MY FIRST CAR WAS A 50 PLYMOUTH AND LOOKED EXACTLY LIKE THIS, SAME COLOR, SAME EVERYTHING. IT WAS A FAST ONE..________________________________________
Keyport NJ
1950 Plymouth Delux
Was going to go black and white but the blue on this car is to good.
Uploaded by Keyport-Kid on 28 Nov 08, 7.00PM PDT.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Friday, June 4, 2010
I’m so sick of travelling without reaching a destination…
There are rails in my own lifetime, too many really.
There have been times when I never took that return trip and now, now I wish I had. But that train is long gone,
and the station is probably gone too.
I’m so sick of travelling without reaching a destination…
Half my life I spent on trains, going from one place to another.
Meeting friends, meeting family, meeting obligations, meeting people who mean the world to me ….. and leaving them after a certain time, with the certainty that I won’t see them for a long period of time
So many familiar places, but no home.
Uploaded by Eric Clipperton on 4 Jun 10, 11.11AM PDT.
________________________________________________
There have been times when I never took that return trip and now, now I wish I had. But that train is long gone,
and the station is probably gone too.
I’m so sick of travelling without reaching a destination…
Half my life I spent on trains, going from one place to another.
Meeting friends, meeting family, meeting obligations, meeting people who mean the world to me ….. and leaving them after a certain time, with the certainty that I won’t see them for a long period of time
So many familiar places, but no home.
Uploaded by Eric Clipperton on 4 Jun 10, 11.11AM PDT.
________________________________________________
Friday, May 21, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
cranberry hill
cranberry hill
formerly a cranberry bog
Uploaded by softglowingsun on 24 Apr 06, 6.21PM PDT.
formerly a cranberry bog
Uploaded by softglowingsun on 24 Apr 06, 6.21PM PDT.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Junkyard in a Palm Forest 1
AUTOS HAVE A SPIRIT ALL OF THEIR OWN...By R.L. Huffstutter
It might sound a bit strange, but I feel like autos have a spirit all of their own. I feel these autos would much rather be resting here in the open rather than have met the fate of the crusher and recycling. What a shame it is to see any of our autos crushed and smashed. These yards of old cars have a beauty all of their own.
_____________________________________________________
Junkyard in a Palm Forest 1
Junkyard in a palm forest near Acapulco
Uploaded by Gero.S on 15 Mar 06, 1.48PM PDT.
It might sound a bit strange, but I feel like autos have a spirit all of their own. I feel these autos would much rather be resting here in the open rather than have met the fate of the crusher and recycling. What a shame it is to see any of our autos crushed and smashed. These yards of old cars have a beauty all of their own.
_____________________________________________________
Junkyard in a Palm Forest 1
Junkyard in a palm forest near Acapulco
Uploaded by Gero.S on 15 Mar 06, 1.48PM PDT.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
WE ARE ALL VICTIMS OF THE MEDIA MADMEN...By Robert L. Huffstutter
WE ARE ALL VICTIMS OF THE MEDIA MADMEN...By Robert L. Huffstutter
Originally uploaded by roberthuffstutter
By Robert L. Huffstutter
You know it's time to start painting again when you begin seeing images with black lines around them, waiting for you to add color to make them complete.
Is it a primal desire or only a wish we were young enough to get out the crayons and start in on an already created image in outline form of a mouse or a pirate, making the hat a solid purple and the mouse a bright pink instead of the standard dull gray or brown? Yes.
Yes to all of the questions about art. Art is part of our primordial psyche. If we were created in the image of our Creator, is it not only natural for us to want to create an image of something our Creator created?
There, now that I have explained and outlined the complete history of portrait painting, landscape painting, nature painting and other related scapes, there will be someone who will ask about cartoons or religious scapes.
That's the way it was in Art 101 then...and it remains the same today. Professor Knowitall, where do cartoons fit into this concise little Judeao-Christian history of art you are disseminating?
"Shut up and go sit at the back of the class," I might think, but of course I won't. It is a legitimate question that can be answered with brevity. "It is called humor, Aaron, okay? You know, you probably watched enough cartoons on Saturday mornings between the ages of two to twelve, however, that you might have used up all your humor."
Not a good thing to say to anyone, really, but do we ever run out of humor? Can we laugh too much? As I ponder this question, I look at the headlines and realize in an instant that we are living in a time that will not be remembered as the "laughing generation." And that's too bad. Bombs are not funny; wars are not funny.
Crimes are absent of all humor. Maybe we need to turn off the television and laugh at more "knock-knock" jokes.
I am a victim of my own mind as long as I listen to CNN, FOX, ABC, CBS and ABC, absorbing too much of the world around me in one cable or news broadcast after another, repeated time and again throughout a 24 hour period.
I should have been born in the mid 1800s, lived on the left bank and been a friend of Vincent Van Gogh. But he was rumored to have been a madman, so art might not be the subject to study afterall.
NYC: Vietnam War Protest - Found Photo
This photograph brings back a lot of memories. It reminds me how this nation became angry and divided; it reminds me of the ideologies that were created specifically from demonstrations of this nature. It reminds me of those who did not want to serve; it reminds me of those who did serve and lost their lives. It reminds me of some of the leaders who are in charge of our policies in government today, advisors to our President. It is also a photo that reminds me of time when Americans in the homeland had almost unlimited freedom in the choice of their lifestyles, their personal habits and the autos they drove.
