My dad told me that when he got a chance, he would help me mount it my bike, but after several days of holding it in my hand and turning it over and over, I became a little impatient because we hadn’t even gotten a battery for it yet and I really wanted to see it shine. I thought it would probably shine like a spot light and I knew that when I rode my bike at night, it would surely light my way. I didn’t really stop to think about the fact that I was required by law to be inside by the time the streetlights came on, but that didn’t matter to me then. The light took one of those big, square six volt batteries and you installed it by opening the front cover and inserting the battery inside the chrome case.

After a few days, my curiosity and impatience got the better of me and so after my parents went to work, I began to wonder if I could make this light work without a battery. After all, a battery was just a source of electricity, electricity was electricity and we had electricty available all around our house. I noticed that on the bottom of the light was a big threaded rod that extended about 2 inches and there were two nuts already on the rod. I rummaged around the house and found an old lamp that we didn’t use any more so I took a steak knife and cut the cord, split the cord into the two separate wires and skinned the ends back to unveil the bare wires.

Now, I’d seen how these electrical connections were made before and knew all I needed to do was to wrap one of the wires around the threaded post and tighten the first nut down on it to hold it in place. Next, I could wrap the second wire around the threaded post the other way and tighten the second nut down to hold it in place. That would provide good electrical contact with the light and should provide more than enough electricity to the lightbulb!

I found an empty electrical socket just to the left of the television in our combination living room, dining room, kitchen and without further ado or thought, while holding the chrome bike light in my right hand and the electrical plug in my left hand, I inserted tabs A & B into electrical socket C.

I was instantly bathed in a bright blue light, the sort I’d never seen before from regular light bulbs and it seemed to me in the brief time it existed to be brighter than the sun! My bike light was sooooo cool! About the time I saw the flash, there was the sound of a what I can only describe as the very loud crack of a giant baseball bat striking a concrete wall. It was almost as loud thunder and unbeknownst to me in the moment, it was deafening.

Unfortunately, the light issuing forth from the underside of my bike light was so bright and short-lived that as soon as it went out every other light in the house suddenly went out at the same time, though it took a little bit before I could see well enough to realize it. I was still standing in our darkened combination living room, dining room, kitchen holding my chrome bike light in my right hand when I began to smell what I later learned was the smell of ozone and I wondered what could have possibly gone wrong. Did I put the wires on the light in the wrong order? Was my light too cool for our electrical system? Was it perhaps, just a coincidence that the lights went off at exactly the same time?

In the semi-dark, I turned my bike light over in my hand and examined the connection points I’d configured and found that the nuts would no long turn as they had been more or less welded to the rod and a significant portion of the plastic wire covering had simply melted away.

I don’t know how long I stood there dumbfounded, staring at my scorched chrome bike light, but somewhere in the back of my head, I began to hear a ringing sound growing louder and louder until I suddenly realized it was the telephone.

I answered the phone with a shakey voice and my mom’s first words were: “Paul, what are you up to?”

“Nothing,” I said, “but something funny is going on here at the house. I wasn’t doing anything and lights went out.” I don’t think she bought the story of my innocence for a second, but she remained calm enough to tell me to unplug whatever I had plugged in and then how to go check the breaker box. She also said she would deal with me when she got home.

I followed her instructions, flipped the breaker and got the lights to come back on. I tried to get rid of the ozone smell in the house to no avail and it was as strong as ever when my parents got home and forced me to tell them the truth about the chrome bike light and my failed experiment. I got grounded (no pun intended) from all electrical experiments for the rest of my life and my dad never helped me mount my chrome bike light on my bike. To this day, I’m convinced that their reaction to is what prevented me from becoming an electrician. They yelled and yelled about how I could have burned the house down, killed myself or worse yet I might have caused massive blackouts across the city.

In the end, being older now I realize that they were probably right and that had I wired that light just a little bit different, the results might have been far different.

Speculation aside, all I really know is that  for one brief shining moment, my chrome bike light lit up like the sun!

Three Christmas Gifts

By Mildred Goff
The wise men brought three gifts: gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

This Christmas, try adding three gifts to your list. Yes, I know your Christmas gift list is already overly long, that you have neither time nor money for extra gifts. But these will cost you little in time, and less in money, and they will capture for you the true Christmas spirit so often lost in the rush and flurry of the season.

First gift: to a stranger. This might be a note to the bus company, mentioning that bus driver who is unfailingly pleasant and courteous, even under the most trying conditions. Send a Christmas card to the waitress who is so cheerful and quick to serve you. Write a letter to the author whose book, story, or poem you have enjoyed recently. Drop a note to the department store whose windows entice you, with a word of praise for the work of the window dresser. You can think of many more. Choose at least one.

Second gift: to someone you find it hard to like, or someone you feel does not like you very much. It might be your cross old great-aunt, or a sharp-tongued cousin; perhaps it is a business associate who annoys you, or an irritable neighbor. Send a small, inexpensive, but thoughtful gift to one in this group. It might be no more than a clipping or an article about some hobby for the neighbor; a magazine you know she would enjoy for the cranky relative. Remember, it is easy to give to those we love, but God’s love includes the whole world.

Third gift: to someone in trouble. Think of those enduring a cheerless old age, who would be so grateful for an unexpected caller. There are many in hospitals who have no one to visit them, to read to them, to talk to them. And consider those in prisons; yes, we are told we should visit them, too. An hour spent with one of these lonely and half-forgotten persons will do much for them, and more for you.

This Christmas, give these three gifts. You will be repaid a thousand-fold.

Improvement Era
Dec. 1957;
Christmas Classics p. 95

Just like the rest of my home, my “living room” is dry, comfortable and safe just as is Magee, my favorite dog, who is currently sacked out on the couch next to my chair. She raises her head as my wife passes through. She is curious to know if Pam is headed to the treat cabinet that holds her favorite treat, meat-stuffed rawhide. Her ears perk up as Pam opens the fridge but when the familiar crinkle of plastic that might indicate other potential “treats” isn’t heard, she turns to look out into the yard pretending that she really doesn’t care. But she waits until Pam returns and sits in her own recliner before giving up hope and lays her head back down and with a sigh dozes back off to dream the dreams that dogs dream. Later, Magee will give me even less attention as I rise to take advantage of one of the multiple in-door plumbing facilities scattered through-out my home. Apparently, she is acutely aware that there are no treats stored in those places and her feined interest wanes even faster with me than it did with Pam.

It is in this safe and comfortable place on Memorial Day that the reality of our “insulated lives” strikes me hard. For several weeks while preparing for a Memorial Day Special radio show, I have been thinking along the lines of how insulated everyone is from the harsh and cold realities of the world.  It is not for me to wonder about the fairness or unfairness of life, because it is simply true that there is no inherent fairness in life and to wonder about it would serve no purpose. It is not pessimism that makes me say that, but rather realism. Our founding fathers acknowledged that “all men are created equal” and left it at that, because they knew that after a person is created, his or her perception of the fairness or unfairness of life is often determined by that individual.

This is not to say that there isn’t some inherent unfairness in life. There are some things individuals simply cannot overcome. A crippling disability, a tragic event, a devastating illness, a sudden death, or an economic catastrophy are all unfair situations that anyone may face. And while some people survive and some even thrive afterward, sadly, some do not.

Part of my preparation for the radio show was the publication of my great-uncle’s story of being a prisoner of war on Bataan and in doing so, I spent a lot of time reading his words. I noted when I originally wrote the story in 1985 that he often said, “I was lucky.” That comment struck me back then when I was 20 years old, but I failed to grasp the significance then. It would take 24 years, surviving a life-threatening illness and the loss of my step-daughter before I could read those words again and understand what he was really saying.

We live our lives insulated from the realities of life. We go to the store and buy our steaks and pork chops and chicken nuggets separated from much of the work that it takes to get the food to our tables. We click a button and bring the world into our homes instantly, and never think about our lives before the time when we could do such a thing. We decide to take a vacation and get into our cars, a train or a plane and go basically where ever we wish without a lot of thought about the days when such travel was beyond the realm of possibility. We are able to read books of our choosing, listen to music we like and watch movies we want to see. We are all lucky.

We are lucky that certain men and women woke up one day and decided to give more than their fair share. They stepped up to the plate and swung hard and hit a home run for all of us. They acknowledged the risks, took up their arms and marched into the gaping maw to fill the gap so the rest of us wouldn’t have to do it. The freedoms that I enjoy on this rainy Monday sitting in my comfortable, air-conditioned home, were paid for by the blood of thousands who were willing to do the hard things. It was a sobering moment when I heard my uncle say he was lucky, a moment that took many years to come back to me. For in his words I find the humility of a true military hero unwilling to take any credit for surviving one of the most difficult events anyone can survive. In his words, I realize that the ones who did not survive are still with him each and every day. In his words, I hear his acknowledgement of the unfairness of it all. And finally, in his words, I hear his thankfulness that God protected him and allowed him to return to the relative comfort of his life and the lives of all those he was prepared to die for.

