JAPANESE RICE FIELDS: ORIGINAL PHOTOS BY R.L. HUFFSTUTTER 1961

JAPANESE RICE FIELDS: ORIGINAL PHOTOS BY R.L. HUFFSTUTTER 1961
Originally uploaded by roberthuffstutter

A GREAT PLACE FOR RIDING SMALL MOTORCYCLES.......until they run out of compression and one has to push them up the hills. And there are quite a number of hills, despite the name Kanto Plains. These rural scenes were, indeed, serene. And throughout my nearly three years in Japan, not once was I ever the recepient of scorn or hateful remarks. Japan is a beautiful nation with a most forgiving population.

Greetings from Las Vegas - 1960s

Greetings from Las Vegas - 1960s
Originally uploaded by nyctreeman -

At the very end, on the left, there is the GOLDEN GATE HOTEL, the oldest in LV and for years the best place to stay downtown. Rooms were $20 and the shrimp cocktails were 25 cents..........The dude once blew smoke and said "howdy pardner."

Greetings from Las Vegas - 1960s

Uploaded by nyctreeman - on 2 Nov 08, 6.28AM PST.

Compose your blog entry

vacation decals

vacation decals
Originally uploaded by Water Tower Pisan

vacation decals
Jason sent me this cool website on decalcomania..check it out

www.creativepro.com/article/heavy-metal-madness-decalcoma...

Uploaded by Water Tower Pisan on 26 Jun

Keep on Drumming

Keep on Drumming
Originally uploaded by felixtcat

Keep on Drumming
Restaurant in the Hotel President, Kansas City.
www.drumroomkc.com/menu.html

MY NAVY FRIEND, CHARLES, on the beach at Venice, California

MY NAVY FRIEND, CHARLES, on the beach at Venice, California
Originally uploaded by roberthuffstutter

MEMORIES OF A WILD HORSE AND SOME SPANISH MODELS...By Robert L. Huffstutter

Browsing through my photostream, seeing this photo of my friend, Chuck, reminded me of the times a few of us Navy guys spent in Ensenada in 1960 and early 1961. One of our favorite activities down south of the border was riding horses on the beach. After a night of celebrating at the Plaza, we would meander down toward the shore around noon on Saturdays. There was alway an enterprising young man or an elderly gentleman with a small herd of horses ready for riding by those bold enough to try their efforts at galloping through the surf. The rental was about a dollar per horse for a few hours. The horses were not the tamest and as fate would have it, I chanced to mount a strange -eyed white and speckled horse one Saturday that gave me the ride of my life. As we prepared for our casual ride a few miles south, watching out for rocks and boulders, drinking wine from leather bags, laughing, telling jokes, trying our Spanish, my mount must have tired of Yanque b.s and picked up pace. Not an equestrian type, I was a bit concerned and called a quick whoa, then pleaded for a pronto alto, but to no avail. The man or lad in charge picked up the gait and was getting a faceful of sand as he strove to come to my rescue. Hunkered down and certain it was the end, the handler figured out a move that I am sure he had been forced to make on previous jaunts; he drove his steed to full speed and once he was about a hundred yards in advance, he reversed and met us headlong. It looked like a horse to horse head-on collision, but his knowledge saved the day. His horse must have been the '' BOSS HORSE' because the action stopped abruptly. ''Sorry, senor, '' he apologized and offered me my dollars back. I refused and added another dollar to his hand, shook his hand and sat down on a boulder for an hour contemplating the outline of the sleeply village north of where the wild ride ended. My amigos had quite a laugh and commenced to give me lessons on where and what I must have done to spook my mount. I took the lessons with a grain of sand and vowed the next time I would ride a wild horse would be sometime far in the future. It was a serene and peaceful walk back to the Plaza where I joined my buddies at the bar, engaged in Spanish lessons with some delightful looking Spanish models on a photo shoot. The weekend ended with diverse and fond memories. We never did see the photographer in charge of the model shoot.