...it reminds me of the stupidity of men like Robert Strange McNamar, now deceased. And it reminds me of men like Lyndon Baynes Johnson, a President who kept our aviators from flying missions that would have won this war for democracy. But Lyndon wanted to make the war political, playing games with Mao, and Lyndon wanted to become the big guy who planned each bombing missions. Ask the vets from Viet Nam what they think about these two men...
Thanks to High Steel Heels for this great reminder. NYC: Vietnam War Protest - Found Photo
Uploaded by High Steel Heels on 25 Apr 09, 10.21AM PDT.
...it reminds me of the stupidity of men like Robert Strange McNamar, now deceased. And it reminds me of men like Lyndon Baynes Johnson, a President who kept our aviators from flying missions that would have won this war for democracy. But Lyndon wanted to make the war political, playing games with Mao, and Lyndon wanted to become the big guy who planned each bombing missions. Ask the vets from Viet Nam what they think about these two men...
Thanks to High Steel Heels for this great reminder. NYC: Vietnam War Protest - Found Photo
Uploaded by High Steel Heels on 25 Apr 09, 10.21AM PDT.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
PLACES TO CONTEMPLATE NEW WORKS OF ART
When all is said and done, it require a few memories of different places in order to come up with some subject matter for paintings of an impressionistic genre.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Casa Deo Bepi Sua Door
ONE OF THE MOST UPBEAT STOREFRONTS I HAVE SEEN IN MY LIFETIME. TAKE A LOOK AT THE PHOTOGRAPHS BY DONNACORLSESS FOR VISUAL ENJOYMENT AND APPRECIATION.
_____________________________________________________
Casa Deo Bepi Sua Door
Casa Deo Bepi Sua Door. Colorful house in Burano, Italy painted in geometric patterns. Color photography by Donna Corless.
Prints and notecards are available for purchase from my site at PhotosAndArt.com from the Italy in Color Gallery.
Uploaded by donnacorless on 13 Aug 07, 7.35AM PDT.
_____________________________________________________
Casa Deo Bepi Sua Door
Casa Deo Bepi Sua Door. Colorful house in Burano, Italy painted in geometric patterns. Color photography by Donna Corless.
Prints and notecards are available for purchase from my site at PhotosAndArt.com from the Italy in Color Gallery.
Uploaded by donnacorless on 13 Aug 07, 7.35AM PDT.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
MY ARRIVAL IN VENICE BEACH 1960
I had a dream last night about the Gashouse in Venice. I had just drifted into Venice via the transit from the Union Station downtown Los Angeles. It was around 5:30 in the afternoon. My train from Kansas City had arrived at eight in the morning and yes, it had taken all damned day to get connections. When one is just-turned 18 and in the big city for the second time, one gets confused as hell. I did. Anyway, I had spent the previous summer, the summer of 1959, goofing off while staying with my Aunt Marietta and her daughter and family. More about that later.
So I am walking down the hill toward Venice carrying these two heavier-than-hell suitcases. I said to myself, "why lug these ______ers all around?" I found a shop of some type run by a little elderly lady and asked if I could park my luggage in her shop until I met my friends down in Venice. She looked puzzled and for a moment I felt as though she would refuse. Fine, no problem. Off I went down the hill to find my friends. Friends? Hell, all of my friends were in nowheresville. Did I actually think I would magically run into Paul, Gary, Sue, Tom or Sherry? They do not make names like that anymore.
Well, by seven o'clock I had met some new friends. I really looked young and innocent then. Yes, looking back at my photos, I understand how many more friends I could have made had I been just a trifle more gregarious. The more wine I drank, however, the more gregarious I became. And when I switched to Smirnoff, I became a different guy altogether, without a care or worry about anything. Such was life that first evening of my return.
No, I did not get my suitcases until the next morning. I barely recall the events of the evening, but I was just damned glad to be in California on the golden shores where all the beautiful were. Would I, could I become a beautiful person in time? Did I really give a hoot? Well, in a way, but I was more interested in writing poetry, enjoying some intimate times, drinking more alcohol, writing more poems about the intimate times, having more and more intimate times and drinking even more vodka. More about life in Venice later.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Las Vegas Vintage Postcard3
ONE OF MY ALL-TIME FAVORITES...I could write a book about how many times I flew to Las Vegas from either Las Angeles or Kansas City just to hear this guy say "howdy partner." Yes, once I heard this tall neon cowboy say these two magic words, I knew I could go into any of the casinos and win a fortune. My dream was to win enough money to buy a brand new Buick to drive back to Kansas City. It happened. My wife was not that impressed, but more than a trifle upset about my unscheduled flight to Las Vegas on Continental's "redeye" non-stop, a trip I made more than a few times after sitting around in the River Quai (Key) area listening to all of the tales about winning bushels of Morgan silver dollars.
Yes, many stories. And thanks for the suggestion. I do have many stories about Las Vegas. I was there twice when all of the lights went out in town and one time, while playing roulette at the Stardust, I picked red to win, bet on it with various amounts from $5 to $100 per roll and saw red come in 44 consecutive times. I won a good amount of money and drove out of town in a new Buick. That was in the mid-60s. Stories abound. I am only thankful for still being around when so many times I could have been gone in a moment.
