A Howling Good Time

Sunday was an Arrowhead Gardens trip to the Wolf Haven Sanctuary just south of Olympia.  Not only did the weather cooperate, the wolves did too.  This is the second trip this year and was scheduled to accommodate those folks who couldn’t be included last month.  That first outing was an interesting visit with a very knowledgeable guide. It was a cool day, and we were able to see several of the 10 wolves, wolf dogs, and coyotes available for public viewing. But they stayed near the back of their enclosures, except for one who was using the fence to shed its winter coat.

Once again, we had a great guide, who this time was accompanied by another volunteer who had large pictorial displays of maps, etc. and a very pleasant young college intern. But this time all of the display wolves were front and center.  It is an “Enrichment Sunday” for the wolves and the treat was one or more large (12” or so) sprigs of mint.  In each enclosure, the animals came up near the fence as we approached, hopeful one of us was the Animal Care Specialist.  Several of the wolves treated the mint as a cat might: rolling on it before gobbling it down and approaching the fence once more, essentially asking “Well, that was great.  How about another one?”

And then, the magic happened: In response to some barking from a pet left in a car in the nearby parking area, they started to howl.  What an incredible experience.  First one wolf would start, yipping at first, and then howling, and then the register of the howl would change, fluctuating up or down the scale.  Then another nearby wolf would howl in response.  After a short time, we watched a nearby wolf sort of shrug and seem to say: “Well, I’m done.” It was interesting how seductive it was and I found myself quietly joining the wolves (as did my nearby friends).

And such interesting facts:

·         Each Thanksgiving, each wolf gets a whole turkey, stuffed with mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes and Brussels sprouts. All of which disappears very quickly, except the Brussels sprouts (The wolves are just as smart as our grandkids when it comes to Brussels sprouts!)

·         You can immediately tell a dog from a wolf:  The wolf walks paw in front of paw; the dog walks: well, like a dog – all four legs working as a unit. Wolves have larger paws and a “pointed” chest – all of which allows them to function better in the snow of their natural habitat.

·         The only breeding at Wolf Haven is as part of a national effort to save the Mexican Grey Wolves and Red Wolves from extinction.  As a result, puppies have very restricted contact with humans in order to enhance their introduction into the wild when grown.  When a medical check of the current litter was finally necessary, it was discovered that the den was at the end of a 17-foot (!) tunnel that the wolves had constructed.

·         Wolf Haven provides sanctuary for around 50 animals at any one time. Except for the few who are part of the breeding program, it is the final home for these wonderful creatures. As visitors, we were impressed with the total commitment by the staff and the members of the volunteer team. These individuals are clearly committed to doing everything possible to ensure that each animal leads as fulfilling and as nearly natural a life as they would in the wild.

Take a few moments to check out the website (www.wolfhaven.org) for further information, great videos, and a short audio clip.  The next time you are getting ready to write a donation check, consider making it out to Wolf Haven.

                Laura Ramsey

Homeless Encampments -- A Discussion

On Wednesday June 15^th, 45 of your neighbors turned out for a discussion on the ‘homeless encampments’  that run up the Meyers Way corridor.  The discussion was led by Travis Phelps, a Public Information Office for the Washington Department of Transportation (WSDOT).  Also invited was a representative of the Seattle Police Department, but he was called back to his precinct for an emergency meeting  just as he was entering our property, as were all other officers, so none were able to attend our meeting.  Mr. Wiebke of the West Seattle Precinct was disappointed but had no control.  Councilperson Lisa Herbold was in session and unable to attend.  That being said the meeting still went well and is the beginning of ongoing discussions between all of us, the residents, and these agencies.  We must keep in mind that the problem did not start yesterday and the solution will not come tomorrow.

My finally getting in touch with Officer Wiebke  gave us the path to speak with the other agencies.  Through a series of phone calls and emails I was finally able to speak to Dave McCormick at WSDOT.  He arranged to send Mr. Phelps in his place for this first meeting.  Mr. McCormick and I have committed to continuing this discussion surrounding what happens in our backyard.  I thank Mr. McCormick for his willingness to help assuage our fears and answer our questions ongoing.

Mr. Phelps began his part by giving us the history of how WSDOT owns property.  It all began with building the highway systems in our state.  They bought many acres and plots of land in anticipation of building the roads, including the entrances and exits that we use.  It was a rich history that  most of us knew little about..  

