The boys in the neighborhood

Frank and I attended David Balfour's memorial service this morning at Peachtree Presbyterian Church in Atlanta. Mr. Balfour didn't recognize us at first. Referring to myself as Tom Baynham didn't help. After he remembered us, he immediately referred to me as "Tommy".

According to a story Scott told about his little brother, David led him to a saving relationship with Jesus in a bar in downtown Atlanta. He asked him, after visiting three or four bars, what made him, a Christian, any different than the rest of the partiers in the bars. Quite ironic that David's middle name was Andrew.

I have been thinking about those happy days in Dunwoody, when we were kids and young adults. The Balfours had a tree house where we used to meet and talk and play with snakes or insects or whatever we might find. It was a big group of boys, all around the same age. We played football and baseball in our front yard and in the grassy median of the cul de sac behind our house. We played football and baseball at Murphy Candler. A couple of those years, I played with David. A couple years I played with Scott. On the championship Atlanta Colts 115 pound team in 1970, Scott and I were the right side of the offensive line. Later, David and I played for Dunwoody High School together for one year. My last year at Dunwoody, I got to play with Frank in one momentous game against Chamblee High. I would have liked to have played more with him.

I recalled a story just a second ago. The boys in the neighborhood were all gathered in the front yard, shooting bottle rockets into the night sky. One big one flew over toward a house across the street and exploded behind the house. Everybody scattered. Frank, David and I ended up sliding on the den floor into a grouping with Mom and Dad and Susan. Panting like puppies, we feigned watching the program on the tv. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. My dad got up and answered it. The neighbor across the street was complaining about the Baynham boys shooting off fireworks and one exploding in their kitchen window while the family was eating supper.

My dad asked how many boys there were. The neighbor replied "ten or twelve". My dad answered, "I only have two boys." He closed the door.

I remembered staring wide eyed into David's face and both of us laughing. I guess David went home soon thereafter. We had a lot of fun in that neighborhood.

Locked Doors

A tall brick wall, too high to climb safely
Was constructed by some errant mason
Between my thoughts and my memories
One Autumn slumber
When hard-pressed by the getting and spending
I lost touch with my recent past
And could not lay claim to my self again.

Thus, life became fragile,
A tattered tapestry
Hung in a darkened ante-chamber,
So close, yet the doorway
Slowly bricked up like that of Poe's victim,
Bereft of the promises
And that last sweet taste of Amontillado.

Crackles in the dark

Is it a problem when I go out into the darkness of 11:30 in my pajamas to let the dog do his business? So far, no complaints. Tonight, I expected it to be quite chilly when I left the house. For the past few evenings the wind has been whipping around the corners of the house, shaking the storm windows, moaning like a banshee.

But tonight, I took Tex out expecting to see the coming of the precipitation. Instead, the night was silent like a snowfall. I came back in and told Cindy that if it were about thirty degrees cooler I could see it snowing. Of course, it is not thirty degrees cooler. We would have to travel up to Blairsville for that tonight. And it may not happen anyway.

I have been pleased because my laptop has been receiving my wifi for two days in a row. I think I finally figured out the problem. This allows me to write my blog, so you can blame it on my technical abilities. I'll let Kate attest to that.

It was a dark, still night in the neighborhood tonight. No dogs barking from down the street. No shade tree mechanics revving their engines. Instead, the clouds blanketed the atmosphere above the pines and everything was silence.

So quiet that I could hear the dog pee.

Cold Saturday

Winter arrived about two months late today. It is going down into the twenties this evening, or early morning. Tonight we joined a portion of the Galloways for supper at a Mexican restaurant in Griffin. Afterward, we drove over to Kroger and I bought more meat for the pot of soup I prepared this afternoon. The soup was heavy on broth, vegetables and barley, but light on beef. Since we call it "Beef Barley Soup", it would need a preponderence of beef to meet the name's requirements.

Today, I went into work and ran some errands before going home and settling in to an afternoon of soup-making and watching "Desperado" on the television before the evening came to the feasting time.