1950 Plymouth DeLuxe Sedan

1950 Plymouth DeLuxe Sedan
Originally uploaded by jay el

1950 Plymouth DeLuxe Sedan
At the All Mopar car show at the Pierce County Fair Grounds.

Uploaded by jay el on 5 Nov 08


PLYMOUTH FASTBACK 2 DR (FLATHEAD 6)...and it was one fast Plymouth. Back in the late 50s, dragstrips were places where we met on Friday nights to see if the milling of our heads had been done just right. I knew mine had been done right when I beat a 49 Ford v8 Crown Vic by 4 lengths in the quarter mile. I thank it might have been a good shifting on my part, but my Plymouth gained a mean reputation from thereon. Editor

Old-Beechcraft-D-18S--img188

Old-Beechcraft-D-18S--img188
Originally uploaded by Lance & Cromwell

Old-Beechcraft-D-18S--img188
Landing at Hammer Field in Fresno, California, in 1962. This plane first came out in 1937 at the D-18 a few years after the famous Lockheed Electra it mimics. It was a money maker for Beech Aircraft so they wisely updated it and re-introduced it as the D-18S in October 1945.

Uploaded by Lance & Cromwell on 1 Mar
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One of the most dangerous flight I was on was in this old faithful. Had taken off from old NAS OLATHE in summer of 61 and ran into red dust storm somewhere over N. Mexico. Zero visibility, no instrument landings capabilities, just red dust. Could feel it in our throats and respitory systems. Finally eased it down into slight visibility and landed in arid field. End of a perfect connection to San Diego. 24 hours later, arrived via Greyhound in San Diego. It was quite a fun experience for a youth, fodder for lots of hours at the club. Editor

THE OLD IMPERIAL HOTEL in PRE-WW2 TOKYO -- Frank Lloyd Wright's Masterpiece in Japan

THE OLD IMPERIAL HOTEL in PRE-WW2 TOKYO -- Frank Lloyd Wright's Masterpiece in Japan
Originally uploaded by Okinawa Soba

i stayed here when it was 360 yen per dollar in the early 60s

THE OLD IMPERIAL HOTEL in PRE-WW2 TOKYO -- Frank Lloyd Wright's Masterpiece in Japan
Here we have T. ENAMI meeting up with the work of FRANK LLOYD WRIGHT. Wright's version of the Imperial Hotel, replacing those that came before it, opened on September 1st, 1923 -- the same fateful day on which the Great Kanto Plains Earthquake destroyed Enami's Photographic Studio -- along with most of Yokohama and Tokyo. Thanks to Wright's modern building techniques that employed a large amount of steel girders and reinforcements, this hotel survived with only minor damage. And Enami himself had rebuilt his studio on Benten Street and was back in business within two years.

After 45 years in service, the structure was finally razed in 1968 to make way for a new incarnation. Thankfully conservation minded individuals assured that part of the Hotel was saved. Students of Wright's architectural works may continue to see and examine this original Entryway at Meiji Mura Architectural Park outside of Nagoya.

The new Imperial Hotel in Tokyo also has incorporated some pieces of Wright's embellishments as part of the public interior spaces -- at least I remember seeing some of it before passing out in the Bar after too many "Rum and Cokes".

For more on the long history of the place, and its many incarnations, see : www.imperialhotel.co.jp/cgi-bin/imperial_hp/index_e.cgi?a...

Frank Lloyd Wright was also a photographer, and a book of 50 of his photographs taken while in Japan has been published. (Try a used book connection thru amazon.com)

From a Lantern-slide by T. ENAMI of Yokohama. Ca.1923-28. For more on the Life and Times of Enami see : www.t-enami.org/

Uploaded by Okinawa Soba on 22 Apr 08, 8.23PM PDT.

You better let him out!

You better let him out!
Originally uploaded by lawrence_thefourth

You better let him out!

