Slinging Persimmons:

Growing up in the Ozark Mountains, far away from city life and organized events, we had to make do with the things we could devise, which included procuring the pieces necessary to put something together. Persimmons were quite common in our part of the woods. They grew wild all over our farm and neighboring farms, as well. A very competitive game was "slinging persimmons". It was quite easy, really.

A Persimmon is a fruit. It’s about 1” in diameter and contains large seeds. The fruit remains very bitter until after the first frost. To bite into an unripened Persimmon would cause the mouth to shrink and become very dry, an experience that would remain with you for a lifetime! It’s similar to taking the taste of powdered Alum. In the Fall, after the first frost, the fruit began to ripen and became exceptionally sweet to the taste. It was a very good fruit; almost a natural candy.

During the summer months as the fruit began to grow, while it was yet green. We would cut a long, limber switch (stick) and sharpen one end to a point. On the sharpened end we would “skewer” a green persimmon, leaving it out towards the end of the stick. Drawing back as one throwing a fishing lure, we would swing the stick high into the air at a very fast speed and, using a whip action, cause the persimmon to fling from the end of the stick, at the 10:00 o’clock position, at rocket speed. The leverage one had with the whip action of a limber stick caused the Persimmon to take off like a shot; sailing high and away. We often had contests to see how far we could throw a green persimmon. We were never good at hitting anything with the Persimmons, only throwing them so far that they would disappear from sight. At that time of the year they weren’t any good to eat but they were great at throwing. Then in the Fall they were no good for throwing because they turned soft and as sweet as sugar. After all, a kid needs to have fun!

The Patriot

My G-G-G-Grandfather, Aaron Thomas, a farmer, was a soldier in the Revolutionary War. He was 16 years old in 1776 when the Declaration of Independence was made. Then the fighting began and for the next 7 years he served the United States as a Minuteman. His bag was always packed and his rifle always loaded.

In 1781 he marched against General Cornwallace in Yorktown, Virginia with General George Washington and helped win a great victory. This was the site where the Americans finally won the Revolutionary War.

Other Great Uncles on Mom’s side served as officers in the Revolutionary War. Still others fought in the Civil War.

In the 1800’s, an uncle on my Mother’s side became a great soldier during the Indian and Mexican Wars, and was given the name “Old Rough & Ready”. He also became the 12th President of the United States. He was Zachary Taylor.

My Dad served our country in WWII, as did Mom’s 3 brothers. All 5 boys in my family served in the Military. Three of us were in Vietnam for part of the same time.

For us, the American Flag carries a different meaning. We hold our flag in high respect and honor. It is discouraging to see her publicly dishonored as we have given so much to making her proud.

Johnny Cash wrote a song that I have enjoyed hearing for a number of years. Since Desert Storm, there seemed to be a piece missing. I have taken the liberty to add my words into his song to help make the story complete.

Here is that song:

Ragged Old Flag

I walked through a county courthouse square.
On a park bench, an old man was sittin’ there.
I said, “Your old court house is kinda run down”.
He said, “Naw, it’ll do for our little town”.

I said, “Your old flag pole is leaned a little bit,
And that’s a ragged old flag you got hangin’ on it”.
He said, “Have a seat”, and I sat down;
“Is this the first time you’ve been to our little town?”
I said, “I think it is”.

He said, “I don’t like to brag, but we’re kinda proud
Of that Ragged Old Flag”.
“You see, we got a little hole in that flag there,
When Washington took it across the Delaware.

“And it got power burned the night Francis Scott Key
sat watching it, writing, ‘Say Can You See’.
It got a bad rip in New Orleans, with Packingham and Jackson
Tugging at its seams.
And it almost fell at the Alamo beside the Texas flag,
But she waved on, though.

“She got cut with a sword at Chancellorsville
And she got cut again at Shiloh Hill.
There was Robert E. Lee and Beauregard and Bragg,
And the south wind blew hard on
That Ragged Old Flag.

“On Flanders Field in WW I
She got a big hole from a Bertha Gun.
She turned blood red in WW II
She hung limp, and low, a time or two.
She was in Korea and Vietnam; she went where she was sent
By her Uncle Sam.

