The Mirror of the Past*

Hazel and Ralph E. Couey, with my Dad, Duane

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

*Johnstown, PA Tribune-Democrat

October 23, 2011

as "Family Treasures Discovered"

When our father died in 2004, my sister and I had the sad duty of going through his belongings.  He had been a minister who traveled the world and amongst his things were reminders of his missions to all seven continents and a host of Pacific islands.  He was an avid reader, very much a self-taught man, and had acquired a prodigious collection of books.  They were mostly theology and philosophy, but included some history, and the collected poems of Wordsworth.  What we didn’t donate went into a storage unit, and eventually into my sister’s garage.  

We think we know everything that’s in those boxes, but occasionally we get surprised.  Once, she found a box of letters that our grandfather had written to Dad while he was in the Navy in World War II.  Neither of us ever knew our Grandfather, even though I bear his first name, so this was a priceless opportunity to peer into the life, mind, and heart of a man we wish we had known.

And it was amazing.  He was a man of strong opinions, and was not at all shy about sharing them.  He wrote at length about his life and the times in which he lived.  And those things that all parents fret about, namely the welfare and behavior of their children.   His words opened a window on a life we had never known. 

United by That Moment***

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey 

*Chicago Tribune
September 2, 2011
as "United by remembrance"

*Somerset, PA Daily American
September 3, 2011
as "United by Remembrance"

*Independence, MO Examiner
September 10, 2011
as "United in moment of remembrance"

It seems like just yesterday.  And yet it also seems like a lifetime ago;  that bright, blue, sun-splashed September morning 10 years ago when our world changed forever.  It was one of those moments, like Pearl Harbor and John Kennedy's assassination, that we remember exactly where we were and what we were doing at the moment we heard.

I was working in a Caterpillar factory in Boonville, Missouri.  It was a pleasant day for a change, but the morning air had felt distinctly chilly during my motorcycle ride to work. 

 My co-worker and best friend John and I were working steadily when the phone rang.  John answered, the looked up and said, "A plane flew into the World Trade Center in New York."  We shook our heads sadly and continued working.  I was thinking about an incident  in July 1945 when a B-25 twin-engine bomber, lost in the fog, slammed into the Empire State Building, when the phone rang again.  John answered it and then his face became agitated.  "Another plane hit the other tower!  The whole damn world's gone crazy!"

We tuned the radio trying to find some news.  After several moments we found a station out of nearby Columbia that had stopped their usual soft rock format and gone over to the audio feed from Fox News television.  We kept working, but our minds were churning.  As the reports flowed from the radio, we were shocked by the enormity of what had happened.  We heard about another plane crashing into the Pentagon, and a fourth one apparently crashing in Pennsylvania.  The government ordered every aircraft out of the sky.  And then in a moment of horrible disbelief, we were told that in New York City the twin towers of the World Trade Center had collapsed.  

At lunchtime, we turned on the television in the breakroom.  The reception was terrible, but the images were clear enough.

EARTHQUAKE! The Sequel

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

Well, it happened again.  Today, August 23^rd at 1:51 in the afternoon, the earth moved.  No, I wasn’t kissing my wife.  Somewhere beneath the rolling hills near Mineral, Virginia, two pieces of the earth’s crust bumped and ground against one another for a little less than a minute.  The result was a temblor that measured 5.9 on the Richter scale.  Southern Californians may be able to shrug off one like that, but here in the relatively quiet east, it was the most powerful quake in 67 years.

We felt it strongly here in the Laurel Highlands of Pennsylvania.  At work, we felt our building begin to sway.  It was a gentle back-and-forth movement that began to fade, but then surged even stronger.  Shelves rattled, plants swayed, chairs rolled. The shaking of the earth lasted less than a minute, the shaking of the building a bit longer.  However the shaking inside my fellow Pennsylvanians may go on for some time yet.

Earthquakes are a rare thing around here, even given the two we’ve had in the last 14 months.  So its not surprising that the local equanimity might have been a bit bruised.

Fear and the Dark Side*

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

*Pittsburgh, PA Post-Gazette

September 11, 2011
as "We've held fast to our freedoms"

"Those who would give up essential liberty,

to purchase a little temporary safety,

deserve neither liberty nor safety."

-- Benjamin Franklin

When a country is attacked within its borders, things change, especially when such attacks by foreign entities take the lives of civilians. Some civil libertarians have claimed that individual freedoms have been curtailed by the government since 9/11. But exactly what rights have been surrendered?

The key to Dr. Franklin’s statement above are the words “essential liberty,” which most Americans take to mean those rights enumerated in the Bill of Rights.  Also included would be non-statutory rights, such as freedom of movement.

Freedom of speech is still very much in force. An evening on the cable news channels, the Internet, and in the letter to the editor section of the newspaper provides ample proof. People are railing against politicians and positions on both sides, without fear of reprisal. But when the line between legitimate beefs and actual physical threats is crossed, then, and only then, do the authorities take action.

Freedoms of religion and belief have not been revoked. No religions have been outlawed. The uproar about the new Islamic mosque in New York City was all about location. People are still free to be Muslim.

Reactionaries who call themselves “Christian” have been blowing up clinics and murdering abortion providers for a long time; yet fundamental Christianity is still legal. The violent actions of leftist radicals in the 1960s are historical fact. Yet, today one can still be a communist.

The Road Less Traveled*

“Two roads diverged in a wood

And I took the one less traveled by

And that made all the difference.”

--Robert Frost, 1916

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

*Johnstown Tribune-Democrat
September 5, 2011
as "The road less traveled may lead to greatness"

There is a certain kind of comfort in routine.  Despite the boredom and drudgery, you always know what to expect.  What makes change so difficult, after all, is the mystery of outcome.

