Occupy Oakland: A Marine down

Oct 27, 2011

A Marine is down, taken out by Oakland Police for doing that which the constitution gave him the legal right to do...protest.  I’m tired of the division and the utter hatred fostered on the protestors. They are not anarchist, they are Americans caught in the most unjust economic system of the last 100 years. The inequality is greater than during the Great Depression, parts of our nation lie in utter ruin. Visit Detroit and other parts of Michigan; take a stroll through Atlanta, of what used to be one of the fasted growing cities in this nation now an almost economic disaster.

What causes me grief though is the thought that a fellow Marine who had the guts to challenge a system that offers him no future after his two tours of duty serving his country, took him down. I served with the 3rd Marine Battalion, 4th Marines and have never flaunted my duty but I speak now for I took an oath “never to leave a man behind”, never to leave a fellow marine stranded.  I honored my word luckily surviving in brutal combat, I was a Machine Gunner in the DMZ in a war called Nam.

I am home now forty years and I cannot recognize the division, the almost total destruction of the middle class the way some in our country look down upon the poor and say it is their fault.  Enough I say, we all know that it is a stacked system, a dual system with one set of economic rules for the elite and the other for the rest, that upward mobility is a joke, that the rich control the game and when they failed we bailed them out.

Now look upon the “few the proud”, the ones you wave your flags for, is he now one of them? 

I pray now for Scott Olsen, 24, a Marine Iraq war veteran, who suffered a fractured skull at a protest in Oakland on Tuesday night and now lies in critical condition.

You may not agree with those who protest but I like Scott took an oath to defend the Constitution and one of our foremost rights, is the right to protest to public assembly. Marines should not be brought down by police, we are better than that and we know we have more honor and we know how to fight.  I am ready are you?

A march of a thousand Marines in his honor should be the goal. A Marine is down he needs our help.
Semper Fi

John A. Mele

http://journeytowhitehorse.posterous.com/

I’m Back!

Sept. 28, 2011

The “Journey “ continues in a different manner but continues nevertheless for I was changed, not so much by the physical challenge, which was immense, but by the mental challenge of all the time in the saddle facing the many demons of life I thought had been laid to rest.  Recognizing them and then having to face slaying them or at least wrestling them to the ground, was my biggest challenge of all.  My “Journey to Whitehorse” invoked in me a greater sense of perseverance; swimming against the current, dreaming again, and yes, even getting mad again at this never-ending soap called the U.S. economy.

The economy in the U.S. has steadily worsened, the Financial Locusts continue to demand bailouts while millions of unemployed haunt our land unnoticed as if they were a great plague. Certain sectors of our economy remain untouched, health care thrives and most government workers continue to punch in and receive a full paycheck while entire industries were moved overseas.  Hence, we have a much divided country.   Austerity has been forced on the working class Americans as some form of punishment, as millions of homes are foreclosed on and the poverty level risen ...all this since I returned from my journey.  

My own personal financial situation has worsened as the building industry is in its third down year with no recovery in sight.  The journey now seems like a dream as I try to forge ahead in unchartered waters.

From time to time, I will appear on this blog speaking of which I do not know but speaking nonetheless.

NEWS FLASH! 

For those who may be interested, I am currently working on a book based on my Blog and the Journey to Whitehorse. Some new material will be added and the entire blog re-written and edited as I had no time on the road to fine-tune my thought and stories.  I may post some sections here from time to time if there is any interest.

Most of my time since coming home has been dedicated to writing the story of “Sierra” as I referenced in my blog as the “night of fixed bayonets”, a horrific battle that took place in March of 1969 in Vietnam on a hill called Sierra near the DMZ.  Much of the story surfaced from my deep recesses as I rode.  It certainly was one of my inner demons that I thought was put to rest. It has been a very emotional story to write, draining at times, completely enveloping me but one that I had promised the men I served with to write; to tell their story.  I’m not sure at this point if Sierra, which is approximately 100 pages, is a part of the book as I first thought or a companion book or a stand alone.  For now that does not matter. 

When will it all be finished? I have no idea, I’ve never undertaken such a task and at times it just seems overwhelming.  I have yet to contact any potential publishers.  I just write as best I can.

That all said, I am looking for some guidance. I intend to finish the book and in the meantime need to see if there is any interest in this blog site or its topic.  I am considering linking into facebook, once I even figure how to set that up.  Basically I need help, so please drop me a line at jam.architecturetn@gmail.com or post a comment with any thoughts. 