The lives we live are insulated by the blood of men and women who did not return. And more than anything else, when he said, “I was lucky” I was really hearing him say “Thank you.” We believe in our comfort that we can change the world that somehow we can make it more fair when in reality all we can change is our reaction to the unfairness. Today, on this Memorial Day, we should react by remembering how unfair we are to only set aside one day to remember those who gave the ultimate sacrifice for our comfort.

I am lucky and so are you. No matter the situation, no matter how unfair life has been, we are all lucky. To the men and women of the United States Military, I say, “Thank You!” For without your courage, your strength, your committement, your dedication, and yes, your lives, how much more unfair would our lives be.

I tell my great-uncle’s story of being a POW in World War II and Ken Storms joins the show to talk about our Veterans and the Run For The Wall that recently passed through Meridian on their way to the Vietnam Memorial Wall in Washington D.C.

This is a show that I know you’ll want to pass along to your friends and family!

• Memorial Day Show – Part 1
• Memorial Day Show – Part 2
• Memorial Day Show – Part 3
• Memorial Day Show – Part 4

Learn more about Memorial Day here and here.

A Tribute to Taps Buglers at Arlington:

Click here to view the embedded video.

Powell Magee - 1941

Editor’s Note:
The following is a copy of a paper I wrote in college for a World War II History class. I interviewed my great-uncle, Powell Magee about his experiences as a POW of Japan in the Pacific Theater. With the exception of a few grammar corrections, it is presented here exactly as it was written. I have added multiple photos and maps to help readers understand the story more thoroughly.

Born March 2, 1920, Powell Magee died as a Child of God, Loving Husband, Beloved Father,  Air Force Veteran and  United States Hero on July 7, 1995.

This is his story.

A Prisoner of Japan:
A POW’s own story

By: Powell Magee
As told to Paul H. Tarver.

Foreword

The following is the story of Powell Magee’s imprisonment at the hands of the Japanese during World War II. It was taken from a taped interview with Mr. Magee and edited into its present form. I have tried to keep as much of his own words as possible, but to make it more readable and put it into chronological order, some changes were made. The content is still the same. During our interview, it was obvious that even after forty years, some parts of that period were painful to remember; however, one thing that I especially noticed during the interview was Mr. Magee’s repeated use of the phrase, “I was lucky.” Many of his friends were not.

I wish to thank Mr. Magee for allowing me to get his story on paper. I only hope that he feels as good about finally telling it as I did by being honored to hear it. This paper is for him.

Paul H. Tarver

S.S. President Cleveland (USS Tasker H. Bliss)

I joined the Air Force in May of 1940 and I left the United States on November 1, 1941, on the ship, S.S. PRESIDENT CLEVELAND. I arrived in Manila on November 18, 1941. That year, Roosevelt had set Thanksgiving up a week, so I got there on Thanksgiving Day. We disembarked from the ship and went to Fort McKinley, just outside of Manila where we were quarantined for fourteen days. We had to stay in tents for the duration of the quarantine, but afterward, we were allowed to do just about anything.., at least until the war broke out. I think I got to go into Manila sometime between the end of the quarantine and the seventh of December. Once the war began, well, that just broke up everything and we began loading ammunition. 

I was a Corporal when the war actually began, but sometime during our fighting I was promoted to Private First Class Specialist. They [the government] knew I was married, the new position paid more money. I held that until sometime during my imprisonment, when they gave me a Staff Sergeant rating. Somehow, they got wireless messages out of Corregidor to give us promotions.

Inez Magee (Powell's young wife)

I was in the ordnance attached to the 27th Bombardment Group. We handled all the bombs and ammunition for most of the forces on Bataan. The different company trucks would come to our ammo dump, where we would load them up and send them back out. We had six P-.40s that we loaded bombs on, and gradually as the war went on they shipped out to Australia. Once they were all gone, we had less to do, so, we occasionally delivered some of the ammo to the front ourselves. 

Most of our work was done out of Cabcaben, but we moved back and forth between there and Manila, that is, until Christmas Eve of ’41. We were at San Marcelino the night of Christmas Eve when we got the word to retreat back down on Bataan. We moved back below to Orion, and stayed there until the Abucay Line fell. Once the line fell, we moved into the Mariveles Mountains where we stayed until we surrendered. 

We fought for four months against 300,000 Japanese with about 60,000 men. Our forces consisted of between 17,000 and 20,000 Americans; the rest being Filipino scouts, Filipino army, and Filipino irregulars. Really, we had just about anybody who could shoot a gun. 

Generals Wainwright (left) and MacArthur (right)

McArthur left in March, and put Wainwright in charge. At first, it was a real morale boost. We thought that McArthur had gone for help and would be coming back soon with planes, ships, and convoys, it took a while before we began to realize that it would be a long time before he returned. We didn’t think he had just left us there. We thought that sooner or later, he’d come back for us. It was about two weeks before we surrendered when reality began to set in and we understood that it would be a long time before McArthur returned.

We didn’t have anything to defend ourselves with except our rifles, and the Japanese were dropping everything they had on us. They were even dropping old stovepipes with nuts, bolts and pieces of scrap metal inside. The pipes would explode above the ground and scatter the stuff all around and on top of us. 

By this time we had been demobilized as an air force unit and absorbed into the infantry. When the second line broke, we retreated into the Mariveles Mountains. This must have been about April 7, because on April 8, we destroyed all of our weapons and shot holes in all the trucks we had. We had been on half rations for about three months and had all of our food was stashed in a cave up in the Mariveles. We blew up the rest of our rations to prevent the Japs from getting and using them. Some of the guys left Bataan and crossed over to Corregidor. I don’t know if it helped them, though. Most of them died later fighting. 

On April 9, we marched down out of the mountains and surrendered. We now knew that McArthur wasn’t coming back, because he had told Wainwright to fight to the last man. However, Wainwright said he wasn’t going to do that because he thought that would be inhuman. Wainwright had visited us a few times during the four months we fought to encourage us to hold out. But, once he saw that it was hopeless to fight anymore, he decided to let us take our chances as prisoners.

As soon as we came down out of the mountains with our white flags, the Japanese began hitting and beating us. I was lucky. i didn’t get hit at that time, but a lot of other guys did. They called us all kinds of names…called us Crazy. The Japanese didn’t believe in surrendering. They thought we were dirt. I was really surprised that they even took us as prisoners. The troops we had surrendered to were hardened men. Later on the march, you’d see them pull a man out of the line and never see him again.

Bataan Death March Path

We began marching the same day we surrendered. We marched during the daytime, and they would pen us up at night. They had a barbed wire fence (It looked like a cattle lock) that they would pen us up in each night. We marched in columns of four, but you were more or less marching at your own pace. We didn’t have to keep step or anything like that.

There were Artesian wells all along the road, and guys would try to break rank and go get themselves a canteen of water. Sometimes the Japs would shoot and sometime they wouldn’t. If you could catch the right time when a well was close enough to the road, you could run, get a little water, and get back into the same spot. If the guards were spaced a fairly good distance apart, they usually wouldn’t say anything. They couldn’t recognize you anyway so they couldn’t punish you.

Prisoners Rest on Death March

Every so often, I don’t remember just how far, or how regularly, they would stop and let us sit down and rest for about five minutes. One particular time we were stopped, a truck came up and a bunch of Japanese officers got out and began jabbering away there among themselves. Finally, they came over to another group of Americans and wanted to know where a particular person was. They finally found him in a gang of us who were marching together. Those officers pulled him out of the line, took a bayonet, cut right around his face, and peeled his face off with him still alive. Then, they stabbed him with the bayonet and killed him. It seems that he had commanded the 31st Infantry (pdf) when the Japanese 10th Marines tried to land behind us on Bataan. He had taken his men and run most of the Japs back into the sea. I don’t know how they found out who he was, but they did and they got rid of him.

I saw them cut a Japanese woman’s breast off because she was trying to give us some food. Other people who gave us food had their tongues cut out. We just wanted to take and get a hold of them jokers and really tear them up. But we knew, it wasn’t any use to do that because we just get killed ourselves.

Bataan Collapses!

Some of the guys broke from the ranks and tried to get away. A few of them made it, but most of them didn’t. Early in the morning or late in the afternoon, they would break ranks and head for the woods. Most would wait until we came to a really thick part of the woods and then break. The ones that got away usually joined up with guerilla groups and helped fight their way back down Bataan. I never did try it, I just, I was afraid to try it. Afraid they’d catch me and kill me. I figured I’d stand a better chance by going on and at least I might get a little bit of food. We had no idea that it would be as bad as it was. I guess deep inside we still figured that McArthur was coming back for us, but the further we marched, the less hope we had.