He then went on to address the issue(s) of homelessness in not just Seattle but throughout the country.  What is happening across Meyers Way sadly takes place everywhere.  We must understand the reasons that people are homeless in order to find ways to work together in the long term to try to resolve the societal issue.  There is no ‘one brush’ paints all when it comes to the reasons a person may be homeless.  For a very small number the choice may be deliberate but for the rest it is a matter of circumstance. A person maybe down on his luck, a family may have a breadwinner who has lost her job and another person may have come from another country and  not been able to find work or shelter.  Without going into great detail, these reasons just scratch the surface.  One way to think about it; there, but for the grace of God go I.  We never know how quickly our circumstance can change and we are suddenly homeless.

In the many conversations I’ve have with the residents, a couple of things are common; the ‘fear’ of a homeless person and that all homeless people are ‘criminals’. Fear is fear, and it is not incorrect.  While the homeless often come through our property, in nearly seven years I have never known of anyone being assaulted by them.  And it is just not rationale to believe they are all criminals. Some are likely to have criminal records, and the Seattle Police have made a number of arrests recently and taken those individuals into custody.

The ‘crime’ that is being committee across Meyers Way is that of trespassing. It simply means they are on the property without permission.  It is a misdemeanor and has to be weighed by the authorities as to what to do.  That brings us back to the discussion of what is going to happen across Meyers Way and up the hill into Top Hat.

The property itself is like a puzzle that all has to work together to final be solved.  The property that belongs to WSDOT starts at the bottom of the hill and continues to just before the church.  Once you cross the imaginary line the next part of the property that is not occupied, belongs to the City of Seattle.  Just south of the church and continuing around the curve and on up the hill is now the responsibility of the King County Sheriff.  So in just a short span of less than one mile you have three jurisdictions.  You’ve probably noticed a different speed sign in each section!  Adding to this WSDOT must rely on the Washington State Patrol when they must enter the property for cleanup and joining them is often the Seattle Police Department and the King County Sheriff.

The homeless create may problems in our backyard/neighborhood whichever you want to call it and the discussion on Wednesday was a great deal about those problems. The who, what, why, when, where and how are the magic questions.

Who is responsible for the cleanup?  The simple answer is: WSDOT.  The more complicated answer is: many others.  Keep in mind that there is a real difference between cleanup and clean out.  Cleanup happens ongoing and clean out is a totally different matter since it is part of the greater problem  in resolving the issue of homelessness.

What means many things though I think it is safe to say here in this moment it means…’what is anyone going to do about the mess across the street’? Again the answer is complicated.  Because it goes far beyond just ‘moving’ them out.  They have no place to go. So, removing them from  (kicking them off) this property without real solutions will do nothing but have them trespassing on another property. The long-term solution means finding housing for them, but that does not solve the immediate problem.  

Why?  The homeless have been with us since the beginning of time.  They are in every large city and in every small town.  Yet, no matter where they are there we must always remember they are  deserving of the same things in life that we often taken for granted, clothes on our backs, a roof over our head and food on the table; running water and bathroom facilities.  I am as concerned with why they are homeless as I am with how do we as a society erase this terrible issue. We cannot simply say “not in my back yard”, convince someone to move them out of our line of sight and all will be well.  That is not realistic.

When?  Now that is the $64,000 question isn’t it?  There actually is no one answer to this one.  The next scheduled cleanup right now is scheduled around the 3^rd week in August.  There are many homeless encampments in the city of Seattle, several others very nearby.  Each of which needs cleaning up, just like ours does. When will the homeless be gone?  There is no real answer to that from WSDOT as the problem is about housing.  As one of the residents stated: in order to begin to solve the problem we must provide what is necessary and that is ‘housing first’.

Where and How can be combined and include all of us. Where this is going to be solved is beyond our living rooms but how is not.  We can write our  Mayor and  our City Council members telling them of our concerns and the importance of working toward ‘housing first’ as the most important way of helping the homeless get back on a better path.  I doubt that the number of homeless that ‘choose’ that deliberately is as large as many believe.  The more of us that write letters, send emails and pick up the phone to contact those that have the power to impact change the better it will be for all. The contact information is going to be permanently posted on the bulletin boards.  Use it please. Every voice counts and we can be the voice for those who cannot speak for themselves.

There were some great questions in this meeting as well as some wonderful suggestions.  I will have some whistles to pass out at the meeting at the end of the month as well as some red blinking lights for the dog walkers to attach to their dog leashes.  Suggestions were made about having self-defense classes.  As I stated earlier this is just the beginning of the discussion on this matter.  The next meeting is already scheduled for July 27^th so mark your calendars.  WSDOT will be back as well as the Seattle Police Department.  In the meantime write a letter, send an e-mail or make a phone call and ask our powers that be to work toward ‘housing first’ as quickly as possible.