This is a new journey for me so any guidance along the way will be much appreciated. My primary intention is to build interest for the book, maybe by developing a network that may help facilitate that.

 

An excerpt from the proposed book:  

"I rode along, alone with my thoughts, driven relentlessly and incessantly towards Whitehorse pushed by an invisible but all powerful force that held sway over me, guided me and would not let go.  For a practical man who never put much faith in matters he could not see, feel or touch, this all consuming force was unexplainable both to him and to those around.  Like a seductive maiden The North Country beckoned and so I went; it was that simple. It had a beginning all things do, though at the time I would never have guessed that a bottle thrown at me while riding my bicycle one March day in 2009 would have led me here. Improbable? Yes, yet like a seed planted it grew and manifested itself breaking bloom along the Alaska Highway.  Who could have guessed!  And to attempt it a bicycle ride of over 3500 miles and over the Canadian Rockies including the 1000 miles of the famed ALCAN, and to do it at 60, well one had to be a little nuts to cast his lot in a “feeling” and yet if I was to be utterly true, like a five year old child I would have to admit that I hadn’t a clue as to the “why?”, other than “I was pissed off at the economy” as I told an oil worker in Grande Prairie ,yet I went."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I spent one more night sleeping on the train and it pull into Greenville around 5:30 AM. 

Norma was enroute and called to verify my location, as she was not certain of the location of the train station. After speaking to the train attendant, who most graciously assisted with directions to get her here, she arrived with a beaming smile and outstretched arms and we both embraced one another. As we stood there in each other’s arms, the train attendant thoughtfully and tactfully loaded my bicycle into the bed of our pickup without disturbing our greeting. He seemed genuinely excited that we were reunited after such a long time and a long trip. After thanking him and having all my stuff securely loaded, we departed for the long drive home, together. 

We stopped at a very pleasant local restaurant in Greenville for a hearty breakfast and a chance to share some much-needed time together. We both knew that the separation was too long and not to be repeated.

We left Greenville and traveled west over the Appalachian Mountains and the Great Smokies towards our home. There was a bit of anxiety for both of us as our future was still up in the air, as it is for so many, but we were grateful to be together.

Would my spirit carry me or would I falter and plunge into the abyss of despair?

For the moment, we banished all thoughts and just enjoyed our time back together. I knew in my heart that I would never leave her alone again for such an extended period of time. 

And so I headed home to the great unknown. Was I at the end or the beginning of my Journey? 

 

VIETNAM MEMORIAL, DC:

The train was running about an hour late when we pulled into Union Station in Washington DC at 3 pm. I got off and promptly went and found a spot to check one of my bags and then grabbed a late lunch. I was in a bit of a fog, as I could not believe I was in our nation’s capitol. How had this become part of my “Journey”? Then it hit me that fate had delivered me to the Vietnam Memorial. What better way to close this journey; this fine chapter in my life? The spirits must have conjured this up in some way totally unknown or controlled by me.

It was quite a distance to the memorial, about 2-3 miles, so I ran with my backpack most of the way. It was a warm, sunny, and just gorgeous day. I had little time to spend at the wall as I had to get back and catch my train that would bring my journey to its final close in Greenville, S.C., where my wife would be waiting to see her new “Yukon Man”.

THE CAPITAL

I had my photo taken by the Park Ranger at the Memorial and then snapped a few shots myself. I took a few deep breaths as I thought of all the men whose names were engraved on this national memorial. The last time I was here was in 2000 with my youngest daughter, Christine, and my wife, Norma. Somehow by going to Whitehorse, I found myself reflecting in the polished marble wall that symbolized the sacrifice of so many.

ME AND THE WALL

By going North 3,600 miles, I had arrived here. I think it was meant to be. How else could I explain it? I had a quick internal chat with the men I served with, bowed my head in honor, and was thankful for the life I had been given that all these were denied. I gave a final inner salute as I left and thought of how ironic yet fitting that I was here. As I passed the wall, I saw a young woman in her mid to late 20’s crying as the young man she was with stood by in silence waiting to caress her. As I passed her, I said softly, “Sorry, m’ am for your loss”. She looked a bit surprised but smiled, and I think we both shared a moment at the wall.

I snapped a few photographs; is it just coincidence or not? I took and have enclosed a picture of the monument dedicated to the women of the war in Vietnam. Remember, if you will, that I was given “a little clay person” that I tied to my bicycle handlebar, which the giver said “would protect you on your trip”. On this blog, we requested submission of a name and the one chosen was, ‘Hope”. Hope remained tied to my handlebar and guided me throughout the entire trip and beyond. How fitting that one of the women depicted in Vietnam’s Women’s monument is aptly named, Hope! 