Death March Map

It took us seven days to reach San Fernando and the further we marched up the island the better the treatment got. It still wasn’t good but it was better. See, the further north we marched, the more Japanese Air Force guards we ran into. They still had air supremacy, so they were not too worried about proving themselves as being better than us. In fact, just before we reached San Fernando, they let us go out into a sugar cane field and cut ourselves some stalks. We tied the stalks onto our backs and nibbled on them as we walked. Other than the sugar cane, I only got five tablespoons full of rice on the whole march.

Well, we marched on into San Fernando where we spent the night. This was the only time I remember getting hit on the march. It was the morning after we got there, and somehow, I slept late. I guess I was so exhausted. A Japanese guard came by and hit me with a stick across the leg and woke me up. Then he started jabbering at me, telling me to get up and let’s go, which I did, hurriedly.

They loaded us onto a train that day, and headed for Capas. They stacked us in those railcars like cattle. We couldn’t even sit down. Once we reached Capas, we began marching again, until we reached Camp O’Donnell.

Camp O’Donnell was to be a training base for the Filipino army, before the war. It had barracks and a mess hall. The Japs put us in there any way they could. They didn’t try to keep companies separated or anything, we just were all thrown in there together. Inside our barracks were beds that must have been about three feet high. The mattress was nothing more than bamboo slats laid across the bed. We had no cover, but then we were not in danger of getting cold, because of the hot weather.

Camp O`Donnell

I got really bad sick at this camp. I was so weak I didn’t know what to do. Finally, I crawled to the mess hall, and a cook saw me coming. I hadn’t eaten in about ten days, so he took a board he had, it must have been about two feet square, and piled it up with rice and handed it out the door to me. I ate every last bit of it. Sure enough, it stopped my diarrhea and I began to feel better. Two or three days later, the guards asked for a detail to go back down on Bataan. I volunteered for the job because I knew I could get more food if I worked.

Several of us got on a truck and headed back down on Bataan to work in the mechanic’s shop the Japs had set up. They wanted our detail to go out and pull in the trucks that we had shot up before we surrendered on April 9. There were four of us in our particular group and a guard. We had an old van-type truck, and I did most of the driving. We lucked up and got a good guard. A lot of times after we had hooked up to a vehicle and headed out, he would lay his gun down in the back and go to sleep. We could have killed him, I guess, but what good would it have done to kill just one. But, he turned out to be a pretty good Joe.

The Filipinos had little fruit-stands along the roads on Bataan. Usually, on the way back the guard would get us to stop at one of these stands, where he’d buy us candy and bananas. However, I only had this “good” life for about three weeks before I caught malaria.

Cabanatuan Prison Hut

I couldn’t work anymore, so they sent me to Cabanatuan. It was just outside of San Fernando. It was split into a hospital area and a work area. I stayed in the hospital part for five months. There were different sections in the hospital area itself and as a person got gradually worse and worse, he moved to the next section until he finally died. I don’t remember the total number of men who died at this camp, but I do know that I saw them bury 165 men in one day.

After five months on the hospital side, I finally was able to volunteer for the work side again. I went back to hauling trucks, but shortly thereafter, I got sick again and had to go back to the hospital side.

It was around the middle of ’43 when I finally got a little better. By this time, we all had begun to pick up on a few Japanese terms, but I got lucky. I met up with a guy from Shabuta, MS, named McKee. He had gotten to where he could speak pretty good Japanese. We worked together for a while at Lipa City in the Batangas Province.

We were building an airfield there at Lipa, and the trains would come in bringing the large base rocks for the runway. Well, we had one particular guard that nobody liked. So we did everything we could to get at him. Sometimes we would call him over to show off his muscles and make him lift the rocks until he figured out what was going on. A couple of times we would be up on the train car handing down rocks, and we would do our level best to drop a rock on him. We never hit him, but we made him mad pretty often. One time he got so mad-he picked up a board that was about one inch by ten inches by ten feet long and swung it at us. He wound up hitting a railcar, which only made him madder. He started cursing in Japanese, and finally got so mad that he just turned ‘and walked away. While we worked on the airfield at Lipa City we got all of our information from the Filipino farmers who worked their farms beside the airstrips. We didn’t talk to any of them, but we had ways of getting information. One of the best worked like this:

We had helmets that were made out of halved cocoanut shells. They had a band on the inside. At the end of the day, when all of the men loaded up on the trucks and began to drive off, we made it a point to drop our helmet. We would then beg the driver to go back so we could get it. He usually would and we would continue our journey back to camp. That night we would feel along the inside of that band until we found a small piece of paper. On the paper might be written, “Yankees win 7 to 2.” By that, we knew that the Americans were winning. That kept our morale up pretty good and kept us in touch with the outside world.

Another way to boost morale was to sabotage any and every thing we could. We were building a runway with rocks and dirt. Now if we left holes in the rock base and simply filled it in with dirt, the packer machine would come by and get stuck. It would take them two or three days to get him out of those holes.

The Chocolated Laxative

One of the best sabotages that I pulled off involved getting the best of a guard. The Red Cross got some packages in to us in 1943. Now, for some unknown reason they sent each one of us a small box of Ex-Lax. The last thing we needed in the Philippines was a box of Ex-lax. However, for some reason, that morning, I had put my box of Ex-lax in my pocket and headed out to work. Well, this Jap guard saw me and wanted to know what the box was. I told him it was candy and asked him if he wanted it. He looked at it, and I told him to stick it his pocket and to take it home. He did, and I didn’t see him for about three weeks. So, whether that was what caused his absence, I don’t know, but it did give us something to talk about.

After we finished working at that camp, they moved us to the Randolf Field of the Philippines. We named it that because it was sort of like the Randolf Field in San Antonio where they trained all of the pilots. Well, they had a good solid runway, which was built out of a layer of big rocks covered with pea gravel, which was then covered with three to four inches of dirt. But since the Japanese didn’t have anything for us to do, they made us use picks and tear up the runway, clear off the area, and then build the runway back. But, we’d loosen those rocks and then not pack it right. Sabotage. Sure enough, shortly thereafter, late one afternoon, we were in the middle of roll call when we heard the biggest explosion you’ve ever heard. A Japanese fighter plane carrying ammunition had cracked up out there. It had hit a soft spot. Although morale went up drastically, we were punished, too. They lined all of us up and began to hit each of us on the back with a pick handle. I think that’s what’s wrong with my back today. I was lucky; some of the guys got their backs broken.

We stayed at this camp until sometime in 1944 when the Americans began coming back into the area. I remember one day in particular, we were out building revetments for the Japanese airplanes. Revetments were U-shaped embankments 12 to 15 feet high. Planes were backed into them, which protected the planes from shrapnel from bombs dropped by the American planes. Anyway, we were out there working when somebody looked toward Manila, and the sky was just, well, it looked it was full of gnats. It was black; there were so many planes. You could hear bombs bursting and everybody was yelling. We were telling the Japanese that the planes were American Skokies, and they were saying “NO! Japanese Skokie!” Then the planes began to get closer.

In the camp, we had 6 buildings. The Japanese guards lived in the first two and the next three were the prisoners’ barracks and the last one was the mess hail. Across from our barracks was an old plane. But, those American planes came over in droves. They bombed the guards’ barracks and dropped a bomb through the cockpit of that old plane, but never once did they come close to our barracks not the mess hail. Somehow, they knew which barracks were ours, but we still don’t know how they knew. There was only one American casualty that day. One of the bombs kicked up a rock that hit one of our guys in the head. All he got was a scratch.

That night Japanese officers came and told us to pack up. They were moving us to Bilibid prison. They loaded us onto trucks and headed for Manila. Then they took us into Luzon to Bilibid where we stayed for nine days.

Bilibid Prison

At Bilibid we were fed twice a day. For breakfast, they gave us cracked corn, just like the corn you’d feed to chickens. They gave us about half a can that corn, boiled. Then that night, they gave us about 3/4 of a cup of dry, cooked rice. On the ninth day, they loaded us onto a ship headed for Japan.

They took us to Manila Bay and loaded on the ship and put us in the holds. There was a front and back hold, and they stuffed 1,122 of us down into those two holds, we couldn’t sit down. There were about 500 of us in one hold and 600 in the other. We stayed on that boat for thirty-nine days.

We set sail from Manila Bay and moved up the coast of China. Everybody got to working together and finally maneuvered ourselves into sitting positions. On the inside of the ship there were ribs running up and down the sides of the holds. They were fairly wide and they had boards going crossways. Some of us climbed up onto those boards and rode there for most of the trip.

According to Japanese figures, of the 50,000 POWs they shipped, 10,800 died at sea. Going by Allied figures, more Americans died in the sinking of the Arisan Maru than died in the weeks of the death march out of Bataan, or in the months at Camp O’Donnell, which were the two worst sustained atrocities committed by the Japanese against Americans. More Dutchmen died in the sinking of the Jun’yo Maru than in a year on the Burma-Siam railroad. The total deaths of all nationalities on the railroad added up to the war’s biggest sustained Japanese atrocity against Allied POWs. Total deaths of all nationalities at sea were second in number only to total deaths on the railroad. Of all POWs who died in the Pacific war, one in every three was killed on the water by friendly fire.

