Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Friday, January 2, 2009
Lost Dutchman State Park and Tortilla Flats
As the day went on, it got to be close to 75 degrees in the sun, and Sid was happy to take off the sweater!
View of Weaver's Needle where we had often hiked. 
Sid eating Prickly Pear Cactus ice cream at $3 a scoop! 
A short walk into the Superstitions.Late 70's to 1983~~~~3104 East Broadway, Mesa, AZ
We spoke to the current owner of #117 and the original home that Sid had purchased was destroyed by fire over 50% about 10 years ago. Over the last 25 years there has only been three owners. The park is well-maintained, and license plates were from all over the US and Canada.
Surveillance of Nuns
As noted elsewhere, I was the one person FBI Security Squad in South Bend, Indiana. Among other duties when Iron Curtain personnel came through Indiana on Indiana toll road, I, with possibly agent assistance, was to put a surveillance on the diplomats and record all their activities. During this period of time, as I recall, the diplomats were required to stay on main highways, such as the toll road and not enter any towns or cities thereabouts. Also, during this period of time, the youth and some of their elders, were greatly opposed to the Vietnam War and as such would often break-into the FBI sub-offices or draft board offices. I did not recall the year of the following event, but it was probably during the mid 1970s, in Pennsylvania the FBI sub-office had been raided and much of the written material on file taken therefrom.
The bureau had somehow learned that the perpetrators were two or three Catholic nuns had raided a draft board and were proceeding west via on the main highways in an old VW "beetle". Some other agents and I were assigned the task of meeting the Toledo, Ohio agents at the Ohio/Indiana border and take over the surveillance. All went well with the surveillance, but we later learned, a couple of the agents had attempted to lift fingerprints from the door of the ladies' restroom in one of the stops on the toll road. This happened to be a very busy time of the year and the demand on the toilet facilities was extraordinarily heavy. The agents in lifting the prints had to shut off the access to the ladies room and thus leaving the ladies who were already desperate for the facilities in even more desperate state. However, the agents did manage to lift some prints, but unfortunately, there was no way of telling whether those particular prints were those of the Catholic nuns.
The surveillance proceeded to the City of Chicago where the surveillance was to turned over the the Chicago agents.
I have no further knowledge of this incident.
The bureau had somehow learned that the perpetrators were two or three Catholic nuns had raided a draft board and were proceeding west via on the main highways in an old VW "beetle". Some other agents and I were assigned the task of meeting the Toledo, Ohio agents at the Ohio/Indiana border and take over the surveillance. All went well with the surveillance, but we later learned, a couple of the agents had attempted to lift fingerprints from the door of the ladies' restroom in one of the stops on the toll road. This happened to be a very busy time of the year and the demand on the toilet facilities was extraordinarily heavy. The agents in lifting the prints had to shut off the access to the ladies room and thus leaving the ladies who were already desperate for the facilities in even more desperate state. However, the agents did manage to lift some prints, but unfortunately, there was no way of telling whether those particular prints were those of the Catholic nuns.
The surveillance proceeded to the City of Chicago where the surveillance was to turned over the the Chicago agents.
I have no further knowledge of this incident.
Slow Down Buddy
As I have noted elsewhere in this blog, I was transferred to South Bend, Indiana in the fall of 1948 where I became the one man Security Squad. All was not as calm and quiet as it might have been in the chasing down of individuals or organizations whose loyalty to the United States was in question. An amusing incident is recalled, I had a contact in Michigan City, Indiana - a town about 35 miles west of South Bend. Located on the Indiana toll road and continuing all the way across northern Indiana, one day perchance I had a contact in Michigan City and thereafter in Elkhart, Indiana located about 45 miles from Michigan City and only a few miles south of South Bend, however I had scheduled the contacts with insufficient time and as I left Michigan City on the toll road, I "pressed pedal to the metal" and navigated at least part of the toll road at a pace considerably over the speed limit. However, as I was only a few miles west of South Bend, I noticed an Indiana State Trooper coming up behind me at an even faster pace than I was going. I immediately slowed down to the legal speed limit, which as 70 MPH, the trooper passed me and exited the toll road in South Bend. I again "pressed the pedal to the metal" with the thought that I still could make the Elkhart contact on time. However, no sooner had I resumed my over-the-speed-limit pace than I saw the same trooper coming up behind me again. I slowed down to the legal limit again, but the trooper had his lights and siren on to pull me over. We both pulled over and I displayed my badge to the trooper, I had a contact in Elkhart that I simply must make. The trooper waved me on and I did make the contact in Elkhart as planned. Obviously, the FBI agents and Indiana state troopers were on very good speaking terms with each other.
