Huron College, What If I’d…

Composite, time, words, and me

Huron College was my home town’s institution of higher education. The campus was large, well manicured, with Ivy League like buildings and located close to downtown. I say “large” because by my 1950’s standards…Huron only had about 14,000 people…large was not Manhattan large. When I was growing up, the campus exuded learning and class. The student body was never large, a few hundred at most, but the school had a good reputation for academics and sports. And, as a little kid, the majesty of the buildings was intriguing. Laying in bed last night, I went down the rabbit hole of “What if…”

I’m not sure I was tuned into college as a teenager. As a baby boomer, I was used to the “I Like Ike” slogans and economic growth of the times. I was sheltered from racism, politics, and most forms of hate. In the 9th grade, I started playing in a Garage Band, “The Bird Dogs,” and music became my life. Well, music and girls. My parents hadn’t gone to college. My mom didn’t work when I was growing up. My dad had done quite well without a college degree, he was General Manager of Armour & Company meat packing, the town’s largest employer. So college wasn’t a thing on my mind. My parents looked at it differently, they insisted I take the ACT or SAT or whatever it was and so I did. What did I think I’d do with my life?!

When I was 17 years old, the Bird Dogs won a multi-state Battle of the Bands and subsequently interviewed by the local newspaper, “The Daily Plainsman.” One of the questions they asked each of us was, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I thought for less than a nanosecond and replied, “An architect.” What the hell was I thinking? I didn’t want to be an architect but was intrigued by architecture, after all, I’d visited San Diego, Minneapolis, and Los Angeles and their buildings were truly grand. I thought, how cool would it be to actually design such things. But, what the hell! No, for me it was back to girls and music. I did not know what I wanted to do, except to continue playing with the Bird Dogs. However, comma, a war was on and the draft was a real thing. A horrifying thing. Graduate from high school, get drafted or go to college. So college was in my future. At least I’d be older when I went to war.

My girlfriend was a year younger and wanted to be a journalist. She’d picked South Dakota State University since they had a great Journalism program and so I picked it, too. Off I went. Alone. Reserve Officer Training Corps (ROTC) was a MANDATORY thing for males for the first two years at a state school. I joined because I had to join. At the end of my sophomore year I signed up for advanced ROTC and a scholarship that committed me to two more years in ROTC and at least four years of active duty as an Air Force officer. Keep in mind, I had never been in any kind of airplane. None. Nada. Never. But…Americans were getting killed everyday in Vietnam and the draft…it was alive and well. I did not want to join the Army, so, the Air Force it was. I’d waited and waited to commit, there was talk of a Draft Lottery where you’d know your odds of getting called up. But alas, I had to commit or lose my scholarship and slot in the ROTC class. The lottery was held a short time after I’d signed, my number was 274. I would not have been called. So what if I’d stayed in Huron and gone to Huron College… Playing the “What If” game in my head… The Bird Dogs would have fizzled out. Buns, the drummer, was the only then current member that went to college. The others were in the wind. Canada. Alaska. Wherever. It would have been just me trying to figure life out.

During my high school years I looked up to three men and probably would have tried to emulate them in lifestyles and professions in my adult life. They were Joe Stahl, Ken Larson, and Bob Callahan. Joe worked at Armour’s for my dad so as much as I admired him, I could never work in a place where my dad and I co-existed. I admired Ken a lot but didn’t have the skill and knowledge he had working with his hands and doubted I ever would. That left Bob Callahan, my teacher and acting coach in high school. He and I connected and I think I would have followed him into the teaching profession. And, I would have been happy because, well, because, I enjoy teaching and I wouldn’t know the difference. But my current life did happen. I have three kids, one grandchild, and am very happy. Very. But, I still have that vision of Huron College, Voorhees Hall.

From my 1967 graduating class, we lost two classmates in Vietnam, Roger Porter and Dick Plate. The draft was a real thing. Huron College closed many years ago. All gone.