— Gavan Daws, Prisoners of the Japanese

POW's Transferred via Hell Ships

I had been down in the hold for maybe, 12 or 15 days when I finally decided to get up onto the wall. It was just getting so bad down on the bottom. It was terrible. Guys began drinking their own urine or seawater because there was nothing else to drink. I got lucky and got sick so the guards let me come up on the deck. While I was up on deck, I helped some of the other sick guys, and quickly gained my strength back. I guess I got well too fast, because it wasn’t long before the Japs realized I was feeling better and put me back into the hold.

We proceeded to Hong Kong Harbor and got trapped by some U.S. submarines. We had to go up the Canton River at night to keep submarines from slipping in and sinking us. American planes constantly bombed, but it always seemed that they hit on each side of us and miss. After being trapped for 11 days in the Harbor, we pulled out and headed for Formosa.

We stayed at a camp at Taipei for about 2 months. We had to work there too, but it was fairly easy. We had to go out between 8 and 9 in the morning and hoe in some gardens they had around the camp. We had an interpreter there who had graduated from UCLA, so we didn’t have too much language problem. The Japanese treated us pretty good there on Formosa. In fact, for the Christmas of ’44, they kill 600 rabbits and stewed them up for us. That’s about the only good thing they did for us. After staying at Taipei for two months we got on another boat and left Formosa for Kyushu Island. It took fourteen days to get there.

We landed on Kyushu in January of 1945 and got on a train to cross the island. We crossed over from Kyushu to Honshu Island [Japan's main island] on ferryboat. Then we got on yet another train and began the trip up the coast of Japan. The further north we moved the more snow we saw, and by the time we got to Sendai, it was strictly snow. It was or must have been five or six feet deep up there. We got off the train at Sendai and walked about five or six miles into the mountains to the camp we stayed at until the war ended.

During the spring of 1945, we worked at the camp in Sendai. We could do very little work because of the snow, but since trucks could not get up the mountain, it was our duty to go into town and unload the supply train whenever it came in. We ate better because we were able to steal food from the bags as we brought them up the mountain.

We wore old World War One uniform pants, the kind with the leg wrappings. We would make a hole in a bag of rice and let the rice fall into our pants. The rice would work its way down to the legs of our pants, and since we were never searched, we could get past the guards. Our guard knew we were taking the food, but he told us if we got caught he’d say he didn’t know us.

The food they gave us was a little better, too. It had to be since the work we were doing then was harder. We had more fish and dog while we were at Sendai. The fish was a frozen fish that the cooks cleaned for us. We also ate a lot of dog while we were in Japan. If I had been a rat, I would have stayed as far away as possible from any of the camps. I didn’t eat any rats, but many people did.

Around May of ’45, the work began to get harder. We worked in the lead and zinc mines gathering ore for the Japanese war machine. We had ten men details to go into the mines and load the ore onto small railcars. The cars were much smaller, because of the weight of the ore.

Anyway, I didn’t have to work in the mines much because of a particular incident. I had to go into the mine and work one day, and as the ore was broken loose from the walls, I was loading it onto the small railcars. The rails the cars rode on were built on a small incline that made it easy to roll them out of the mines. After loading a car, I was going to ride the car out of the mine. As I rode, the car went faster and faster. Finally, I decided that it was going too fast for me and tried to jump off. However, by this time, I was moving entirely too fast and was afraid to jump. I started yelling, “Get Out of the Way!” I must have been making 45 or 50 miles per hour when I came out of the end of that mine. When it finally stopped, the guards were furious. One of them took a big hand rod that the men used to drill holes in the rocks, and swung it at me. I ducked and he hit the edge of the tunnel with the rod. It almost shook his teeth out. They really raised Cain about it, but after they cooled down and found out what happened, they didn’t say too much. But, that was the only time I had to work in the mine from then on.

I was lucky. It was cold and damp down in there. And, it was easy to get lead poisoning in those mines. One guy got lead poisoning and they had to amputate his leg at his knee. He said in normal times his weight usually was 218 to 220. He weighed 98 pounds before he died. The lead poisoning just finally went all over his body.

Hiroshima Is Bombed

Finally, it was all over. Well, at least the imprisonment. They [the US] had dropped The Bomb. The old Jap commander at the camp came out the day after they dropped the bomb around 2:00 pm, to tell us that the war was over. There was some kind of yelling and crying going on.

The guards got scared that we would take our revenge on them, so they ran off shortly after the commander came out. Only three Japanese stayed that night; the commander, his interpreter, and one other guy. We went looking that night for the guards that had run of f, but we didn’t find any of them.

The next day, two fighter pilots flew over and dropped leaflets telling us that supplies were on the way. However, those fighters missed our camp and all of the leaflets fell in the city down below us. Later that afternoon, two big bombers flew over our camp real low, made a big circle, and then the bomb-doors began to open. The first thing we’ thought was, “Oh, my God, don’t tell me that the Americans are gonna bomb us, since the war has ended. Since we didn’t know that they were dropping food and clothing, we began to run to get away. Two guys, who were running, were killed by big tubes of clothes. I guess that was about the worst thing I saw over there. These two guys had made it through all the torture and were killed accidentally by their own side.

We gathered all the food up and took it to the mess hall and had a feast that night. At midnight, we had a feast. Then, we got word that there was to be another drop in about two days. Well, we did this one right. We went outside the camp and made big targets out of a bunch of sheets. This time, it felt really good to see them planes coming over, even with the bomb bay doors open.

We were told to stay at the camp until officers came and got us. Once they came, we went to Tokyo Harbor, where we spent the night on the Battleship Missouri. Within a few days, we were on our way back home.

Japan Surrenders!

We left San Francisco on November 1, 1941, and returned on October 26, 1945. We lacked just a few days being overseas four years. I was discharged on May 31, 1946. I had enlisted on May 23, 1940. Out of the six years, I had spent three and one half years as a prisoner of Japan.

I called my wife, Inez, from San Francisco and talked to her for the first time in five years. In fact, she had not heard from me that whole time. She didn’t even know if I was alive, until I got back. I cried over the phone with her. It felt good to be back home.

I suppose that during my stay the worst part had to be the not knowing whether I’d be alive tomorrow. Whether your own planes would drop the bomb that would kill you. We didn’t know whether those Japs would go berserk tomorrow and kill the whole lot of us like cattle. We just couldn’t envision a small country like Japan taking over America, but since we didn’t know if they had or not all we could do was hope that they hadn’t. You didn’t know what was going to become of you next.

You just didn’t know.

Inez & Powell Magee

Anne Matilda Farrar McCaleb

We all called her “Grandmother.” In reality, she was my father’s grandmother and my great-grandmother. Anne Matilda McCaleb (née Farrar) was born on May 8, 1887 and died February 3, 1983 at the age of 95, just a little over four years shy of her 100th birthday. There was never any confusion among the family when speaking of Grandmother because both of my parents’ mothers were called “Grandma” and only Anne McCaleb was afforded the full-blown honorific, “Grandmother.” I’m not sure how that happened and I’m not really sure it matters.

What I am sure of is that I was a lucky young man because until I reached the age of 18, I was fortunate to have both my maternal and paternal grandparents and a great-grandmother still alive. More fortunate still, I was able to grow up with ample opportunies to get to know and enjoy all of these wonderful people. In light of the fact that tomorrow is Mother’s Day, I thought it would be appropriate to share a funny story about my Grandmother that happened when I was about 11 years old.

I encourage you to click on the picture to the right and take a closer look at this regal lady of the South. The straight line of her lips that might make her look stern is softened by the openness of her face and the warmth of her eyes. If you were fortunate enough to know her as I did, you would perceive the spark of mischief behind that face and you would know that this was how she looked just before a smile.  I looked closely at this photograph while preparing it to be published on the Internet and I have to believe that she would have been amused by the Internet and would enjoy reading this story almost as much as I am enjoying writing it.

Grandmother was married to Sidney Brisco McCaleb, Sr. and spent much of her life on Smithland Plantation in Kingston, MS south of Natchez. I never got to know my great-Grandfather since he died just a couple of years after I was born in 1965. To my knowledge there is only one photograph of me with both of my great-grandparents and I was just a baby at the time. Grandmother suffered from hip problems which apparently is a family problem that several of her children and grandchildren have inherited. Grandmother was in her 70′s when Grandfather died and because of her hip problems she was pretty much relegated to being in a wheelchair most of the time. She faced her disability and her loss with the equanimity and steadfastness of a grand dame of the South but by the early 1970′s she decided to close her home in Kingston, MS and live with her daughter Ella and her son-in-law Calvin in their home outside of Houston.

My parents now live on the land that is known as Smithland along with several of my aunts and uncles. Interestingly enough, Grandmother’s son, Sidney McCaleb, Jr and her daughter, Ella now also live on this land. The old home that Grandmother kept for so many years before she “broke-up housekeeping” is still standing, though it has fallen into disrepair and is only the shell of what it once was. 

