Revise Priorities Ahead! Life on a Spiritual Path

Revise Priorities Ahead!

Life on a Spiritual Path

Synopsis

Travel with me through the storms of this real life adventure. Starting with an idyllic, rural childhood we go into the gangland streets of New York and on to Seattle for High School, where Rock and Roll is coming in. These all provide lots of exciting stories. An auto accident throws me into a near death experience. I know the ecstasy of being a slave to that old white horse galloping through my veins and the agony of a cold turkey withdrawal. I go from sweeping floors to being called the Pork Belly King of Wall Street. The stress-filled heights of a top earning executive give way at the hands of an enraged butcher knife wielding wife. A devastating divorce leads to the joys of an almost penny-less hippy at Rainbow gatherings. Peek into a budding awareness of sexuality and the influences of raging hormones inflamed by spiritual practices. See how a romantic nature fuels the wildfires of many exciting relationships with passion, poetry and pathos. Thrill with me through my Satori. Follow my intriguing search for a Master, how it draws me to India to meet him and to join the most controversial spiritual movement of the 20th century. You will be captivated by intimate stories ‘told and untold’ - from the building of our utopia in the Oregon desert, to the street people saga and a barely avoided Waco-like siege by the powers that be. All this is yours, with humor and unguarded honesty. I hope my personal account may raise awareness that mystery and magic are all around us. Enjoy the read.

Comments

I enjoyed the ride.

You have a lovely way of describing your

Path to Becoming' and I also liked how you inserted the letters you wrote to your family during the seventies in London.

London of course is marvelously described and is an interesting time piece as life was much more laid back then. Needless to say the insights you have and the people you meet are highly captivating...on the whole a brilliant read!

Much love, Bhagawati

It’s a treat to follow this Daredevil through the

rises and falls and lessons of a long life

meticulously recorded, wild, and well spent.

Moved by insatiable curiosity, Devananda tries it all on

with zest, spirit, sensitivity and honesty.

The rich collection of photos sprinkled along the way

is delightful, and proof that this is all ‘real’,

in fact, the real thing.

Long live Devananda, I can’t wait for Volume Two!

CLAIRE MASSART, MA, LMT

Translator/Interpreter, Teacher, Therapist

(and spirited globetrotter)

A Wise Touch For Health

[email protected].

Congratulations! I opened up your book almost two hours ago intending to just read a few pages....

but I can't stop reading it!

I was hooked with the introduction and am now destined to spend my time today continuing in the wonderful journey that is your life. I am so glad you wrote this book....honest, self

effacing, joyful even during the tough times...I love it.

Thank you for this treat. My son Douglas saw it and said: ...."cool....I want to read the book!

Love you, Holly Francis

Great article!

(Excerpt from Chapter 10: Satori and Finding my Master)

LOVE

Inoshi denizen

I am still reading your book and now, I don’t want it to finish. It is well written. You are a good writer.

More than that, I think this is an important work. It will be an important contribution to the Sanyassin community. How it takes the reader from a childhood, the developing personality of one with high standards and work ethics, through the emerging of one looking for answers in the spiritual realm, and wrestling with the oxymoron of a utopian existence in a dysfunctional organization – Its, well, it is riveting. Your honesty in your story-telling humanizes it all, making the journey truly believable. Your affection for your parents and your understanding of their concern for your cult plays a part. I have not been offended in the reading of this version of the book with regard to your sexual exploits, hopefully because you left some of them out, but there seems to be more respect or maybe it is just more thoughtfully written. There is an audience out there (besides your sister) who will, if they can find the book, truly identify with your journey and appreciate the history of Rajneeshpuram. Assuming your facts are correct about the legal tribulations, it should answer a lot of questions.

Currently, I am on the pages where you are bringing the homeless to the Ranch. You can be very proud of what you have accomplished. I hope the book gets into the hands of your friends and sanyassins (or are they the same?) for their growth and curiosity.

Love, sister Dot

09/17/12

Finished the book, and all too soon.

I laughed and I cried through it all.

It seemed to end abruptly, just like Rajneeshpuram.

You need to write a sequel.

How your experience there has affected the way you face life’s challenges now, when you stopped wearing orange, and how your sanyassin community

has continued in your life.

It’s a wonderful book.

I can’t wait to see it in its published state.

Dot

Dot Bardarson

Bardarson Studio

[email protected]

*****

REVISE PRIORITIES AHEAD!

Life on a Spiritual Path

A MODERN DAY MAN'S SPIRITUAL QUEST

Copyright © 2011 by Roger Walton Devananda Day

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, in part or whole, requires the written permission of the publisher.

Adobe Acrobat Edition published by Author in 2011

Smashwords Edition Published by Author in 2012

Third Edition A

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it or receive it as a paid for gift for your use only, then please go to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the incredibly difficult efforts and costs that the author and publisher went to so you could enjoy this great book.

Order the book: https://www.

smashwords.com/books/view/221297?ref=Devananda

Contact Author: [email protected]

reviseprioritiesahead.blogspot.com

Acknowledgments

Thank you to CLAIRE MASSART for her enthusiastic editing suggestions, a labor of love in zillions of hours.

As well as to Bhagawati, Dot Bardarson, Heather Mc Crone, and Vasu Deva

For their valuable contributions.