Uploaded by lawrence_thefourth on 7 Sep 09, 12.04PM PDT.

Vancouver, B.C.: Royal Canadian Mounted Police postcard

Vancouver, B.C.: Royal Canadian Mounted Police postcard
Originally uploaded by fantomaster

Vancouver, B.C.: Royal Canadian Mounted Police postcard BY FANTOMASTER

REMINDS ME OF THE OLD RADIO PROGRAM, SGT PRESTON......

1960s Advertising - Magazine Ad - Lustre Creme (USA)

1960s Advertising - Magazine Ad - Lustre Creme (USA)
Originally uploaded by Pink Ponk

I REMEMBER THIS AD...IT WAS ONE COOL AD AND STILL WOULD BE MOST EFFECTIVE IN MOVING PRODUCTS. ONE WORK OF ART, REALLY.

1960s Advertising - Magazine Ad - Lustre Creme (USA)
1969 Magazine Advertisement
"Pink is for Girls"
Lustre Creme
USA

Uploaded by Pink Ponk

Boneyard

Boneyard
Originally uploaded by Military Aircraft

Have you ever seen or heard of the area on the desert, either AZ or NM, where many of the old WWII aircraft were stowed? If my memory serves me correctly, I recall passing such an area in either 59 or 60. The rows of aircraft went on almost indefinitely. On future Santa Fe trips to Los Angeles and another railroad to San Francisco, I never saw the field of aircraft again. Either they had changed the tracks to bypass the area or they had disposed of the aircraft. If you know anything about this site, please let me know. At the time, the planes were not wrapped in any material, they simply shone a bright silver in the desert sunlight.

_________________________________________________

Boneyard

Uploaded by Military Aircraft on 21 Sep 07,

MARY ANN: PORTRAIT OF A YOUNG WOMAN

MARY ANN: PORTRAIT OF A YOUNG WOMAN
Originally uploaded by roberthuffstutter

MARY ANN: PORTRAIT OF A YOUNG WOMAN
Mary Ann was never found of newspapers, she preferred poetry.

Uploaded by roberthuffstutter

A walk on the wild side

A walk on the wild side
Originally uploaded by Mother N in the big C

THE SIXTIES WERE GREAT. PART OF THAT GREATNESS WAS DUE TO THE MANY LOVELY YOUNG WOMEN WHO TRULY ENJOYED LIFE AND HAD AS MUCH FUN AS THE GUYS. LOOKING BACK, IT IS ALMOST AS IF WE KNEW WE WERE A SPECIAL GENERATION.

A walk on the wild side
There's a couple of wild chicks.....lol

Uploaded by Mother N in the big C on 4 Jan

Beautiful Downtown Conrad, Montana

Beautiful Downtown Conrad, Montana
Originally uploaded by J. Stephen Conn

Looks like a serene and simple lifestyle. There are many folks who would enjoy this simple life. Is there a bar in town where one can smoke? Does the town get larger as you get deeper into the downtown district? Don't answer, it looks good just the way it appears. This is just one of tens of thousand of towns scattered throughout the big sky country and the great midwest, the agricultural belt of America, the heart of America and through the vast plains and farm belt, then on across the Mississippi into another vast expanse of land almost equally the same but with more terrain and a larger population. America, America, it is not just Los Angeles, Hollywood, Boston and New York City; it is not just Washington D.C. and all who live and breathe within the Beltway. Those in these cities and our nations Capital are quick to forget there is another America that is really much larger. A great photograph.

Beautiful Downtown Conrad, Montana
South Main Street, Conrad, Montana

Uploaded by J. Stephen Conn on 2 Sep 09

GHOSTS OF FIFTY YEARS AGO

GHOSTS OF FIFTY YEARS AGO
Originally uploaded by roberthuffstutter

MY UNCLE AND AUNT ARE THE GHOSTS, but they were not yet deceased at that time. Aunt Dorothy would live another 21 years and Uncle Jim would live another 30 plus years.

