LET THERE BE BLOOD

In August of 1958, just before I turned twelve, Boy Scout Troop 156 out of the Smyrna American Legion, camped at the base of Blood Mountain along the Appalachian Trail in North Georgia. It was a defining time for me. It was, with the benefit of 20-20 hindsight, a precursor of things to come.

The Boy Scouts of America was a wonderful organization. It prepared young boys to actually become men. I’m not saying the Scouts made me a man, I was only eleven years old at the time, but Scouting gave many of us the opportunity to expand our wings and fly, at least metaphorically. For many of us, being in the Scouts gave us our first taste of freedom from family oversight, although our Scout Masters were dedicated and observant men, who kept a watchful eye on their young Scouts to make sure they were safe. For me, going on Boy Scout camping trips was my first time traveling away from home without the supervision of my parents. That is important, I think, in the development of a healthy sense of independence.

The Boy Scout Oath says it well: “On my honor, I will do my best. To do my duty to God and my country and to obey the Scout Law; To help other people at all times; To keep myself physically strong, mentally awake and morally straight.” Not bad.

Our Scout Master was Melvin Posey. He was a role model for all of us young guys. He obviously cared greatly about us and Scouting. I know he must have spent countless hours preparing, beyond those spent with us at our weekly meetings and the two or three camping trips we took each year. Just one note about Melvin – he left as Scout Master and went into the Navy and was on the ship that picked up one of our original seven Astronauts when his space capsule splashed down in the ocean. After his tour in the Navy, he returned and became Scout Master again. Dedication to Scouting.

Back to Blood Mountain. It was August, and it was still hot, but I remember that a weather front came through, bringing a drop in temperatures and plenty of rain. We were to hike to the top of Blood Mountain, and a little rain was not going to stop Troop 156. I remember having a rain poncho, which really did not keep you totally dry, which I reaffirmed some eleven years later in the Army. The trail to the top of Blood Mountain is part of and near the start of the Appalachian Trail. It was a fairly well maintained trail, although in the rain, with water rushing down, the footing was tricky. There was many a stumble and fall.

About half way up, it really got difficult. The rain continued to pelt us. We were all soaked, especially our feet, for most of us were wearing our Keds. Melvin, of course had on sturdy waterproof hiking boots. Did I mention a drop in temperature? It was cool when we started, but it was cold on that hike up the mountain. Under the poncho I was sweating, but my arms, face and feet were freezing. For an eleven year-old boy, this was the most challenging thing I had ever done.

We all had canteens, but of course we had pretty much emptied them by the time we were half way up. So we were thirsty on top of everything else. And we were hungry. I can not for the life of me remember if the hike was after breakfast or after lunch, but it mattered not. We had eaten before we took off, but we were still hungry. The grumbling started from that point on. Every time we took a little break, we would beg Melvin to turn around and go back down to the comfort of our campsite and relative dryness of our tents. Our tents, by the way, were what were called Baker Tents – basically a square tent with a flap entrance. I remember being able to stand up inside the tent, but that does not mean it had a tall ceiling, being just a kid and all.

Most of us, or at least me, were ready to quit, but of course Melvin would not allow that. He kept us going with the promise of the Coke and candy machines at the top, where we could all get something to eat and drink. I swear, if not for the prospect of a Coke and candy bar, I don’t think I would have made it.

As we neared the top, the rain slacked off, and the clouds and mist cleared a bit allowing views of the surrounding mountains and valleys. Most prominent was Brass Town Bald, the tallest mountain in the area. I’ll never forget how my heart leaped upon reaching the summit and seeing the rustic shelter where surely the vending machines were housed. We all picked up the pace and actually ran the last bit to the shelter in order to be the first to get our goodies.

