By Norman E. Hooben
|Torpedo Headed For Ship|
Thank you very much for introducing us to Stirling...
Stirling thanks you too...
If it should be that I grow frail and weak,
And pain should keep me from my sleep,
Then you will do what must be done,
For this--the last battle--can't be won.
You will be sad I understand,
But don't let grief stay your hand,
For on this day, more than rest,
Your love and friendship must stand the test.
We have had so many happy years,
And they are reflected in your tears.
You wouldn't want me to suffer so,
When the time comes, please let me go.
Take me to where to my needs they'll tend
Only stay with me till the end.
And hold me firm and speak to me,
Until me eyes no longer see.
I know in time you will agree,
It is a kindness you do for me.
Although my tail its last has waved,
From pain and suffering I have been saved.
Don't grieve that it must be you,
Who has to decide this thing to do...
We've been so close - we two - these years,
Don't let your heart hold any tears.
Power point slide shows
(pps) seem to be a popular format for sending emails that describe beautiful
pictures of faraway places...they're usually accompanied with some background
music and short descriptions of whatever the subject matter. Some time ago a
friend sent an attached pps entitled, "OBERAMMERGAU (Alemania)" and
immediately recognized the name for this was one place I could say, "Been
there, done that!" I watched the
slide show and gave an immediate response with a "thanks for the
memories" note. The note however,
turned into a short story...
----- Original Message -----
Sent: Wednesday, September 14, 2011 3:11 PM
Subject: Re: RV: OBERAMMERGAU (Alemania)
Thanks for the memories...
After spending nine months in Sicily I was fortunate to get a transfer to Germany arriving there in May of 1979. Knowing that the Passion Play would be held in Oberammergau in the summer of 1980 (its performed once every 10 years by the villagers of Oberammergau in thanks for being spared during the great plague that killed thousands upon thousands throughout Europe), I ordered tickets (actually there was only one left through the special services office) and I was also fortunate to have received the last one.
With a wink of the eye he said, "Yes indeed, it’s one of our products and at this time of year it’s our only product...and a good one at that!" Getting back to my line, a monk of sorts..., the robe and sandals gave him away but the blue jeans sticking out below the robe was another story.
The play was extremely well orchestrated and the audience was very attentive...I don't know how else to describe it for the solemn respect for the theme was highly noticeable; there was never any applause until the very end. I might point out that the theatre was unique in that the stage was separated from the audience by a roofless area that allowed some natural lighting in the forefront. Whether that observation was correct or not I will never know but what appeared to me to be a natural occurring event was the thunder and lightning that came through that roofless space at the highlight of the play...the crucifixion!
Short Story...hard to believe but its true...
While stationed with the Air Force in Germany in the early 80's I took the opportunity to visit the infamous Berlin Wall along with some friends. While touring Berlin and East Berlin (The East was occupied by the Soviets at that time) I took numerous pictures of, among other things, the wall. As we walked along one segment of the wall my daughter Terrye asked, "Dad, why are you taking so many pictures of this wall?" My immediate response was, "This wall got your daddy into this uniform." as I pointed at my Air Force blues (I should note that I originally got my military draft notice during the Berlin Crisis of 1961 while the wall was under construction).
So now, long story short... Without looking at the wall I asked my two children to stop for a moment while I took their picture. You also have to realize this was in the old days when you had to buy film to put in the camera and then bring the film somewhere to be developed. It was about a week or so later while back in Frankfurt that I got the picture(s) back from the developer and the first thing I noticed was the graffiti on the wall (I swear on a stack of bibles I did not notice the graffiti at the time I took the picture). I mentioned that my daughter's name is Terrye...but did you know that my son's name is Mark! Now look at the picture…
|Photo by N. Hooben|
George Weekes had lived in Boston, but in 1714 removed to Harwich. He was dismissed from the Old South Church in Boston March 27, 1720, and joined the church at Harwich (north side) under the care of Rev. Nathaniel Stone. He afterwards removed to the south part of the town, where many of his descendants now live, and where he carried on a farm. George Weekes was not "liberally" educated, but was well versed in the theological books of the day, and was familiar with the scriptures. In 1730, though not ordained by human hands, he commenced preaching to the Indians, who were located toward the south and far removed from the meeting house, which was on the north side of the parish of 23 square miles. Mr. Weekes built a house of worship for the Indians at his own expense. Notwithstanding these facts, the pastor, Mr. Stone, objected, but does not appear to have insisted on a discontinuance. Learning, however, the Mr. Weekes on one or more occasions preached to some of his white neighbors, who, no doubt, were glad to assemble occasionally on a weekday or stormy Sunday for religious instruction and conference, being as they were so far removed from their regular place of worship. Mr. Stone vigorously protested and complained to the church in regard to the matter. His grounds of complaint were that Mr. Weekes had "no more if so much as an early common education," that he "had thrust himself into the meeting," that he "had preached to a people of whom I have the pastoral charge, without my leave and against my declared mind." There does not appear to have been any charge of want of orthodoxy. Some years later, Mr. Weekes seems to have taken pity upon an unfortunate woman and taken her with her child into his house. Some took offense at this and would not come to the Lord's table with him, in view of which state of feeling he absented himself from the communion. On being called to account for his absence, he made explanations which were accepted by the church as in a measure satisfactory, but at the same time he was advised to dismiss the woman from his house and to avoid "her conversations as much as convenient. "There seems to have been no charge against him of impropriety. [CI:1236:?4:CI]
In the later years of his life, his mind was clouded, which led to aimless wanderings about the country. He died from exposure to the cold in the low ground south of Harwich Academy, known from the circumstance as "Weekes' Hollow" to the present day -- being more than 80 years old.[CI:1235:?4:CI]
A short distance beyond the new cemetery in Harwich, in an open field where there are a few ancient graves, is one with this inscription: "George Weekes, born in Dorchester, Mass., A.D. 1683, came to Harwich, married Deborah Wing Oct. 15, 1714, preached to the Indians, and perished in a snow storm in the hollow one hundred rods south of this spot. he was a grandson of George Weekes, a Huegenot, who fled to England, and came to America in 1630."[CI:242:?4: