remember the issue that came between us but both of them showed up at my office one morning because of it.  "We are giving you our two weeks notice.", they said.  I tried not to show it but my heart sank.  I knew very little and would have to hire and train new servers.  I tried hard not to show it when I said, "Ok, if that is what you want.".  

I talked with Kim about it and told him that I wasn't sure how it was going to turn out.  "There are two types of race horses.", Kim told me.  "The very best are the thoroughbreds.  But they are much harder to manage.  These two are thoroughbreds." he stated.  "But, I can't just let them run the place.", I countered.  "No, you can't, but you also need to figure this out."

A week later, however, the problem began to resolve itself when Andy showed up at my door.  "Can I rescind my notice.", she asked.  With a sigh of relief, I said, "Sure".

An hour or so later, the problem was totally resolved when Lynnette walked in, with hands on her hips, and stated, "Ok, I give up.  You win!".  

My first major problem at Jake's was resolved.  Lynette worked until we started the new and larger diner.  She said she knew that she would not be happy on a floor where she had to work with so many others.  Andy stayed on for many years and we have remained friends since.

Emmy

                                   

I have had many pets in my life.  But, probably because of an event of my youth with our family dog, Thumper, I had dedicated that I would never get attached to one.  After all, sooner or later, they will no longer be there.
                                            

But all that changed eight years ago, when Judy brought home a little ball of fur named Emmy.

We already had a little mini Pomeranian named Mia.  And this was one of her sisters from a different batch.  Up until Emmy, Mia had always been such a happy little thing but she did not like sharing Judy's affection and her personality changed.

Judy saw this and asked me to take Emmy with me for a short time so that Mia could get used to having another pet around.  That never really happened.

                                     
But something else did.  When I would go to my room to read, scan the net, listen to music, or watch TV, this little ball of fur was right next to me on the couch.  When she wasn't playing, she was cuddled into my leg, often with her little head on my leg.
                                  
And so slowly or not so slowly, the attachment began.  She became my dog or should I say, I became her person.

                           
                                     
I remember times when she would struggle so hard to get my attention.  I knew or felt that her personality would probably be set from her puppy stage  so I began talking with her as we played.  "You are a beautiful girl.", I would say, "Always stay happy.".  And she listened.  In fact, she was quite probably the happiest dog that I have ever known.
                              

She would be there at the door when I came home from work and then be by my side all the way to bed time.  Then, she would crawl under our bed below me to sleep.  And I became deeply attached to this little ball of fur.
                                            
  In the summer, I would sit down on the grass in our back yard and she would run to me, jumping on my lap, and smothering me with kisses.
                                  

When I was not around, she would often sleep with one of my shoes.  I assume it was because it had my smell.
                               

                     

In the winter, she loved the snow.  She loved to jump in it and run around.  You could see her joy as she did so.

                                

In fact, Judy called her my rescue dog.  For when that PTSD side of me came out, often those happy eyes and that bright smile would help to settle me.  In fact, I remember the VA offering to get me a dog.  I said, "No, I have one already.".  

When I struggled, she would always be there.  When I was sick, she would not leave my side. A few years back, I came down with the flu.  I would lay on my couch out of it.  I would open my eyes and there she was either sitting there looking at me or sleeping down at the foot of the couch.

                                 

And she loved to play.  She especially loved chasing after a little ball.  I would give it a little toss down the steps and she would fly after it.  Soon she was at me feet again with the ball in her mouth pleading with those big eyes for me to throw it again.  That game changed a few short years ago when another little young boy came into our life.  Young Jasper loved those little balls also and we became concerned that he might put one of them in his mouth and choke so the balls went up only to come out on special occasions and soon they were forgotten.

Every evening she would be by my side no matter where I was.  And she would always perk up when I would tell her that it was time for bed.  She would run to our bed and slide under my side not to come back out until the morning.  I would often hear her snoring down there in the middle of the night.

But, then, one morning she would not come out.  We would call and she would not move. Eventually, I managed to slide her out but she just lay there, her breathing was shallow.

I picked her up and drove her to the animal hospital.  She spent a few days in an oxygen tent before her oxygen level stabilized and she was able to come home.    I noticed that there was quite a bit of dog hair under the bed so I figured that was probably what caused her discomfort.  I had to block off that part to keep her from going to her comfort zone.
             
                            

Bedtime soon became the foot of our bed where she found her comfort often sleeping on her back, with her legs up in the air.  But, that did not stop her discomfort.

Our vet referred her to a specialist.  After inspection and ex-rays, we found her problem was two fold and incurable.  First off, she had a collapsed trachea.  The collapse, however, was down close to her lungs where they could not put a stint in.  To make matters worse, the lack of oxygen caused her heart to enlarge.   The now bigger heart pressed down on the trachea issue making it even worse.

She soon began to struggle going up steps and I found myself carrying her up the stairs in the evening.  It got so bad, that she even struggled getting up the three small steps to our deck from the yard.

From an early age, she also struggled with hard floors. I remember once when we took her to the coast with us.  She would jump from one carpet to the next as she hated walking on the hard floor.  I thought it was her nails as you could always hear them when she walked on it.  Our kitchen floor was hardwood and she stayed off of it as much as she could.  When she was on it, she would often remind me of Fred Flintstone as she would almost run in place, her legs racing to gain enough traction to get her back to her security of carpet.

Last year, we moved to a new home with a single level.  We felt this would also be good for her as she no longer needed to be carried up the stairs.  But, the house had a hard floor in most of the rooms other than the bedrooms.  I would always know where she was when she moved around the house from the clicking of her nails on the floor.  Judy bought her special little rugs to make her maneuvering easier.   I always knew when she was coming to join me in my room as I could hear the clicking.  She would come over to the couch and either spread out on the floor or wait to be lifted up to the couch.  She just wanted to be with me.

And when she visited,  our daughter, Trinity, had a special affection for her also. Trin often had to work on her computer and you would find Emmy down at the end of her bed.  I would look in and there would be that happy smile on her as my daughter shared her affection.

Her coughing and struggles worsened however.  We bought vaporizers to help moisten the dry air. We tried CBD oil and then even purchased a special product for her throat to help ease the barking cough.  When she went outside to do her business, she would have to be carried back up the steps to the deck as she could just not get up them and when when she did try,she would go off in a coughing fit.  In fact, we bought her a ramp online hoping to ease that issue for her.  The ramp arrived too late.

No matter what we did, her breathing problems became worse.  Over a couple of days, they became acute.  Judy and I talked that night of her problems and I told Judy that we would soon have a decision to make.

Those last few nights, I would often find her panting down at the end of the bed.  I would go get her water and she would drink, easing her problems.  It was dark and I could not see her but I could feel her whiskers on the side of my thumb.  That was how I knew that she had stopped drinking.

Our last night together, I brought her water three times.  The feel of her whiskers became a special connection between us.  I was giving my little companion some comfort in her struggles as she did so many times for me when I was struggling.  In fact, the tears are flowing as I type these words as I realize the meaning of why that affects me so.

I went to my room and began searching the internet for when to put down a dog with those issues.  I could hear her struggle and Judy soon came to me to let me know also.

Judy and I took her out into the living room.  She sat at the foot part of my recliner and Judy sat behind her trying to comfort her.  I sat in Judy's chair and we put on a youtube video of birds eating.  Emmy struggled but calmed down.  We all fell asleep there.  I awoke in the early hours, Emmy panting at Judy's feet.  I climbed back into bed and slept for a couple of hours.

We both awoke around the same time.  I could see that Emmy wasn't sleeping but was struggling with her breath.

I looked online and found a veterinarian who specialized in coming out to homes for just this sort of thing.  I called and talked with her on the phone exclaiming Emmy's demise.  She could hear her coughing in the background as I spoke.  I told her that both Judy and I agreed...it was time.  Because she could hear Emmy and realized how acute the situation was, she told me that he had a 930 appointment that she would cancel and she would be right over.

Emmy was still in the chair when she arrived.  Her labored breathing told us all that she was worsening.

The doctor explained what would happen and with me sitting on the floor in front of Emmy, she began her work.  She gave Emmy her first shot to put her in a sleep mode.  As she began to feel the drugs, she looked at both Judy and I.  I believe that fact that we were right there assured her that it was ok.  I talked with her softly, telling her the same things that I had when she was such a small puppy on my lap.  "It is ok.  You are a beautiful young lady.  We love you.  It is ok.".

She calmed and laid her head down.  The doctor checked her out and said she was under.

We placed her on the floor and the doctor gave her her last shot.  Her breathing was still labored but then she took one last deep breath.   Our Emmy was gone.  No more struggling...no more pain....no more fear.

But we both see her throughout the house.  I hear her nails click on the floor.  I feel her whiskers on my hand....I look down and no one is there.  And the tears fall....as they are right now just thinking of it.

They say time heals.....this will take a while.

Judy took this last picture of her just weeks before we lost her.  It is just as she was and just like she is here.  Her bright eyes and happy smile.

A few days in April

March 25, 1975, we were arriving in Subic, dropping off some South Vietnamese officers that we were training in Korea, and picking up supplies and marrines to head to Vietnam. Some of the marines were a bit scared and we all had no idea where or how we were going to help. Initially, we were charting for Da Nang.

March 30, 1975. We left in the afternoon. We steamed originally with the Frederick and Joined the Dubuque along the way. My wife was in Australia at her parents house. She found out while watching the news and seeing a picture of the three ships racing to get there.

March 31, 1975.  We were halfway to Vietnam. This was about the time that we were sent further south. Many of you had various jobs to get ready including readying boats, building toilets attached to the side, and organizing the supplies needed to take on refugees. My job was to chart the mines going into the harbor. at 1300, we began small arms practicing off of the fantail. at this point, it was still just us and the Frederick.

April 1, 1975.   We now approach a coastline that now is loaded with resort beaches but they were far from that back then. We were now at the staging area awaiting further orders. Reports from DaNang are that refugees were taking to whatever floated to get away and were being shot like a shooting gallery. At 1700 hrs, we set flight ops and began shuttling 46 pallets small arms amo and 6 pallets MRE's to the Frederick. Took about an hour.

April 2, 1975. "The Durham has never before undertaken a humanitarian effort more important than this one." He went on to say that that we need to understand the torture that many of gone through. Capt. Bridge is still the Senior officer present but that is soon to change as we link up with the Dubuque and Blue Ridge (who has RADM Whitmire). At approx 1400 hrs, we head to our final destination at nearly full speed and begin shuttling marines back and forth via helicopter. We don't secure flight qtrs for four hours. At around 2130 (930 PM for you who have forgotten), we slow down to 5 kts and almost drift as we await the next two days of which most of us will never forget. The marines we have taken on are hardened and many of us stay out of their way.

April 3, 1975. I had the mid watch that night. We were close enough to the shore to see the battles going on. I have always likened it to an electric storm. My memory is this. I brought a cup of coffee and a cigarette out to the bridge wing watch. We were drinking our coffee, smoking, and watching the battle from afar. We knew that the next day, we were suppose to go in. One of us said, "I really don't want to go in there.". The other agreed. I have seen that memory over the years. Around 930, we began moving in. at 10, flight qtrs was set and we began shuttling what I believe were more Marines. The Marines were placed on the ladder to take on refugees. Around 1500, we began taking on refugees. The Marines were rough on them as they brought them up the ladder. An hour or so later, Capt Bridge had seen enough. He Halted the evac, pulled the Marines off of the ladder, and replaced them with volunteers from the ship who did not have details at the time. By 1730, we were close enough to anchor. As they realized we were there, small boats began frantically trying to get to our side. We had to use water hoses to keep them in line as we unloaded them one by one. Around 1830 a South Vietnamese chopper landed with interpreters who joined our crew members on the ladder and barked orders to the small boats to help keep them in line. Around 2000, Capt Bridge called it a day, we weighed anchor and pulled back out of the bay, our holds loaded with refugees.