If you have ever hiked the Appalachian Trail, or climbed to the top of most any mountain in any park or mountain range in the world, you already know what we found inside the shelter. It was empty. No vending machines. What were we thinking? Melvin had lied to us? I know now that it was not so much a lie, although it was untruthful, as it was motivation to keep us going. What did greet us was an iron pipe sticking out of the ground at a spring that had a trickle of cold water flowing out. But you know, that was some of the best water I ever drank. We all drank our fill and filled our canteens. Then we all found a rock to sit on and sat around saying very little for a while. It was beautiful, even though the view was somewhat obscured by the mist and rain clouds, but all in all, beautiful.

And you know something? We were all pretty proud of ourselves for having survived our torturous climb. We called it torturous at the time, but with the benefit of some miles on this old body of mine, I know it was probably one of the less torturous things physically I have done in my life. But for an eleven year-old, it was a big deal. Similar to the big deal in 1969 when I hiked a much wetter and more torturous couple of mountains while in the Army. I remember thinking at the time of the Army climb that Blood Mountain was a piece of cake.

I don’t remember the hike down Blood Mountain, probably because it paled in comparison to the hike up. I do remember saying I would never make that hike again. Those were words I lived to eat. I hiked it nearly forty years later with my sons, both about the same age as when I climbed it back in the day. Still no vending machines.

THINGS THAT GO BOOM

In a recent conversation with an Army buddy, an old field artillery guy, he mentioned the difference in the cannons from WWII and today. He talked about how much better they are today. I know little about artillery, other than being told it is terrible to undergo an artillery barrage. Glad I have no first hand experience.

I do have first hand experience of another kind with artillery, as do several generations of children in Smyrna, Georgia. I’m talking about the twin 105mm Howitzer cannons (I stand to be corrected by those more educated than I on exactly what their mm is) that sat in front of the old American Legion Post 160 from the early 50’s on. They have been moved to the entrance of the new Legion facility five hundred feet or so from their original position for all those years.

My earliest memories of the Legion, where dad and his WWII buddies hung out, was climbing all over those cannons every time we were there. Back in the 50’s in Smyrna, the Legion was the place to be. Almost all my friend’s dads were veterans of WWII, and in those days, if you were a vet, you became a member of the Legion.

The times at the Legion were numerous, but most memorable for me was the 4^th of July and the fireworks. How cool it was to be 10 years old and laying on the barrel of one of those Howitzers watching the sky explode with fireworks. There was always a BBQ at the Legion on the 4^th. Everyone stayed up all night long behind the Legion cooking the pigs and getting drunk. The men, that is. Dad would always send me home when the serious drinking started after dark on the 3^rd. There was an old fire engine they would take us kids for rides on. Way cool. But I always came back to the cannons.

Of course, in talking about the Legion, you would be remiss in not mentioning Howard Martin, who ran the grill and made arguably the best hamburger in history. If that name sounds familiar, it’s because it is. Howard left the Legion and opened a local restaurant called Howard’s Deli, originally located on Pat Mell Road across from Cobb Center, finally ending up over on Concord Road, and it became a Smyrna institution until Howard’s son, Bobby, sold the restaurant and retired last year.

You may have heard rumors of there being One Armed Bandits aka slot machines at the Legion. Of course that was illegal. So were the high stakes poker games. Since the statute of limitations has expired on this issue, I can affirm that they were there. Story has it that whenever the police would “raid” the legion looking for the slots, they were never there to be found. It seems that the telephone would ring at the Legion and an anonymous voice would say something cryptic like, “They are on the way.” All I can say is, that as a kid, I used to play the slots in the basement at our home on Bank Street. Dad was the keeper of the slots for a time. I stood guard duty.

When I was in the Cub Scouts, we would sometimes meet in the Legion Hall, and when we were through, all us boys, and a few adventurous Tom Boys, would head straight to the cannons. When I was a little older and a Boy Scout, we met in the Scout Hut directly across the street from the cannons. We were a little older then, so while we did not scramble all over the cannons like we did when we were younger, we still would hang around sitting on them and talking until our folks came to pick us up. Over the years, my Campbell High School, Class of 1964, held a number of reunions at the old Legion. In fact, our 40^th Reunion in 2004 was one of the last reunions there before they sold the property to the City of Smyrna and built the new Legion up the street, where we now hold reunions. Thankfully, as I mentioned above, they moved the twin Howitzers to the new entrance of the Legion.