VIET NAM WOMEN

Something more powerful than my will guided me along my journey to Whitehorse to this very location. Hope is such a simple, very human, but powerful emotion that many seem to be in need of during these times of economic turbulence. I sense that I, too, will need her guidance.

The following is excerpted from a web site:

Artist's intent:

“The Vietnam Women's Memorial is a memorial dedicated to the women of the United States who served in the Vietnam War, most of whom were nurses. It serves as a reminder of the importance of women in the conflict. It depicts three uniformed women with a wounded soldier. The woman looking up is named Hope, the woman praying is named Faith, and the woman tending to a wounded soldier is named Charity. It is part of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, and is located on National Mall in Washington DC, a short distance south of The Wall, north of the Reflecting Pool.”
Please note that the picture in my blog of the monument does not show the third woman veteran behind the two and she is named, Faith.

To those who find such matters interesting:

On August 1, 1914 German soldiers entered the town of Trois-Vierges, violating Luxembourg’s neutrality and initiating one of mankind’s most devastating of wars, World War 1. As excerpted from Baedeker’s and Holland Traveler and Guide Book of 1905:

“The town of Trois –Vierges; the French name is derived from the legendary conversion of the Three Fates into the Christian virtues of Faith, Hope and Charity”.

Are the spirits trying to tell me something? Was I led here for some reason or am I reaching a bit too far? My grandfather fought in the war he would hardly speak of except to condemn it. He did speak of how his life was spared “by a puff of wind” that blew the mustard gas away from him as it engulfed others who died a spasmodic, horrific death. All his life he said, “Can’t be worse than the trenches”, referring to his time spent in them with the mud, the filth and utter desecration of the men. Have we learned from these two utterly wasteful wars? 

Yet, there is, “Hope” that we may and as I stood gazing at the memorial, I reflected on all I had been through since the time I left Nam. I was struck mostly by the woman cradling the wounded soldier as I did with George in Nam. Without knowing it, I carried with me the spirit of Hope, Faith, and Charity as we all do hidden deep within. Now exposed, they were brought to the surface and a new sense of “Hope” pervaded me. My journey had brought me in a giant circle, face-to-face with my past and present, together at the same moment, both facing an uncertain future.

I caught my breath and with little time to spare, I ran back to catch my train for Greenville, South Carolina to the waiting arms of my loving wife.

After re-boarding in Chicago, I head immediately for the lounge car where snacks and beverages are served. The lounge car offers a better location to spread out a bit in one of the dining booths. A athletic, older gentleman was across from me and we immediately struck up a conversation. He was one of the few in the car that was not drinking.

“This is the first place I come to when I get on”, he says to me. It turns out he was my age, 60, and used to run marathons. 

“These days”, he tells me, “I can only run about 4-5 miles every other day or so”. 

“That is pretty damn good at your age”, I responded. 

He continued, “As I said before, I always come here as soon as I get on the train.” As he spoke, his hands gently rubbed across the bench seat and he smiled as he did so. 

“Ah”, I said, “You are a professional train traveler.” It was apparent that this bench seat was a better place to sleep than the standard seat in the coach car. We continued to chat for a while, covering many topics but always returning to the economy. 

“Used to work at Bethlehem Steel; do you remember it?” he asked. 

“Of course I do. As an architect, we used to specify the steel for our buildings and it was the main provider for steel all across the US”. 

“Hard to believe they shut down an entire industry. I mean steel was king”, he said. “But the industry was non competitive with old equipment and was union controlled, we were told. The plants in Japan were new and labor costs were lower. So the nation that won the war with Japan was now non-competitive because our steel mills were older and outdated and our workers made decent wages. Some unions even bought the plants they worked in and tried in vain to make a stand.”

Bethlehem Steel was the:

 “Builder of 1,127 ships during World War II and of the Golden Gate Bridge, this supplier of metal for every bridge and tunnel that takes you from New Jersey into Manhattan, and for much of the skyline you see when you get there, this munitions maker once called the Krupp of America, this mighty symbol of industrial power”   Excerpted from Fortune Magazine online.