Thank you to MA DYAN ANANDITA,

Lawyer in Chicago; a Sannyasin since 2002,

for her permission to quote Osho

and publish Ashram pictures

beyond copyright protection

"..but for those of you who just want to write about their personal

memories, or use a quote here and there, or talk about Osho’s views on

various subjects … have no fear. Feel free to quote the Great Rebel He

is public property and your right to comment will be protected under the

law. (In: Osho, Your Right To Publish")

ISBN 9781476174013

Points of Interest (POI) Highlighted Samples

Caution: This section is included to peak your interest and is not meant to delay your enjoyment of getting into the story

in which these few samples are found.

1. Spirituality 2. Love - Poetic Outpouring.

3. Enculturation - Freedom - Religious Aspects.

4. Religion-Controversial literature.

5. Religion - vs. - Religiousness. 6. Secret Sacred Brotherhoods. 7. OSHO Music 8. Romance. 9. Travel.

10. Relationships, Master Disciple, Man-Woman.

11. Serendipity. 12. Out-of-Body.

13. Truth. 14. Miraculous Healing. 15. Lies of Wall Street.

*****

DEDICATION

I honor my four greatest teachers among the many:

Jack Schwartz

He guides me to my first satori (Samadhi)

Seth

He unravels some of life's mystery

In explaining the concept we create our own reality

H.W.L. Poonja / Papa Ji

He makes eloquently simple his perspective

of the teachings of Shree Ramanaharshi

and the accessing of the blessed silence

Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh / OSHO

He finishes it all off with the greatest of blessings

Not with answers,

Rather with a blessed silence,

Where all questions simply disappear,

Bringing forth within me the

Love, awareness, wonder, peace and bliss

Which surpasses all understanding.

*****

Forward, ever Forwards

It is a super great life.

This memoir chronicles adventures on my Spiritual Path.

When my mother receives calls from friends, invariably they begin the conversation with the question:

What’s new with Roger?

My longest known friend, Karen Shane-Wilkie Contreras wrote in my high school annual:

He Runs Thru Life With All Pores Open!

This book is about finding and testing my wings.

Here is a favorite explanation coming from the

Zen tradition speaking to the consequences of ‘Enlightenment’:

Before Enlightenment

Chop wood and carry water from the well.

After Enlightenment:

Chop wood and carry water from the well.

What is the difference you may well ask?

It is Huge, Paradoxical and all Consuming.

At its core is a knowingness that

once the choice is made to embark upon a

Life on a Spiritual Path,

the traveler must, to say the very least;

Revise Priorities Ahead!

And there is no turning back.

My writing is in the spirit of these words I treasure, in a poem on Friendship from: A Life for a Life, 1859; by Dinah Mulock Craik:

"Oh, the comfort,

The inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person;

Having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words,

But to pour them out, chaff and grain together,

Knowing that a faithful hand will take and sift them,

Keep what is worth keeping,

And then, with the breath of kindness,

Blow the rest away."

And here is some of my writing:

Right from the get-go

it is useful to realize that

two are the pathways

to spiritual attainment.

One is the path of thoughtful awareness

which is the domain of the mind.

The other is emotional awareness,

which is the domain of the heart.

With proper nurturing

they both ultimately merge,

and working together

on the infinite superhighway of love,

referred to by many as

God.

The Promise

When you are ready,

you will be shown the path

to a new way of beingness.

In your heart you will realize Truth.

It is not an attainment.

Rather it is deliverance;

from which there is never

a desire to ever return.

L

G O D

V

E

In the beginning there is God.

The expression of God is Love.

Love is the creative energy in all existence,

This is simply, beingness.

And in knowing this, all is possible.

May you enjoy this story as much as I have

in creating and living it.

Swami Devananda

*****

INTRODUCTION

Early on, I became blissfully aware of the higher consciousness which guides and rules life. The memories I share with you, I personally happen to find significant.

I have always sensed that I am more than flesh and bone, more than any person, system or society would have me believe to be. I have always felt ‘different’ in so far as I was not impressed with the norms society was trying to impose on me. Generally, I have felt content within myself. Occasionally, I would wonder why I was not interested in shallow social interactions and whether I was an outsider that is just not getting it. And yet, all along, I have been fully engaged in life, savoring every inch of it. I know that much about me, others agree.

Once, I heard or read the declaration: ‘we are spiritual beings having a human experience’. That is definitively my experience!

So this is a book about my spiritual search. The title, you will discover, comes from one of those serendipitous happenings, when the bells are ringing, the lights are flashing, everything is telling you it’s time to pay attention and the signals ahead are pointing in the right direction.

On my path, I have encountered people who had radically different views. Some of the people could have felt greatly offended if I had mentioned their real names, so I changed them, although rarely.

I refer to my Master; Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh interchangeably as Bhagwan or Osho. Shortly before his leaving the body he dropped the title Bhagwan, which meant The Blessed One and took on Osho, a Japanese title meaning The Friend, which is how the people of Zen address their Master. My tendency is to use Bhagwan especially during the early times of our most intimate connection and respect the use of OSHO when that is the term used in quoted materials. My heart mostly responds to Bhagwan.

As I share of my unusual personal experiences, I hope people will recall similar experiences, and so inspire them to question what society would have us believe.

Just as the beautiful lotus grows out of mud, delightful spiritual growth can emerge from mundane, challenging, and even dark circumstances.