Imagine, Me, a Treaty Negotiator

OV-10 Bronco in the Air Force Museum in Dayton

I’ve never told my kids about one of the coolest things I did while on active duty in the Air Force. (My USAF career ended before they were were born.) They knew I flew airplanes and Diane told them I had “an attitude” when we first met, but other than the occasional “I remember when…” story, they really don’t know much about what I did. This post, in the off chance they might read it, fills part of that gap. I’m hazy on some of the details but I think the story is overall accurate.

Flashback to late 1988. I was a Lieutenant Colonel assigned to International Program Management in the Pentagon. I’d been working with The Netherlands (and other European Air Forces) for a couple of years helping them buy and support their F-16 fighter aircraft systems. I’d flown the F-16, was familiar with operational and logistics issues and they valued my experience. One day I received a request to meet with the Dutch Attaché, Col Sneke, at their embassy in DC. I was surprised, I was on the minion level compared to him but, what the heck, sure.

We met, he had a proposition…create a joint USAF and Dutch F-16 training program in the US. Holland would shut down their own program. He and his staff had it worked out…it was very expensive for a small country to maintain a training squadron and infrastructure diluting the operational capabilities of their Air Force. The USAF had a joint US/German F-4 training course at George AFB, CA, and Sneke proposed a similar operation for the Dutch F-16 at George. The Dutch would provide some aircraft, pilots and support personnel, the USAF would provide the lion’s share. US and Dutch students would train together as they might fight together. The George AFB program was run by the USAF’s Tactical Air Command (TAC), now Air Combat Command and Sneke wanted a similar setup. I was enthusiastic about the concept but told him I had less than a year left on active duty and so for continuity, we had to move quickly. Well, as quickly as bureaucracies can manage.

Colonel Sneke had access to the highest levels of Pentagon and TAC. He spent quite a bit of time talking with the very top staff but did not get the response he was hoping for. The USAF was not willing to start another joint fighter training program. Well…not the active duty Air Force, the Air National Guard was a different story. Colonel Sneke and the Arizona Air National Guard came to a conceptual agreement about creating the joint F-16 program at Tucson International Airport, (now the 162 Fighter Wing). USAF HQ and Arizona agreed and off we went. Lots of moving parts to this agreement and most of them were handled directly between the Air Guard and the Dutch. My role was to negotiate the treaty to make it legal.

Yep, this sort of thing didn’t just happen. Sharing airframes and pilots was one thing, flying high performance, armed aircraft over foreign lands is different. Since the Dutch pilots and aircraft were to be “permanently” stationed in the US, specific parameters needed to be worked out, similar to what our forces were living with when they were stationed in Europe. The Pentagon & the State Department decided that the best way forward was to negotiate an Amendment to the current Status of Forces Agreement (SOFA). The SOFA, with the other types of military agreements, establishes the rights and privileges of foreign personnel in a host country in support of the larger security arrangement and generally defines the host country’s responsibility. Somebody way up the food chain in the US government gave me a “warrant” to negotiate the modification to the SOFA with Holland. I was given a team of lawyers, accountants, Air Guard reps, and more. By the time we started, I had only a few weeks left on active duty but even more importantly, a critical budget decision in Holland had to be made and conclusion of the negotiations was the linchpin. Site of the negotiations was the Dutch Embassy in DC.

I was pleased to find my counterpart on the Dutch team was Colonel Benno Hemler. Col Hemler was the principal Dutch representative on many of the senior Multinational Fighter Program committees and knew the processes and people well. I had and have, a great deal of respect for him. But, he was a tough negotiator so I knew we would have a spirited time. Col Sneke was not directly involved but was always very close. Benno had only one or two people on his team, I would bring 3 or 4 each day depending on the sections under discussion. We’d finish in the late afternoon, go back to the Pentagon and debrief the senior people who were following the project. There were no cell phones.