Diane L Radischat, President

The Apple Eater

The Apple Eater

(excerpt) May 9,1940: the Koning Family, Arnhem

Nine years ago Mark had come to the Netherlands [from the US] to visit his sister…his upstairs room overlooked Arnhem’s largest park, Sonsbeek. From this room he watched a slender woman with thick auburn hair pushing an elderly woman in a wheelchair. One day he introduced himself…. and Nella invited him to her tennis club. …..Mark could not remember when he actually fell in love with Nella but they began to discuss a future together.

 

During an evening walk] Mark rounded the corner…..This is my home now. My family, my country, whatever happens, we go through it together. Inside, once more, Mark felt calmer. Quietly he slipped into bed beside Nella. ……[She] cuddled into his outstretched arm. “That was a long time [to go for] a glass

of milk.”

“I had a devil of a time finding a cow”.

Mark slept. He slept so soundly that, when the first bombs fell, he heard nothing.

Elske ran into her parents’ bedroom:”Mamma!, Pappa!”. Nella pulled her frightened daughter into the bed beside her. A sharp whistle, the third in the last few minutes….an explosion rattled the windows…..Elske’s voice quavered. “Bombs Mamma? Real bombs??

The screaming projectiles came in rapid succession and the house trembled as the bombs thundered.

“Can the bombs hit our house?”

Hansje screamed Nella got out of bed. “Let’s hope not!

For two days the German Army streamed into Arnhem on motorcycles and in trucks. The constant roar on the nearby Velperweg became a monotonous drone.

May 11, 1940

On Monday, Mark went back to work but, the schools were closed. Nella….took the tram into town with Nico and Elske. She felt reassured to see stores open and the bustle of Dutch people in the center of the city.….nothing seemed changed except that German military personnel roamed everywhere….Arnhem citizens eyed the Nazis warily…. Elske and Nico. [appeared] awed by the severe uniforms and black, shiny boots.

August 15 1940: the Wieringa family, Amsterdam

The studio was up three flights of stairs in a dark and narrow building…..A worktable stood…..tools hung on a wall rack…..and sculpting instruments stood near the table. Josylyn turned on a lamp above a nearly finished wood sculpture which stood on a stool. “Hello Apple Eater Friend….Father, I keep thinking that he is going to say something.”…..Light bathed the reddish brown face of the wooden lad. His hand held an apple near his mouth – a momentary action frozen in time.

________________________________________________________

Jitse looked at his wife anxiously. “How do you think [all this] will affect your work?”……

“I was shocked that word had gotten around. “You’re Jewish, aren’t you,”[my superior] asked me. “When I told him I was, he steered me away from the other workers. ‘Mevrouw Wieringa,” he said in a confidential tone…..”l wish you well but, I cannot let you work for us now. Too many people know and disapprove”……

“But Father, what if she has to hide or, we all have to?”Joslyn asked, “where will we all go?”

Jitse turned to his daughter. “I’ve considered that. The studio is a remote place. It is not an official residence because it has no address, and no mail is ever delivered there. Your mother has only been there a few times so people [who might inform on us] do not make the association between the two of us. I’m planning to make it comfortable enough for us all to live in, if necessary and, it’s large enough for an extra family. We need to think about helping others any way that we can.”

December 8 1940 the Koning family, Arnhem (note: one day after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor)

Nella met him [Mark] at the door and, he put his arms around her. She kissed him and leaned her head against his shoulder. They walked inside where the children stood in the kitchen……

“We’re Americans too, Pappa. Are we enemies of the Dutch people now?”

“Technically yes, Nico but, I don’t feel much like an enemy, do you?”

“No. Are we also technically enemies of Germany?”

“Well yes, but then, haven’t we felt that way all along?”

The two younger children had gone to bed, Nella was knitting and Mark and Nico were assembling a jigsaw puzzle when a loud banging on the front door startled them. Full of apprehension, Nella started for the door.

“Wait Nella, don’t go alone”. Mark got up and together they walked to the hallway. The knocking continued, this time, even louder. Slowly, Mark opened the door. Two tall men in black NSB (Dutch Nazi) uniforms stood on the front steps.

They removed their hats politely as one man said, “Mark Koning?” Mark nodded. “We have orders to take you with us.”