Here, I openly share both the darkness and the light.

As I stand in wonder of life’s mysteries, my hope is for, and my faith is in, the greater diversity that is human nature to continue to defy trivialization and categorization and that those seeking for de-mystification of life’s mysteries never succeed. Like looking into the starry night sky, let us always seek the Light where freedom abounds.

*****

Table of Contents

First here is a note on using Hyperlinks which take you to the subject and can return to the point of origin. They contain important information. When you see: SUBJECT, Press ‘Ctrl’ key and left click on Highlighted subject. To return to the point of origin, press the Alt key and the left navigating arrow or if there is a green button with a left pointing arrow on the top tool bar, press that.

I admit that my wording tends to be politically incorrect. For instance, I speak of men’s or girls’ dormitories. We would now say boys or girls or men or women.

Please do not take offense, instead, see it in the context of the time the story takes place. This is done on purpose to to create a contrast showing how times change things. Then it is for your awareness to consider how those changes affect your consciousness.

Synopsis

Comments

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Forward

Introduction

Table of Contents

Section 1: Enculturation: Learning Lies: from Birth to Near Death.

Chapter 1: Love is where it first begins.

Chapter 2: Adventures in Growing Up

Chapter 3: Mt Vernon

Chapter 4: Seattle

Section 2: Experiencing Lies: Dreaming Big: from sweeping floors to the CBOT and

Wall Street

Chapter 5: College

Chapter 6: Brenda and Immigrating to Perth, Australia

Chapter 7: Back In Seattle

Chapter 8: Selling Cars Again

Chapter 9: The World of Finance and Entry into Higher Metaphysical Training

Section 3: Soaring High Beyond the Lies: from the Frying Pan into the Holy Fire of

Truth!

Chapter 10: Satori and Finding My Master

Chapter 11: London

Chapter 12: Poona, India

Chapter 13: Inge

Chapter 14: Back to India

Chapter 15: The Ranch, Stories Told and Untold

Chapter 16: The Ranch, Politics, Separation and Share-A Home

Chapter 17: Sunset on the Ranch

Chapter 18: Epilogue

Chapter End Notes and Hyperlinks

Bibliography

*****

Section 1:

Enculturation: Learning Lies: from Birth to Near Death.

Chapter 1:

LOVE is where it first begins.

LOVE is the greatest danger in life.

It is the greatest storm there is.

But one who has faced it, grows,

Comes out of it one day

Clear, pure, mature.

OSHO

Galveston, Texas. Sunday, January 23, 1938, 10:30 AM. Hurricane force winds are blowing white cap waves over the sea wall, flooding Galveston Harbor. The driven rain is almost horizontal. Things which can move are flying. What can bend does so, sometimes to the breaking point. Solid masses not meant to move shudder, and occasionally, suddenly break free. In the hospital, intermittently failing electricity causes the lights to flicker as tensions build. A lone figure, a movie camera clutched in hand, stands in the corridor where the surgery door is purposely left slightly ajar. Chills run up the spine. A shout rings out:"

It’s a BOY!

So my life begins. As I gasp for that very first breath I show my eagerness to experience the nuances of all seasons, to drink the froth and dregs to the last.

Now, this book is about me. In order to do that I must also interlace this narrative with some stories about my family too. What happens to them shapes my experience and memory as if it were often my own.

Mom was born and raised in Brooklyn, New York during a time when it is a fashionable neighborhood. She, Blanche Ione Walton, is called Dolly most of her life. Her older sister is Edna Maude, my beloved Aunt Edna, who had childhood polio. A younger brother dies in infancy. Their father was a moderately successful accountant, until the depression when he loses his job. He never recovers from that loss, psychologically or financially. He was also a 32nd degree Mason. Her mother keeps the family hearth and the dining table open to all comers at all times, and raised her daughters to be ladies.

My father, Captain Vernon Edwin Day, is a career officer in the United States Coast Guard. He took took the pictures of my birth in the hospital through an open door in the delivery room. Photography and woodworking are his major hobbies. He manufactured much of the photo finishing equipment he used in his darkroom, as well as cameras and projectors.

I, Roger Walton Day, have a very warm and supportive welcoming to this lifetime, being doted over by loving parents, two curious siblings, and a Mexican nanny, who totally spoiled me.

My first brush with physical harm comes when playing choo-choo train with the ironing board. The hot iron falls on my forehead, right above my nose, causing a lot of blood to flow and quite a commotion

Within 18 months, Dad gets transferred to Port Angeles, Washington. The family now lives in a small home nestled on the border of the Cascade National Forest. It is here, at the age of two, that I have my first brush with more serious physical harm by riding my kiddy car down the basement steps. With so many bumps and bruises, and wondering what has happened, I definitely need some watching.

Throughout most of the daylight hours, weather permitting, I happily toddled around the backyard tethered to the clothesline by a long cord attached to a halter around my chest. What wonderful freedom for Mom to be able to leave me safely in the yard to play by myself, without fear that I may wander off into the forest and be adopted or eaten by the bears! And what wonderful freedom it was for me to learn to play and explore by myself, hours on end, pursuing curiosity to the limits of my reach.

When I am first learning to talk, I call the cat LaLa. Dad works extremely hard attempting to get me to call the cat Simo. It goes like this:

Roger, say Simo!