There is an oilwell on Smithland Plantation and the money earned from the oil along with her social security gave Grandmother a comfortable life with her daughter and she was able to begin a habit that stuck with her until the end. Each year around the beginning of summer, she would board a plane headed for California where she would visit for a couple of weeks with her son, Sidney, Jr. and his wife and children. At the end of her stay, she would board another plane headed for Washington, D.C. where she would stay for a couple of weeks with her daughter, Anna Belle and her husband Johnny. When that visit was concluded, she would fly to Birmingham to spend some time with her daughter, Jo and her husband, Pete, and their children. And then, when the time was right and because Natchez, MS didn’t have an airport, Grandmother would board yet another plane and fly to Jackson, MS where my parents and I would pick her up and she would spend a couple of weeks in our home prior to having us drive her to Natchez to stay with my Grandma, Mary Louise Tarver and my grandpa, Roy Howard Tarver. At the end of her time with them, we would return to Natchez, pick her up and take her back to the airport in Jackson to fly the final leg of her journey back to her home in Houston. She used to say, “As long as the oilwell keeps pumping, I’m gonna keep flying!” The well kept pumping and she kept flying until she died in 1983.

Most of my memories of Grandmother start around the year 1975 after I was 10 years old. I barely remember her in a wheelchair, because sometime around the age of 85 she had her first hip-replacement surgery. As soon as she was recovered from that, she had the other hip replaced and went from being wheelchair-bound to being able to walk across the floor with two cups of coffee and not spill any. With her renewed mobility, and her spirits high, I believe she began to enjoy life a lot more and old age became a badge of honor for her. At the time of her death she was already planning her 100th birthday party!

I mentioned earlier that Grandmother’s face concealed a mischief that made her delightful to be around. One particular pleasure that she enjoyed after getting “ball-bearing hip-joints” as we used to call them occurred at the airports. During the mid to late 1970′s airport security began to tighten a bit after some hi-jackings and now people were having to go through metal detectors prior to boarding their planes. Grandmother loved to go through the detector and not tell anyone she had metal hip-joints just to make the alarm go off. She said it was because then they would have to “frisk” her. Apparently from the stories I heard, she like to do this alot.

One of the things I remember most about Grandmother other than her spunk and high-spirits was her addiction to reading. She was a voracious reader and constantly had a book that she was half-way through. It must have been a trait that she passed on because all of her children were heavy readers and I have also been blessed with that gift as well as an interest in writing. Her trips to visit all of her children were made for the obvious reasons: she loved to spend time with them, she loved to visit, and she loved to travel. But one less obvious reason that she made all those trips was she was out of books. She always left Houston with a bunch of books packed in her bags and she traded with everyone along the way. By the time she returned to Houston she had a whole bunch of new but slightly used books to read in the coming year.

It could be argued that Grandmother was reading to improve her mind, for science has shown that you must continue to use your brain as you grow older or brain function will diminish, but I reget to inform you that I don’t believe that was why Grandmother read books. You see, my Grandmother was addicted to romance novels. All kinds of romance novels. The stuff women take to the beach with them with pictures of hunky guys on the cover with torn shirts holding a damsel in distress in his arms in the middle of a rain storm. I remember sneaking peeks at those books and they were pretty intense. Today, those books would probably not get a PG rating if they were turned into movies, but at the time they were my Grandmother’s favorite entertainment. Perhaps, just perhaps, they were also a form of travelling for her. A chance to visit places she’d never been or to do things she’d never done. Whatever the reason, I do remember the book trading process was pretty well complete by the time she reached our house and she never was more than an arm’s length away from her book.

I also remember her black creepers. Grandmother never left her bedroom without being dressed, having her hair in place, wearing her “grandma stockings” and black creeper shoes. I can’t remember if they were laced up or not, but I suspect they were not. I remember the soles were flat and made of soft rubber and being black they went with everything she wore. I called her stockings “grandma stockings” because they were what you would expect and sometimes they were a little loose. But because she always wore a dress, she always had her stockings on. There may be family members who can shed more light on this particular subject, but for now I’m writing about my memories and my memory of Grandmother always included her stockings and her black creepers. I know you are probably wondering why I’m fixated on this particular subject, but hang with me on this because they play a big part in this story.

I suppose that I was given a great gift by growing up in Jackson and Pearl, Mississippi; for living in those places put us directly in Grandmother’s flight path on her annual journey and it made it possible for me to get to spend a great deal of time with Grandmother. She was as regular as the seasons and as soon as school was out, I knew it wouldn’t be long before we would get the call from Aunt Jo in Birmingham that she had put Grandmother on the plane there and she’d be landing at Jackson’s airport about 1 hour later. I can’t remember how I felt about it at the time, I suspect that I was like most kids at that age who dreaded older people staying in their home, I hope that if I was like that, I didn’t say too much about it to my parents. Once she arrived at our house though I know I enjoyed her company and now that I’m older I know that I miss her often.

Grandmother was a great story teller, didn’t mind having a conversation with a child and she was a pretty good cook too. She was especially good at making something good out of not much at all. I remember her taking all the leftovers out of our refridgerator one year and making a soup that I remember not so much for how it tasted, but for the fact that she threw in some macaroni and cheese left from a previous meal and the elbow macaroni bloated up and became huge in the soup and that was the first time I ever had noodles in a soup that wasn’t chicken soup! One year she came to our house and noticed there were wild blackberries growing on the fence behind our house and she told me to go out and pick the blackberries and bring them to her. I did so and soon I smelled the wonderful odor of a blackberry cake baking in the oven. All of the blackberries sank to the bottom so when she turned out the cake the blackberries became the topping. I will never eat a blackberry tart or pastry without thinking of the cake my great-grandmother made for me that day!

As I said, most of my memories of Grandmother seem to start around 1975 after I turned 10 years old. I believe this particular incident occurred in 1976 when I was eleven and though I’ve talked to my mother about the timing, I can’t seem to narrow it down any closer than that. Based on where we lived at the time, it seems about right. We were living on a street named Ramada Circle in the Forest Hill area of South Jackson, MS and I believe this was the summer between my 6th and 7th grades. We were living in one of the nicest homes I remember us living in at the time and it was a light brown brick home on the top of small hill because we had a steep driveway. Inside was a big fireplace and what I though was plenty of room to be a kid. My father and mother were both working hard to build their fledging auto-repair business in Pearl, MS some 20-30 minutes away from our home and in truth I was a latch-key kid. After school each day, I’d ride the bus home arriving around 3:30pm where I would do my chores (most days) and watch “The Gong Show” and “Dark Shadows” repeats and wait for my parents to get home usually by 5:30pm. It was a different time back then and it was much safer for a 10 year old kid to be left alone. I was an only child and didn’t have any brothers or sisters to argue with or fight over the television and I was pretty happy with the arrangement. At least from what my mother tells me, I was a fairly responsible kid excluding the time I tried to wire up my bikelight to 120 volts with a cord off an old lamp. Or the time I “accidentally” shot my best friend in the butt with my bb gun. Or the time I tried to jump a ditch with a 10-speed and crash landed and bent the rims on my relatively new bike. Or the time I…….but I digress.

We had decent furniture, but there was one chair that we owned that was kind of a trick chair. It was covered in naugahyde that was supposed to look like real leather, but the older the chair got, the more orange it got. I don’t really know that color it was when it was new, but I definitely remember that it had an orange tint to it. The chair was deep and wide and very comfortable. It wasn’t a recliner, but rather it was mounted on a base with five feet that stuck out in a star pattern. Over the years the springs had worn out and unless you were careful and made sure that the back of the chair was resting on against one of the feet, it was possible to get too comfortable and the chair would turn over backwards leaving you on your back.

When Grandmother arrived that year, Mom and Dad both explained to Grandmother about the pecularities of the chair and warned her off telling her that she should not sit in the chair for any reason and that she should stick with the other chairs or the couch. While Mom and Dad and even me were around and in the room with her, Grandmother complied with our instructions and she didn’t try to sit in the chair. However, as I said earlier, Grandmother had a mischievious and rebellious streak in her and I believe that it began to eat at the 88 year old woman that there was any chair anywhere that she should be forbidden to sit in. Several days into her visit, she began to plot her chance to try out the naugahyde chair. It was too inviting, it looked too comfortable, and by God it was off-limits which just incited her even further.

It was a sunny day when Grandmother put her plan into action. I remember the sky was blue with white billowy clouds. It was hot outside and I spent much of the day inside with Grandmother in case she needed anything and because frankly I didn’t like hot weather. Besides, I had been given the responsibility to look after Grandmother and it just wouldn’t do for me to be outside riding my bike somewhere when I had to take care of her. It was getting up towards lunch time and I told Grandmother that I was going to the kitchen to fix us some sandwiches for lunch. She was sitting comfortably on the couch reading her latest romance novel when I walked the 20 steps from the living room to the kitchen on the other side of the wall. I had gotten most of the fixings out and was starting to make our sandwiches when I heard this “WHUMPPPFFFF!” sound from the living room and then silence. My first thought was, “Oh my God! Grandmother has fallen!” and I immediately rushed toward the living room.

