Finding Madeleine McCann

From personal experience I can tell you that there is nothing more nightmarish than having a child go missing. I’ve been watching the frantic efforts to find little Madeleine McCann from the UK. She was apparently kidnapped from her hotel bed 10 days ago while on vacation in Portugal with her family. The case of this “missing” little girl has dredged up my own memories of what turned out to be a weekend from hell.

It was a Friday night about 10 years ago. My wife’s ex-husband called looking for their 10-year old daughter. He had waited outside the roller rink where he had dropped her off three hours earlier and she never came out. They called the police and the search began. They went through the rink’s video surveillance tapes and spotted her leaving, but that was the extent of what they found out.

Midnight came and went and still there was no word. We did not sleep. Every cop in town was alerted and while they searched we drove everywhere looking for some sign of her. We couldn’t eat; we couldn’t even sit and watch TV. The only thing on our collective mind was “Where is she?”

Saturday passed ever so slowly into Saturday night. Dread made our bodies weak while terror paralyzed us. Our imagination and emotions became our enemy. In spite of ourselves, we imagined the most horrible scenarios, and try as we might to shoo them away, visions came to us that turned our insides to jelly. The police called and said that maybe there had been a sighting of her in a convenience store with a young black man. The video showed a girl that resembled her, but we could not be sure. The nightmare continued.

We lay down to continue our vigil with the TV on, but we didn’t know what we were watching, it might as well have been off. In spite of ourselves we passed out into troubled sleep. I continually awoke to my wife’s moans and sobbing. I tried to comfort her, but at least she was sleeping, so I decided to let her sleep while she cried. There was nothing I could do except to pray and try to will her back to us.

Sunday morning found us more tired and even sicker with worry. Our hands shook from nervousness and lack of food. My wife tried to eat but could not keep it down. Her eyes were red and our faces pinched with anxiety. We waited for the phone to ring and when it did we rushed to answer it, frightened of what we might hear and yet hoping for good news. Our lives went on hold.

Sunday evening and the phone rang. It was my wife’s ex. She had called! She was okay! She was there with him! My wife screamed and collapsed in on herself. It was exactly like the popping of an overfilled balloon. She spoke to her daughter, half crying and half screaming. I sat and watched from across the room just feeling the most exquisite sense of relief. I let my body and mind give way to exhaustion while tears filled my eyes and wet my cheeks. I was just happy she was okay.

In the little girl’s half-baked ten-year old mind she saw no problem with simply going to her “new” friend’s house. Her father said that he had met the family and that they were “nice people,” a black family, and he was satisfied that nothing untoward had happened. It was none of my business, but if it had been my call I would have requested a full medical exam, especially by a rape specialist. And, I would have charged the “nice family” with kidnapping. I couldn’t believe they hadn’t asked their son’s new little friend if maybe her family was wondering where she was. I could have killed them.

Before hanging up the phone that night with the tired little chastened girl I got my chance to speak to her--I begged her never to do such a thing again. I could tell she was deeply impressed by the level of emotion she heard in our voices. To her, she was only gone for a few hours—no big deal.

I can't imagine how terrible it must feel for the McCann family after 10 days of the kind of agony we experienced over that interminable weekend. My heart goes out to them and I hope and pray that they get their baby back.

See also Still Looking For Madeleine McCann

A "Real" Hero vs. a "Reel" One

This year marks the 100^th anniversary of John Wayne’s birth. It was also 100 years ago that my Uncle Bud was born. Both men were contemporaries, but by age only; because based on what they did with their lives during the 2^nd World War, they had very little else in common.

I was thumbing through a VFW magazine the other day and came upon a full-page advertisement for a product featuring John Wayne; I think it was for a commemorative knife or a plaque or something. The gist of the ad was that Wayne is perhaps the most famous and beloved of all our American heroes. Thing is, I just don’t see him that way, although I very much used to.

