Working on the Railroad

[HVDC]

WELL I guess

It could have been any body.

But the way it is now makes a body wish it wasn’t.

Decades upon decades life moved at a certain pace but that was before planes.

You know a lot of the more well off rural folks ended up getting small aircraft back in the 60s and 70s and 80s. Even still to this day a lot of people do it. I am friends with a young man of about 50 who runs a large dairy outfit. Grows beef too. Has operations in three opposing sides of the state. Lots of cattle and lots of acres growing feed for the cattle. Also grows cotton. Cotton corn and alfalfa. Used to graze cattle on leased land spanning the whole middle of the state. I don’t know what they do now but I know he milks near 10,000 cows three times daily. Not a small operation. And not the type of cattle that the Dude Duke tried milking either though he has those too. See we are talking real dairy stuff now. I’m sure the Dude Duke went for the one that was apart from the regular herd. Two smaller but lower hanging utters and a single hairy and well over sized teat. I’m sure that’s the one he would have tried milking. Gave that teat a yank I bet and that was his first and last day on the job and rightfully so. That’s not what what we are talking about here. We are talking real milk producers. Warrior reds. Brafords with the tiger stripes. Nice looking dairy cows. Come to think of it the guy I’m thinking of just recently got beat up on by one of his show heifers. Anytime you’re dealing with big animals there is an element of danger. Guy got cornered in the trailer somehow while unloading her and ended up pinned and stomped on by a thousand pound animal for a fair bit of time while his stepson come running from the other side of the truck wondering if he might be looking at his last moments. Wondering about who he’d have to call. He came out all right though. Spent some time in the hospital but he came out alright.

Anyhow, this guy has a plane and he flies it around to check on his many operations across the state.

Used to be a lot of small time air traffic like this flying around. Back when it first started there wasn’t any computers really to track it and everything was mostly pen and paper. Used to be big thick map books you had to carry detailing the various flight paths and angles of approach for different airports though the men I’m speaking of mostly didn’t bother with that though they were supposed to. They many times just landed on roads or small airstrips like crop dusters. Rural boys had their own flight networks.

Even my brother flew planes. Long ago. At one time see a certain level of rodeo cowboy would fly from rodeo to rodeo and have someone else haul his trailer. And if you were on the other side of the arena from the team ropers and such as were haulin their own animals then you didn’t even need to haul a trailer. You could just fly. In a little single prop. You brought your rope and your rosin what you were wearing and that was about it. Maybe you brought your wife or your girlfriend too. Maybe you alternated between the two of em and other times you went alone. Most of these types though weren’t neither flying nor hauling. A few weren’t even driving pickups. They were just pulling up in four bangers with their duffel bag riding shotgun and that’s about it. That was the economical way to do it anyway.

Anyhow, I had been working on the Union Pacific Railroad. Dallin H Oaks got out onto the board of directors. I had my young relation put up a picture from a stretch of Union Pacific line I just revisited. Said Union Pacific. Building America.

Well after being called to the apostleship by President Hinckley the two friends President Hinckley and President Oaks settled into their roles. Back in those days the Utah Brethren weren’t exactly homogeneous in their opinions. Today they are homo geniuses but back then they were more heterogeneous and at times they pulled in different directions from each other.

So President Kimball was holed up in the Hotel Utah incoherent but President Hinckley called the two friends into the apostleship. President Nelson was something like the surgeon general of the church and President Oaks was something like the Attorney General anyhow so it wasn’t a big leap. The leap was from behind the scenes to put in the open. See it wasn’t many decades prior to these mens birth that no one in Utah even had a degree in anything hardly. They was all just workers and there were some merchants and other professions but no scholars or allopaths. Utah sent congressmen many of them mormons to advocate for their constituents but people weren’t mixing in with various outfits like they ended up doing later on. I believe it was James Talmage and his generation who was the first to go out into the world and study for a living.

Anyhow. As far as I know the apostleship put an end to Dallin H Oaks being on at the Union Pacific and it also put an end to him being on the Utah Supreme Court. But I did find it interesting that President Nelson kept on at his profession. At least in part he did. As many of you may know, President Nelson worked at a Hospital in Washington DC as a young man. He also toured Korea during that war and did work. This was early on in the time of modern medicine. Modern things we take for granted like antibiotics and general anesthesia were new and still being experimented with at the time. Both things being very important for a surgeon. President or at that time Doctor Nelson was riding a wave that was small but would turn big. Only a decade prior to his medical training the Chinese had been victims of the imperial Japanese in some of the most unholy type of experiments I have ever read about. You could get some information by looking up Unit 731 that would give you ideas on what I’m referring to although I think that most all of the real information has now been cleared out and removed and is not publicly available. At one point not long ago this type of information could be found if you knew where to look but now I can’t find it. I’m telling you information is not expanding it is contracting. There will be a dearth soon. Just another reason to not get involved with censorship even if you have convinced yourself that your intentions are pure I’m telling you they aren’t. If you have a penchant for deletion and destruction of sentences and paragraphs that weren’t authored by you then you are out of bounds in your thinking and impure in your thoughts. That is just my opinion. But I’m telling you it’s true.

Anyhow so following all this medical experimentation the Germans and the imperial Japanese and the Italians surrender. I actually don’t know if the Nazis formally surrendered but the German Army did. See there is a distinction there. And the Imperial Japanese surrendered although famously many of their troops didn’t get the memo. Remember my previous post about the Philippines. Anyhow so the records. The records from the experimentation falls into American hands. Nasty and sickening and similar to some of the most unholy things read about in Mormons book but the difference is that the doings were meticulously documented and this made them very valuable since this type of experimentation is not easily duplicated for many reasons. And this type of thing had maybe never been done before or since. Nasty and barbaric occurrences are old as Cain but modern pharmacological advances and manufacturing capabilities reaching a point where hollow needles are readily available along with various potent drugs is a new thing. This flipped everything. Turned a very blunt and unpredictable thing into something very precise and repeatable. This was all documented. The records fall mostly into American hands. Medical people are needed to interpret them.

So anyhow President Nelson had served in the army in the years following WW2. He was put in charge of surgical research.

Years later he taught at a prestigious Chinese school. He spoke Chinese. Not the Cantonese of Hong Kong he spoke the imperial Mandarin.

As an apostle, he famously performed a heart surgery in China for a Chinese celebrity, a member of a prestigious family.

Years later he would visit China again accompanied by a soon to be apostle whose last name is represented by a sideways asian cymbal and another church authority whose name starts with a W instead of a G but besides that it is the same. The sideways cymbal one is very well respected in diverse circles.

Anyhow so this is some of the backstory of the man who was tending to President Kimball as he was being kept at Hotel Utah in and out of coherency. Also I noticed that someone named cat bite posted a picture of a man who was in a recent movie with an asian where there are people dreaming and trying to steer the dreams of other people.

And to tie up this small episode I will add in that post WW2 what the Americans didn’t hoover up well the Russians did. This is where we come into collision with the family mentioned by connect the dots and the Scotsman. This gentleman who wanted to be a mini Edgar J served in Phoenix at one time that I am aware of and also served in Southern California where there are many members of the church who ranch if you just go inland a bit. This gentleman famously was involved in something having to do with another church member and some Russians.

See this is all things that I am aware of because I was at my prime as it was happening in real time. Boy I knew from Arizona was stabbed over in Russia as a missionary years later.

This is still a bit of needed background information please hold your horses and be good. Since I have just returned from Mexico and have other pressing matters to attend to including a certain rodeo that I must attend this weekend I will be able to post when I can post but please don’t be afraid I will straighten out all these details when I can. I would like to put them down in a more coherent way but I am being pressed for time. I am putting this up while the ink is still wet having written it in the fly. When I have time I edit and condense and try to clarify. There is some amount of pressure from one side for me to make posts but there is also pressure from my family for me to not spend too much time online but there is also pressure from other factions who want to delete my words if I happen to say the wrong thing and there is also pressure coming from inside of my bones telling me to steer straight so I am doing the best I can. I am able to ambulate well now and I don’t work in a cubicle neither do I carry a phone in my pocket generally and I also have property and animals and money and legal matters to attend to along with my responsibilities that I have to my community of real life friends. I consider you all friends or something similar to friends if you have read this far even the dumb ones of you I just wish you would smarten up a little some of you but that’s okay I won’t hold it against you just try and be good as best you know how but remember that if your idea of being good is pestering folks about matters that aren’t your responsibility then your innate and internal sense of which way you should go may be tweaked like a duck flying over my house in the wrong season thank you

Welcome back.

Sir H

[A Global Faith]

WELL I guess

It could have been any body.

But the way it is now makes a body wish it wasn’t.

Decades upon decades life moved at a certain pace but that was before planes.