On the well-worn path, the branches have been brushed aside, the undergrowth compressed under countless feet. It is easy to follow such a path, both in the forest and in life.  We always look for such signs.  We want to know that the way is safe, the destination known.  With that assurance, we are confident that our journey will follow others who went the same direction.  

However, it is perhaps somewhat hypocritical to walk only in the same paths as others and feel that we have accomplished something ourselves.

On occasion, we will happen upon a branching path.  This one is rougher, shrouded by tree limbs and tall grass.  This path doesn’t appear on our maps; its end is a mystery.  We regard the trail curiously, asking ourselves, “Wonder where that one goes?”  But we continue on the familiar path; the safe path.

Great people have also come across such mysterious paths, and wondered the same thing.  And yet in defiance of logic and sanity, they quit the well-traveled path for the one unknown.  Their curiosity and sense of adventure has posed a question which can be answered in only one place:  At the trail’s end.

My Lap-Band Life: Seven months in

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

July was a disappointment, in many ways.  The organization I work for may close in the next month or so and while I’ve been fortunate enough to receive job offers, I haven’t heard final confirmation of my acceptance.  Either way, we have to move, something I’m not looking forward to.  I accept that change is the only consistent thing in life; but upheaval is not and that’s what I’m going through.

In the past, when I was going through stressful times, I would turn to food for solace.  When I chose to have lap band surgery, I knew that this would be the monster crouched on my doorstep.  The disappointing thing was that even though I was aware of this trap, I still fell into it. 

I gained one pound in July.

It was embarrassing to report this to the doctor at my regular monthly visit, especially after losing 14 pounds in June.  The one encouragement I was able to find was him telling me that nearly all lap band patients go through a bad month or two, but more to the tune of 5 or 6 pounds gained, not just one.  He suggested other ways to try to manage my stress, mainly being more active.  That’s good advice because when I’m stressed, my tendency is to shut down, crawl into a corner and mope.  What I need to be doing instead is to get up and move; taking a walk for example.  Not only would this help to fend off a reversal, expending some of that pent-up adrenaline would ease my mind considerably and take a load off my heart, which has been talking to me of late in urgent little twinges.  I'm holding off on another adjustment until I see what happens here in August.

Home Sweet Home**

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

*Somerset Daily American
August 27, 2011
as "Not new for long"

*Chicago Tribune
August 26, 2011
as "Not new for long"

Human beings are wonderfully adaptive creatures. When confronted by new situations and environments it’s amazing how quickly the new becomes routine.


I take occasional business trips, going to such wildly exotic places as Fresno, California.  Now, these aren’t vacation destinations (and who in their right mind would want to vacation in Fresno?), they are full workdays.

The first day, everything is brand-new, from the airport, the rental car, the hotel room, and wherever the business at hand takes place.  But surprisingly, it doesn’t take long for the new to become old, the strange to become familiar, the different to become routine. 

Airports look the same. The gates and wide concourses lined by various shops, eateries, and kiosks. It’s always a hike from the gate to baggage claim. But after several hours in a cramped seat, exercise is a good thing, especially for us in the blood clot age group.

As often as I’ve flown, my bags have never been the first ones to hit the carousel. In fact, I noticed that the first ones down the chute are usually the last ones to be picked up. I remember one trip to Dallas when my bag was the third one to arrive. It was like winning the lottery.

Furballs and Hearts***

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

*Chicago Tribune
August 19, 2011
as "Unwavering Loyalty"

*Baltimore Sun
August 19, 2011
as "Unwavering loyalty"

*Somerset, PA Daily American
August 20, 2011
as "Unwavering Loyalty"

The first dog in my life arrived under a Christmas tree when I was 6 years old. He was a Dachshund, small and wrinkled, with eyes that were barely opened. My sister and I took him into our arms and our hearts, naming him "Brownie."

We played with him constantly, taking him everywhere. At night, it was at the foot of my bed where he took his rest.  After only a year, he died when some miscreant threw a piece of poisoned meat into the back yard.

My sister and I were devastated.

But on Christmas Day two years later, our parents presented us with another tiny Dachshund, which we also named Brownie. He was with us for 17 years, a long time for a dog. We loved him and he us, but he didn’t take too well to my fiancé, unnerving her with his relentless silent glare. And every time we came home, he would be standing at the top of the stairs, leaned out as far as he could in order to see around the staircase and greet us with wagging tail and a joyful bark.

But as the years passed, he began to suffer. His back legs became stiff, and then paralyzed. Finally, my Mom could stand it no longer and without telling the rest of us, she took him to the vet and gave him his final rest. I remember that moment of shock and loss; the sudden hole in my heart.

I didn’t get another dog until after we were married.  We turned to the Humane Society, making two trips to the animal shelter. There were many dogs, but amid those jumping and yelping, and silent and quivering, there was one dog sitting quietly; composed and dignified. Cheryl walked by the cage door and suddenly stopped. She knelt down, and the dog responded, licking the fingers she stuck through the mesh. She turned and said definitively, “This is the one.” I know better than to argue with that tone of voice.

Only a Moment in Time**

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

*Chicago Tribune
August 12, 2011
as "Moments of time"

*Somerset, PA Daily American

August 13, 2011

as "Only a moment in time"

It was only a moment in time.

His son was now a teenager, entering into that age where relationships with parents could become difficult.  To be honest, the two had become somewhat distant.  The Dad was still coaching his son’s team, but the two rarely talked much off the field.  Suddenly, an opponent hit a sinking line drive towards the corner.  His son was sprinting towards the foul line and just at the right moment, he dove, snagging the ball in his glove.  The son came running off the field, his face split with a wide grin.  Dad held up his hand for a high five.  But the son, surprising both of them, ignored the hand and leaped into his father’s arms for a hug.  As they pulled apart, the two saw each other with all their fences down, their hearts wide open to each other.

It was only a moment in time.