(Added: “She flew high across Desert Storm
When 9-11 hit, she carried a new form.
Across Afghanistan, in a whirlwind of fire
She waved on for freedom
As we held her up higher.

“Now it’s Iraq that’s taking it’s toll
With the terrorists’ struggle,
But she calls, ‘Let’s roll’.)

“She waved from our ships upon the briny foam
And now they’ve about quit wavin’ her back here at home.
In her own good land here she’s been abused,
She’s been burned, dishonored, denied and refused,
And the government, for which she stands, is scandalized across the land.

“And she’s getting thread bare, and she’s wearin’ thin
But she’s in good shape, for the shape she’s in.
‘Cause she’s been through the fire before
And I believe she can take a whole lot more.

So we raise her up every morning
And we take her down every night.
We don’t let her touch the ground
And we fold her up right.

“On second thought, I do like to brag;
‘Cause I’m mighty proud of that
Ragged Old Flag.

********************************

The great thing about this country is that we can all enjoy the liberties won by the thousands who fought in wars to make it great. I am reminded by the Scripture in the New Testament that says God “makes His sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the just and the unjust”, (Matt 5:45). In other words, the blessing of freedom is extended to even those who desecrate our flag.

In Memory of my friend................................................
Michael Conner was stationed in Darmstadt, Germany with the 6910th Security Wing during 1968 and 1969. His next set of Orders came down sending him to Pleiku, Vietnam with Detachment 2, 6994th SS.

I spent time associating with Mike during our schooling in San Angelo, Texas, becoming good friends. I remember him as a man of good character and integrity. He was the kind of person that made you glad to be his friend.

May we never forget those who gave up their lives yesterday for the freedoms we enjoy today.

The next few paragraphs are bits of information gleaned from other sources, especially from Mike’s friend, Danny Russell who was on the very same flight that day.

A Memory of Cap-53

The Shoot down of Cap 53, 22 April 1970, as told by Danny E Russell.

I'm Danny Russell and I was a rear end crewmember with the 6994th, DET 2 at Pleiku. With the help of Phil Ehrhorn, MY SEFE, our crew consisted of Lt George M. Wall, Pilot; Lt. Nasipak, co-pilot; Capt. Carl Lemon, Navigator;;SSgt Edward J. Mosely, Flight Engineer, all with the 362nd TEWS and Ron Lawlor, our 203. Phil was in charge of the back end crew consisting of SSGT Michael R. Conner and myself.

Mike and I were in charge of scheduling and we were really excited about flying together. We had made a point to hand pick this crew to fly with.

Mike had just recovered from a broken finger and I had just come off DNIF due to hernia surgery.

“We took off about 3:30 AM and flew an un-eventful mission. It was the kind that you knew who you were after and where he was supposed to be but he just didn't come up. We joked back and forth saying he knew who was up here and he was afraid to come up with all the EXPERTS up here ready to copy. About 10 minutes before time to RTB he came up and we asked the AC for permission to stay on site to get him.

Capt Lemon got on him and directed the plane into position, I think we had a fix on him when KABOOM. Reports say we got hit with 37MM but I looked down and saw at least a 4-inch hole right next to the Doppler set. Capt Lemon was the only one hit. I think a piece of shrapnel went thru close to his elbow-- not too much blood and he did an excellent job. He hung right there and between him and Phil, they got out the MAYDAY and gave our exact position.

Rescue was Johnny on the spot and other than me trying to clean my pants I think everyone did a fine professional job. Our first intent was to get to sea because the damage was to the rear end control and the front-end crew didn't have a lot of options.

We lost one engine immediately and the other one was smoking pretty badly, so going over the mountains was out. Next I think they tried for a landing strip but rescue said it was VC controlled.

Our next option was to bail out, so Mike and I went to the jump door and tried to open it. It was jammed due to the concussion. We tried and tried and finally the door just fell off!!!!!! We looked at each other and both agreed we were way too low to jump, and about that time Lt Wall looked back at us expecting the back end to be clean and ordered us to strap in and prepare for crash landing.

As we went forward, Mike was ahead of me and he automatically went to my seat so I took his rear seat. I had just buckled in and looked out the left window to see the wing hit a tree and break loose.
I honestly don't know if I was knocked out or not. I did realize that something very heavy was on me when I tried to move. One of the consoles had broken loose and had landed on me. As I got free, I started hearing moans and groans so I knew someone else had made it also.