THANKS TO SUEISM1 FLICKR PHOTOSTREAM FOR THIS IMAGE
Las Vegas Vintage Postcard3
Uploaded by sueism1 on 10 Feb 10, 1.09PM PDT.
Yes, many stories. And thanks for the suggestion. I do have many stories about Las Vegas. I was there twice when all of the lights went out in town and one time, while playing roulette at the Stardust, I picked red to win, bet on it with various amounts from $5 to $100 per roll and saw red come in 44 consecutive times. I won a good amount of money and drove out of town in a new Buick. That was in the mid-60s. Stories abound. I am only thankful for still being around when so many times I could have been gone in a moment.
THANKS TO SUEISM1 FLICKR PHOTOSTREAM FOR THIS IMAGE
Las Vegas Vintage Postcard3
Uploaded by sueism1 on 10 Feb 10, 1.09PM PDT.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Decatur, IL Neon Shoes
ONE OF MY ALL TIME FAVORITE NEON SIGNS...
Decatur, IL Neon Shoes
Decatur, IL: Looking south...Classic neon sign for Raupp's Florsheim Shoes on Water St. in downtown Decatur.
Uploaded by pobrecito33 on 19 Nov 09, 4.19PM PDT.
Decatur, IL Neon Shoes
Decatur, IL: Looking south...Classic neon sign for Raupp's Florsheim Shoes on Water St. in downtown Decatur.
Uploaded by pobrecito33 on 19 Nov 09, 4.19PM PDT.
Indianapolis Rail
ONE OF MY FAVORITE BLACK AND WHITE PHOTOGRAPHS. IT'S A MASTERPIECE...
Indianapolis Rail
Cars loaded with coke on the Near eastside, Indianapolis, IN...
This shot is featured in my Indianapolis oriented blog:
The Heidelberger Papers
Uploaded by mheidelberger2000 on 12 Feb 09, 5.52PM PDT.
Indianapolis Rail
Cars loaded with coke on the Near eastside, Indianapolis, IN...
This shot is featured in my Indianapolis oriented blog:
The Heidelberger Papers
Uploaded by mheidelberger2000 on 12 Feb 09, 5.52PM PDT.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
RARE PHOTO OF MY GRANDFATHER, BORN IN 1856
To Kayceetee and Salinagrrrl...........Thanks for the comments, feedback and suggestions. No, it is the way it is, the way I happened to find it several days ago. Had never seen it and I have only a few photos of this man who is responsible for my presence in that, of course, he is my grandfather.
His story is somewhat unique in that he began a second family in the 1890s, the family that includes my uncles and my dad. According to the family legend, he wanted to leave what was his original home and journey to Missouri to begin a new enterprise. There are several stories about where he called home. What is somewhat odd is that he was married and had children in whatever was his location. And like so many men in today's world, he simply decided to go to greener pastures. His wife, however, was not willing to pack up and leave. Here is the rub--was she simply an independent woman who felt like she had a right to weigh in on the decision or was she, according to Scripture, disobediant in that she did not obey her husband's wishes and did not support his plans for seeking new opportunities?
Now, so far removed from that domestic situation, I have no way to find out the exact details. I do know that wherever he was when he decided to move without his wife and family, there would be the descendents of those who know the details. Whatsmore, since he had a very large family, there are descendents to whom I am related but have not responded to any of my inquiries.
In more than one instance when inquiring, I received not even an acknowledgement that there are other people who are related to them.
That my grandfather was a man who followed his dreams can be attested to by the fact that, according to the stories I've heard, he simply "packed his wagon and headed to Missouri." From what we have been able to put together, he settled first in Tarkio, Missouri, northwest of Laredo, Missouri. To bring this part of the story to a conclusion, Robert Levi moved to Laredo, a railroad town, in the 1890s and married a woman named Sarah Jane or Sarah Ann Rooks. She was twenty-plus years his junior. I do not know if she was previously married or whether her union with Robert Levi was her first marriage.
Robert and Sarah had a large family. His first child was Frank, born on New Year's Day in eithr 1899 or 1900. (If there are relatives reading this who know the exact date, they are welcome to contact me via my Flicker E-mail, the only E-mail that I am able to use due to a real large amount of confusion using the messenger service, etc).
Grandad Huffstutter and Grandmother Huffstutter's family consisted of: George Francis Huffstutter, James Eldon Huffstutter, Ella Huffstutter, Lenore Huffstutter, Marietta Huffstutter and my dad, the last sibling, born in 1912. Sarah, the mother, died either in childbirth with my dad, or within several years thereafter. The information is available, but I have forgotten. Grandad Huffstutter lived from 1856 until 1938. He passed away four years before my birth. Yes, it would have been great to have known him.
His youngest grandchild would be, according to my calculation, my sister Linn, born in June of 1943. According to my stats, I am his last grandson, thus I do feel a link to him that transcends much time with very little interruption from his birth to mine, the only link, my dad. Many people believe I am referring to my great grandfather when I mention that my grandad was nine years old when President Lincoln's life ended. No, he was my grandfather.
Throughout my lifetime, I have met Huffstutters who know nothing about this tale. I have also met other Huffstutters, or talked with them via phone, who acknowledged that they were related to my grandfather, but were not sure where the links were.