They were in their 80s, a lifetime of that adventure called marriage behind them.  They had been going to the track at the local high school in the evenings to exercise.  As they walked along, suddenly she collapsed to the ground.  Despite all the efforts of bystanders and paramedics, she was gone.

It was only a moment in time.

He was so nervous.  He had wanted to ask her out for a long time, but fearing rejection, it took all the courage he had to finally ask.  To his shock, she said yes.  After all the anticipation, he was beginning to worry that she would get bored and leave.  Then suddenly, she looked up at him, and smiled.

It was only a moment in time.

The Finger and Medical Miracles*

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

*Johnstown, PA Tribune-Democrat

August 21, 2011

as "Aging men face medical waterloos"

Growing old is curiously both a curse and a blessing.  The blessing part is the accumulation of knowledge and life experience that results in the gift of wisdom.  Make no mistake, we all make mistakes.  Most we eventually learn from, some we never seem to.  Of course, having wisdom promotes the desire to share it, especially with younger people whose lives, we are sure, would be so much easier if they’d just listen to us.  They, of course, are just like we were, living life by the dictum “In order to be old and wise, one must first be young and stupid.”

The curse of age usually involves the infuriating decline of our physical health.  For many years, I played league softball and tennis religiously, although not always successfully.  Last summer at a picnic, I took a few swings in a pickup game.  The ball didn’t go very far and my sprint had turned into a lumbering plod.  I haven’t picked up a bat since.  Just too embarrassed to do it.

Stuff...and Change**

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

*Chicago Tribune
August 5, 2011

*Somerset, PA  Daily American
August 6, 2011

We all know about the tendency to acquire “stuff,” most of which usually seems to end up in the attic, basement, or out in the garage.  These are items that we generally don’t think about for years, perhaps decades, but are too sentimental to let go of nonetheless.  If a family stays in one place, then stuff is not normally a problem; out of sight, out of mind, if you will.

But there are times in a family’s life when homeowners have to confront the monster of their past.  Most times, it’s that moment in late autumn when the first big snowfall is forecast and suddenly you realize that the car no longer fits in the garage.  But the big event, the one we all fear, is that moment when you know you have to move.

Nobody likes to move.  We get comfortable and settled, and resistant to even the idea of packing everything up.  This happens more often when we’re young, moving out of the parent’s house, going to college, getting our own apartment, and then moving several times for various reasons.  But life changes fundamentally when you can no longer pack your entire universe in the back of a Dodge Neon.

Civil War: Events of August 1861

On August 1, Tennessee voted to adopt the Confederate constitution.  Brazil recognized the CSA.

August 3^rd marked the first use of aerial reconnaissance from a ship when a Union naval officer went up in a balloon to look at Confederate-controlled Hampton Roads.  Also, a Federal fleet bombarded Galveston, Texas.

In a naval action at Fernandina, Florida, the USS Vincennes ended the Rebel blockade of that port.

President Lincoln signed a variety of bills produced during the special session of congress.  Among them were a new issue of bonds, tariff increases, and the first direct income and real estate tax.  But the most important one was the Confiscation Act of 1861 which gave federals the right to seize property used in the insurrection.  This meant that slaves forced to participate in the Confederate war effort were essentially freed.

Also, Union enlistments were increased from 3 months to 2 years.

On August 6^th, the Second Wheeling Convention met to discuss the separation of Kanawha, what would eventually be the 39 counties called West Virginia.  Votes in these counties had run as much as 20 to 1 against secession, which necessitated the division.

In Kentucky also on the 6th, a naval officer, LT Bull Nelson was ordered to build a camp for the training of the Kentucky militia for the Union.

Speech: "She'll Always Bring You Home"

Copyright ©2011 by Ralph Couey

The sea is seductive. It holds an indescribable power over the soul of a human.  It is a place of awesome beauty and fearsome power.  Yet, at dusk when the sun’s dying rays appear to sink into its depths, it also inspires quiet reflection and deep emotions.  As author Kate Chopin put it,

"The voice of the sea speaks to the soul.

The touch of the sea is sensuous,

enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace."

Standing on the deck of a ship, you look around you and behold a perfect world of water, unbroken from horizon to horizon.  Beneath you lies a tower of water many hundreds, or even thousands of feet deep.  At night, far from any polluting light source, the sky is crowded with stars.  As the bow cleaves the water, tiny creatures are stirred up in the wake, giving the foam a glowing phosphorescence as it trails out astern.  During the day, you are struck by the sheer size of the planet you inhabit; at night, the majestic infinity of the universe awes you.  Either way, you feel very, very small.

But under your feet is a steel deck.  The engines are turning and the Captain is on the Bridge.  In the middle of incomprehensible vastness, you find comfort in the solidity of your ship.  

A mass of haze gray steel floating on the water.  That’s what most people see in a Navy ship.  But to a sailor, it is a vision that ignites strong emotions.  

To outsiders, the love affair between ships and sailors is a mystery.  You have to understand that a ship is not an office building.  It is a workplace, to be sure.  But it is also the vessel that carries sailors across the trackless seas to places of wonder and duty.  They work there, sleep there, eat there, and if necessary, fight there.  Some die there.

"Earn This!"*

Copyright ©2011 by Ralph Couey

*Johnstown, PA Tribune-Democrat
August 14, 2011
as "We must earn heroes' sacrifice"

I recently spent a weekend in New Orleans attending the reunion for my first ship, USS Ouellet.  We had a great time reminiscing and laughing at those memories.  We talked about deployments, the thousand incidents great and small that make for lasting memories.  We spoke of shipmates we had served with, officers we had served under, and ports we had visited.  It was a fine way to recall that in our most vulnerable years, we had done something worthwhile.  The friendships we had established decades before were revived as easily as sliding into an old comfortable pair of blue jeans.