Shootout
To continue I will now attempt to relate to you the background and actual activity of the only honest to God shoot-out I was involved in during my entire career with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. As you are probably aware, I was a Special Agent with the FBI from July 1947 to January 1972. During that period of time I was assigned to Houston, Indianapolis and South Bend; spending a majority of this time in South Bend.
While I was assigned to the Bureau in Indianapolis we had a major case come up of a bank robber named Clyde Milton Johnson who had not only robbed some banks in Florida, but had escaped from the Dade County (FL) jail. Somehow or somewhere we had received a tip that Johnson and his girlfriend, name not recalled, were in Indianapolis and holed up in the Washington Hotel located in downtown Indianapolis. It was about dusk that a group was assigned to go to the Washington Hotel and check out this matter to see if the two were actually registered there and if so, use every possible means of apprehending him and putting him back in jail. A group of six or eight agents departed from the FBI office where the Washington Hotel being only about two blocks apart. Upon arriving at the lobby which was not particularly large, we agents situated ourselves in various positions where we would be most effective if our subjects should attempt to leave the hotel via the elevator.
We were in place only a relatively short time when the elevator door opened and out walked our Clyde Milton Johnson by himself. As the agents moved into arrest him, he ran out the front door in a westerly direction. This activity being on Market Street. I had been assigned the task of arresting the female companion in the event she was also staying in the hotel. As I moved toward the elevator, I heard a series of gun shots on Market Street as I left the hotel, running, I could see that the gunshots were coming from the pistol of Johnson. Johnson continued to fire as he ran toward the Monument Circle in the center of downtown Indianapolis. By the time I arrived at the circle, Johnson had run across the street and was firing from behind a lamp post in the circle. After two or three additional shots, he ran east across the streets of the circle and commandeered a taxicab that was parked right on the edge of the circle. At that point, an old-time of an agent, Tom Everson, jumped up on the back bumper of the cab and fired a couple of shots through the back window. The remainder of us agents commandeered another cab as both vehicles sped east on this street. We urged the cabdriver, at gunpoint, to run the traffic lights so we could catch up with the fleeing cab, however our driver, even at gunpoint, refused to break the law and we very shortly lost him in the traffic. A little later we learned that Everson's shots and wounded Johnson and he was then at a local hospital. A group of agents then proceeded to the hospital to make the arrest. A couple of other agents and I returned to the hotel and I got on the phone calling the room Johnson and girlfriend had occupied. The phone was answered by a female voice and she acknowledged she was associated with Johnson. I told her we were coming up after her and not to display any weapons of any type. I told her, in conclusion, that when the agents arrived, I wanted her to not display any weapons, and back out of the room and have her hands in the air. I then added, "Obey or we'll blow your head off." She protested that she was in her underwear. I told her to do as ordered. We proceeded immediately to the floor and stationed ourselves outside the hotel door. I knocked on the door, telling her to come backing out the door. She was dressed only in her panties and bra. We held her at gunpoint while a couple of agents went into the room to get her some sort of robe. She was taken to the Marion County jail where she remained until her companion was transferred back to Florida.
After Johnson had been apprehended and his injuries treated our agent in charge, Harvey Foster, had all of us who had participated in the incident write up his own account. I, among the others, did so, and I noted in my memo that I had fired my pistol four times, but obviously had not injured our subjects. However, the various shots fired by both Johnson and the agents had penetrated the buildings fronting on the circle, fortunately, the shoot out had occurred late in the evening and outside of a few broken windows, nothing else disastrous had happened.
I do not recall the incidents surrounded Johnson and his girlfriend although I had heard via the grapevine that Johnson had been convicted in Dade County and been sent to Alcatraz. The rumor also noted that Johnson had attempted to escape and had drowned in the water of San Francisco Bay in which Alcatraz is located.