You know a lot of the more well off rural folks ended up getting small aircraft back in the 60s and 70s and 80s. Even still to this day a lot of people do it. I am friends with a young man of about 50 who runs a large dairy outfit. Grows beef too. Has operations in three opposing sides of the state. Lots of cattle and lots of acres growing feed for the cattle. Also grows cotton. Cotton corn and alfalfa. Used to graze cattle on leased land spanning the whole middle of the state. I don’t know what they do now but I know he milks near 10,000 cows three times daily. Not a small operation. And not the type of cattle that the Dude Duke tried milking either though he has those too. See we are talking real dairy stuff now. I’m sure the Dude Duke went for the one that was apart from the regular herd. Two smaller but lower hanging utters and a single hairy and well over sized teat. I’m sure that’s the one he would have tried milking. Gave that teat a yank I bet and that was his first and last day on the job and rightfully so. That’s not what what we are talking about here. We are talking real milk producers. Warrior reds. Brafords with the tiger stripes. Nice looking dairy cows. Come to think of it the guy I’m thinking of just recently got beat up on by one of his show heifers. Anytime you’re dealing with big animals there is an element of danger. Guy got cornered in the trailer somehow while unloading her and ended up pinned and stomped on by a thousand pound animal for a fair bit of time while his stepson come running from the other side of the truck wondering if he might be looking at his last moments. Wondering about who he’d have to call. He came out all right though. Spent some time in the hospital but he came out alright.

Anyhow, this guy has a plane and he flies it around to check on his many operations across the state.

Used to be a lot of small time air traffic like this flying around. Back when it first started there wasn’t any computers really to track it and everything was mostly pen and paper. Used to be big thick map books you had to carry detailing the various flight paths and angles of approach for different airports though the men I’m speaking of mostly didn’t bother with that though they were supposed to. They many times just landed on roads or small airstrips like crop dusters. Rural boys had their own flight networks.

Even my brother flew planes. Long ago. At one time see a certain level of rodeo cowboy would fly from rodeo to rodeo and have someone else haul his trailer. And if you were on the other side of the arena from the team ropers and such as were haulin their own animals then you didn’t even need to haul a trailer. You could just fly. In a little single prop. You brought your rope and your rosin what you were wearing and that was about it. Maybe you brought your wife or your girlfriend too. Maybe you alternated between the two of em and other times you went alone. Most of these types though weren’t neither flying nor hauling. A few weren’t even driving pickups. They were just pulling up in four bangers with their duffel bag riding shotgun and that’s about it. That was the economical way to do it anyway.

Anyhow, I had been working on the Union Pacific Railroad. Dallin H Oaks got out onto the board of directors. I had my young relation put up a picture from a stretch of Union Pacific line I just revisited. Said Union Pacific. Building America.

Well after being called to the apostleship by President Hinckley the two friends President Hinckley and President Oaks settled into their roles. Back in those days the Utah Brethren weren’t exactly homogeneous in their opinions. Today they are homo geniuses but back then they were more heterogeneous and at times they pulled in different directions from each other.

So President Kimball was holed up in the Hotel Utah incoherent but President Hinckley called the two friends into the apostleship. President Nelson was something like the surgeon general of the church and President Oaks was something like the Attorney General anyhow so it wasn’t a big leap. The leap was from behind the scenes to put in the open. See it wasn’t many decades prior to these mens birth that no one in Utah even had a degree in anything hardly. They was all just workers and there were some merchants and other professions but no scholars or allopaths. Utah sent congressmen many of them mormons to advocate for their constituents but people weren’t mixing in with various outfits like they ended up doing later on. I believe it was James Talmage and his generation who was the first to go out into the world and study for a living.

Anyhow. As far as I know the apostleship put an end to Dallin H Oaks being on at the Union Pacific and it also put an end to him being on the Utah Supreme Court. But I did find it interesting that President Nelson kept on at his profession. At least in part he did. As many of you may know, President Nelson worked at a Hospital in Washington DC as a young man. He also toured Korea during that war and did work. This was early on in the time of modern medicine. Modern things we take for granted like antibiotics and general anesthesia were new and still being experimented with at the time. Both things being very important for a surgeon. President or at that time Doctor Nelson was riding a wave that was small but would turn big. Only a decade prior to his medical training the Chinese had been victims of the imperial Japanese in some of the most unholy type of experiments I have ever read about. You could get some information by looking up Unit 731 that would give you ideas on what I’m referring to although I think that most all of the real information has now been cleared out and removed and is not publicly available. At one point not long ago this type of information could be found if you knew where to look but now I can’t find it. I’m telling you information is not expanding it is contracting. There will be a dearth soon. Just another reason to not get involved with censorship even if you have convinced yourself that your intentions are pure I’m telling you they aren’t. If you have a penchant for deletion and destruction of sentences and paragraphs that weren’t authored by you then you are out of bounds in your thinking and impure in your thoughts. That is just my opinion. But I’m telling you it’s true.

Anyhow so following all this medical experimentation the Germans and the imperial Japanese and the Italians surrender. I actually don’t know if the Nazis formally surrendered but the German Army did. See there is a distinction there. And the Imperial Japanese surrendered although famously many of their troops didn’t get the memo. Remember my previous post about the Philippines. Anyhow so the records. The records from the experimentation falls into American hands. Nasty and sickening and similar to some of the most unholy things read about in Mormons book but the difference is that the doings were meticulously documented and this made them very valuable since this type of experimentation is not easily duplicated for many reasons. And this type of thing had maybe never been done before or since. Nasty and barbaric occurrences are old as Cain but modern pharmacological advances and manufacturing capabilities reaching a point where hollow needles are readily available along with various potent drugs is a new thing. This flipped everything. Turned a very blunt and unpredictable thing into something very precise and repeatable. This was all documented. The records fall mostly into American hands. Medical people are needed to interpret them.

So anyhow President Nelson had served in the army in the years following WW2. He was put in charge of surgical research.

Years later he taught at a prestigious Chinese school. He spoke Chinese. Not the Cantonese of Hong Kong he spoke the imperial Mandarin.

As an apostle, he famously performed a heart surgery in China for a Chinese celebrity, a member of a prestigious family.

Years later he would visit China again accompanied by a soon to be apostle whose last name is represented by a sideways asian cymbal and another church authority whose name starts with a W instead of a G but besides that it is the same. The sideways cymbal one is very well respected in diverse circles.

Anyhow so this is some of the backstory of the man who was tending to President Kimball as he was being kept at Hotel Utah in and out of coherency. Also I noticed that someone named cat bite posted a picture of a man who was in a recent movie with an asian where there are people dreaming and trying to steer the dreams of other people.

And to tie up this small episode I will add in that post WW2 what the Americans didn’t hoover up well the Russians did. This is where we come into collision with the family mentioned by connect the dots and the Scotsman. This gentleman who wanted to be a mini Edgar J served in Phoenix at one time that I am aware of and also served in Southern California where there are many members of the church who ranch if you just go inland a bit. This gentleman famously was involved in something having to do with another church member and some Russians.

See this is all things that I am aware of because I was at my prime as it was happening in real time. Boy I knew from Arizona was stabbed over in Russia as a missionary years later.

This is still a bit of needed background information please hold your horses and be good. Since I have just returned from Mexico and have other pressing matters to attend to including a certain rodeo that I must attend this weekend I will be able to post when I can post but please don’t be afraid I will straighten out all these details when I can. I would like to put them down in a more coherent way but I am being pressed for time. I am putting this up while the ink is still wet having written it in the fly. When I have time I edit and condense and try to clarify. There is some amount of pressure from one side for me to make posts but there is also pressure from my family for me to not spend too much time online but there is also pressure from other factions who want to delete my words if I happen to say the wrong thing and there is also pressure coming from inside of my bones telling me to steer straight so I am doing the best I can. I am able to ambulate well now and I don’t work in a cubicle neither do I carry a phone in my pocket generally and I also have property and animals and money and legal matters to attend to along with my responsibilities that I have to my community of real life friends. I consider you all friends or something similar to friends if you have read this far even the dumb ones of you I just wish you would smarten up a little some of you but that’s okay I won’t hold it against you just try and be good as best you know how but remember that if your idea of being good is pestering folks about matters that aren’t your responsibility then your innate and internal sense of which way you should go may be tweaked like a duck flying over my house in the wrong season thank you

Welcome back.

Sir H

Thank you Sir H. You are a good man. Now let me tell you.

My daughter found out about me doing some posts on here and so she starts doing some reading in this thread and she says to me after reading a while she says

Sir H has all the best posts.

And so I sit and think for a second and say well hold on now what about your fathers posts?

And she says well dad yours are okay too but I just think Sir H is so good every time he chimes in.

So now I can’t tell if I raised her right or not but I guess I should be counting my blessings that she is siding with you and not that nvr lady or the 10 gallon hat movie star

[~ternal-tummim]

I am listening to Elder Neil Anderson's conference talk on all the recent name changes as I follow-up by putting a few thoughts to paper/screen.

...

One of the single most important characteristics of a successful milk cow trader was having a trained eye, and the ability to see what he was dealing with, when the vast majority of his customers did not. The same principle applies here, and to virtually everything else in life, whether we want to believe it or not.