In high spirits, we walked the narrow streets of the French Quarter in the same way we had done in exotic places like Hong Kong, Singapore, Manila, Tokyo, Karachi, Mombasa, and Bangkok, all of us falling into that curious rolling gate that marks a landed sailor.  On our heads we proudly wore those blue ballcaps with the ship’s name emblazoned on the front, and once again, we were shipmates.

In recent years, it’s become common for people to thank veterans for their service.  Having grown up during the Vietnam era, this is something I’m grateful to see.  A few times over the weekend, I was stopped by folks who, seeing my ballcap, offered a handshake and their thanks.

My friends might react in disbelief at the idea that I’d ever be at a loss for words.  But in these situations, I really don’t know what to say.  I am grateful, to be sure; but also a little embarrassed by the attention, mainly because like all of us who have worn the uniform, we don’t think of ourselves as being worthy of such things.  We’re not the heroes.  

The heroes never came home.

There is, however, deep inside something I wish I could say.

Peace...And a Cup of Tea***

(Quotes taken from an article in the Honolulu Star-Advertiser, and a televised report from KHON-TV.)

Copyright ©2011 by Ralph Couey
except the quoted portions as noted above.

*Chicago Tribune
July 29, 2011
as "Peace and a cup of tea"
*Somerset, PA Daily American
July 30, 2011
as "Peace and a cup of tea"
*Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
December 7, 2011
as "A cup of tea"

Shining out of a clear blue sky, the golden sunlight lay gently on the waters, the surface ruffled by the ever-present trade winds. A crowd of 150 people gathered, some clad in traditional kimonos, some in business suits, others in Aloha shirts. In the quiet of the morning, the pure white arches of the Memorial rose above them in peaceful beauty.

An old Japanese man sat before a table and with grace, dignity, and great ceremony, prepared a bowl of tea. He then rose and walked to the end of the room and placed the bowl on an altar and bowed deeply and reverently before a marble wall upon which was etched 1,177 names, the crew of the Battleship Arizona. Below the Memorial, they remain entombed within the hull of their ship which slowly rusts away in the waters of the inlet the native Hawaiians call “Wai Momi.”

We know it as Pearl Harbor.

No one from this hemisphere can possibly overstate the importance of the traditional tea ceremony to the Japanese. It symbolizes harmony, purity, tranquility, and reverence, fundamental elements of that ancient culture. Over the centuries, it has been performed on many occasions, from the celebration of love between a man and a woman, to a moment of peace during war. The ceremony is so revered, so symbolic of peace that even the warrior Samurai left their swords at the door.

The event on July 19^th was a ceremony of peace and reconciliation offered by the Japanese people in memory of those who lost their lives on that terrible Day of Infamy. It was the inspiration of former Hawaii First Lady Jean Ariyoshi, wife of former Governor George Ariyoshi. “I had this vision of people getting together, healing together, and honoring the war dead and praying for world peace. There’s no more beautiful place than to do it here.”

The Arizona Memorial is built over the remains of the sunken battleship and has since its inception been a place of reverent pilgrimage for Americans. Moored nearby, another battleship, USS Missouri, the scene of the Japanese surrender, reminds us that every war has two places in common. Where the blood first flowed, and where the killing finally ended.

"Baby, It's Hot Outside!!!"**

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

Chicago Tribune's hot"
July 22, 2011
as "Man, it
*Somerset, PA  Daily American
July 23, 2011
as "Man, it's hot"

For most of my life, I’ve lived in places where summers were uncomfortable, and occasionally intolerable.  Muggy heat makes me almost claustrophobic at times.  The National Weather Service has given us an additional measuring tool, the heat index. But I hated the heat index.  It’s already hot.  Do I really need to be reminded that it feels worse than it actually is?

In Missouri, summers were torture. Starting in late May, temperatures would rise into the upper 90’s and frequently topping triple digits.  The humid air would trudge in from the Gulf of Mexico, adding to the already-high temperatures.  I couldn’t walk from the driveway to the front door without breaking a sweat.

When we moved to the Laurel Highlands seven years ago, I truly thought I had died and gone to heaven.  The summers were mild.  90-degree days were downright rare and the humidity didn’t hold a candle to Missouri.  The nights cooled down nicely.  It was always a pleasant way to pass a summer, although frequent trips to Pittsburgh and the DC area kept me in touch with reality.

We have had some hot spells, generally short-lived.  But not this year.

Over the last ten days, temperatures have ventured into the 90s and this quasi-rain forest  has been very dry.  The combination has left our yards turning brown and our gardens panting. 

Several years ago, I stopped putting the window air conditioners in.  Part of that was the effort involved in carrying them down from the attic and installing them.  They’re bulky and heavy, and to be honest, my back hurts just thinking about it.  Really though, in the past few years, we haven’t needed them but maybe one or two days out of the whole summer.  But in looking down the road at the extended forecast, it seems that this hot spell is going to be with us for a while, anyway.

Attention NFL: Go Ahead; Make Our Day*

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

*Johnstown, PA Tribune-Democrat
July 24, 2011
as "Autumn of silence?"

The approach to every autumn, for as long as I can remember, brought for me a rising excitement.  The arrival of the cooler breezes meant that football season had arrived.

But this fall may arrive with an uncommon silence.  In stadiums across the country, instead of the roar of the crowds, only the whisper of the wind will be heard.  Owners and players find themselves athwart serious issues that have to be resolved to ensure the healthy future of the game and those who play it.

Owners want an 18-game season.  More games, more tickets, more revenue.  Players want to be compensated for those extra two weeks (and who around here wants to work for free?) and are very concerned at the effect of two additional weeks of violence will have on their bodies.  This is a very real issue.

Earl Campbell was a dominant running back with the Houston oilers.  He was an immensely powerful man with thighs the girth of which would rival a mature oak tree.  His best year was 1980 when he rushed for nearly 2,000 yards.  But his career lasted only 8 years. 

And the last time I saw Earl Campbell, he was in a wheel chair.