Excerpted from Wikipedia:

The Bethlehem Steel Corporation (1857–2003), based in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, was once the second-largest steel producer in the United States, after Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania-based U.S. Steel. After a decline in the U.S. steel industry and management problems leading to the company's 2001 bankruptcy, the company was dissolved and the remaining assets sold to International Steel Group in 2003. In 2005, ISG merged with Mittal Steel, ending U.S. ownership of the assets of Bethlehem Steel.
Bethlehem Steel was also one of the largest shipbuilding companies in the world and one of the most powerful symbols of American industrial manufacturing leadership. Bethlehem Steel's demise is often cited as one of the most prominent examples of the U.S. economy's shift away from industrial manufacturing and its inability to compete with cheap foreign labor.

Bethlehem closed it doors for good in 2003

Many a proud man, who had spent his entire life working for the mill, was put out to pasture, as was this man who has never found an equal job to replace it. He was proud of the steel he helped make, noting the bridges that we drive over and the buildings we worked in were built from that steel. 

Here I was out of work, on a train riding home to my own devastated industry wondering if I, too, would soon become a professional train rider, traveling all across the land in pursuit of work that has vanished.

How ironic! It was said in the past by many that, "As steel goes, so goes the nation."

Around 1:00 am, the “professional train rider” got up and I followed shortly to find him sprawled across three-lounge seats forming a bed of sorts. This man evidently knew his terrain. I followed his lead, falling asleep soundly until I was awaked around 8:00 am by the train attendant. 

I enjoyed breakfast in the Dining Car and got myself comfortably settled with a book until we reached Washington, D.C.

NOTES FROM THE POSTER:

I came from a steel family, and as steel goes so goes the nation. Look around you.

SECOND DAY OF TRAIN TRAVEL TO CHICAGO, IL:

My next day of train travel was mostly spent in the lounge car, reading, writing and relaxing. It amazed me to look out the window of the train along some of the same terrain that I had ridden my bicycle in what seemed like a lifetime ago! As I was sitting and viewing out the window, I was overwhelmed that anyone could ride a bicycle over such unrelenting and unfriendly terrain, mile after mile. It made me very thankful that I was now a passenger in the train rather than a speck upon the landscape beside the train. Since there was really no place to go and nothing much to do, I was able to just enjoy the ride.

This night offered me what must be known as a “train experience”. I was afforded an opportunity to meet my new train buddy; a woman in her early 40’s who was just a nonstop talker, capable of holding her own talk show. “May I have that seat?” she asked, referring to the inside seat next to me. Of course, she asked that question as she just literally took a giant step over me and seated herself down.

After adjusting herself and her numerous bags, she confided in me that, “I’m afraid of traveling by train”. 

“Nothing to be afraid of”, I said as she spread all her bags on the floor filling up what little space she had for her feet.

As we were talking, a male train attendant came by and told her “Mame, you have to put your baggage up in the luggage rack”. The woman did not budge and then he said, “Your bags have to go up there in case of a train derailment”. 

I tried my best to calm her down as I saw that contorted and fearful look overtake her.  Do not mention, “Train derailment” to someone who is Trainophobic! After a few moments of me talking with my hands, which I always do as I am of Italian decent, talking up a storm about any other subject, she suddenly interrupted and asked, “Want some?”, as she poured herself some tequila gold and topped it off with a little mix.

“No thanks. Maybe later”, I responded. 

“Well, it’s party time!”, she declared as the tequila was downed in the flick of a wrist and more poured.

“Ok, I’ll try a little. Just pour it to here”, I stated as I pointed to what was basically a shot.  I then took one taste of the delectable drink, smiled and said, “Fill it up”. A short while later, after she had talked about everything and drank as much, the party was over and she passed out using me as a pillow. I stayed that way for a while and then at one of our stops a large number of people got off the train and I was able to relocate to two seats behind us, which afforded me some sprawling room. 

I had breakfast the next morning in the Dining car; two eggs over easy, crispy fried potatoes, toast, coffee and juice, all for six dollars, a very good deal. I again headed for the lounge car to read and enjoy the view through the expanse of glass. I skipped lunch, as I wanted to get some “Chicago food”. 

CHICAGO FINANCIAL DISTRICT

We had about a two-hour layover once we arrived in Chicago, so I stepped off, put my luggage in a locker and hit the streets of Chicago. We were in the Financial District and it was Sunday so I had trouble finding any restaurant that was open. My only choice that was close to the train depot was a MacDonald’s! Yep, my great Chicago dining experience turned out to be MacDonald’s and the great food, a hamburger!

Then it was back to the train Depot to board for my next destination, Washington, DC. It was going to be a much longer stay there so I was definitely going to find a decent place to eat in D.C.

CHICAGO TRAIN DEPOT

Off the Alaska Ferry and onto a Train all in the course of a day!