I say: LaLa.

Dad: Roger! Say Si.

I say: Si.

Dad: Now say Mo.

and I say: Mo.

And Dad says:

Now Roger, say Si- Mo.

And I proudly and enthusiastically say: LaLa!

And so it goes, on and on, over and over. It becomes a grand family joke.

Here is a picture of Mom with Simo, the king of the house.

Mom records some of my efforts to master English, and the inimitable questions, for

which children the world over are so fondly remembered.

Doggies in my bed - I ain’t got any much room.

Too-too taynee (choo-choo train)

Gupadeedeehill (coming up the steep hill)

How did the sun get built?

What is the moon made of?

My knees are hurt.

This ain’t no pencil!

Where is you?

I’m hippencupping.

I ain’t big as him are.

Nobody isn’t there.

Them are out there!

I want to see Mommie! (When someone else is scolding me)

No, I’m a gooom boy! (When I am protesting a scolding)

Nooooo baby doesn’t have much sense to hide his bottle.

I saw him came home.

Give me another more.

I iss at the Brooklyn Navy Yard and that’s what you didn’t see me.

You ain’t got no cooth! (couth)

I am too many hungries.

(And after I finally let go of LALA:) Where did you been, Simo?

I want to add one more of Mom’s precious recordings, this time from my 8 years older brother.

When Dick hears that Dr. McGowan had gotten married, he asks: "Will the Coast

Guard give him a vacation so he can get used to his wife?"

Within a few months the Coast Guard transfers Dad once again, this time to Port Washington, Massachusetts. The war years have begun. The family temporally shares the home of Aunt Edna. Soon a new arrival is the topic of conversation. One night, mom is not there, and I miss her. The next morning, Dad is preparing breakfast and gathers the children around the breakfast table. Where is the Kidgercodger? he asks. One of the children is sent to fetch me from my room, where as an early riser I always play quietly until the rest of the family arises. Where is Roger? He is not in his room! The question is called out repeatedly. Thus begins the search. Nowhere in the house am I to be found. An inspection of the basement, garage and yard gives no clues. And so, Dad loads the kids in the car and drives concentric circles around the neighborhood. Some twelve blocks distant, almost to the point of giving up the search, Dad sees me sitting, still in my pajamas, with cookies and milk in hand, propped up in the middle of a big living room window. With much relief Dad goes to claim his errant one. And what am I up to? I’m going to find Mommy and the nuuw (new) baby!

The new baby is named after his father, Vernon Edwin Day. We affectionately call him Chip, for indeed he is a chip off the old block, having Dad’s dark black curly hair and deep brown eyes. One day he goes missing. I have taken him exploring in the neighborhood and have returned without him. It is sometime before he is missed, lunchtime, in fact.. When questioned,, I reply: "Oh, I traded him for a billygoat." It is not too difficult to imagine how Mom fails to be exactly overjoyed at the wonderful bargain I have struck, even after I show her my newly acquired friend. There he is, white, with black patches and little pointed horns, a fine, playful young billygoat friend indeed, and definitely not a figment of my fertile imagination. We retraced my morning steps leading to a little farm, where a broadly grinning farmer is standing holding Chip by the hand. Now, how do you explain to an enthusiastic three and a half year old that it is just not the thing to do, to trade your brother for a goat? After all, it seems like a really good deal to me, even to this day.

Always one to play quietly, fully engrossed in curiosity, I am mostly left to my own devices. I don’t know how many parents this happens to, but it must be quite a few, because a Norman Rockwell Cover on Post Magazine of the time almost tells it all. The horrified, yet also amused parents are shown standing in the doorway to their bedroom while a party is in full swing in the background. On their bed lie the guests’ coats and woman’s purses. Also on the bed, sits their darling little two year old boy, unaware of his parents’ presence, totally absorbed in sorting through the contents of purses, all emptied into a pile. Only one thing needs to be added to the Rockwell picture for a complete scene of the Kidgercodger, and that’s the lipstick drawings on the wall.

At the age of four, I make up this story:

I got up and made brefus and it got hardboiled.

Then I ate the hardboiled egg and it turned into grease.

Then the grease turned into water and that turned into ears

and then into a big house and someone came along and took it away.

Mom records one of my prayers: January 1945:

Thank you for all the stars

Thank you for Jesus who is born on Christmas

Thank you for the Sheppard who brought jewels

And things on his birthday.

Amen.

And: Let’s sing Hacken Angol.

After Mom’s reference to "cleanliness is next to Godliness" I say Jesus says get in your wash!

And a question:

Do God’s eyes sparkle?

...those who follow the path of love, they will dance, they will sing, they will laugh, they will celebrate. A thousand and one flowers will bloom in their path - their eyes will sparkle, will become candles; their lives will become more and more juicy.

OSHO, The Guest Ch, 8

By the age of five I have a well-developed sense of money and also how to get it. I sell fresh asparagus door to door from my little red wagon for ten cents a bunch, making two or three cents each. I always have money to spend for all the kinds of ways I discover to spend it. I love to count and display it for my folks to see, for they praise my earning and saving skills. They jokingly refer to me as Silas Marner. This reference stays with me well into adult life, especially when making any financial achievement. Once I become aware of the actual story and its negative connotation, I feel a bit ridiculed.