The 300th Post

Copyright ©2011 by Ralph Couey

Welcome to my 300^th post! 

On November 3, 2006, I started this blog as an outlet for thoughts that were swirling around inside begging to be let out to breathe.  As my newspaper columns became more popular, this blog became the repository for the things I wrote, not only the pieces that were published, but also ones that were too long or just didn’t work as a column. 

The subject matter has been broad.  As I look down the post index, there is a heavy preponderance of motorcycle-themed essays.  Included are those neat little “slice o’ life” subjects that columnists love so much.  Things like head lice, cows, seasons, the weather, and walks in the forest.  There are also deeper pieces discussing life, death, love, and United Airlines Flight 93, which really covers all three of those subjects.  There’s almost no politics here, a lack that really pleases me.  While I am active and I do vote, I understand fully that those decisions are mine alone and discussing them only serves to divide the audience.  And we have more than enough anger floating around these days.

Any, I thought I’d take a little look at that number, 300.

The Matches Made In Heaven*

Pacino and DeNiro

(Regency Pictures publicity still)

*Johnstown, PA  Tribune-Democrat

July 17, 2011

as "Screen pairings we love to see"

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

Written content only.

A match made in heaven

This is a phrase that’s normally used to describe a couple who seem to be perfect for each other.  But that expression can also apply to situations where two of the best take the stage at the same moment.  It’s always the stuff of legends.  And for us fans, it’s just plain fun

Al Pacino and Robert DeNiro were paired in a movie called “Heat.”  Pacino played a homicide detective who applied himself wholly to his profession at the cost of everything else in his life.  DeNiro was the consummate career criminal, an audacious planner of, as he put it, “big scores.”  The two sparred and weaved throughout most of the movie, coming together for one unforgettable scene, sitting across a restaurant table.  Powerful stuff.  They were the best of their generation at the peak of their craft, the quintessential tough guys.  Watching them, you knew one of them had to lose.  And that was the only bad part.

One pairing I regret never seeing, was Clint Eastwood and John Wayne.  

It could have been a story that unfolded on a Pacific Island during World War II, or on the dusty streets of Laredo, Texas.  Maybe on a city’s mean streets, one as the cop, the other as the bad guy, or both on the same side.  Any of those locations would have suited both actors.  

In a way, they were opposites.  

Not Only Names, But the People They Were**

The Columbine Memorial

*Chicago Tribune

July 15, 2011

as "A fitting memorial"

*Somerset Daily American

July 16, 2011

as "A fitting memorial to lives taken too soon"

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

The sky was overcast as I came slowly up the sidewalk.  The wind was gusting out of the northwest, a cold and bitter presence reminding me of my thoughtlessness in not bringing a coat to Colorado on this grim-looking day in May.   Enduring the frigid winds, I turned onto a wide path, the head of which was decorated with a low stone wall and a simple sign:  “Columbine Memorial.”

April 20, 1999 was a cool, cloudy morning in Littleton, Colorado.   At Columbine High School, students arrived for a normal school day.  But at 11:19, just as the first shift of students began gathering in the cafeteria, shots rang out.  Over the next 45 minutes, two students, Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris walked through the school, taunting and then shooting fellow students, some at point-blank range.  In terror, most fled the school, while others hid under desks.  The two shooters fired 176 times, saving the last two rounds for themselves.  In their wake, 12 students and a teacher were dead. 24 more were wounded.

The shock of this terrible tragedy was felt well beyond the boundaries of this middle-class community.  The entire country was in mourning.

It’s been 12 years since that day, a day that fundamentally changed schools forever. 

A broad walkway takes you into the memorial between two low stone walls, opening into a circle.  To the left is a wall with six openings through which pour a steady stream of water.  Straight ahead, three stone and marble arcs mark the center of the memorial.  At my feet is a large inlaid ribbon, and the words, “Never Forget.” 

On raised sheets of granite are engraved individual memorials to the 13 who were lost that day, written by the parents and families.  It is through those words that those thirteen cease to become names to be read, and become people to be remembered.

My Lap Band Life: Six Months In

Copyright ©2011 by Ralph Couey

                                                   Before                                 So Far

Second picture is a bit misleading since I'm wearing a baggy shirt and pants that are 4 sizes too big.  The difference really shows in my face and neck.  In case you're wondering who those cute kids are, they're two of our grandchildren, Diana 5, and Ian 5 months.

The adjustment at the end of May really helped.  From then until the end of June, I lost 14 more pounds down to 240.  That makes the total weight loss now 44 pounds since the surgery, and 73 pounds since the pre-op seminar.  I've gone from a size 52 pants down to 42, and my shirts from 3XL to XL.  My target is 180 pounds, so I still have 60 pounds to go, but I can see a glimmer in the far distance that just might be the light at the end of the tunnel.

I'm much better now at being happy with 3/4 cup of food.  I find I still have to have quite a bit of salad to...um...keep the plumbing functional.  I've learned to limit my intake of soup because it doesn't stick around to keep hunger away, but merely drains on through.  I'm really working on taking small fork/spoonfuls and chewing a lot before swallowing.  After the adjustment, I had quite a bit of discomfort because I had started to go back to eating too much too fast and I had to re-teach myself to slow down and cut down.

The heat and humidity of summer has arrived, a time that has always been intense torture for me.  Not only was I uncomfortable, I was sweating a lot, which made for some uncomfortable social situations.  I find this year, however, that my tolerance for summer weather is much better.  Granted, the temperate Laurel Highlands area isn't Florida, but when I venture out of the mountains to DC or Pittsburgh, I really notice the difference.  Of course, the flip side is that with far less bodily insulation, winters will now feel much colder, solar minimum notwithstanding.