As we slowly started to un-pile each other I discovered my good friend Mike, who had went forward and had taken my seat was killed. To this day I still ask GOD why. This man was married and all he could do is talk about his wife and the baby they were about to have.

Rescue was talking to a plane that had tailed us in, and he had radioed back that he didn't think anyone could have survived but we straightened him out in a hurry.
We were really a rag tag mess to look at; we all had head wounds and you all know even a scratch on your head bleeds heavy. I kind of laughed to myself as I saw Phil and Ron trying to wrap Captain Lemon’s head. What a HOOT that was.

We formed up next to a crater about 12 ft across. Rescue had no trouble seeing us there. As we were moving around, my D ring got hooked on some twigs and my belly pack exploded out in front of me, what a mess. I’m glad I didn't have to repack it. Rescue would have been fun to watch under different circumstances. I think all 4 branches were there. I think there were F4’s, A6’s, Spads, Cobra’s, Sandy’s and even an OV-10. They were great and I can honestly say they worked to precision. They told us what was going to happen and it happened exactly as they told us.

My memories of the next few moments were intense. I went back to the plane to try to help anyone I could find but my back started to really act up. I guess my strength had been used up and I finally heard someone asking for help but I could hardly function on my own so I hollered back to stay put and I would report their location. I think it was Mosely but I'm not sure. Man that was tough to not be able to function when someone needs you.

As I got back to our rescue area, the air rescue support did their thing. Cobra gun ships were blazing and rockets were impacting really close. This made me realize we weren't down here alone. Charlie was trying to get us.
The first rescue Chopper came in and Phil, Ron, and Capt Lemon got on. The next Chopper came in and lifted right back out. They told me they were taking on small arms fire, assuring me they would be back. Then the show started all over. Under any other circumstances it would have been fun to watch. F-4's unloaded, Cobras set and fired rockets. A-6s strafed. I think the OV10 had his side arm out! Ha! (That would be a .38 Cal Pistol). A small LOCH came in and I got on, we got about 20 ft in the air and Charlie hit the rotor and down we went…TWICE IN 20 MINUTES? COME ON… ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!

Here we go again. Now let me talk about CHOPPER CREWS…. THEY ARE CRAZY. The gunner picked up his 50 or 60 cal??? I don't know which, and set up and started blazing. The pilot after shutting down came over to me while we were being fired at and was standing straight up telling me " You know, I never did like that chopper, I'm going to get a different one tomorrow!

After sanitizing the area again, rescue came in again and got me out.
Upon reaching the hospital I learned that Capt Wall had also been killed in the crash. Ron, Phil and Capt Lemon were all accounted for and visually seen. I never saw Lt Nasipak or SSGT Mosely.

After returning to base and starting to work we learned that Mike's widow had given birth to a son. One month to the day after the crash, Mike Jr. was born, 22 May 1970. WE took up a collection and started a college fund for him, and I must say 63 guys gave ‘til it hurt. I'M so proud of them.

Upon returning stateside Phil and I and Alan Brack and his wife went to Tennessee to visit the widow and son who never got to see DADDY. Mikes parents and his widows’ parents also attended. I do not use their names only for their privacy.
25 years later we all went to THE WALL for a gathering. The little baby I held in 1970 was now a married man. We went to the wall at exactly at 9:35AM the time of our shoot down. We held each other and cried. After about an hour we started moving towards the Lincoln Memorial, Mike and I were kind of dragging up the rear and we passed a t-shirt stand. A t-shirt with a hologram of a soldier looking out of the wall towards a little 5 year old caught our attention. >>>> The shirt said, "Here Daddy, I brought you a present" We both lost it again!!!!

Yours for a better tomorrow, Danny Russell

A Letter to Danny
Danny, My name is Richard Bonazza. I was called Ben over in ‘Nam. I was at Pleiku from March 69 to the 1st of May when I went to NKP in Thailand. I knew Phil real well. I was flying on a 2-seater in the area just west of Cap 53 when you got hit. Our plane had taken enemy fire earlier but thankfully "Charlie" missed us. I can still hear Phil's SOS going out over secure radio, and then our plane flying over to see your plane smoking and the choppers coming in. We were low on fuel so we couldn't stay long. On our way back to base we heard "cap Killer" on its way to destroy the plane. Since I left a few days after the crash I never got to see any of you guys again.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

I dedicate this article to my friend, Michael Conner. May we never forget the thousands of "sons" who paid the highest price in that foreign land called Vietnam.