We had pages and pages and pages to go through, suggest modifications, discuss and decide. In theory, I had the authority to decide on language, in practice, I knew I needed to take disputes back to the Pentagon for guidance. Most of the time, though, Benno and I hammered out or slogged through the minutiae to get the right language for both countries. But, it was taking a long time. Benno received a call from The Netherlands, his wife had been diagnosed with cancer and might have surgery. He chose to stay in the negotiations. During one particularly intense week, tensions were high among all the team members and we took breaks every hour or so to discuss things “in the margins” as well as just to take a breath. Col Sneke was not happy with our progress. Benno and I believed we were on track. During the break, Col Sneke told me I had a phone call. It was my general officer back at the Pentagon chewing me out for not expediting the negotiations. He suggested I hurry things up, he explained he had called because Col Sneke had called him complaining about the “lack of progress.”

I went back into the conference room, told my team to pack up their stuff, we were leaving. Benno asked why. I told him my general apparently thought I was mishandling the negotiations and I felt the lack of confidence was enough to compel my withdrawal. I told him this had started with a call from his embassy. By the time my team got back to the Pentagon, someone from the Dutch Embassy had called and said that progress was being made and that the US team should not be changed. My general challenged us to stay on track. I was happy. Until…

We finally found a clause in the SOFA upon which we could NOT agree. Significantly not agree. We went back and forth with options and alternatives but both sides were firm, neither willing to give an inch. And the clause was critical…under the SOFA with US forces flying over Holland, if there’s an accident, the host country (Holland) would pay for all the damages and the US would have no liability. Since that was the way it was over Dutch soil, that is what the Dutch wanted for RNLAF pilots flying over US soil. When I took this position back to the Pentagon, they said no…Holland had to pay for all damages, the US would pay for none. US policy people were not willing to budge. The Dutch were not willing to budge. The deal was near collapse. Sneke was very unhappy. Benno was firm. I was getting “short”…not much time left in the USAF.

After a couple of frustrating days trading ideas over this clause, I was back in the Pentagon in the evening in a meeting with my general and a senior DoD attorney, Susan Ludlow-McMurray. She’d been involved in the background since the beginning of negotiations and was very experienced in complex international agreements. After my dismal status update, we discussed alternatives that had already been rejected, paced the room, and then Susan said, “Why not just leave the clause out?” Perhaps this was the ultimate in “kick the can down the road” philosophy, but her point was, the issues won’t change should something happen but the people dealing with an event would be more familiar with the actual operation and not be dealing with a concept. The general and I heartily agreed. She called higher ups. It was approved.

The next day I went back to the embassy and proposed the exclusion, Benno thought, nodded his head. We were done. My last task in the Air Force.

That joint training program is still alive and well in Tucson but now it’s not just Dutch and US, it’s an international training program. I’m proud to have been a small, but unknown part of that project. One of the cooler things I think I’ve ever done.

The OV-10 image above was taken in the Air Force Museum in Dayton, OH. Of all the airplanes I flew in the USAF, I had the most fun in the OV-10. And actually, I’m pretty sure that this was one of the airframes I flew.

Ready for Green

Springtime view of Woodrow Wilson Bridge (5/2020)

Quiet reigns. The days are getting longer. I’m relaxed. My stress level is low. The trees are bare. Cold is king. Well, not South Dakota/Minnesota cold, but, chilly by anyone else’s standards. I miss the green leaves. Before we moved to RVA, January was precariously unpredictable and I often shoveled snow. But now, just 90 miles south of the DC suburbs, snow is a rarity. Thank God.