BELLINGHAM FERRY TERMINAL

We docked at 8 am in Bellingham, WA. My options remain car rental, airplane, bus or train. After doing some research, I learned that there was train, bus service, and car rentals from Bellingham. I decided I do not want to drive the 2600 miles from here to Knoxville. Air travel was available from the airport in Seattle but I was unsure of the logistics of getting there, how to pack my bicycle, and the number of bags I have. Then there was the logistics of getting through security, dealing with the jet lag, and the readjustment of getting home in less than one day! Bus travel would be the most economical but the most cramped, constrained, and had more than 5 transfers, which left my bicycle in jeopardy. The train quickly became my first choice.  

MY STUFF

I was getting my bicycle ready to get off the ferry and saw a young couple busy adjusting their gear, which included two kayaks. They were adjacent to me and we struck up a conversation as we waited for the vehicles in front of us to disembark. When they heard my story, they offered me a ride to Seattle if I needed. I thanked them for their offer but I told them I was nearly certain that I was going to take the train home and since there was a train station in Bellingham, I didn’t think going to Seattle would help. I told them I was going to the nearby train terminal to check on the schedule and routes and wished them the best.
 
Fortunately, the train station was directly across from the Ferry dock so all I had to do was walk across. The ticket clerk spoke to me as a train was just getting ready to board, he told me, “You have to go to Everett, which is about 50 miles south to catch the west bound train. Get a ride if you can or take the bus to Everett”. At the Greyhound Bus window adjacent to the train, I discovered there was a bus scheduled to Everett later in the day but I was told I would have to pack my bicycle in a box to load onto the bus and when I got to Everett, I would have to find a way of getting to the train myself. After hearing that, I decided that cycling to Everett would be easier.

I left the train station and went back to the ferry to see if anyone getting off was heading towards Everett. Everyone was already gone except for the young couple I met who had the kayaks. I pulled up on my bicycle and asked if they would still let me take them up on their offer to drive me to Everett. Zondra Skertich and James Herberlee were loading their kayaks on their roof top carrier; both turned to me and said “Sure! We can work it all out and Everett is on the way to Seattle”. 

HITCHING A RIDE TO EVERETT

“Working it all out” took a while and about an hour later we left for Everett. I had to admit I had good luck during my trip and things just worked out as they did on this very timely trip to Everett. Are the spirits still following me?

We arrived in Everett around noon and Zondra and James waited while I went into the train depot to check on train schedules before they left me. I came out and told them, “You are good to go!”, and heartily thanked them as they pulled away.

AMTRAK TERMINAL IN EVERETT

“Get me to Knoxville!” I declared to the train clerk as I walked up to the window. 

“There are no trains that go to Knoxville, TN.”, he said, “But there are a couple options to get you close.”

I could go to Memphis, TN or Greenville SC, and since Greenville, SC was closer, Greenville it was so I purchased coach tickets and was given a box for my bicycle. I was told I would have two transfers, one at Chicago the other at Washington DC. Since I had enough time before packing up my bicycle, I headed for a grocery store to stock up on some food items for the train ride and then a quick meal at local Chinese restaurant. I boarded the train around 5 pm and I was off to Chicago, a trip of about 2 ½ days.

Train travel is sort of new to me. Like many, I had not purchased a sleeping berth as none was available on the first leg of my trip to Chicago and they were expensive. Trains do offer an excellent way to get close to others who travel with you and become your “buddy” for a while.

My first night was spent next to a woman in her 50’s from the Seattle area. She was small in stature, quite opinionated about a variety of items including politics. So for many hours, I listened to her views, whether I wanted to or not, until mercifully sleep silenced her. I considered it just part of the journey and certainly part of the train experience.

The dining car offered very good food at reasonable prices for breakfast and lunch but for dinner you needed reservations and a pretty good checkbook as the prices were a bit beyond what coach patrons are looking for. They did have a snack car that offered   chips, sandwiches, etc. and an assortment of beverages including beer and wine. I had a hard time settling into my seat for sleep so I went down for a nightcap and when I returned, I spied 2 vacant seats, which offered room to spread out so I took them for the evening.

The train ride itself was quite beautiful offering spectacular views from the lounge car that curved overhead with panoramic windows and with separate seating and bench areas.  However, the ride was slow and rather bumpy as we were riding in 75-year-old technology and on tracks that had been laid down in the last century. At times the cars would jump about and I even felt a little seasick on the train. By comparison, the ferry, which traveled on moving water, offered a smoother ride! I was once again struck at the state of our decaying infrastructure.