One of my first contacts with another Huffstutter I never met was in the autumn of 1958 when my high school buddy and I decided to drive to Denver. We were only 16, and we surprised our parents by taking this unauthorized trip. Anyway, while in Denver, I looked in the phone book and found a Huffstutter, called them and recall they said, "yes, we are related." I do not recall their first names, but I was elated, finding a new family member. It was a real find for a 16 year old boy.
My next encounter with a Huffstutter was while in Japan. I decided I wanted to go to Hiroshima and caught a ride on a USN plane from NAS Atsugi to MCAS Iwakuni, Japan. Upon checking into the desk at the Marine Corps Air Station, a Marine behind the counter asked if I was related to Colonel (Lt-Col) Hardy V. Huffstutter, a base or wing commander, I cannot recall. He might have been the base commander, I do not know. I responded truthfully, elated that I might be related to a Marine officer. "Yes, I think we are distant relatives," I answered.
There are many Huffstutters out there. According to the family tree, one I viewed at a website that existed several years ago called "The Huffstutter Connection" the first Huffstutter, arrived in this country from Switzerland. The year was 1732, the port, Philadelphia, the vessel, the Priscilla. According to extended history, he fought in the Indian wars and the Revolutionary War.
There was a cartoon series I enjoyed when I was younger. It ended with the familiar words, "That's All Folks." Thus, that is the story around my Grandfather in a nutshell. If there are those who want to share more information, feel welcome to send me a Flicker E Mail.
Robert L. Huffstutter
His story is somewhat unique in that he began a second family in the 1890s, the family that includes my uncles and my dad. According to the family legend, he wanted to leave what was his original home and journey to Missouri to begin a new enterprise. There are several stories about where he called home. What is somewhat odd is that he was married and had children in whatever was his location. And like so many men in today's world, he simply decided to go to greener pastures. His wife, however, was not willing to pack up and leave. Here is the rub--was she simply an independent woman who felt like she had a right to weigh in on the decision or was she, according to Scripture, disobediant in that she did not obey her husband's wishes and did not support his plans for seeking new opportunities?
Now, so far removed from that domestic situation, I have no way to find out the exact details. I do know that wherever he was when he decided to move without his wife and family, there would be the descendents of those who know the details. Whatsmore, since he had a very large family, there are descendents to whom I am related but have not responded to any of my inquiries.
In more than one instance when inquiring, I received not even an acknowledgement that there are other people who are related to them.
That my grandfather was a man who followed his dreams can be attested to by the fact that, according to the stories I've heard, he simply "packed his wagon and headed to Missouri." From what we have been able to put together, he settled first in Tarkio, Missouri, northwest of Laredo, Missouri. To bring this part of the story to a conclusion, Robert Levi moved to Laredo, a railroad town, in the 1890s and married a woman named Sarah Jane or Sarah Ann Rooks. She was twenty-plus years his junior. I do not know if she was previously married or whether her union with Robert Levi was her first marriage.
Robert and Sarah had a large family. His first child was Frank, born on New Year's Day in eithr 1899 or 1900. (If there are relatives reading this who know the exact date, they are welcome to contact me via my Flicker E-mail, the only E-mail that I am able to use due to a real large amount of confusion using the messenger service, etc).
Grandad Huffstutter and Grandmother Huffstutter's family consisted of: George Francis Huffstutter, James Eldon Huffstutter, Ella Huffstutter, Lenore Huffstutter, Marietta Huffstutter and my dad, the last sibling, born in 1912. Sarah, the mother, died either in childbirth with my dad, or within several years thereafter. The information is available, but I have forgotten. Grandad Huffstutter lived from 1856 until 1938. He passed away four years before my birth. Yes, it would have been great to have known him.
His youngest grandchild would be, according to my calculation, my sister Linn, born in June of 1943. According to my stats, I am his last grandson, thus I do feel a link to him that transcends much time with very little interruption from his birth to mine, the only link, my dad. Many people believe I am referring to my great grandfather when I mention that my grandad was nine years old when President Lincoln's life ended. No, he was my grandfather.
Throughout my lifetime, I have met Huffstutters who know nothing about this tale. I have also met other Huffstutters, or talked with them via phone, who acknowledged that they were related to my grandfather, but were not sure where the links were.
One of my first contacts with another Huffstutter I never met was in the autumn of 1958 when my high school buddy and I decided to drive to Denver. We were only 16, and we surprised our parents by taking this unauthorized trip. Anyway, while in Denver, I looked in the phone book and found a Huffstutter, called them and recall they said, "yes, we are related." I do not recall their first names, but I was elated, finding a new family member. It was a real find for a 16 year old boy.
My next encounter with a Huffstutter was while in Japan. I decided I wanted to go to Hiroshima and caught a ride on a USN plane from NAS Atsugi to MCAS Iwakuni, Japan. Upon checking into the desk at the Marine Corps Air Station, a Marine behind the counter asked if I was related to Colonel (Lt-Col) Hardy V. Huffstutter, a base or wing commander, I cannot recall. He might have been the base commander, I do not know. I responded truthfully, elated that I might be related to a Marine officer. "Yes, I think we are distant relatives," I answered.
There are many Huffstutters out there. According to the family tree, one I viewed at a website that existed several years ago called "The Huffstutter Connection" the first Huffstutter, arrived in this country from Switzerland. The year was 1732, the port, Philadelphia, the vessel, the Priscilla. According to extended history, he fought in the Indian wars and the Revolutionary War.