Yesterday and today I “un-decorated” the Christmas tree. This was a solo event. Diane does the rest of the house so all things are put in their proper boxes. The kids used to put the tree decorations away (well, most of the time). This year, it was just me. I had four boxes to fill with the tree’s leavings. It was a surprisingly nostalgic time, for years my role in Christmas tree decorating was minimal, either the kids did it, or Diane and Kyle did it. I watched from afar, taking pictures, placing a few, kibitzing and enjoying the time. During this year’s tree devolution, I touched each of the decorations. Some of them I hadn’t held in years, since they were first gifted or purchased. Incredibly, I remembered everyone of them, why we’d liked them, who’d given them to us, and the relationships we’d had. Some were signed by the givers, “Love, from Kathy” for instance. Others were handmade by the kids…you know those popsicle sticks glued with Elmer’s onto colored paper to make mangers or Christmas trees or whatever… Others had little pictures in them, taken during that year: a young me with a one & a half year old Kirsten sitting on my lap pointing to something off in the distance; a smiling Kelsey, head tilted down, eyes looking up in that impish “Now what?!” look; and Kyle, confidently taking on the next gadget in his life. Tugging on heartstrings? Oh yes, a symphony of those strings. But now those decorations are all in a box, headed to the garage where they’ll be put on a shelf with a thousand other memories. Waiting to be played again.

Readers Anonymous

My family asked me a few weeks ago what I wanted for Christmas. I thought for a while and posited I would appreciate the gift of a book that each of them had read and preferably held in their hands (although I wouldn’t turn away electrons). I want to read the same thing they read but through the lens of my time, my biases, and my myths. They came through with the books in the image above. I’ve already started the first one, “The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes” by Suzanne Collins. I had no idea Collins had written a prequel to “Hunger Games”…so what was the proper thing to do? I have a philosophy on prequels written after a successful series, take Star Wars, for example. I think they should be read/watched in order of production so in Star War’s case, 4,5,6,1,2,3,7,8, & 9. (Not counting all the sideshow movies). I did not want to read the first three Hunger Games books. I’d watched the first movie many years ago. But now, now, I had the prequel and had no idea about what it was a prequel to. (I hate dangling propositions) Time for a binge watch. Kyle and I watched the first two Hunger Games movies yesterday and the second two today. We won’t watch the last until I finish the book which I’m targeting for next week. Not exactly Christmas movies, but hey, we were together!!

I’m truly very happy about these gifts and look forward to reading each of them. I will ponder what each family member thought as they soaked up the exotic words, the adventures, the mystery and the mayhem. Ha! Sounds like I want a book report…I don’t, I want to walk through the pages of a book, just a few hours, virtually together in a bit of a different way. Makes me happy.

And then, they were gone…

Christmas Village Miniatures

The Christmas Season is an increasing symphony of anticipation, preparation, joy, and laughter. The fun, frustration and frenzy of in-person shopping trips measured against the frequent stops of the Amazon truck. The Holiday movies playing in the background as we wrap packages, decorate the tree, ready the guest beds. The Facebook and online greetings combined with the ever decreasing snail mail Christmas cards. We plan for five days worth of fun into what is really only 24 hours of time available. Then comes the day…presents opened, dinner together, laughter, smiles, pictures. And, to all, a goodnight.

And now, well, it’s quiet again, each of us heads home, another thread woven into life’s texture. I wrap myself in the quiet and settle in with the memories of sound, touch, taste and love from the days of Christmas 2023. Today is just the Second Day of Christmas, I wish all of you joy, fond memories of Seasons past, and the beginning of an awesome New Year.

Then & Now

I am paying more attention to emotion in my images…a more purposeful journey than I imagined. The approach got me to thinking about evolving. To that end, I picked three images from this year and compared them to three images I took in 2018. Criteria? No, not really. I just appreciated the images. Two from 2018 had been selected to hang in The Art League Gallery for a month, but that’s not why I chose them. The question I was asking myself…has my art evolved over the past five years and if so, am I happier than I was then?