We have the skills, the technology, and the labor force available to build a first class rail system but for some reason we do not do so. Men, such as me, who know how to build things, i.e. buildings, trains, bridges, and understand the materials necessary for their construction, are standing by unemployed, idled by a failed financial system that collapsed in ‘09.  Excuses are made and blame is placed but nothing substantial is being done to provide leadership for the mess we are in. 

When I was in Calgary, I rode on a first class commuter train that was designed to serve the entire metro area. The city and its infrastructure, including light rail, was designed together. In China, they are linking their cities with high-speed rail; Japan has its bullet trains and in Europe, trains are the main form of transportation.

I can feel my anger rising up again knowing that I cannot change anything, that all I can do is stand by and watch as my country implodes and descends towards third world status. How do I explain that to the Marines who sacrificed their lives, the men who put cold steel in the bellies of my enemy in my war “Nam”, or of all the veterans from Valley Forge to Afghanistan?  Did they fight just so Wall Street and the banks, the financial locusts, could consume the wealth created by the labor of millions? I think not and I am determined to say something about it for it was the reason I rode my bicycle to Whitehorse in the first place.

My spirit could no longer sit and wait and so I went to Whitehorse. The spirit of my country has been contained. We used to set the standards for the world and now we cower in fear. Once we built projects like the Empire State Building, the Sears Tower in Chicago, now known as the Willis Tower, the Hoover Dam, the interstate road system, and the Apollo rockets.  Now we bicker, point blame and divide ourselves into political and moral camps so we just stagnate and the world goes around us.

I guess the discomfort of this modern day American train reminded me of all that we seemed to have abandoned.

This is actually hard to believe but funny and true!

Not all memories of Vietnam are bad or painful; some are just plain hilarious and somewhat unbelievable, even to me. One such memory is what I call the “Wily Coyote Flashback”, named appropriately after that famous cartoon character with the Road Runner.

After the battle for North Sierra, which I am still working on, we settled into a fairly consistent routine of day patrols and sometimes night ambushes. Other than that, it was lazing around on the hilltop. Due to this routine, we slacked off a bit, letting our appearances run down. The Gunny started getting on us about it by giving us hell. To break up the monotony, there was always someone who was up to offering or taking a challenge.

That is when I came up with a brilliant idea, or so I thought at the time. You see, even in the bush, certain separations are established between us lowly grunts and our commanders, especially the Gunny (Gunny Sergeant), who holds a special place in our hearts as we both love and despise him at the same time. Gunnyies are tough and they get respect from everyone including the Lieutenants.

In fact, the Gunny even had his own private “shit hole” in the ground over which laid branches to act as a seat. We had similar holes.

“I bet I can sneak up at night, get past the guard and take a crap in the “Gunny’s shitter!” I boastfully said to my fellow grunts.  

“No way, Mele!”, they all responded.  

“I’ll do it tonight unless we get hit”, I said. So that night after some trepidation I kept a low profile and slowly crept towards the sanctified hole of the Gunny. Slowly, ever so slowly, with my heart pounding out of my chest, I crawled until I finally got to it. It was located on the down wind side of the hill from the Gunny.

“No guard, lucky”, I thought. I slowly bent down and pulled my pants down for the most wonderful moment. Just as my butt landed on the branches, I heard a crack and the center branch broke. I tried my best and gave it my all to get up but instead another broke and I fell, butt first up to my knees in the Gunny’s crap! Then it hit me! Did someone beat me here and cut the branches? And why no guard anywhere? Hmm? I smelled a rat but actually I went back smelling much worse than that! Let’s just say I tried to clean up but no one got within 50 feet of me for a few days.

To save face in front of a bunch of Marine grunts, who could barely stand as they laughed, I upped the anti and proudly proclaimed that for 2 bucks, I could sneak up on the Gunny and get his prized sardines, which he kept in his pack. The crowd silenced. “How the hell you gonna do that, Mele”, they asked. Hell! I had no idea but the challenge was born.

That night as I pondered it and came up with a brilliant plan. No one has the balls or is stupid enough to get out of the hole when they mortar us so that was why it was a brilliant plan. Next time the mortars fall, I get out, run across the hill fast, get to the Gunny pack, grab it, take out the sardines and get back. Even if they see me, they will not get out of the holes in the middle of a mortar attack. No way! You’d have to be nuts to do that! Really! It’s one of those, “you have to be there”, ideas. War can really make you nuts.

