Fay Risner's Blog, page 20

Redcatcher MP-The Vietnam War by Mickey Bright

I’ve posted about Redcatcher MP before written by my cousin Mickey Bright. The book is timeless since it is a very accurate account of what life was like in the military during the Vietnam war. My cousin lived through three tours of duty and a lost love to come home and write his story.

The following is a letter from Mickey Bright, known as Mike, to his cousin , Fay Risner, and her family postmarked May 8, 1968 from Vietnam.

Hi Fay, Harold and family,

I got your letter today, you sure know who cares about you by the letters you get. I appreciate you and Harold writing. I got a letter from your mom last week. I’m glad you all are getting along okay.

Tell ole Harold he better not work too hard or I’ll turn him over my knee. Ha! Ha! Harold, I’m going to come down and go fishing with you when I get back in the states, and that’s a promise.

It’s hell over here. You are up from 16 to 18 hours. You see your buddies get shot and you have to kill. I hope I make it back.

Your mom probably told you all I am a machine gunner on a M.P. gun jeep.

I’ll tell you it’s not too funny to get shot at. I’m located about 20 miles from Saigon. But you know how I am, happy-go-lucky. I never worry about a thing.

Well, I have to go. Oh, you ought to see the Vietnamese women over here. They are out of sight. Write as much as you can. You all be good.

Love,

Mike

Forward

Young men sent to the Vietnam war didn’t have a clue what they were getting into when they left the safety of home. Mick sat with men his age in the back of a truck, waiting to be delivered to his base. He wrote, “Each man had puffy cheeks. A hint of our still developing maturity.”

For many, the Vietnam War was pure hell! Men thought they were doing their duty as soldiers for their country when they left for war and had no idea (because most had never served in a war) what they were up against. Dense jungles, snakes, spiders, leeches, ticks, malaria carrying mosquitoes, booby traps, heat, humidity, torrents of rain, foot rot, and scabs on their body from cuts that got infected from moisture and dirt.

Mick considered writing his story cathartic. Putting on paper what he saw and did in Vietnam was easier than telling the tales. He put his story in four spiral notebooks and gave them to his mother for safe keeping. Until recent years, Mick, an unknown one time author, found it hard to get his story published. Now in the age of Independent authors Mick’s book is published, but sadly Mick passed away before that happened.

When the fond memories of Mick passed between his sisters and me, there came recall of the story he wrote. I asked to see it when it surfaced among his effects. Now I hope our Mick (Mike) is smiling down on his family for making his book possible.

Mike’s story starts with his landing in Vietnam in the middle of the Tet Offensive which began January 31, 1968. Knowing the element of surprise would be on the North Vietnamese side, VC infiltrated South Vietnam, getting in position to conduct a large military operation during the cease fire. The attack took our military by surprise, but after months of battles, the communists were driven back across the border. Finally, our military considered this the beginning of the end of the war for North Vietnam.

This war was the first one to be televised. When news reporter Walter Cronkite traveled to Vietnam to see what was happening, he brought back a report that sealed the fate of South Vietnam. On his newscast, he said, “The only rational way out will be negotiate not as victors, but as honorable people who did the best they could.”

That’s all it took for protests to erupt across the United States, many of them violent, demanding to get our service men out of Vietnam. President Nixon ordered a withdrawal of troops. Over time when South Vietnam’s army was left to defend the country, the North Vietnamese army swarmed back in and took over.

Tour One

Chapter 1

The plane tilted its wings, circling in a wide landing pattern. Binh Hoa Air Base was its destination below. The hundred and eighty plus passengers filled the port windows, peeking into the night and yearning for a glimpse of their new home. Night fires speckled the unseen ground beneath.

“Wonder what started those fires?” The soldier next to me asked.

“They’re from rocket blasts,” someone voiced from behind us.

This disturbed my gullible traveling acquaintance considerably. “No they’re not!” He flared. “They’re probably campfires!”

Laughter met his exposed nervousness. Throughout the trip, Beshir’s gregarious personality, accompanied with a Jimmy Durante nose, had attracted a favorable audience. “They are campfires, aren’t they, Mick?”

I took another look out the window. “Looks like the whole airfield is under attack.”

He quickly pulled me away and plastered his face on the glass. He turned back to me. “No it isn’t!” He bellowed, wanting a supportive reply.

A guy across the aisle alleviated his growing concern. “Calm down, Beshir. None of us know what’s happening down there.”

“He’s right, man. I was just kidding you,” I confessed.

“I knew that, Bright,” Beshir blustered, trying to believe it himself. I smiled as he leaned back against the seat, preparing for the landing.

The screech of rubber from the plane wheels reported our arrival. Moments after the abrupt stop, a young army captain boarded. He gave us instructions to load onto awaiting buses parked outside. I stepped out, barely aware of the descending steps when the new environment bombarded my senses. A strange foul odor agitated my nose while a light smog filling the thin air, impaired my breathing. The drastic change in temperature from an air conditioned cabin to the tropical climate was devastating.

I followed the exodus of men, clad in new issue jungle fatigues, across the asphalt to the line of green buses. As I neared, I perceived two jeeps. One was at each end of the convoy. Menacing M-60 machine guns rested on four feet poles protruding from the center of the vehicles. I boarded the third bus. The windows had been replaced with coarse wire mesh.

Without ceremony, the driver entered and took his place behind the steering wheel. Revving the engine and grinding the gears, he forced the old bus into motion.

The first sign of outside life came as we exited the base. An air base policeman stood in front of a bunker curiously watching as we passed through the gate that allowed access between the barbwire perimeter. Our driver accelerated instantly. Fragile two story plaster buildings were a parade of shadows cast by the numerous candles and lanterns within the humble hooches.

The small, two lane blacktop road was deserted. Eerie, erratic volumes of Vietnamese dialect drifted into the street from the hidden population. Cooking rice accented with peculiar spices filled the sultry air. Within minutes we were in open country traveling at maximum speed.

I was curious about what I was getting myself into in this strange land. I’d turned nineteen in January, and the draft board was waiting. The draft letter came, and the next thing I knew I was on my way to boot camp. Now in April, 1968 after an eighteen hour flight, I set foot in Vietnam.

The next break in the darkness came when the bus turned into a checkpoint similar to the one at the air base. Seconds later we stopped and were herded into a formation within a dark lot surrounded by barracks.

An army sergeant appeared in front of us. “Alright, men! Listen up!” He shouted. “You have just arrived at the Ninetieth Replacement Unit, Republic of South Vietnam. You will be here no more than one or two days at which time you will be transferred to a permanent unit.” The broad chested black paraded back and forth as he talked, periodically glancing into the group. Every uncertain eye was trained on him, eager for information and guidance. He continued, “Now listen carefully. In case of rocket attack when you are in the billets, you will take a prone position on the immediate floor. People upstairs will assemble on the ground floor.” He paused for effect. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Sergeant!” came a unison reply.

“That’s real good,” he confided. “Because in the last air attack there were men running around the compound like chickens with their heads cut off, hollering for their momma and Lord knows who else.” Mellow laughter ignited. When the mirth subsided, he advised, “You’ll find bunks in the two billets to your left. Someone will be there to issue sheets. You have three mandatory formations a day, zero eight hundred hours, eleven hundred hours and fifteen hundred hours. Now, are there any questions?” The sergeant allowed for a reply, then shouted, “Aten hut! Fall out!”

The wooden barracks were similar to the stateside versions except for the emittance of latrines. Also, the outside walls were constructed in such a fashion to allow ventilation between each strip of horizontal lumber. A double row of sandbags, three feet high, surrounded the entire structure.

After receiving sheets, I found an empty bunk and sat down. I watched the other men automatically make their beds. The air was filled with the smell of clean linen and the musky, damp odor coming from the concrete floor. I peeled off my sweat soaked shirt and walked outside. I addressed a small group gathered on the rear steps. “Hot as hell, isn’t it?”

They all agreed.

“There goes another one!” Quipped the guy sitting below me, his face indistinguishable in the darkness. A huge flare glowed in the distant horizon. Streamers of smoke from past flares haphazardly decorated the illuminated sky. Small blinking red lights hovered above the display. Without warning, one of the lights spit a line of red-orange tracers to the ground. The traveling sound reached our ears with a faint bark of the helicopter’s machine gun. Another red light repeated the scene.

“Wow! That’s wild!” Someone expressed.

We watched without conversation. Each of us wondering what part we would play in Uncle Sam’s Theater of Pain.

The next afternoon five of us were assigned to the One Ninety Ninth Light Infantry Brigade. I threw my bags into the back of a three quarter ton truck that waited for our departure.