There was a cartoon series I enjoyed when I was younger. It ended with the familiar words, "That's All Folks." Thus, that is the story around my Grandfather in a nutshell. If there are those who want to share more information, feel welcome to send me a Flicker E Mail.
Robert L. Huffstutter
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
ESSAY ABOUT THOMPSONS AND ENERGY
AN ESSAY ABOUT THOMPSON SUB MACHINE GUNS, TRAINS, ENERGY AND COAL
One of my fondest memories of a toy was this hand-made and hand-carved wooden replica of a Thompson Sub-Machine gun. One of my relatives who had been in the South Pacific during World War II and who had a Thompson, spent some of his down time after the war making wooden items as a way to regain his serenity.
The gun was actual size and most realistic, but it was wooden. Highly varnished, thus shiny, it was a favorite toy and was used many times in childhood war games in the big woods behind this home pictured.
Most of the neighbors had boys, thus as we grew older we were a tight unit of lads, not a gang by any means, but a unit of friends who had the respect we needed by simple civility to the other. If there was ever a disagreement among us, we worked it out by simple avoidance of the other for a few days or a stand and shout session of name-calling. We shared many memories and good times.
At that time in history, the late 40s and 50s, families normally stayed wherever they had a home. There was no moving for the sake of rapid upward mobility or to find a place that did not need up-dating. To be quite frank, there was not one single home on that block that couldn't have used one hell of lot of up-dating. However, everyone was pretty happy. Homes on that block were heated by coal.
There were railroad tracks just a few houses south of where I grew up, thus the sound of trains was part of my youth; there were, I recall some mighty big steam locomotives that roared past our neighborhood. The old Missouri Pacific route of the Eagles had double tracks, the Kansas City Southern, the freight line had one track only. The KCS was basically an oil supply train that ran from the Standard Oil Refinery in Sugar Creek, Missouri to various areas throughout Kansas City, Missouri.
While speaking of refineries, I am reminded of energy.
If one stood at the top of a hill a few blocks north of our block, the eternal flame of the Standard Oil Refinery could be seen. It was a flame that died in the 70s, never to be fill the sky with it's orange glow again.
So, when I think of energy, I think of our natural resources, not windmills...
By Robert L. Huffstutter
One of my fondest memories of a toy was this hand-made and hand-carved wooden replica of a Thompson Sub-Machine gun. One of my relatives who had been in the South Pacific during World War II and who had a Thompson, spent some of his down time after the war making wooden items as a way to regain his serenity.
The gun was actual size and most realistic, but it was wooden. Highly varnished, thus shiny, it was a favorite toy and was used many times in childhood war games in the big woods behind this home pictured.
Most of the neighbors had boys, thus as we grew older we were a tight unit of lads, not a gang by any means, but a unit of friends who had the respect we needed by simple civility to the other. If there was ever a disagreement among us, we worked it out by simple avoidance of the other for a few days or a stand and shout session of name-calling. We shared many memories and good times.
At that time in history, the late 40s and 50s, families normally stayed wherever they had a home. There was no moving for the sake of rapid upward mobility or to find a place that did not need up-dating. To be quite frank, there was not one single home on that block that couldn't have used one hell of lot of up-dating. However, everyone was pretty happy. Homes on that block were heated by coal.
There were railroad tracks just a few houses south of where I grew up, thus the sound of trains was part of my youth; there were, I recall some mighty big steam locomotives that roared past our neighborhood. The old Missouri Pacific route of the Eagles had double tracks, the Kansas City Southern, the freight line had one track only. The KCS was basically an oil supply train that ran from the Standard Oil Refinery in Sugar Creek, Missouri to various areas throughout Kansas City, Missouri.
While speaking of refineries, I am reminded of energy.
If one stood at the top of a hill a few blocks north of our block, the eternal flame of the Standard Oil Refinery could be seen. It was a flame that died in the 70s, never to be fill the sky with it's orange glow again.
So, when I think of energy, I think of our natural resources, not windmills...
By Robert L. Huffstutter
Saturday, January 30, 2010
PR-21 "Final Flight"
PR-21 "Final Flight"
I drew this drawing for my best friend Dennis Clark. Denny was a crew member on PR-21 before it fell prey to North Korean MiGs. This drawing was for Denny, but honors the crew of PR-21 and all who flew the Connies in harms way.
Uploaded by wingsnstuff
A FANTASTIC PAINTING BY WINGSNSTUFF
It was with great sorrow that I learned of this cowardly act by an enemy force. As a former member of VQ-1 while it was in Japan, I assume that I saw PR-21, but that was 47 years ago and I cannot recall the numbers of our planes; and it was a long time after the event that I learned of the event. I do not recall the event in the news at the time it happened. Did the media cover it when it happened or was it kept confidential? I only learned of it when I finally got a PC in 05 and began researching favorite subjects. Of course, I do recall with vivid memory when one of VQ-1s planes had to make an emergency landing on Hainan and were held for a few days, ten days or so.
That the plane was disassembled and shipped home was a real insult. Thankfully, our relations with China, I believe, have improved since that happened.
I have some great memories of the squadron; I had a lot of friends, but have not run across any since I left in December of 63 after more than two fabulous years of duty. Were you in FAIRECONRON ONE while it was still at NAS ATSUGI?
I drew this drawing for my best friend Dennis Clark. Denny was a crew member on PR-21 before it fell prey to North Korean MiGs. This drawing was for Denny, but honors the crew of PR-21 and all who flew the Connies in harms way.
Uploaded by wingsnstuff
A FANTASTIC PAINTING BY WINGSNSTUFF
It was with great sorrow that I learned of this cowardly act by an enemy force. As a former member of VQ-1 while it was in Japan, I assume that I saw PR-21, but that was 47 years ago and I cannot recall the numbers of our planes; and it was a long time after the event that I learned of the event. I do not recall the event in the news at the time it happened. Did the media cover it when it happened or was it kept confidential? I only learned of it when I finally got a PC in 05 and began researching favorite subjects. Of course, I do recall with vivid memory when one of VQ-1s planes had to make an emergency landing on Hainan and were held for a few days, ten days or so.
That the plane was disassembled and shipped home was a real insult. Thankfully, our relations with China, I believe, have improved since that happened.
I have some great memories of the squadron; I had a lot of friends, but have not run across any since I left in December of 63 after more than two fabulous years of duty. Were you in FAIRECONRON ONE while it was still at NAS ATSUGI?
Sunday, January 10, 2010
MILW 32C 8-69
I sometimes believe I could ride a train for an eternity and never be bored.........
MILW 32C 8-69
MILW E-9A 32C (21606 4/56) ex 202C @Chicago IL 8-69
Uploaded by clkayleib on 10 Dec 07, 6.18AM PST
MILW 32C 8-69
MILW E-9A 32C (21606 4/56) ex 202C @Chicago IL 8-69
Uploaded by clkayleib on 10 Dec 07, 6.18AM PST
TRIP TO CALIFORNIA: NIGHT IN EL PASO
MY FIRST TRIP TO CALIFORNIA WAS BY TRAIN AND ONE THAT WILL LIVE IN MEMORY OF AUNT MARY AND GLORIA'S DESCENDANTS FOREVER...
ESSAY ABOUT A NIGHT IN JUAREZ BY R.L. HUFFSTUTTER
HEADED WEST TOWARD THE GOLDEN STATE ON THE SOUTHERN PACIFIC'S PASSENGER TRAIN, THE GOLDEN STATE, OR IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN THE SANTA FE, I CAN'T RECALL FOR SURE, BUT I WAS HEADED WEST. WHEN IT STOPPED IN EL PASO, I KNEW I COULD MAKE MY SUMMER TRIP A BIT MORE EXCITING IF I COULD JUST DELAY MY JOURNEY FOR A DAY, VISIT OLD MEXICO, JUAREZ, BUT EVERYONE CALLED MEXICO "OLD MEXICO" BACK THEN. I GUESS IT WAS TO DISTINGUISH IT FROM "NEW MEXICO." AND BY THE WAY, I RECALL WHEN BOTH ALASKA AND HAWAII BECAME STATES. I WAS COLLECTING STAMPS THEN AND PURCHASED BLOCKS OF FOUR, BUT THAT IS NOT PRUDENT TO THIS STORY OF MY FIRST NIGHT IN MEXICO. WHAT BECAME PRUDENT, HOWEVER, WAS THE RESTRAINED AND SLIGHTLY HESITANT WELCOME I RECEIVED AT THE UNION STATION IN LOS ANGLES UPON MY ARRIVAL, EXACTLY 24 HOURS LATE, OR LATER, DEPENDING UPON HOW ONE LIKES TO RATIONALIZE ONE'S BEHAVIOR AND IRRESPONSIBILITY.
AUNT MARY AND GLORIA WERE NOT IMPRESSED BY MY EXCUSE FOR ARRIVING LATE. IT COULD HAVE BEEN WRITTEN OFF AS ONE OF THE FIRES OF SPRING THAT LINGERED INTO SUMMER, BUT NEITHER MARIETTA OR GLORIA HAD A SENSE OF HUMOR.SADLY, OUR KINSHIP ENDED SHORTLY THEREAFTER. WHEN GLORIA'S HUSBAND, JACK, ASSUMED I WANTED TO WORK TWELVE HOUR DAYS AT HIS SHRIMP BOAT DRIVE IN, WE PARTED COMPANY AND I FOUND NEW FRIENDS IN VENICE, CALLED VENICE WEST IN THE LATE 50S. THAT WAS THE LAST TIME I SAW MARIETTA, GLORIA OR JACK. IF AUNT MARIETTA IS STILL LIVING, SHE WOULD BE GETTING CLOSE TO BEING ONE HUNDRED YEARS OLD. FAMILIES JUST DRIFT APART.
MY TRIP ACROSS THE BORDER WAS FUN. IT WAS WRONG. IF I COULD DO IT OVER AGAIN, I WOULDN'T; I CAUSED SOME FAMILY MEMBERS TOO MUCH GRIEF BY DROPPING OUT OF SIGHT FOR 24 HOURS. BUT THAT WAS JUST THE BEGINNING OF MY DISAPPEARING ACTS AS TIME ACCELERATED. NOW, IN RETROSPECT, THERE IS MUCH I WOULD UNDO IF I COULD. I CAN'T, THUS IT HAUNTS ME AT CERTAIN TIMES, THOSE TIMES BEING THE TIMES WHEN I WAKE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT AND FEEL LIKE I HAVE JUST BEEN VISITING WITH AN AUNT OR AN UNCLE, ALWAYS ONE HAS BEEN LONG DECEASED. I DOUBT I AM THE ONLY ONE WHO IS VISITED BY DEAD UNCLES AND AUNTS ON A REGULAR BASIS.