A few days later, as luck would have it, and this is only in my now twisted and delusional mind, we got attacked really hard. With mortars landing everywhere, everyone scrambled for their holes including me. Then I sucked in some wind, tried to calm my shaking body and tell it “Go”. I stepped out of the hole! My fellow grunts thought I had literally lost my mind. I ran zigzagging right across the hill towards the top and then it hit me, the sounds and blast waves were getting closer and closer to me. Like Wile E. Coyote, I ran as fast as I could but each round was getting closer, just falling behind far enough not to hit me but creeping up ever so closer.

Wham! A blast wave hits me from behind! It hits me that these guys have me zeroed in as I lead them straight to the CP! I accelerate trying to literally fly through the air and then the next round hits just a few feet behind and I know the next will be my last. Just ahead, directly in front about 10 yards I spot a large foxhole and push and jump for it. I go it feet first and squat so my head will be low. As I hit the bottom of the hole, a huge blast takes place just above me! Whew, that was close and all over a can of sardines! I try to calm down and catch my breath.

Then I hear everyone yelling and screaming, “MELE! Get out of that f’n hole! Get out! It’s mined. Mele! Get out of the f’n hole! It’s MINED!”  

“What the hell are they talking about?” I think, and then I looked down. Somehow, with nothing short of a miracle, my feet missed a ground mine that was about 14”-16” in diameter. Each of my feet barely straddles it and my manly parts are directly above it. It should have gone off and that leaves an awful choice. Any movement will or should set it off! Any movement! I ponder it for a second but with my manly parts fully exposed; I make the sign of the cross, take a big breath and a giant leap out. To this day, no one knows why it did not explode.  

Later, after the attack the hole was roped off for about a 20' or 30' circle of No Man’s Land as we waited for a detonation crew to arrive. My plan, if they asked, was simple, C4 it or throw a grenade in! No way, so we waited. A day or two later three marines were walking past the roped area when it just exploded. It left a hole about 20 plus feet in diameter and killed the three of them! That is how powerful that little baby was.

If I had been a sensible guy I would have let it go at that but I thought to myself, “They had no idea why I was running across the hill so I can use that same strategy and modify it a bit”. It was probably time for them to lock me up or something. Of course, everyone thought I was nuts and it was time to up the “ante”!

“I can get a case of “C” rats!”, I said to the guys.

“What about the sardines?”  

“Forget about the sardines. They are small. I can get a whole damn case of f’n “C” rats; a whole case!” Now, I must say that I am reaching a bit here at this point but I go on. “I’d have to carry it all the way over here”.  

“Impossible, Mele! You’re nuts!” was what they came back with.

We really did need the “C” rats as our food supplies were minimal at best, but the CP (Command Post) is where the Lieutenant and Gunny stayed and they had lots of food. However, it was guarded by at least one and sometimes two guards. They knew we were hungry and were not taking any chances. Yes, I know but in war as in life, some things are just, well….hard to believe. One time before this, we used our own gas grenades to launch an attack on the CP and with our gas masks, we took what we liked. Later, they took away our masks! War, as they say, is hell!

It is hard to believe, but I was waiting for an attack so I could put my plan into effect. I knew the guys were counting on me and it was, after all, fool proof, as least in my mind.  But then again, it could prove to be deadly. Almost on schedule, we got hit again with mortars. Charlie just loves popping those tubes and we love air strikes. They both work effectively. As the mortars strike our hill, I spring into action. I jump out of my hole and get that familiar, “You have completely lost it” response from my fellow grunts. I think, however, they are secretly hoping for success this time. Instead of going directly over the top, I skirt the side of the hill still trying to zigzag to avoid being hit, if that is possible since the mortars strike randomly and are not aimed at me. The plan is working!

I’m almost there and then I think to myself, “So what are you going to do? Just pick up a case and say, thanks?” I realize there is no time to go back so I tell myself to act normal as I accelerate and round the hill. I eye the CP and note to myself that no one is out of their holes. Great! I make it right up to the cases of “C” rats and grab one case. As I do, a guard looks up and eyes me. I turn my head and squint my eyes trying to look like a gook or at the very least, not me! For one brief moment, our eyes lock and then a bunch of mortars strike close enough that the blast waves nearly knock me over. My eyes say to him, “Got the balls? Go for it! Come and get me!” He stays in his hole.  

I grab the case and run as fast as I can back to where my hole was and start throwing the individual meals to anyone in my path. “Eat it fast”, I yell as I throw more. Then I make it to my hole, gobble down a fast meal and sit there like nothing had happened.

The Gunny sent his “attack dogs” and they came snarling at me, demanding to know where the case is as they accuse me of taking it.