As I entered the living room through the doorway that joined the breakfast nook with the living room, I was confronted by a sight that brings a smile to my face everytime I think of it now, but at the time it was all I could do not to panic. I saw the bottom of the orange naugahyde chair with the five footed base looking like a star and rising just behind were my Grandmother’s legs covered with wrinkled and loose “grandma stockings” topped off by rubber-soled black creepers pointed directly at the ceiling.

I rushed to her side and fell to my knees beside her and touched her arm thinking she was dead because her eyes were looking straight up and said, “Grandmother? Are you ok?”

She blinked and turned to focus on my face and asked, “Can you help me up?” Relieved that Grandmother was still alive and that I wouldn’t be blamed for killing my great-grandmother, I struggled to lift the chair back up to it’s upright position, but no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t lift her and the chair. She was not a small woman, but I knew she was old and frail and I needed to get her back up as soon as possible. I considered calling the fire department or the police, but since she seemed ok, I thought that might be overkill. All I really needed was a little bit of help to lift the chair and then everything would be ok. My heart was still pounding and I tried hard to think of what to do. It was the middle of the day and all of our neighbors were at work so no one was at home.

Then suddenly, I remembered my friend’s dad worked nights and they lived across the street, so I told Grandmother to be still and I would go and get help. I got to my feet and ran to the front door and opened it to a blast of hot air and saw the blue sky with white clouds when from behind me low and soft I heard my Grandmother call my name.

“Paul?” she called faintly and then again, “Paul?”

I froze for a second thinking that now she really was going to die. Perhaps it was a heart attack. I’d heard of family members who had passed away from heart attacks and now my own heart was racing again. I turned around and rushed back to where she lay on her back with her feet still sticking straight up in the air and fell to my knees once again and bent low so I could hear her words clearly in case she was giving me her last request. Oh, I just knew this was it. “88 Year Old Grandmother Dies While In The Care Of Her Great-Grandson Of A Heart Attack After Falling Backwards In A Chair,” which was a long headline I know, but it would probably make the front page. Worse yet, how would I tell my parents?

“Yes, Grandmother, I’m here, are you ok? Is there something you need? What can I do?” I told her hoarsely.

“Could you turn down the corner of the page I’m on in this book? It’s a good book and I don’t want to lose my place” she replied.

Stunned by her simple request and relieved that she didn’t appear to actually be dying, not that I would recognize that anyway, I turned the page down, got up and went across the street to get help. Our neighbor was home and after I explained the situation, he put on some shoes and followed me back across the street to my Grandmother with her legs still up in the air. I don’t know if he smiled or not when he saw her, but between the two of us, we got the chair upright and pulled Grandmother out of the chair and got her back to the couch. After he was satisfied that she was ok, he went back home and I finished fixing her lunch.

Not much was said about Grandmother And The Chair that night. I don’t know if Mom and Dad had a talk with her afterwards about doing what they told her not to do. I know that I would have probably gotten a lecture or a spanking if I had done something they told me not to do. But then again, perhaps they chose to let the experience be the teacher. What I can tell you is that we never had to worry about Grandmother sitting in the orange naugahyde chair anymore and in the end she outlasted the chair for she continued to visit long after the chair was gone.

There are many things I wish I could remember about Grandmother. The older I get the more precious the memories of that time with her become to me. Grandmother was a great wit and storyteller, a good cook, a loving great-grandparent, and my summertime friend. I believe there is a Heaven and somewhere in it is my Grandmother’s mansion. I also believe that in at least one of the rooms in that mansion, Grandmother has an orange naugahyde chair that she can sit in any time she wants.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Hudson’s Treasure Hunt is a delightful store that frankly is sort of difficult to describe to anyone who has never been inside of one. Over sixty years ago, the concept of Hudson’s came about as the result of a fire. H. C. Hudson was the owner of a grocery store in Palmer’s Crossing, MS and after a fire severly damaged his story, he asked the insurance agent what would become of the remaining inventory. After some negotiation, the insurance agent sold the goods back to H. C. Hudson who in true entrepreneurial fashion, immediately held a “fire sale” for his “Smoky Groceries” at 50% off. The success of the sale convinced H. C. Hudson that he was on to something and he began to scour the country-side looking for similar opportunities and along the way The Hudson Salvage Company  was born.

Checking out their website in preparation for this story, I found the company’s creed displayed prominently and I think it bears reprinting here. It is a creed worthy for any business to including my own to aspire to. I also think that it is telling that they call it their creed and not their mission. A creed is a system of beliefs or principles whereas a mission is more of a goal or destination. Hopefully Hudson’s won’t mind if I quote their creed since frankly I believe it bears repeating. Change a few words and I think you’ll find that the same words can apply to your business or your life as well.

Hudson’s is a family of diverse individuals who believe in keeping our word, working hard, having fun and treating others as we want to be treated. We believe in helping each other grow and develop to our potential. We also believe that we are destined to become the ultimate extreme value retail company by the grace of God. It is our mission to always provide our customers desirable merchandise at prices less than any competitor while making the profit needed to fulfill our destiny.

Hudson stores are often located in large, older buildings previously occupied by other retail stores that have moved on to greener pastures. Curiously, no matter what part of town Hudson’s Treasre Hunt stores are located, the parking lots are always full. It’s a different kind of retailing they do at Hudson’s. What would be a negative at other stores becomes a positive at Hudson’s. The air conditioning is usually at the upper range of comfortable, the signage on the walls is simple and cartoony. The fixtures and shelving are all second-hand purchases at going out of business sales, product is often placed haphazardly on the shelves because much of it doesn’t have a box or packaging or if it does it may be dented, water damaged, or torn. The shopping carts are mis-matched and sometimes merchandise is stacked in the middle of the aisles.

Whole sections of the store may be roped off with yellow tape as new merchandise is cataloged, priced and organized. On one visit the goods might be from a grocery store and the next might be from an arts and crafts store. One time we went and there were 5 separate aisles with nothing but shoes. Another time almost everything in the store was yard tools, garden hoses, shovels, and picks. While attempts are made to clean most of the merchandise, the fact is occasionally you’ll get your hands or clothes dirty by handling some of the goods because after all they may have been in a fire, or sitting in a warehouse for a long time.

Products may be moved from store to store until the right customers are found, prices may be lowered to find the right buyers. Which is a philosopy which reminds me of sign that used to hang on the back of the bathroom door at Fred’s Discount Store where I spent most of my time working after school. It said that Fred’s would be successful as long as we had the “Right Products in the Right Place at the Right Time at the Right Price with the Right Customer Service.” Hudson’s is so committed to selling everything they can that if it can’t be sold through Hudson’s Treasure Hunt, they’ll slash the price again and move it to their auxillary store, Dirt Cheap.

As I stood beside our cart while my wife looked through the hanging clothes, I began to look around me and easily identified all of the married guys in the store because they were also standing next to their carts while their wives looked at clothes, quietly looking forward to getting to the aisles with tools or electronics. Which brings up a point that I need to make which is why I call our trips to these stores, “Hudson Crawlin’.”  My wife and I do not go to Hudson’s looking for anything, but we look at everything to find stuff we might want. I should also warn you that you have to have a pretty good idea of what things cost in order to make good purchase decisions. I’m not saying that deals can’t be found, but it’s like a dance; you have to pick and choose carefully to make sure you get the best deal.

It is in fact a treasure hunt just as the name implies. And when you find that awesomely great deal, it feels just like you’ve hit the jackpot. The feeling of getting a good item at a great price is desired by everyone and it is achievable at Hudson’s Treasure Hunt. Give it a try the next time you get the chance. Oh, and if you are lucky, you’ll get a check-out clerk like we did that will offer you hand-sanitizer. It was a really nice touch!

Unfortunately, most kids do not get this type of hands-on education. They are sent to school where they are caught in the cross-fire of competing special interests and the most basic understanding of how the world works somehow escapes them. It’s not always their fault. As our educational system has continued to become politicized over the years, it has become more and more clear to me that there are an awful lot of people who simple don’t have all the facts. For example, when I started my own business, I had lots of people tell me, “Hey, you’ve got it made! You get to make all the money.” And, I’ve had people say, “You must be rich ‘cuz you own your own business.” I have to stifle my laughter when they say this because nothing could be further from the truth. It is painfully obvious to me that people who say these things have never learned how the world of business works, nor do they understand that for every dollar of income that comes into my business there are an awful lot of people wanting a slice of that dollar.