I remember the exact day that John Wayne died of cancer on June 11, 1979. I remember it so well because my daughter was born that same night in the wee hours of June 12^th. I was in the marines at the time and I recall how one old master sergeant was actually in tears and stayed in mourning for days, his eyes reddened from weeping at the loss of his “hero.” Just goes to show that some folks really loved and venerated this man. I was always a big fan as well, and I still am, but only of his movies and for his love of country. But as far as him being a figure worthy of hero-worship—for me, no way.

That little mournful marine master sergeant, nicknamed “Mouse” for his diminutive size, would probably have tried to kick my butt had I offered such an opinion to him, but I stick to my guns.

When World War II started for the USA in December of ’41, “The Duke” and my Uncle Bud were 34 years old. John Wayne’s movie studio didn’t want him running off to war the way virtually every other actor on all the film lots were doing; so the story goes that strings were pulled, at least for a while, to keep their biggest star out of uniform by getting him an A-2 draft rating due to his family status. This was not a permanent rating and as the war progressed he could have been drafted.

Age was certainly not a factor; after all, actor Clark Gable was 40 years old when the war started and he served as a tail gunner in combat. Henry Fonda was two years older than Wayne and served in the Navy. James Stewart was a year younger and served in the Air Force as a bomber pilot, accruing 20 missions in the deadly skies over Europe. Dozens of other established film stars also heeded their country’s call, and many saw combat, such as Eddie Albert, already 35 and an established film star at the beginning of the war. At Tarawa with the Navy, Eddie won The Bronze Star as a landing boat skipper after rescuing 70 marines under heavy machine gun fire.

No, big John Wayne, our nation’s most renowned war hero—at least on film—kept putting off “going in.” There was always another movie that needed finishing, and evidently, before he knew it, the war was over.

My Uncle Bud didn’t have a wife and family or an “important film career” to keep him out of the service. Nope, he was just a single guy, a humble electrician. His claim to fame was that he wired hundreds of Michigan homes and farms in Sanilac County during the “electrification” projects of the 1930s and 40s.

Not long after the war started Bud was drafted. With his years of experience as a skilled electrician he probably could have gotten a technical job; but no, he volunteered for glider infantry, specifically as a glider pilot with the 327th Glider Infantry Regiment. He very nearly didn’t survive the hazardous training, but he earned his wings and headed to England in preparation for the invasion of Europe.

Ever watch the movie “Saving Private Ryan?” There is a part in it where Tom Hank’s squad passes through a field of crashed gliders and scores of dead and wounded glider infantrymen. That might have been Bud’s outfit. He survived the June 6^th D-Day glider landings into France and subsequent combat, as well as the September landings and fighting in Holland during the Market Garden campaign. As a sergeant, once he landed his glider, he became a normal infantry squad leader, guiding his men in combat.

Bud’s string ran out on Dec 20, 1944 in the Ardennes Forest in Belgium. On December 18^th he and his men had been hurriedly trucked into the crossroads town of Bastogne given the task of holding off thousands of Germans during a surprise attack called “The Battle of the Bulge.” Two days later he was killed in a defensive fighting position, also known as a “fox hole,” in the pine forests just outside of the town. A tiny piece of shrapnel pierced his spine, killing him instantly. At least that’s what the sergeant told my great grandmother when he came to Kingston escorting Bud’s body back home to Michigan. During the burial ceremony, that battle-hardened sergeant wept unashamedly saying his last goodbye with a final salute to his friend, my uncle.

Actually—“The Duke”—John Wayne, went through the rest of his life feeling enormous guilt that he had never found the time, or perhaps the courage, to serve. In fact, he sought the rest of his life to honor men like my uncle by representing them in the best possible light on the silver screen. Wayne did a marvelous job accomplishing that because he turned out to be the best military recruiter that never served.

Before I fully knew who my Uncle Bud was and what he had done in the war, I KNEW who John Wayne was, and I joined the Marines just like countless others seeking to be just like him. So, whenever I see “The Duke” on screen “acting” like a war hero, NOW I am reminded of my Uncle Bud, a “real” war hero versus the “reel” one that was John Wayne.