It's hard to argue with results, and results is what I've gotten.  But the crowning glory happened this past weekend.  We went down to DC for the 4th and on the way we stopped at the Hagerstown Outlet Mall in Maryland.  We had our middle daughter with us who is newly preggers and needed some maternity wear.  While Mom and Daughter were shopping, I wandered around.  My first stop was the Polo store where I found quite a bit of clothes that fit.  But the best moment came a bit later. 

The Worst Fear*

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

*Johnstown, PA Tribune-Democrat
July 10, 2011
as "Speak your mind, share your heart"

It’s called Glossaphobia.  No, it’s not about your brand of car wax or furniture polish. It’s the technical term for the fear of public speaking.  Countless surveys and public researches have listed this particular dread as number one above all others.  It leads fear of death, spiders, darkness, heights, people, flying, open spaces, thunder and lightning, and confined spaces. 

Kinda strange when you think about it. 

If someone walked up to you in the dark and put a black widow spider in your face in the middle of a crowd of people standing at the edge of the Incline Plane lookout platform during a thunderstorm and demanded that you give a speech or die, I don’t think anyone would quibble over the choice. 

But according to the researchers, 3 out of every 4 people suffer from some form of speech anxiety, so you’re not alone.  It doesn’t seem to matter whether the audience is a few friends at a dinner party, or an auditorium full of hostile politicians, the fear is the same. 

Civil War: Events of July 1861

With the two sides firmly in place, the fighting starts in earnest with a graduate education in the inhumanity of war at Bull Run.

On July 2, Union Major General Robert Patterson took his division across the Potomac under vaguely-worded orders to re-take Harper’s Ferry.  Patterson had been slow to move which gave the Rebels time to deploy.  He ran into the troops of Colonel Thomas Jackson (soon to be nicknamed “Stonewall”) near Hoke’s Run.  He began to push Jackson’s troops back, but Jackson was under orders to only delay the Union advance, not to stop them.  Patterson got as far as Martinsburg, but stopped there on the 3^rd.  This inactivity allowed Confederates to bring up reinforcements which defeated the Union forces at Bull Run.

On July 4^th, Leonidas Polk, first cousin to President James K. Polk, a political general who possessed no combat experience, but had a close friendship with President Jefferson Davis, was commissioned a Major General and given command of Department Number 2, roughly the area between the Tennessee and Mississippi Rivers.

July 4th: A Birthday of Hope**

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

Berbera, Somalia

Photo by Ralph Couey

*Somerset, PA Daily American

July 2, 2011

as "A Birthday for hope"

*Chicago Tribune

July 1, 2011

as "A birthday for hope"

Some thirty years ago, I was walking the dry, hot, dusty streets of Berbera, Somalia.  I was a young U.S. Navy sailor and our ship had pulled in to meet a destroyer tender for some essential repairs.  We had been given a few precious hours of liberty, a gift after 7 weeks at sea.

It was a brutally hot day, around 115 degrees.  Clad in my white doubleknit uniform, I was rapidly boiling over.  But the experience that awaited me quickly eliminated any thoughts of my personal discomfort. 

The signs of poverty and hunger were everywhere.  People lived in hovels I wouldn’t have stored my lawnmower in. And when we looked at each other, I saw in their eyes, the emptiness of despair. 

Americans who complain about being poor obviously haven't been to Africa yet.

Independence: Declaration and Perpetuation*

"The Declaration of Independence

by John Trumbull

The U.S. National Archives

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

*Johnstown, PA Tribune-Democrat
July 3, 2011
as "Independence Day: A celebration for us all"

On a hot July day in 1776, a document was approved by the representative congress of an upstart group of colonies; a document boldly declaring to the world that they were now a separate nation.

The Declaration of Independence represented the height of temerity, and possibly folly, since the document’s target was only the most powerful empire on planet earth at the time.

The document opened with a strong and forthright statement:

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal,

that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights,

that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."

Few governments at that time had ever been based on such fundamental human rights and trust in its citizens.  The Declaration went even further, stating:

"That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men,

deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed…”

In that statement the United States placed the power of their government, not in the leaders, but squarely in the hands of the people.  Thus, ordinary Americans would always be the ultimate check-and-balance of their leaders.

At the end of the long list of complaints against the King, America took its stand:

Decide to be Happy**

Smilin' Al Lovin' the Sun

Copyright © 2009 by Ralph Couey

*Chicago Tribune
July 8, 2011
as "Worry, yes; but try to be happy"
*Somerset, PA Daily American
July 9, 2011
as "Worry, yes; but try to be happy"

“Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be.” --Abraham Lincoln.

It was a beautiful day. The sun bright in a clear blue sky, the breeze was soft and almost warm. The hillsides lushly alive with trees and flowers from which came the delightful chorus of birdsong.

I took the occasion to leave the office and take a stroll around downtown.  It was one of those days where the world seemed to rise up and dance in the sunlight. I dusted the attic of my mind, pushing aside the darksome worries that seem to be so much a part of our modern lives.  People were full of smiles and laughter. Friends were talking animatedly, and even complete strangers exchanged warm greetings. I stopped several times to speak to friends, our conversations light and joyful. We talked of many things, but mostly we reveled in the joy of being alive. 

One friend said, “You know, I feel so much better today than last night. I watched the news for a while, but everything was so negative that I finally turned it off.”  She paused for a moment, as a brief shadow dimmed her features. “I know the news needs to be reported, but why can’t we hear about the good stuff more often?”

Good Question.

Everyone’s heard the oft-spoken stone cold criteria for news: “If it bleeds, it leads.”  In these times especially, the media has a responsibility to bring to our attention the information we need to have, and with the economy teetering on the very brink, and yet another war to think about, most of that news tends to be bad.   

I watch WJAC-TV news most often, since channels 10 and 23 tend to be more Altoona- and State College-centric. To be fair, on a typical newscast, they do make the effort to bring several stories that involve news that is good, even uplifting.  But they only have 22 minutes in which to squeeze news, weather, and sports, so some things just can’t get covered.  Actually, when I look at the condition of the world, I think they do an admirable job bringing a fair balance of both the good and bad.

