Post Army Newspaper Article

A few weeks after leaving the US Army a newspaper reporter knocked on our family door and expressed interest in developing an article about my military experiences. (I think my mom but a bug in their ear.) He took a photo, and it appeared along with the article in the Rockford Morning Star edition of 16 June 1969. The headline read, "Peace Symbols, Purple Hearts for Ex-GI."

The reported wanted me to pose holding my medals, but I rejected that notion. Instead he took this photo on the banks of Yellow Creek a few steps from our family home's front door:

And here's the article. (To enlarge, click, then right click and select "view image")

Genealogy and Stuff

Genealogy is something I've always been moderately interested in, but a few years ago I signed up at that one web site--you know which one. I've found some interesting things about my ancestors, but my intent is not to make readers fall asleep; rather, we'll have a picture show of some pretty cool--at least to me--photos of people in my family tree.

The best place to start is with my parents. Here's my mom's senior photo, the one that appeared in Freeport Illinois's yearbook called the Polaris: 

Mary Marler

And my dad around  the same age. Actually I believe this shows him a year younger at 17.

Stanley Hayes

My dad bore a strong resemblance to his older brother, Malvin, who went by Hans. This is his senior photo:

Malvin (Hans) Hayes

My maternal grandmother, Helen Mae Stewart. I think she was around 19 when this was taken:

Helen Mae Stewart

 And jumping back in time a few generations on my mom's side we come to a Civil War veteran--on the Confederate side: James Monroe Davidson and his wife, Prudence Ann Elkins. They are my maternal 2d great grandparents, at least two of them. They were born in 1825 and 1832, respectively.

Jumping back over to the Hayes side, we come to Lemuel Hayes, my great grandfather. He was born in New York in 1826, and was the first Hayes in my line to come to Illinois (along with his married sister and her husband). He was a wagon maker in Galena before buying a plot of land between Lena and Stockton, Illinois and becoming a farmer. He established his farm as a bachelor, but became enamored with his neighbor's daughter when he watched her jump a fence. (Don't laugh; your family has stuff like this, too.) Her name was Mary Mizner, and she's my paternal great grandmother.

Lemuel Hayes

A few branches of my family tree.

Purple Hearts from WWII

I read an article not long ago that indicated that the Purple Heart medals that have been awarded since World War II were created during the war. In 1945 the US military anticipated as many as a million casualties during what they thought would be an eventual and necessary invasion of Japan. Accordingly they created and stockpiled half a million purple hearts. Then when Japan surrendered on 2 September 1945, they were thankfully not needed, and placed in storage.

Over the intervening years the purple hearts that were issued for wounds received in Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan, and a several other places all came from the stockpile created during World War II. And they still have 120,000 in storage.

Of course that includes the one that was issued to me for wounds received in Vietnam with my name stamped on the back.

Because I questioned the veracity of the article, I conducted my own search, and found the same information in Stars and Stripes, the military's independent newspaper (available online at stripes.com).

http://www.stripes.com/blogs/the-rumor-doctor/the-rumor-doctor-1.104348/are-purple-hearts-from-1945-still-being-awarded-1.116756

My Old Coleman Camp Stove

I've been thinking of making burgers with onions and cheddar cheese in my cast iron skillet on the camp stove out on the deck. So last week I got out my old stove to make sure everything's in working order, and it wouldn't light.

I tried new fuel--same thing. That came as no surprise because I remember a few years ago pulling Dad's old Coleman Camp Stove--like mine--from a shelf in his Pecatonica, Illinois garage where it had been for probably ten years or so, and it fired up "right now," as Dad would have said. I cooked that night's supper on Dad's stove.

Next I figured a spider web had blocked something, but I couldn't find any obstructions. Then I remembered that when I checked for fuel, the o-ring in the generator filler cap fell apart. Maybe too much air was entering the generator, changing the mixture to something less combustible. So today I made a trip to a hardware store with the filler cap in hand, and found a replacement o-ring that fit.

Boom: The stove works again. Not sure whether you can tell, but the right burner is lit. The left works, too. I've had this stove since my sons were little guys. According to the stamped date on the bottom, it was made in October of 1978. 

I don't want one of the newer LP camp stoves. Sure, one has to pump up the generator, but once that's done it will cook meals or make tea or coffee in a campsite for a weekend with no additional fuel. These camp stoves were designed to last, and for .63 cents, the cost of the o-ring, I figure mine is good for another 36-years.

Understrength in Vietnam

My platoon in Vietnam was never full strength. An infantry squad for the times--probably still true today--was eleven men: a squad leader and two rifle teams of five men each. The concept, I believe, emerged from World War II. The squad leader could maneuver his two teams in leap frog order: "Alpha team, lay down a base of fire. Bravo team, move out!" Then Bravo team, once sufficiently advanced, could lay down covering fire while Alpha team moved.

That's the concept, and one we were trained with but didn't use. Why not? Doing so in the jungles and lush tropical vegetation of Vietnam where visibility was limited would have resulted in an increase of casualties, and we already had enough of them.

