Note: The following are re-posts from various dates re-posted here in one place by special request.
Leo Is Gone Now, But His
Story Is Still Alive
By Norman E. Hooben
A
story about Psalm 91 God’s Shield of Protection
 |
| Torpedo Headed For Ship |
My Uncle Leo was quite the
story teller. If the story was sad he
made your eyes water. If funny you
laughed. Of course all his stories came
from real-life experiences. I don’t
remember a whole lot about Leo during my early years for he moved his family to
California while I grew up in Massachusetts.
It wasn’t until I joined the Air Force that I was to get to know him
like an uncle should be known. He told me stories about my
mom and dad that I had never realized but shed some light as to why I was
brought up in an orphanage.
My first
get-to-know-my-uncle time was when I was on my way to Alaska in 1963. I spent a few days with him while in-route to
my new duty station. We had a great time
while he showed me all around his place of work. He worked for MGM studios in those days as a
night watchman and taking me around the studio back-lots in that army jeep
(used on the TV series Combat) was as memorable as memories can be. And yes, he told me a few more stories.
A few more visits over the
years as I passed through California from one military assignment to another
got to be almost as if the Air Force was playing family reunion as a part of my
transfer orders. There was the week my
family and I stayed while on our way to Okinawa with a repeat of the same on
our way back from the Pacific. Just to
mention that ocean brought more stories from Uncle Leo…you see he spent a lot
of time there in WW II.
Then it was around 1973
while stationed in Texas that the Air Force would send me TDY (Air Force lingo
for Temporary Duty) to Southern California…I guess the reason for the TDY is
not important here, but just in case you’re interested, it was to buy dogs for
the military working dog program. Yeah,
it was great! Right down the road from
my Uncle Leo’s place was Fort MacArthur where all the preliminary physicals and
qualification testing was accomplished before the dogs got inducted into the
service. But that’s another story…for it
was during this visit that Leo told the story that led me to tell this story.
I’m not sure what it was
that perked his memory but he began this story by lighting up a cigarette (and
yes, he was a heavy smoker…the old Lucky Strikes without the filter). He was somewhere out in the middle of the
Pacific Ocean being transferred to another island during some of the heaviest
fighting of WW II. Now Leo can only tell
this part like Leo can and I cannot re-enact the inflection of his voice. He describes the situation where he sees a
young man on his knees reciting some prayer while a torpedo is headed straight
for the ship. Most everyone thought it
would be their last day on earth…except Leo.
He lit a cigarette and nonchalantly walked to the ship’s stern and
flicks his ashes over the torpedo that passes harmlessly below the curvature of
the hull and disappears.
Now I may not have given
the torpedo story much justice but let’s fast forward to October 1, 2011. In the town where I live they have what is
called Claybank Jamboree every first Saturday in October. One of the vendors on display in the town’s
square was distributing free books. When
a book was handed to me I didn’t pay too much attention to the title until I
reached home later in the day. It’s a
religious book and I’m not a huge reader of denominational conditionings…my
religious beliefs are pretty much set at my age. But then again I wasn’t going to let a book
go to waste…so I began reading “Psalm 91 God’s Shield of Protection”. Not a catchy title that I’d be looking for at
a book store but here’s what it said right there in chapter one:
“…a situation in which a
U.S. Navy boy from Texas found himself.
Running spiritually to his secret place is most likely what saved his
ship from disaster. He and his mother
had agreed to repeat Psalm 91 each day at a given time, to add agreement to his
protection covenant. He later told of a
time when his ship was under attack from the air and from an enemy submarine at
the same time. All battle stations on
the ship were in operation when the sub came within firing range and loosed a
torpedo directly toward them. At that
moment the young man realized it was the exact time that his mother would be
saying Psalm 91, so he began quoting the psalm just as the torpedo wake
appeared, headed directly toward their battleship. Then, when it was just a short distance away,
it suddenly swerved, passing the stern and disappearing.”