Throttle Back and Live**

Copyright© 2011 by Ralph Couey

*WTKR Norfolk, VA
June 17, 2011
as "Throttle back, live"

*Somerset, PA  Daily American
June 18, 2011
as "Throttle back, live"

“Write me up for 125

Post my face, wanted dead or alive

Take my license and all that jive

I...Can’t…Drive…55!”

--Sammy Hagar

Motorcycling, for all of its joys is an inherently dangerous activity. The most common of those hazards are well-known to riders: 

·        Failure to yield:  When another vehicle turns left across a rider’s path, pulling out from a side street or driveway, or changing lanes.

·        Sudden Stops:  A vehicle slows or stops suddenly in the traffic lane in response to a traffic jam or to execute a left turn.  The rider is unable to react in time.

·        Single-bike accidents: Usually a catastrophic loss of control for a variety of reasons, such as road conditions, debris, animals, or a medical incident with the rider or a mechanical problem with the bike.

·        Excessive speed, carelessness, distracted or impaired riding. 

It doesn’t help that many riders are woefully ill-informed with regards to proper braking technique.  Experts now say 90% of a bike’s stopping power is in the front brake.  In an emergency stop, the bike’s weight shifts forward, taking weight and therefore frictional coefficient from the back tire.  Riders who primarily use the rear brake will find their stopping distances increased significantly. 

According to the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA) in 2009 there were 106,000 motorcycle accidents in the United States in which 4,092 riders were killed and some 90,000 were injured.  50% of those accidents involved frontal impacts; almost 30% involved riders with a blood alcohol content in excess of .08.

But law enforcement agencies nationwide are now seeing a much higher incidence of speeding.  I’m not referring to the nominal 10 mph most of us add to the posted limit, but riders who use the highways for their personal race courses, flying along at speeds topping 100 mph.  In response, municipalities are enacting new laws.  When riders are caught racing and/or executing stunts on public roads, their bikes are seized. 

Not impounded.  Seized.

Thunder in the Valley 2011: The Dream that Roared*

Copyright© 2011 by Ralph Couey

*Johnstown, PA Tribune-Democrat
June 23, 2011
as "Motorcycle rally has become something special"

Summer is rally season for the motorcycle community.  Every weekend throughout these hazy crazy days somewhere motorcyclists are gathering. 

Every June since 1998, this valley has resonated with the thunder of motorcycles.  In the years since, Thunder in the Valley© has become one of the premier events of motorcycling.  From across the country, riders stream into the Johnstown area for four days of fun, food, and fellowship.  Scheduled the week after Laconia, New Hampshire’s Bike Week, it provides a nice segue for east coast riders and a great way to polish off a two-week two-wheeled vacation. 

Every rally has its separate attractions and charms.  But this one, “The Little Rally That Could…And Did” has become something special.   

Thunder in the Valley© combines the best elements of a motorcycle rally.  In the fellowship of 200,000 riders are people who instinctively know why we own these machines.  Vendors provide a plethora of items to shower upon our bikes and ourselves.  Music is always present in several venues, so that you’re never out of earshot of entertainment from the toe-tappin’ to the foot stompin’.  Food is present in abundance, from traditional rally fare to regular restaurant cuisine.  Manufacturers provide the opportunity to take their bikes for test rides, and offer good deals should your heart be captured.  And outside of town lie dozens of roads that twist and turn through the heart-melting beauty of the Laurel Highlands, providing many hours of what could only be termed perfect rides. 

Head Lice and the Parental Freak-Out*

Copyright© 2011 by Ralph Couey

*Johnstown, PA Tribune-Democrat
June 14, 2011
as "Freaking out over tiny invaders"

The other day I arrived at work to find one of my co-workers in full freak-out mode.  This is not an unusual state of mind for her, as she is a person about whom one could say, “She is such a Mom.”  When Sarah Palin uses the term “Mama Grizzly” she is describing my friend to a “T.”

Anyway, the subject of that particular day’s rant was news of a head lice outbreak in one of the classrooms at her daughter’s school.  (To avoid a full-scale wide-spread Mama Grizzly freak-out, I will leave the identity of that school to the administrators.)

Raising children at times can be a process of moving from freak-out to freak-out over any number of causes.  Flu outbreaks, bullies, food recalls, pollution, poison ivy, bee and wasp stings, allergies, emergency room visits, are all part of the parenting experience.  We get exasperated when they’re bouncing off the walls and constantly getting into trouble…you know, “acting normal.”  But if a threat emerges, no matter how large or small, parents, especially Moms, go into crazy protective mode.  That’s a good thing, generally speaking, especially when a child sees to what extent their parents are willing to go on their behalf. 

Of all the calamities of childhood, head lice is by far the most exasperating.  The sheer amount of work involved in ridding the child and the home of an infestation is daunting.  Back in our parenting days 25 years ago, this meant, pulling every single thing made of fabric out of the house and washing them all for multiple cycles in very hot water and bleach.  Then, doing a thorough cleaning of the house (real knees-on-the-floor scrub brush-in-hand work).  Then, the process of cleaning the child’s (or children’s) scalp.  This involves a trip to the drug store, surreptitiously removing the popular brand from the shelf, and waiting for an empty cashier line so nobody knows, covering yourself with a muttered, “this is for a friend.”  Once safely home, you put on plastic gloves, applied the shampoo, grabbed the fine-toothed comb and commenced to prospecting. Then and only then could a parent feel they had rescued their home from that army of foreign invaders.