During the times when we had sufficient visibility and cover (they can't shoot you) and concealment (they can't see you), we conducted fire and maneuver with squads or platoons rather than rifle teams. We didn't even have rifle teams although we sometimes referred to the assistant squad leader as the Alpha Team Leader. That's as close as we came.

Back to the main point: My platoon and squad were never full strength. Rather than the eleven soldiers on the staffing chart, the most we ever had in our squad was eight, and that wasn't for very long. Usually we had around half a dozen. Likewise my platoon was always under strength. Each platoon was composed of four squads plus a platoon leader (lieutenant), platoon sergeant, and a radio-telephone operator (RTO), the guy who carried the lieutenant's radio. Doing the math, that's forty-seven men. The most we ever had during my year in Vietnam was twenty-eight, and we usually operated with fewer. On four occasions we were down to less than ten. Following one prolonged battle we were left with six men standing.

At the time, we felt we were understrength because of draft dodgers. I once read that the huge majority of young men eligible for the draft in the 60s and very early 70s--the draft was suspended in 1972--successfully employed a variety of tactics to dodge it. Be that as it may, we felt that if more guys back home hadn't tried so hard to get out of the draft, we would have had more men in our platoons and squads, which would have resulted in spreading the work load among more men. We would have been a bit less busy and less exhausted. If only. . . .

But I later found out that the reason we remained consistently short handed had nothing to do with draft dodgers. I learned the truth from a university professor with five books about war to his credit and a PHD in military history, which he earned by studying the 25th Infantry Division, the division I served in.

Very simply he explained, "There was not one day during the time the 25th was in Vietnam that they were understrength by a single man. The reason you were so short handed in the field was that the division created additional jobs in the rear and pulled slots from the infantry brigades to fill them."

My mouth dropped open, and you could have knocked me over with a napkin. So it was our own division that was doing it to us! Who would have thought? And I'm sure such shenanigans were not limited to the 25th, but rather I presume that all divisions in Vietnam did the same thing.

It's crazy when you think about it. My division was there to plug a hole caused by the southernmost exit of the Ho Chi Minh Trail into South Vietnam. It funneled North Vietnamese regulars and their equipment and weapons to an area near a town called Tay Ninh where sufficient overhead cover (woods, jungle, rubber plantations) existed so that an army could be massed without observation from above (planes, helicopters), all within a night's march--albeit a long one--of Saigon. The fulfillment of that mission required infantry units, lots of them. But instead of properly staffing the brigades and battalions, etc. that engaged in combat, the higher ranked NCOs and officers in the rear diverted infantrymen to what we called REMF jobs. (I'm not gonna define that just now, but a quick internet search will pull it up.)

Two thoughts come to mind: 1) I'd love to see a list of the positions created in the rear that were so important that we in the field had to go on more ambush patrols, listening posts, pull guard duty or radio watch more often, and lose even more sleep each night than we would have had we been properly staffed, not to mention have enough soldiers to increase our chances of survival when we made contact with enemy forces. And 2) this brings to mind the saying, "We have met the enemy, and he is us." Interestingly, that quote originally came from the Pogo comic strip.

On most days he is covered up with other things and the passage of time but that soldier is still in there. 

Roger Out 

King Rail

I participated in Illinois's Spring Bird Count on Saturday, 10 May 2014, in Washington County, the one below where I live. I joined four other birders in the largest contiguous block of bottomland forest in the State, which is along the Kaskaskia River.

We walked along an east-west gravel road that leads into the dense forest. On the north side of the road is an oxbow, marking a former channel of the Kaskaskia River. It's over a quarter mile in length, and about 150- to 200-feet in width. The eastern half of the oxbow has some open water, but the western half has become a marsh.

One of the birders lives along the gravel road near the edge of the forest, and her family dog, a black lab called Cali, accompanied us.

Mosquitoes were terrible, and it was a warm day with temperatures topping out in the mid-80s. Cali occasionally left the road, and we'd hear him splashing through the water, maybe because of the mosquitoes, heat, or perhaps simply because black labs love water.

On one such occasion as we approached the western end of the oxbow, clicking noises were heard from the marsh as Cali went for another noisy swim. I commented that it sounded like a King Rail, but because I'd never seen one, I wasn't sure. The noises stopped, and my attention eventually returned to vireo and warbler songs.

My birding companions with Glenn in the foreground.

We continued birding, and leaving the marsh behind, entered a piece of ground that was higher than the surrounding area. My companions explained that it was sufficiently high that it didn't flood. The vegetation was different and very thick making us almost disappear in the foliage as we followed a narrow trail.

Later we returned to the gravel road, and followed it back the way we had come. I was out in front of the group, and Glenn, one of the birders behind me reported seeing a large, brown bird with trailing legs flying over the marsh vegetation and dropping back into it. He had his bird book open to the rails, but wasn't sure which one he had seen.

Later that night after the count had ended, I put two and two together, or in this case, one and one. I remembered the clicking sounds we had heard, and that combined with Glenn's sighting of what surely sounded like a rail led me to believe we had encountered a King Rail.