Most of us boys built these carts and spent the entire summers painting them, numbering them and adding special features. I once used the visor of an old 34 Plymouth, a green plastic opaque visor, as a mini-windshield, We padded the seats; we installed old gauges from junkyard cars.

The ultimate appointment was the type of hood ornament we used.Chief Pontiac was the one that guided my cart down steep hills. One of the ultimate thrills of a cart driver was the "crash" where one could get up and walk away. It was a conversation topic that became more thrilling wth each telling.

Ronald Reagan

Ronald Reagan
Originally uploaded by sloganmaker

BETTY HUFFSTUTTER, SITTING ON STAIRS IN 1930S...

BETTY HUFFSTUTTER, SITTING ON STAIRS IN 1930S...
Originally uploaded by roberthuffstutter

BETTY'S GRANDPARENTS, FRANK AND ELLA HAWTHORNE, were not my grandparents, but they were very special. Grandmother Hawthorne was, as I remember her, truly one of the sweetest women on earth. She never differentiated between relatives; Grandma always treated me with the same kindness as all who were her immediate relatives.

Grandmother passed away while I was overseas. When Uncle Jim passed away in 1984, his death marked what had been a psuedo relationship between his daughter and me. The last time I saw Betty Jean was at Uncle Jim's funeral. She did, however, send my daughter, about 12 at the time, a postcard telling her how much she and her husband were enjoying their trip. Death often reveals the truth about how important money really is to some individuals.

Betty's husband delivered a trunk load of rusty tools to our home shortly after Uncle Jim's death;he told me that Betty had picked them up from one of his sheds on the property he owned at the time and that Betty thought I might want them. I thanked him and sorted through the wrenches until I found one with a Milwaukee logo.

No, despite what one might have assumed, I did not recieve so much as a brass button off of his old railroad uniforms. All of the items that I had given my aunt and uncle during our lifetime were not returned to me. There was a family heirloom, a solid cherry mantle clock that the Hawthornes had given me for my room when I was a small boy, another item that my Uncle had told me would be mine upon his passing away. I should have taken it when he had offered it to me several years prior to his death. That is only a small example of the items I assumed would be mine to pass on, but I assumed wrong.

There was, however, one important item that Uncle Jim gave me prior to his death, a very thick volume of old family photos. Betty Jean, it turned out, had no intentions of passing on anything to me. She had obviously planned out the distribution process long in advance.

My uncle had told me, time and again, that "someday, when I am gone, you are going to be treated just as though you were my son. I have it all outlined in my will, Robert," he told me. I had never really thought otherwise. I believe that perhaps he knew some things I didn't, I don't know. I recall, however, when I had been in my early teens that my Uncle and Aunt declared that it was time to adopt me legally. Betty Jean had told them it would probably complicate my life sometime; that it might have a pschological effect on me. Actually, it would have made no difference to me whatsoever. It was not going to change my feelings. Although I had never called Jim or Dorothy "dad and mom" verbally, they were the only parents Ihad known throughout my lifetime.

Though he did not go into specifics, he had told me that he had established a kind of trust for my daughter that would pay her way through whatever college she might want to attend. He had mentioned that again, a few days before his death at Trinity Luthern Hospital in 1984.

At the time, my mind was more on his health than it was on his finances. He had said we would get half of his estate and I thought no more about the matter. As I said, life is full of surprises, but as one ages, one realizes nothing really surprises one any longer.

The day after my uncle passed away, Betty Jean drove to the little small north Missouri town where his home had been for the past few years. My wife had offered to go with her to help, but Betty made it clear that she felt it would be best if she went alone. Betty Jean mentioned that she had found no will anywhere.

My uncle had made it clear to my wife and I that there was a will and that our names were on it. Uncle Jim was the type of man who would not have felt it was necessary to legally file a will with the County or wherever it is one needs to file wills.

