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. 

A Day with Diana**

"The laughter of a child is the light of the house."
--African Proverb

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

*Somerset, PA Daily American
June 4, 2011
as "Special moments worth remembering"

*Chicago Tribune
June 3, 2011
as "Worth Remembering"

The greatest part of being a grandparent is being able to spend time with your grandchildren.  We’re somewhat fortunate in that two of the four (so far) are only three hours away, the other two are in far-off California, and one more on the way in Colorado.   I don’t know what makes that drive longer.  The anticipation going down, or the let-down coming back.  

The arrival of our son’s family is always a time of great joy.  The new baby, Ian is now four months old.  It’s a lot of fun watching his personality unfold, not to mention his prodigious growth rate.  

Our granddaughter Diana, now a worldy four years old (she’s already been to Korea three times) is an absolute delight.  She is a sunny and happy little girl with a dimpled smile and an absolutely endearing sense of confidence.  She’s full of charm and learning how to use it, reducing full-grown adults to weepy adoration.  She’s become fond of our dog, Tweeter and one of the things she loves to do when she visits is to take him for a walk.  I think getting to hold the leash is an act of independence and responsibility rare for one so young, and hence, something to look forward to.  Tweeter, of course, needs no prompting; he’s always up for a walk, day or night, hot or cold, sun or storm.

Generation What?**

Copyright © 2010 by Ralph Couey

*Chicago Tribune
May 20, 2011
as "Generation what?"

*Somerset, PA Daily American
May 21, 2011
as "Generation What?"

“Who am I?”

There’s no more introspective self-determining question that a human can ask.  It is in many ways the most important.  Knowing who you are will go a long way towards determining you r life’s path. 

People are often defined by the cultural environment in which they live.  Cultural demographers have identified these influences and have bequeathed descriptive names for those generations.

The Americans of World War I were tagged the “Lost Generation,” a name coined by Gertrude Stein and adopted by American expatriates living in postwar Paris. The term eventually grew to include those who had fought in those muddy, bloody trenches.

Their post-war world was their neighborhood. Most people stayed close, many never traveling more than 50 miles from home. Life was comfortable, predictable, and safe. Into this intimate world, the next generation was born. Because of what they would endure and achieve, they became known as “The Greatest Generation.”

Share the Road!

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

The past couple of weeks have been mostly meteorological nirvana for motorcyclists in the region.  After a hard winter and a frustrating April, the sun and warmth of spring have finally arrived in the Laurel Highlands. 

But it’s also a hazardous time.  Drivers are still growing their “motorcycle eyes” as evidenced by the numerous near-misses I’ve seen already this month.  Every year, PennDot and motorcycle groups like the American Motorcycle Association and ABATE issue cautionary statements urging drivers to look carefully for those single headlights before pulling into or across traffic, or changing lanes.  Usually it’s June before I see a general improvement in people’s observational habits.

Drivers are not the only issue.  All motorcycle riders experience that joie de vivre of the ride, but some take that joy to extreme.  Speeding and weaving, pulling stunts in traffic, riding impaired, and tailgating are some of the actions I have come to call “riding stupid.”  You’re having fun.  I get that.  But you not only risk yourself, you risk other people on the road who may have to swerve out of your way, even getting into accidents themselves. 

And there’s the damage you do to the rest of us.  In the minds of a disturbingly large number of drivers, all two-wheel operators fit the same bad mold.  It doesn’t matter whether you ride a dual sport, standard, cruiser, chopper, sport-tourer, full-bagger, or a superbike; we all look like the same hooligan. 

Secure Your Load!*

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

*Johnstown, PA  Tribune-Democrat
May 22, 2011
as "Secure your junk"

I rarely use this space to chip my gums.  I much prefer to write about things that bring humor, joy, or deep thoughts; subjects that I hope have wide appeal.  But after Tuesday morning, I just have to stop and take a stand.

We returned late Monday night from a trip to Denver for my middle daughter’s graduation.  During that time, she also announced that we would be grandparents again.  Tuesday morning dawned dim, wet, and gloomy (Welcome back to Pennsylvania, Ralph) but despite the weather, I headed off to work with a song in my heart.  Everything was fine until I got about halfway down the Expressway.  Just above the Widman Avenue exit, I rounded the curve to see a mess of debris in the left hand lane, most prominent of which was a uncoiled length of metal mesh fencing.  With a car on my right and the concrete Jersey barrier on my left, I had nowhere to go but straight ahead.  I applied the brakes, but resisted the temptation to slam the pedal to the floor, as the roadway was wet and even with ABS and traction control, I knew that a panic stop would not have a good outcome.  I edged as close to the barrier as I could, but it wasn’t enough.  I hit the fencing and chunks of wood. 