This incident had occurred in the summer of 1948 and it was also fortunate that all of us agents escaped censure by the headquarters due to our random firing.
Shortly thereafter I was transferred to South Bend where I remained until retirement. In South Bend I was assigned to the Security Squad which consisted of only one person, Hayes S. King. During the ensuing many years until retirement, I had more than reasonable success in developing informants and keeping headquarters abreast of any threats to its security.
While I was assigned to the Bureau in Indianapolis we had a major case come up of a bank robber named Clyde Milton Johnson who had not only robbed some banks in Florida, but had escaped from the Dade County (FL) jail. Somehow or somewhere we had received a tip that Johnson and his girlfriend, name not recalled, were in Indianapolis and holed up in the Washington Hotel located in downtown Indianapolis. It was about dusk that a group was assigned to go to the Washington Hotel and check out this matter to see if the two were actually registered there and if so, use every possible means of apprehending him and putting him back in jail. A group of six or eight agents departed from the FBI office where the Washington Hotel being only about two blocks apart. Upon arriving at the lobby which was not particularly large, we agents situated ourselves in various positions where we would be most effective if our subjects should attempt to leave the hotel via the elevator.
We were in place only a relatively short time when the elevator door opened and out walked our Clyde Milton Johnson by himself. As the agents moved into arrest him, he ran out the front door in a westerly direction. This activity being on Market Street. I had been assigned the task of arresting the female companion in the event she was also staying in the hotel. As I moved toward the elevator, I heard a series of gun shots on Market Street as I left the hotel, running, I could see that the gunshots were coming from the pistol of Johnson. Johnson continued to fire as he ran toward the Monument Circle in the center of downtown Indianapolis. By the time I arrived at the circle, Johnson had run across the street and was firing from behind a lamp post in the circle. After two or three additional shots, he ran east across the streets of the circle and commandeered a taxicab that was parked right on the edge of the circle. At that point, an old-time of an agent, Tom Everson, jumped up on the back bumper of the cab and fired a couple of shots through the back window. The remainder of us agents commandeered another cab as both vehicles sped east on this street. We urged the cabdriver, at gunpoint, to run the traffic lights so we could catch up with the fleeing cab, however our driver, even at gunpoint, refused to break the law and we very shortly lost him in the traffic. A little later we learned that Everson's shots and wounded Johnson and he was then at a local hospital. A group of agents then proceeded to the hospital to make the arrest. A couple of other agents and I returned to the hotel and I got on the phone calling the room Johnson and girlfriend had occupied. The phone was answered by a female voice and she acknowledged she was associated with Johnson. I told her we were coming up after her and not to display any weapons of any type. I told her, in conclusion, that when the agents arrived, I wanted her to not display any weapons, and back out of the room and have her hands in the air. I then added, "Obey or we'll blow your head off." She protested that she was in her underwear. I told her to do as ordered. We proceeded immediately to the floor and stationed ourselves outside the hotel door. I knocked on the door, telling her to come backing out the door. She was dressed only in her panties and bra. We held her at gunpoint while a couple of agents went into the room to get her some sort of robe. She was taken to the Marion County jail where she remained until her companion was transferred back to Florida.
After Johnson had been apprehended and his injuries treated our agent in charge, Harvey Foster, had all of us who had participated in the incident write up his own account. I, among the others, did so, and I noted in my memo that I had fired my pistol four times, but obviously had not injured our subjects. However, the various shots fired by both Johnson and the agents had penetrated the buildings fronting on the circle, fortunately, the shoot out had occurred late in the evening and outside of a few broken windows, nothing else disastrous had happened.
I do not recall the incidents surrounded Johnson and his girlfriend although I had heard via the grapevine that Johnson had been convicted in Dade County and been sent to Alcatraz. The rumor also noted that Johnson had attempted to escape and had drowned in the water of San Francisco Bay in which Alcatraz is located.
This incident had occurred in the summer of 1948 and it was also fortunate that all of us agents escaped censure by the headquarters due to our random firing.