“No way!” I said.

“Well, where is the case? Do you think it just vanished by itself?”

I added, “I was here the whole time”. With no proof, they left but I always thought they knew and just went through the act. Hell, maybe even the Gunny knew. The guard saw my eyes well enough and I do not look like a gook.

After that, I kept my mouth shut about any more brilliant ideas or challenges. But I did gain back the respect of my guys after that fall in the Gunny’s shitter!

KETCHIKAN, ALASKA:

TOWN CENTER

CRUISE SHIPS ON THE DOCK

We have about a 5-hour layover at Ketchikan, population about 8,000. The city is located about 3 miles from the ferry terminal. It is another fine day so again I take my bicycle for a tour of the city. Three large Cruise ships are docked in the harbor so the downtown area is abuzz with people. I stop along the way to take in the incredible vistas of the water’s edge, breathe in the crisp air, and in awe again. 

CRUISE SHIPS RULE THE ECONOMY

Before arriving there, I had done a little research on the city and found out that Ketchikan's secondary post office box zip code, 99950, is the highest zip code ever assigned in the United States. Most residents use the zip code 99901. The city also has the world's largest collection of standing totem poles, located at three major locations: City of Saxman, Totem Bight, and the Totem Heritage Center. The totem poles are replicas made during the Roosevelt Administration. The CCC put the natives to work replicating their heritage in the totems they carved.

It was an enjoyable bicycle ride to Ketchikan and it marked the end of the journeys I will take from this ferry ride. I realized when I got back to the ferry that in another 40 hours or so, I will be docking for the last time.

On Friday, September 10, at 8 am, we pulled in and docked at our final destination, Bellingham, WA. I will miss this fine ship. It was spacious, clean, offered all the amenities you need, as well as the obvious; a fantastic way to float through some of the most gorgeous and beautiful ocean views know as the, Inner Passage.

Words and photos cannot describe the breathtaking views and the scenery we witnessed along the way. My journey home begins from this point on and I still do not know how I will make that journey. My choices are plane, train, or automobile; either all of one or a combination of some! It is a decision I will have to make and I will have to make it soon.

SITKA, ALASKA

ANOTHER JOHN "WOW" PHOTO!

The next morning after eating my breakfast, I took a shower and then went out on the balcony to take in the scenery. Off the bow, it was “Thar’ She Blows” as two humpback whales joyfully played with each other and put on a show for us. I have never seen such a spectacle!

MISSED THE WHALES BREACHING THE WATER BUT GOT THE FINS!

It was awe inspiring to witness in the wild and I was lucky to catch it. I took a few pictures with my small camera, but I couldn’t get great shots and I continually missed the couple of times they breached the water. I was too stunned enjoying the view with my eyes. I watched and soon we they were gone.

I’m in shock a bit as I am still not sure how I got here. I feel like I am in a dream and wonder to myself, “Is this real?” I continued to stand on the deck, mesmerized. I watched the scenery pass and took several pictures to capture it, knowing that the pictures would not do it justice. 

AMAZING EXCURSION!

We docked at Sitka at 1 pm. We would be in port for about 2 ½ hours. Sitka was colonized by Russia in 1799 and served as her capitol in Alaska. It is the site of the ceremony in which the Russian flag was lowered and the United States flag raised after Alaska was purchased by the U.S. for the sum of $7.2 million or 2.5 cents per acre! The flag lowering and raising event is re-enacted in Sitka every Oct. 18, Alaska Day.

The town of Sitka was 7 miles from the ferry dock and a local company runs a shuttle to and from the ferry, for the cost of about $12. It was a gloriously sunny day, the type I had prayed and hoped for in the latter part of my Journey when I endured all those days of rain. I could not pass it up. I locked up my few valuables, took my ID and ferry pass, a backpack, and my bicycle! 

SITKA, QUAINT AND CHARMING

I made it to Sitka in only about 25 minutes as I could finally let it rip without my touring bags. While in Sitka, I rode around some of the local areas where the tourists do not go and got a real feel for this place. Later, when reading the novel “Journey”, by James Michener, I found out that he had holed up at Sitka a few months while he wrote part of the manuscript for Alaska.

I re-stocked a few items and snacks at the local grocery store on my way back. I found out that I actually beat the time of the shuttle and a few people were surprised to discover that I actually had the opportunity to stop at a grocery store, something a few wish they had been able to do. It was a very enjoyable bicycle ride and I was glad to have the opportunity to be free. I settled back on the ferry with my bicycle safe and secure it its designated area on the auto deck.