"No, strangely enough, there was no will, but we'll work out the details after the funeral, okay," she had stated while we were at the funeral home selecting the final appointments. I hadn't mentioned any details, I had assumed that she would honor his wishes, despite there "was no will."

The last time I saw or heard from Betty Jean was when the burial services ended. Now I understand things more clearly.

MY UNCLE JIM HUFFSTUTTER

MY UNCLE JIM HUFFSTUTTER
Originally uploaded by roberthuffstutter

Sometime around 1944, I remember my younger sister and I living in a large room with many other children. Why we were tjere, why we were put in an orphanage is a question my dad or mom never told me.

Eventually, my Uncle Jim came to my rescue. My sister was returned to our mom and had the unique experience of living with a step dad and a lot of new half brothers. I was spared that gregarious part of childhood, a subject we start to discuss on occasions and then change the subject. Domestic problems are not new; they have been around since the Garden epoch.

To avoid a lot of verbs and nouns, let me simply say that uncle JIm was the father i remember best. He was a great provider of food, shelter and clothing and there are many fond memories I cherish of his unique way of raising an only son, a nephew, me.

My memories of the man who was my dad's older brother are fond and seem to become more intense as I grow older. It is, I suppose, natural for a man to compare himself to his father in greatness; it is only normal for a male to want to know if he has measured up to his dad.Looking back, I see few men who were greater than Uncle Jim. He had a unique greatness about him that I will never atttain; he had a character I admired and still respect. My uncle's greatness was born from his early independence as a youth and his desire to educate himself beyond the level of his last class in the Laredo, Missouri school he attended. Seven years older than my dad, Jim knew early in life that he would be on his own and that if he wanted to succeed in life it would depend on his ability to use his mind and hands. There were no child welfare programs in the early twentieth century; there was nodbody checking on who was going to school and filling out reports on home conditions. If there had been, my Uncle and my dad would have been seperated and parted by welfare agencies forever.

Having lost his mother shortly after she gave birth to my dad, Jim used to talk about how much he had loved his mother; he told me how he last remembered her laying in state in the home with a filmy netting covery her in canopied fashion. In 1912, embalming was not mandantory and the deceased had to be be kept cool. There was usually a speedy burial of the relative that passed away back then. He told me how the undertaker had driven up to the house with the horses and how the casket with his mother remained in his memory forever, always riding in the wagon toward Black Oak Cemetery. He said it was a rainy day when they laid his mother, Sarah Jane Rooks Huffstutter to rest. He mentioned, time and again, the rain and the color of the grey in the sky, the sound of the horses as the wagon headed toward the old cemetery where relatives who fought for the Union are still buried.

Nobody in our family ever owned slaves or dealt in the business of slavery, a fact that makes me free from paternal and personal guilt, though it is God's law that we are not punished for the sins of our fathers. There were thousands who were punished. That is an unfortunate part of history. I take comfort in the fact that I did not choose my parents based on political correctness or prejudice. Life is what it is and who gets what soul is not mine to discuss, thus I prefer to leave this to those who continue to be preoccupied with the negative history of a great nation.

Uncle Jim was proud he had uncles who fought for the preservation of this nation. He told me stories about the loss of those relatives, stories passed down by his father, a relatively elderly gentleman when he began what was his second family in 1898 with the birth of his first son, Frank, three daughters, Jim and finally my dad. Their dad, Robert Levi Huffstutter, born in 1856, had a prior family he left back in Indiana when his first wife refused to move to Texas in the 1890s. He simply hitched up his wagon, so the story goes, asked her one last time to join him, and headed west. Two of his former children got in the wagon with him for the drive to Texas in the area he wanted to settle. Eventually, he moved to Missouri. Family histories get really complex. I have never been one to spend time climbing family trees, but the fact that my grandfather, my dad's dad was born in 1856 while Lincoln was alive and President has always held a certain fascination for me. It has, in some ways I feel, given me a link to the past that makes me feel closer to that era in our nation's history.