Somehow, I don't think Bud would have held it against him, so neither will I. May they both rest in peace and never be forgotten, ESPECIALLY my Uncle Bud, a real hero.

American Idol Thoughts: Down to 4

Update: I was right--Lakisha is gone. She was not able to survive a so-so performance, not to mention that most of the ex-Phil/Chris voters probably went to Blake this week. "Mr. Beatbox" won't be so fortunate next week howerver, because of the "Lakisha effect." All her estwhile voters will more than likely go to one of the other girls. I'd love to see Blake in the finals against the eventual winner, Melinda, but it ain't gonna happen. But... who knows?

It was Barry Gibb week and I lo-o-o-ove Bee Gees music. (Notice I did a beatbox on the word "love" there! I AM a Blake fan!) Occasionally, when I try some karaoke, I might give one or two of their songs a try. For the most part, "trying" is all the contestants managed to do this week. All-in-all it was a humdrum night for them.

Is it just me, or has Barry Gibb picked up a Sean Connor-like Scottish brogue? I haven't followed him into his "older-age," but it seems like he's trying to learn how to use new teeth. He's got a lispish thing going on with his speech. Dang! Watching guys like Barry Gibb grow old, REALLY makes ME feel old. Ehhhhh!

No one really provided an exciting performance tonight. Now, it's down to each Idol contestant's fan-base. I think the fact that two guys left last week plays into the dynamics of the next two week's vote off. Consider this: which contestant is most likely to pick up Chris' and Phil's fans? More than likely many of them will gravitate to the last guy, especially Chris' people, since the two of them (Chris and Blake) professed such a close friendship last week. With that in mind, I think Blake will pass through. I sense that Melinda has a large and loyal voter block, so she is probably safe. Jordin is the most attractive and she is talented, although she continues to show she needs seasoning. Lakisha is out there. I think she's on the chopping block for tomorrow.

Melinda Doolittle:
(1st song) The "pro" started the show with "Love You inside and Out." As usual, she sounded good, but it was a poor song choice. I wish she had sung Jordin's picks because they were the two most exciting to listen to.
* Randy: "It was good... but I'm not jumping up and down..."
* Paula: "You ARE consistent (BUT!)..."
* Simon: "I expect incredible tonight and that was not incredible..."
(2nd song) For her 2nd Melinda did "How Can You Mend a Broken Heart." I wasn't thrilled with it. She slowed the tempo way down and she jazzed it up at the end into a kind of a night clubby version. The problem with that is that it makes it impossible to sing along, and with an old favorite like that people want to sing a long a little. Over all, I was not happy with Melinda this week. I don't think I'd have voted for her if I could have.
* Randy: "Much better..."
* Paula: "You are a throwback to Stephanie Mills..."
* Simon: "The second half of that song put you into the semi-finals!"

Blake Lewis:
(1st song) "Mr. Beat box" performed "You Should be Dancing." For me, it was the most interesting and enjoyable of ALL the performances, bar none. I loved it, it was cool. Also, Blake was THE only one to actually do Barry Gibb's falsetto, and he did it quite well, although none of the "three musketeers" approved.
* Randy: Ever consistent, Randy did not like the gimmicky aspect of the beat boxing. He said it was weird for him, like being in a wacky foreign disco.
* Paula: She said he started out shaky and his pitch was off, but enjoyed his uniqueness. Paula "gets it" kind of.
* Simon: As usual, the "English Meany" went after a contestant that he does not want to win. He just said that Blake was "absolutely terrible..." I will say that Simon admitted that it "was a matter of personal taste," so I'll give the glum one that much credit. I think Simon wants Melinda to win and he's doing his thing to try to make that happen.
(2nd song) This was cool. Blake did a Bee Gees song that wasn't a hit. Since no one has ever heard it he was able to make it contemporary. Good move. Once again, he beat boxed it and those of us that like it will like what he did with the song. I would have voted for Blake this week, no doubt about it. I hope he makes it through.
* Randy: He liked the reggae spin, but once again voiced his displeasure at the beat boxing.
* Paula: She called Blake the "contemporary rebel" of this competition. Once again, Paula gets it.
* Simon: "The Critic" called it "tuneless," and said, "I don't know why you chose it." I don't think Simon listens much to contemporary music and his criticism of Blake's performance tonight reveals that. Blake gets ALL my votes tonight.

Lakisha Jones:
(1st song) Once again, hard headed Lakisha pretended to listen and accept the suggestions of her mentor and then completely did her own thing with her 1st go at "Staying Alive." I absolutely despise that about her. How completely arrogant. Barry suggested that she sing the chorus high and yet she stayed low. The fact that her performance was just okay was made worse for me that she blew off Mr. Gibb. She did the same thing to him on the second song and ignored him once again.Who does she think she is anyway? I don't know why she even bothers to show up at the mentor classes. I personally hope she does NOT stay alive.
* Randy: "That was weird... it wasn't working...you tried to do too much with it..."
* Paula: She didn't like how she took the tempo down as it seemed to bring down the audience reaction along with it.
* Simon: He wasn't thrilled either, saying "no kiss tonight baby!... you were back to shouting again... not great tonight so far."
(2nd song) Lakisha sang "Run to Me" for her second effort. She did just okay and her voice let her down at the end when it broke into a hoarse whisper on the last note. Hmmm. I think she's gone tomorrow.
* Randy: "That was good... much better."
* Paula: "Don't beat yourself up over that (her voice breaking at the end of the song)."
* Simon: "I think you and Blake are vulnerable..."

Jordin Sparks:
(1st song) Her first song was "You Don't Know What it's Like," one of my favorites. It was a good song choice. She sang it well, but still it wasn't memorable for me. She IS talented, I'll give her that.
* Randy: "Very nice, ... very controlled..."
* Paula: "Best vocal tonight..."
* Simon: "Best song choice... best performance so far..."
(2nd song) Jordin and I must share some musical tastes, because she picked the two songs that I would have chosen had I been a female. (grin!) Her second song was "Woman in Love," written by Barry for Barbara Streisand. It's probably the ONLY song by "that woman" that I like. Jordin didn't come close to singing it even half as well as Barbara did it originally. Jordin has a habit of forcing a song when she gets to the limit of her range and that is exactly what she did tonight. I was disappointed. I really wanted to like this song since its one of my favorites, but she let me down.

PhilippinePhil’s order of merit for tonight:

1. Blake
2. Melinda
3. Jordin
4. Lakisha

Tomorrow's Fallen Idol will therefore be:

Lakisha

After tonight’s performance, it could be wishful thinking but I predict that the final 2 will be:

1. Blake
2. Melinda

The American Idol will be:

Melinda

Both Lawyer AND College Prof, a "Double Dipper"

I just read a William F Buckley article decrying the high cost of college. Funny how sometimes reading the opinion pages can “lead to the need” to write my own.

A couple days ago I was in my local gym struggling away on the orbital machine trying to get in a little aerobics. I heard an American voice coming from the guy behind me who had just walked in and was now talking to the counter girl. He was finagling a cheaper student rate out of her while showing some kind of membership card.

“See, now do you believe me? Remember, I was here last January and I told you then that I was a student. …I go to the University of California.”

He got his reduced rate, and me being the nosy bastard that I am, I glanced behind me to catch a look at him. He was Asian, definitely not Filipino, and he was certainly too old to be a student, at least not one deserving of a reduced rate. My interest was piqued.

“Which University of California do you go to?” I tossed over my shoulder to him. He told me. (I won’t say which one here to protect “the guilty,” but lets just say it is north of Monterey.)

He asked what I was doing in these parts and I explained my status as a 27-year military retiree.

“Wow, you can do well living out here, right?” he quizzed me.

“Sure, pretty much anyone drawing a pension over a grand can do at least okay,” I answered without giving him too much info.

We had spoke long enough for me to take a measure of him and I “smelled” “teacher” on his breath. I smirked, vowing to do some more poking around this guy.

Later, finishing a series of stretches and crunches in the aerobics room, I spotted the “student” sitting in the gym café having a power shake. I filled a plastic cup with water from the dispenser and moved in for the kill. I took a seat near him.

“Hey buddy how’s that shake? I asked, trying to break some more ice.

We shook hands and formally introduced each other. I got down to brass tacks. In an offhand manner I said, “You know, I’ve been taking college classes since I joined the service in ’75 and I know almost for certain that you aren’t a student." Bluntly, I pressed him, "You’re a teacher aren’t you?”

He looked down at his hands and shook his head yes. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that and now I’m feeling bad about doing that.”

‘Aha! I KNEW it! Time to move in for the “kill!”’

“Hey man, I’m not going to bust you. After all, you KNOW how this place is—it’s the land of fraud—and YOU’RE just fitting in!” I laughed cruelly at his obvious unease. He was chuckling along with me, but it was forced. I could tell he would love it if I would just go away. But not yet!

“So, what do you teach? What’s your specialty?” I asked, searching for more “ammunition.” Sure enough, he quickly provided it.

“Criminal law and I specialize on how law effects (certain minorities).” (I won’t say what kind of minorities, as it would almost certainly identify him).

He couldn’t look me in the face as he told me that. He was sharp enough to realize that he probably should have lied to me, but too late. Here we have a lawyer, a “shaper of young minds” at that, purposely misleading a business establishment just to save a few pennies. Evidently, lying sometimes to suit one's convenience of the moment is not outside the bounds of propriety for “some” lawyers, at least not this one. Hmmm. Now my bubble has completely burst! Timmmm-ber! ...And there goes the already wobbling lawyer pedestal! (sarcastic grin).

I gave him “a break” and asked him what he thought of the “Scott Peterson Case,” since it took place not far from his neck of the woods. Obviously loving the chance to change the subject, he lambasted Mark Geragos for several minutes and I ended that conversational topic voicing my objections to the death penalty on personal moral grounds. Oops. I mentioned morals and again made him look a little uneasy! Heh heh.

I saw him again yesterday at the gym. I passed him on my out as he was coming in, I’m sure still using his “student card.” We spoke for a few minutes about his profession, the teaching part. I asked him when he was going to be due back in the classroom as Spring Break must surely be coming to an end, and he hesitated once more, much as he did the day before while admitting to his little “slip” of principle.

“...Well, you have to understand how the system works. I only teach one class this semester, so I’m not actually in the classroom all that much...”

I nodded understanding, “No, I KNOW exactly what you mean…”

I told him of an old friend who teaches Psychology at a state school in New Jersey, while his wife teaches at a university in Philadelphia. At the time, I was amazed to learn that neither had to make their long drives to teach any more than twice, and never more than three times a week, all while making ungodly sums of money for doing it.”

“…soooo, I know with complete certainty that you guys are under worked and most certainly WAAYYYY overpaid!” I smiled smugly cocking my head waiting for some kind of comeback or protest-laden retort. Instead, he shrugged and readily agreed with my accusatory shot across his bow.

“Oh, I won’t deny it. I always tell my students that if at all possible get a position in the academic world. ...It’s a hugely profitable scam.” He laughed proudly. I just let him have his moment of self-satisfaction. He may or may not have realized that the smile on my face was not one of admiration. No, I was feeling the just the opposite.

After all, if there’s anyone who knows a "profitable scam” when he sees it, it’s a lawyer, ESPECIALLY a lawyer with classroom tenure—a kind of a “double dipper of scam” if ever there was one.

Any wonder I prefer the company of veterans?

Part 7 of the Man Who Fell: "Hang in There..."

To catch up, click on parts 1, 2, 3, 4 , 5, and 6.

Being a reservist with a house and family back in Oklahoma, and after not having seen them all those months, all he could think of in that crushing moment was, ‘Oh my God, I’m stuck in this tent!?”

He quickly came to terms with his predicament and adjusted best he could. Right off the bat he established a “new relationship” with the skinny corporal. He left the tent intending to take a trip to the Post Exchange.

“Whoa. Where do you think you’re going?” the corporal demanded.

“I’m going to the PX. If you have a problem with that then you can come along with me.”

“Come on man. I’m just doing what I was told. If I let you go I could get in trouble,” the redhead practically pleaded.

“Well, I’m going, so you do what you got to do.”

From what he can remember of it, for the rest of his tent-living time George pretty much came and went as he pleased. The corporal continued to hang around, but they just ignored each other—a mutual agreement to live and let live.

The next two months passed in a blur. George would walk to the barracks for a shower and shave and then find himself at the sink without remembering the walk. Or, he’d walk to the PX and then he’d magically be back in the tent with a bag of sundries that he couldn’t remember buying. Even with his painful injuries he walked everywhere, but rarely remembered the actual walking part. Perhaps it was his body’s defense mechanism shielding him from the worst of the hurt.

On the day of the court martial George clearly remembers getting squared away in his best uniform and being nervous as hell. Two serious looking MPs showed up at his tent, probably sent in part to check out his state of mind for the colonel. They put George in handcuffs, and then one of them left. The other MP told George, “Wait a minute.”

And so he did until at last Colonel Bank entered the tent wearing fatigues and a soft hat. George came to attention and the colonel stood directly in front of him and in a very solemn voice spoke to George, “Sergeant W, I’ve thought it over and I have decided to drop all the charges.”

After spending so many months thinking about his predicament, George desperately wanted to say his piece, to explain why he said the things he said and did the things he did, and so he began earnestly, “I apologize sir, however, due to the circumstances…”

The colonel interrupted him harshly, “I don’t care if you were in five different pieces—you will never speak that way to an officer ever again. Do you understand?”

George shut his mouth, locked his body, and kept his explanations to himself.

To this day, considering what happened, he doesn’t understand why the colonel put him through the charade of an impending court martial. Knowing what I know now about military legal procedures, such as the requirement to provide counsel which was never done, its obvious there was never any intent to press charges. George theorizes that maybe the colonel wanted an excuse to come back to the USA from Bad Tolz Germany, but that is pure conjecture.

Incredibly, as far as the results of the parachute malfunction investigation George was told that the findings were secret and could not be disclosed! I asked him if he had any enemies, because it sure sounds like someone was out to kill him. We’ll never know.

Remember earlier in this story when George’s mere “living” presence caused people’s eyes to grow as big as plates in surprise? Well, the third time is the charm. When he at long last got back to Oklahoma and walked in the door of his home, he was delighted to see his wife and his mother in the living room, but instead of rushing up to him to deliver hugs and kisses they looked at him in shock, like they were looking at a ghost. The army had dutifully sent a telegram to his wife informing her that he had died during a military operation. This must have been during that time he had found himself in the Womack morgue. His family had spent the entire summer thinking him dead-and-gone in some faraway place.

George stayed in the army for four more years before his injuries pretty much forced him to call it quits. Believe it or not, he managed to stay in SF until the end. He even continued to jump albeit with great pain on every landing. Clearly it’s true that these Green Beret fellows are made of incredibly tough stuff, but that fall from the sky ruined him for the rest of his life as he freely admits.

Since that day he has never been without pain, and his physical and mental conditions have kept him from following most of his vocational dreams. The amazing thing for me is that he has little bitterness in him for the army or the SF. He is very proud of his service and most of his friends and acquaintances to this day are fellow SF veterans or "normal"vets like myself. (Most of us "normal" veterans consider these SF guys to be just this side of supermen).

It was late afternoon two months ago when George came over to retell his incredible story over several rounds of coffee and tea. The fascinating tale took several hours to narrate and as I walked him out to his vehicle he thought of one last bit of irony. He told me that printed on his birth certificate are some very prophetic words to be sure. I couldn’t believe it when he told me what they are with that big toothy grin of his, “I must have had a very hard birth, in fact, according to my birth certificate it says that I was stillborn!”

It seems that from the very beginning of his life, George W has spent much of it proving to other people that he’s NOT dead! Hang in there buddy... I believe you!