Flying in Vietnam was a real eye-opener for me. After a few missions under our belts, we developed a sense of awareness that can’t be learned any other way. The rattle of the plane and various noises associated with the flight become the norm. Any deviation from that norm was picked up by our senses and we became acutely aware that something was amiss.

Likewise, learning to read the faces of fellow flyers was invaluable to our daily routine. I will never forget those looks from the Pilot and Co-Pilot as they would turn around in their seats and peer back down the aisle toward the RO’s (Radio Operators), especially when they noticed you getting up and going to the tail to relieve yourself. It didn’t take but a couple of those to know you needed to hang onto something as you stood back there trying to “hit the bucket”. They enjoyed playing those little jokes of “fish tailing” or the quick elevation changes. You can imagine what that might have looked like!

Thus, it’s with this experience that I tell this story.

Toward the end of my assignment in Vietnam, I caught a “hop” from Phu Cat to Cam Ranh Bay on a Caribou cargo plane. I recall that there were three of us passenger types. Beside myself, there were two seasoned jungle veterans on board; “Ground Pounders” we called them during those days. We were seated along the right side of the plane on bench seats. The walls were fashioned with loose webbing, used for tying off cargo, I suppose. Our baggage was stacked semi-neatly on the floor and lashed down loosely with a Cargo Net.

The Caribou is a plane that was designed to take off and land on relatively short runways, adapting very well to getting in and out of remote Landing Zones. The engine was powerful and the plane quickly responded to the Pilot’s commands.

On this particular flight, as we became airborne and leveled off, the remainder of the flight was uneventful and routine. After an hour or so of flying, my senses became aware of something out of the ordinary. I glanced towards the front in time to see two faces turned around in their seats and looking towards the rear. I quickly processed the vision and reached down to tighten my seat belt and harness, as I had loosened it following takeoff. Within seconds the bottom fell out! The plane dropped like a rock. The baggage, loosely stored under the lashing, lifted off the deck and strained against the Cargo Net like it was trying to get out! At the same time the two frantic passengers to my left began making loud, guttural noises, naturally muffled by the noise of the engines. Their hands groped behind them and found the loose webbing, as their feet lifted off the cargo deck and appeared to float in a horizontal fashion.

This was perhaps the funniest sight I had witnessed in months! I turned my head away from the two soldiers in order to laugh until I was content, without them seeing my face. I could just imagine what they might do if I was caught laughing at them! The look on their faces was priceless!! They turned at least two shades of white as the blood ran out of their faces! I am certain that, in their state of panic, visions of dying crossed their minds! Their knuckles boldly stood out from the “death grip” they had on the loose webbing, that did nothing to hold them down, but did prevent them from drifting closer to the ceiling! I also took notice of the two grinning faces peering around the corner from the cockpit.

All of this happened in an instant! The plane probably dropped 600 feet and then recovered it’s original altitude. I was still laughing on the inside, as the two boys next to me composed themselves and once again took their seats on the bench. Within seconds they were quickly reassembling their seat belts and slipping inside the shoulder harness behind them. At the same time, the pilot turned around and told us to buckle up because it was getting a little “rough out there”. Ha! I looked at the Pilot and grinned. I had learned from my 148 Missions that “air pockets” are often created in the minds of shrewd Pilots. … Mike Thomas

Grandparenting:

I was born at a very early age and becoming a grandpa wasn't something I had set out to become. Actually, becoming a grandparent was really quite easy for me. One minute I wasn't and the next minute I was! I'm thinking that you understand what I'm saying here.

I do believe that making a decision to become a grandpa took a lot more effort on my part. I'm not sure at what point in my life I willingly made that decision, but I know that I did make it. That decision wasn't because of something that I did or even an age level that I achieved. It was something asked of me by a little First Grader who wasn't even mine; but I love her just like she is. But that's another story. So what I want to say goes something like this.......