King Rails have been diminishing in number over recent years, and this was the first King Rail reported this spring in Illinois. Although it took a while to figure out what it was, it was an exciting birding moment, and one that keeps me returning time after time to the woods with binoculars in hand, and wondering what natural wonders I will find. 

Autumn's Great Horned Owl

Two years ago when she was five-years old, my granddaughter Autumn said to me, "I want to see a Great Horned Owl with my own eyes."

Although I'm not sure what touched off this fascination with the owl, this was typical of her; she has loved nature since she was two or three. Perhaps she read something about Great Horned Owls, or maybe she saw a video at school or on television that peaked her interest. In any event, since she told me she wanted to see one, I've watched for opportunities to show her one.

I've seen them before, but to my experience, they are best spotted about half dark as they emerge from their roost and begin their nightly hunts. That means one must be out and about at dusk and be in the right place to hear or see them--not easy.

In October, 2013, I walked a trail that led along Silver Lake, on the north side of Highland where Autumn lives. I was with another birder, and we had spent the better part of the day looking for migrating warblers and whatever else we could find. In late afternoon we were heading back down the trail toward the parking lot when we heard the hooting of--you guessed it--a Great Horned Owl. It was followed shortly by another owl a bit farther away and with a higher voice--a female. They are easy to discern: females are larger than males, but since part of their bodies are dedicated to egg development, their voice boxes are smaller, and as a result their hoots are higher pitched.

Great Horned Owls mate in late fall or early winter, and I presumed this was a mated pair in the vicinity of their nest. I've seen half-grown owlets in a nest in mid-March. The timing of this breeding cycle means the young hatch around the time mammals emerge from hibernation, so food is more readily available. And the young have all spring, summer, and fall to learn hunting skills of their own, which they'll need to survive the next winter.

Once back home I checked the area where we heard the owls on Google Maps. It was the largest block of mature forest around the lake. So I presumed that this wooded spot must be near their nest location. It was a good place to take Autumn. But in order to allow her to see one, I'd need better intelligence--I had no idea where the nest was, and since I hadn't seen an owl there, it wouldn't be easy to show her one.

I returned to the spot along the trail where we heard the owls in February 2014. I arrived about fifteen minutes before sundown, and stayed until it was too dark to see. With owlets in the nest, the parents should be active hunting for food, but I heard and saw nothing. Perhaps the parents left to hunt elsewhere before I arrived. I wasn't sure, and it didn't look promising.

A week ago, 28 Feb 14, I played disc golf with my sixteen-year old grandson Zander, Autumn's brother, at Silver Lake Park. The course is between a quarter and half a mile of the spot where I heard the owls, but I wasn't thinking of them on this day. We played twenty-seven "holes," and toward the end, as we were retrieving our discs from a basket, we heard a Great Horned Owl. We silently gazed in the direction the sound came from, but saw nothing.

I made a note of the time; it was 4:15 in the afternoon. This was early for one to be hooting. The sky was overcast, and Barred Owls are known to hoot in the middle of days with cloud cover, and I wondered whether Great Horned were a bit like that, too.

The road leading to the park entrance passed the general location where Zander and I heard the owl, and we stopped there to watch and listen. Zander said, "There he is," and pointed to the top of a tree. It appeared as a dark blob but was shaped like the tail of an owl protruding from behind a branch. Pulling forward a bit allowed the rest of him to come into view, and he turned his head and looked at us. Bingo!

I took Zander home, and if Autumn and her mom, Molly, had been there, I would have taken them right back to see the owl if they were able to get away. But they weren't home. I coordinated with Molly over the next few days, and we agreed to see if we could find the owl the following weekend. And in the meantime, Molly and Autumn stopped at the park, and spotted the owl, but it was very high in a tree, and they didn't have binoculars.

Last night I picked them up, and we headed to the park. We parked along the road offering a view of the owl area. We arrived a little after 4:00 p.m. and sat in the car talking quietly and listening for fifteen or twenty minutes. Then we heard a hoot. And then another. For the next 15 minutes we heard hoots about every minute or so but couldn't find the owl. The car windows were open, and Molly thought it sounded as though it was coming from her side of the vehicle, while I heard it more from my window. On a whim, I examined the top of the tree in which Zander had spotted the owl with my binoculars, and there, on the same exact branch, sat the Great Horned Owl! It was almost directly ahead of us. I guided Molly and Autumn, both using binoculars, to the tree, and to the branch way at the top on which the owl was perched. Molly found him first, and Autumn did so a minute or so later.

The owl is in this photo, about dead center

We slowly drove a bit closer, and we all had a good look. Autumn was holding her binoculars upside down, and I said, "That will make the owl appear upside down." She responded, "No, it won't." She's on to me. 

A cropped version. Binoculars helped! 

We watched him for another twenty or so minutes after which I took them out for pizza. As our waitress approached our table to check on us, I asked her if she has ever seen a Great Horned Owl. She responded that she has not. I pointed to Autumn and said, "She saw one half an hour ago." Autumn beamed.