My uncle told me many stories about Union veterans who had been wounded in the fight to preserve this nation. My uncle was a patriotic man; he knew the history of this nation because he had taken it upon himself to read. As a little child, I recall how much time he spent reading the Kansas CIty Star and newspapers he found on the train. When the train run ended, he and the other railroad crew would divide the magazines and newspapers. But I could go on and on about my admiration for my uncle and I will, at a future time. For the moment, let me say that my Uncle's greatness was, in my opinion, a sincere greatness he created as a small lad and continued adding to it as time passed.
Posted 4 hours ago. ( permalink | delete | edit )

JIMMY AND MARGIE HUFFSTUTTER: OZARKS VACATION 1949

JIMMY AND MARGIE HUFFSTUTTER: OZARKS VACATION 1949
Originally uploaded by roberthuffstutter

UNCLE FRANK'S OLDEST SON, JAMES F. HUFFSTUTTER

As a small boy, my cousin Jimmy and his wife were among my favorite relatives. They were always so full of laughter and life; Jimmy was always a friend I could talk with and a man who treated a boy with the kind of sincerity that boys remember. All of Uncle Frank's sons are now deceased. I was never notified of their passing. Sometimes we are the last to know that we weren't considered part of the family. Life is full of sad surprises. Jimmy was a veteran of World War Two; he was wounded by the enemy in Germany and awarded the Purple Heart. He was Uncle Frank and Aunt Rubys' oldest son. His brother, Robert Lavern Huffstutter was also a World War Two veteran of the Pacific Theater and also participated in the Occupation of Japan until he returned to the USA.

FAMILY FRIEND IN USN 1940s

FAMILY FRIEND IN USN 1940s
Originally uploaded by roberthuffstutter

BILL MOORE, A WORLD WAR TWO VET I KNEW WHEN I WAS GROWING UP. THE SON OF SOME NEIGHBORS, BILL DRIFTED INTO TOWN AND OUT OF TOWN, A MAN WITH HIS OWN PLANS FOR LIFE, ALWAYS DREAMING OF THE FUTURE. I HOPE HE IS ALIVE AND WELL TODAY WHEREVER HE MIGHT BE ENJOYING HIS FUTURE...This is one of the photos taken in Navy towns with the backdrops. They were popular and usually next to the tattoo parlor and the beer joints. One could get photographed, tattooed and drunk within a short time. That's what Bill told me. I found out later that Bill was right, but I opted out on the tattoo thing.

1959

1959
Originally uploaded by 4PIZON

1959
59 Chevy Impala

Uploaded by 4PIZON on 6 Oct 08, 6.24PM

BEAUTY OF THE ORIENT: FEMININE ESSENCE

Originally uploaded by - N a n a ♡•°°•°•°♪

THE CLASSIC FEATURES OF THIS YOUNG LADY IS THE ESSENCE OF THE BEAUTY I HAVE ALWAYS FOUND SO BREATHTAKING ABOUT THE WOMEN OF THE ORIENT. I BELIEVE THIS YOUNG LADY LIVES IN HONG KONG. HER PHOTOSTREAM ON FLICKR IS FILLED WITH HER PORTRAITS. CREDIT MUST BE GIVEN TO HER PHOTOGRAPHER. WHAT A MAGNIFICENT PORTFOLIO...........ROBERT, EDITOR

Uploaded by - N a n a ♡•°°•°•°♪ on 11 Jun 09, 4.52AM PDT.

Read about my night in Juarez...