A guy sitting near the tailgate greeted me as I climbed in. “Howdy, my name’s Mike Crocker.” He offered his hand with a warm smile.

“Glad to meet you,” I replied. “Mine’s Mickey Bright.” I sat down beside him, and three other men sat across from me.

Mike orchestrated the conversation. “We’ve all introduced ourselves.” He pointed to a black haired guy across from us. “That’s Melvin Lutes.”

“Hello,” Melvin said with a nod.

I returned the gesture.

“That’s Dale Nichols,” Mike replied. He pointed next to Melvin.

Exchanging greetings, I noticed a strong resemblance in the two. Both weighed around a hundred and seventy pounds, near six feet tall and each had puffy cheeks like the rest of us. A hint of our still developing maturity.

A small man with a pointed nose was the last to be introduced. “This is Bill Peters,” Mike finalized.

“Glad to know you, Bill,” I quipped.

“Same here,” he replied. “Boy, I sure wish we’d get going. It’s like an oven in here.”

I lit a cigarette and offered Mike one. “No thanks, I don’t smoke.”

I offered the pack around with no takers.

“What’s your M.O.S? Mike asked.

“Ninety-five Bravo,” I replied.

“Is that right?” he answered. “All of us, but Bill are M.P.’s, too.”

“I wonder what kind of duty we’re in for?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Our driver appeared at the rear of the truck. “You guys ready to dee dee?”

“If that means go, then yeah,” Mike returned.

The driver laughed. “That’s what it means.”

I grabbed the edge of the flip down wooden seat as the old truck bolted forward. Within a minute, we exited out the camp’s main gate. Through the rear aperture, I watched the lone sentry standing beside the trough way. A sandbagged bunker sat behind him, partially concealed by rolling strands of barbwire lining the camp’s perimeter.

Fifteen feet above the guard’s head, hung a wide strip of lumber nailed at each end to tall poles that stood at each end of the road. 90th REPLACEMENT was painted across the gateway. It reminded me so much of a western ranch entrance that my mind projected the thought of Roy and Dale, arm in arm beneath it, singing Happy Trails To You.

We turned onto the road outside the camp. A bright orange moped rushed toward us piloted by a teenage boy. We all waved. It was our first encounter with the natives. The boy’s white short sleeved shirt flapped in the wind as he raised his hand and returned our gesture. His Elvis hairdo was oblivious to the rushing breeze, accredited to the ungodly amount of hair oil that glistened in the radiant sun.

When the truck stopped, awaiting access to the main highway, the boy swerved the whining bike off the road and passed us in a cloud of dust. Shortly, the three quarter lunged into motion again, making a right turn.

“Looks like a village over there,” Mel commented.

We clambered to the rear of the truck. Our necks craned to the driver’s side of the vehicle. Several hundred yards in the distance, tin roofs filled a shallow valley painted with green foliage. As we moved on, the minimal glimpse of the hamlet was replaced with grassy rolling plains, dotted with various kinds of tropical plants.

“Man, do you believe all the concertina wire?” I asked, shifting my attention to the other side of the road. Bunkers made of dust laden sandbags, systematically lined the inside of the barbed entanglement running parallel to the road.

“Looks like a camp,” Mike surmised.

The truck made a right turn onto a road where the wire ended. A bunker sat in the middle, dividing the entrance and the exit lanes. More barbwire lined each side of the small gravel road denoting two separate outposts.

A half mile down the road we turned left and passed another bunker sitting in the middle of a smaller road allowing admittance into the camp. The maze of roads and wire was confusing.

“Weel, ya all think this is the place?” Mike asked.’”

“Looks like a mining camp in the eighteen hundreds,” I clipped.

The Brigade had numerous wooden buildings and canvas tents that sprawled across a dusty cleared area absent of trees or plants. The units were sectioned by a simple design of packed down dirt roads. Our vehicle made two turns and came to rest beside a large, one room building with a canvas roof. We unloaded and waited outside.

A sandy haired, middle aged staff sergeant came out and addressed us. “Hello, men. My name’s Sergeant Monroe. I’m one of the instructors here at Redcatcher.” Before we could ask, he advised us, “Redcatcher is part of the One Ninety Ninth Infantry Brigade. Its purpose is to familiarize you with Vietnam before you’re assigned to a permanent unit. We’ll show you how to ford a river, how to distinguish booby traps, and you will have an afternoon on the hand grenade range.” The dark tanned sergeant took his sunglasses off. “Can any of you type?”

Peters raised his hand.

Sergeant looked at him quizzically. “Are you sure?”

“Sixty words per minute,” Peters declared adamantly.

“Alright, come on. I’ll give you a try. We need a clerk.” He directed his attention back to us. “The rest of you pick up your bags.” We grabbed them and followed him to the front of the orderly room. He pointed down a lane to six tents assembled on one side of it. “You will be bunking in the third tent down. You can get your chow across the way behind the tent at the Seventh Support Mess Hall. Your next mandatory formation is tomorrow morning at eight hundred hours. You have any questions?”

“How long are we gonna be here?” I asked.

“You’ll be assigned to a unit within a week,” he answered. We picked up our bags, ready to move out. “Okay, if there’s no more questions, go ahead and get your area in shape.”

“Right, Sarg,” Mike answered for all of us.

“That must be the shower house,” Mel stated, looking at a narrow six by twenty structure across from the tent area. The sound of dripping water escaped from the spaces between the overlapping one by six boards. A musty odor swelled from the saturated ground beneath.

I stuck my nose into my underarm. “I think I better visit it tonight!” My droll act was met with laughter.

Mel pulled the tent flap open. A yellowish sliver of light illuminated the slow sway of cobwebs inside. Upon our entry, airborne dust danced around our boots.

We set up house and decided to go to chow. The four of us walked leisurely down the slope behind the tent. We hopped a small gully at the bottom and forged up the sister hill. Near the top stood four poles holding up a twelve feet tin roof which sheltered a solitary card table. Long benches made of coarse two by eights striped the hill in front of a miniature billboard that accommodated a white bed sheet.

“Pretty classy movie house, huh?” I commented to Dale.

He shot me a timid grin.

As we crossed the road at the top of the hill, I recognized the bunker we had passed by earlier. It was manned by a M.P. “Let’s stop and talk to the M.P. after chow,” I suggested.

“Good idea,” Mel quipped. “Maybe we can find out what the duty is like.”

The sound of banging pots and pans could be heard as we neared the rear of the mess hall.

Mike curled his nose. “What’s that smell?” He questioned repulsively.

Mel walked to an iron grate covering a hole in the ground. “It’s old garbage cooking in the sun. Makes you hungry, don’t it?”

“Yeah, I can’t wait,” I shot back as I opened the screen door to the large green painted building. A blast of torrid air from the overworked ovens met me. I pulled a metal tray out from a wooden cabinet against the wall. Reviewing the food before me on a steam table, I realized my appetite had been curtailed by the sweltering climate. I heaped my tray with lettuce salad and found an empty table in the dining area.

I spotted a large metal cooler in the corner of the room. I filled my glass and gulped down the lukewarm contents that passed for iced tea. With a refill, I returned to my table that was now occupied with my new found friends.

“Are ya all part rabbit, Mick?” Mike chirped, checking out my salad.

With a snort, I answered, “Naw, the damn heat’s got my gut screwed up.”

“It’s not the heat! It’s this army grub!” Mel complained as he held up a half raw spud he’d forked from his mashed potatoes.

After chow we stepped outside. A light breeze rewarded our perspiring bodies. At the end of the building, we observed an aged mama-san hosing out a galvanized trash can. She wore a slick black pair of pajama bottoms and a tattered red blouse. The toothless old lady ignored us as we passed by, intensely involved with her task.

“Man, she’s a real baby! Wonder if she’s got any older sisters?” I wisecracked.

Mike shook his head, dejectedly. “Ya all are demented, Mick.”

Dale projected one of his sheepish smiles.

Mel’s attention was directed at the M.P. behind the bunker a few yards from us. He cupped his hands. “Say, could you tell us where the P.X. is?”

“Make a right at the cross roads. It’s the small building on your left,” the policeman, covered in red dust, shouted back. A forty five automatic pistol rested in a worn black leather holster at his side. A black helmet liner with white letters M.P. and a M.P. arm band designated his authority.

“Okay, thanks!” Mel replied with a wave. “Let’s keep moving. We can talk to him later,” he directed to us.

