EARTHQUAKE IN HAITI – Part 3

As we drove away from the border in the dark, headed to Port au Prince 60 kilometers away, our headlights did not pick up any destruction we could attribute to the earthquake. Of course we were in a rural area with limited construction and not many people. As we got closer, though, we began to see collapsed rock and concrete walls alongside the road, and from time to time we would see what appeared to be damage to homes. Most of the homes in Haiti, especially those in the city, other than in the poorest areas where structures may be plywood and tin roofed, are some form of concrete block construction. Interestingly enough, the structures will have a flat concrete roof with steel rebar sticking up, with the intention to adding another floor later. This one factor contributed to a majority of deaths, I believe, but I’ll go into more detail later.

STORIES MY FATHER TOLD ME – War Stories: Virginia Lee Pepper

While stationed at Malden Army Air Field in Southeast Missouri, on weekends when they had passes, the young pilots would head for the local towns and the U.S.O. Clubs where the local gals would turn out to dance with the young warriors.

Since most of the local young men were away serving in the various military branches, the masculine entertainment for the young women was to be found only at the U.S.O. Club dances. It was considered the young women’s patriotic duty to attend these dances and entertain the young men who would soon be going off to war. There were many brief romances between young men and young women at these dances, and some graduated to the parlors of the homes when the young men would be invited to meet the families of the ladies.

P-Nuts

I was visiting my Aunt in the nursing home a few years ago. As I sat there talking with her, I noticed the small bowl of p-nuts on the table next to her bed. I helped myself as we talked. Next thing I knew, I realized I had eaten all of her p-nuts. I was embarrassed and profusely apologized to her, promising her that I would bring her a new bag of p-nuts next time I visited. She told me not to worry, that since she had lost her teeth she had not been able to eat nuts for some time. She said that she just sucked the chocolate off them.

EARTHQUAKE IN HAITI – Part 2

The night before leaving for Haiti, my family had what we have come to call our “Last Supper” when one of us is going on a trip, more or less a tongue in cheek attempt at humor, but probably more appropriate this time than any before. I must say, though, that I felt a perfect peace about the trip, with no reservations about should I go or not. I had no fear or concern for our safety, other than the normal considerations and recognition of where we were headed and what we were going into. I knew it was dangerous, but my calmness was a blessing for me and my family. I had been sick for the week before leaving, but miraculously woke up well that morning. After dinner, I drove to Crawford’s house where I would try to get a little sleep before we left at 4:00 AM to go to Atlanta Airport for our flight on American Airlines to Miami for our connecting flight to Haiti.

There is always a long line at check-in, but this morning it was wide open, which we took as a good sign for the start of our trip. It get’s better…there is a two bag limit for checked luggage, along with a $30.00 per bag fee, plus overages if overweight. The ticket agent looked at us and our big bags stuffed with medical supplies, protein bars and assorted emergency goodies, then leaned over and whispered to us, “I’m going to waive the baggage fees because I know where you are going and what you are going to do. Thanks.” Wow…a good start.

STORIES MY FATHER TOLD ME – War Stories: Bill Got His Wings

Pilot training at Malden Army Air Field, Missouri, and then Stuttgart Army Air Field in Arkansas was an intense curriculum consisting of varying doses of PT, classroom work, and flying…the flying part was as a passenger to start, then as a copilot (with strict orders not to touch the controls unless the instructor pilot died at the stick), and finally with your solo flight.

The PT was something most of the cadets had no problem with due to all the vigorous training leading up to this time, but the classroom work was another matter altogether. Dad said that Algebra in High School had just about been his undoing. But here he was now in classes that drew upon Calculus, Physics, Trig and other math that he had only heard the names of. He was convinced that he would flunk out of pilot training due to his deficiencies in these areas. He burned the midnight oil and asked for help from his buddies, and to his great surprise, he got it and was able to apply it to the intricacies of aircraft in flight. He said the actual flying part was never his concern, because he said he felt like a bird up there.

EARTHQUAKE IN HAITI – Part 1

As the whole world is aware, on January 12, 2010, the country of Haiti was devastated by a killer earthquake the likes of which few, if any, of us have ever seen. The visions that came out of Haiti on TV were heartbreaking. Death and destruction were of Biblical proportions. Many of you are aware that my ministry efforts have concentrated on Haiti since 2003, when Michelle made a mission trip there, and subsequently introduced me to this wonderful and terrible place. I have been there a number of times on mission trips since, starting in 2004. I have many friends in Haiti, so the earthquake was especially frightful in a personal way because of not initially knowing if my friends were dead or alive. I was one of those thousands of people who rushed to Haiti, as a member of a disaster relief team, as soon as possible in order to determine how I could help.