Reaching Across the Horizon**

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

*Chicago Tribune
May 13, 2011
as "Reaching over the horizon"

*Somerset, PA  Daily American
May 14, 2011
as "Reaching over the horizon"

We were talking one afternoon, you know, the kind of informal gab session that strikes as you wait out the last five minutes of the work day.  There is a curious freedom to these end-of-the-day chats.  The subjects can range from the mundane to the profound.  We might talk simply about our plans for the night, or tackle something as deep as “The Meaning of Life.”  Knowing that the time for exploration is short, boundaries are lifted and thoughts flow freely. 

Somehow on that day, the subject of travel had fallen from the sky and we were recounting all the places we'd visited, either work or pleasure.  Surprisingly, most of the lists were fairly short, 6 or 7 places outside the U.S.  Once everyone else had left, I went back to my desk (flexing today) and spent a few minutes staring at the world map that hangs over my desk. 

My Dad was a minister, one who traveled the world over.  He managed to pass on to me that same kind of restlessness.  Even in my youth, I would accompany him on his summer rounds of church camps.  By the time I was 15, I had already visited 26 states, along with Canada and Mexico. 

My Lap-Band Life: Four months in

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

This past month has been full of adventure.  My weight loss has slowed to about one pound per week.  I find that my hunger is increasing and portion sizes are creeping up, sure sign that an adjustment is needed.  I will see the Doctor on the 11th, and if he approves, he will put a needle into the port beneath my skin and put in a little more saline.  Hopefully, this will get the weight loss going again.

I had the naive thought that this surgery would fix all my heart problems.  But on May 1st, as I was returning from Erie, PA, I began to feel that tell-tale ache in my chest.  When it wouldn't go away, I went straight to UPMC Passavant hospital in the north part of Pittsburgh.  The admitted me and did a heart catheterization on Monday the 2nd.  The cardiologist found a 75% blockage in the right coronary artery and put in a stent, my 5th.  With my wife in Hawaii caring for her terminally ill aunt, I was alone.  But my friends from church came through, standing by and magnificently supporting me through the entire ordeal.  I actually learned a lot about reaching into my well of courage to get through the tough times.  You can't chose the hand that life deals you.  You can only play it with all the strength, courage, and skill you can muster.

Civil War: Events of May 1861

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

Skirmishes, seizures, and movements as the two opposing sides organize themselves for war.

On May 1, Confederate General Robert E. Lee ordered General Thomas Jackson, soon to be known as “Stonewall,” to seize the Federal arsenal at the town of Harpers Ferry, Virginia.  Two days later, Union General Winfield Scott ordered U.S. troops to seize Arlington Heights, a series of hills overlooking Washington.  Arlington Heights was the home of Robert E. Lee.

President Lincoln, on May 3^rd, asked Congress to call up 42,000 volunteers for the army and another 18,000 for the navy.

On May 6, the CSA grew by one more state as Arkansas seceded from the Union.  On that same day, Tennessee voted to place the decision of secession in the hands of her voters.

It Ain't Over, Yet"*

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

*Johnstown Tribune-Democrat
May 9, 2011
as "Bin Ladin's death brought Americans together again"

Osama bin Ladin is dead.

Even a week later, there is still a sense of unreality to those words.  The terrorist responsible for the 9/11 attacks and countless other acts of violence, whom the United States has been in single-minded pursuit for almost 10 years, has been killed.  Perhaps he’s discovered that death for him wasn’t paradise and 70 virgins, but immersion in a lake of fire where he will spend eternity being burned but never consumed.

Strong words, I know.  But when I think back on all the dead and injured in his wake, I have a hard time conjuring up any sympathy.  

On a side note, there’s something viscerally satisfying that bin Ladin shares his date of death, May 1^st, with Adolf Hitler.