We strolled casually down the road to the small PX that was visible in the distance. A pleasant stillness seemed to settle across camp as sundown neared. Enjoying the moment, I lit a cigarette and walked in silence, feeling comfortable with my present company.

The store sat several yards off the road. It’s dimensions were no bigger than a one room cabin. The unpainted walls were dry and faded. My eyes squinted, adjusting to the unlit room.

A G.I. stood on a rough cement floor at the rear of the building. “Sorry gentlemen. We’re about ready to close.”

“I just want some cigarettes,” I replied. Shoddy shelves made of long boards rested on cement blocks. A meager supply of canned goods and cosmetics were displayed on them. “Give me a couple packs of Marlboro.”

He handed me the smokes. “That will be twenty cents, please.”

“Twenty cents!” I exclaimed. “Are you kidding me?”

He smiled at my surprise and shook his head no.

“Okay then,” I crowed, pulling out a crumpled wad of Military Payment Certificates I’d been issued. We called them M.P.C. for short. I smoothed out two ten cent notes, the new form of currency amused me. It looked like it should have been in a monopoly game. “This ought to buy Boardwalk,” I joked, handing over the bills.

“Give me a can of them thar peanuts will ya?” Mike pointed to his selection on the shelf. The three of us walked out while he paid.

“Place reminds me of a trading post,” I commented.

“Hey! You guys want some nuts?” Mike offered from behind us. I waited for him to catch up and dipped my fingers into the presented can.

“Thanks,” I replied before I put the salty goobers in my mouth. We turned onto the narrow cul-de-sac leading back to our tent.

After a much needed shower, we gathered behind our nomad domain. I sat in the doorway watching Dale put a camouflage cloth on his steel pot.

“Looks like they’re going to show a movie tonight,” Mike stated as he looked across the gully at the benches speckled with G.I.s.

“Let’s check it out,” I proposed.

We approached the projectionist, tediously working on his machine.

“Excuse me.” The guy looked up. “When does the movie start?” Mel asked.

“In about fifteen minutes if I ever get this thing put back together,” he snapped.

Mel chuckled, “ Alright, thanks.”

Abruptly, the voice of Fats Domino blurted from the doorway of a quonset hut that sat against the perimeter wire twenty five feet away.

“Ain’t That A Shame. “Good song,” I said. “Must be some kind of club.”

“Sounds like it,” Mel agreed.

“Hey, while we’re waiting for the movie, why don’t we mosey over and talk to that M.P. now,” Mike suggested.

“Good idea. Let’s go,” I said, leading the way. As we neared the bunker, I slowed down and hollered, “How’s it going tonight?” Even though I was new in the country, I knew enough not to rush a perimeter post in the dark.

“Just going!” He returned.

With the acknowledgment, we stepped forward. Face to face, he stood about my height of five feet eleven inches. He weighed maybe a hundred and eighty pounds. Clumps of curly hair sprouted from under his helmet liner. Blue eyes glinted when he clicked his flashlight on to inspect us. I judged his age at twenty or so. “You’re F.N.G.s, aren’t you?”

“Huh?” I questioned.

“Fucking new guys,” he explained.

I laughed. “Yeah, we flew in last night.”

“Damn, makes me feel short,” he snorted.

“How long you been over here?” Mel asked.

He answered quickly, “Five months, twelve days, nineteen hours —-.” He hesitated to look at his watch. “And twenty five minutes.”

“How’s the duty here?” I asked, then added, “We’re all M.P.s.”

“Is that right! Man, our Platoon Sergeant will be glad to hear that,” he exclaimed. “We’re hurting bad for replacements. I’ve been putting in at least twelve hours a day since I got here. I live more in these bunkers than I do at the unit.”

“You see much action?” Mike inquired.

He laughed. “Man, it’s peaceful as hell one day and the next Charlie’s blasting the shit out of things. It’s a freaky fucking war. Take tonight for instance, here we are out here bullshitting and taking it easy. Hard to believe that not more than a month ago we had clerks and cooks out here on the perimeter. They were blasting Charlie off the wire compound.” We listened eagerly, unable to grasp the reality of what he said. He concluded, “It’s cooled down a lot since Tet, but they still zoom a lot of rockets in on us.”

“Yeah, it does seem pretty peaceful around here,” I conjectured.

“Just don’t let it fool you, –ah –,”. He stalled for a name.

“Mick,” I complied.

“Mick, my name’s Tom, Tom Eddins.”

I shook his hand and the other three did the same.

“Sounds like the movie started,” Mel stated.

“I guess we’ll be splitting then,” I replied.

“Alright, I’ll tell the sergeant you’re at Redcatcher,” he advised us.

We heard a muffled pop of a hand flare. The fizzling ball of fire drifted gently over our heads, directing our way in the uncanny light. We stopped at the quonset hut and bought sodas.

The movie was an old Randolph Scott western. I stared at the screen, thinking about the contrast between home and the nearby barbwire.

We stood in formation the next morning watching the impatient cadre sergeant wait for the remaining men to assemble. Satisfied that the group of almost fifty men was present, he began his instructions. “Alright, men, today’s training consists of the proper method to cross a stream and booby trap detection. But first, I want you to line up single file in front of the arms convex to draw a M-16 rifle. After you’ve drawn your weapon, report back here in full combat gear. Any questions?” He looked over the formation. “Good! Troop, aten hut! Fall out!”

While I stood in line to get my weapon, a short sandy haired guy in front of me asked, “You got a light?”

“Sure.” I handed him my zippo.

“Thanks,” he said as he returned it. “River crossing! Hell, I can’t even swim!” The cocky little dude raved, “That’s why I didn’t join the Navy!”

I gave him a quizzical smile.

“Man, it’s not funny,” he exclaimed nervously.

His friend said, “Calm down, Bill. We won’t let you drown.”

“That’s real reassuring, Ray. Who the hell died and made you lifeguard?”

He was still complaining as he walked off after drawing his rifle. I drew mine and returned to the tent to get my gear. After I completed that task, I stepped into formation beside Mike. He tipped up his green plastic canteen, letting water escape and trickle down his chin.

“Ya all want some?” He offered, wiping his mouth.

“Naw, I’m cool,” I answered.

Mike snapped the canteen back into its canvas holder on his side.

“Man, a guy needs to be a fat necked football player to wear these heavy assed steel pots,” I complained.

“You’ll get used to it,” Mike replied.

I started to retort, but our leader interrupted. “Listen up! Sergeant Crowley will lead you to the designated training area.” He pointed to the perimeter fence where the sergeant stood. “You’ll follow him by twos through the wire, across the road and down the hill to the river.” He gave the command. “Aten hut! Move out!”

An open iron framed gate cross hatched with stretched barbwire allowed a narrow opening between the running spiral heap of barbed entanglement. As I passed through, I spotted a taut strand of cord attached to one of the many trip flares planted within the brambly metal. Charlie trying to sneak into camp would set off the flares.

Dale and I crossed the road and ventured down a worn beaten path to a group of men gathering beside the river.

A rope had been stretched two feet above the water line across to the other side. Sergeant Crawley began his instruction of the hand over hand technique for crossing a stream. Most of us listened without much interest. It didn’t take a college grad to understand how to cross a river.

Dale was midway across when my turn came. I swallowed a gulp of muddy, fishy smelling water halfway across as Dale’s weight left the rope on the other bank. I complimented the guy behind me with the same favor.

I saw Mike sitting on the grassy bank with his pant legs rolled up. I flopped down beside him and took my steel pot off to rest my head on.

“Mick, light up a cigarette, will ya?” Mike requested.

I knew what time it was. Mike didn’t smoke. Quickly, I sat up and retrieved my cigarettes and light wrapped in a zip lock bag in my shirt pocket. While I lit the cigarette, I peered at Mike’s bare legs, which he was methodically inspecting.

Speedily, I presented him the smoke. “Here,” I snapped then ripped my own pant legs from the grasps of my boot tops and pulled my wet green socks down. While I inspected my hairless, lily white legs, I confided to Mike, “Man, I thought it was bullshit about leeches being big over here.” I was relieved to find no passengers on me as I curiously watched Mike holding the cigarette like a dart and placing the fiery end on the blood sucking black culprit. “How many did you find?” I asked.

“Two,” he answered, inspecting his leg for more. “Did you find any?”

“No, I think my tucked in pant legs saved me the hassle.”

“Probably so. Mine came out in the water,” he confided.

We heard the voice of the sergeant behind us. “Alright, all of you ducks, come over here!”