I am a 44 year continuous member of the Smyrna American Legion, my dad taking me over there when I got out of the Army in 1971 and buying me a beer and making sure I filled out the application. I’ll be getting my 45 year pin next year. As I mentioned, we have held High School Reunions there, first in the original building, now in the new, and I usually rent the facility for a discount because I am a member. I rarely visit the Legion, particularly since I live more than an hour away up at the lake, but from time to time I will drop by when in the area and sit at the bar and nurse a beer for old times sake.

In fact, last year during one of my visits to the Legion, I stopped and played on the cannons again…just for old times sake, too.

When I wore a younger man’s skin…

Where did time go? I’ll be sixty-nine years old in a couple of weeks. Damn…when did I get old? For the most part, I have been blessed with good health, give or take a dozen kidney stones or so. There were times going through some of those where I was afraid I was going to live.

But other than a few bad colds, a broken bone here or there, I have been blessed with good health. I can’t credit good genes, because both mom and dad left early, 64 and 59 respectively. Of course dad could have been around a lot longer if he had made some lifestyle changes he was unwilling to make. I, on the other hand, did finally pretty much give up the alcohol, no tobacco, stayed active, although I don’t exercise per se. I can’t say I eat healthy. Anyone who knows me would call me a liar if I claimed that, Varsity and all the other as evidence. I could be thinner, but not bad for an old guy, I guess.

At my advanced age, I can still do a lot of what I was always able to do, just not as long or as far. And of course I pay for it the next day or two, since I don’t bounce back quite so fast as before.

Heck, I used to run a mid five minute mile, and in the Army could run forever. For many years, when we lived over near Columns Drive and Atlanta Country Club near the Chattahoochee River, I would run along the river three to five days a week, averaging seven minute miles for three miles. Then my knees and back started complaining, and those days were behind me.

I water skied on the slalom and snow skied the bumps and packed powder up until a few years ago, when I finally realized I might hurt myself. The hang-gliding and jumping out of airplanes are also a thing of the past. The hips will no longer allow the AT and hikes to Charlies Bunion, one of my favorite stretches of the AT. Michelle bought me a riding lawn mower a few years ago in hopes of keeping me around a while longer…I would pretty much kill myself pushing that old power mower, and while I called that my exercise, I now look at being able to cut my grass at the house and the cabin in several hours instead of over the course of several days. Good on Michelle.

I used to be able to stay up partying all night long, and still be able to function the next day. Good luck with that, now. Hell, I never was a nap person, with the exception of power naps while watching football games on TV all day Saturday. Now I hit my Lazy Boy, and as likely as not, will slip in a nap or two before bedtime.

It’s hell to grow old. My dad used to follow up that comment with, “Unless you consider the alternative.” He did not grow old. The alternative got him.

I used to say that waiting until I hit forty to have kids kept me young. I think there was something to that. Most of my son’s friends parents were fifteen to twenty years my junior. Coaching them in soccer helped a little, too, as running up and down the field definitely kept the juices flowing.

Now don’t get me wrong…I’m not accepting that I am old and falling apart, although I have definitely slowed down. I am using my uncle Raymond as my role model…he passed away last year a couple of weeks short of hitting ninety-eight. And he looked a lot younger and was more active than men twenty years his junior, at least until the last couple of years of his life. Send me in coach.

I think the reason I am writing this today is because I am home recovering from oral surgery and a bone graft to my jaw. I pretty much feel like crap, and am passing the time writing. Anyway, I look forward to my active lifestyle returning real soon. My advice…keep busy…keep active…use it or lose it.

Hasta la vista, baby.