It has been over three years since the disaster, and to be honest, it has taken me that long to get my head around what happened, still not totally, and to absorb the impact on the millions of people in Haiti, immediately after the earthquake, and ongoing today. I have written about my experiences there through letters to my ministry supporters, magazine and newspaper articles, and e-mails to friends. I have not written anything since immediately following my return to the U.S. after my relief trip there in the aftermath of the earthquake. I think I needed time to process things, and let time give me a little more perspective. It could probably be a book, but I’m not up to that, so I will share bits and pieces of it here on my Blog from time to time.

STORIES MY FATHER TOLD ME – War Stories: The Marines Have Landed

Dad was a big man. 6′ 4″ and right at 200 pounds, and in the best shape of his life during his time as an Air Cadet in 1943. He said growing up he never picked a fight, but had to fight many. It seemed that him being a big man was all it took for some smaller man to decide that they had something to prove by whipping a big man. He always tried to walk away, if possible, but sometimes, the opponent would not allow that to happen.

This particular night, Dad was escorting the commanding officer’s daughter to a dance. The place was packed with servicemen and their dates. The tables were packed in tightly so as to give the most room to the dance floor. Everyone was drinking them up pretty heavily, which was pretty much the custom in those times, and still is when military men are partying.

AGONY AND MISERY – Basic Training at Fort Knox, Kentucky

In the Summer of 1969, upon graduating from college, I was drafted into the Unites States Army. There are a million or more of you guys out there who can identify with me on this experience. Each of us has numerous stories of our introduction to military life, and usually we will have one that stands out in our mind. For me, that experience was our 20 mile forced march in full battle gear over what was referred to as “Agony and Misery.” None of us knew what that meant at the time, but believe me, we knew when it was over.

The exercise was designed to stretch us to our endurance and beyond. The 20 mile march (agony) was to a bivouac area on top of a “mountain” (some referred to it as heartbreak, as you will see) where we would set up camp and spend the night, and then march back the next day (misery). I could run all day at this point. I felt there was nothing they could throw at me, physically at least, that I couldn’t take in a cake walk. Most of us probably felt that way.

(The photo above is me calling my Platoon to get read to march)

STORIES MY FATHER TOLD ME – War Stories: Air Cadet Training

By the time Dad arrived at Air Cadet Training, he was probably in the best shape of his life after months of training as an enlisted man in the Combat Engineers. Air Cadet Training, as well as the classes and learning to fly an airplane, included, like every unit in the armed forces, PT – Physical Training. Because he was in such good shape, the PT was a piece of cake for him – except for the hand-to-hand combat. Hand to hand at that point actually consisted of boxing each other. They would line up all the cadets in single file from shortest to tallest (Dad was the tallest at 6’4″), and then you were to turn to the man next to you and team up to box each other.

ICE COLD LEMONADE

In the Spring of 1993, I was visiting the Myrtle Beach, South Carolina area where my wife, Michelle, is from. Actually, she is from Conway, which is just inland from the beach on the main traffic thoroughfare, Hwy 501, for the tourist on the way to the Grand Strand, as Myrtle Beach is referred to. One of my best friends, Tim Huggins, lived at the beach, and his mom and dad, Nell and Johnny Huggins, lived on the thousand acre Huggins family farm on the Little Pee Dee River just off Hwy 501 at Galivants Ferry, a little further inland from the beach. I would usually try to make time to visit Mr. and Mrs. Huggins on our trips down. Mr. Huggins would get a kick out of walking me around the homestead, pointing out the big oak tree one of his long lost relatives had planted as a single acorn so many years ago. He would also show me the old barns and where the out-buildings had been located back in the day. You could make out the foundations, but the structures were long gone. Mrs. Huggins, on the other hand, would always take great pleasure in serving her visitors something to eat. I don’t know what she served others, but she knew that I loved her sweet potatoes cooked in enough sugar to throw you into diabetic shock, along with home made biscuits covered with her home made fig preserves. She always made it a point to send a few jars of fig preserves along with Tim for me whenever he would visit us in the Atlanta area. Just a side note – in 2008, when we sold our home in Mountain Park and moved to Lake Lanier, in cleaning out our basement, I found dozens of jars of Nell’s fig preserves that I never got around to eating.