Mike and I advanced to where he was standing twenty feet from us. He knelt down and raked a clump of tall grass back, exposing an eighteen inch wide, two feet deep hole. At the bottom, an ominous cluster of sharpened ten inch sticks about the size of your little finger stared up at us.

He exhibited one of the Punjabi sticks in his hand. “This, gentlemen is a common bamboo shoot. As you can see, Charlie has found a simple but effective use for them. To insure infection, he sometimes dips the sharpened points in his own defecation.” He orally denoted, “That’s shit to the lessor educated of you.” Spontaneous laughter rewarded his derogatory jest. When the gaiety ended, he continued, “Another thing I want to impress on you today is to be overly suspicious of souvenirs. Lost cigarette lighters, deserted weapons or anything that’s out of the ordinary. These things have been known to be rigged with explosives and other detrimental things hazardous to your health. Remember, don’t under estimate your enemy. This is Charlie’s playground, and he knows the games well.” The sergeant stood up. “Are there any questions?”

A solitary voice filtered from the rear. “How much do the whores cost?”

A roar of harmonious laughter burst forth, including the sergeant’s. “Okay, enough of the bull shit,” he advised. “Let’s get on back to camp.” He pointed down the stream. “About ten steps around the bend is a portable bridge. When you get back to camp be sure to turn in your weapons. You’ll get permanent ones when you get to your unit. Now move out!”

I watched the fast moving, reddish water as I walked through the thin grass. Glancing up, I recognized the soldier in front of me. “Hey, Dale!” I yelled. I quickened my pace to catch up with him. “Say, I wonder how much the whores really do cost?”

He shook his head, bashfully amused at my question.

I pawed the front of my shirt. “Man, my clothes are almost dry already.”

“Yeah, mine, too,” Dale said. “Whoever designed these fatigues for the tropics knew what they were doing.”

I sniffed. “Damn! They sure smell funky though.”

“No telling what was in that murky river water,” came a voice from behind us. It was Mike.

“I just hope you got rid of all your little friends,” I told him.

“Me, too!” He quipped.

Mickey wasn’t the only one of my relatives or friends that served in Vietnam.

My brother John at VC Island, Long Am Province, May 1970 – Caption – My “Thumper” is at the bottom right.

National Novel Writing Month is here!

This was from last year’s effort to write my novel in a month. This is my fifth year in the contest and so far I am doing well. I’m averaging 2300 words a day but today I wrote 2738. Still 31,584 to go. Thanksgiving holiday is time off from writing, but I can make up for the holiday by writing twice as many words on other days. I find if I’m prepared to write the whole story in a month that each year the contest gets easier. If I finish a few words short, I can go back over the book and correct and add to it and that puts me over the finish line. It helps that I type between fifty and sixty words a minute which only takes me an hour or a little over to get my entry ready for the day. Once the contest is over, I spend December editing the book. By the first of the year, I’ll the eighth book in my Amazing Gracie Historical Mystery Series ready for release. A book cover can be submitted for the contest so I have been preparing one each year. The one I have ready is not quite good enough for the book but it gives you the idea.

To all the writers entered in the nanowrimo contest, happy writing and good luck in getting over the finish line.

Book Signing A Gutekunst Library in State Center, Iowa

What a fun evening! The last day of warm weather in Iowa for awhile I fear. Fall is here now, but the evening was warm. My husband and sister-in-law were kind to help me set up and be there with me. The library director at Gutekunst Library in State Center welcomed me and is helping promote, Neighbor Watchers, first book in my Amazing Gracie Mystery series. There are seven more in the series and I’m getting ready to start book eight on Nanowrimo contest the first day of November.

If anyone is interested in reading a historical fiction set in Iowa the books can be found on Amazon and B&N. The ebooks are in Kindle and nook stores and on Smashwords.com.

Reviews from readers of my Historical Mystery Series

This as well as the other six books in the Amazing Gracie Mystery Series can be purchased at Amazon, B&N, kindle, nook and smashwords.

I’m getting geared up for the book signing at Gutekunst Library in State Center, Iowa on October 27th. Now that I have a supply of books on hand to sell for the event, I’m hoping for a good turnout. There is seven books in the Historical Mystery series titled Amazing Gracie Mystery Series. After the first of the year there will be another book titled Will O Wisps featuring Gracie Evans from Locked Rock, Iowa.

I’ve gotten some great reviews about my books so I thought I’d share them with you.

Neighbor Watchers

In this book Fay has created the endearing characters who reside in Moser Mansion Rest Home.  The suspense starts early in the story and it’s a good read to the dramatic conclusion.  It’s very entertaining.  I want to see more of Gracie Evans and her companions!

Wow! You know how to write a mystery.  But how do you top this one?

This book and the rest of the series is a must.  I highly recommend this series to anyone who has ever known or had a nosy elderly neighbor that seemed to ALWAYS know what is going on.

Agatha Christie at a nursing home meets Little House On The Prairie.

This review is from Luv2read in the Kindle section for Neighbor Watchers.

I loved this book!  The characters were so well written, it was easy to see it played out in my head as I read. Gracie was my great grandmother and Sam Elliot was the sheriff. Ha! Gracie & Melinda get into quite a few predicaments trying to “Help” solve the murder across the street.  It kept me turning the page (clicking my kindle button) to find out what mischief these two adorable old ladies would get into next. This is a funny laugh out loud easy read. The books are really unique as the time period is the turn of the century.

Specious Nephew

Fay has created another mystery that is hard to put down. She has a talent for telling the story with words that make you feel the sights, sounds and events of that period. I love the characters from Moser Mansion Rest Home.

The County Seat Killer

Once I was introduced to the characters I could hardly put the book down. The women of Moser Mansion rest home are such endearing characters and the story is a good crime mystery read.  I truly enjoyed it.

The Chance Of A Sparrow

Gracie is quite a character – the Miss Marple – of her geological locale.

Another great book. I enjoyed it.  Gracie is so personable and you take me right there with her.

Fay has told another entertaining story in her Amazing Gracie Mystery Series.  The trip back to the farm at Three Oaks provides another mystery and it’s a good read right up to the end of the story.

New Children Book-Spooks In Claiborne Mansion

Just in time for Halloween, a book for 6-8 year old about an old house that might be haunted.

Back of book

Steph and Madison decide to go in an old mansion one dark night before Halloween. Madison heard her parents say there had been reports of lights at night in the Claiborne mansion. She’s afraid the place is haunted. No one had lived there for years so the house is in bad shape. That doesn’t keep Steph from being curious. She talks her sister into taking a peek inside. They realize they shouldn’t be in that old house when they get scared out of the their wits more than once by the spooks in Claiborne mansion.

There is a message in this book. Children should stay away from vacant houses so they don’t get hurt.

Book is at Amazon, Kindle store, B&N

New Amish fiction Book Release -Doubting Thomas

Doubting Thomas-Nurse Hal Among The Amish- Book 7

Latest book in Amazon, kindle store, B&N, Nook press and smashwords.com.

Back of book

Emma Lapp is marrying Adam Keim. Excitement prevails as Emma and her step-mother, Hallie, discuss details for the wedding. Soon Emma’s excitement turns to dread. Nothing is going right. She planned on the former teacher to substitute teach for a month. She didn’t plan on Ellen Miller being eight months pregnant with twins. Who else could Emma trust to teach her students? The Weber sisters are in a family upheaval over their cooking and garden methods. She wants them to bake her wedding cake. What if they get so upset with each other the cake doesn’t get made? Emma would like to discuss her worries with Adam, but he hasn’t been to see her for days. She is consumed by worries about the missing husband-to-be. What if he wants to back out of marrying her? She asks everyone what is Adam doing? The answer is always, he is very busy. When Emma found out Adam hired pretty, man magnet, Priscilla Tefertiller to clerk in his furniture store, she suspects Adam has developed a fondness for Priscilla. Is he going to wait until the last minute to tell Emma he changed his mind about marrying her? A talk with Bishop Bontrager didn’t help. He sided with Adam, telling Emma she should trust the man she’s going to marry with blind faith. She said she couldn’t do that. The bishop told Emma if she couldn’t trust Adam now, she might never trust him. Perhaps, they shouldn’t get married. The bishop called Emma a Doubting Thomas. Will her worries get so bad she’ll call off the wedding before the wedding is published at the worship service? If she does, she fears she will forever be a maidel who is know by others as a Doubting Thomas.

First Chapter of Doubting Thomas-coming out soon

I am about to release book 7 in my Nurse Hal Among The Amish series. Here is the first chapter to get everyone started and ready for the book to be on the market.

Doubting Thomas

Chapter 1

That Sunday morning’s worship service was at Elmo Zook’s house. Bishop Elton Bontrager read resolution seven of The Dordrecht Confession of Faith to Emma Lapp and twelve others joining the church. “Concerning holy baptism, we confess that penitent believers, who, through faith, regeneration, and the renewing of the Holy Ghost, are made one with God, and are written in heaven, must, upon such Scriptural confession of faith, and renewing of life, be baptized with water. In the most worthy name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, according to the command of Christ, and the teaching, example, and practice of the apostles, to the burying of their sins. Thus be incorporated into the communion of the saints; henceforth to learn to observe all things which the Son of God has taught, left, and commanded His disciples.”

Emma sighed, thinking about how happy she felt now. She’d finally committed herself to be a member of the Amish faith for the rest of her life. This June day was a momentous one for her. She’d made it through her conversion ceremony. Now another big life changing moment was coming, her wedding. Adam Keim and she could make plans now that she was truly Amish forever.

The day’s heated breeze hadn’t cooled off much after dark. Emma leaned against the buggy seat and pushed a few sweaty light brown curls back under her prayer cap. Before her glowed the buggy headlights, Behind her, red lights reflected on the road from the tail lights. She fanned her face with her hand as she tried to relax. Sophie’s soft hoof beats and the crunch of rock under the wheels filled the moonlit silence.

She was dying to discuss their wedding with Adam, but she hadn’t worked up the nerve yet. This change in her life would be as serious as joining the church. She’d move from her family home with a familiar routine. Until she got used to her new life living with Adam was the unknown. She’d dreamed of making a home with this man for several years, but now that the time was closing in on her, she was uneasy.

Her gray-green eyes warmed as she studied her husband-to-be. He was only an inch or two taller than her, strong as an ox, with a round, pleasant face, a stocky body and work worn hands. An industrious man, Adam had his own carpentry business complete with a shop. He made a good enough income to support a family.

She considered it a blessing that her father, John Lapp, and Adam were very much alike. Nothing ruffled either man for long since they were filled with a God given calmness she’d never have.

Emma admired Adam’s steely resolve when he quietly took what life threw at him and found his way through the problems. Perhaps, that purpose filled demeanor came from the fact he was born with what was considered a big set back for most people. Adam couldn’t talk.

Emma hadn’t seen his speechlessness as a problem between them while she was growing up around him. He communicated volumes with a look or hand gesture. If that didn’t work, he always had a writing pad and pen in his shirt pocket.

She smiled and put her hand on Adam’s arm. “Did you hear how off key Freda Manwiller was tonight at the singing?”

Emma was glad for the full moon. The glow helped her see Adam’s responses. He shook his head no.

Emma giggled. “Take it from me. Freda could not carry a tune in an empty milk pail. Gute thing the rest of us sang loud enough to cover her voice.”

Adam focused on her with narrowed eyes.

Emma sobered up quickly. “What is it?” They had been together so long she usually read what was on his mind. “Ach, you are thinking I am making fun of Freda.”

Adam gave a slight nod.

Emma turned serious. “I am sorry. I did not mean to be hurtful. If you do not want me to, I will not bring Freda’s singing up again.”

Adam’s brown eyes held a flicker of amusement before he nodded yes.

Emma took a deep breath and folded her hands together. She might as well take the plunge. No better time than this while they were alone to get the subject she really needed to discuss out in the open. “Gute! We do have more important things to discuss than the singing. Since I am a member of the church now, we can plan our wedding if you are ready.”

Adam gave her an loving glance and an emphatic yes shake of his head.

What a relief this was. Adam made talking about the wedding easier for Emma. She laughed as she slapped him playfully on the shoulder. “Gute! I am glad I finally picked a conversation you liked.”

Adam pulled back on the lines to slow Sophie and turned off on Bender Creek Road. He stopped around the bend in the dirt road and flipped off the headlights. With his attention on Emma, he waited.

“Well, I have given this much thought already. The first thing is tell our families we are ready to marry. My parents need to be told so they can start planning the wedding for September.”

Adam stared straight ahead, bunching and unbunching the lines in his hands.

“Why are you suddenly so nervous already? Will that be too soon to marry? It is only a little over three months away. Is setting the wedding in September too soon for you?”

This time Adam didn’t look at her when he nodded no.

“All recht. Is it that you are scared of the details that have to be worked out?”

Adam smiled at her weakly as he held out his hand with an exaggerated tremor.

“And do you think I am not nervous? This is a big step we are taking, but we have been ready for a long time. Talking to our families will be easy. They are eager for us to announce our marriage,” Emma said.

Adam nodded in agreement.

“Gute! We can talk to my parents tonight when we get to my house,” Emma suggested.

Adam’s face scrunched up like a dried prune.

“There you go again, looking like you are in pain. Relax. This will be the easiest part of the next few months,” Emma warned.

Adam wavered his hand as a question.

“You know it will be.”

Adam pulled the pad and pen out of his shirt pocket. He held them close to him so he could see in the dark as he wrote, “We do not have to say anything tonight. I will get Deacon Yutzy to be my Schteckliman. He can go talk to your parents.”

“Nah, alls you are doing is getting out of facing my daed and Hallie. We are not a shy young couple. You do not need a go-between for this like most couples use.

Maybe we could marry on September fifteenth. That is my twentieth birthday. Hallie and I should have the details done by then. But we should wait until you and I talk to Daed and Hallie. If that date does not work for them, any day close to it will be all recht. Ain’t so?”

Adam nodded, giving her a wide smile.

Emma scooted close and wrapped her arm around his. “I know. The sooner the better as long as you do not have to do the planning. That way you might just barely manage to make it through the next few months and through the wedding ceremony.”

He nodded emphatically, hugged Emma and turned on the buggy lights. Emma laid her head on his shoulder. Sophie poked along the back road beside Bender Creek to the intersection with the main road.

As Adam turned Sophie into the Lapp driveway, Emma teased, “Gute thing you decided the sooner we get the talk to my parents over with the better for our nerves. We will be standing before my parents in two minutes.”

Adam’s shoulders sagged as he turned a dispirited, puppy face on Emma. After he climbed out of the buggy, he stared toward the house and gave a deep, silent sigh. Giggling as nervously as a school girl, Emma grabbed Adam’s hand and pulled him toward the house. “You will live through this moment. I promise.”

The Lapp farm was dark and sleepy. Milk cows were silhouetted mounds bedded down in the pen by the milk room. The horses, black blobs, slept on their feet. The only bright spot was the living room window’s warm, welcoming glow.

Emma opened the screen door, stepped in and glanced around the quiet room. Daed sat in his rocker, reading his bible. It occurred to Emma that her father’s dark hair had a few streaks of gray in it these days. Hallie’s head was bent over her sewing. Her red hair showed through the black prayer cap she wore, making for a bright combination. Hallie was putting a patch on a trouser knee for sixteen years old Daniel. That was a never ending job. No sight of her brothers, but they couldn’t be too far behind. Her little sisters, Redbird and Beth, must be in bed. This was a good time to talk to her parents while they were by themselves.

“You’re back already. My, the night has passed fast. Where are Noah and Daniel?” Hal laid the trousers in the wicker basket on top the other clothes to be mended.

“Close behind us, ain’t so?” Emma glanced over her shoulder at Adam.

He nodded an agreement.

“You have a gute evening?” Hal stuck her needle in the black thread spool and nestled the spool beside the scissors in the basket.

“We did,” Emma said, clasping her hands in front of her.

Hal patted the couch beside her. “For goodness sakes, don’t just stand there. Come over here and sit by me. I want to hear how the singing went tonight. Many kids there?”

They sat down, but Emma didn’t answer. She was too busy biting her lower lip as she looked at Adam.

Hal leaned forward and smiled at Adam. He gave her a trembling, return smile. Something definitely was amiss. Hal could sense it. She studied Emma’s usually tan face. Her complexion paled enough that the freckles popped out around her nose. Adam held his midsection tightly like he had a queasy stomach.

Hal gave John a concerned look. He frowned as he nodded in agreement. He felt it, too. Hal twisted toward the quiet couple. “You are worrying me. Something must be wrong. Was ist letz?”

Emma licked her lips and turned to Adam for support. “Nothing is wrong. We had a talk on the way home, Adam and me.”

Adam put his finger to her lips to stop her. He took the notepad and pen out of his pocket. They waited while he wrote on it. Adam turned the pad to Emma and raised an eyebrow for approval. Then he pointed at John. Emma smiled sheepishly as she nodded agreement.

Adam got up from the couch, tore off the paper and handed it to John. After reading the note, John gave Adam a wide grin. “Jah, Adam.”