The first people who want a slice are vendors who have shipped products I have sold and if they are not paid, there will be no more products to sell. Next are the employees and as hard as I try, I can’t seem to convince employees that they should be working just because they love the work. Ultimately, they want to be paid. Bank loans have to be paid or we’ll have no vehicles to move around in, or if I’ve financed my inventory, they’ll come and take it for payment instead. We have to pay for the overhead expenses like electricity, telephone bills, internet services, subscriptions to trade magazines to continue our education, tools, and workbenches. Rent or the mortgage has to be paid so we have an office, advertising has to purchased so we can promote what we do, and eventually, we will all have to spend some time with the tax collector. Unfortunately, there’s more than one tax collector: Federal, State, City, and County; they all want their cut.

In the end, if a business owner is able to keep even a small slice of that original dollar coming in, he or she is obligated to spend some portion of what’s left on improving the business. They may use it for research and development on new products, or expanding their existing capacity. In the end a business that doesn’t invest in it’s own future is destined not to have one.

It is often frustrating that so many people do not understand even economics this basic. For too long, small business owners have stood by, kept their heads down, did their work and hoped that everything would work out ok. Unfortunately, the ostrich strategy isn’t going to cut it anymore. There are a lot of people who don’t understand economics or taxation; with their own mis-guided ideas of how “rich” small businesses and entrepreneur are; and they appear to be ready to get out the pitchforks to get what they “think” is fair. Therefore, in my small way, I want to contribute something back to everyone who has helped me stay in business since 1982. Because of my association with lots of small business owners, I often am exposed to good educational materials. I’d like to feature some of this material here for others to find and perhaps they can benefit from the information as I have.

Today, I received an email from a friend (a small business owner) that contained links to three videos that were posted on YouTube. These videos provide an excellent explanation of the Laffer Curve. Each video is about 7 minutes long and well worth the time. If you are a small business owner and have discovered educational material like this and it has helped you in some way, please email me here the links to the material. If it is worthwhile, I’ll be happy to publish it in another post.

The Laffer Curve, Part I: Understanding the Theory

Click here to view the embedded video.

The Laffer Curve, Part II: Reviewing the Evidence

Click here to view the embedded video.

The Laffer Curve, Part III: Dynamic Scoring

Click here to view the embedded video.

Hat-Tip to Ed Pierce for sharing. Let me know what you think.

Blade Runner Movie Poster (1982)

For those who have read my previous movie reviews of “It’s A Wonderful Life” and “Meet John Doe,” I should warn you that this is less of a review and more of an analysis. Spoilers are included, but I don’t believe I’ll ruin the movie for those who haven’t seen it, but if you are worried, watch the movie first, then come back and read this article. I will tell you up-front that this movie may not be your cup of tea. If you are not into science fiction or self-examination or movies that make you think, you may want to skip this one. Although it might sound narcissistic, www.paultarver.com was created to give me a place to write about the things that I like and that might interest readers as well. And I like this movie. A lot.

Now that the obligatory disclaimer out of the way, let me tell you about a movie named “Blade Runner” (1982).

I love really good science fiction. I’m generally not into fantasy science fiction, but rather prefer science fiction firmly rooted in the reality of human relationships. For example, while “Star Trek” takes place in the future, the stories’ foundations are the inter-personal relationships of the crew and the entities they encounter. “Star Wars” is at its heart an ancient hero myth set in a different time and place all wrapped up in family tragedy and tied with the ribbon of redemption. “The Robot Series” of books by Isaac Asimov spend a great deal of time examining the relationship between a human detective named Elijah Baley and a robot assistant named R. Daneel Olivaw as they solve mysteries. In my opinion, at it’s best, science fiction should be free to examine very human issues in a non-threatening way.

In many of the science fiction novels and movies I enjoy, the future is portrayed with optimism and hope that life will be better than today with lots of gadgets, new worlds to be explored and new ways to get to those worlds. Technology never overwhelms the story, but rather is used as the backdrop and the set-pieces that help tell the story of a person’s journey toward self discovery. On the other hand, Blade Runner is the exact opposite because technology is the story and it is the story’s reason for being. In the words of one of the main characters, “I’m not in the business, I am the business.”

Click here to view the embedded video.

A dark and dirty world is on display in this film set in the year 2019. Technology has “advanced” to the point that genetic duplicates of humanity called “Replicants” are manufactured by The Tyrell Corporation. The Earth is overcrowded, polluted and oppressive enough that people are actively trying to exit the planet and move to off-world colonies. Unfortunately, many people are prevented from leaving because of age, health or genetic reasons.

Early versions of replicants used on Earth were great helpers to humanity, but they would become mentally unstable after about four years and needed to be “put-down” by special police squads called “Blade Runners.” As technology improved, replicants became virtually indistinguishable from humans and were subsequently outlawed on Earth only to be used as slaves in the off-world colonies. Replicants occassionally escaped their servitude and some returned to Earth and tried to live among humans. Blade Runners became skilled at detecting replicants by administering Voight-Kampff tests which measured subjects emotional and empathetic responses to series of questions.

By the year 2019, scientists discovered that providing replicants with “false memories” usually taken from real humans made replicants more controllable. But The Tyrell Corporation scientists never solved the problem of mental instability occurring approximately four years after a replicant’s incept (“birth”) date. The solution? Build-in a four year life span for replicants thus guaranteeing regular replacement business and preventing replicant melt-downs before they happen. The latest Nexus-6 line of replicants are the strongest, smartest, most adaptable replicants ever produced and in the words of the founder of the Tyrell Corporation, they are “more human than human.”

The movie begins with the attempted murder of a skilled Blade Runner as he administers a Voight-Kampff test to one member of a group of 5 replicants who escaped slavery and returned to Earth in an attempt to convince their “creator” to grant them more life. Rick Deckard, played by Harrison Ford, is called out of retirement to hunt down the replicants and “retire” them (the euphemistic term for killing replicants). Deckard is tired, worn out, and burned out just like the world he lives in. Deckard is “brought in” by fellow Blade Runner, Gaff (Edward James Olmos), to see his former police boss, Bryant (M. Emmet Walsh). After enduring Bryant’s prejudices and threats, Deckard is convinced/cornered and so reluctantly accepts Bryant’s invitation to come back “like the old times.” Deckard’s beliefs about the line separating humans and replicants are shaken when as part of his investigation, he goes to the Tyrell Corporation to give a Voight-Kampff test to Rachel, played to perfection by Sean Young. Deckard determines that Rachel is a replicant who doesn’t know she’s a replicant and by the end of this test Deckard starts to question his own humanity. The questions increase as the case unfolds.

Click here to view the embedded video.

In its simplest form, Blade Runner is a detective story/chase/thriller with great visuals and a great romance. Scratch the surface and you’ll find deep examination of what it means to be human. Scratch a little more and you’ll discover a thoughtful treatise on the implications of scientific advances such as genetic research, cloning, and other obvious attempts of man to play God.

The primary antagonist, Roy Batty, is played by Rutger Hauer and this character gets some of the meatiest dialogue. A case in point is the moment when Roy confronts his “creator” and demands more life. His disappointment is apparent and students of the film have debated Roy’s relationship with his creator and the reaction he has to Tyrell’s answer. Deckard is the protagonist, and yet, often questions his own motivation as he does the dirty work of retiring replicants. Weird thing is, no matter how much he questions himself, Deckard is good at what he does. Not so good that he can do it without getting up close and personal with his work, but good just the same.

Ethics, friendships, loyalty, romance and society are all covered and addressed albeit through the lens of science fiction which has always been a great way to discuss difficult topics without the baggage we all carry getting in the way. Replicant Pris is played by Darryl Hannah in one of her earliest roles, Joanna Cassidy plays Zhora, James Hong plays Dr. Chew, and William Sanderson is wonderful as the genetically disabled genius, J. F. Sebastian. It’s a great film but I promise you will not get it all in one viewing.

• First Viewing: You’ll focus on the visuals, which were stunning in 1982 when the film was released and are still stunning today. Director Ridley Scott endured the wrath of many of the people working on the film because of his single-mindedness about achieving the look and feel of the movie. Harrison Ford has apparently made peace with Scott over the years but initially he was very frustrated with the whole process of making the film. Today, many people wonder if Ford’s frustration actually shows on the screen and makes his performance better.
• Second Viewing: You’ll focus on the replicants and see the story from their point of view. Roy is captivating and hard to not watch, but all of the replicants have their moment and the actors selected to play the various roles were perfect selections. You’ll also have time to actually understand more of the relationship between Deckard and Rachel. You’ll also wonder if Deckard is just lucky or is he the Rocky Balboa of Blade Runners.
• Third Viewing: You’ll pay more attention to the awesome soundtrack and recognize the effect the music has on the mood of the scenes. You’ll also begin to wonder if Deckard is a replicant or is human. If he is human how can he empathize with his targets so much and if he is a replicant, how can he justify killing his own kind.
• Fourth Viewing: You’ll want to read Philip K. Dick’s book, “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep” which was the original source for the script. Do not expect the book to bear a lot of resemblance to movie other than the main character Deckard and more philosophical questions than you can shake a stick at.
• Fifth Viewing: You’ll be sufficiently immersed in the world of 2019 to watch the story the way it was meant to be seen and you’ll pick up on many of the little things such as Gaff’s fascination with origami and you’ll begin to see many of the subtle hints of plot threads that director Scott scattered throughout the film.
• Sixth Viewing: You’ll discover that you are hooked on Blade Runner and want to watch all seven of the different releases of the film to spot differences or errors. The original theater release included a voice-over by Harrison Ford that I personally don’t mind but many fans do. You might consider watching the original release with the voiceover first to get more of the backstory and then watch the Director’s Cut without the voiceover. I have to say that I’ve seen both versions of the film and though every scene is basically the same, the two films are vastly different in way they feel and I love them both. It’s something you’ll have to discover on your own, but eventually you’ll probably find yourself choosing one version or the other as your favorite like most Blade Runner fans.