Shortly thereafter I was transferred to South Bend where I remained until retirement. In South Bend I was assigned to the Security Squad which consisted of only one person, Hayes S. King. During the ensuing many years until retirement, I had more than reasonable success in developing informants and keeping headquarters abreast of any threats to its security.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Christmas
picture taken by Hayes Sidney King of lovely gift from Liszewskis
Merry Christmas Everyone! May Santa Claus have been equal to the task and made a prolonged stay at your doorstep.
I, Sidley, am enjoying Christmas day at the Sun City West home of Harold and Jean Uible, parents of Roberta, my spouse and eventually Serena, her much YOUNGER sister. Let me put in an aside here. Serena is a lady of many talents. She can make an iPod Touch come to life and refresh your memory with all the facts, so on, that you have dis-remembered.
I am sorry to report a Christmas Day in the Sun City areas is gloomy, no sun, and spitting a bit of rain. I am dictating this to Serena and she very quickly and without error translates my gasps for air as correct interpretation whereas old Sidley is trying to regain his breath.
To bring you up to date at this very moment at 20238 Alta Loma in Sun City West we have had a very fine breakfast engineered by Serena. We got up a little early for a holiday, but quickly translated a feeling of hunger as to a genuine liking of Serena's cooking; i.e., we had cinnamon rolls, muffins and little sausages. The fruit salad was prepared by Roberta. All this quickly vanished and at this moment Roberta is "working" at Chez Nous and the rest of us are either dozing in our chair trying to sneak another bite of the excellent muffins and old Sidley putting together some mish-mash of nonsensical words.
To date (11:30 a.m.) we have risen from Santa's four poster bed, performed the morning ablutions. Roberta reminding us that the breakfast date was set for 9am. Fat Cat in cat language appeared to scurry around in his box as well, his favorite napping place, but at this point both Roberta and I think your boredom has increased to the breaking point. And you no longer want to hear of Sidley, his spouse Roberta and Fat Cat. In due time, Serena will take me to 12834 West Ballad and drop me off "like a hot potato". I assume at this point she will again take up residence in her own home.
Should the mood strike you and you wish to hear more of the dirty linen, including the cats, of the King household, just drop me a line; I could go on for a couple of hours and not say anything more worthwhile than what appears above.
And Merry Christmas to All with Love,
Sidley
P. S. I am happy to report the US Government's Office of Personnel Management (OPM) has seen fit to award its own Christmas present to all retired employees. Said present consisted of an infrequent form letter announcing that retirees and employees are getting a 6.5 increase with no increase in the deduction for health care. Whoopee! I'd rather think that the increase will be put aside to help get through the major depression that pundits predict will soon be a thing of the present.
Love again,
Sidney
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Sid at Breakfast
I'm a bit late posting this - it was taken eight days ago - at the Alta Loma house at breakfast.
I am currently in Bellingham, Washington, but was posting some other photos to the Uible blog - www.uible.blogspot.com, when I decided I might as well go ahead and post this one, too, on Sid's blog. We're all looking forward to seeing Sid's daughters next year, beginning with Sara in just about a month!
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Kings' Living room/workout area
Above is Marcia Lynk - good friend of Sid and Roberta - on Roberta's infamous shake and rattle excercise machine. Roberta is giving instructions. Roberta also has recently added a Schwinn AirDyne stationary bicycle. Visitors are often urged to try out the machinery. Fat Cat refuses to get involved with anything that would make her look undignified.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Sid and his daily milkshake
Sid is doing well, in his casual attire, drinking up his daily chocolate milkshake.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Childhood
This is Sid, the Fed again recalling some of the incidences, funny or tragic, from about my age of 6 or 7. I may have briefly touched on these before so please forgive if I am repetitious.
Here is an incident that occurred when I was 8 or 9 years old. It was almost fatal as you will learn. At that time we were living in Fairbank and my dad had torn down the old shed that served as a garage and store room. And in its place built a two-storey block garage/store room. On the south side of this, my dad had a small chicken pen where he kept a few chickens and a number of rats that also enjoyed the chicken feed. Anyway, my brother Bill and I by coming out on top of the chicken coop and carefully inching our way up to the top. We would then slide down the slated roof to the top of the chicken coop. We would often repeat this several times several times a day. My father was disturbed that our sliding down on the rolled roofing and with each slide, he would remove a little more of the gravel that kept the roof from leaking. Anyway, one nice summer day, Bill and I and a couple of other neighborhood kids were up to our usual Saturday morning tricks - sliding down the roof.