“Won’t you come in gentlemen?” Nella asked with a calmness she did not feel. The officers stepped inside and Nella closed the door.

“On what charge?” asked Mark.

You are an American.”

Nella leaned against Mark. “Is this a crime?”

“These are our orders. Please come with us.”

"Where to, if I may ask?”

“The police station.”

…….Nella headed for the stairs. “I’ll go upstairs and throw some [of your] things together into an overnight bag.”

Elske and Hansje bounded down the stairs. “where are you going Pappa?” Elske clung to him and stared at the officers……..

Nella closed the door after they left. Her body felt drained. Upstairs, she undressed and crawled into the empty bed.

October 5, 1942 (note: Mark is set free and is now home)

“Nella has been telling me that it is difficult to buy sufficient staples in the stores.”

Lincoln glanced at Vivienne. “We know of several farmers in the area who would be happy to swap food for money or clothing or other items…..In fact, there is a pig farmer near Heren, which is just an hour by bicycle. Take along items [of value]…..and they’ll exchange for pork, bacon and grain.”

April 16, 1943 Wieringa Family, Amsterdam

“Someone has found your parents studio, Joslyn. When I stopped by last night the place was ransacked, no sign of your parents or of the Rosendaals. I have no idea where they are right now, but I know that another train leaves for Germany from the main station at two o’clock tomorrow.”

Joselyn felt a shock go through her body. “Where are they going?”

Gerrit hesitated. “People are being told Poland, where they are going to be with other Jews. There is supposed to be a designated community for European Jews.”

“That’s [Poland] where my mother is from. I want to go too. Can I meet them tomorrow?”

“No Darling. They knew you would ask if it came to this, but they made me promise that I would not allow you to follow them.

“But how bad can it be? At least we could all be together.”

“No one knows where they are really going. Your parents would only worry if you came along.” Joslyn laid her head on Gerrit’s shoulder and cried. “My father too? He’s not even Jewish.”

“He has been helping, not only your mother and the Rosendaals, but a lot of Jewish people. They definitely want him.”

September 5 1944 (Koning family, Arnhem)

Day and night Nella and her family listened to the thundering of Wehrmacht trucks traveling northeast along the Velperweg, retreating? The sky too was filled with the constant roar of English reconnaissance planes. They flew overhead during daylight now.

A few days later, unable to stem her own curiosity, Nella left the children with Emma and walked along the Velperweg to her father and mother’s house. She witnessed horse drawn carts clattering through the streets, but many [German] men walking slowly, wearily. The wounded hobbled on crutches or with a stick – the sad faces - and realized that many of those in uniform were mere children, fifteen perhaps, faces still smooth and only a few years older than Nico.

September 15 1944

Nella awoke to an eerie silence……all German women pregnant or with small children were ordered to leave Arnhem……They heard rumors of allied advances…..The price of freedom could be terrible….should Mark hide or even the whole family?

September 17 1944 (historical note: Battle of Arnhem)

When they arrived home, Mamma opened the back fence latch……a cloth was still on the patio table. Elske and Rico put on plates of ruck, margarine and jam. Mamma poured glasses of watery milk. Another air raid. Low flying [English] planes screeched overhead…..splintering noises rumbled close by…..around them walls ripped and tumbled. Elske’s mouth felt dry and her heart pounded against her chest. Hansje cried…..”Mamma I can’t see.”

Mamma picked up Hansje. “Let’s go! Nico, hang on to Elske…..Tante Emma yelled, “They’re alive! Oh thank God! Nella, come here please”…….Lieneks’s high pitched voice faded as they ran through the alley, “Nico! Elske!Hansje!”

April 10 1945 (in a northern village where the family had fled after the battle of Arnhem)

The next few days Germans swarmed the village and the English flew overhead. Villagers felt apprehension yet, excitement. Some townspeople climbed on their rooks and waved to the British planes.

“Fools!” said others.

 By the following Sunday, the Germans who had overrun the village…..were gone.

There was no sign of English planes, either, and the quiet in the village felt eerie. The next morning the church

was unusually crowded.

“Why so many people, Mamma?” Elske asked.

“I’m afraid Mamma.”

“So am I darling. So is everyone.”

 The minister paid little attention to what he was saying, because he was listening; they all were - listening,

anticipating, hoping, fearing.

A soft rumble at first. Then louder. People spilled from the pews and into the street.

Outside, Mark ran ahead waving his arms. “Canadians”…..“The Canadians are here!”