I expected this.  I knew that somehow, someday he would be found.  Nobody with that kind of notoriety can escape forever.  What did take me by surprise was the level of jubilation expressed by the American people.  Here we were, seemingly mired in the deepest chasm of political divide since the Civil War, and then after one dramatic late-night announcement from the White House, we’re pouring into the streets, cheering, shouting, hugging and kissing, chanting “USA! USA! USA!”  It was V-E Day, V-J Day and a World’s Championship celebration rolled into one.  I almost expected to see a sailor kissing a nurse in Times Square.

Thunder and the Thrill*

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

*Johnstown, PA  Tribune-Democrat
May 15, 2011
as "Twisters: Frightening, yet fascinating"

I’ve always been fascinated by weather.  I grew up in the Midwest – “Tornado Alley”-- a million-cubic-mile severe weather laboratory.  During the spring and summer months, I watched, engrossed, as dark, ominous cloud masses boiled up from the southwest.  The winds gusted, bending trees and sending loose objects flying.  Thunder roared; lightning flashed.  Rain gushed from the sky like a waterfall, sometimes accompanied by the clattering of hail.  And in the middle of it all, the hair-raising sound of sirens spooling up.

Sure, it was scary.  But I couldn’t tear myself away.

A few years later, I was a Boy Scout on a 10-mile hike. As we emerged from a forest, we saw about a mile or so to the north a twister touch the ground, tear across some fields and then lift back into the clouds.  It was my first tornado, an awesome and frightening, yet exhilarating experience.

I wanted to be a meteorologist.  (I once thought that weathermen were called “meter-ologists” because of all the meters they had to read.)  But alas, my brain remained opaque to advanced mathematics.  Instead, I became a storm spotter, and for the last 18 years I’ve been a student of the sky.

There is a terrible beauty to a thunderstorm; symmetry and incredible power.  On the prairie, you can watch them from afar as they form, mature, and dissipate. I would watch them drift along the horizon, majestic to the eye, even knowing that beneath them, havoc is being wreaked.

The Terrors of Modern Dentistry**

Copyright © 2008 by Ralph Couey

*Chicago Tribune
May 6, 2011
as "In a manner of speaking"

*Somerset Daily American
May 7, 2011
 as "In a manner of speaking he followed the code"

Root Canal.

Nowhere in the extensive American lexicon can be found words that strike a deeper or colder terror in the heart and mind.  “IRS Audit” is a distant second place by comparison.  The expression has become so closely associated with excruciating pain that its use has leaked into common colloquial expression: 

(From the girlfriend) “My parents want to meet you.”
(From the boyfriend) “I’d rather have a root canal.”

(From the wife) “My mother’s coming to visit.”

(From the Husband) “I’m scheduling a root canal.”

As a class, orthodontic procedures of any kind are far from being anyone’s favored activity.  It can only be a break-even proposition.  You either walk out with clean teeth, or a mouth full of hardware and exotic polymers. 

One day, two years ago, I was having lunch.  I was deep into Tennyson and minding my own business, when I heard an audible crunch, which was immediately followed by a pain that lanced right through my eyeball.  I immediately grabbed water and flushed my mouth.  Big mistake.  The now-exposed nerve root shot back with a pain so intense that it actually caused my eyes to cross. 

Gas Goes Boom*

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

*Johnstown Tribune-Democrat
May 1, 2011
as "Putting pump prices in perspective"

Gasoline prices have boomed.

Duh.

Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you don’t need me to tell you this.  And since everything else we buy is delivered by something burning either gas or diesel, those prices have gone up as well.

Up until now, watching this annual trampoline dance as gas prices bob up and down has been an annoyance.  But now, things are getting critical.  People are going to have to make hard choices in the coming months as household budgets stretch even tighter.  And if things don’t improve by winter, there’s going to be some very cold houses around here.

The only people who seem to be benefitting are those lucky individuals who went long on gas futures, and those who have oil company stocks prominently placed in their investment portfolios.  The rest of us got stuck with the bill.

I paid a visit to the Energy Information Agency website.  Part of the Energy Department, these are the folks who tabulate a wealth of statistical data about energy prices across the nation.  I pulled up the chart of retail gasoline prices (regular grade, reformulated), published April 25^th which shows the national average price for regular gas at $4.01 per gallon.  A year ago, April 26, 2010, regular was $2.92, and going back to April 27^th of 2009, the price was $2.11.

