Pointless snapshots from my tiny front yard.
I really feel Autumn is around the bend here.
Just Some Snapshots 1
All posts by Mustang.Koji
“Old Man Jack-ism” #4
“Koji, don’t let anyone tell you different. War makes good boys do crazy things.”
That was the first time Old Man Jack shared something with me about the war in a voice of unfeigned remorse. In turn, it was one of my first journeys in his time machine in which he allowed me to ride along.
Front row seats. Free of charge.
It was in 2002 to the best of my recollection. It was just before my littlest firecracker was born.
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KA-BAR. If you are a World War II US Marine who served on “those stinkin’ islands”, there is no explanation necessary.
A KA-BAR was a Marine’s most prized personal possession. It was always at their side.
They opened their C-rations with it. Dug foxholes with it. Chopped coconut logs with it. Hammered nails with it. Indestructible.
Most importantly, for killing. Designed for slashing and stabbing. Desperate hand-to-hand combat. To the death.
The KA-BAR served them so well that many Marines who survived passed it down to their children.
Old Man Jack said several times, “I’ll tell ya – us white caps always tussled with the Marines ‘cuz they thought they were better than us…but there wasn’t anyone better at protecting your sorry asses with theirs when it came time.”
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(If you are prone to nausea, you should not continue to read this Old Man Jack story.)
I did not know this free ride was coming. It was unexpected and spontaneous. I recall that clearly.
That afternoon, he began describing something vile he witnessed during the war. Today, I fully realize he was trying to vomit demons out from his soul.
He needed to.
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He didn’t tell me what island; that would be his pattern up until his death. If he was talking about something a young man should never have witnessed, he would never say what island he was on. However, my educated guess as to the year would be late 1943 or early 1944.
Old Man Jack said to the best of my recollection that “…the Japs broke through our perimeter”.
“When the fighting broke out, most of us (the ground crew servicing Marine Corsairs) dove straight into the nearest foxholes. I only had a .45 and I kept my head down except for a dumb ass split second or two…” He tried to mimic what he did by extending his neck a bit and flicking his head left and right.
“All hell was breaking loose. Men were screaming all over the place. You could tell which rounds were from us and which ones were theirs.”
It was all over in a couple of minutes, Jack said. “I did hear moaning then a CRACK from a .45 or a M1…” A Marine apparently dispensed a wounded enemy soldier.
“I got up. There was still a little yelling going on. And I ain’t ashamed to say I started shaking real bad. Then I see this kid (i.e., a Marine) dragging this wounded Jap; he was hit pretty bad but I could tell he was still alive. The Marine grabbed his KA-BAR and sliced open that son-of-a-bitch’s mouth. I could see the Jap was flinching. The kid was trying to gouge out gold (from his teeth).”
Another Marine came over and shot the Jap dead with his .45. The kid yelled, ‘Hey! Why’d you have to go do that for?!’
The other Marine just looked at him for a split second and walked away. I stopped looking.”
Jack then just slowly shook his head.
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I remember Old Man Jack was looking down when he finished. He had on a grey sweatshirt as winter was coming on.
Front row seats in his time machine of nightmares. He just forgot to mention it was on his roller coaster he kept hidden inside.
He had other free tickets for me in the years that followed.
Union Strike Averted
If you recall, I had hired the unemployed. She was given the position of dishwasher.
The work she was to do was in complete accordance with the job description. She was content. She didn’t even want to clock out.
Then the unthinkable happened. She complained that no dry dog food be served on the dish to be washed. She even complained on video. It went viral.
She complained that the dry dog food disagreed with her schloppy tongue.
This ungrateful employee who was unemployed until she was hired filed a grievance. A grievance with the Union.
It got ugly. She made protest signs.
She even staged work slow-downs. Played on the job. Dastardly.
She got into my face. Up close and personal. Pee-eww. I almost gave in.
I fought back. Nothing but dry dog food was served.
After a few days, the strike was averted. She eventually realized the wrong of her ways. She no longer whimpers or makes videos of her grievances.
Success. No harm. More money in my pocket that has had a big hole.
At least she works in exchange for receiving something.
Julia Child in World War II
I am a bit of a World War II history buff. While primarily focusing on the Pacific War due to my family’s connections, I thought this may interest the foodies here.
Julia Child was a member of the OSS – Office of Strategic Services. Spying. Intelligence. James Bond. Well, maybe not James Bond. But she was in some dastardly conditions.
http://www.nww2m.com/2012/08/julia-child-at-100/
Enjoy.
Happy Birthday #100, Julia Child.
The artist who drew the “Sgt Rock” comic book has passed. I loved that comic.
I never met Joe Kubert in either of my stints in the comic-book world, but I spoke with him on the phone a few times. Mr. Kubert, a pioneering artist who worked mainly for DC Comics, had started a school for cartooning and graphic arts in Dover, New Jersey. There were two young friends and employees of mine in whom I saw great potential.
I spoke with Mr. Kubert about them both. These conversations were about ten years apart, but Mr. Kubert had the same two questions about the young men I was touting: “Are they good? Will they listen?”
Both young men attended his school to their decided benefit. He and his staff taught them what they needed to know to augment their talent with real-world chops. After a couple of years at the Kubert School, both these young men were not only pro-level cartoonists, but could handle any…
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This is a series of stories of two noble and young sisters from Arizona who volunteered during the aftermath of the devastating Japan earthquake and tsunami. They now revisit the sites where they volunteered their help last year. Feel their joys as well as despair during their fantastic journey.