Read about my night in Juarez...
Originally uploaded by roberthuffstutter

TOWARD THE GOLDEN STATE ON THE SOUTHERN PACIFIC'S PASSENGER TRAIN, THE GOLDEN STATE, OR IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN THE SANTA FE, I CAN'T RECALL FOR SURE, BUT I WAS HEADED WEST. WHEN IT STOPPED IN EL PASO, I KNEW I COULD MAKE MY SUMMER TRIP A BIT MORE EXCITING IF I COULD JUST DELAY MY JOURNEY FOR A DAY, VISIT OLD MEXICO, JUAREZ, BUT EVERYONE CALLED MEXICO "OLD MEXICO" BACK THEN. I GUESS IT WAS TO DISTINGUISH IT FROM "NEW MEXICO." AND BY THE WAY, I RECALL WHEN BOTH ALASKA AND HAWAII BECAME STATES. I WAS COLLECTING STAMPS THEN AND PURCHASED BLOCKS OF FOUR, BUT THAT IS NOT PRUDENT TO THIS STORY OF MY FIRST NIGHT IN MEXICO. WHAT BECAME PRUDENT, HOWEVER, WAS THE RESTRAINED AND SLIGHTLY HESITANT WELCOME I RECEIVED AT THE UNION STATION IN LOS ANGLES UPON MY ARRIVAL, EXACTLY 24 HOURS LATE, OR LATER, DEPENDING UPON HOW ONE LIKES TO RATIONALIZE ONE'S BEHAVIOR AND IRRESPONSIBILITY.

AUNT MARY AND GLORIA WERE NOT IMPRESSED BY MY EXCUSE FOR ARRIVING LATE. IT COULD HAVE BEEN WRITTEN OFF AS ONE OF THE FIRES OF SPRING THAT LINGERED INTO SUMMER, BUT NEITHER MARIETTA OR GLORIA HAD A SENSE OF HUMOR.SADLY, OUR KINSHIP ENDED SHORTLY THEREAFTER. WHEN GLORIA'S HUSBAND, JACK, ASSUMED I WANTED TO WORK TWELVE HOUR DAYS AT HIS SHRIMP BOAT DRIVE IN, WE PARTED COMPANY AND I FOUND NEW FRIENDS IN VENICE, CALLED VENICE WEST IN THE LATE 50S. THAT WAS THE LAST TIME I SAW MARIETTA, GLORIA OR JACK. IF AUNT MARIETTA IS STILL LIVING, SHE WOULD BE GETTING CLOSE TO BEING ONE HUNDRED YEARS OLD. FAMILIES JUST DRIFT APART.
MY TRIP ACROSS THE BORDER WAS FUN. IT WAS WRONG. IF I COULD DO IT OVER AGAIN, I WOULDN'T; I CAUSED SOME FAMILY MEMBERS TOO MUCH GRIEF BY DROPPING OUT OF SIGHT FOR 24 HOURS. BUT THAT WAS JUST THE BEGINNING OF MY DISAPPEARING ACTS AS TIME ACCELERATED. NOW, IN RETROSPECT, THERE IS MUCH I WOULD UNDO IF I COULD. I CAN'T, THUS IT HAUNTS ME AT CERTAIN TIMES, THOSE TIMES BEING THE TIMES WHEN I WAKE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT AND FEEL LIKE I HAVE JUST BEEN VISITING WITH AN AUNT OR AN UNCLE, ALWAYS ONE HAS BEEN LONG DECEASED. I DOUBT I AM THE ONLY ONE WHO IS VISITED BY DEAD UNCLES AND AUNTS ON A REGULAR BASIS.
THE CONDUCTOR GRINNED WHEN I ASKED HIM IF I COULD CATCH THE TRAIN THE NEXT DAY. "SONNY, YOU SURE CAN, JUST BE HERE AT THE SAME TOMORROW."
ONCE OUTSIDE THE STATION, I HAILED A TAXI TO THE BORDER. I MUST HAVE LOOKED LIKE THE FOOL I WAS WITH TWO SUITCASES, WALKING OVER THE BRIDGE. "CHICLETS, CHICLETS, MISTER, JUST ONE NICKEL," THE STREET CHILDREN, MOSTLY BOYS, HAWKED THEIR PRODUCT. ONCE AT THE END OF THE BRIDGE I FELT LIKE I HAD MADE A SERIOUS FOREIGN JOURNEY. FINALLY, ANOTHER COUNTRY. JAMES BALDWIN TURNED THAT INTO A BESTSELLER IN THE 60S. IT WAS GOOD. I UNDERSTOOD HIS SPIRIT OR THOUGHT I DID.
Posted by ROBERT L. HUFFSTUTTER at 5:20 PM 0 comments
Labels: ALASKA, CANTINAS, CONDUCTOR, EL PASO, HAWAII, HOTEL, JUAREZ, LOS ANGELES, MARTY ROBBINS, MEXICO, OLD MEXICO, PASSENGER TRAINS, UNION STATION
Wednesday, January 9, 2008

