Tag Archives: friends

Darnit.

I was going to spend the weekend camping and hiking at Enchanted Rock. I’ve met a new group of people in the DFW area that like doing this sort of thing and they seem pretty nice. During the week I spent what little free time I had getting geared up and headed south right after work on Friday.

During the drive down, however, I realized that the run down feeling I had been experiencing all day was probably more than just having a demanding week at work. With that behind me I still wasn’t feeling any relief – I felt more like I wanted to just crash on the sofa and truly veg out. It seemed clear that I was getting sick.

About an hour away from the campsite I almost turned around. I was starting to feel pretty crummy – bad headache, sore all over, spaced out. I figured maybe I could head over to Austin or back to Waco and find a hotel room. Much as I would hate doing that it sounded better than the prospect of camping out in pretty cold weather while feeling lousy.

But I pressed on. I didn’t want the group to wonder why I was a no-show and figured that it was possible I just might feel better in the morning. I found the camp site about 9 pm and joined up with the group. Sitting around the campfire with everyone for a little I marveled again at how visible the stars are when you get away from city lights.

But the morning found me feeling worse, not better. So while everyone else got loaded up for a nice day hike in the Texas Hill Country yesterday morning I broke camp and drove back to Dallas. By the time I got to the apartment I felt like a wet noodle. I even spiked a fever last night for a few hours. From lunch yesterday until now I have truly vegged out like I can’t remember doing for a very long time.

You know those feelings you get when you have a bad cold or worse – out-of-body dopey, sort of off-balance, really tired, can’t think straight, etc. I’ve been eating whatever I have on hand here mostly and truly killing hours on end doing almost nothing except watching football, napping and goofing off on the web.

Oh well. Sometimes your number comes up. I’ll meet up with my backpacking crew again soon enough. Nice folks.

On Wednesday I went back to the DFW Gun Range with A, a friend from work, and M, a friend of his from his time growing up in Dallas. They brought their weapons and ammunition, I brought my cash to pay for their lane time and targets. We proceeded to light up quite a bit of cordite.

The star of the show this time was A’s Desert Eagle .50 caliber magnum. Holy moly. It’s Saturday and my hand still feels a little sore. To give you an idea of what we’re talking about here, consider that the empty shell casing of a .45 ACP sidearm entirely disappears if you drop it into the empty shell casing of a .50 AE round. I’d say there’s about twice the gunpowder in the .50 caliber magnum round if I had to guess. The .357 magnum or even Dirty Harry’s most-powerful-handgun-in-the-world .44 magnum? Well, their casing length compares, but their diameter does not. The .50 caliber is simply a monster.

See? Isn't that nuts?

Although I can make a pretty tight pattern with a 9mm semiautomatic at 20 yards, with the Desert Eagle “pattern” was hard to come by at even half that distance. Though I was well within the range of accuracy required to hit an assailant with each shot, I was not at all on target like I normally am. I’m not sure that minor inaccuracy would have mattered in one bit in real life, however. One round from that thing would probably stop a truck.

When you fire this pistol several things happen. First off, the blast leaving the muzzle is so powerful that it literally kicks up the dust on the firing range floor in front of you. The smaller brass even rolls forward a little. The paper target – if it is within 10 yards – blows backward with such force that it almost wraps over on top of itself. The recoil is so strong that the pistol twists in your hand after firing. Lining up for a second shot is something you’re not even sure that you really want to do.

It doesn’t stop there. The firing range is not known for attracting shrinking violets. Everybody on a lane generally has at least a little bit of tough guy or tough gal going on. It’s just a part of that environment. Whatever macho chatter is happening before you fire that pistol, however, quickly is replaced with silence and then subdued murmurs afterward. There really is just isn’t anything to say. By comparison, the 9mm pistols I’m used to shooting sound a bit like cap guns. When you see somebody on a firing range flash you a look that seems a little like “Jerk, what do you have that thing for?” you’ve made an impression, trust me.

I had fun with the experience and am glad that A was willing to share, but I’d say for certain that there is ZERO chance that I’ll ever own one of those pistols.

I have not posted in nearly three weeks now, my longest pause since I started Two Home Towns. That is partly because I was so preoccupied at work. The weight of accumulated tasks undone during my travel storm at the end of winter had become somewhat unbearable, stealing mindshare and creativity even in my personal time. Also, my parenting responsibilities were not inconsiderable – more on that later. All of that amounts to an admittedly dull sack of excuses, but the remaining reason why I haven’t been posting might be mildly interesting for some of you.

In short, it’s because I started dating again earlier this year. That has soaked up many hours of what was once idle time for me to write. What’s more, I soon decided that while I was meeting new people I would not post anything at all related to my time with a person I had just met. It seemed like all downside to me – a slippery slope where even the tiniest bit too much narrative could yield opportunity for violated privacy, misunderstandings and even hurt feelings. There has been plenty to write about in recent times, but discretion has prevented me from saying a word. Until now.

Although I met a number of women quickly – much more easily done in these days of online dating it seems – I soon found that I favored one of them quite a bit. As the springtime moved through Dallas it was her that I kept finding opportunities to see while others waited. Now that we are edging close to summer’s doorstep, neither of us are seeing anyone else. So I guess you could say that we are an item.

We’ll call her H for now. She is a really neat person. I feel very lucky that we met.