THE CONDUCTOR GRINNED WHEN I ASKED HIM IF I COULD CATCH THE TRAIN THE NEXT DAY. "SONNY, YOU SURE CAN, JUST BE HERE AT THE SAME TOMORROW."
ONCE OUTSIDE THE STATION, I HAILED A TAXI TO THE BORDER. I MUST HAVE LOOKED LIKE THE FOOL I WAS WITH TWO SUITCASES, WALKING OVER THE BRIDGE. "CHICLETS, CHICLETS, MISTER, JUST ONE NICKEL," THE STREET CHILDREN, MOSTLY BOYS, HAWKED THEIR PRODUCT. ONCE AT THE END OF THE BRIDGE I FELT LIKE I HAD MADE A SERIOUS FOREIGN JOURNEY. FINALLY, ANOTHER COUNTRY. JAMES BALDWIN TURNED THAT INTO A BESTSELLER IN THE 60S. IT WAS GOOD. I UNDERSTOOD HIS SPIRIT OR THOUGHT I DID.
ESSAY ABOUT A NIGHT IN JUAREZ BY R.L. HUFFSTUTTER
HEADED WEST TOWARD THE GOLDEN STATE ON THE SOUTHERN PACIFIC'S PASSENGER TRAIN, THE GOLDEN STATE, OR IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN THE SANTA FE, I CAN'T RECALL FOR SURE, BUT I WAS HEADED WEST. WHEN IT STOPPED IN EL PASO, I KNEW I COULD MAKE MY SUMMER TRIP A BIT MORE EXCITING IF I COULD JUST DELAY MY JOURNEY FOR A DAY, VISIT OLD MEXICO, JUAREZ, BUT EVERYONE CALLED MEXICO "OLD MEXICO" BACK THEN. I GUESS IT WAS TO DISTINGUISH IT FROM "NEW MEXICO." AND BY THE WAY, I RECALL WHEN BOTH ALASKA AND HAWAII BECAME STATES. I WAS COLLECTING STAMPS THEN AND PURCHASED BLOCKS OF FOUR, BUT THAT IS NOT PRUDENT TO THIS STORY OF MY FIRST NIGHT IN MEXICO. WHAT BECAME PRUDENT, HOWEVER, WAS THE RESTRAINED AND SLIGHTLY HESITANT WELCOME I RECEIVED AT THE UNION STATION IN LOS ANGLES UPON MY ARRIVAL, EXACTLY 24 HOURS LATE, OR LATER, DEPENDING UPON HOW ONE LIKES TO RATIONALIZE ONE'S BEHAVIOR AND IRRESPONSIBILITY.
AUNT MARY AND GLORIA WERE NOT IMPRESSED BY MY EXCUSE FOR ARRIVING LATE. IT COULD HAVE BEEN WRITTEN OFF AS ONE OF THE FIRES OF SPRING THAT LINGERED INTO SUMMER, BUT NEITHER MARIETTA OR GLORIA HAD A SENSE OF HUMOR.SADLY, OUR KINSHIP ENDED SHORTLY THEREAFTER. WHEN GLORIA'S HUSBAND, JACK, ASSUMED I WANTED TO WORK TWELVE HOUR DAYS AT HIS SHRIMP BOAT DRIVE IN, WE PARTED COMPANY AND I FOUND NEW FRIENDS IN VENICE, CALLED VENICE WEST IN THE LATE 50S. THAT WAS THE LAST TIME I SAW MARIETTA, GLORIA OR JACK. IF AUNT MARIETTA IS STILL LIVING, SHE WOULD BE GETTING CLOSE TO BEING ONE HUNDRED YEARS OLD. FAMILIES JUST DRIFT APART.
MY TRIP ACROSS THE BORDER WAS FUN. IT WAS WRONG. IF I COULD DO IT OVER AGAIN, I WOULDN'T; I CAUSED SOME FAMILY MEMBERS TOO MUCH GRIEF BY DROPPING OUT OF SIGHT FOR 24 HOURS. BUT THAT WAS JUST THE BEGINNING OF MY DISAPPEARING ACTS AS TIME ACCELERATED. NOW, IN RETROSPECT, THERE IS MUCH I WOULD UNDO IF I COULD. I CAN'T, THUS IT HAUNTS ME AT CERTAIN TIMES, THOSE TIMES BEING THE TIMES WHEN I WAKE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT AND FEEL LIKE I HAVE JUST BEEN VISITING WITH AN AUNT OR AN UNCLE, ALWAYS ONE HAS BEEN LONG DECEASED. I DOUBT I AM THE ONLY ONE WHO IS VISITED BY DEAD UNCLES AND AUNTS ON A REGULAR BASIS.
THE CONDUCTOR GRINNED WHEN I ASKED HIM IF I COULD CATCH THE TRAIN THE NEXT DAY. "SONNY, YOU SURE CAN, JUST BE HERE AT THE SAME TOMORROW."