Leo is gone now but his story is still alive…
_________________________________
Note for the following: A few years ago I was asked by a friend of
mine (who was also a minister in a small Christian church somewhere in Indiana)
if I could write something for his upcoming blog to be posted on Memorial
Day. At about that time the president
was also giving a speech that was emphasizing “just words” when he was accused
of plagiarizing others that used the same or similar words to make a
point. Without hesitation I began
writing the following and decided that I could use that part of his speech,
“just words” … Is it plagiarizing? I don’t think so. Did I make my point? See for yourself:
I Am a Retired Veteran
By Norman E. Hooben
I am a retired veteran of the United States
Armed Forces
Now I am a member of We The People…just words
During my active duty years I’ve seen war and
rumors of war
I protected We The People…just words
I fought for God and country
Blessed by We The People…just words
The path I chose was
The road not taken by We The People…just words
They were the best years of my life
Unbeknown by We The People…just words
The hardships I endured
Will never be shared by We The People…just words
For over two score years in uniform
Now I dress as We The People…just words
Time moves on and I’m here to say
Freedom is not free for We The People…just words
When it was said that old soldiers never die
They just fade away by We The People…just words
When the time has come and my years are spent
I’ll be buried by We The People…just words
____________________________________________
Goodbye Ole Friend
It’s
raining here in Alabama today…both outside and inside. The drops from the skies are also dripping
from our eyes. We lost a close friend
today but maybe that was for the good…he was in pain, but pain, no more…
He
was a good ole boy…and he gave us much joy.
I remember the day just a little over eight years ago (October 29, 1999)
as if were today, the day before he was scheduled to go…to go were I’m sure he
did not want to…the humane place was overcrowded that day and he was happy to
see us break that scheduled event.
He
thanked us in so many ways. We had much
fun frolicking around the farm in Norton and the carefree jaunts along the
Atlantic beach. Oh, and those car rides,
they were great, we even saw a rainbow together…over the falls of one the locks
along the New York canals. Then there
were the trips to Florida and everywhere in between. Yes, it is a long way from Sterling,
Massachusetts the home of his would-be grave.
Ah and yes again, that’s where he got his name, Stirling… don’t worry
about the spelling we thought the Scottish version was more appropriate.
We
had our last words together as he looked at us with those big brown eyes, but
he knew and we knew that it was time to go…he was rescheduled for that broken
appointment of eight years ago…today, January 19, 2008. Good-bye ole friend…we miss you dearly.
__________________________
ps: To Jeannie Hebert
Thank you very much for introducing us to Stirling...
Stirling thanks you too...
________________________________________
We are here for only a mini-second in the sands of time. Then we become the dust that makes the sand;
and the Hand of God molds us anew. Take care my friend and may God
bless... N.
Hooben
____________________________________________
The Last Battle
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.
~Author Unknown~
Edited
Revision by N. Hooben
______________________________________
Oberammergau, A Story Telling Moment
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 -----
From:
To:
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.
I arrived in Oberammergau mid-day the day
before the Passion play was to commence so I had several hours of daylight to
give it the ole foot-tour.
I remember walking along the river and
meeting up with some guy fishing from the banks. He hailed me in German but I
replied in English. Ah, "We have an
American here." he said. And
without interruption added, "I'm from Brocton, Massachusetts."
"Well what a small world." I
replied and then added, "I'm from Taunton." After exchanging some
small talk about the upcoming play I moved on.
Going up a street that seemed to beckon me, I
saw a monk of sorts working in his garden. The monk invited me into his
workspace that was adjacent to an old monastery. He somehow recognized my
American aura and began speaking in English. He himself was originally from
America but had been at the monk business so long that he wasn't sure how long
he had been gone. He spoke to me about his life among the brothers and how they
reeked out a meager living. And then it hit me...earlier in the day I had seen
bottles of rum in one of the tourist shops with a picture of a monastery on the
label. I asked the old priest if the rum was one of his products.
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.
I
continued my walk and arrived in a neighborhood that would be the envy of
most...well groomed lawns fronting nifty looking cottages...some with the
"I only see it in the Alpine area" look with the extended eaves. One driveway entrance had a tree that
probably died some years ago setting off to the right...but the tree was
preserved with a coating of lacquer that highlighted the beautiful carving of
some figures most likely carved by the homeowner (Oberammergau is also famous
for its woodcarvings).