Nella grasped the arms of her children and ran along with the crowd……A large green tank lumbered into view followed by another and another.

Hansje tugged at her arm. “Is the war over, Mamma?”

Nella’s voice caught in her throat. “Yes, over” she cried, “it’s over!”

'Mieke’ Tazelaar

No One is an Island

I read recently that people who maintain close friendships and find other ways to interact socially live longer than those who become isolated.  The article also state relationships and social interactions ever help protect against illness by boosting the immune system.

As we get older and retire or move to a new area, sometimes our social life diminishes.  Being in the workplace provided a great deal of social activity for many people.  Several studies have shown that social interaction offers older adults many benefits.  Maintaining interpersonal relationships and staying socially active can help you maintain good physical and emotional health.

The health benefits of social interaction in older adults includes:

• Potentially reduced risk for cardiovascular problems, some cancers,          osteoporosis, and rheumatoid arthritis.
• Lower blood pressure
• Reduced risk for mental health issues such as depression

Some risks of social isolation are:

• Being less physically active
• Having high blood pressure
• Feelings of loneliness

Social interaction also helps keep your brain from getting rusty. For optimum benefits, you should incorporate a healthy lifestyle, including a nutritious dies and some form of exercise.

Here are ways you can maintain a high level of social interaction here at Arrowhead Gardens:

• Volunteer for activities--this is a great way to make new friends and        to share you creativity with your fellow residents.
• Share a shuttle ride to local senior centers for lunch.  It's a great way      to get to know your neighbors over a healthy meal for a mere $3.
• Join one of the many groups here on campus focused on activities            your enjoy, such as playing cards, or Scrabble, Pinochle, Wist and            many more.
• Try take a class--learn to line dance, or paint watercolors, or drum.
• Take advantage of the Enhanced Fitness session or use the excellent      fitness center in Building B to stay physically fit and engage with            others.

In addition to participating in some of the activities offered at Arrowhead, I'm also a member of a group called "Drunk on Beads." It started as a beginner's jewelry making class but has evolved in meaningful relationships.  Doing something creative thoroughly enriches my life.  Last February I joined a walking group, Sound Steps.  Sponsored through the Park  Recreation Department, they have walking groups all over Seattle.  It allows me to exercise and socialize at the same time.  It's been a wonderful experience meeting people from all walks of life and ages; some walkers  are in the 80's & 90's.  That inspires me!

I encourage you all to make a concerted effort to stay connected and involve yourself in at least one thing you thoroughly enjoy.  I guarantee the benefits are worth the effort.

Jacqueline Nash

The Girl in the Yellow Paisley Dress: Sometimes, it’s just enough to be there

Tall for her 10 years of age, Amy Scottsadoon was a slender, elegantly postured girl with short cropped blond hair framing a strong featured face, self confidence beaming from a set of piercing blue eyes. Like most children Amy loved to run which she did with an unconsciously sinuous grace combining remarkable speed with agility and quickness.

Unusual for one so young, Amy was quiet - without being shy - even moving without the slightest sound so that she often surprised others who had no idea that she was nearby or had entered a room without their notice – catlike - it seemed - appearing almost as if from nowhere. More than once Amy had startled visitors - even her mother and father – by her sudden and unexpected appearance often wearing a long, bright yellow paisley dress complemented by her happy smile and a chuckle of amusement, usually – if you were her friend, that is! There were many of those friends for Amy was a bright, cheerful and friendly girl.

The yellow paisley dress was Amy’s favorite mostly because it had been made by her mother and was, therefore, very sturdy. It was a great dress for her to run in because the hem ballooned far from her ankles allowing full freedom of movement for her feet flying like the wind. Somehow, the dress seemed never to fade or even to get dirty no matter how far or how much Amy ran in it.

Downtown, late one day, line #1 on Jennifer Bowen’s phone in the Claims Division of Cosmopolitan Life Insurance lit up. Heavy of heart Jen’ noted the caller ID as the General Hospital and picked up the receiver with a resigned sigh.

“It’s Dr Picketts office,” spoke the voice on the other end, “can you come down to Grace’s room right away?”

“OK, yes,“ Jen’ murmured, softly hung up the phone, gathered her things and headed for the elevator. “Well, it’s time,” she thought to herself – “it’s time.”

Jen’s mother, Grace Bowen, was suffering from Systemic Lupus, an almost always fatal condition, with treatment involving massive and continuous dosages of cortisone which placed her at risk of serious bacterial infection. This, in turn, required her to be placed in the hospitals securely guarded isolation ward. Grace had been at end-stage of the disease and was comatose most of the time, lately unable even to respond to her daughter’s loving and yearning touch unmindful of her tears and sorrow. On her way to the hospital Jen’ finally resigned herself to the necessity of planning the next steps of her mother’s passing and remembrance.

Emerging from the hospital elevator Jen was so immersed in her own sadness that she was slow to notice a group of people chattering cheerfully at the door to her mother’s room and that the usually stern and somber Dr. Pickett was actually smiling. Puzzled Jen’ glanced into the room and there was her mother actually SITTING UP IN BED?? Actually TALKING with the nurses?? Momentarily, Jen’ was too stunned to comprehend as her mother’s gaze fell upon her and Grace broke out her classically beautiful smile that Jen’ had treasured for a lifetime, then had lost. Flabbergasted, Jen’ could only stare, uncomprehending.

“We don’t know what happened,” exulted Dr. Pickett, “except that this morning your mother hit the nurses call button and asked about breakfast.” “We’re doing tests now, he went on, “but Grace seems much better, is obviously conscious and most importantly, is passing fluids at a great rate. She’s a trifle disoriented at the moment blathering on about some little girl in a yellow dress in her room last night when we all know that’s impossible because the isolation ward is secure. Besides, no one else here saw anyone or anything.”

Downing a sterile isolation suit and mask Jen moved quickly to the bed taking her mother’s hand in her own gloved one. “Oh, Jennie,” her mother said, “at first I thought it was you last night. But your eyes are brown and the others were blue. So deep blue it was like peering into eternity with so much strength and energy flowing from them and into me that we both knew I would come back and so, here I am!”

Suddenly, from the hallway a loud voice demanded, “excuse me Doctor; Detective Lynch here – Peter Lynch - Metro Police –What’s this about a girl and a yellow dress?”

“Why do you need to know?” inquired Dr. Pickett taking a step backwards from the large, pugnacious cop.

“Got a report here,” Lynch stated forcefully. Girl in a yellow dress may have been shot over to center city way – murder attempt on ‘at reporter what exposed ‘at City Hall construction bribery scandal – girl may have gotten inna way,” he bellowed mercifully ending his run-on sentence in order to breathe. “Cain’t find ‘er”,

re-launched Lynch, “disappeared somewhere – maybe if she’s shot, she’ll show up in the hospital – need ‘er as a witness to the murder attempt – got the intended victim right here,” he concluded out of breath.

“That’s right” said a slightly built man with a camera on a lanyard around his neck whom no one had thus far noticed. “Fred Smertz,” the little man said by way of introduction, “City Trib’, Crime Beat.” I was in the basement of City Hall taking photos of cement cracks and other shoddy work being done. Suddenly, this huge man emerges from the shadows with a gun in his hand. This’ll teach-ya to mess where ya don’t belong, the man snarled at me as he raised the gun towards me.”

“I was paralyzed with fear,” continued Smertz, “I thought I was a dead man for sure. I guess it was just before he pulled the trigger there came the sound of running footsteps – tiny steps but, real fast. Too dark to see, though, so both of us just froze for a second. Suddenly, from the shadows a figure appeared. It was hard to see and everything happened quickly but, I swear it was a little girl because she looked like one and, had on a bright yellow dress that was easy to see even in the murky basement. Suddenly, the little girl stopped – just like that – not even slowing down. She raised a finger and pointed it at the gunman and then shook her head – ‘no!’”

Smertz continued, his voice shaking, “the creep swings the gun over at the kid and fires. The smoke and noise was huge in the enclosed basement. I just hightailed it out of there and down a hall where I ran into two cops who had heard the shot and were coming to investigate. We went right back but, there was no sign of the shooter or of the little girl but, she saved my life for sure,” asserted Smertz.

“Well, all we have here are two stories,” concluded Dr. Pickett, “and, no little girl in a yellow dress. If we’re done here I need to get back to my patient.”

Lynch and Smertz departed for police headquarters in Lynch’s City Car. Driving through a nice residential neighborhood they came upon a large crowd all gazing upward into a tree. Ever the cop, Lynch screeched the car to a halt causing everyone to look over their way. “What’s the problem here,” Lynch demanded gruffly.

“Kitten up a tree,” responded an onlooker, “way up in the tiny branches at the top and the foliage is too thick to get a ladder up.” Pointing to a child of 5 or 6 years old sobbing in a woman’s arms, “the kid is brokenhearted and scared about it but, we can’t think of anything to do,” said the onlooker. Then, pointing up into the tree a neighbor suddenly exclaimed, “look, there’s somebody up there now! How did that happen? There was nobody up there before!”

Lynch looked up and sure enough there did appear to be someone there and a flash of yellow was visible. Seeming to lose its fear the kitten tentatively negotiated the small branches until it reached the larger one on which the unknown person sat. Momentarily, branches began to move further and further down the tree and soon it could be seen that the rescuer was a young girl in a long and flowing, bright yellow dress, the kitten trustfully clutching itself onto her shoulder. With incredible agility and athletic grace the girl made her way down the tree lightly dropping the last few feet to the ground then handing the kitten to the child in her mothers arms.

Turning to the Officer the girl said “Hello Detective Lynch, my name is Amy Scottsadoon and I happened to be passing by. I hope I haven’t caused any trouble here.” For once speechless, Lynch could only stare at her flabbergasted – how did she even know who he was?

“What a great story,” rejoiced Smertz. Would you mind if I took a few pictures of you? This would make a fine human interest piece for the paper.” Smiling sweetly, Amy agreed and Smertz snapped several photos of her in her yellow paisley dress from different angles.

Later, back at the newspaper, Smertz sent the film to the lab’ for processing. The next morning the developed pictures were returned and Smertz opened the photo envelope to remove the contents.

There was no one visible in any of the photos.

Richard Lee

C-406

Harv' Steele and the Telephone Arrest

Preface:

 What follows is another story from our AG Writers Club. Its central character is a young boy seeking to define and ready himself for entry into an adult world, looking for role models to follow.

Most families with children in the 40^s and early 50s didn’t take ‘vacations’ as we may think of them today or as they are advertised on TV. Finances tended to be tight for the average American family and other priorities prevailed. Disneyland was decades away and the interstate highway system was only a pipe-dream as a way to get anywhere different. So, our family, like so many others of that time, substituted visits to extended family in place of a vacation to some unknown romantic or exotic destination.

Story:

The living room had the faintly musty odor of older houses thoroughly and comfortably lived-in for generations who called it home. This space - where I sat obediently with my parents, hands folded in my lap, feet shoeless - was immaculate yet, hosting a decor strange to a young boy. I could not imagine how so many objects could be gotten into this small of a room, all neatly arranged and placed just so, with fuss and care. Heavy draperies complemented footstools with thick covers, a sofa and chairs solid, straight-backed, plumpily cushioned, antimacassar’ed[1] and pillowed, shaded lamps located about, all residing among a vast profusion of unusual objects. Scattered, museum-like, around the room were at least 100 glass figurines, tiny dolls and statuettes, puppets and Hummels,; each one different , all positioned on doilies atop narrow wooden or glass pedestals or on shelves some separately, others in groups. I was afraid even to move for fear of breaking something.

Before our arrival my father had cautioned us that Aunt Mary Steele was “Queen’ of her home. My father outlined all of the rules learned from his own childhood that Mary enforced for behavior and comportment. Remove your shoes on entering so as not to track-in dirt. Children should be seen not heard. Swearing is never tolerated. As I watched this tiny, energetic woman fussing to serve tea, milk and cookies, chirpily happy to see us, somewhere in the back - beyond the kitchen - a door opened and a man’s voice boomed “hellooo Lovie."

Firm strides brought the owner of the voice to the kitchen door. I jumped backwards in my seat out of alarm. The man was huge and imposing – whip-thin but tall even in his socks, broad-shouldered, sinewy forearm muscles rippling as he unbuckled his gun belt, hanging it over a big hook on the wall. Sherriff Harv’ Steele dominated our little space physically and, by the sheer magnetism of his bearing and presence. He leaned over, put one arm around his wife’s waist and gently lifted her upward where they hugged before he softly returned her feet to the floor – all with one arm! With a big smile he strode over to my father, gave him a bear-hug and said in his soft Kentucky drawl; “it’s been a-too lawng Colonel”[2]. Colonel was my father’s nickname – as in Kentucky Colonel. The Sheriff bowed to my mother and welcomed her to their home – calling her “mother” from then on.

Finally, his eyes turned to me. I had already decided that this intimidating man was fascinating so, bravely, determined not to show weakness, I jumped off the sofa, thrust out my hand and declared, “I’m Richard”. I suppose, already, I wanted to be like him. Chuckling, he knelt down to shake my hand with his strong and calloused one, his presence redolent of gun-metal, machine oil, tobacco, leather and sweat. “Glad to meet ye lad’ he said, “yeonna come ‘long on ptrol afta mlunch?” 

“NO!!’  declared my mother, “he’ll get shot and he’s only 7”.

“Now Mother, it’s just a routine cruise ‘round town”, Harv’ replied “nothin happens in the afinoon inaway’ he can keep me compny and I can get to know ma great-nephew better whilst you and your daughter git an afternoon off with Lovie”. My mother relented, Sheriff Harv’ was a difficult man to argue with. My father left to go visit friends around.

Whatever county London KY was in, Harv’ Steele was the Sheriff of it and so that afternoon the Sheriff and his new sidekick set out to keep order and maintain the peace. The patrol car was cavernous and smelled of cigar smoke, gasoline and the cold sweat of involuntary past occupants. With his boots on Harv’ was taller yet and so drove with the seat (only bench seats in cars, then) way back. The only way a 7 year old could see out was to stand on the floor (no seat belts then, either) so I could barely see over the dash.

Harv’ liked to talk and mostly got his fill of it in all situations. He taught me how to stay effective on police patrol. “Know yer territory, lad, know whut’s spozed t’be and notice whut’s differnt . Rmember  lad, notice whut’s differnt” he instructed as he slowly and thoroughly scanned left and right as we moved up and down the streets of the town. Meanwhile, I stood on the passenger side floor, gripping the dash with both hands, my head on a swivel hoping to impress the big man with my vigilance and dedication to enforcement of the law.

A few minor things happened about which I recall little except that Harv’ was always in sure control of every situation. All we met recognized his authority, unchallenged. A few hours later we returned to the station. My father was there chatting with the deputies – old friends of his - one of whom showed me around and locked me in one of the jail cells where I pretended to be a fearsome and dangerous criminal.

Back in the Sheriff’s office, a harshly lit, spare, concrete-floored room with three gun-metal desks and some gray filing cabinets, devoid of doilies or figurines, the phone rang on Harv’s desk. Harv’ answered, listened for awhile, a menacing and fearful scowl deepening on his face. “Lesta, agin?” Harv’ barked into the phone.

“Tha’ be Lester Higgins,” one of the deputies whispered to me, “ole’ Lesta, he at it agin”. “He’s a good carpenter whin he’s a-sober but, git some ‘shine in ‘im, he trouble.” “Now Shurff’s on his tail, Lesta’s a-one in big, big trouble and he knows it too”.[3]

“Put ‘im own!!” Harv’ shouted into the phone.”  “Lesta,” Harv’ bellowed. “You git your sorry carcass own down heah likkety split – YOU HEAR ME BOY? Don’t make me a-come down ‘ar n’ a-fetchye or ye be in a heap more trouble ‘n any reglar feller kin stand,” Harv’ yelled. Harv’ then slammed down the phone.

Sure enough, bye and bye, Lester came shuffling down the street, climbed the stairs to the Sheriff’s office and jail, a sloppy, sheepish grin on his face; still clutching the whiskey bottle he had grabbed off the bar that precipitated the phone call in the first place. So, not only did Lester Higgins bring himself in but, thoughtfully, also brought along the evidence against him.

That is the true story of how Sheriff Harv’ Steele[4] arrested a fellow over the phone.

Richard Lee; C-406

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[1] An antimacassar is a protective,yet washable, fabric thrown over chair or sofa backs or arms to deter wear. Maccassar is a type of oil used in many hair dressings for men such as Vitalis as an example.

[2] Harv’ and Mary never had children. In retrospect I believe that my father and his brother, Green Lee, and sister, Evie, were substitute “children” for the Steele’s even though they lived in different towns. However, Green was an alcoholic occasionally in trouble with the law in his jurisdiction and so, my father was perhaps the “favorite-son”.

[3] Actually I didn’t find out the details about Lester until later from my father. The Deputy’s comments to me are contrived to fill the time in the story while the Sheriff listened on the phone.

[4] Mary and Harv’ Steele remained faithfully together all of their adult lives. When Harv’ finally retired it was noted in the newspaper that he had served the longest continuous term of sheriff in the history of the United States – 52 years. Somewhere, I have that clipping. He was able to do so even though local statute forbade succession in the position. Every other term Mary’s name would be on the ballot. She’d get elected overwhelmingly and Harv’ would carry on as usual. Four years later, Harv’ would run under his own name, win big and then, go out on patrol.