Love and Marriage*

Cheryl and Ralph Couey

Copyright © 2009 by Ralph Couey

*Chicago Tribune
January 14, 2011
as "Voyage for two"

*Johnstown, PA Tribune-Democrat
Sunday June 12, 2011
as "Couples should enter marriage with their eyes wide open"

June 17, 1978, a brutally hot and humid Missouri day, a couple of hundred people gathered for a wedding. Inside the church, which we belatedly discovered lacked air conditioning, the decorations had begun to wilt.  Behind the scenes, things were frantic.  The best man’s tuxedo coat had to be flown in from Omaha; there was a mighty struggle to locate enough large fans to cool the sluggishly oppressive atmosphere. Oh yes, and the last minute scramble to locate the marriage license.

Despite the ado, the ceremony went off without a hitch and after my Dad pronounced us husband and wife, Cheryl and I gleefully strode down the aisle and into our new life together. I was on top of the world. I was now a husband, convinced I had arrived as a man, and there was nothing else the world could teach me.

Now, 31 years later, I realize how foolishly naïve I was! I thought I knew it all.

In fact, I knew nothing.

Irresponsibility and The End of Days**

Copyright© 2011 by Ralph Couey

*Chicago Tribune
June 10, 2011

*Somerset, PA Daily American

June 11, 2011

A few weeks ago, a Christian radio broadcaster and numerologist Harold Camping announced that the world would end on May 21, 2011.  This kind of thing is not all that unusual.  For Camping, this was the third such prediction.  All three dates have come and gone, and yet the world ticks on. 

Most of us laugh when we hear about such predictions, but there still remains a shred of anticipation when the designated day arrives.  Even now, most of us eye December 21, 2012, the date of the so-called Mayan Prophecy with a sort of nervous twitch.  

But there were many who took Camping seriously.  One woman in Antelope Valley, California, was so distraught, that she attempted to kill her two daughters and herself to spare them from the end of the world.  A concerned friend discovered the plot and called 911.  Police and paramedics were able to save their lives.

I won’t try to divine the motivations behind those who make such pronouncements, or attempt to diagnose their failures.  I will however mourn the human wreckage that inevitably lies strewn in their wake.  I only know that in Matthew 24:36 we are told:

My Lap-Band Life: Five Months In

As we pick up this month's saga, you remember that my weight loss had slowed.  I lost 4 pounds in April and 3 pounds in May, and I noticed that the amount of food I needed had increased.  So, I scheduled myself with the Doctor for a fill.

As you might remember, the lap-band is a plastic frame with a soft plastic bladder that wraps around the upper part of the stomach, just below the esophagus.  A small tube connects the band with a rubber-domed port that attaches below the skin of the stomach.  It's through that port that saline is added or subtracted which makes the band tighter or looser.  In my case, the band was too big, which means the food, instead of staying in the pouch and staving off hunger, was instead falling through too quickly.  Instead of going 4-6 hours before feeling hungry again, I found that I was hungry 2-3 hours after meals. 

After a consult with the PA, we went down to radiology to the flouroscope room.  There, I pulled up my shirt and stood in front of the machine.  A tech gave me a dixie cup full of chalky white fluid, the radioactive barium.  The PA then took a syringe with a large bore needle (gulp!) and after locating the port, inserted the needle.  Initially it did hurt a bit, but once in was painless.  At first he put in 4 cc of saline, then had me take a sip of barium.  On the screen, the barium hit the band...and stopped.  I could feel that familiar discomfort.  He then began to take saline out, a little at a time.  In between these adjustments, the syringe stuck out of my belly looking a lot like a dart on a dart board.  It didn't hurt, but it did look decidedly odd.

Civil War: Events of June 1861

On June 3, 1861, Stephen A. Douglas, Lincoln’s opponent in the 1860 presidential campaign, died of typhoid fever.

On that same day, the first land engagement between the Union and the Confederacy was fought, called the Battle of Philippi.   A relatively bloodless encounter, Union General George B. McClellan sent several regiments to attempt a double envelopment of a Confederate force at Philippi, Virginia (eventually West Virginia).  The attack was prematurely launched with a pistol shot by a Southern sympathizer, a mother who had sent her son to warn the Confederates, saw her son captured by Union troops.  The attack was started before the Union troops were completely in place, which gave the Southerners a chance to flee, which they did, most in their bedclothes.  The battle, more of a race really, launched the short Civil War career of McClellan, who was eventually named to command the Army of the Potomac.

On June 8^th,  Tennessee voters decided to secede from the Union.  The vote margin was better than 2-to-1.  Also that day, the Commonwealth of Virginia turned their troops over to the CSA.

June 10^th saw the Battle of Big Bethel.  A larger affair than Phillippi, The Union attacked Confederate outposts near the present-day village of Tabb, Virginia.  Initially successful, the Union troops were eventually repulsed.

Being in the Crosshairs**

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

*Chicago Tribune
June 24, 2011
as "In the crosshairs"

*Somerset, PA Daily American
June 25, 2011
as "Being in the crosshairs"

Humans have a great capacity for insecurity.  It is a sad trait, debasing and abusing others for the purpose of making one’s self feel superior.

In middle-and high-school, the “beautiful” people, athletes, cheerleaders, those with popular personalities and those blessed with good looks act against the plain, the dull, the fat -- anyone deemed to be different.  Such shunning amongst teenagers was always thought normal; par for the course of growing up.  But in recent years, the Internet and the proliferation of mobile communications has made things much worse. 

When I was that age, I was the fat, pimply-faced kid with thick glasses and no social skills and hence, the target for abuse of many of my classmates.  Yet, at the end of the day, I could return home, close the door, and feel safe.  And loved.  Today, there is no such sanctuary.  Through social networking, Twitter, and email, those insults follow the child home, hidden out of shame from clueless parents. 

This abuse has cost lives.  Children, emotionally crushed beyond rescue, have committed suicide. Others have turned to violence themselves, taking guns to school and turning them on other children.  But despite those tragedies, the anonymous cruelty continues unabated.