Now that the moment was over, a huge weight lifted off his sagging shoulders. Adam stood taller and straighter.

“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” Hal barked, looking from the men to Emma and back.

“Daed, read Hallie Adam’s note,” Emma instructed.

“John Lapp, I, Adam Keim, want to ask you for permission to marry your daughter, Emma Lapp.” He smiled at Emma. “You have Hal and my permission to marry. We very much want this man as our son-in-law.” John held out his hand to shake hands with Adam.

Hal brought her hands up to the sides of her face. “Oh my! Emma, it seemed to me this day was slow in coming. And again, I figured it would be soon after you joined the church. Not the very day though. That I didn’t see coming.” Hal laughed as she hugged Emma. She went to Adam and give him a sturdy hug. When she stepped back, she looked at him earnestly. “You’re like a member of this family already. It will be great to finally make you officially part of the Lapp family, sealed with a wedding.”

Adam gave a silent laugh and wrote, “You do understand I am not becoming a Lapp. Emma is becoming a Keim.”

Hal laughed as she read the note to John. With a teasing warning in her voice, she said, “Silly, I know that, but you once said we hadn’t adopted you. Seems to me, marrying into this family is just as gute. Take my word for it, we will have plans for you, Adam Keim.”

Adam gave Emma a nonplussed glance.

“Ach, Adam, Hallie is teasing, ain’t so, Hallie?” Emma asked tentatively.

Hal clasped her hands together and winked at Adam. “Well, maybe to start with. Adam is safe for now, because we’ll be busy with far too many plans for this wedding. Have you picked a date yet?”

Emma said, “September fifteenth is my twentieth birthday. I wondered if we could get married on that day, but if that is not possible, we can pick another date that works for you.”

“John, what do you think?” Hal asked.

“What Emma and Adam wants is all recht with me,” John said agreeably.

“Gute, then the date is agreed on if it works for the bishop. You should talk to him soon so another couple doesn’t get that date.” Hal went silent and stared off into space.

Emma imagined wheels turning in her stepmother’s mind, like those in the alarm clock. “Hallie, what are you thinking?”

“I’m counting up the days in my head. This is the first of June. Lots of details to work out by mid September. Oh dear, I hope I’m up to this task.”

“I will help you, Hallie. We will do this together,” Emma encouraged.

“We need to make a list so we can mark the details off as we finish them,” Hal said, starting for the kitchen. “I’ll get a pad and pen.”

Emma grabbed her arm. “We will do that but not until tomorrow. It is too late tonight to think about wedding details. We need to be rested so we have clear heads.”

Hal’s parents, Jim and Nora Lindstrom, received a letter a few days later about Emma and Adam’s fall wedding. They were eager to drive from Titonka to the Lapp farm as soon as possible.

Nora asked her sister, Tootie, if she wanted to go with them again. Tootie hesitated while she gave traveling south into Amish country some thought. She had sad memories from the last time she visited the Lapps.

For some reason, these days she didn’t always have a lot of energy. She knew the stay at the Lapp farm would be a long one. All summer from the sounds of things, and that would be tiring. Then again, she liked Emma and Adam an awful lot. She felt as if she should be at their wedding, and she’d like to be there. So in the end, Tootie talked herself into going with Jim and Nora.

As soon as they finished packing, Jim headed Nora and Tootie to the car, and they were on the road. They stopped for lunch at a roadside diner. Jim stopped twice to gas the car at Casey Stores where they could use the restroom and get a bottle of pop. By late afternoon, they were near Wickenburg.

“Tootie, you’ve been quiet for miles. Are you asleep back there?” Nora Lindstrom twisted in the seat to look over her shoulder at her sister.

Tootie’s curly, short hair had less gray in it than her straight, feathered cut. Nora suspected Tootie colored her hair, but Tootie wouldn’t tell. Most people commented they looked a lot alike, but Nora couldn’t see it. Tootie was shorter than her by a head.

“I’m not asleep. Just don’t have a reason to talk. Haven’t seen anything interesting out my window to mention that I didn’t see when we made the trip the last time,” groused Tootie. “How much longer until we get to the Lapp Farm?”

“Maybe an hour,” Jim Lindstrom said, pressing his aching, broad shoulders against the seat and massaging the back of his neck just below his white hair with his left hand.

“Tootie, you better relax while you can. Hallie’s letter says she’s going to need a lot of help, preparing for Emma’s wedding. She intends to put us to work as soon as we get there,” Nora forewarned.

“You said you’d read her letter to me. You never did,” Tootie said in a pouting tone.

“Sorry, I forgot. I brought the letter with me.” Nora rifled through her purse. “Ah, here it is.” She unfolded the letter and underscored each line with a fingertip as she read out loud.

Dear Mom and Dad,

Greeting to you on this lovely summer day.

We want to share our wonderful news from the Lapp farm. Emma and Adam are getting married. You know how delighted we are. Finally, this young man is going to be part of our family. Of course, he has seemed like family for a long time already. That’s the good news.

Not so good news is, Emma and I have so much to do to prepare for the wedding we don’t know where to start. I can’t remember when I’ve been so nervous about the success of any one event. I’m afraid we’re going to need lots of help if you two are willing to come lend a hand. We will be expecting two hundred plus guests.

If the wedding preparations weren’t enough to keep me busy, taking care of Redbird and Beth is a challenge. They’re quite a pair of mischievous, energetic three year olds but better than when they were in their terrible twos.

What a difference six months makes. One afternoon, Emma set the egg basket too close to the edge of the table and went back outside to water the chickens. She was gone longer than she meant to be. She had to break up a squabble between Tom Turkey and the dog. They were both after the same cold biscuit.

While we weren’t looking, the girls pulled the basket off the table onto the floor. What eggs didn’t break, I’m sure the girls helped crack by playing ball with them.

It took Emma and me both to clean up the mess and the girls. By the time I bathed the girls, Emma had the kitchen floor spotless again. You know how particular Emma is about her clean floors. It took her a little while to get her sense of humor back about the mess and the loss of all those good eggs. We’re very glad to see Redbird and Beth are passed that stage.

John plans to butcher the fattened hog just before the wedding day. Pulled pork sandwiches are on the menu for the wedding lunch. That’s a big project and mean hours of cooking pork. Emma will pick women in the community to help cook the other food, including fried chicken. I understand that’s the way it works. We will be glad for all their help.

Now that I’ve shared our news, I must get busy. We want you to be here for the wedding and please pass our invitation on to Aunt Tootie. We want her to share this special day with us, the Lord willing and if she is up to it.

Keep Emma and me in your prayers that all goes well as we plan this wonderful event. Emma and I agree there isn’t a need for us or you to worry about praying for John and Adam. As with most men, Emma says the men are mistakenly going on the premise what will be will be. That means they assume Emma and I will handle everything important so that lets them off the hook. Ha!

With All Our Love and Christ’s Blessing On Both Of You,

Hallie and the Lapp family

Nora grinned at Jim. “Isn’t that a funny story about Redbird and Beth getting into the eggs?”

Jim chuckled. “Sounds like the little girls are starting out just like Hallie did at that age. Remember what a handful she was?”

“Indeed I do, and I’ll remind her when I get a chance. Help me think of some of the mischievous things she did. I’m sure I won’t remember them all,” Nora said.

Tootie huffed. “Are we going to hear a bunch more of these cute baby stories while we’re at the farm?”

“Ah, Tootie! Don’t you like cute baby stories?” Nora asked.

“Well, maybe one now and then is okay, but too many of them aren’t cute anymore. After awhile, they’re just plain tiresome,” Tootie complained.

“You shouldn’t be that way. Those girls are your great nieces,” scolded Nora.

“All I’m saying is cute baby stories should be short and told very infrequently as far as I’m concerned,” Tootie declared.

“Don’t worry about it. Hal will be too busy to tell many stories. She’s going to be planning the wedding,” Jim said.

“That’s very true. That’s why I want to get to the farm as quickly as we can so we can help,” Nora said.

“If John figures on butchering a hog for the meal, he and the boys will need help. I haven’t helped butcher since I was a young man. I sure want to get in on that,” Jim said eagerly.

Old Thrashers Reunion-Mt. Pleasant, Iowa

Waiting for the trolley to stop at the Pioneer Village to take us around to the main grounds. We rode in this trolley to come to the village and got it for the return trip out of three that circle the grounds. Two of the trolleys were open air. This one wasn’t. The driver, with a Boston accent, said maybe we would rather wait for the next trolley. It would be cooler. I agreed and backed up, but everyone else with tickets was getting on so we did, too. The windows were open and the breeze was good so I didn’t think the ride was too heated. The trolley stopped at the campgrounds to pick up a woman. She was carrying an old tweed suitcase and a canvas bag. The driver asked her if she was running away from home to join the circus. She said not really. He replied she was taking a bag full of money with her. Maybe a bank holdup. No not that either. She sat down right behind him. We were a seat back. I looked by her feet and remarked the bag was leaking around her shoes. She said, she was supposed to make a tomato puree from frozen tomatoes at the Pioneer Village. She thought she took the tomatoes out of the freezer too soon. The driver stopped and she struggled off with her suitcase and dripping bad. “Sorry for the mess on the floor,” she told the driver. He looked unhappy as he surveyed  the puddle. “What is in that bag?” She looked embarrassed as she said, “Thawing catfish.” To me she said, “That sounds better to me than dripping tomatoes.” I wasn’t so sure. Not much smells worse than a stale fish smoldering on a hot day in a canvas bag. I probably didn’t help the driver’s concern. I said, “At least, she didn’t have a dead body cut up in the bag.” Wouldn’t you know, we got the same trolley on the return trip. When we got off, I made a point of telling him we enjoyed the ride.

We have been so often to this Old Thrashers Reunion you would think we had seen it all, but the exhibits increase and the fun of visiting with people that we meet makes for an enjoyable day. Plus, I can always use information I gleam and pictures I take in a book sometime.

I can remember the winter months when a quilting frame was in my family’s living room in the Ozarks. We walked around it all day. In the evenings, we helped Mom quilt.

Straw mattress on a rope bed and a thunder bucket underneath. I slept on a feather bed but I have heard the stories about my mother’s family used a straw mattress. In the fall after the steam engine thrashed the wheat, Grandma tore open all the mattress covers and filled the mattresses with fresh straw for the winter.

Spinning – I have a spinning just like this one, but I haven’t used it for a few years. I always thought it was fun to make yarn and did some demonstrations at Amanas Woolen Mills and Ushers Ferry’s log cabin.

A medicine man and a palm reader.

Cooking and candle making over an open fire in front of the cabin.Entertainment in one of the museums – The Punches family playing and singing Bluegrass. Gave us a chance to sit down.

One of the unusual exhibits nicknamed Bodybox. Plenty of cars and pickups to see and horses and mules, too.

A wood cookstove like my mother used for years. Somehow food always tasted better cooked slow on these stoves, but Mom found a gas stove faster and cooler to work around.

woman and her children dressed for the period, coming out of the barn. Suppose she was checking for eggs or milking a cow.

Those were the days when the relatives all pitched in and helped butcher hogs just before the snows came. Hams and other slabs of meat hung in the smokehouse ready for winter meals.

The party line phone with a different pattern of long and short rings for each household. Some people didn’t abide by the rule not to listen in on other conversations.

Steam engine ready to thrash oat bundles near Cedar Falls. I took pictures there at a Power Show, but the steam engines and tractors and small engine exhibits cover a lot of ground at Mt. Pleasant. Well worth the trip if going back in time interests you. People come from all states to see what farming used to be like. Women’s part in agriculture is covered as well with pictures and examples of how hard their days were doing back breaking work to take care of large families and help their husbands farm. This was just the tip of the all that we saw. Check the reunion out some time. It happens every Labor Day weekend.

First Chapter Neighbor Watchers-Amazing Gracie Mystery Series

I’m going to a book discussion and signing at State Center, Iowa in Gutekunst Public Library on October 27 at seven p.m. It’s open to the public. I’m excited to be able to talk about some of my books. With chapter one of Neighbor Watchers I want to introduce everyone to Gracie Evans and Melinda Applegate in Locked Rock, Iowa.

Neighbor Watchers

Chapter 1

As if from a long ways off, Gracie Evans heard the hushed squeaks made by her rocker answered by the rocker beside her. The hollow sound she made when she tapped her high top, black shoes against the porch floor, Melinda Applegate’s shoes echoed. In spite of herself, the rocking motion lulled Gracie. Her eyelids grew heavy. Her head jerked, nodded and jerked again. She relaxed back against the rocker, and closed her eyes.

Later that afternoon, Gracie stirred when sweat tickled her scalp beneath the two dark gray braids crowning her head. Feeling droplets seep from her hairline and trickle down her cheeks, she roused. She slipped her hand into her skirt pocket and pulled out a large, red handkerchief to swipe her face.

Squaring her hunched shoulders, she straightened in her rocker and gave a slight shake of her head to clear it. The layers of calico and cotton petticoat she wore acted as a funnel to trap the uncomfortable heat radiating up from the floor. At that moment, she imagined she felt like the glass shade on a kerosene lamp that had just been lit, warming up and in a very short time too hot to touch.

Gracie grabbed a handful of her brown skirt. She discreetly raised it just enough that her shoes showed and vigorously shook the material several times to let some of the hot air escape. The only other relief came when she stirred the breeze in front of her face by waving a paper fan in short, fast strokes.

Silently, Gracie chided herself for dozing off, then excused her napping with the fact things were bound to be this way. Boredom is what she got in return for retiring from her farm. She straightened up and tried to read the black print on the large sign posted near the picket fence gate. She couldn’t make it out. Leaning forward, she squinted and failed again. At first, Gracie feared her eyesight had gone bad. With a measure of relief, she realized heat waves shimmering over the shaggy, brown grass blurred the words.

She mumbled to herself, “No need to read the sign. I know it says Molly Moser’s Rest Home For Women. I ain’t too senile yet to remember where I live or that this town is Locked Rock, Iowa.” She sighed and leaned back again.

Every day, she tried to resign herself to the fact that Moser mansion would be where she’d live for the rest of her life. However, she saw no harm in wishing for some excitement to spice up the long days.

Across the street, a door banged. Earl Bullock paused long enough in the shade of his house to straightened his straw hat, before he ambled toward Main Street. Gracie wondered if he or his wife, Sara, ever suspected what transpired next door to them at night. Out loud, she said, “Where do you suppose old Earl’s headed on such a hot afternoon? It’s not like him to leave home this time of day since this hot spell started.”

Melinda failed to answer. Gracie looked away from their neighbor long enough to glance beside her. Melinda stirred slightly. The petite woman raised her sagging head and mumbled, “He’s probably shopping for Sara. With as hot as it is, I’d send my husband to fetch for me if I had one.” Gracie paused to think about that statement while she studied a string of black ants that paraded by her feet.

As if the heat had got to them, the tiny insects struggled to crawl over the peeling, blue paint at the edge of the porch. Melinda’s idea seemed as good as any other for a person to be outdoors in the middle of the day, taking the full brunt of the unrelenting, August sun. That is, until she looked up to see Earl disappear through the saloon’s batwing doors.

“It don’t appear Earl’s after anything for Sara unless she wants a beer. The last I knew, she’s a teetotaler. Not many folks in town this afternoon, Just lookee there where most of the buggies and wagons are parked. Over at the saloon hitch rack,” Gracie criticized in her brassy voice.

Melinda rubbed her eyes with her finger tips then leaned forward to peer around Gracie. “Humph,” she replied, shaking her head with enough energy to cause her mass of gray curls to bounce like tiny springs. “I wonder at the way some people spend their time. I pray they’re as faithful about going to church as they are their patronage at that place.”

On days the weather permitted, Gracie and Melinda watched from the Victorian mansion’s large porch. Neighbor watching gave Gracie something to do besides sit and twiddle her thumbs. She considered it a harmless past time to while away the endless hours. Besides, it was downright obliging the way the neighbors divided up the day for her without knowing it.

Gracie’s conscience plagued her a little for being nosy, but she’d excuse her actions. What she saw after dark she kept to herself. After all, she had her limits about what she’d repeat. What went on across the street at Rachel Simpson’s house she didn’t intend to share with anyone not even Melinda.

As soon as their minds cleared from their nap, Gracie decided it was time to move to the north end of the porch in line with the Jordan house. Leaning forward, she plucked a heart shaped leaf that drooped down in the round opening. “Morning glories sure grow fast. I had our holes cleared awhile back.” Gracie tilted her head toward one shoulder then leaned the other direction, inspecting the hole. “Can’t see a thing with all them leaves in the way,” she growled. Tossing the leaf over the edge of the porch in behind the petunias, she snapped off another one. “Pect I’ll have to clear the holes in the other vines before you know it.” She peeked through the hole to make sure her view was unobstructed. When she was satisfied with her efforts, she settled back in her rocker.