I’m trying to figure out whether in this analogy Elder Anderson is the shrewd cow trader off-loading the old fuddy-duddy traditional “Mormons” in favor of the more profitable milkers the go-along-with-anything “TCoJCoLdS members,” or whether he is the ignorant housewife letting the prize specimen get away.

[HVDC]

WELL I guess

It could have been any body.

But the way it is now makes a body wish it wasn’t.

Decades upon decades life moved at a certain pace but that was before planes.

You know a lot of the more well off rural folks ended up getting small aircraft back in the 60s and 70s and 80s. Even still to this day a lot of people do it. I am friends with a young man of about 50 who runs a large dairy outfit. Grows beef too. Has operations in three opposing sides of the state. Lots of cattle and lots of acres growing feed for the cattle. Also grows cotton. Cotton corn and alfalfa. Used to graze cattle on leased land spanning the whole middle of the state. I don’t know what they do now but I know he milks near 10,000 cows three times daily. Not a small operation. And not the type of cattle that the Dude Duke tried milking either though he has those too. See we are talking real dairy stuff now. I’m sure the Dude Duke went for the one that was apart from the regular herd. Two smaller but lower hanging utters and a single hairy and well over sized teat. I’m sure that’s the one he would have tried milking. Gave that teat a yank I bet and that was his first and last day on the job and rightfully so. That’s not what what we are talking about here. We are talking real milk producers. Warrior reds. Brafords with the tiger stripes. Nice looking dairy cows. Come to think of it the guy I’m thinking of just recently got beat up on by one of his show heifers. Anytime you’re dealing with big animals there is an element of danger. Guy got cornered in the trailer somehow while unloading her and ended up pinned and stomped on by a thousand pound animal for a fair bit of time while his stepson come running from the other side of the truck wondering if he might be looking at his last moments. Wondering about who he’d have to call. He came out all right though. Spent some time in the hospital but he came out alright.

Anyhow, this guy has a plane and he flies it around to check on his many operations across the state.

Used to be a lot of small time air traffic like this flying around. Back when it first started there wasn’t any computers really to track it and everything was mostly pen and paper. Used to be big thick map books you had to carry detailing the various flight paths and angles of approach for different airports though the men I’m speaking of mostly didn’t bother with that though they were supposed to. They many times just landed on roads or small airstrips like crop dusters. Rural boys had their own flight networks.

Even my brother flew planes. Long ago. At one time see a certain level of rodeo cowboy would fly from rodeo to rodeo and have someone else haul his trailer. And if you were on the other side of the arena from the team ropers and such as were haulin their own animals then you didn’t even need to haul a trailer. You could just fly. In a little single prop. You brought your rope and your rosin what you were wearing and that was about it. Maybe you brought your wife or your girlfriend too. Maybe you alternated between the two of em and other times you went alone. Most of these types though weren’t neither flying nor hauling. A few weren’t even driving pickups. They were just pulling up in four bangers with their duffel bag riding shotgun and that’s about it. That was the economical way to do it anyway.

Anyhow, I had been working on the Union Pacific Railroad. Dallin H Oaks got out onto the board of directors. I had my young relation put up a picture from a stretch of Union Pacific line I just revisited. Said Union Pacific. Building America.

Well after being called to the apostleship by President Hinckley the two friends President Hinckley and President Oaks settled into their roles. Back in those days the Utah Brethren weren’t exactly homogeneous in their opinions. Today they are homo geniuses but back then they were more heterogeneous and at times they pulled in different directions from each other.

So President Kimball was holed up in the Hotel Utah incoherent but President Hinckley called the two friends into the apostleship. President Nelson was something like the surgeon general of the church and President Oaks was something like the Attorney General anyhow so it wasn’t a big leap. The leap was from behind the scenes to put in the open. See it wasn’t many decades prior to these mens birth that no one in Utah even had a degree in anything hardly. They was all just workers and there were some merchants and other professions but no scholars or allopaths. Utah sent congressmen many of them mormons to advocate for their constituents but people weren’t mixing in with various outfits like they ended up doing later on. I believe it was James Talmage and his generation who was the first to go out into the world and study for a living.

Anyhow. As far as I know the apostleship put an end to Dallin H Oaks being on at the Union Pacific and it also put an end to him being on the Utah Supreme Court. But I did find it interesting that President Nelson kept on at his profession. At least in part he did. As many of you may know, President Nelson worked at a Hospital in Washington DC as a young man. He also toured Korea during that war and did work. This was early on in the time of modern medicine. Modern things we take for granted like antibiotics and general anesthesia were new and still being experimented with at the time. Both things being very important for a surgeon. President or at that time Doctor Nelson was riding a wave that was small but would turn big. Only a decade prior to his medical training the Chinese had been victims of the imperial Japanese in some of the most unholy type of experiments I have ever read about. You could get some information by looking up Unit 731 that would give you ideas on what I’m referring to although I think that most all of the real information has now been cleared out and removed and is not publicly available. At one point not long ago this type of information could be found if you knew where to look but now I can’t find it. I’m telling you information is not expanding it is contracting. There will be a dearth soon. Just another reason to not get involved with censorship even if you have convinced yourself that your intentions are pure I’m telling you they aren’t. If you have a penchant for deletion and destruction of sentences and paragraphs that weren’t authored by you then you are out of bounds in your thinking and impure in your thoughts. That is just my opinion. But I’m telling you it’s true.

Anyhow so following all this medical experimentation the Germans and the imperial Japanese and the Italians surrender. I actually don’t know if the Nazis formally surrendered but the German Army did. See there is a distinction there. And the Imperial Japanese surrendered although famously many of their troops didn’t get the memo. Remember my previous post about the Philippines. Anyhow so the records. The records from the experimentation falls into American hands. Nasty and sickening and similar to some of the most unholy things read about in Mormons book but the difference is that the doings were meticulously documented and this made them very valuable since this type of experimentation is not easily duplicated for many reasons. And this type of thing had maybe never been done before or since. Nasty and barbaric occurrences are old as Cain but modern pharmacological advances and manufacturing capabilities reaching a point where hollow needles are readily available along with various potent drugs is a new thing. This flipped everything. Turned a very blunt and unpredictable thing into something very precise and repeatable. This was all documented. The records fall mostly into American hands. Medical people are needed to interpret them.

So anyhow President Nelson had served in the army in the years following WW2. He was put in charge of surgical research.

Years later he taught at a prestigious Chinese school. He spoke Chinese. Not the Cantonese of Hong Kong he spoke the imperial Mandarin.

As an apostle, he famously performed a heart surgery in China for a Chinese celebrity, a member of a prestigious family.

Years later he would visit China again accompanied by a soon to be apostle whose last name is represented by a sideways asian cymbal and another church authority whose name starts with a W instead of a G but besides that it is the same. The sideways cymbal one is very well respected in diverse circles.

Anyhow so this is some of the backstory of the man who was tending to President Kimball as he was being kept at Hotel Utah in and out of coherency. Also I noticed that someone named cat bite posted a picture of a man who was in a recent movie with an asian where there are people dreaming and trying to steer the dreams of other people.

And to tie up this small episode I will add in that post WW2 what the Americans didn’t hoover up well the Russians did. This is where we come into collision with the family mentioned by connect the dots and the Scotsman. This gentleman who wanted to be a mini Edgar J served in Phoenix at one time that I am aware of and also served in Southern California where there are many members of the church who ranch if you just go inland a bit. This gentleman famously was involved in something having to do with another church member and some Russians.

See this is all things that I am aware of because I was at my prime as it was happening in real time. Boy I knew from Arizona was stabbed over in Russia as a missionary years later.

This is still a bit of needed background information please hold your horses and be good. Since I have just returned from Mexico and have other pressing matters to attend to including a certain rodeo that I must attend this weekend I will be able to post when I can post but please don’t be afraid I will straighten out all these details when I can. I would like to put them down in a more coherent way but I am being pressed for time. I am putting this up while the ink is still wet having written it in the fly. When I have time I edit and condense and try to clarify. There is some amount of pressure from one side for me to make posts but there is also pressure from my family for me to not spend too much time online but there is also pressure from other factions who want to delete my words if I happen to say the wrong thing and there is also pressure coming from inside of my bones telling me to steer straight so I am doing the best I can. I am able to ambulate well now and I don’t work in a cubicle neither do I carry a phone in my pocket generally and I also have property and animals and money and legal matters to attend to along with my responsibilities that I have to my community of real life friends. I consider you all friends or something similar to friends if you have read this far even the dumb ones of you I just wish you would smarten up a little some of you but that’s okay I won’t hold it against you just try and be good as best you know how but remember that if your idea of being good is pestering folks about matters that aren’t your responsibility then your innate and internal sense of which way you should go may be tweaked like a duck flying over my house in the wrong season thank you

Welcome back.