The
evening was very entertaining even though I was alone... I happened upon a
small somewhat crowded cafe that, like the last available ticket, had just one
available seat remaining. Nobody seemed to speak English here and I was seated
by a charming German hostess and whatever it was she uttered I knew I was in a
friendly environment. I ordered one of those big German steins of whatever kind
of beer the hostess decided upon...it was good. What attracted me in the first
place was not that the place was overcrowded, it was the music coming from a
trio (or was it four, I forget) playing different instruments including one of
those small accordions. But it was the singer's instrument that I'd never
forget. It’s one of those things I've read about or seen pictures of but never
actually seen a real one never mind hearing the sound of a zither. You know,
now that I think about it, I've never seen a zither since!
I
stayed at an elderly lady's home that was open for the influx of play goers
but all I remember is the wonderful breakfast of fresh hard-boiled eggs and
German sausage...I ate all that was brought to me...it kept coming until I had
to give some sign that it was enough. I would never see this lady's lovely home
again for after breakfast it was time to hurry down to the playhouse and after
the play I was headed back to Frankfurt.
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!
There
were several intermissions during the play and at the outside I ran into more
people from Massachusetts the most notable being a priest, also from Brocton,
that knew my brother Richard.
I
didn't know at the outset that this would lead into a story-telling moment but
thanks for the memories
Norm
_____________________
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Short Story...hard to believe but its true...
Dateline Berlin, Germany, January 1980
...along the Berlin wall: ~ I talked about this photo throughout the years and
thought that I had lost it somewhere along the way from there to here. Today,
while rummaging through a bin full of books stored in the basement, I saw
something that looked like a book-mark and upon pulling it from between the
pages was overjoyed with my discovery. But before we look at the picture I have
to explain the significance of an otherwise simple photograph of two children
standing in the snow and a graffiti covered wall in the background.
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…
↓
↓
___________________________________
Did you know that George died 100 rods from his burial place?
 |
| Photo by N. Hooben |
The following
narrative comes from RootsWeb.com
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: _______________________________________
A Look Back In Time
By Norman E. Hooben
It was once said by an author who's name escapes me at the moment (I think it was Ann Coulter but it doesn't really matter because others have implied the same.) that Franklin Roosevelt was the Father of the Democratic party or some other god-like inspirational figurehead that saved us from German occupation and/or from speaking Japanese if we lost the war on both sides of the world...by that I mean WW II.
In realty Roosevelt was a racist like Adolf Hitler; he hated blacks as much as Hitler hated Jews...he also hated Japanese, it's why he round them all up at the outset of the war (American citizenship be damned!).
Like all Alinskyites Roosevelt was able to indoctrinate black families into turning into Democrats (previously they voted Republican) by the New Deal promises. We could say he literally bought their vote and it would be accurate.
Let's get back to that word above; Alinskyite. That's someone who promises one thing but does the opposite. So the blacks, and a whole bunch of other people, were hoodwinked into the party of corruption without even mentioning the party of the KKK.
You know Hitler and his Nazi party also used Alinskyisms to attain power but he loved the way Roosevelt used such rhetoric to successfully win the White House more times than any other...things were going his way.
Because one generation soon forgets what the previous generation has done to get us where we're at, especially generations that are also separated by continents. So let us look back in time...say about 1936.
"In the U.S. Franklin Roosevelt was re-elected by a whopping majority, and Germany mounted the bandwagon of well-wishers for the occasion. Roosevelt, the Nazis proclaimed, was a prime example of what they called the "FÜhreprinzip"-the policies of Herr Hitler himself."*
*1936, the picture story of an unforgettable year by D.S. Halcyon, Jr.
Copyright 1963
_______________
The Medic
A war story by Norman E. Hooben
Not everyone who goes to war is caught up in the shoot-‘em-up scenes depicted in war movies. Some of us are content to doing our jobs behind the lines…psychologically it had a sense of safety. But it wasn’t always that way.