Tonight, I hope to go to bed soon and wake up in enough time to make stone cut oatmeal and eat it with my orange juice and my Irish Breakfast tea.

I am watching "The Vicar of Dibley" with Cindy. The characters are fighting over what is appropriate in church and who is in charge. This episode is hitting fairly close to heart. We are so propriatory of our churches. It is the oldest fuss in the church. Overall, it is ultimately a blessing that Jesus is actually in charge.I suppose we must remember that.

The vagaries

It has been some time since I wrote on this blog. I have not thought often about writing something. Which is sad. I had this computer upstairs at home and found that the wireless router did not reach its signal to Kate's room from our bedroom. I brought the laptop down and fixed the problem. Fixed. Right. Anyway, I need to write on this from time to time. My wellbeing is supported by it.

I think I will start again on Wednesday. I have been travelling quite a bit for a number of months to do refinance loan closings at the homes of borrowers. The lenders seem to want me to travel to Warner Robins or Columbus quite often, with trips to various hamlets, villages and such in between. I seem to know every little village in Muscogee and Houston counties these days. Like the back of my hand. And various ways to get in and out from there at various times of day.

I like driving. I don't particularly enjoy the driving at night with my eyes near blinded by headlights and the drowsiness of the end of day. I will continue to try. It is regular money at a time when regular money is not easy to find.

Henry M. Blanchard II, 2nd Lieutenant, Army Air Corps

For a very long time, I have been trying to find some information on my dad's first cousin, Henry M. Blanchard II, whose bomber was shot down over the South Pacific during WWII. Through some websites that I came across recently, I found his squadron, rank and date of death and the placement of a monument in Manila, Phillipines

Today, I came across the above picture, which shows my cousin, Mac, third from left on the top row, with the rest of the crew. The man to his left, the reader's right, is the captain of the bomber. Its hard to believe I could find such information. I am still looking for additional information.

The bombers were apparently coordinating bombing runs over Palua, where a Japanese airstrip was located. MY cousin's plane was shot down over Palau on August 25, 1944. There were no survivors and the bodies were not found. This has been a source of mystery for the family ever since.

December 9, 1941

Imagine what Pearl Harbor was like on December 9, 1941. I am sure the ships that had been hit and damaged by the attack were still smoldering in the harbor. The local surviving populace was probably still in a state of shock. At that point, most of the population of the mainland in the United States was aware of the damage in Pearl Harbor and the surrounding air bases. The attacks on the Phillipines were in full swing and we were battling to save our territories in the South Pacific from the Japanese.

I read a book which was a diary of a young man from Winder, Georgia named Rocky Gause. He was assigned to act as a radar operator, even though few people really knew anything about operating radar. When the attack occured in Manila, he and his buddy headed up to the mountains above Manila to take their posts and were ultimately captured by the Japanese invaders. Later, they escaped the Bataan Death March and ultimately made it to Australia. Its an amazing book and I highly recommend it.

Rocky Gause wanted to be a fighter pilot. Later in the war he died in a training mission. It was ironic that after making such an amazing escape from the occupied Phillipines he ultimately died in a fluke.

My dad had a first cousin named Henry McKoy "Mac" Blanchard. Mac grew up in Chattanooga and attended McCallie School in Chattanooga. Later, he attended a year at the University of Florida before he enlisted in the Army Air Corp during World War II. He was a Navigator/Bombadier in a bomber stationed in the Pacific. Growing up I knew that his plane crashed and he was not found, but no one knew much beyond that.

On December 7th, I was able to look up some military records on Cousin Mac and found some information on him. He was a liuetenant in the Army Air Corp. His plane was shot down on August 25, 1944. He remains missing. However, there is a monument to him and the other members of his crew at Fort McKinley in Manila. I would like to visit that site some day. I have never had much of a desire to visit the Phillipines, but I wouldn't mind visiting for that purpose some day.

I was born five days and fifteen years after Pearl Harbor. I understand that the USS Enterprise returned to Pearl on the 12th of December, 1941. I can only imagine what they found when they returned.