One of the most vivid memories of early childhood is playing in the dirt with paper jeeps, tanks, ships and foot soldiers. They come printed on a heavy paper and pre-punched for easy removal and folding. They cost only three pennies per sheet, if I recall correctly. These are the only toys available to me during the war years because the materials used in toys must go to the war effort. What is most memorable is that while I am fully absorbed in playing, I am simultaneously aware of myself from about 20 feet up in the air.. It is not the feeling watched. It is actually seeing myself at play and seeing my surroundings from that perspective. It does not seem at all strange to me because I have the experience many times in the quiet solitude of other activities.

By the age of six, I make up this story (presented as written):

I made a house. It raned into water. The water ran in to grease. The grease ran into dort, and I played mud pies init. The mud pies turned into cakes. And I ate one and they tasted good. It raned in to rugs. The rugs ran in to table. There it raned in to Santa chase. Next Christmas He waked down the sidewake and I saw him. And he said hear Roger and he gave it to me. And then he galaped away. And then he grew and grew and grew untel he grew to the sky and then he grew so big that he turned in to the sun and I is a bird. And I woked up in the morning and I found it is all a dream. And it turned into a whole house full of pennies all for me.

(Here you can see how early on, I am spelling-challenged. This was at a time, before educators realized that different people learn quite differently. Contrary to the visually inclined majority of learners, I am predominantly auditory, so I spell phonetically, even though I read the words correctly. (Remember LALA?) And that doesn’t work very well for educators. Add to that my hopeless dyslexia, which educators were unaware of at the time.

Dad was a formidable role model. There are plenty of stories to fascinate the reader, being a Scorpio by birth and by profession always the Captain.

Captain’s Rule #1, The Captain Is Always Right.

Rule #2, When He Is Wrong, Refer To Rule Number 1!

When Dad was a child his mother made a list of all his wrong doings. When his father returned, the first thing he would do was take Dad to the woodshed for a dressing down and whipping.

His father, Edwin, with a partner participated in the financing of a countywide co-operative irrigation project by collateralizing the family potato farm in Idaho. One season, water got scarce and farmers up line took all the water, causing his crop to fail. The partner did not fulfill his payment obligations, which left Dad’s father to pay off the debt. When his share of the payment couldn’t be made on the canal, the bank foreclosed the farm. His father then took a job as a traveling salesman. The family never returned to really sound financial footing after that, as the rest of his life was spent struggling to repay the debt. This is why the family was so poor; that Dad only wore secondhand and altered hand-me-down clothes.

Dad was a string saver. One never knows when something may come in handy, even though it has been of no use for the last thirty years! It is a long way to a store when one lives as a pioneer, way out in the country. All through his life, when driving somewhere he carefully researched the travel routes and distances, so that no money was wasted driving a block or two out of the way.

He taught us by example to question authority, and question absolute authority, absolutely! When a sign says Do not Enter, one must enter. When the sign says Absolutely DO NOT ENTER, ONE MUST ENTER ABSOLUTELY!

One great story of Dad involves a time, as a young boy, he was ice-skating on the canal, a place where he should not have been. The canal is part of the water delivery system to the potato farms in Twin Falls, Idaho. Dad fell through the ice into the fast-moving water, which pulled him underneath the ice. His playmates skating on top watched in horror as he swept past them looking up from under the ice. When he reached the canal bridge there was a patch of open water. Some friends were able to pull him out before being swept back under the ice. Fortunately he is revived and taken to a friends’ house to dry out and get a fresh set of clothes. As usual when his father returns home, Dad is taken to the woodshed and given a good shellacking for the bad deeds of the day.

He writes this about his family horse, ‘Prince.’

And indeed a prince was, gentle, faithful, intelligent, an all around household workhorse, buggy horse, and a riding horse for we kids. He took us to town, to church, to market, to picnics, up into the mountains on camping trips, and a never ending demand for his services. He was sold to a neighbor in 1920 or 21, but always came home when he could get loose.

Another story about Dad has to do with the dedication of a new bridge outside Twin Falls. It crosses the river running down into Shoshone Falls canyon. This was a major event opening up a section of territory that previously had been very difficult to access since the gorge is over 100 feet deep at this point. At an an opening-day ceremony with the governor and all the political dignitaries of the territory making their speeches, Dad goes hand over hand across the suspension cable underneath the bridge. His acrobatics create a major distraction. This of course makes the papers the next day, much to the chagrin of Dad’s parents, and it leads to the inevitable trip to the woodshed.

As a young man just out of the University of Idaho, Dad took a job working on the Seattle City Light Skagit River Hydroelectric Project. One day he was inside the concrete forms inspecting the metal ties that hold the forms together just before the scheduled concrete pour. Without any warning whatsoever, the pour begins and fresh concrete starts flowing in on top of him. It takes all of his strength and wits to make his escape. As he walks back to the bunkhouse for a change of clothes and shower, covered from head to toe with concrete, the job superintendent sees him, asks what happened, and commands him to get back to work. Dad insists, however, on first getting a shower and change of clothes. The job foreman is fired on the spot and the next day, Dad is appointed to be the new foreman. The superintendent says that with Dad’s experience, no one will ever be caught like that on one of his shifts. It may seem like that would not be a problem, but it is my understanding that half a dozen or so people working on the Columbia River projects got entombed in this way.