He was called "Mr. Bisbee". He was almost 70 years of age. His face was wrinkled from smiling so much over the years. He had a laugh that sounded like glass breaking. It cracked when he spoke and made the kids laugh just to hear it! I often wondered if his shaking hand was caused by the early stages of Parkinson's Disease. Whatever it was, it never got him down.

He regularly backpacked and camped whenever Boy Scout Troop 4 went out. He was loved and appreciated by the Scouts. He reminded me of a grandpa. To some of the boys, he was probably the only grandpa figure they had in their life.

Whenever we were on campouts, the Scouts were divided up into Patrols, which were smaller groups of similar ages with structured leadership. The Patrols each planned their own meals, cooked their own food and did their chores as required. The boys would bring Mr. Bisbee samples of their culinary creations, whether it was a sliced hot dog with cheese, chili, biscuits on a stick, fruit cobbler, or whatever their creation was.

It was like a formal presentation. The boys gathered around Mr. Bisbee as he sampled their delight; anxious faces awaiting approval from this wiry old man. He would take a smell, then a bite, then slowly savor the taste as he looked up into the sky. He always swallowed, licked his lips then looked into the eyes of the anxious boys.

His grin was priceless. He always had a good word to say about the food and commended their creativity. He thanked them for doing a good job and told them how great they were. Sometimes accompanying his laugh was a hug or a pat on the head.

During the daytime, around the campfire, he always had a joke for them. Mr. Bisbee had a way with telling jokes that it didn't matter if the joke was funny or not! Even if he had told it a dozen times before, Mr. Bisbee would always end it with his glass breaking laughter. That's all it took to start a chain reaction of laughter and bring on a dozen smiles from the boys.

He encouraged the boys in whatever they were doing. A worthless craft could be miraculously transformed into something of value simply because of what he said about it. He gave advice, led by example and laughed a lot! To these boys, his smile could take away the winter chill and make the sun shine on a rainy day. He was a mentor. He connected with their hearts.

He could do the 100 mile backpacking trips and be the evenings' entertainment with his stories and jokes. Rarely does anyone like Mr. Bisbee come along in a boy's life.

I wanted to be like Mr. Bisbee. I worked hard to tell the stories, or play the harmonica like he played, do the hikes, tie the 40 knots and connect with the boys. I did somewhat succeed, but that's another story.

I don't know much about being a grandma, but I do remember my "Granny" with all good thoughts. She was firm and opinionated. She seldom thought my Mom was taking good enough care of her son. But I have good memories of Granny. I enjoyed going to stay all night with her, all by myself. She was a good cook. Her house was warm and smelled good. Her farm had a lot of stuff for me to explore. She was kind and I remember her hugs.

Being a grandparent is a journey in love and learning. Just about the time you think you're getting it down, along comes a glitch big enough to put you back in grandpa school. But I wouldn't trade it for anything!

I have several grandkids. I'm really not sure how many I have! But three of those belong to my daughter. It seems to me that all of the energy I lost over the years...they found it!

Being a grandparent is an awesome responsibility. Whether you know it or not, you are being watched by little eyes. You may or may not be related to those eyes. It doesn't really matter. You have the power to lift a child high into the air or to dash his hopes upoon the rocks of despair. You are the one who can open a doorway for a child that no other adult can open. You can tell him about God when no one else can get through.

Perhaps when he turns 18 and goes before the Eagle Scout Board of Review and he's asked the question, "Who do you feel was the single most influence in your life", and he names your name, I can tell you from experience that nothing else matters. You could receive no greater reward than that.

It's a lot of work to become a surrogate grandpa to a friend's child who looks up to you and believes that you can do no wrong. It takes a lot of work to become a kind of grandma who's grandson or daughter desires to spend time with her, especially when he or she is a teenager! It takes a lot of work to become a Mr. Bisbee and help mould a boy's life into a man.

Whatever you do as a grandparent you can have an eternal influence on a child. Whether you realize it or not, you are being watched and mimicked. By the way you live your life, what are you saying to children? Are you making a difference in their life? Do you fill in the gap that's missing in their world?

Grandparenting is fun! Don't let it pass you by! It is like the vapor that appears for a little while, and then vanishes away.

Kids......enjoy your grandparents! There is not much time left. Have fun with them today!

Chow!