The remainder of this incident does not come from my recollection. I had learned of it from the remarks of others. I must have positioned myself too close to the edge of the garage roof and slid down. We usually ended up on top of the chicken coop, but this time I apparently slid off the garage roof, fell out, 12 feet onto a chunk of concrete. Somehow my parents got a doctor to the house and he was asking me various questions, presumably to detect any brain damage. I do remember he asked me what day it was and I gave him the wrong answer.
I was kept in bed for several days and apparently my condition returned to normal. However that was also the end of our roof sliding.
Another childhood incident our home was only about 30 feet from a busy railroad track. As kids we would put nails or pennies on the track so that the huge wheels would crush them. Up the track to the east there was a depression in the ground that we called "our den". It probably had been a basement excavation for a long ago inhabited, but to get to the point - one hot day in the summer, I went into the local confectionery and bought an ice cream cone for a nickel. I kept licking on the cone as I traveled eastward toward our den. A number of my friends had also gathered in the den and we then all lit up foul smelling cigars in a short length of time my stomach became extremely upset and I went back home. I had always attributed the bad feelings to combining tobacco smoke and ice cream. I have never smoked since that time.
Here is an incident that never before has seen the light of day. The second story of my father's garage had become a hangout for the kids of the neighborhood. I recall that on one particular day my friends had apparently persuaded a young lady I will name only as Maxine to preside over the section of the second floor. It was my understanding that the boys would go up on the second floor and what then occurred was never known to me. However, it was finally my turn so I walked up the stairs to the second floor. 'And, lo, Maxine was seated in a chair. I stood there speechless because I had no idea what had been done or was supposed to be done with Maxine as a participant. After a minute or two, Maxine put her hands on her hips and said "Well . . ."
Not having the slightest idea what was expected of me, I turned and fled. Fortunately my mother called me for dinner about that time so I escaped the clutches of Maxine without any damage to my ego.
Another minor incident, in the life of Sid the Fed during the depths of the depression, my father had swapped a number of day old chicks to another man. My father receiving 80 acres of land in southern Missouri. My father was overcome with curiosity as to what the new land was like. We had no money but he persuaded the father of one of my childhood friends to let the son (Bob Williams) go on a trip with us to Missouri and the father put up $25 toward his son's expenses, it being noted that $25 was a lot of money.
However, we did take off my brother Bill also accompanied us and drove to the outskirts of St. Louis. We had what passed for a tent and we spent the night at this campground. The next day my dad told us that we would be going through the Annheuser Busch brewery which, incidentally, was a free of charge tour. We did show up at the brewery and after being shown the internal organs, we ended up at the "party room". As you might expect, beer was the only drink served and each one of us was given a bottle of beer. I drank some and found it was not to the liking of my tummy. No more beer for Sid. I recall that in the handling of this beer bottle, it foamed up and spilled on the highly polished table. I tried to wipe it up, but lacked the needed equipment. One of the things that I recall about St. Louis was that we were buying gasoline 8 gallons for $1. That was cheap. Gasoline did burn in the car's cylinders, but knocked something awful. We bought no more gas at that price.
At the site where the land was located, we found nothing but low mountains, huge boulders a few pine trees and desolation. We did find a hillbilly family who answered some of our questions about this bit of property. At that point, we headed back to Fairbank, Iowa. I later heard that my dad had sold this land to the state of Missouri for some kind of wildlife sanctuary.
This concludes the long, long ago
I will now bring my saga containing an account of my life in the Navy. I know you all are aware of the attack on Pearl Harbor, December 7, 1941 by the Japanese Armed Forces. Earlier in 1941, I had registered for the draft and was shortly 1A which meant I was only a step or two away from being drafted into the U. S. Army. I was teaching school at the time and the school board wanted me to finish out the school year through the next June. We made arrangements to appear before the local draft board on December 8, 1941, we made an appearance through the overtones of the Pearl Harbor disaster and, as you might expect, I kept the 1A draft status.