The following paragraph is from my sister Dot, who had just received a video clip from me showing how Minnesota winter sportsman’s cars were retrieved from under the ice while other parked ones were beyond rescue, hopelessly mired in mud.

This reminds me of when Dad would take us motoring on the sea wall at Galveston. You were just a baby, but you went too. We drove it at a severe slant much to the delight of the children, with Aunt Edna screaming, Vernie, Vernie, Vernie". This almost always led to a continued drive down the beach that somehow came to an end where other drivers had gone out onto the sand only to be engulfed by an incoming tide, and so forced to abandon their vehicles. It was a stark wasteland of vehicles. It made a big impression on me, and may have contributed to my conservative approach when engaging in wild teen-age escapades. This was reality.

Dot also sent a piece that describes what it was like in America when mom was eight years old.

This next piece is three years out of chronological order (1948). It shows what Dad’s life aboard ship was like. It is a letter he wrote to his Mom.

Dear Mother,

The good ship Ingham, having fought her way through storm and fog at last arrived safely at her dock in Berkley, and now after 38 days of turbulence, all is quiet. The crew has mostly shoved off to see wives and sweethearts, and I am alone. I even let my steward and boy off and got my own dinner.

I am also cooking a 20 pound turkey, a portion of which will entertain some of my Norfolk friends ere I depart these ports forever.

The steward will take over in a couple of hours, but I have put the bird in. I would putter around the pantry (Kitchen) more except it’s my steward’s job. I could tell him a lot about cooking, but he doesn’t change much.

I didn’t know Idaho is worse hit by the winter than elsewhere.

Out where the ship goes there is no such thing as good weather during the winter. At least it is one storm after another with winds up to 100 miles an hour, at least once a week and sometimes more, for several days it may be above 50. And that is a lot of wind, and it makes the sea unbelievably rough, waves 40 feet high are common. I believe the winter in Baltimore is not too bad. Of course I’m not there to fight the snow off the streets and walks and so it may be worse than I think. Norfolk does not have any real cold weather. It’s in the high 60's today, and now that the rain has stopped, it is pleasant with the sun shining through the breaks in the clouds. The humidity is like a summer’s day, quite a change from what I’ve been used to.

Well this last trip of mine has been a rough one, and I’m glad the trip is over, although I’m sorry to be leaving the ship.

My relief, a classmate, A. L. Ford will arrive some time March, while the ship is at the yard and I will be taking my departure before she sails about the 26th of March.

We will sail up the bay for Baltimore Wednesday. I wish you could be aboard for the trip. I have invited the crew to bring such friends and family as they might choose for the trip. It will be leaving at daylight and getting there at dusk.

Sima-Baby, my cat, is very heavy now and you can see the critters wriggling around. She should whelp next Sunday 27th or perhaps the 28th. She has been a very contented puss this trip and she spends most of the time sleeping and whenever I am sitting down, she’s usually on my lap, and at night she cuddles down against me, and rolls as I do with the ship. When I turn over, she crawls over me and takes her place on the other side. It’s a regular routine and she seems to enjoy it.

My guppies are still prolific and I have more to give away before I move.

Now I’ll close, Love Vernon

This is what I have learned in looking back to the time of this chapter:

The most important thing a father can give his children as a role model is to Love their Mother. And all the better it is if their Love is demonstrative, for all to see right out front. I am eternally grateful for the love my parents showed for each other and for me.

These first relationships with parents are the foundation for all future relationships.

It is the defining condition of what we are expected to give and receive and how we self-judge our worth.

*****

Chapter 2:

Adventures in Growing Up

Now the war years begin in earnest. Dad gets a transfer to convoy patrol and escort duties, sailing from Norfolk, Virginia. The family moves to Linthicum Heights, Maryland, a tiny village in the country, mid way between Baltimore and Annapolis. It is one of those quiet, old fashioned, traditional towns of the times that dot America. Dad chooses it because of its location almost exactly in the middle of a triangle drawn from Baltimore, Annapolis and Washington, D.C. His reasoning is that if a foreign invader arrives at our shores, their interest will be in the bigger cities, not this small town. The main intersection is a cross roads of a two lane county highway, neither road is significantly larger than the other. There is only one traffic light in the community. On one corner is the Methodist Church. The parish is next to the church on the side road. Across the street is the city park, with a large round gazebo where a band may play during holiday celebrations. It is here during one event when I have the winning raffle ticket, purchased with my own twenty five cents. The prize is a huge red and white canvas beach umbrella which stays in family use for over twenty years. This is the beginning of establishing a reputation for being lucky, which is added to on many other occasions. Dad is embarrassed about the winning of such an expensive prize by one so young, and at first wanted the prize to be re-awarded, but after protestations from me and other family members, a major contribution to the cause is made. Behind the park is the railroad station, a stop on the Baltimore and Annapolis Rail Road. Beyond that, a little further on is Dr. Ball's home and office. Kitty corner to the park, high on a sloping rise is the mayor’s house. And across from that is the home of the undertaker. Cozy, yes? The grade school and fire station are several blocks beyond with a candy store across the street. There is no grocery store. Small farms surround the town of, for the most part, modest, middle class homes.

The family home is part way up a hill above the county highway, with the town square being the midpoint for a walk to the school. We children are admonished to never walk that way to school, though it is the shorter, more level route, for it is thought to be too dangerous because we have to walk along 'dead man’s curve,’ which starts just a few feet from our road. I can vividly recall the sense of danger I felt there on the few occasions I broke the rule of not walking there. The Dead Man’s Curve well earned its name long before we came. And many are the stories added to its reputation in our seven years here.

Our house is a white colonial, with a front door opening to a central hall way and stairs grandly rising to the second floor, where there are four bedrooms and a bath. To the left of the entry hall is the dining room with kitchen and pantry behind and the back door which we kids mostly use. On the left is the large living room running the full depth of the house with a fireplace in the middle of the outside wall. It is in this fireplace we often find, late in the autumn, the dehydrated remains of box turtles brought home as play pets from the highways and byways during the summer. They have the proclivity of getting into a corner and not knowing how to turn around or back up. I guess there are few 90 degree corners to be found in nature. I used to find them in corners and attempt to teach them how to back and turn away from it buy pulling them backwards a little bit. But they always just charged straight ahead into the corner. On the other side of the fireplace wall, also running the full length of the house is a windowed and screened sun porch we use mostly as a winter and wet weather playroom. Most of our time is spent playing out of doors. A full basement is under the house for utilities, storage, some additional play space, a coal bin and garage. The back yard is fairly large and slopes up the hill, almost to the top. Ours is the last of three houses on the street which ends there. On one side of the house is the beginning of a forest. Beyond are rolling hills with small farms. It is an ideal place for children to live and grow up.

It is here that I learn the thrill of moving my body. The same is true for my fascination in exploring the vast enjoyment of fingertips touching the texture of leaves, tactile sensations of my bare feet in the grass, on pebbles or any surface are for me like savoring a delicious delicacy. The same is true of my fascination in exploring the vast enjoyment of fingertips touching the texture of leaves, rocks and stones, whatever surfaces catch my rapt attention. I became a very fast runner. I can leap what seems great distances. I experience in many leaps a sensation of levitation, that allow me to remain airborne for an incredibly long time. It seems strange and abnormal, and I love it. Sometimes I get a scolding for playing on the railroad tracks. With the greatest conviction and earnestness I reply, "But Mommy, I can run faster than any old train!" How would you like to have been my mom?

It is during the war years and many things we are normally used to having are being redirected to the war effort. Automobiles are no longer being manufactured for the civilian population. There is rationing of items in short supply like meat, sugar and other foodstuffs. Here is one of my War Ration Books whose stamps allow for the purchase of a fixed amount of food, if it is available:

My folks are always openly affectionate with each other and we children. So I grow up enjoying a lot of physical closeness and affection. In a way this sets me up for some challlenging experiences, like I suppose I am the only one you know who gets expelled from kindergarten on a morals charge!

At recess time I often invite a girl classmate across the street to the candy store. I buy us some candy and then we go out to the back of the store and sit close together, holding hands or I have my arm around her shoulder. We watch for the trains to go by. So engrossed we are in ourselves, the candy and trains we lose track of time and miss the end of recess bell. Then the teachers must come looking for us. We are not always easily found in the same place each time. The school authorities are never able to convince me this behavior is not right. So, I am sent home to grow up some more before coming back to school for the first grade. In the new term I get a crush on one of a pair of twins and go to her house to ask her mother for permission to take her to the Saturday afternoon kid’s matinee at the movie theater in the next town. Somehow that doesn’t go over very well either. Her mother thinks six years old is a bit too young to start dating! I have to accept a lot of things in growing up that seem impossible to understand.

Here are my teacher’s end of year comments on the back of my first grade report card:

"Nov 15 Roger needs to place greater emphasis upon accuracy. He has a good speaking vocabulary [she forgot the ‘y’] and shows ability to lead group activities.

Jan 31 Roger’s oral reading has improved. He has a nice singing voice and seems to enjoy music. He makes many worthwhile contributions to the class discussions.

April 15 Roger still needs to practice for smoother oral reading. Marguerite Norfolk

Grade 2 1944

Dad, as he has with every place we live through the years, makes major improvements to our home and yard. Here he terraces the back yard and builds a small swimming pool for the family to frolic in and cool off in on very hot summer days. Many are the trips we made from the driveway, along the side of the house and up to the construction site with buckets of sand and cement. It is a family project that we all pitch in on to build. He also makes for us a very special see-saw or teeter totter; very large and unique in that it not only goes up and down, but around in circles as well. It is mounted on a gyroscope base salvaged from a scrapped war-time convoy vessel.

We have a couple of wooden shipping boxes that are big enough to kneel in and paddle around in the pool. They provide great fun for play games with a stick to overturn the other’s ship. As you can see it really is a very small pool, but it provids big fun and was often filled with our friends. It was also a welcome retreat from the sweltering east coast summer heat.