ONCE OUTSIDE THE STATION, I HAILED A TAXI TO THE BORDER. I MUST HAVE LOOKED LIKE THE FOOL I WAS WITH TWO SUITCASES, WALKING OVER THE BRIDGE. "CHICLETS, CHICLETS, MISTER, JUST ONE NICKEL," THE STREET CHILDREN, MOSTLY BOYS, HAWKED THEIR PRODUCT. ONCE AT THE END OF THE BRIDGE I FELT LIKE I HAD MADE A SERIOUS FOREIGN JOURNEY. FINALLY, ANOTHER COUNTRY. JAMES BALDWIN TURNED THAT INTO A BESTSELLER IN THE 60S. IT WAS GOOD. I UNDERSTOOD HIS SPIRIT OR THOUGHT I DID.
Friday, January 1, 2010
GRANDFATHER WITH LITTLE FRANK, JR.
ESSAY ON OLD VINTAGE PHOTOGRAPHS
This is one of many vintage photographs I have saved from our family albums. It has taken some doing, but through the years, whenever I saw a box of our old photos that seemed to be destined for attic storage or out of the way in some remote location, I have saved them in special places for just such times as these. I knew the time would come when I would want to review them once again.
Having been to some old estate sales as a young lad in Missouri, I saw tons of boxes of old photos being sold in odd lots by relatives eager to rid themselves of all the memories of beloved relatives. At the time, it seemed very odd and confused me. Why would one get rid of old photos of people who were dear to them I asked myself. I would have purchased those boxes had I had the money, but I will never forget the sadness. Will we all end up in old boxes at estate sales someday? Hopefully, we have taught our children better; hopefully, the memories they have of us will spare us such fate.
Robert L. Huffstutter
GRANDFATHER WITH LITTLE FRANK, JR.
Uploaded by roberthuffstutter on 12 Jun 09, 9.33AM PST
This is one of many vintage photographs I have saved from our family albums. It has taken some doing, but through the years, whenever I saw a box of our old photos that seemed to be destined for attic storage or out of the way in some remote location, I have saved them in special places for just such times as these. I knew the time would come when I would want to review them once again.
Having been to some old estate sales as a young lad in Missouri, I saw tons of boxes of old photos being sold in odd lots by relatives eager to rid themselves of all the memories of beloved relatives. At the time, it seemed very odd and confused me. Why would one get rid of old photos of people who were dear to them I asked myself. I would have purchased those boxes had I had the money, but I will never forget the sadness. Will we all end up in old boxes at estate sales someday? Hopefully, we have taught our children better; hopefully, the memories they have of us will spare us such fate.
Robert L. Huffstutter
GRANDFATHER WITH LITTLE FRANK, JR.
Uploaded by roberthuffstutter on 12 Jun 09, 9.33AM PST
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Nat, Dean and Friends
TWO OF MY ALL-TIME FAVORITE MALE VOCALISTS..............NAT AND DEAN...GREAT GUYS WHO COLD SING SONG OF ROMANCE LIKE NO OTHER. OR IS IT THAT TIME HAS JUST ESCAPED MY MIND?
Uploaded by fidgetrainbowtree
Uploaded by fidgetrainbowtree
YAMATO TRAIN STATION 1963 JAPAN 日本
I find myself matting and framing numerous orders fro this specific sketch from tourists passing through several of the galleries in the area. I am not complaining, i just wish i could get on this train and ride back into time every once in awhile.....Editor
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YAMATO TRAIN STATION 1963 JAPAN 日本
Originally sketched this in pencil at the station and later turned it into pen and ink. Note the expressions on the faces of onlookers in rear windows of last car.
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YAMATO TRAIN STATION 1963 JAPAN 日本
Originally sketched this in pencil at the station and later turned it into pen and ink. Note the expressions on the faces of onlookers in rear windows of last car.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
ROBERT-FROST-POETRY-COLLECTION
http://www.poemhunter.com/robert-frost/
ROBERT-FROST-POETRY-COLLECTION
Whose woods these were, I think I know. Two roads diverged in a woods and I chose the one less traveled by. I am one acquainted with the night because I once loved to swing on the limbs of birches to get away from the work involved in mending the wall, but that was long ago when I had many miles to go before I could find a job as a hired man working with the chilled brew down in the pasture spring. Now, I want to get away from the earth awhile, but common sense tells me that earth is where I want to be because it beats the alternative. Besides, if I was gone, who would feed my little horse?
Uploaded by roberthuffstutter on 22 Dec 09,
ROBERT-FROST-POETRY-COLLECTION
Whose woods these were, I think I know. Two roads diverged in a woods and I chose the one less traveled by. I am one acquainted with the night because I once loved to swing on the limbs of birches to get away from the work involved in mending the wall, but that was long ago when I had many miles to go before I could find a job as a hired man working with the chilled brew down in the pasture spring. Now, I want to get away from the earth awhile, but common sense tells me that earth is where I want to be because it beats the alternative. Besides, if I was gone, who would feed my little horse?
Uploaded by roberthuffstutter on 22 Dec 09,
Sunday, December 13, 2009
WEST COAST: PACIFIC SERENITY
WEST COAST: PACIFIC SERENITY
Uploaded by roberthuffstutter on 13 Dec 09,
Uploaded by roberthuffstutter on 13 Dec 09,
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