Sir H

Thank you Sir H. You are a good man. Now let me tell you.

My daughter found out about me doing some posts on here and so she starts doing some reading in this thread and she says to me after reading a while she says

Sir H has all the best posts.

And so I sit and think for a second and say well hold on now what about your fathers posts?

And she says well dad yours are okay too but I just think Sir H is so good every time he chimes in.

So now I can’t tell if I raised her right or not but I guess I should be counting my blessings that she is siding with you and not that nvr lady or the 10 gallon hat movie star

Hahaha, indeed!

It's obvious you were both raised right and are more than welcome to be here.

Thanks for the complement, and back at you!

And tell your daughter thanks as well

Sir H is flattered and must do something Gallant.

[~ternal-tummim]

But Building it Better?

It’s somewhat puzzling to me the universal ubiquity of graffiti on train cars. You’d think the gangbangers or randos into doing graffiti wouldn’t sense prestige or status to be attained by tagging, of all things, a train car. A nearby building I get. You get to see it everyday, feel big, feel proud, “I did that,” etc. And it’s kind of like a dog marking his territory. But a transient train car?

Also I’ll bet an affordable process could be come up with to quickly wash and renew graffitied cars. I guess the railroads just don’t care. You’d think they’d have more pride.

Trains allow the graffitiist to display their work in places that they have never been to.

Yeah, I get that, but I don’t know why that would be particularly attractive to them. Just thinking about that type of person. It doesn’t really match the personality and align with the priorities of such.

Some cultures it’s graffiti other cultures it’s fireworks in mailboxes? I think I have a different idea on who these people are than you might. Or possibly I don’t understand what you’re saying.

I don’t know, you could be right. I think you’re saying it’s just hoodlums making random hijinks.

I haven’t thought it through, it just struck me as strange. Are hoodlums really that high-agency to take all the effort and multiple steps of
coming up with the idea,
going to the hardware store and stealing spray paint,
going back and painting the train car?

Also most of the graffiti art seems legitimately artistic. Not at a high level, but at a level that 99% of people would be unable to duplicate. So it cannot be produced on just a random lark by just a random teenager feeling restless, as a smashed pumpkin could be. It has a style that would take practice. Practice is work. Nobody works now.

Who knows. Maybe it was all done 30+ years ago and the railroad companies have just never cleaned it off since then. (Though I’d think it would be more faded away and weathered, then.) Maybe it was (and still is?) all done by three to ten specific guys who took it up as an interesting hobby.

Or maybe it’s a conspiracy run by the CIA, like everything else.

[HVDC]

Taggers tag.

Gangs mark territory.

They are not the same people.

Gang grafitti is a language, with an alphabet.

Tags are artistic monikers.

Both are look at me signals.

But for different reasons.

Sir H

[BeNotDeceived]

Thank you Sir H. You are a good man. Now let me tell you.

My daughter found out about me doing some posts on here and so she starts doing some reading in this thread and she says to me after reading a while she says

Sir H has all the best posts.

And so I sit and think for a second and say well hold on now what about your fathers posts?

And she says well dad yours are okay too but I just think Sir H is so good every time he chimes in.

So now I can’t tell if I raised her right or not but I guess I should be counting my blessings that she is siding with you and not that nvr lady or the 10 gallon hat movie star

The following timing pattern was observed:

C = 3rd month and the third letter of the alphabet
H is a silent letter, so is skipped as per my Word Game
R = 18th day of the month and the 18th letter of the alphabet
I = 9th minute and the ninth letter of the alphabet
S = 19th hour on the opposite side of Planet Earth and the 19th letter of the alphabet
T = 20th year or century and the 20th letter of the alphabet

Much the same as me strange photo of March 8th, 2002.

H too likely is the most used silent letter, and works great to differentiate instances of GBNG from DBNP word type games. Jonah is me favorite book, because of the number of chapters and verse that it contains. Check keyword 38ii to see said pic, etc.

Differentiate, but not integrate.

[Mangus MacLeod]

Well, it's Sunday again. And I'm very glad to see that Brother Faith made it back from his trip, and is apparently back on the rodeo trail too. I heard they were having the senior National Finals rodeo somewhere this weekend. Maybe that's where he's been for the last couple days. All I can say is, good for him. . . and, I hope he doesn't end up with any new broken bones.

I'm convinced that I don't know near as much about Presidents Oaks and Nelson and their backgrounds as Bro. Faith does.  But in his last post, he started out talking about airplanes and flying, so that is something I might talk a little bit about.  

I don't know near as much about airplanes and flying as Elder Uchtdorf, but even though I'm not now, and never have been, a pilot, I have done my fair share of flying, including in small puddle-jumpers.  And one of the biggest reasons for that is because perhaps flying is the fastest and easiest way to cross the Grand Canyon, which I've had to do many times in my life.

I have previously mentioned my roots and connections to the Arizona Strip (the Northwest corner of AZ, separated from the rest of the state by the Grand Canyon and the Colorado River).  Over 30 years ago, when I started out as an attorney, I started my law practice in Kanab, UT, right on the UT/AZ border, where I spent the first 10 years or so.

Because of the location, I was licensed to practice in both Utah and Arizona, and I routinely spent time in Flagstaff and Kingman Arizona, which are the Coconino and Mohave County seats, with corresponding court houses. I also spent plenty of time in places like Bullfrog, Moab, Monticello, and Blanding, UT, as well as many points and places on the Navajo Nation/Reservation, including Window Rock, Ship Rock, Tuba City, Kayenta and Kaibato. I'll have to talk more about some of that another time.

But, given everything I had going on, I knew better than to try to learn to fly too, and try to do all the piloting myself. From what I've seen, that's been a good way for plenty of doctors to get themselves and their families killed. Fortunately, there was a good  "bush" pilot in Fredonia, AZ.  He was about twice my age, and I started hiring him to fly me around.

I had a friend in law school who had been a bush pilot in Alaska.  He used to wear a t-shirt that said "There are Old Bush Pilots, and There are Bold Bush Pilots, But There are No Old, Bold Bush Pilots."  I thought the fact that my pilot in Fredonia was about 60 was a good sign.  He seemed to be in good health, and was a devout Seventh Day Adventist, which meant no flying on Saturdays, but otherwise I took his faith to be a good thing.  Over the course of my life the Adventists I have known are some of the best people I've known.

Anyway, round trip drive time to Flagstaff, for example, was about 8 hours (in good weather), but we could fly there and back in about two.  Round trip drive time to Kingman was 12+ hours, but only about three in a plane, because of the ability to scoot right over the Grand Canyon, rather than around it, via car.   For a lawyer, time is money, and if I could save 9 hours of otherwise non-productive travel time, it was well worth enough to hire a small plane with a good bush pilot.

At one time I had a very active case in Kingman, that I may talk more about later.  But for a while that case was requiring me to make a trip to Kingman for hearings just about every week.

On the particular trip in question, it was mid March, in the mid-90s.  We left Kanab about 7:00 am., trying to make a 9:00 am hearing in Kingman, that turned into a marathon and ended up lasting until after 6:00 pm that evening.  

Although it had been a beautiful, clear morning when we left Kanab, in addition to my brief case and suit jacket, I decided to grab the Australian oilskin duster/slicker out of my truck, to take along just for good measure. And boy did I end up being glad I did.

By the time we got away from the old, Mohave County Courthouse, made it out to the small Kingman airport and fired up the plane, it was pushing 7 p.m. The wind was blowing a pretty good lick, and as we looked to the North, we could see that a big black cloud - a "Blue Norther" was building fast and moving South. My pilot acted pretty anxious to try to beat that cloud to and across the Grand Canyon. . . and we really tried, but we ended up losing that race.

As we started approaching the big black cloud, he tried to get up and over the top, but he couldn't seem to find the top, so we retreated, looped around, dropped back down and tried to see if we could slip underneath, which was an even bigger risk because one thing you learn is that, except when you're taking off and landing, the safest approach is usually to keep as much distance (within reason) between you and the ground, as possible.  But the more we flew the harder it was raining and the wind gusts (turbulants) were tossing us around like a rag doll.

Although my pilot was already buckled in, he reached over, cinched his seatbelt down good and tight, and yelled over at me to do the same. By then we were completely surrounded by clouds and weather, and were essentially flying blind, because we couldn't see a thing, as the engine roared, and we were getting blown around like a feather in the wind.

My stomach was already tied in knots, but suddenly my heart lunged into my throat, and my life flashed before my face, as the plane suddenly lurched sideways, and my pilot yelled "Sh!!!!t"!, and banked hard left. When I looked out my window all I could see, sticking out through the rain and cloud was the big red rock wall of a massive cliff that looked like it was close enough that I could have reached out the window and touched it as we skimmed by.