Bleu Cheese is Great in Its Own Whey
I know.
The title. Lame. I try.
But my Maytag bleu cheese salad is flavorful, colorful and with nice contrasting textures. To die for if I have to say so myself. Call me James Bond.
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In the early 1990’s, there was a fabulous restaurant called “Stepps” in Downtown LA. It was a great stop for business meals.
One of the most stellar dishes they had was their “Maytag bleu cheese salad”. The bleu cheese exploded with its distinct flavor and the crunch from the toasted almond slivers was an excellent contrast. Indeed, the presentation was like Disney’s “Wonderful World of Color”.
I had to figure out how to make it…even back then. Not being educated in the culinary arts (OK…cooking – I just wanted to be fancy), it was one failure after another.
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But in the years leading up to today, it is perfected. At least I think so. Nobody complains except for my oldest daughter who doesn’t like bleu cheese…or mushrooms.
The key, I feel, is the bleu cheese. There is a specific variety called “Maytag” bleu cheese. You will be rewarded. It is worth the trouble.
The ingredients are simple; no quantities are shown as you pros can figure it out. Besides, everyone’s palates differ:
For the dressing:
- Heavy cream
- Crushed garlic
- Vinegar (or lemon juice) to thicken
- Mayo
- Salt and black pepper (I use the Japanese version as it is such a fine powder and has a slight citrus-y taste to it)
- Dash of Worcheshire (Is that spelled right?)
- A dribble of olive oil
After whisking the above, toss romaine lettuce with the dressing and plate.
Throw on:
- Toasted almond slivers
- Chopped (perfectly) hard-boiled eggs
- Maytag bleu cheese
Enjoy
Presidential Campaign and Child’s Play
I am disgusted. Disgusted with the cheap shots that the Presidential campaign trails are littered with.
One child says, “He said that.”
The other child says, “No, I didn’t. You started it!”
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The campaign for the presidency of (what I feel is) the greatest country in the world has not left kindergarten.
And the all powerful media loves it. Perhaps they are still in pre-school.
I am disgusted.
Sorry for the rambling.
A Former Mechanic’s Almond Frangipane Tart
Well, this former mechanic got his greasy hands back into the kitchen. No explosion, either.
Another Cathy Thomas Cooks recipe, it was relatively straight forward. Didn’t need a wrench. Please click on the link for the recipe (since people seem to be asking).
Small kitchen appliances are rather skimpy in my kitchen so I had to improvise – my coffee grinder in place of a food processor.
I did find the pie weights to be a great tool. Lucky I had some in my toolbox…not. Went out and bought a bag. You know – a guy thing. A tool for every job.
One of my best pals passed away so I made his widow a tart for Mother’s Day.
For the single guys out there… The gals at the office love it.
(Cathy Thomas has some neat recipes on her website, too!)
Dad Was in the Newspaper Yesterday
The main Hiroshima newspaper yesterday ran a story on my Dad and his yearbook – and of international kindness. Fittingly, it was the anniversary of the atomic bombing.
and (D) my father’s beloved Nichuu High School 広島二中. (Since you all can read Japanese, in this case, it is read top/down, right to left.)
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Hiroshima conducts an annual, somber peace ceremony each year on August 6th. A peace ceremony. That’s the message. Peace. Nothing more. Nothing less. Just peace.
They are not calling attention to themselves seeking pity or repentance. While there are still many who feel the Japanese brought this on to themselves, the citizens of Hiroshima have moved beyond forgiveness and are simply seeking to spread a strong global message for peace.
This year, the grandson of President Truman (below) was in attendance. Ari Beser was there, too. His grandfather was Jacob Beser – Enola Gay’s bombardier. Wonderful.
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In my short story, “An Atomic Spark and a 1937 Yearbook“, it tells of how two complete strangers from Hiroshima – without hesitation – sought out my father’s yearbook from 1937. They miraculously found one, made a digital copy and mailed it to me through my cousin, Masako, who still lives in my father’s childhood home in Hiroshima. I printed it out and showed it to him a week before Father’s Day this year.
Dad – who is suffering from progressing dementia at 93 years of age – was overjoyed. He recalled so many things from the most happiest years of his life…including being a track star. Riding on the train to get to school with his friend Aoki… The school song. Dementia was put on the back seat for that morning.
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In a small expression of thanks, I had sent to Mr. Tsukamoto a flask etched with “Nichuu High School, August 6, 1945”. I also asked he offer a prayer to the students of Dad’s high school on August 6th. Dad’s beloved high school was but 1,500 yards from the bomb’s hypocenter.
Think about it. 1,500 yards from the hypocenter. A Marine Corps sniper armed with a Barrett .50 caliber rifle can take out a target over 2,000 yards away. The school ceased to exist.
As part of the peace ceremonies yesterday in Hiroshima, Mr. Tsukamoto visited the school’s memorial wall. You can see the stainless steel flask on the black center stone in front of a praying Mr. Tsukamoto.
In this photo, Mr. Tsukamoto is offering a symbolic toast with water from the flask.
I will be showing the article to my father this next weekend.
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I wish to thank Mr. Tsukamoto, Ms. Kanetou and Ms. Michiko Tanaka, the reporter who authored this article on international kindness, forgiveness and peace.
To say it is incredible falls short. 1,500 yards short.
塚本様、金籐様、田中様、日本語で完璧に書くことは出来ませんがとても感謝、感動しました。お礼を申し上げる上、世界に平和あるように祈りました。本当に有難う御座いました。金本光司
Masako and Spam Musubi 