There were occasions where we were sitting up on the Sentry Dog’s kennel roof watching fire fights on the horizon while drinking beer and smoking cigarettes in the middle of the night. This happened on more than one occasion, and we could not tell who the enemy was. Tracers (a bullet coated with wax that would burn in flight) could be seen going from left to right, and right to left. Who were the VC (Viet Cong) and who were the Americans; we didn’t know. That is, until one night the tracers were clearly coming from the right…kicking up dirt where we played horseshoes during daylight. Thinking we were on the ground was probably the reason they were aiming low, but that gave us time to get off the roof to retrieve our M16’s which we kept by our bunks. So that was about as close to seeing some real action and that sense of safety was lost momentarily.
Then there was the time we got two rockets which presumably were aimed at the flight line…we were between the flight line and where the rockets landed. Both duds! Just how lucky can this guy be? When you heard the whistling of incoming rockets and the warning radioed to us by the army, the thought of this being my last day on earth was definitely right up there with my family and a lifetime of thoughts that whisked by in a flash. (By the way, “duds” means nothing happened.)
We worked 12-hour days 7 days a week even though there was not enough work to fill a 12-hour shift…sometimes we played horseshoes.
While doing my job that I was trained to do there was one other exciting moment that I guess qualified me for combat pay…maybe being shot at also counts? Describing it as an exciting moment may be an understatement…the whole ordeal lasted about 2 seconds.
While treating an injured military dog the entire concrete floor of our small clinic rolled in a wave-like motion as if you were shaking out the crumbs from a tablecloth and the walls buckled inwards, yet everything fell back into place as if nothing happened. We were caught in the shock wave of a 500 pounder (that’s a bomb) dropped into a nearby field from and A1E (aircraft) that avoided the runway due to having only one landing wheel.
So that’s the extent of my war stories except for the time spent off duty. We had a country and western band that played throughout the Saigon area NCO and Officers’ clubs. There were several U.S. Army clubs, one Air Force, and one Marine club. We also played at the general’s promotion party (that would be the 3rd Army Field Hospital next to MACV Qtrs.) Probably the highlight gig was the time I was contacted by the State Department to have the band play on Armed Forces television…great show!
Now the time frame this story takes place would include all the country artist’s songs of the day…including some oldies. Hank Williams, Charlie Pride, Merle Haggard, Johnny Cash, Loretta Lynn, Dolly Parton, and several others were just a number of songs our lead singer, Hank Dauphin, knew by heart and he belted them out flawlessly in a two hour show with a break halfway in between. Did we have a favorite? Yes, but it was none of the above. It was a song sung twice, once during the first half of the show and when we closed for the night…with a round of applause from about one-hundred or more war-weary G.I.’s waiting for those “Silver Wings” to take them back state-side (That’s what we called home.).
Now this favorite song of ours was truly ours, for it was a collaboration of several people including the name mentioned above, Hank Dauphin, and there was Jim Kay, myself and others whose names I’ve forgotten over the years.
Yes, we wrote the most popular song in Saigon…it was even more popular than a hit song back state-side called the “Green Beret” …here it is, The Medic!
Medic Song
A young G.I. soldier on leave in SaigonWas stopped by two MP's, they said pardon young man,There's blood on your cap n’ there's blood on your sleeve,And we may have to cancel your seven-day leave.The young G.I. said, Sir, now don't take me wrongFor I've just returned from a place call Khe-Sahn.Where the hardships are many and the comforts are fewAnd brave men are dying for me and for you.Don't have much money 'cause I don't draw much payJust came into Saigon to spend a few days.Won't bother your women or drink up your wineJust writing a few letters for a friend of mineYou see, last week my best buddy got shot in the chestAnd, as I held him, he told me with his last dying breathPlease write to my mother, please write to my girl,And tell them I loved them as I left this world.He left those two MPs with tears in their eyes,Stayed there three days and went back to his guys.For he was a medic, and his future was madeThe dying and wounded would need his first aid. |
Southern Playboys
U.S. Forces Television Studio Saigon, Vietnam
circa 1971 |
Norman Hooben: Medic Song
By the way, I’m a Medic