UNCLES'S DIAMOND RING WAS LOST ON END OF THIS PIER IN 1950

UNCLES'S DIAMOND RING WAS LOST ON END OF THIS PIER IN 1950
Originally uploaded by roberthuffstutter

IT WAS THE SUMMER OF 1950 AND UNCLE JIM AND UNCLE FRANK AND OUR FAMILIES WERE VACATIONING FAR FROM TRENTON AND KANSAS CITY. WE WERE IN THE HEART OF THE MISSOURI OZARKS. MY UNCLE JIM WAS WEARING HIS STRAW HAT; UNCLE FRANK WAS SITTING IN HIS HUDSON WATCHING, NEVER HAVING LEARNED TO SWIM, HE WAS FEARFUL OF DEEP WATER. HOWEVER, FRANK'S OLDEST SON, JIMMY, A WORLD WAR TWO VET WITH A PURPLE HEART, WAS WITH UNCLE AND ME ON THE PIER. SEVERAL OF FRANK'S DAUGHTERS WERE THERE. SUDDENLY, UNCLE JIM SHOUTED, "HOT DOG, LOOK AT THIS BIG CRITTER." IT WAS A MONSTER CHANNEL CAT. TO MAKE A LONG FISH STORY SHORT, AS UNCLE JIM WAS HOLDING THE FISH AND TRYING TO RELEASE THE HOOK, THE FISH WRIGGLED ABOUT AND CLOSED ITS MOUTH ON HIS FINGER. IT JUST SO HAPPENED IT WAS HIS RING FINGER, THE FINGER THAT HE WORE THE DIAMOND RING ALMOST AS BIG AS THE RITZ ON WITH PRIDE. AS FATE WOULD HAVE IT, THE FISH GOT AWAY. UNCLE JIM KEPT HIS FINGER, THOUGH BLOODY AND WOUNDED SOMEWHAT. AS UNCLE CALMED DOWN, HE SENSED SOMETHING WAS WRONG. HIS RING WAS MISSING. THE FISH HAD MANAGED TO SLIDE HIS RING OFF DURING THE ESCAPE. IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL RING, REALLY PURE DIAMOND, A RING HE HAD PURCHASED AT HELZBERGS IN THE LATE 1920S. BUT IT WAS GONE. AFTER SOME DELIBERATION, HE FINALLY PAID TWO DIVERS A FEW DOLLARS TO FIND HIS RING. THEIR DIVE LASTED NEARLY AN HOUR, BUT NO RING, ACCORDING TO THE DIVERS, WAS FOUND. JIM EVENTUALLY BOUGHT ANOTHER RING, BUT IT NEVER HAD THE TWINKLE OR THE SPARKLE AS THE ONE THE FISH MANAGED TO SLIDE OFF OF HIS FINGER THAT FATEFULL SUMMER OF 1950.

ON THE PIER: UNCLE JIM, AUNT DOROTHY, MARGIE AND JIMMY. THE AREA WAS NEAR BAGNELL DAM AROUND CAMDENTON, MISSOURI