Since we have been to the dedication ceremonies where newly built Coast Guard ships are christened by my Mom or Aunt Edna by striking the bow of the ship with a bottle of champagne, we of course have to do the same for our little boats. Our ceremony with friends present does not include the folks. We have a great time splashing around and navigating our little boats, until I step on one of the pieces of broken glass on the bottom of the pool. Blood is everywhere! I hobble into the kitchen where Dad scoops me up and takes me upstairs to the bathtub where the flow of blood can go down the drain rather than on the kitchen floor. He insists on removing my bathing suit before cleaning me up for the inspection of the wound. I am so terribly embarrassed because Patsy Cooper, the neighbor girl on whom I have a continuing crush over the years, is looking in through the bathroom door with my other playmates, and she can see me naked and see my penis. What a position to be in. When Dad is in charge of such an event no consideration of something as silly as that, in his view, is ever be entertained. Isn’t it funny how the memory of something like that stays so long? Anyway, once the clean-up, inspection and ice is applied, we are soon off to Dr. Ball’s for some more stitches.

Speaking of stitches! We keep chickens for eggs and meat in the lean times in and after the war. One night a neighbor dog gets into the chicken coop and takes off with only one, but he leaves most of the rest all torn up. Dad brings the injured ones into the kitchen and proceeds to sort them out into groups according to the severity of their injuries. He either slaughters them or sews them up with needle and thread from Mom’s sewing kit. What a mess! Many a time after that we laugh when staring us in the face is a stewed chicken at dinner with the tell-tale suture scars across its chest.

Dad keeps Poncho’s wings clipped; he is our parrot. That is done by cutting some of the feathers off short so the bird cannot get sufficient lift to fly any appreciable height or distance. When done on only one wing he can only flutter to the ground in a small circle. This does allow Pancho to get some exercise but limits his flight to about twenty feet.

Dad often walks around with Poncho on his shoulder. Poncho spends almost every meal perched there where he can gently bite Dads cheek and get him to turn his head so morsels can be taken from Dad’s mouth. It is funny to see that Pancho knows which food he likes as soon as Dad lifts his fork towards his mouth. If the bird is offered a food he does not like, he will instantly strike and bite the hand that feeds him. How’s that for feeding your pet at the table? Even a cat is usually on Dad’s lap and the recipient of handouts.

Dad loves to nap in his hammock secure in the knowledge that Poncho is under control there with him. Only once, unfortunately, is Dad lax in keeping track of the natural feather growth and the clipping restraint. One summer afternoon as Dad naps, Poncho takes flight. Dad awakens to see him disappear into some very tall trees next door. Understand that nature colors this parrot with very effective camouflage, making it virtually impossible to see him from a distance once he is in a tree. Dad calls Poncho for hours, but he will not respond. Dad spends a cold and restless night or two and frustrating days searching. Only occasionally Pancho will say something. Dad frets that without water and food, Pancho will soon die. Then as Pancho becomes really hungry, he reveals his presence. Dad climbs the tree trying to locate him. But as soon as Dad gets within a few feet of him, Poncho stops responding to Dads’ baiting calls. Dad spends hours in that tree, and just as he turns to retreat in resignation to the limits of his endurance, Poncho cocks his head. That slight movement is enough to give away his position. There within arms’ reach of Dad, sits Pancho among the leaves. Dad reaches out his hand to him, presses a finger to his feathered breast and Poncho steps on. Dad Tucks him under his shirt, carefully descends the tree and joyfully brings him into the house. There is great thankfulness and celebration at dinner this night.

Dad also made this cage, the cup holders and perches, which even when made from iron wood, the bird could eventually shred with his strong beak. Pancho could also undo the wire even though it had been hand soldered at every joint.

Poncho did have a lightning quick and mean bite! All of our pets for certain bear the scars of his enforcing the sanctity of his cage from enquiring paws. When he is out on the loose in the house, whether on a chair arm or the floor, if anyone gets within striking distance, he gotcha! We are always squeamish when Dad reaches out to get him on his finger. But Dad is the Master and usually does it so surely and swiftly he makes it look totally easy and safe. Dad goads us on to fetch Poncho, but it takes quite a while and a lot of nips and bites before we are able to accomplish the trick with anything approaching confidence. And the bird could tell! The slightest hesitation gives one away. He knew if you are trying to fake it. The trick is to swiftly thrust your outstretched finger up under the bird's chest, almost raking his claws as you pass, and push gently against his chest. Then almost always he will quickly and gently step onto your finger. That is unless for some reason he is upset at something and nervous, or he can smell your fear. Then his strike is swift and sure! I think all of us bear a scar or two. I know Dad and I share the distinction of having a couple of real bad scars from him. We don’t know how old Poncho was when we got him, but he is with us for more than 50 years.

Introducing another member of our family, my sister Dot wrote this school essay.

TIMBO

Timbo

This is a story of my dog. He is not any great hero as far as I know, but in my estimation he is the best dog that ever lived.

Timbo is a stray puppy taken in by the kind old man who used to run the Linthicum Heights train station. He has a small grocery store located in the station which is very tiny, basically a shed. The kind man could not afford to keep the dog there so he tried to find a home for him by telling every customer about him. The pup is very small and pretty well smeared with mud and melting snow. Anybody could see that if the puppy is cleaned up he would be darling. Never the less, a home is not easy to obtain.

It just so happened that my mother has a fancy for dogs, but Daddy never cared for them, mainly because he liked cats. Mommy came to the station one day to put her sister (Aunt Edna) on the train. She liked the pup from the start, but she was afraid to bring him home because of Daddy. She could not resist the dog. So in her arms she carried a sweet but dirty cur.

He is very awkward and clumsy and is always ravenously hungry.

When I arrived home and found the pup, immediately I fell in