NJSM-George Drake

Dialog on Korean Orphans

2009-04-30T09:32:00.000-07:00

DRAKE RESPONSE (see viewer post at end of this response) ;

At the end of the war, in about March of 1954, the Korean government took a census of the 54,000 children in government supported orphanages and noted that about 200 were considered mixed blood. An American missionary working with orphanages suggested that perhaps as many as 1,000 could be mixed blood. That is still less than 2% of all orphans. The Koreans (nice ones, ones with their lineage papers intact) who abhor tainting 'pure' Korean blood with foreign blood and who judge everyone based on their lineage treated all orphans with contempt and even disgust because, as a vice-consul of Korea in Seattle told me when asked why this prejudice toward orphans "you don't know who their parents are!" Nice Koreans want the world to think that the 200,000 children that they have shipped out of their country since 1950 are all products of wanton GIs. Not so. This is merely a form of Korean 'ethnic cleansing', getting rid of children whose ancestry (albeit of two Korean parents) is suspect or unknown.

On the other hand I agree that the GIs did father many Korean children but before looking to the GI as the culprit take a look at the Korean culture. The war produced hundreds of thousands of widows, women without a male support. Given the Korean culture such women were 'used goods' and had little chance of remarriage. Without a social support system they sought a way to live and took advantage of the testosterone loaded young GIs to earn a living. Those women had a right to survive and did what they had to to earn the money for their next meal. "Nice Koreans" probably think those women should have just starved to death to save the honor of Korean culture. I have had mixed blood Korean adoptees tell me that they were raised in a loving home with mother and grandmother but the neighbors forced the mother to give up the child for adoption. In the Korean orphanage they were taken to the staff and visitors would spit on them, pull their hair and treat them as scum of the earth. Such were (and still are) the social values of many traditional Koreans.

When GIs commit an 'inappropriate act' such will be reported world wide....such is the nature of "news." When they do good the reporters yawn and ask "What is the story line?" When GIs tragically killed two girls about six years ago in Korea almost 100,000 Koreans marched and yelled protests against American presence in Korea. Tell them we GIs saved the lives of over 10,000 children and the response is literally "so what, they were orphans."

I have many stories of the misdeeds of GIs but I leave it to the traditional press to pursue and publish those. The traditional press is not interested in the good our GIs do and fail to report it. Have you ever before heard the statistic that we who fought in Korea saved the lives of over 10,000 children? I am sure you have not since I am the person who did the research and can substantiate that statistic. My goal is to ensure that the GOOD that our GIs did in the Korean War is also made a part of the history of that war.

If you are a mixed blood Korean adoptee count your blessings that you have been adopted by a family outside of Korea as orphans in Korea are still treated with utmost contempt and considered an underclass. One woman who met me in Seoul said that I had saved her life as a little orphan. She wanted to thank me but begged me not to mention her name or show her picture on my web site as both of her sons had studied in the USA and were professionals. She told me that if anyone knew that their mother was a Korean War orphan their professional career would be seriously damaged.

Don't be too quick to judge but rather try to understand.

Regards, and a happy life to you,

George F. Drake

Posting repeated:

btstormb2006 has left a new comment on your post "Korean Orphans":

George,

While I can appreciate that you documented that the American GIs saved over 10,000 Korean war orphans, I am curious to know if you included in your documentation how many of those Korean war orphans had American GIs for fathers and their GIs fathers knew of their existence, but abandoned them and the Korean women they impregnated. As a Korean adoptee myself, I find it somewhat repugnant to not mention within your blog the irresponsibility of these GIs, while taking credit for saving the lives of these war orphans.

I do not intend to sound disrespectful, but if you reread your piece and try to understand from a Korean adoptee's perspective how you come across, I would hope that you could empathize and consider editing your Korean Orphans section.

Nicaraguan Boy Scout follow up

2008-12-18T23:16:00.000-08:00

In my last posting to my blog I noted under a photo of me at the Managua, Nicaragua airport in 1949 the following "From left to right is Pablo Steiner, myself, Julio Pinel (who worked at the airport) and Gus Wilson. One of these days I will spend some time on the world wide web to see if I can track them down."

Well, I did track them down and here is my report:

It seems that in that one photo I had three of the early founders of scouting in Nicaragua. I wonder if the Boy Scouts of Nicaragua have a photo of the three of these founders in one photo? I will send them a copy of this one. You will note that my International Letter of Introduction from the Boy Scouts of America was signed by don Porfirio Solorzano who is noted below as having gotten the Nicaraguan Boy Scout Association recognized by the World Scout Organization. Gus Wilson (Gustavo Wilson Batleman) joined the first troop founded in Nicaragua in Bluefield on the Caribbean coast of Nicaragua. When he moved to Managua where he became a professor in a small Moravian college (Colegio Bautista) he founded the third Boy Scout troop in Nicaragua. Julio Pinell founded Troop Four "Leon" in Managua.

In 1945 the scout movement in Nicaragua was restructured and Professor Wilson became the first Chief Scout Executive of Nicaragua. The note in this history of scouting in Nicaragua (appended below) ends with a comment that the first national scout camporee was held at the Hacienda Las Mercedes, near the International Airport. The head of that camporee was Pablo Steiner (known as 'the Raven') who is also in that photo with me. Pablo Steiner has quite a personal story. He barely escaped capture by the Germans as he fled his home in Hungary in 1939. As a Jew he would have been exterminated in the Holocaust. He opened a print shop and began publishing in Managua and married a woman who became one of the most famous authors in Latin America. He died in the 1980s.

Happy holidays,

gfd

En 1943, el sennor Julio Pinell fundó la Tropa Cuatro “León”, en la ciudad de Managua, el profesor Gustavo Wilson Batleman, la Tropa Tres en el Colegio Bautista. Originario de Bluefield había sido uno de los primeros jóvenes que se integraron a la Tropa fundada por Campbell y el reverendo Harrison. En 1945 don Gilberto A. Blanco se convirtió en Primer Jefe Scouts Nacional.

En 1945 el Movimiento Scout de Nicaragua inicia una nueva estructuración. El profesor Wilson se constituye en forma voluntaria en el Primer Director Ejecutivo, con el apoyo de don Adrian Espinosa Orochena y el joven Róger Mendoza Solís. El señor Espinosa Orochena debido al derrocamiento del presidente Leonardo Argüello tuvo que salir exiliado. Actualmente reside en Miami, con más de 60 años de ser Scout, uno de los más activos dirigentes de su época.

En 1946, don Porfirio Solórzano Marín, logró el reconocimiento oficial de la Organización Mundial del Movimiento Scout. En 1946 se celebró en la Hacienda Las Mercedes, cerca del actual Aeropuerto Internacional, el Primer Campamento Nacional de Patrullas. El Jefe de Campo fue don Pablo Steiner, también importante funcionario de Caritas de Nicaragua y esposo de la escritora María Teresa Sánchez.

December 2008 Holiday Greetings

2008-12-14T06:02:00.000-08:00

December, 2008

Here it is, almost the end of the year and time to give thought to writing that end-of-the-year letter that brings family and friends up-to-date on what the Drake family had been up to the previous twelve months. I thought that maybe I should get one off to my blog also but finally decided that I would merely submit the one I wrote fifty eight years ago in December of 1950.

I am attaching a photograph of me at the US Boy Scout Jamboree at Valley Forge with Colonel Gus Wilson, Chief Scout of the World Association of Scouting. A year earlier I was visiting the Boy Scouts of Nicaragua and there met the other Gus Wilson, a black scouter who told me that he was the photographic negative of the other Gus Wilson that I was to meet the following year. So you can see both Gus Wilsons. I am also posting a copy of a picture of me with three Nicaraguan scout leaders at the Managua airport in March of 1949.

From left to right is Pablo Steiner, myself, Julio Pinel (who worked at the airport) and Gus Wilson. One of these days I will spend some time on the world wide web to see if I can track them down.

In January of 1950 I did enlist in the army for three years. While at Fort Devans, Massachusetts in training to be a high speed Morse code intercept operator I worked on my scout badge collection in my free time.

Here is a picture of me working on the collection and a picture of one of the panels of scout pins from various countries.

May you all have a good holiday season. George

Placing the Korean War Children's Memorial sculpture, in Seoul or the Metropolitan City of Gwangju, South Korea?

2008-11-04T05:52:00.000-08:00

I just got back from Korea where I spent 8 days looking for the appropriate place for the Korean War Children's Memorial sculpture that is being donated by my friend SEBASTIAN of Mexico. On its base it is a bit over 21 feet tall and, given his world-wide fame, has a market value of over $700,000. He is the creator of the large blue steel sculpture in Big Rock Garden Park in Bellingham near the US Korean War Children's Memorial Pavilion.

On 23 October I hosted a breakfast meeting with His Excellency Leandro Arellano, Ambassador of Mexico to Korea. The Cultural Affairs Officer of the Mexican Embassy also attended as well as three Korean associates of mine, one from Seoul and two from Gwangju who flew up to Seoul for the meeting. The purpose of the meeting was to discuss the donation of Sebastian's sculpture. Sebastian offered it to me to support my project of honoring American servicemen and women for their aid to the children of Korea during the Korean War. Ambassador Arellano said he would host a reception for SEBASTIAN and wife Gabriela when they arrive for the dedication and would also call SEBASTIAN to inquire if the embassy could sponsor a showing of macquettes of his larger works in an art gallery in Seoul at the time he and Gabriela are visiting Korea. He is of the opinion that the sculpture should be placed in Seoul rather than in Gwangju where I have promised it. He also agreed that the sculpture should be given by the artist to the government of Mexico and then sent to Korea in "diplomatic pouch" status to avoid any taxes. It would then be given as a gift of the artist and the government of Mexico to the entity that ultimately receives the sculpture. Ambassador Arellano was delighted that SEBASTIAN would have a sculpture placed in Korea and would cooperate with my project to ensure that it gets wide visibility in the Korean media. He agreed to attend the dedication ceremony if at all possible. As we have no date nor location yet all of this is just a commitment on his part to help with the project.

From the breakfast with the Mexican Ambassador I rushed with Hong SungChang, my Korean associate, friend and interpreter who has helped me since 2003 on this project, to the U.S. Embassy which was located only about 15 minutes away from the Lotte Hotel where we had breakfast. Her Excellency Ambassador Kathleen Stephens was generous and gave me about a half hour of her time. She is newly appointed to the post and, interestingly, served as a Peace Corps volunteer in Korea years ago and consequently speaks good Korean. Ambassador Stephens liked my Korean War Children's Memorial project and agreed to attend the dedication of the SEBASTIAN sculpture "Las Palomas" (The Doves) if at all possible. She had some advice for me about how the event is to be advertised and what to be sensitive about when soliciting letters from former Korean War orphans. Two of her staff were in the meeting with me and SungChang. They will work with me as the project progresses. I was very pleased to have the opportunity to meet our Ambassador to Korea and told her that every Korean I met since her appointment speaks well of her.

The next day I took a trip to Ilsan to meet with Molly Holt. She came to Korea in 1957 to help her mother and father with their project of sending Korean orphans to the USA and other countries for adoption and has lived in Korea ever since. She is now Chairman of the Holt Foundation in Korea which has over 300 employees in numerous institutions around the country. She came to Bellingham for the dedication of the Korean War Children's Memorial in Big Rock Garden Park in July of 2003. I brought her up-to-date on the progress of the KWCM project in the USA and in Korea. She agreed to help me with the Korean part of the project and would definitely plan to attend the dedication ceremony. She is probably one of the best known Americans in Korea today.

I took the fast train the next morning to the Metropolitan City of Gwangju arriving about 1:30 p.m. My host was the Rev. Haeryang Yoo Kim who is trying to get the old orphanage buildings on property she and her husband own in the center of Gwangju restored to their original condition. One of them is probably one of the oldest structures left in the center of the city. Their heavily wooded 2-1/2 acres is very similar to BRG Park in Bellingham except it is on a steep hillside. When I was in Gwangju in December, 2008, at a dinner following the ceremony when Mayor Park Gwang-tae made me "honorary citizen" he promised to fund the restoration of the old Korean War orphanage buildings so they could serve as a museum, archive and also as a hostel for returning Korean adoptees world-wide who want to visit Korea. It seems that bureaucratic squabbles and turf-wars in the City Hall has delayed any appropriation for almost two years. Rev. Yoo used my visit to try to get the money to start the restoration of the buildings. An article had already appeared in the local paper about my visit along with a photo of the Sebastian sculpture "Las Palomas."

The afternoon of my arrival to Gwangju a member of the Korean National Assembly who had previously served as Mayor of Gwangju came to the house and assured me that he would 'pressure' the current city administration to release the money for the restoration of the buildings. Several newspaper reporters visited for interviews and photos. Leadership in the local Korean War Veterans Association came and at the end of a delightful dinner presented me with a Korean War Veteran's 'Ambassador of Peace' medal. [Something else to hang on my 'ego wall' in my office.]

Sunday was spent visiting a famous Korean artist, the one who did the calligraphy on the wooden board hanging on the Korean War Children's Memorial Pavilion in Big Rock Garden Park.

On Monday we all had lunch with the Mayor of Nam-gu, the district of Gwangju in which the orphanage is located. He actually flew home from Japan one day early to have this meeting as I would be leaving for Seoul early on Tuesday and would not be able to meet him them. He agreed to a shift of a fire lane off the property so it would not cut the property in half. He also agreed to support the reconstruction of the buildings and the development of the museum, archive and hostel. Then, after a bit of a rest, we went to meet the Vice Mayor for Administration for Gwangju (a city of 1.4 million persons). There were some strong words exchanged between Rev. Yoo and one of the city staff persons who claimed that she was the one responsible for the delay in funding the project. After a lot of loud exchanges in Korean I spoke and informed the Vice Mayor that the Korean War Children's Memorial sculpture would NOT go to Gwangju if the money is not released by 1 January, 2009 and work begun by 1 February of 2009. I informed him that Samsung Corporation would like to have it in front of their children's museum in Seoul and that the City of Seoul itself would like to have it in a city park.