The next day, I drove from Riverside to Cedar Rapids, Iowa to determine what the Navy had to offer. I contacted the recruiting station and was given full details as to the rules and regulations. I was also told to report to the recruiting station on December 10, which I did. I was immediately put to work as a yeoman (typist), since the Iowa farm boys were not anxious to be drafted into the Army, but felt the Navy was a better deal.
However, I found that the yeoman that had worked in the recruiting station was off recovering from the effects of some serious alcoholic beverages. They needed a yeoman desperately since, as mentioned above, the Iowa farm boys were lined up ready to take on the Japanese Navy. They had even found a room in a rooming house where I could stay. Life continued quite routinely with Sid working his butt off, filling out the forms and papers for the new recruits.
As I have (or will) mentioned, Marilyn Elizabeth Ingham and I were married in the following July. We enjoyed life in Des Moines, but eventually I was commissioned an ensign in the Navy Reserve and the happenings will be recorded elsewhere.
The following represents another notch in Sid's blog. I was perhaps 10 or 12 at the time and during the summer months would go to an area just up the river from the mill which often yielded a fish or two. I was down at the mill with my usual fishing gear when I got too far out on a plank covering the ____ and the plank tipped throwing me into the water. I could not swim, but I was paddling for life in order to keep my head above water if the mills mechanism had been turning at the time, I most certainly would have been sucked into the grinding chamber and would quickly become human mincemeat. Fortunately for Sid the Fed another older man was also fishing with a cane and pole. He thrust the pole out to me. The pole was long enough I could grab it and be pulled in. I was none the worse because of the incident, except to give thanks that I was still able to breathe and walk. My savior (first name unknown) Fitzgerald although I am sure my parents did hear about their eldest son's brush with death, I never fished at this location again.
Here is an incident that occurred when I was 8 or 9 years old. It was almost fatal as you will learn. At that time we were living in Fairbank and my dad had torn down the old shed that served as a garage and store room. And in its place built a two-storey block garage/store room. On the south side of this, my dad had a small chicken pen where he kept a few chickens and a number of rats that also enjoyed the chicken feed. Anyway, my brother Bill and I by coming out on top of the chicken coop and carefully inching our way up to the top. We would then slide down the slated roof to the top of the chicken coop. We would often repeat this several times several times a day. My father was disturbed that our sliding down on the rolled roofing and with each slide, he would remove a little more of the gravel that kept the roof from leaking. Anyway, one nice summer day, Bill and I and a couple of other neighborhood kids were up to our usual Saturday morning tricks - sliding down the roof.
The remainder of this incident does not come from my recollection. I had learned of it from the remarks of others. I must have positioned myself too close to the edge of the garage roof and slid down. We usually ended up on top of the chicken coop, but this time I apparently slid off the garage roof, fell out, 12 feet onto a chunk of concrete. Somehow my parents got a doctor to the house and he was asking me various questions, presumably to detect any brain damage. I do remember he asked me what day it was and I gave him the wrong answer.
I was kept in bed for several days and apparently my condition returned to normal. However that was also the end of our roof sliding.
Another childhood incident our home was only about 30 feet from a busy railroad track. As kids we would put nails or pennies on the track so that the huge wheels would crush them. Up the track to the east there was a depression in the ground that we called "our den". It probably had been a basement excavation for a long ago inhabited, but to get to the point - one hot day in the summer, I went into the local confectionery and bought an ice cream cone for a nickel. I kept licking on the cone as I traveled eastward toward our den. A number of my friends had also gathered in the den and we then all lit up foul smelling cigars in a short length of time my stomach became extremely upset and I went back home. I had always attributed the bad feelings to combining tobacco smoke and ice cream. I have never smoked since that time.
Here is an incident that never before has seen the light of day. The second story of my father's garage had become a hangout for the kids of the neighborhood. I recall that on one particular day my friends had apparently persuaded a young lady I will name only as Maxine to preside over the section of the second floor. It was my understanding that the boys would go up on the second floor and what then occurred was never known to me. However, it was finally my turn so I walked up the stairs to the second floor. 'And, lo, Maxine was seated in a chair. I stood there speechless because I had no idea what had been done or was supposed to be done with Maxine as a participant. After a minute or two, Maxine put her hands on her hips and said "Well . . ."
Not having the slightest idea what was expected of me, I turned and fled. Fortunately my mother called me for dinner about that time so I escaped the clutches of Maxine without any damage to my ego.
Another minor incident, in the life of Sid the Fed during the depths of the depression, my father had swapped a number of day old chicks to another man. My father receiving 80 acres of land in southern Missouri. My father was overcome with curiosity as to what the new land was like. We had no money but he persuaded the father of one of my childhood friends to let the son (Bob Williams) go on a trip with us to Missouri and the father put up $25 toward his son's expenses, it being noted that $25 was a lot of money.
However, we did take off my brother Bill also accompanied us and drove to the outskirts of St. Louis. We had what passed for a tent and we spent the night at this campground. The next day my dad told us that we would be going through the Annheuser Busch brewery which, incidentally, was a free of charge tour. We did show up at the brewery and after being shown the internal organs, we ended up at the "party room". As you might expect, beer was the only drink served and each one of us was given a bottle of beer. I drank some and found it was not to the liking of my tummy. No more beer for Sid. I recall that in the handling of this beer bottle, it foamed up and spilled on the highly polished table. I tried to wipe it up, but lacked the needed equipment. One of the things that I recall about St. Louis was that we were buying gasoline 8 gallons for $1. That was cheap. Gasoline did burn in the car's cylinders, but knocked something awful. We bought no more gas at that price.
At the site where the land was located, we found nothing but low mountains, huge boulders a few pine trees and desolation. We did find a hillbilly family who answered some of our questions about this bit of property. At that point, we headed back to Fairbank, Iowa. I later heard that my dad had sold this land to the state of Missouri for some kind of wildlife sanctuary.
This concludes the long, long ago
I will now bring my saga containing an account of my life in the Navy. I know you all are aware of the attack on Pearl Harbor, December 7, 1941 by the Japanese Armed Forces. Earlier in 1941, I had registered for the draft and was shortly 1A which meant I was only a step or two away from being drafted into the U. S. Army. I was teaching school at the time and the school board wanted me to finish out the school year through the next June. We made arrangements to appear before the local draft board on December 8, 1941, we made an appearance through the overtones of the Pearl Harbor disaster and, as you might expect, I kept the 1A draft status.
The next day, I drove from Riverside to Cedar Rapids, Iowa to determine what the Navy had to offer. I contacted the recruiting station and was given full details as to the rules and regulations. I was also told to report to the recruiting station on December 10, which I did. I was immediately put to work as a yeoman (typist), since the Iowa farm boys were not anxious to be drafted into the Army, but felt the Navy was a better deal.
However, I found that the yeoman that had worked in the recruiting station was off recovering from the effects of some serious alcoholic beverages. They needed a yeoman desperately since, as mentioned above, the Iowa farm boys were lined up ready to take on the Japanese Navy. They had even found a room in a rooming house where I could stay. Life continued quite routinely with Sid working his butt off, filling out the forms and papers for the new recruits.
As I have (or will) mentioned, Marilyn Elizabeth Ingham and I were married in the following July. We enjoyed life in Des Moines, but eventually I was commissioned an ensign in the Navy Reserve and the happenings will be recorded elsewhere.
The following represents another notch in Sid's blog. I was perhaps 10 or 12 at the time and during the summer months would go to an area just up the river from the mill which often yielded a fish or two. I was down at the mill with my usual fishing gear when I got too far out on a plank covering the ____ and the plank tipped throwing me into the water. I could not swim, but I was paddling for life in order to keep my head above water if the mills mechanism had been turning at the time, I most certainly would have been sucked into the grinding chamber and would quickly become human mincemeat. Fortunately for Sid the Fed another older man was also fishing with a cane and pole. He thrust the pole out to me. The pole was long enough I could grab it and be pulled in. I was none the worse because of the incident, except to give thanks that I was still able to breathe and walk. My savior (first name unknown) Fitzgerald although I am sure my parents did hear about their eldest son's brush with death, I never fished at this location again.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
More from later in Thanksgiving
We went to Mimi's for dinner tonight - the food was very good. Only two out of the seven of us ordered the Thanksgiving meal. Sid, of course, ordered one of the traditional meals. His dinner included a small Caesar's salad - shared with Roberta and Serena. Then four big slices of white turkey, mashed potatoes with gravy, mashed sweet (very sweet) potatoes, carrots, broccoli and chocolate cream pie. The chocolate cream pie was finished off with some help. Sid pretty much dismissed the broccoli and carrots as too healthy. The rest was sampled, but saved in styrofoam for another meal tomorrow. Oh, and raspberry iced tea was also drunk - several glasses. No one left hungry.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
More Life at Cornell
I will continue in the King blog to divulge the small incidents that occurred at Cornell College which might be of interest to you, the reader.
Many, if not most, colleges of that era the football season with its bright sunny days and leaves come tumbling down is the time for pranks, not necessarily harmless played on faculty and students alike. In my freshman year I attempted to carry on this journal of pranks but I quickly learned that I was a rank amateur in such goings-on. Even though I did not participate in the more outlandish and violent pranks, I did greatly enjoy the relaxed atmosphere of college life as well as watching the beautiful leaves come tumbling down since the Cornell College had a great multitude of hardwood trees.
Cornell College had given up the fraternity life a long time ago but in their stead were "social groups" that took the place of fraternities. It was always a matter of conjecture as to whom which would be pledged - which would be left out. The social groups were pretty much divided as to the atmosphere derived from their undergraduate days at home. Even though I came from a poor family and had no special athletic talents as pledged by "AXE" Alpha Chi Epsilon. And my good fortune in receiving such an honor has stayed with me throughout my life.
The fraternities did have their own version of "hazing"; not the extremly physical type used by many freshmen groups in other colleges but such harmless incidences as wearing outlandish costumes, painted faces, etc. in fact resembled a Halloween party. At that period of time booze such as beer, wine and hard liquors were forbidden on the campus as was the case throughout all Iowa. Despite this, the law was being frequently violated. In my hazing part, we were put through some crazy tricks and were dressed in what might be called "crazy clothing" and as you might expect of students of that age, a couple of cases of beer had floated by which were quickly snatched up by the pledgees. Just how an intact case of beer would float down a large river was never explained. I don't recall indulging to any great extent in the occasional beer, but several of my fellow pledgees imbibed heavily and one whose name shall be forgotten, and never be indulged on these pages.
Suffice to say that I did not imbibe so heavily that my action nor voice was affected in any way. And to this day some 65 years later, the statement still remains true.
Many, if not most, colleges of that era the football season with its bright sunny days and leaves come tumbling down is the time for pranks, not necessarily harmless played on faculty and students alike. In my freshman year I attempted to carry on this journal of pranks but I quickly learned that I was a rank amateur in such goings-on. Even though I did not participate in the more outlandish and violent pranks, I did greatly enjoy the relaxed atmosphere of college life as well as watching the beautiful leaves come tumbling down since the Cornell College had a great multitude of hardwood trees.
Cornell College had given up the fraternity life a long time ago but in their stead were "social groups" that took the place of fraternities. It was always a matter of conjecture as to whom which would be pledged - which would be left out. The social groups were pretty much divided as to the atmosphere derived from their undergraduate days at home. Even though I came from a poor family and had no special athletic talents as pledged by "AXE" Alpha Chi Epsilon. And my good fortune in receiving such an honor has stayed with me throughout my life.
The fraternities did have their own version of "hazing"; not the extremly physical type used by many freshmen groups in other colleges but such harmless incidences as wearing outlandish costumes, painted faces, etc. in fact resembled a Halloween party. At that period of time booze such as beer, wine and hard liquors were forbidden on the campus as was the case throughout all Iowa. Despite this, the law was being frequently violated. In my hazing part, we were put through some crazy tricks and were dressed in what might be called "crazy clothing" and as you might expect of students of that age, a couple of cases of beer had floated by which were quickly snatched up by the pledgees. Just how an intact case of beer would float down a large river was never explained. I don't recall indulging to any great extent in the occasional beer, but several of my fellow pledgees imbibed heavily and one whose name shall be forgotten, and never be indulged on these pages.
Suffice to say that I did not imbibe so heavily that my action nor voice was affected in any way. And to this day some 65 years later, the statement still remains true.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
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