How could I forget that 2018 was also the year I had a hip replacement and a heart attack? Except, I actually had forgotten until I saw the image of me in a hospital bed. Ha, ha…those were the days, waited on hand and foot. Some observations about the differences. I am taking WAY fewer photos these days. Could be my age keeps me in, there is some truth in that. I took more than 18,000 images in 2018, I’ve taken about 5,000 this year. Quite a change. Could be because I don’t know Richmond like I knew DC and as an older guy, I’m more bashful about going places I don’t know. Some truth in that, too. Could be because I had a super group of fellow photographers I went out with a several times a month including an ex-Pat Brit who can’t find the “Color On” switch on his camera. Could be I’m spending more time with my wife learning about the new city we live in. In truth, it’s a little of all of those things. However, this year I’ve focused more on the emotion the composed image triggers in my brain. It’s no longer lines and edges and thirds…it’s about how I feel when I look through the viewfinder.

The images above are from this year. The first image is an iconic 19th century kitchen scene…I can imagine working in the light of the window with a candle ready for the coming darkness. I’m comforted by the warm setting but terrified as enslaved people worked in that very spot. I’m also attracted to this image for Koh-Itten, red, one spot. The red grinder brings my eye deeply into the setting and is a thing of efficiency in a world of forced labor. The second image was found near a canal with two walkers headed to trail’s end. The size of the walker on the bridge provides scale. The forest behind the bridge is a borrowed landscape bringing the forest to the walkers which is probably where they’d come from on their walk. The bench breaks the photo in half and suggests a place to rest or enjoy the forest. The last image was on a street walkabout in Fredericksburg, VA. The young man was curled up on a pillow reading a book in the window space of a book store. What great window dressing! I enjoyed seeing his little bit of isolated sanctuary from the busy street seen in the reflections.

The images below are from 2018. Our land, that, is the land in America, is a powerful symbol of the diverse peoples who live on it. The first image seemed to represent the untamed woods and the cultivated fields. I was attracted, of course, by the symmetry of the bales. The second image was taken on a chilly, rainy day on The Wharf in DC. The rain was coming down hard…my friends and I and our cameras were protected with awnings and beer. The young lady was walking quickly. She had to be careful the wind did not steal her umbrella away. The last image is of a man and boy, perhaps father and son, playing in the fountain on The Wharf on a sunny day. I wanted a long exposure to “freeze” the water but was afraid the father son would move and lose focus. I was bracing my camera on a handrail, the two stopped, I took the shot. Perhaps these last two are also “emotional” but I think I approached them more as events than human feeling.

I conclude my art has evolved. Perhaps not a lot, certainly not from a “sellable” or “gallery-worthy” perspective, but I’m happier with what I’m doing. What do you think?

Christmas Quiet

Capitol 2018

A different kind of quiet. “Christmas now” versus “Christmas past.” Part of a Dickens story…maybe, put certainly part of my story and probably many others. So, what’s different? Hmmm. When I was a little kid, Christmas was exciting, noisy, impatient, musical, and interactive. As an older teen my circle expanded and became even more filled with the sounds of joy and excitement. Secular? Christian? Certainly both, I think. As a young adult I traveled back to the parent’s and in-law’s homes for Christmas and the Holiday sounds continued. When Diane and I married some 33 years ago, I was in law school with a very loud and joyous group and we celebrated together as hard and loud as you’d expect students (even of my advanced age) to do. Thirty years ago we had our first child and silence during the Holidays was unheard of.

I’m an “older” dad and for me, that’s been a blessing since I’ve carried the joyful noise of Christmas into my 70s. Until now. Now, it’s quiet. When the three kids were growing up I’d write small “poems,” usually knockoffs from a poem like “Night Before Christmas.” and cut them up into small pages of four lines each. Each stanza was written to guide the child to where I’d hidden the next stanza. I would hide them throughout the house. They knew that sometime during this treasure hunt, they would discover a small toy or candy or dollar bill for each of them. They would take turns reading the clues but would all search for the next one. Each night we’d gather, read, laugh, search, and have fun. It was a break or transition from the busy days at work and school to the time of family and fun and waiting for Christmas Day.

But now, it’s quiet. Diane or I open the Calendar door sometime during the day, no fanfare, no poem. But, memories flow when we look at the empty space behind the door. Until today, I hadn’t noticed the quiet.