So, in two years, the price has gone from $2.11 to $4.01.  That’s a 90% increase.  To give you an idea of what that means, let’s say you bought a house in April 2009 and paid (purely for argument’s sake) $100,000.  If your home value tracked along with gasoline, it would be worth $190,000 today.  We’d all be saying “What foreclosure crisis?”

Go West, Old Man

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey 

I’ve always been cursed with the condition most people call “itchy feet.”  I can’t seem to want to settle in one place for very long.  “Putting down roots” is an idea foreign to my very nature; perhaps even repellent.   

In recent weeks circumstances in our nation’s capital have introduced a measure of uncertainty to my job.  The possibility exists that we may have to leave this place for another, as yet unknown. 

Somerset is where we’ve lived, but I’ve never been able to call it “home.”  This is not the fault of the town, or the wonderful people who live here.  In fact, when I search my heart, there really is no place that wears that sign. 

I spent most of my young life in Missouri; Independence to be exact.  We moved there from California when I was six, and it was there I lived until I joined the Navy 19 years later.  Sure, I had friends and that’s where I went to school.  But my parents have both passed, and I haven’t seen those friends for decades.  On those rare occasions when I visit my sister, I find the town to be full of memories, to be sure.  But now it is merely one stop I made along my journey. 

My father was an executive minister with our denomination.  His duties required him to travel far and often.  He was an enthusiastic photographer, and when he came home, we would gather in the living room with the lights off and he would show us the slides of the places he had been.  Japan, Africa, the Pacific Islands, Europe, Asia, Central and South America…it seemed that only China and Russia lay beyond his reach.  I remember those nights well.  As those pictures flashed upon the screen, I dreamed of also visiting distant lands.  Perhaps it was the example of his travels, and the knowledge he brought home of places wild and exotic that planted in me the seed of curiosity that has now bloomed into a full-grown tree of restlessness.   

Singing the Song of the Open Road*

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

*Johnstown, PA Tribune-Democrat
June 5, 2011
as "Road Trip Memories"

The sun is just rising into a clear sky, the day still fresh, new, and unspoiled.  After one last check of the loaded bike, I turn the key and punch the starter.  The engine roars, and with a final good-bye, the bike rolls down the driveway and onto the road.  My spirit soars; I have answered the call of the open road.

Every spring, I suffer the pangs of adventure.  I try to satisfy, or at least allay them with 200-mile Saturday rides, and taking the long way home from work.  But as the weather warms, and the day lengthens, I cannot help but open a road atlas and dream.

Dramatic landscapes float through my mind, much like a high plains thunderstorm gliding across the sky. In those visions is a voice, subtle and seductive.  It calls me to escape the box of my everyday life for the lure of the unknown and unexplored; the realm beyond the far horizons. 

I love maps.  A map is the canvas upon which my dreams are paintedv; a portrait of limitless plains, powerful mountains, shifting deserts, and shoreline highways. My eyes follow the multi-colored lines on the page, but in my mind, I feel the sun on my shoulders, the wind in my face, and the exultation of a questing and restless spirit.

My Lap-Band Life: Three Months In

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

Things have slowed considerably this month.  Over the past four weeks, I've only managed to lose an additional 4 pounds, but again, the Doctor said not to worry.  He's happy with my progress, so I guess I need to be less impatient.

Physically, I feel great.  No pain, no discomfort, in fact at times, I have to remind myself that I even had anything done.  I still struggle with eating too fast and taking too big mouthfuls.  That's the only time I get uncomfortable.  the food will sit in the pouch for a couple of minutes, and then drop on through.  This causes a bit of an ache, but nothing more than an annoyance, mainly at myself for forgetting.  I also at times find myself eating a little too much, which means I spend some time feeling like I'm about to throw up.  Again, proper punishment for my transgressions.

I'm walking more each day at a really good pace.  One day last week, I did three miles in 45 minutes, which equates to a 4-mph pace, which is really hoofin' it.  I'm amazed at how light on my feet I feel.  Once I get stretched out and warmed up, I can now really push myself to go as fast as I possibly can.  Oh yeah.  About P90X?  After the second day, I strained my back and was laid up for about a week.  Guess I'm not as young as I thought!