A back door across the street banged. Dan Jordan came into sight, carrying a scrap pan and water pail. Dan’s large, watch dog, a black with white patches, slick haired mixed breed, lifted his head and uncurled in his hollowed out spot under the oak tree. He stood and stretched, watching Dan place the containers on the ground. When his master spoke, the dog’s tail wagged in rhythm with his swaying back end. He pattered to the man, dragging the clattering chain attached to the log, tool shed. Dan bent over and scratched the dog behind the ears, before he went back into the house.

An hour passed. Gracie jerked out of her stupor at the sound of a slammed door. Quickly, she leaned forward to peek through her hole. Dan, a Jewel Tea Salesman, tromped down the porch steps with his wife, Mavis, right behind him. “Lookee there!” Tapping the floor with her foot to start her rocker, Gracie reached over and patted Melinda on the arm to wake her. “Mr. Jordan’s suited up for work with Magpie marching right behind him. She looks as mad as an old wet hen again.” Gracie stopped rocking and straightened her bent shoulders. Pointing a crooked finger, her head bobbed up and down in anticipation of a good show. “Magpie sure favors that red dress. She wouldn’t look quite so stocky if she’d wear other colors. What do you think?”

“I think you shouldn’t call her that name. One of these days you’ll slip and call her that to her face. Mark my words, from what we’ve seen of that woman’s temper lately, you’d be sorry you did,” reproached Melinda.

Grabbing her white blouse tacked to her ribs, she shook it. “I’m glad I left my corset off. It’s way too hot for that today. Maybe we should go sit in the parlor.”

“Hold your horses! Let’s see what the Jordans do first,” barked Gracie.

Dan, a tall, handsome man with broad shoulders, halted abruptly at the end of the yard. He whirled around and peered down at his shrieking wife. “For Pete sakes, keep your voice down. The whole neighborhood will hear you.”

Mavis glanced around at the nearby houses and across at the mansion. Her face contorted. She defiantly squared herself in front of her husband with her hands on her hips and glared up at him. “Oh fiddlesticks! Those two old prunes on the Moser porch probably couldn’t hear a stick of dynamite go off if it was under one of their rockers so don’t put me off with that excuse. I want some answers, and I want them now,” demanded Mavis, jabbing a finger in his chest.

Gracie’s smile dried up, but she listened without comment. She knew Melinda was right about Mavis’s temper. It wouldn’t do to laugh at her peculiar habit of wearing the same red dress most of the time or at her thick, black hair pulled back in a large chignon, making her head look too big for her body. Not within range of her hearing anyway.

“I told you I have a sales meeting. That’s why I’m going to be late. I’m looking to get a good commission from this kitchenware sale if I swing it. We can talk about anything you want when I get home. Now go in out of this heat, Sugar Pie. See you tonight,” cooed Dan as he walked away.

Waving her hands in the air, Mavis muttered to herself as she spun around and headed back to the house.

Gracie cocked her head, straining to catch a word or two, but from that distance, she couldn’t make out what the

angry woman mumbled.

Sauntering down the street with his hands in his pants pockets, Dan whistled, In The Good Old Summertime.

“Did you hear what Magpie said about us?” Gracie asked indignantly.

“I heard, and did you hear what they said? They can see us sitting over here,” worried Melinda, disturbed by that fact but a bit distracted as she watched Jordan calmly amble toward them.

Noting the look on her companion’s face, Gracie stated what she thought Melinda was thinking. “It don’t seem right how easy that man can act as though nothing is wrong right after he has a fight with his wife.”

As the salesman strolled in front of the mansion, he glanced over at the porch as though he had just seen the women. Waving, he called, “Good afternoon, ladies.”

Gracie managed a curt nod before she looked away. She had no intention of acting as though his presence on the street was any concern of hers. In an attempt to be courteous, Melinda raised her hand in a half hearted wave.

After Dan was out of hearing range, Gracie fumed, “I could tell that woman a thing or two about what we old prunes can hear and see. I ain’t that old. Could tell her a thing or two about her dudie husband, too.”

“Like what? He’s a good salesman. I bought an Autumn Leaf clock from him once.” Melinda gave her a curious look.

Gracie smoothed a wrinkle in her skirt and muttered quickly, “Ah, I’m just letting off steam.”

Inwardly, she chided herself for letting her tongue get ahead of her thinking. She thought she knew the reason behind the Jordan fights, but she had to be careful not to reveal more than she was willing to tell.

“It wouldn’t be too smart to tell Mavis anything if you want to keep listening in on their fights. Would it?” Melinda waited, studying Gracie who took some time to think about her answer. “No, reckon it wouldn’t be smart atall.”

If the Jordans realized how well Melinda and she heard their fights, the couple might be more discreet. If that was to happen, Gracie didn’t see any reason to sit on the porch in the afternoon heat.

“We should feel sorry for Mavis what with all the problems she has with her man. If she wasn’t so disagreeable all the time, she’d probably be a nice person,” lectured Melinda, always looking for the best in everyone.

Gracie studied the Jordan place thoughtfully for a moment. She shook her head. “I doubt it. She reminds me too much of Bessie Brown. She always stayed disagreeable just like Magpie. On her good days, I could walk right by her, and she’d stare mean like at me. Other times just looking at me was enough to make her want a fight.”

Melinda looked puzzled. “What did you do that upset this Bessie all the time?”

“Nothing. That old gal was born plain mean just like Mavis Jordan.”

“Gracie, I doubt that anyone is born mean,” disagreed Melinda. “How did you ever manage to make peace with Bessie?”

“I shot her,” said Gracie, calmly.

“Oh, Gracie!” Melinda cried. Her face paled as her blue eyes widened. She slowly shook her head and managed to utter, “You didn’t do that, did you?” She leaned close and peered at Gracie intently. “You’re pulling my leg. Aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not. It was either me or that cow. The older I got, the harder it was to get out of her way when she charged at me.”

“Oh my goodness! Bessie was a cow.” Melinda took a deep breath and flopped back in her rocker, patting her chest. Giving Gracie’s admission some thought, she reconsidered. “But still in all, it seems to me that’s a drastic thing to do to your own cow.”

“At the time, I felt like that’s all I could do,” answered Gracie, with a shrug of her shoulders. She studied a crack in the floor and traced it with the toe of her shoe to keep from looking at Melinda.

“What do you say we go in for awhile out of this heat? Please,” begged Melinda. “Let’s see if Aunt Pearlbee made some fresh lemonade.”

Gracie scowled. Wanting to change the subject so she wouldn’t have to move, she opened her mouth to complain about the heat and decided that wouldn’t do any good. Melinda would find her complaining another excuse to go inside. On the other hand, Gracie didn’t feel guilty about voicing her opinion. Being dissatisfied with the weather was human nature and not just one of her old age gripes.

In the winter, everyone in Locked Rock complained about the knee deep snows and cold temperatures, and they grumbled about the heat and dry spells in the summer.

When she farmed she spent most of each day outside, and she didn’t want that to change. Besides she came to the conclusion a long time ago if she had her pick of either miserable season, she’d choose summer. Her old bones could stand heat a sight better than cold, and after all, this was August. Mother Nature would cool the temperature down soon enough. In no time at all, she’d have no choice but to be stuck indoors.

Gracie glanced from downtown to across the street, reminding herself she wouldn’t miss much now. Nothing interesting happened until darkness set in. She might as well give in to Melinda’s pleading, besides she was thirsty.

“I reckon a glass of lemonade would hit the spot.” Gripping the rocker arms, she strained to lift herself to her feet. She felt a twinge of envy, watching Melinda. That spray, little woman could get out of her rocker twice as fast and was already opening the screen door.

Book Signing for Book Club at State Center, Iowa

October 27, 2014, Monday evening at 7 p.m Iowa Author Fay Risner will be at the group’s book discussion at Gutekunst Public Library, State Center, Iowa. The public is invited. The discussion will be about Risner’s historical mystery series, Amazing Gracie Mysteries. All seven books in the series will be on display and for sale signed by author Fay Risner. Discussion is about the first book Neighbor Watchers, a 1903 story set in a small town, Locked Rock, Iowa.

Amazon Review- Agatha Christie at a Nursing Home (Retirement Home) meets Little House on the Prairie – I loved this book. The characters were so well written, it was easy to see the book play out in my head. Gracie Evans is my great grandmother and Sam Elliot was the sheriff. Gracie and Melinda get into quite a few predicaments trying to “HELP” solve the murder across the street. It kept me turning the page to find out what mischief these two adorable old ladies would get into next.