The image above was taken outside the Capitol in 2018, flags at half mast honoring President George HW Bush who had just passed. The image below was taken this morning of our Advent Calendar.

Our Advent Calendar

Happy Holidays!!

Last night we went to the Ginter Garden Dominion Energy Garden Fest of Lights. This was our first visit to the light festival even though we visit Ginter Garden quite often. Truthfully, I’ve been reluctant in the past because I anticipated cold (wrong!) and the crowds (wrong again!). BUT, this was different, we went just as the sun was setting on a weekday to avoid the crowds. AND, the temperature was in the high 40s, low 50s, clear skies so the weather was perfect. There were folks with small kids but not that many, I’d think it will pick up as Christmas gets closer. And it will get colder. Ah. Life.

The images are from my camera, hand held so the ISO and “noise” is a bit high. The video is from my little camera on a stick. We walked all the walks, had hot beverages in the “Jingle Bar,'“ sat in most of the benches, and enjoyed our time in the forest, electronic as it was. For us, this was a peaceful, two hour, Norman Rockwell kind of night.

Dear Diary,

Carmel, Indiana

I am a fan of benches and also of “forest baths” so when the two meet…I am compelled to sit and immerse myself in the forest’s embrace. Sounds corny…but it works for me. In Japan, forest bathing is Shinrin-yoku. Sometime it’s also called “komorebi,” the light that leaks through trees. Science validated the emotional value of forest bathing, enjoying the shadows, sounds, feeling of the trees and light. It’s proven to lower blood pressure, reduce stress, and help minimize worrying about things we always worry about. Sitting on a bench gives me the opportunity to soak in the motion and emotion of the trees…they do talk to each other, you know.

Whenever I see a bench, I imagine other people sitting on it. What were they thinking when they looked out at the same view I’m seeing? I took this image 15 years ago, almost to the day (11/26/2008) on my brother-in-law’s property in Carmel, Indiana. His family moved several years ago. I’ll bet they left the bench. This was a peaceful place, the quiet, the smell of evergreens and crisp fall air, the sound of the leaves rustling in the light breeze. Yesterday I listened to a Zoom lecture on Forest Bathing from the Smithsonian. The speaker is a certified Forest Bathing tour guide and teaches folks how to make the most of your time in nature. She tells me that large sections of Japan’s forest have been specifically reserved for Forest Bathing and tours are plentiful. There are several in the DC area, sadly, I don’t know of any here in the RVA.

Stone Gardens II

Cemeteries are normally peaceful, quiet places. There are exceptions…Arlington, for instance. But, for the most part, when I’m walking, sitting, photographing in a cemetery, you can actually hear the birds. For those of you that live in more rural areas, you’re thinking, “Duh, of course you can…they’re always there!” But I’ve lived in a busy suburb or burb for a long time and hearing nature is not a normal “thing,” traffic, industry, airplanes, construction, machinery…but not in cemeteries. For some reason the sound of the “outside” of cemeteries stays on the outside. And most graveyards have benches and you know how I am about benches.

I was potsying (my word) around my YouTube Channel and saw this old video I made during COVID. Still practicing my software skills, I did a remake of the concept and even used some of the same images as Stone Gardens One but added a few from the RVA area. I don’t think I’m being morose or depressed or whatever, I just like graveyard quiet and try to stop and walk about when I can. There are some extravagant monuments in the Richmond area. There are just as many unmarked graves.

I don’t think I find comfort visiting my parent’s graves. In fact, I know I don’t. I am thankful for all they did for me but that’s got nothing to do with where they are buried and me going to “visit” them. I honor them wherever I am by trying to live up to the values they tried to impart. I don’t do flowers, stones, or any icon. And, I certainly don’t go to cemeteries to talk to ghosts! Hah, I carry my own ghosts, I don’t need strangers. Of course, if my parents had been buried on a hill with a view and a comfy bench…it might be a different story.