No review of Blade Runner would be complete without reference to the soundtrack. Vangelis (Acadamy Award winner for Chariots of Fire) scored and preformed the music on his synthesizers and created a sound like no other science fiction movie. His use of vocals, chimes and saxophones completed the retro sounding film-noir that Ridley Scott was trying to achieve with the look of the film. It took over a decade for the soundtrack to be released for the movie due to licensing issues with Vangelis. Because of the delay there are several bootleg editions of the soundtrack music, which you should avoid because of the low quality of these recordings. The CD you want was released in 1994 by Vangelis. A 3-CD set was released in 2007 as part of the 25th anniversary of the movie’s release and according to Wikipedia, the first CD contains the same music as the 1994 CD and the 2^nd CD contains previously unreleased music from the movie while the 3^rd CD is all new music composed by Vangelis inspired by the movie. Recently, I featured the Love Theme from Blade Runner on a Valentine’s Day Edition of The Morning Show on WMOX. Here’s the full song with clips from the movie:

Click here to view the embedded video.

Blade Runner has inspired lots debates in the past 25 plus years. Go to Google and type in “Blade Runner” and you’ll get some 5.6 Million links many of which cover these controversies in depth reducing my need to cover all of them here. However, I’d like to mention just a few to give you an idea of how serious people take this film.

• Is Deckard a replicant or a human? – Probably the most asked and yet really unanswered question on the Internet. I choose to believe that Deckard is human because the relationship between Deckard and Rachel is much more dramatic knowing Deckard is human and Rachel is a replicant. At least to me, but you can make your own decision on this one. Ridley Scott says that Deckard is a replicant, but others associated with the film are adamant that he is human. You decide.
• What makes humanity…human? The film provides the question but never really answers it fully. Is it our memories, our souls or the ability to empathize? For me it is the soul, but sometimes thinking about the question can make us all, well, better humans. Perhaps it is a combination of all three. Ultimately the film seems to say that memories alone are not enough and experience alone is not enough so what are you left with?
• How does technology impact and change our world and is it always for the better? As a computer guru, I am acutely aware that I work in a field that could potentially work against humanity in spite of the good computers have brought to all our lives. Everyday I hear of some new use of technology that limits or interferes with individual freedoms. Sometimes, it’s weird to examine this issue, but it is something I think about from time to time.
• What are the moral implications of genetic research or scientists playing God? Without making a direct judgment, the film displays both the good and bad potentials of genetic research. Roy Batty makes a comment to the scientist that created his eyes that I find telling. Roy says, “If you could see what I’ve seen with your eyes.” The statement reveals a certain pity the created feels for the creator that makes me wonder if there is a point where our humanity will actually be diminished by certain scientific exploration.
• Is Deckard a hero or an anti-hero? In reverse, the same question might be asked this way: Is Roy Batty Frankenstein’s monster or is he really Deckard’s mirror image? From my point of view, I like to think of Deckard and Roy as opposite sides of the same personality. At the beginning of the movie, Deckard is burned out on life and just going through the motions; doing a job. Alternatively, Roy Batty is fighting for his survival, willing to go as far as necessary to achieve his goal. Deckard gains love as Roy loses love. Deckard finally finds hope in the life he has left, just as Roy loses the last of his life. The arc of their lives are clearly in opposition and inversely related. Roy the hunted becomes the hunter as their roles are reversed and Deckard becomes the hunted instead of the hunter.

As a confirmed fan of Star Wars and Star Trek (original cast), I have to tell you that the look of this film is a complete departure from what those other movies present as the future and perhaps that’s what makes Blade Runner so compelling. The fact is our today was yesterday’s future. As Ridley Scott explained it, “The future is old.” This is simply a realization that the future will be made up of the sum of everything that came before it. For example, it is not unusual for us to see antique cars running up and down the roads. Buildings can be 50, 60 or 100 years old, they are not all brand new. To understand what I’m talking about, take a look at this video from the sixties and notice that their vision of the future included nothing old and everything is brand new.

Click here to view the embedded video.

But the truth is, when we arrive at the future it will be familiar and yet alien at the same time, but we won’t realize it because like age itself, the future creeps up on us incrementally. However, if you take a person of today and transport them a hundred years in the future, everything would be alien because that person would not have the benefit of the previous hundred years of history to anchor himself. A strange mix of old and new is probably the way the future will really be and it is what makes Blade Runner the most realistic movie of the future I’ve ever seen and obviously I’m not alone. Here’s a list of movies or television shows that have been directly influenced by Blade Runner: A.I. Artificial Intelligence; Dark City; Soldier; Total Recall; The Matrix; Virtuosity and many more. The movie Alien and to a lesser degree Star Wars included some ‘oldness’ in their portrayal of the future, but not to the extent of Blade Runner. It is my humble opinion that Blade Runner changed the look and feel of science fiction movies forever. If that is not enough to encourage you to watch this movie, consider that Blade Runner even has a “curse” attached to it.

I usually don’t like publishing spoilers, but given the age of the film and its popularity I don’t think that’s really an issue here. Even if you know the entire storyline going into your first viewing, there’s so much in there, you’ll still be overwhelmed. For example, here’s the climax of the film where Roy Batty confronts his own death and discovers in his last moments that any life is worth saving even if it is not his own. I promise if you watch this, all it will do is make you want to get the movie and watch the rest of it.

Click here to view the embedded video.

In the end, Roy Batty, a replicant, expresses best the fear of death that humans all have. Roy says as he dies, “I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe….All those moments will be lost in time like tears in rain.” Aside from the poetry and the beauty of that line, as individuals, we are all the sum total of all our experiences just as the future will be the sum total of everything that came before. Unlike the future, when we die, all those moments and memories that make us who we are will be lost, unrecorded and forgotten. Perhaps it is a bleak conclusion, but it reminds us all to live each of those moments to the fullest and make sure you leave your mark on someone else’s life. By saving Deckard’s life, Roy ensured his immortality in Deckard’s memory.

Blade Runner is rated ‘R’ for violence, some gore and some language. It was initially considered an action thriller, but there are so many dramatic themes in the film it is hard not to classify it as a drama. I know that science fiction isn’t for everyone and this movie definitely isn’t for small children, but it is a classic film and while it didn’t do well at the box office, it has held up remarkably well as the years have gone by and has generated a huge cult following.

Here’s just a few of the accolades the film has received over the years:

• American Film Institute listed it as the 97th greatest film of all time
• Blade Runner was voted the sixth best science fiction film ever made as part of the AFI’s 10 Top 10
• The Screen Directory currently ranks Blade Runner the third best film of all time.
• One of Time’s 100 All-Time best movies.
• British movie magazine Empire voted it the “Best Science Fiction Film Ever” in 2007.
• New Scientist readers voted it the “all-time favorite science fiction” film in Oct. 2008.

If you are interested in further study of this film, I cannot think of a better resource than The Home of Blade Runner. It is a fan site that includes many links to essays and other resources to help those interested in learning all they can about an old movie that tells the story of the future in a way that is still futuristic even today. I also would like to give some credit to Murray Chapman who maintained one of the original and most extensive website dedicated to Blade Runner and helped give fans a way to share information and learn more about this great film.

Oh yeah, if in the weird way the world works, Ridley Scott, Harrison Ford, Sean Young or any of the other cast members of Blade Runner happen to run across this article in the search engines of the Internet, I’d just like to say, “Thanks.”

“I was quit when I come in here. I’m twice as quit now.” – Rick Deckard

Hartley Peavey

On March 26, 2009, I had the distinct pleasure to interview Hartley Peavey of Peavey Electronics while co-hosting The Morning Show with Bill Smith and Dumpster Dog on WMOX AM-1010 in Meridian, Mississippi.

It was a great opportunity to get to know Hartley better and to find out a little bit about what makes him tick, what his passions are, and how he came to be the founder of the largest industrial employer in Lauderdale County.

I hope you enjoy listening to the show as much as Bill, Dumpster and I had spending a few hours with this intriguing individual.

• Hartley Peavey Interview – Part 1
• Hartley Peavey Interview – Part 2
• Hartley Peavey Interview – Part 3