Criminal Stupidity: Legislating Against Folly

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

There are a host of laws on the books designed to protect people from each other, and sometimes, ourselves.  They run the gamut from drunk and disorderly, to murder.  In most cases they are perfectly adequate for that task.  However, in recent years we have seen an inordinate amount of human actions that defy logic or sanity.  There’s even a popular website called “The Darwin Awards” that celebrates “…those who assist natural selection by removing themselves from the gene pool.” 

The Internet brings the opportunity for immortality to everyone with a video camera, unfortunately, spurring some people to undertake acts of high, even fatal risk.  It’s bad enough when these things happen in isolation, and the only one affected is the risk-taker.  But it seems that increasingly such acts now occur in public places where innocent bystanders are affected.

I track reports of motorcycle accidents on one of my blogs, not out of any gothic fascination, but with the idea that all riders can learn from accidents.  Knowledge is not only power, it increases the likelihood of survivability.  Most involve other vehicles, drivers turning left or pulling out in front of an approaching motorcycle.  But recently, some accidents have occurred for which the blame has to be placed solely on the motorcyclists’ risky behavior.

Old Words, Old Parchment, New Hope*

*Johnstown, PA Tribune-Democrat
April 23, 2011
as "Founding Fathers' words still ring true"

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

On a cold, gray day in Washington, DC, I stood in a line. I normally don’t do this voluntarily, an aversion acquired in countless trips to Disneyland.  But this line was different.  At the other end lay the opportunity to view the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and the Bill of rights; our nation’s foundational documents.  

The United States started out as a humble collection of settlements on the frontier of an unknown continent.  Over about a century and a half,  those stubbornly ornery bunch of raw colonials eventually threw off the heavy hand of King George III, and declared independence.

The decision to throw off the heavy hand of England was a courageous one.   Britain was then the most powerful nation on earth, its empire spread across almost every ocean and continent. For the erstwhile colonists to brazenly challenge that power was incredible enough. That they succeeded was miraculous.

Once inside, I ended up outside a huge rotunda.  Before me are two massive and ornate titanium gates. A guard appears, talking in a heavy accent, West African unless I miss my guess. There’s something very appropriate about that.   After a few brief instructions, we enter.

The lights are dim, the air is cool. Above me, the domed ceiling rises majestically.  I see two massive murals depicting the founding fathers. They flank two huge granite columns topped with eagles, at the base of which lie America’s most precious written documents.

A Portrait of Greatness********

Linoln's last photograph

From the National Archives, Washington, DC

*Chicago Tribune
April 22, 2011
as "Lincoln's Last Portrait"

*KWGN Television/CW 2 Denver, CO
April 22, 2011
as "Lincoln's Last Portrait"

*Allentown, PA  Morning Call
April 22, 2011
as "Lincoln's last portrait"

*Newport News, VA Daily Press
April 22, 2011
as "Lincoln's last portrait"

*Fort Lauderdale, FL South Florida Sun-Sentinel
4/22/2011
as "Lincoln's last portrait"

*WTKR Norfolk, VA
April 22, 2011
as "Lincoln's Last Portrait"

*Orlando, FL Sentinel

4/22/2011

as "Lincoln's last portrait"

*Somerset, PA Daily American

April 23, 2011

as "Lincoln's last portrait"

Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Couey

Years ago in what seems to have been another life, I was a music major. I had always been around classical music since it was Dad’s favorite. But in performing those masterpieces, I gained a new appreciation for their beauty and majesty.

One piece in particular has always stirred my heart.

Aaron Copland was asked to write a musical portrait of a famous American. It was 1942; the country needed inspiration, and so Copland chose Abraham Lincoln.

It’s a remarkable story. From a simple frontiersman, Abraham Lincoln rose to the most powerful office in the land during our nation’s darkest hour.   His words are revered to this day, touchstones of strength and leadership, particularly in these times when great statesmen are needed, but are seemingly nowhere to be found.

Copland’s symphony “A Lincoln Portrait” wedded excerpts from the President’s speeches with a musical composition of gravity, dignity, and inspiration.

But the real power of “A Lincoln Portrait” is in the narration. Over the years, it has been performed by a long list of distinguished actors, citizens and politicians including Henry Fonda, James Earl Jones, President Obama, and Pirate great Willie Stargell.  At one performance in a South American country, the words spoken by a fiery Latino actress actually sparked a revolution.

The narration opens with the stirring words: