A sign of faith . . .

. . . maybe. Read it closely, please.

A car guy . . .

. . . that's me. If it turns money into noise or speed, I'm there. I've been that way since I was sixteen and hot-rodded a 1952 Chevy. The last car I owned in high school was as 1956 Oldsmobile "Super 88" that I repainted Cadillac red and cream.

My first "real car" when I got a "real job" was a 1968 Pontiac GTO in "arrest me red." I wore out the engine, then I rebuilt it to about 450 HP. Gas was cheap. Luckily for me, I guess. The car got about six miles per gallon. When the salt and sand in Omaha ate up the paint, I repainted it in my garage.

I eventually had to sell the GTO. It was worn out again, and it wasn't the ideal family car. When I think about our cross country trips with the kids - in the days before seat belts - I get cold chills.

In the early 80's, I was out looking for another vintage GTO when I stumbled across a 1930 Ford Tudor sedan. When I hauled it into my garage, it looked like this.

After I built a new frame and suspension, swapped in modern running gear, chopped the top and painted it, it looked like this. After it was finished, a man from Harrisburg, PA saw it in a car show. Even though I told him it WAS NOT FOR SALE, he kept upping the offer until I caved. I regret it to this day.

After living without a hot rod for a few years, I just had to find another. A friend of mine did most of the work on this 1972 Chevy Pickup. It had louvers everywhere, a custom paint job, a motor with an obscene amount of horsepower, and was totally impractical. Of course, I bought it. I drove it until I wore it out, then sold it for exactly what I paid for it.

There's a story behind this race car. I was visiting a friend who owned a body shop. An acquaintance of ours had a race car to sell, and needed to sell it in a hurry. It seems he had taken out a loan on a title to a wrecked car. He missed the payments, and the bank was threatening repossession, and he was looking a fraud charges.

I made an offer that he apparently thought was too low, and he started cursing and screaming into the phone, then hung up. About 10 minutes later, he called back and said he would accept the offer. Of course, I immediately lowered my offer, and he went postal again. Fifteen minutes, he called back, but before he could say a word, I lowered the offer again - and bought the car.

When we picked up the car, it looked worse than this. It was a bare frame, with only the rear half of the body shown here. I chopped the chassis in two just ahead of the firewall, rebuilt the front end and designed the aluminum body.

When we were done, it looked like this. It had about 700 horsepower - for racing only of course. It would accelerate from 0 to 174 MPH in about 8.75 seconds. Eventually racing became way too expensive, and my partner and I sold the racing team.

I didn't have a true hot rod for a long time, then In 2003, we moved to Virginia, and I caught the bug yet again. This photo was taken a few months into the project.

A little more than three years later, after much welding, fitting, assembly, cursing, disassembly, reassembly, sanding, cursing and painting, it looks like this.

The last photo (I'm sure you're bored senseless by now) is my daily driver. Twelve years ago, I wandered into a Chevy dealer's lot in Kansas City looking to replace a pickup that just went off lease. I didn't see a pickup I liked, but I had always - as long as I can remember - wanted a red Corvette. I drove it home, and I still have it.

Radiation Hazard . . .

. . . or why the tree-hugging, sandals-with-socks, environment uber alles crowd sometimes irritates the hell out of me. Not that protecting the environment is a bad thing. Occasionally, however, some modicum of logic is required - and often is missing.

On one of my project sites, there is supposedly a buried pipe containing some radium residue. Supposedly, the location was marked, but no one can find it, and it's not on a map.

Simple to find, you say? Just get a Geiger counter and follow the clicks. Not so. It seems the decaying granite in the surrounding earth gives out more radiation than the little bit of radium in the pipe. Right now, George Carlin would be saying "hmmmmmm."

I am therefore lead, fairly willingly, to the obvious question. If there's more radiation eminating from the granite, why am I looking for the radium? Maybe I should bury more radium in the ground to mask the granite? If the ground is more radioactive than the radium, should I rub dirt on my watch dial?

If you don't know what the flags signify, go here and decode.

Wildlife . . .

I saw this little guy sitting on our front sidewalk, right in front of the door. I was a bit worried because he didn't seem to want to move. He was OK, though. When I walked out to take a better photo, he flew off.

On another note, we have a very nice sunrooom on the back of the house. Unfortunately, there's no place to sit. The bears have taken over.

Rude UK . . . From Wikipedia.

Further evdence that we're two peoples separated by a common language?

1. Cocks, Cornwall
2. Twatt, Shetland (note, there is another Twatt in Orkney)
3. Sandy Balls, a long-established holiday centre in New Forest, Hampshire, England with a name dating back to Henry VIII
4. Shitterton, Dorset, England


Of course, Canada is not exempt.

And neither is the U.S.

The Civil War . . .

The American Civil War, that is. Alternately known as "The War Between the States" or "The War of Northern Aggression" or officially "The War of the Rebellion." That's the official name because the winner writes the records, and the winner, if there really was one, was the United States of America.

I became interested in the civil war for a several reasons. First, I have a great interest in history in general. Next, during research of my family history, I found that my great-great-grandfather, George Levi Palmer, was a private in the 7th Illinois Volunteer Infantry. The following text is part of a summary I made of George's experience in the Civil War:

George Levi Palmer enlisted at Carlinville, Macoupin County, Illinois on the 19th day of July, 1861, joining Company "K" of the 7th Illinois Volunteers as a private. He was described as having "brown eyes, brown hair, dark complexion, height 5 ft 10 in." This was George's eighteenth birthday, and he celebrated it by taking a giant step into history. I suppose he thought he was starting a great adventure. If only he knew . . .

George Levi Palmer served the full length of the war and met with many misfortunes. At the battle of Corinth, Mississippi on October 3 and 4, 1862, George was first listed as missing in action, then as killed in battle. In fact, he was taken prisoner on October 4, then paroled near Vicksburg, Mississippi on October 18, 1862. In this furious battle, Union forces held the day, but casualties were terrible. The Union forces suffered 315 Killed, 1812 Wounded, while the C.S.A. lost 1423 Killed, 5692 Wounded and 2248 Missing or Captured.

October, 1864, found George Palmer's luck still running badly. On or about the 5th of this month, he was reported missing at the battle of Allatoona, Georgia. He was captured and held a prisoner of war at Andersonville, Georgia until April 14, 1865, when he escaped and reported to General Wilson at Macon, Georgia on April 22, 1865. In this battle the Union lost 142 Killed, 352 Wounded and 212 Missing or Captured. The C.S.A. suffered 231 Killed, 500 Wounded and 411 Missing or captured.

George Palmer was honorably discharged from the 7th Illinois on July 9, 1865 and was mustered out on that day in Louisville, Kentucky. He returned home to western Illinois, where he became a lumber merchant until his death on December 6, 1897, from a robber's bullet.

I became so interested in the lives of the Civil War soldiers that I joined a reenacting group in Olathe, KS. Our company became what some of the less enthusiastic reenactors called Hardcore." That means we tried to live in the field just as they had. No modern conveniences and no anachronisms such as cast iron pots, camp cots, or stainless steel canteens.

Uniforms and other accoutrements were made from period-accurate patterns and authentic cloth, using period accurate sewing techniques. We carried and ate only the types of food they had - hardtack, salt pork and locally grown vegetables . We slept like they slept - on the ground with a blanket and an oilcloth. If they had no tents during a particular campaign, we had no tents.

After I spent about ten years in the reenactment community, I quit. I simply got tired of the "Farb" wing of the reenacting community. In our parlance, a "Farb" is someone who wants to go camping in a civil war uniform, but doesn't give a rat's furry backside about authenticity. Legend is that the word "Farb" comes from "FAR Be it from me to try to do it right."

I was weary of listening to people in polyester uniforms sitting on folding chairs around a cast iron cooking grill telling the spectators about how hard the soldier's life was. And, no matter how hard we tried, we were still inundated with Farbs of all size, shape and description. They wore "Deputy Dawg" hillbilly hats, hauled beds, tables, chairs, cots and coolers into their camps. Worse, while they were doing this, they were lecturing folks about how they were doing it to "honor their ancestors." The bullshit finally got to me. I quit and sold all my uniforms, weapons and accoutrements.

Since I had ancestors on both sides during the Civil War, I had no reservations about portraying either side. I was not there to re-fight the Civil War, but to show how it was - to portray some of the history that students are not taught in the schools today.

This photo was taken at Athens, MO in 2005. Many folks think that the Civil War started at Ft. Sumpter. Wrong! The seeds of the Civil War were planted along the Kansas/Nebraska border, and were the direct result of the Missouri Compromise and the Kansas-Nebraska act. John Brown was killing people in Kansas and Missouri long before he tried to take Harpers Ferry.

Athens was an obscure battle, in early August, 1861. The southern sympathizing Missouri State Guard, using mostly civilian weapons, met the Missouri Home Guard. That's me, with my 10 ga. shotgun, stealing a quick rest in front of the Captain's camp.

This is a photo of our company - Company "C" of the Scotland County Missouri State Guard. Note the lack of uniforms, and the varying ages of the soldiers. We were armed with shotguns, flintlocks, fowling pieces, pitchforks and clubs. We did not fare well against the much better equipped Union volunteers.

In 2001, our company spent a weekend at Ft. Larned, Kansas. Although the fort is slightly post-Civil War, it is only three years out of period - 1868. We stayed in the enlisted barracks, cooked our food in the fort's kitchen, and generally lived our lives in 1868 for about 2-1/2 days. Ft. Larned was - and still is - in the middle of nowhere. No noise, no lights, no cars (meaning no thumping rap). The photo below is the parade grounds.

Three of our company members malingering in the enlisted barracks. The bunk beds are exact reproductions of those that were in the barracks in 1868. I wondered why the beds were so wide, then I was told that they slept two soldiers per bunk - facing opposite directions.

The barracks looked like the original company had just left. All the uniforms, accoutrements, muskets and other gear was hanging on the walls. All the bunks were outfitted with straw mattresses and authentic reproductions of Army blankets. I"m on the right.

My passion to the hobby extended past reenacting. Because of the expense of authentic clothing and other gear, I started making my own. I made shirts, blouses, trowsers, jackets, coats, overcoats, belts, tents and ground cloths. Several items are shown below.

This red check shirt is made from an authentic pattern, and from reproduced small-loom woven cloth. It's an overshirt, sometimes called a battleshirt. This type of shirt was more often seen on Southern troops.

This is a standard Union Army foot soldier's greatcoat or overcoat. It is made from an exact reproduction 100% wool cloth, and sewn according to the original quartermaster's instructions. Making this was quite an exercise.

This is a Confederate army jacket. It is a reproduction - in both cloth and sewing techniques of an existing original.

These are fatigue blouses - the most commonly worn jacket by the Union army. Again, the cloth is an exact reproduction - in weave and color - of the original uniform.

Actually, I'm a bit sorry my reenacting career is over. I'm not sure I can remain "quit." Maybe I'll get the urge to pick up the musket - and the needle again.

Life at the beach . . .

We moved to Hampton Roads in 2002. We had to. The management of last company I worked for decided they didn't need any corporate staff. So, I became - in their words - a part of a "profit improvement program." I wish they had just "manned up" and said "we're cutting staff." But no, they needed some corporate-speak to put in their fancy little financial reports. They needed reports and I needed a job. Job hunting is not fun when you'r a shade under six decades.

Anyhow, that's old news. In some ways, I'm glad it happened. For the last six years, I've worked for the Department of Defense, and it's great. I'm actually doing something to support our troops beyond hanging a magnetic ribbon on my car. I can't tell you what I'm doing. Well, I could, but then, I'd have to kill you . . . ;o) They pay me a good salary, and I will leave many things behind that I can point to and say: "Hey! I did that!" And, they're physical things - not just reports and papers and drawings. They are real and visible and useful, and they will outlive me by many years. Footprints in the sands of time, as it were. I like that.

Hmmm . . . I wandered away from what I was going to say, but that's OK. I'll just leave it here.

What I started out to say is that we don't live ON the beach. We live four or five miles away, but we can get there in just a few minutes. Since a lot of the area is rural, when we go to the beach, we have the opportunity to see many interesting things. Like this: