Memorial Day

It's another Memorial Day.  I've seen seventy-three, but that doesn't make me exactly an expert. I seriously doubt if many college students today could tell you much about it. From my childhood, I don't remember much except that my father on Memorial Day would put on his American Legion cap and sell paper poppies for boutonnières. He would have the day off from work too. In the south where I grew up it wasn't much of a celebration like I heard there was in the north and mid-west with parades and such. 

The actual origin of Memorial Day is unknown.  For centuries folks have placed flowers on the graves of the fallen in battle on certain days. It seems that after the War Between the States, in 1868, May 30 became the quasi official Memorial Day. It did not mean a lot to me as a schoolboy since it occurred after school was out for the summer. In 1966 President Lyndon B. Johnson with approval of Congress made it an official federal holiday. Almost all official holidays are now celebrated on the Monday nearest the original date. 

I, like many others, remember those family members who died in military service to our country. My uncle, John Young, died in WWI.  Each Memorial Day I post a short video I made about him on Facebook. He, like so many over the years and presently, left the security of their home to set foot on foreign battlegrounds never to return. There is hardly any battleground whose earth is not stained with the blood of an American fighting man. And a sea not tinged with the blood of an American sailor does not exist. Those who've been in harm's way know the peril of battle and the honor of fighting for the liberty we love. Those who choose not to be in harm's way should endure the scourge of free men everywhere. 

I served my country's military and I'm proud I did. 

A Visit to an Old Friend

The brown hair is now thin and gray. And he's not ramrod straight and slim anymore but he's still my shipmate from the Vietnam era. Clad in a plaid shirt and faded jeans he holds a .22 Hornet rifle.  " I brought home lotta deer with this gun," he says in a low voice. Kenny never spoke in a loud voice. He held the little rifle with the scratched and dinged stock a few minutes  and  then gently placed the gun in it's place and retrieved another. Then then handed me a rifle with a telescopic sight. It was a beautiful example of the gunsmith's art. The American walnut gunstock was checkered elegantly. There was not a scratch on the wood or metal parts of the gun.  "I bought this Ruger at a good price. This guy I knew was having a little money trouble and offered it to me for two hundred dollars. It was almost brand new. I bought it right away. It was a great deal," he said. He spoke matter-of-factly. Kenny always spoke in what could be described a quiet semi-monotone.

"Nice gun," I said caressing the fine sporting arm, feeling the weight  and imagining seeing a big bull elk or buck in the sights.

He continued.  "Yeah, it 's a nice gun. But I can't forget the first time I hunted with it. When I got it, I took it out to the range and adjusted the sights.  It was about the third day of deer season in November before the early snow when I got to hunt with it. I was watching this path where I had seen deer before. A big hemlock was providing me with cover, when I saw movement behind some small trees. A few minutes later a small doe entered the clearing. She stopped. I eased the safety off that rifle."  He nodded toward the gun in my hands and continued.  "I pulled the trigger and all I heard was "click!" I ejected the cartridge and slammed the bolt home ramming another cartridge into the chamber. The little doe was sniffing the air. The rifle misfired again. I ejected the cartridge and loaded another. But  she was gone. Once I got back to the house, I put up a target on the side of the barn. The rifle performed perfectly."

"What did you do then?" I asked as I slammed the action closed.

"I went back the next day. I opened a new box of cartridges and took those with me.  The big hemlock provided the perfect place for me to hide just as before. The first snowflakes of winter appeared. Snow has never kept me from hunting. Would you believe it ! The same thing happened again. It even looked like the same little doe. I was really pissed. I couldn't believe it. I wished  I had carried the little .22 Hornet. It always brought the deer down. When I got back to the house I went down to the barn an put two more shots in the target on the side of the barn. I was desperate and carried the gun down to Mack's Sporting  Goods and he shipped it off to Ruger.  Ruger had made the gun."

"Did Ruger fix it?" I wanted to know.

"They said some little spring was bent or something. I had to make sure it was fixed though. As soon as I could I went back to where I saw the little doe. It was now early December and the clouds were low and there was about four inches of snow on the ground. The brilliant crimson color of the sugar maples was gone. The hardwoods didn't have any leaves on 'em and their tree trunks were stark and motionless. The quietness was almost deafening. I was sure that if a snowflake had fallen I would have heard it hit the ground. The temperature was falling as the light was waning.  It would soon be dark. There was a little tickling in my throat. Lately I had been plagued by a hacking cough proceeded by a tickling in my throat. Now was not the time to cough. I had sat there about three hours when I saw some movement behind some  small birches. Pretty soon a deer walked into the clearing but it wasn't the little doe. It was a big  eight point buck. That was his rack I showed you in the garage," he said  and the corners of his mouth turned up a bit.  That was about as close a Kenny ever got to a smile.

I remembered the antlers with the skull attached.  There must have been well over a foot between the tines.

"I couldn't believe it but that guy knew about the problem with the gun when he sold it to me. It kind of pissed me off but I did get a good rifle cheap. Ruger didn't charge anything to fix it either.  I guess they didn't want to admit they made a gun with a defect."

It was great visiting Kenny and his mate. You know your friendship is genuine when you can pick up a conversation just where you left it fifty years before.

Inside The Emperor's Palace

We were constantly surprised by our finds on the Dalmatian Coast of the Adriatic Sea. An Emperor’s palace was  certainly a surprise. I asked Claudette whose palace would be in Croatia. She drew a blank, as did I.  As the big tour bus rolled into Split, we were about to find out. The bus stopped about one hundred feet from the waterfront for us to disembark. “I wonder where this palace is?” I mused.

Claudette overheard me talking to myself and responded, “ Me too. We’ve seen palaces all over Europe. Usually, you can see a palace from afar before you actually get to it.  Except,...maybe...the Medici  palace in Florence.  It kind of blended with the buildings on the street.”

“Yep, maybe so,” I said.

We entered the palace through a rather nondescript door. This was  the retirement palace for the Roman emperor Diocletian built in the early fourth century A.D. Actually, palace is somewhat a misnomer for the seven and one

half acre complex of buildings within the walls.  Only about half was used as the emperor’s residence. The total number of residents within the walls would have been about nine thousand and many of these were garrison soldiers.  The palace contains over two hundred buildings. We adjusted quickly to the coolness and the lack of the bright Adriatic sun. The tour group appeared to be in the middle of a gift shop.  I thought immediately of the movie Exit Through the Gift Shop.  Our guide urged us to follow her. Soon we were in the center of a vast empty hall with a barrel vaulted ceiling underground.  It was interesting to note that the huge blocks of limestone used in construction were not of a consistent shape.  This allowed the stone to be fitted together much like a puzzle.  The builders had taken in consideration the frequency of earthquakes and this structure had survived many. The lower level would have allowed access to the sea for escape should it become necessary. We continued to follow our guide through the underground chambers. As I daydreamed about what life would have been like in the fourth century the voice of the guide in my ear brought me back to reality. I nudged Claudette and asked, “Did I hear what I think I heard?”

“If you think you heard that Tito had college students digging through what was left of a fourth century toilet, you are right,” she said.

“H-m-m, maybe archaeology students?” I said.  Marshal Tito was the benevolent dictator of Yugoslavia, and Croatia was a part of Yugoslavia when he was in power. We continued underground a bit more before emerging into the bright sunlight.  Our group appeared to be on a city street with buildings all around. As we followed our guide through a large arch we were in for a musical treat.  The music is called klapa. It is the traditional a cappella singing of the Croatian coast. The voices of seven men blended harmoniously in Croatian folk songs. It was quite a treat.  I bought their compact disk. I had bought a fado cd in Portugal. Our guide urged us onward. Soon we were in an urban square or plaza surrounded with columned buildings with arches galore. “This is the Peristyle,” said the guide, “and that building is the entrance to the emperor’s living quarters.” She indicated the cathedral of St. Domnius, originally the mausoleum of Diocletian, which dominated the square. Three temples to various Roman gods are on the Peristyle. One statue of a sphinx, one of the original four imported from Egypt, remains. Soon we were in a less than grandiose area of the palace. Over the years squatters have taken up residence in the palace. Claiming to be descendants of the original inhabitants, the authorities have been unable to dislodge them, although it is a World Heritage Site. They do not maintain their residences up to expectations.

Our tour guide led us back to the waterfront, and we continued on our own.

Claudette and I enjoyed a cappuccino by the sea.  I enjoy watching watercraft come and go.  We had only been there fifteen minutes or so when sidewalk activity seemed to increase. Between our table at the outdoor cafe and street front buildings  a crowd was gathering. There was a news media van and a lot of men in suits and ties. According to our waiter, Barbie was coming. Who was Barbie? Barbie is the affectionate nickname of the president of Croatia, Kolinda Grabar-Kitarovic. The tall blond is the first woman president of Croatia. Many pictures of the statuesque woman appeared on the internet in a very brief bikini, but they were all proved to be another blond. Our tour guide told us that the prime minister wields the true power in the Croatian government. The Prime Minister did appear for a few minutes. We were not privy to the reason for his visit to this city of one hundred eighty thousand.

We had a snack of miniature pizzas on the way back to the tour bus. At the small restaurant on a plaza, I enjoyed watching a small boy play peek-a-boo with his mother around the statue of some hero of a bygone era. Once on the bus we would continue our trip along the Dalmatian Coast, which is slightly reminiscent of the Amalfi Coast of Italy.

Pula

Our destination for the day was Pula, Croatia. Pula was another city on the Dalmatian Coast of the former Yugoslavia. The coastal area had once been conquered and subsequently ruled by the Romans, Venetians, Habsburgs, Italians, and perhaps others. The last ruler of renown was the dictator Marshal Tito. Tito ruled Yugoslavia until his death, after which Yugoslavia broke up into Croatia, Slovenia, Bosnia, Kosovo, Montenegro and Serbia. Perhaps Pula’s greatest claim to fame is its Roman arena.

We arrived in Pula after following a route along the beautiful Adriatic Sea, We climbed off the big tour bus with a bit of anticipation.  I said  “a bit” because we had seen the Colosseum in Rome, which is the Roman arena of Roman arenas. But, our tour guide insisted that this would be different.  The arenas we had seen in France and Turkey had been impressive. We would have to wait and see what made Pula’s special.

Our local tour guide met us at the bus.  She was a delightful lady who spoke impeccable English. We walked from the waterfront uphill to toward the majestic Roman structure.  There was a public park between the sea and the arena filled with growing blooming things.  As we walked through the limestone entrance the guide announced, “This is an arena, not a colosseum.  There is only one Colosseum and it is in Rome.” I made a mental note.

I have always been fascinated by the feats of the Roman engineers. This arena gave me the opportunity to learn even more about their accomplishments, an arena still standing after over two thousand years. This arena is remarkable. Our guide pointed out some of the construction details. There are seventy-two arches and four gates.  The huge stones are connected with iron pins. The pins, which are less than a foot long, are sheathed in lead to prevent the iron for rusting. According to our guide the Pula arena is the best preserved of the over 200 arenas known to exist and one of the six largest.  She told how the arena had been restored to its former glory to be used in modern times. Elton John, Sting, Seal, Alanis Morissette, and many others  performed for crowds of over 23,000 there.  Claudette was delighted to know that Tom Jones had once performed there, although at one time a hundred years ago locals had grazed their cattle in the arena. There are notches in the upper rim of the walls to facilitate the installation of wooden spars that would support a sailcloth awning. The center was not covered. There was an arena of that design in Ridley Scott's film, “Gladiator”. We dutifully followed our tour guide underground like so many goslings following the mother goose.  Underground was a display of pottery and other artifacts. One of the most interesting was a reproduction of a first century Roman map. The original map

was twenty-two feet long!  On the Roman map distances between towns were indicated in Roman numerals but the actual topography of the roads was not shown. All roads were indicated by straight lines. I think it was a map for people who knew where they were. While underground we saw the various passageways leading to access up to the arena for animals and gladiators. The last to fight in the arenas were convicted criminals and animals in the seventh century.

As we left the arena I commented to our guide that the stairways were all different.  The space between steps as well as the height of each step varied. The guide complimented me on my observation and said the designers used stair design to control the speed at which crowds moved around the structure.

We strolled about the city a bit longer with our guide pointing out various landmarks, many of them Roman but some from the Venetian and Habsburg eras.  Mussolini had a lot of influence on architecture when he was in power in Italy.

Before getting on the bus we went to use the public restroom. A public restroom does not mean a free restroom on Croatia. We did not have any kunos in coin. So we had to overpay. Comfort does have a price!