After a little more cussing, cleaning out our drawers (at least figuratively speaking), breathing huge sighs of relief, and humbly turning back to the south like severely scolded dogs with our tails between our legs, we flew, limping along the south rim of the canyon as it was getting dark, to Grand Canyon Valle, where we landed at their small airport, walked a mile in pouring rain, and got a room for the night at a small motel there, thankful the whole time for what we were now going through, compared to what might have been, if we hadn't managed to get away from that big red rock wall. 

It is a memory that is etched deeply and forever into my psyche, that I think about occasionally when I contemplate the meaning of life, why our lives were spared that evening, and what I'm actually supposed to be doing and trying to accomplish here.  It always gives me pause.

At this point, though, I don't live as close to the Grand Canyon as I once did, and I don't fly in puddle-jumpers near as much as I used to . . . and I can't really say that I miss it.

Stay safe out there (including at church), and have a blessed Sabbath.

[Cakbyte]

Also I noticed that someone named cat bite posted a picture of a man who was in a recent movie with an asian where there are people dreaming and trying to steer the dreams of other people.

Glad to get a shout out, close to the name, but I'll take it. (It's CAK, the 1st name initials of me, my wife & oldest son). 1st time I've popped back in the thread & boy oh, boy, was this GOOD. Thanks AGF, looking forward to where this is going.

[Cakbyte]

Well, it's Sunday again. And I'm very glad to see that Brother Faith made it back from his trip, and is apparently back on the rodeo trail too. I heard they were having the senior National Finals rodeo somewhere this weekend. Maybe that's where he's been for the last couple days. All I can say is, good for him. . . and, I hope he doesn't end up with any new broken bones.

I'm convinced that I don't know near as much about Presidents Oaks and Nelson and their backgrounds as Bro. Faith does.  But in his last post, he started out talking about airplanes and flying, so that is something I might talk a little bit about.  

I don't know near as much about airplanes and flying as Elder Uchtdorf, but even though I'm not now, and never have been, a pilot, I have done my fair share of flying, including in small puddle-jumpers.  And one of the biggest reasons for that is because perhaps flying is the fastest and easiest way to cross the Grand Canyon, which I've had to do many times in my life.

I have previously mentioned my roots and connections to the Arizona Strip (the Northwest corner of AZ, separated from the rest of the state by the Grand Canyon and the Colorado River).  Over 30 years ago, when I started out as an attorney, I started my law practice in Kanab, UT, right on the UT/AZ border, where I spent the first 10 years or so.

Because of the location, I was licensed to practice in both Utah and Arizona, and I routinely spent time in Flagstaff and Kingman Arizona, which are the Coconino and Mohave County seats, with corresponding court houses. I also spent plenty of time in places like Bullfrog, Moab, Monticello, and Blanding, UT, as well as many points and places on the Navajo Nation/Reservation, including Window Rock, Ship Rock, Tuba City, Kayenta and Kaibato. I'll have to talk more about some of that another time.

But, given everything I had going on, I knew better than to try to learn to fly too, and try to do all the piloting myself. From what I've seen, that's been a good way for plenty of doctors to get themselves and their families killed. Fortunately, there was a good  "bush" pilot in Fredonia, AZ.  He was about twice my age, and I started hiring him to fly me around.

I had a friend in law school who had been a bush pilot in Alaska.  He used to wear a t-shirt that said "There are Old Bush Pilots, and There are Bold Bush Pilots, But There are No Old, Bold Bush Pilots."  I thought the fact that my pilot in Fredonia was about 60 was a good sign.  He seemed to be in good health, and was a devout Seventh Day Adventist, which meant no flying on Saturdays, but otherwise I took his faith to be a good thing.  Over the course of my life the Adventists I have known are some of the best people I've known.

Anyway, round trip drive time to Flagstaff, for example, was about 8 hours (in good weather), but we could fly there and back in about two.  Round trip drive time to Kingman was 12+ hours, but only about three in a plane, because of the ability to scoot right over the Grand Canyon, rather than around it, via car.   For a lawyer, time is money, and if I could save 9 hours of otherwise non-productive travel time, it was well worth enough to hire a small plane with a good bush pilot.

At one time I had a very active case in Kingman, that I may talk more about later.  But for a while that case was requiring me to make a trip to Kingman for hearings just about every week.

On the particular trip in question, it was mid March, in the mid-90s.  We left Kanab about 7:00 am., trying to make a 9:00 am hearing in Kingman, that turned into a marathon and ended up lasting until after 6:00 pm that evening.  

Although it had been a beautiful, clear morning when we left Kanab, in addition to my brief case and suit jacket, I decided to grab the Australian oilskin duster/slicker out of my truck, to take along just for good measure. And boy did I end up being glad I did.

By the time we got away from the old, Mohave County Courthouse, made it out to the small Kingman airport and fired up the plane, it was pushing 7 p.m. The wind was blowing a pretty good lick, and as we looked to the North, we could see that a big black cloud - a "Blue Norther" was building fast and moving South. My pilot acted pretty anxious to try to beat that cloud to and across the Grand Canyon. . . and we really tried, but we ended up losing that race.

As we started approaching the big black cloud, he tried to get up and over the top, but he couldn't seem to find the top, so we retreated, looped around, dropped back down and tried to see if we could slip underneath, which was an even bigger risk because one thing you learn is that, except when you're taking off and landing, the safest approach is usually to keep as much distance (within reason) between you and the ground, as possible.  But the more we flew the harder it was raining and the wind gusts (turbulants) were tossing us around like a rag doll.

Although my pilot was already buckled in, he reached over, cinched his seatbelt down good and tight, and yelled over at me to do the same. By then we were completely surrounded by clouds and weather, and were essentially flying blind, because we couldn't see a thing, as the engine roared, and we were getting blown around like a feather in the wind.

My stomach was already tied in knots, but suddenly my heart lunged into my throat, and my life flashed before my face, as the plane suddenly lurched sideways, and my pilot yelled "Sh!!!!t"!, and banked hard left. When I looked out my window all I could see, sticking out through the rain and cloud was the big red rock wall of a massive cliff that looked like it was close enough that I could have reached out the window and touched it as we skimmed by.

After a little more cussing, cleaning out our drawers (at least figuratively speaking), breathing huge sighs of relief, and humbly turning back to the south like severely scolded dogs with our tails between our legs, we flew, limping along the south rim of the canyon as it was getting dark, to Grand Canyon Valle, where we landed at their small airport, walked a mile in pouring rain, and got a room for the night at a small motel there, thankful the whole time for what we were now going through, compared to what might have been, if we hadn't managed to get away from that big red rock wall. 

It is a memory that is etched deeply and forever into my psyche, that I think about occasionally when I contemplate the meaning of life, why our lives were spared that evening, and what I'm actually supposed to be doing and trying to accomplish here.  It always gives me pause.

At this point, though, I don't live as close to the Grand Canyon as I once did, and I don't fly in puddle-jumpers near as much as I used to . . . and I can't really say that I miss it.

Stay safe out there (including at church), and have a blessed Sabbath.

Do you still fly around AZ? My boss took up flying & has been to Kingman a few times, I guess there is a cafe right on the airstrip he keeps talking about.

[A Global Faith]

IF ONLY fishing bass
and cutting grass
had money in it

Well I used to know a youngster actually whose daughter had 9 fingers

He’s still around but older now

But back in the 80s he made decent side money fishing the Roosevelt chain in tournaments

Back well before the golden algae pulled the air out of the lakes bass swam
like tanks

And the salt rivers banks

collected rough bikers and ram

near the spot where old timers crossed sheep over water
and Indian land

And now theres a dam

above and below

and two up it gets flat
where the Mormons would go

Weaving from where you fish horizontal
Spiders hair bristles and balls of dead thistles
Come silently like apache in canyon

Not hearing whistles but
Here is the spot

A float down from the top
under a cactus
whose arms you don’t harm
if you do and they knew
from the tracks of your shoe
or your truck


it could send you to prison

[A Global Faith]

Also I noticed that someone named cat bite posted a picture of a man who was in a recent movie with an asian where there are people dreaming and trying to steer the dreams of other people.

Glad to get a shout out, close to the name, but I'll take it. (It's CAK, the 1st name initials of me, my wife & oldest son). 1st time I've popped back in the thread & boy oh, boy, was this GOOD. Thanks AGF, looking forward to where this is going.

Thank you Yak Bite. The Y stands for Your first name.

Now I have extra I need to add speaking of that man in the picture with the cigarette. There’s a man whose offspring went down with the titanic I believe and whose daughter lived until not many years ago I have to remember the names and the relations but they are important because they ran rail from Arizona to Montana Salt Lake being a main hub during the young and Taylor and woodruff administrations. And also a famous county important to the church being named for him. Famous county. I will get to it when I can because it’s needed information. Thank you for reading

[ConnectTheDots]

Well, it's Sunday again. And I'm very glad to see that Brother Faith made it back from his trip, and is apparently back on the rodeo trail too. I heard they were having the senior National Finals rodeo somewhere this weekend. Maybe that's where he's been for the last couple days. All I can say is, good for him. . . and, I hope he doesn't end up with any new broken bones.

I'm convinced that I don't know near as much about Presidents Oaks and Nelson and their backgrounds as Bro. Faith does.  But in his last post, he started out talking about airplanes and flying, so that is something I might talk a little bit about.  

I don't know near as much about airplanes and flying as Elder Uchtdorf, but even though I'm not now, and never have been, a pilot, I have done my fair share of flying, including in small puddle-jumpers.  And one of the biggest reasons for that is because perhaps flying is the fastest and easiest way to cross the Grand Canyon, which I've had to do many times in my life.

I have previously mentioned my roots and connections to the Arizona Strip (the Northwest corner of AZ, separated from the rest of the state by the Grand Canyon and the Colorado River).  Over 30 years ago, when I started out as an attorney, I started my law practice in Kanab, UT, right on the UT/AZ border, where I spent the first 10 years or so.

Because of the location, I was licensed to practice in both Utah and Arizona, and I routinely spent time in Flagstaff and Kingman Arizona, which are the Coconino and Mohave County seats, with corresponding court houses. I also spent plenty of time in places like Bullfrog, Moab, Monticello, and Blanding, UT, as well as many points and places on the Navajo Nation/Reservation, including Window Rock, Ship Rock, Tuba City, Kayenta and Kaibato. I'll have to talk more about some of that another time.

But, given everything I had going on, I knew better than to try to learn to fly too, and try to do all the piloting myself. From what I've seen, that's been a good way for plenty of doctors to get themselves and their families killed. Fortunately, there was a good  "bush" pilot in Fredonia, AZ.  He was about twice my age, and I started hiring him to fly me around.

I had a friend in law school who had been a bush pilot in Alaska.  He used to wear a t-shirt that said "There are Old Bush Pilots, and There are Bold Bush Pilots, But There are No Old, Bold Bush Pilots."  I thought the fact that my pilot in Fredonia was about 60 was a good sign.  He seemed to be in good health, and was a devout Seventh Day Adventist, which meant no flying on Saturdays, but otherwise I took his faith to be a good thing.  Over the course of my life the Adventists I have known are some of the best people I've known.

Anyway, round trip drive time to Flagstaff, for example, was about 8 hours (in good weather), but we could fly there and back in about two.  Round trip drive time to Kingman was 12+ hours, but only about three in a plane, because of the ability to scoot right over the Grand Canyon, rather than around it, via car.   For a lawyer, time is money, and if I could save 9 hours of otherwise non-productive travel time, it was well worth enough to hire a small plane with a good bush pilot.

At one time I had a very active case in Kingman, that I may talk more about later.  But for a while that case was requiring me to make a trip to Kingman for hearings just about every week.

On the particular trip in question, it was mid March, in the mid-90s.  We left Kanab about 7:00 am., trying to make a 9:00 am hearing in Kingman, that turned into a marathon and ended up lasting until after 6:00 pm that evening.  

Although it had been a beautiful, clear morning when we left Kanab, in addition to my brief case and suit jacket, I decided to grab the Australian oilskin duster/slicker out of my truck, to take along just for good measure. And boy did I end up being glad I did.

By the time we got away from the old, Mohave County Courthouse, made it out to the small Kingman airport and fired up the plane, it was pushing 7 p.m. The wind was blowing a pretty good lick, and as we looked to the North, we could see that a big black cloud - a "Blue Norther" was building fast and moving South. My pilot acted pretty anxious to try to beat that cloud to and across the Grand Canyon. . . and we really tried, but we ended up losing that race.

As we started approaching the big black cloud, he tried to get up and over the top, but he couldn't seem to find the top, so we retreated, looped around, dropped back down and tried to see if we could slip underneath, which was an even bigger risk because one thing you learn is that, except when you're taking off and landing, the safest approach is usually to keep as much distance (within reason) between you and the ground, as possible.  But the more we flew the harder it was raining and the wind gusts (turbulants) were tossing us around like a rag doll.

Although my pilot was already buckled in, he reached over, cinched his seatbelt down good and tight, and yelled over at me to do the same. By then we were completely surrounded by clouds and weather, and were essentially flying blind, because we couldn't see a thing, as the engine roared, and we were getting blown around like a feather in the wind.

My stomach was already tied in knots, but suddenly my heart lunged into my throat, and my life flashed before my face, as the plane suddenly lurched sideways, and my pilot yelled "Sh!!!!t"!, and banked hard left. When I looked out my window all I could see, sticking out through the rain and cloud was the big red rock wall of a massive cliff that looked like it was close enough that I could have reached out the window and touched it as we skimmed by.

After a little more cussing, cleaning out our drawers (at least figuratively speaking), breathing huge sighs of relief, and humbly turning back to the south like severely scolded dogs with our tails between our legs, we flew, limping along the south rim of the canyon as it was getting dark, to Grand Canyon Valle, where we landed at their small airport, walked a mile in pouring rain, and got a room for the night at a small motel there, thankful the whole time for what we were now going through, compared to what might have been, if we hadn't managed to get away from that big red rock wall. 

It is a memory that is etched deeply and forever into my psyche, that I think about occasionally when I contemplate the meaning of life, why our lives were spared that evening, and what I'm actually supposed to be doing and trying to accomplish here.  It always gives me pause.

At this point, though, I don't live as close to the Grand Canyon as I once did, and I don't fly in puddle-jumpers near as much as I used to . . . and I can't really say that I miss it.

Stay safe out there (including at church), and have a blessed Sabbath.

Mangus, glad you plane flight ended up well. Curious if you were around or remember a chap by the name of Tom Jarrett that died in a plane crash with a dental hygienist 35 miles outside of Kanab? 1983. Sad day for sure. Good pioneer family the Jarrett’s. See the pics of newspaper clippings for the details: https://billiongraves.com/grave/Thomas- ... t/12209356

[Luke]

the 10 gallon hat movie star

Who’s this?

[A Global Faith]

the 10 gallon hat movie star

Who’s this?

That would be the poster with a John Wayne picture by his name

[A Global Faith]

My attempt at adding video since I have found the YouTube button.

I believe it best that I add this video and a few more as the need arises thank you

[A Global Faith]

Shoot

[creator]

Fixed it for you. Just needed to remove "https://youtu.be/"

[A Global Faith]

Fixed it for you. Just needed to remove "https://youtu.be/"

There we go very good thank you

[BeNotDeceived]

My attempt at adding video since I have found the YouTube button.

I believe it best that I add this video and a few more as the need arises thank you

Gary Francis is GrateFul for Global Faith.

Here’s me little riddle:

GFS is the closest one can come to God.

How do you suppose that is

First to figure it out, may receive a prize.

[A Global Faith]

My attempt at adding video since I have found the YouTube button.

I believe it best that I add this video and a few more as the need arises thank you

Gary Francis is GrateFul for Global Faith.

Here’s me little riddle:

GFS is the closest one can come to God.

How do you suppose that is

First to figure it out, may receive a prize.

Thank you I will have to think about that

[Mangus MacLeod]

In response to a couple questions this week, yes, the Kingman Airport Cafe is renowned in that neck of the woods.  It's not uncommon for folks to fly there just for lunch/ brunch, especially on weekends. If Tom Jarrett had settled for flying his girlfriend to lunch in Kingman instead of Page, they would probably both still be alive today.

But, actually, no, I had not been aware, at the time, of the plane crash death of Tom Jarrett, a young Las Vegas attorney, and highly-regarded public defender.  When he died in a plane crash between Kanab and Page, AZ, in April 1983, I was at Ft. Sill, Oklahoma, in the early stages of Basic Training (Boot Camp), having recently returned from my LDS mission in Europe.  At that point, and under those circumstances, i wasn't exactly up-to-speed on all the latest news from anywhere. On that note, though, I ultimately ended up in Military Intelligence, and spent some time at Ft. Huachuca, AZ, where we seemed to get all the up-to-the minute news from all over the world. Not quite like the NSA is today, but there always seemed to be plenty of breaking news/intelligence to keep a person busy.

Otherwise, sadly, it seems that this particular train has slowed right down again and hasn't covered much ground this week, which is not completely uncommon with trains.  That is why so many people these days would rather fly instead of travel by train -- just like many of the previous readers of this thread -- they simply don't have the patience for it.

Which is also one of the reasons there are so many small plane crashes.  And on that subject, there was a real bad one near Moab in 2008 that killed the entire staff of a Cedar City dermatology clinic, including some folks I knew quite well.  And you might also note some Gadianton connections. Very sad day.

https://www.deseret.com/platform/amp/20 ... cedar-city

[Mangus MacLeod]

But shifting gears back to this slow-moving train, Brother Faith made a very cryptic, short post this week about bass fishing on the Roosevelts, and the punchline was something about how easy it might be to land in prison.

I don't know all that much about bass fishing on the Salt River, but I do know a thing or two about wildlife violations and dealing with Fish & Game cops. At one point I could, and did, make a good living handling hunting and wildlife violation cases in Utah and Arizona.

In the circles I turned in back then there was an old joke (that might also show up again in the story I'm about to share) that went something like this: If you get caught poaching, you might as well shoot the game warden too, because you'll do less time for that than you will for poaching a deer (or elk, or fish, or duck, or whatever). The bottom line is, most state wildlife agencies these days take themselves very seriously.

As a result, I have plenty of stories about those kinds of situations and cases, and since there's not much else to key off of this week, I guess I'll go ahead and share a little story about dealing with game wardens (or "Fish Cops" as a lot of folks in the circles I have turned in like to refer to them), that might help shed a little light on all that. And I should note, this is just the first part of that story, and, as usual, most names have been changed, to protect the innocent, or the guilty -- as the case may be.

So, anyways . . . one morning in early October, 1992, when Nan, my legal assistant arrived at the office, the first thing she said was “Mac, Gary and Uncle Floyd need to make an appointment to come in and talk to you.” As it turned out, Gary Taylor, who was a high-roller in the LDS church locally, was her father-in-law (which I hadn't known), and “Uncle” Floyd was his brother.

I was a little taken back. Although Nan and I had been working together for about six months, and she was always pleasant, and I had been very impressed with her work, we had always maintained a very formal professional relationship, with quite a bit of distance, and never, ever talked about anything personal, so I didn’t really even know that much about her background, and hadn’t even gotten to know much about her family, including her in-laws. Since she’d been out on maternity leave the for part of the summer, when the underlying issues originated, I hadn’t heard anything about any of this then, and was essentially caught completely off guard.

“Oh,” I said, somewhat surprised that they might have any legal issues, “what’ve they got going?”
“Well, they’ve kind of gotten themselves into a little scrape with DWR, you know, Division of Wildlife Resources? I think it all started back when I was out during the summer, but DWR’s been harassing them, and now they’ve been charged with poaching and whole bunch of other stuff, and ordered to appear in court,” she explained.

As I came to learn, according to local legend, there were several rather notorious poachers in and around Kanab at the time, and “Uncle” Floyd Taylor was one of them. But when he came in to see me, Floyd had had enough. DWR had harassed him to the point that it wasn’t worth it any more; they’d taken all the fun right out of it, and essentially all the fight out of him.

“Tell me what happened,” I said to Floyd.
“Do you want to know what really happened?” Floyd asked.
I thought about that for a second and said, “well, I guess all I really want to know is what you’d tell a judge in court, if it comes down to that.”

I went on to explain that “if you’re going to tell the judge something other than what actually happened, I don’t really want to know, because then, according to the rules of professional ethics that govern the practice of law, I can’t rely on anything you say that I know isn’t true, in my arguments to the court. So if you’re going to say something other than exactly how it was, I only want to know what you’re going to say.”

“I wondered about that,” he said, “so with that in mind, here’s what happened: first of all, my brother Gary didn’t actually have anything to do with it. I want him completely out of this. . . But, anyway, what happened was that somehow I ran into some people . . . a family, traveling through the country. They were pretty hard up. They had a couple of kids, in a ramshackle old pick-up, with a camper conglomeration on the back. They were from out-of-state, and more than just a little down on their luck. . . . I don’t remember exactly how I ran into them, but it was up along Highway 89, in upper Long Valley. . . . They asked me if I could help them out. They were looking for money. I told them that I wasn’t in a position to give them any money, but if they could use some fresh meat, I might be able to help them out. They said that would be better than nothing, so I had them follow me up the road, to the old Alton turn-off. I knew that you can virtually always find deer up around there, particularly along towards evening. So I had them wait for me on the highway, and I drove down along the old Alton Road. I saw a little buck and shot it, field dressed it, and threw it in the back of my pickup. . . . Then’s when sh!t started hitting the fan. An outfit came along and saw what I was up to. I saw the people that saw me do it and turned me in, and I knew who it was. So I hurried and took the meat over to those people on the highway and told them to take it and get the hell out of there. They thanked me and left.”

I nodded and Floyd went on.

“The next thing I know, DWR is after me like a pack of wolves, staking out my house, harassing me at work, trying to confiscate my pickup truck, my rifle, my brother Gary’s pickup truck, and everything else. . . . This all happened clear back in June. Now they’ve finally charged me with wanton destruction (poaching) of protected wildlife, and wasting wildlife; they’ve charged Gary with being an accomplice, unlawful possession, aiding and abetting and illegal transportation, tampering with evidence, and just about anything else you can possibly imagine. . . . Hell a’mighty, they’ve got more charges against Gary than they do against me, and he didn’t even have anything to do with it. . . . We’ve really got a problem here.”

Although this was my first in a long line of wildlife and hunting violation cases, I had been around just long enough to get a pretty good idea about how state wildlife regulatory and enforcement agencies, including Utah’s own Division of Wildlife Resources, operate. I was just starting to get acquainted with their investigation and enforcement tactics, and I could see that they could make a guy like Floyd Taylor’s life pretty miserable.

They can double team, gang tackle, go under cover, single out a guy and tail him around, watching his every move, and harass him to the point that he might easily wonder if he still lives in the United States, or some completely different regime. And the state agencies don’t hold a candle to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, in terms of aggressiveness, lack of realistic perspective and common sense. Talk about the tail wagging the dog, and distorted, mixed-up priorities.

It’s just another good example of how much things have changed in the past 50 years. It used to be that rustling -- stealing horses or cattle -- was a hanging crime here in the West. On the other hand, rural country folks routinely killed venison whenever they needed meat, without worrying too much about whether or not it was “in season.” That’s just the way it was.

Now poaching is the hanging crime, and you’d be lucky to be able to persuade a county or district attorney (especially in this neck of the woods) to even investigate and/or prosecute a legitimate rustling charge. In fact there’s a little saying going around that illustrates how far it’s gone. It goes something like this: “if a game warden catches you poaching a deer, you might as well shoot him too; because even if you do get caught, you’ll do less time for killing the warden than you will for killing the deer.”

Don’t get me wrong. I’m against poaching. I’m a firm believer in good hunting ethics, and accountability for one’s actions. But I am continually amazed at wildlife management and enforcement agencies. About all they seem to care about is money, despite just about mismanaging themselves right out of business, and; more than anything, I have been amazed at all the time, effort and resources they expend (“waste” would probably be a better word) in their investigations and operations.

When DWR jumps on something, they jump with both feet, whether it makes sense or not. They can make a mountain out of a mole hill. They treat every thing like a federal offense. I feel genuinely sorry for anyone the DWR decides to single out and zone in on -- although I guess there are those who really do deserve it.

Meanwhile, back to the Taylor Brothers. Both Floyd and Gary lived in Kanab. Floyd had a little summer house and property in the small community of Alton, which has an elevation of about 7500 feet, and was quite a pleasant place to spend as much time as possible during the Summer. When Floyd had left his house in Alton “the morning after,” it had been staked out for hours. He was immediately pulled over by an officer in an undercover vehicle with hidden red and blue flashing lights. Then DWR officers descended on him like a pack of hyenas. Within two minutes, at least five officers were clustered around Floyd’s truck parked along side the road, climbing in and out, sniffing, scratching, sampling, and advancing theories about what had happened.

One of the officers threw Floyd up against his truck and began to frisk him. “You’re Floyd Taylor, right?”
Floyd’s heart was pounding, but he managed to sound fairly calm.
“Y, y. . . Yeah, that’s me.”
“You’re under arrest for poaching. Do you know what I’m talking about?”
“W, w, well, yeah, I guess I’ve got a pretty good idea.”
“You can either work with us, and we’ll work with you, or work against us and live to regret it. We want to search your house. Either you give us consent to search, or we’ll get a warrant. In fact, we’ve got a search warrant on its way right now.”
“No, you don’t need to do that. I’ll let you search it. I don’t want you tearing my house apart. I don’t have anything to hide.”
“Look, before you say anything else, you need to know that anything you say can and will be held against you. You’re entitled to be represented by an attorney. If you can’t afford an attorney, one will be appointed to represent you. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Now, where’s your rifle?”
“Look, you can search my house. You can do anything you want, but I’m not going to do your job for you.”
“Where’s your brother Gary?”
“Look, he doesn’t have anything to do with this. I want you to keep him out of it.”
“Did he take your rifle?”
“Don’t be trying to get me to squeal on my brother, I’m no stool pigeon.”
“Stubborn old fool.. You sound just like your brother. Like I said, you can either work with us, or work against us, and we’ll handle it accordingly.”
“Well, I don’t mind trying to work with you guys, but I want you to leave Gary out of it. He doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

To its credit, with only a small post-office that doubles as the postmaster’s house, as the only form of “commercial” establishment in the entire community, Alton is normally a very quiet, peaceful little "mountain" town. Although it does have a Mormon church, besides the post office, it didn’t have any kind of store or other commercial development. Consequently, this may have been the biggest disturbance, with the most law enforcement officers ever assembled at one time, in the entire history of Alton.

By the time the officers got done roaring around, searching the house, examining the crime scene, and interrogating witnesses, you could see a cloud of dust all the way to Kanab. By the time they all got done writing a report, there was enough paperwork to fill a filing cabinet.

After searching the house, and coming up empty handed, they roared back to Kanab to try to catch Gary again, before Floyd could talk to him.

Floyd and Gary both worked at Gleason’s Hardware & Building Supplies in Kanab, where they had worked for years. Gary was the tool and hardware manager, and Floyd was the lumber and building supplies manager.

Gary had been at Floyd’s house in Alton the night before. He hadn’t been feeling well, and was asleep when Floyd got back from “helping” the people out. After doing his good turn and noticing that he had been seen, Floyd had been in a panic, and hadn’t been able to sleep all night. He figured he’d be in trouble. So he put his rifle in Gary’s pickup. The next morning, when Gary got up real early, Floyd told him what had happened, and told him to take the rifle and get the hell out of there, because he figured trouble would be coming.

Gary got in his pickup and took the rifle to a trailer that belonged to one of his sons on another piece of property south of Alton, then headed for Kanab, down the back road, through Sink Valley, over the Glendale Bench, and down through Johnson Canyon, before heading home to take a shower and change his clothes to go to work.

Floyd didn’t have to be back to work until noon, so he just kind of sat tight, hanging around the house until about nine, figuring that they were probably watching him, so he hoped that by sitting tight, Gary would have had plenty of time to take care of things on his end. Little did he know that they’d already hit Gary long before they talked to him.

Gary had to be to work at 7:00 a.m., and that’s where he was when they showed up. He was in the hardware section sorting nuts and bolts when a uniformed DWR officer walked up.

“Are you Gary Taylor?”
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“Would you mind stepping outside, we’ve got some questions we’d like to ask you.”
“Look, I’m working, do you mind? Do you have to bother me here at work? Can’t it wait?”
“It’s you that needs to look. If you want to work, you better work with me. If you work with me, I’ll work with you. Otherwise, we’ll just do what we need to do, and you’ll probably live to regret it. So I can just cuff and haul you in right now or you can cooperate. Now what’s it going to be? You want to come outside and talk to us? Or am I going to have to call for backup?”

Put just that way, the officer was fairly persuasive, so Gary started for the door. When he got outside, he could see officers buzzing around his pickup truck like flies.
“Okay, now, where’s the rifle?”
“What rifle?”
“Look wise guy, you know what rifle. Floyd’s rifle. We know you took it, Floyd spilled his guts and told us everything. So you might as well fess up, and cough up the gun. Right now you’re already looking at felony charges for aiding, abetting, obstruction and tampering with evidence, so unless you want to lose your truck and do about five years at the state pen, you better start talking.”
“Well, I’m not saying a word until I talk to Floyd. If he really did tell you anything, then I figure you’d already have the rifle by now, so you might as well get your handcuffs and backup if that’s what you’re going to do.”
“Now look here, we’ll get the rifle. Don’t you worry about that, and we’ll have your pickup and maybe your house by the time we’re done. In fact, we’re getting a search warrant for your house right now, so this can either be easy or hard, it’s up to you.”
“Look, I’m no stooley, so if that’s what you think, just go ahead and arrest me. I’m not talking.”
“Alright. Have it your way, you stubborn old fool, but you can’t say I didn’t warn you. I’d hate to see you lose your truck and go to prison over it.”

Floyd and Gary drove virtually identical pickups. They were both Ford F-150 four-wheel-drives. The only difference was the color. Later that morning, Gary was getting pretty nervous. He still hadn’t heard from Floyd. He had called all over in vain, and was still on the phone, when someone came running into the store and said that there was a big ruckus out in the parking lot; a big cluster of officers trying to break into his pickup.

When Gary ran to the door and looked out, both his pickup and Floyd’s were parked side by side, in the parking lot, completely surrounded by DWR vehicles and officers.

“Oh sh!t,” Gary muttered as he headed out the door. As much fuss as they were making, he was half surprised they hadn’t pulled up with lights flashing, sirens blaring and guns drawn. Did I say they liked to gang tackle? Over-react? Make mountains out of mole hills?

When Gary asked them what they were doing, they said they already had Floyd’s truck and unless he coughed up the rifle, they were going to take his too.

Oh yeah, what about coercion, duress and intimidation?

When Floyd got done telling me the story, I asked him what he wanted to do.

He said, “I’d just like to see it all go away so that my life can get back to normal. I don’t think I’ll ever hunt or shoot a deer again. They’ve completely ruined it for me. . . . Hunting used to be my life; it’s what I lived for. But now, with all their goddamn regulations, restrictions, limited entry units, vouchers, drawings, investigations, harassment and all their other bullsh!t, they’ve just ruined it. . . . I don’t even want to be part of it any more. I don’t care if I ever hunt again. Just see what you can do. . . . I don’t really want to go to trial or anything, but I do want the charges against Gary completely dropped, and I want them to leave him alone, and quit bothering both of us -- especially at work.”

I told Floyd that I would see what I could do.

I don’t know exactly why, either because he knew Floyd and Gary and didn’t want to prosecute them, or because the Taylor name itself was rather prominent around Kanab and he didn’t want to stir the waters, or simply because he didn’t like the way the case smelled, and how it had been handled, but Kane County Attorney, Tim Stankey, wouldn’t prosecute the case.

Consequently, as is customarily the case when one of the county attorneys in the southwest corner of the state either declines to prosecute or has some sort of conflict, the case can be referred either to the state attorney general’s office, or to a county attorney from one of the adjoining counties, who then acts as a special deputy county attorney in the case. Although I had seen both Scott Burns from Iron County and Eric Ludlow from Washington County called into action in several such cases, in this instance, the case was referred to Wilfred “Fred” Nay from Garfield County. The DWR officer assigned to the case was Doug Thomas. Although that was the first time I had met and dealt with Officer Thomas, it certainly wasn’t the last.

Based on Floyd’s directions, I called Garfield County Attorney, Fred Nay, to talk to him about the case, and see what we might be able to work out. Because it was then October, right in the middle of one hunt after another, he said Officer Thomas wouldn’t be available to discuss any possible deals until after the hunts. I knew Floyd didn’t want it hanging over his head any longer than absolutely necessary, but I also knew Fred was right and didn’t see any way around it. . . . So it would probably be a while before we could get anything worked out.


Well, that's probably a good stopping point, and enough for this installment

Have a blessed Sabbath -- which reminds me, it is hunting season right now, and with all the hunting going on around me the last few weeks, it reminds me of another old "Mormon" saying about dealing with the Sabbath during hunting season: "Is it better to be in church on Sunday, longing to be on the mountain, hunting, or better to be on the mountain, hunting, feeling guilty about not being in church?"

If God knows all our thoughts, and judges us based on the intentions of our hearts, which is better?

[BeNotDeceived]

… Meanwhile, back to the Taylor Brothers. Both Floyd and Gary lived in Kanab. Floyd had a little summer house and property in the small community of Alton, which has an elevation of about 7500 feet, and was quite a pleasant place to spend as much time as possible during the Summer. When Floyd had left his house in Alton “the morning after,” it had been staked out for hours. He was immediately pulled over by an officer in an undercover vehicle with hidden red and blue flashing lights. Then DWR officers descended on him like a pack of hyenas. Within two minutes, at least five officers were clustered around Floyd’s truck parked along side the road, climbing in and out, sniffing, scratching, sampling, and advancing theories about what had happened.

One of the officers threw Floyd up against his truck and began to frisk him. “You’re Floyd Taylor, right?”
Floyd’s heart was pounding, but he managed to sound fairly calm.
“Y, y. . . Yeah, that’s me.” …

Again with the GF names, and Taylor too, as in Taylor Drake who just so happens to have written an amazing book that would settle a lot of arguments here, if people would but read it. Me too, used to hang at a Banak type cabin of a guy that had encounters with the Federalies. Somehow he’d built his house right next to the river, and the feds decided that was not permitted, so they picked up his whole house and moved it a few hundred yards up the hill.

Banak is what the locals called their little enclave out-back behind Kanab. I remember as a youth me own out-back behind the B on the mountain, but I called it going beyond the B. One day I was driving my 70s hot rod on the dirt roads up there, dukes of hazard style, and came across a ginormous fiberglass globe. Turns out that Francis Peak would later become one of my favorite worksites, by doing as directed in my Patriarchal Blessing. Still no guesses on me little GFS riddle, so I’ll sweeten the deal with a free e or audiobook of me little story about a frog that is born with wings, and don’t forget his spunky little sister, as she is the one who comes through in the clutch.

Just answer A, E or Nay with your response, and you may choose something narrated by someone that played the friend of the friend of God on TV.

[Mangus MacLeod]

Twenty questions: 1. Person, place or thing? 2. What river was the house built too close to?