April 4, 1975. Most of us got very little sleep that night. When we were not on watch, we were taking food, drink, blankets, and bottles for the babies. One of the babies was newly born having given birth in the boat on the way out to the ship. Others escorted refugees to relief stations off the side of the ship. We took the women to our own bathrooms around the ship. Bill Holic escorted a young woman to one. She stood in front of the sink and began taking off of her clothes to bath herself. Once Bill realized what was happening, he spun around , went to parade rest, and guarded the door until she had completed. At 730, we set the sea and anchor detail. An hour later, we dropped anchor. We began taking on refugees off of boats and via helicopters. I am not sure if it was todayor yesterday, that Ed Zyer, dove into the water to save a baby.
We worked all day until around 1800. We watched the battle on land as we worked. I was watching in the big eyes. I saw a small church with a cross on it. The church exploded as I watched. When the dust settled, there was nothing. I was so angry as someone would target a church. A few months ago, i was having coffee with a intelligence officer who knew the area. Without me saying anything, he looked at me and said, "You know, the Viet Cong hid a huge cache of arms under a small church there.". Who knows if it was the same but it sure hit me. Around 1800, we got orders from above to leave. The base was gone. The NVA had shot a shell over the bow of the Frederick. As we hoisted our anchor and left, small boats floated around us, waving at us. They thought we were coming back....but we were not. As we left the area, the NVA lined their tanks up on a cliff pointed out our direction. We left and headed towards Vung Tao, where we were to transfer our charges to the SS Transcolorado.

April 5, 1975. As we steamed to Vung Tao, the night in the holds was similar to the one before, except for a few changes. First off, we had even more people to look after. No one really knows the count, but as I remembered it was over 4000. I have always put it at 4500. Besides the number, there was two more differences. First off, when we pulled the people out of the water, many were fearful or in shock. Just imagine leaving all that you knew, fearing losing your lives, and floating out to a large grey military ship to be saved? At first, when we brought food and drink to them, they rushed us in a panic. Then, as they began to realize their safety and that we had plenty, that seemed to settle a bit. Secondly, however, was the aroma. Take thousands of people who might not have taken a bath in a bit. Put them in a tight quarters with the warmth of the tropics. Then, add in the fact that some of our guests had decided that the tie down holes in the holds were put their for their relief. Yes, that is right....they began using them as their toilets. Once again, however, the men of the Durham took their responsibilities to heart spending another fairly sleepless night. By morning, we were at Vung Tao. We anchored just 3 miles off of shore at around 0900. Two merchant vessels sat close to us. The Greenville Victory and the Transcolorado. The Blue Ridge command ship was close by and we were guarded by the Destroyer Escort Reasoner and the Light Cruiser Long Beach. (A side note....the Operations Officer on the Long Beach at the time is now my close friend and neighbor, Retired Commander Mike Chambers. We have discussed the time from our different perspectives a few times.) Around 1030, we began to recieve small arms fire. As Edward Rathke, recalls, Chief Lookingbill, yelled at them to duck. He then got in the Lt's face as only a chief can and said, "They are pinging us!". We hoisted anchor and moved further out so their shells could not reach us. Around noon, we began the process the other way, taking our friends down the ladder and loading them on our boats to take them to the Transcolorado. It seemed a bit easier this time and our guys helped them on to their new ride. While we shuttled, our helos carried over cases of rations. By 1800, our transfer was complete. An hour later, we hoisted our anchor and were underway further out to sea to a holding area. Tonight, we would get some needed rest.