After breakfast at Hubbard’s Cafe Mike wanted to go see the Sixth Floor Museum at the Book Depository overlooking the site of President John F. Kennedy’s assassination at Dealey Plaza. The weather was perfect for the mood of such a sight – somber, quiet overcast on a Sunday. It was a good call.

The Sixth Floor Museum was not entirely unlike my visit to the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam last month. It too was at the scene of a globally known tragedy, perfectly preserved in some places with many artifacts of the day passed on to the museum. In this case, these including many, many home movies made of that day at Love Field, at Dealey Plaza and at other spots in Dallas.

Mike and I looked down from the spot where Lee Harvey Oswald fired his rifle. We examined the evidence as presented in the museum dioramas. We absorbed the historic context of the day as presented in the museum dioramas.

The books that were published in that year that were on display, the newspaper headlines, the pamphlets and the television clips. Cuban Missile Crisis, Bay of Pigs, cold war, space race, military build up, decolonization, desegregation, birth control… could anything else have been going on during that time? I mean really – I know we feel overwhelmed at times with events in our own era but looking back on that Is it any wonder that the world was about to shudder with civic unrest and war and fear? If there were any time that any one in high office might be assassinated, it’s hard for me to understand how it would surpass that one.

Mike and I looked down from where Lee Harvey Oswald fired down on Kennedy. We read the evidence as presented in the museum displays, including the film, the photos, the rifle, the magic bullet, the back stories behind Oswald and other players in the drama. We walked the grassy knoll. We looked at the “X marks” on the asphalt where the limousine rolled downhill while taking fire.

Here are a few things that Mike and I concluded:

1. Oswald could have made the shots that killed Kennedy. In fact, I believe that I could have done it myself. Standing in that window and looking down on the roadway it seems to me that the angle, the motion of the limousine and the distances involved would really not have been all that difficult with a telescopic sight. some skill and a little practice. I’ve seen performers split blocks of wood thrown in the air with a rifle while shooting over their shoulders. I’ve seen film of sharp shooters hitting quarter-sized targets over and over at long distances. Oswald could have made those shots.
2. Oswald’s actions were not solely the initiative of a politically motivated radical. He had help, more than likely as relates to the planning of the assassination. Oswald became an employee at the Book Depository five weeks before Kennedy’s visit to Dallas. We saw no explanation offered of the striking coincidence between Oswald’s employment there and Kennedy’s ride through the plaza a few weeks later. Surely Oswald knew this would happen, but how? Even if Kennedy’s visit was known beforehand, surely the details of his exact route were not published that far in advance? If they were, there was no mention of that specific fact that we could find. It seems likely that Oswald was given information to act on by someone hostile to Kennedy. There would have been plenty of opportunity. Oswald, a former defector to the Soviet Union who had returned to the US as the husband of a Soviet Intelligence agent’s daughter would have been easily connected to spies and moles it seems. The Soviets might very well have collaborated with not just Oswald, but anti-Kennedy radical groups in the US. There was some tangential evidence of this presented in the museum.
3. The magic bullet is complete and total bullshit. There is NO WAY that a bullet did all the damage that projectile is alleged to have done while remaining essentially undamaged. You can badly deform a bullet by firing it into water, for crying out loud. That thing supposedly passed through two people while breaking bones. There is simply no believable case for that bullet having done what is claimed. Then you have ask yourself – how is it that bullet was found on a stretcher in the hospital, and why?

Time to whip out Ockham’s Razor. My thinking is this – the Soviets sponsored the assassination and manipulated various individuals and groups to get the job done. Ironically, some of those being manipulated would have been apoplectic to realize there were being used as tools of the Soviets. Such is the game of high stakes espionage. The Johnson administration either knew or realized that this was the case as the investigation proceeded, and hastily and forcefully covered it up.

Think about it.

The Soviets were at the zenith of their Khrushchev-inspired belligerence. The anti-communist movement in the United States was at historic highs. Brushfire conflicts were flaring around the globe. As the Cuban Missile Crisis so clearly demonstrated, the world was on the hair trigger of nuclear apocalypse.

If the truth went public events could have and probably would have quickly spiraled out of anyone’s control. Johnson knew it. Assassinating Kennedy was an act of war that would probably have ended civilization had it come to light. Other than declaring war, what could the President be expected to do that would have been an appropriate response under the circumstances? It had to have another explanation – and fast. Everyone needed to believe that Oswald acted alone, and anything he might have said to the contrary under the duress of interrogation or prosecution was silenced forever when Jack Ruby killed him.

I believe that that simplest possible explanations are almost always the right ones. Oswald acting alone might be that explanation, but the timing of his employment at the Book Depository, the nature of his relationship to Russian intelligence, and the magic bullet simply don’t wash. An assassination conspiracy sponsored by an out-of-control Khrushchev bureaucracy followed by an American cover up to avoid Armageddon seems like the simplest possible explanation that withstands those pieces of evidence. It may not be the right explanation obviously, but it is one that doesn’t require a complex conspiracy involving dozens of people, only a handful on each side.

If this is what happened, can you imagine being in Johnson’s shoes? Would it be any wonder that he would cover up the assassination on one hand and be absolutely determined to stop Soviet expansion on the other? Would it be any wonder that he would view Vietnam the way that he did in that case?