After further discussions in Korean the Vice Mayor assured me that the city would release $1,300,000 US dollars (equivalent in Korean funds) by 1 January 2009 and that the work would begin immediately following the release of the money. After discussing some more details of the sculpture and the dedication ceremony we left the office. Those in our group were delighted. I assured Rev. Kim that I was not kidding, that if the money does not come across by 1 January, for any reason at all, and if the work does not commence by 1 February I will not send the sculpture to Gwangju. It will go to Seoul. The story of my visit to Gwangju appeared in at lease six Korean newspapers. This puts a lot of pressure on the Mayor of Gwangju to put up the 1.3 million dollars as he promised. I give it a sixty percent chance of happening. Afterwards we all went out for a light Chinese meal. If work goes as hoped the dedication would probably be a year from now, i.e., late October or early November of 2009. Here is one of the newspaper articles showing a photo of the sculpture, over 21ft. high on its base.

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The next day I took the fast train back to Seoul, met with friends, did some shopping and on Wednesday caught the 6 p.m. flight back to Seattle.

Now I am trying to catch up on all the tasks that I let slide while preparing for the time I spent in Japan and Korea. In addition to the 'office' tasks there is a mountain of leaves to rake, rearrange the furniture in the living room, paint one wall before putting things back together again, set up the new surround sound audio-TV system This troglodyte is having troubles getting the FM system working. I will have to post a note on the university "Help Wanted" board looking for someone who can help me. Probably just another button to push in a given order.

'nuf for now. gfd

Scouting in Korea, Costa Rica, Guatemala and the World

2008-11-03T05:47:00.000-08:00

On arriving in Seoul last week I telephoned Simon Hang Bock Rhee, a Korean Scout leader that I met two years ago at a Korean scout jamboree. At that time he was the International Commissioner of the Korea Scout Association and held other posts in regional scout organizations. He offered to pick me up at my hotel and we would go to dinner together.

Over a wonderful Korean dinner he informed me that he has been elected Vice President of the World Scout Committee that has its headquarters in Switzerland. We spent much of the dinner talking about scouting in various countries. When I told him of my activities with scout organizations in Central America almost sixty years ago he said "You must talk to His Excellency Fernando Borbon, Ambassador of Costa Rica to Korea. He was active in scouting in Costa Rica." At that he took out his cell phone, punched in a few numbers and said "Your Excellency, is it convenient to talk a few moments with you?" Getting an affirmative answer he passed the phone over to me and Ambassador Borbon and I chatted about scouting in Costa Rica and also Guatemala where he lived for a while as a youth. He knew the names of some of the scout leaders in those two countries that I mentioned but, given our age difference, he had not met them personally. After all, it was almost 60 years ago that I was traipsing around those countries visiting the scout organizations. He suggested we get together for breakfast or lunch and talk scouting. Unfortunately, given my tight schedule, I did not have the opportunity to do so. I very much enjoyed the interaction with Ambassador Borbon as it was conducted in Spanish and dealt with scouting in those countries which still has a lot of meaning for me.

Among other topics Simon Rhee and I discussed declining enrollment in Scouting in developed countries but an increasing enrollment in developing nations, especially in Africa.

Since I did not get to visit a Boy Scout troop meeting in Japan where I spent the prior week I gave Mr. Rhee the scout badges that were sent to me by Mr. David Crow of Monmouth Council, BSA and some that I purchased at the local scout office and asked that he give them to scouts when he attends gatherings of scouts from Korea and elsewhere. He informed me that in several weeks there will be a gathering in Seoul of scouts from all over the country with the specific purpose of exchanging badges. He will give the badges away at that gathering. I also gave Mr. Rhee a sizable collection of Boy Scout stamps from many countries that I spotted for sale on eBay and asked him to use them as gifts to scout leaders as he travels the world on his scouting duties. It is always useful to have small packages of gifts in one's pocket when traveling. Mr. Rhee's personal collections are limited to scout badges and scout stamps that have the number "75" on them. Accordingly, he especially appreciated the Monmouth Council's 75th anniversary badge. That one, he said, will go into his personal collection. Simon Rhee insisted on picking up the bill for the meal and had it paid before I could grab it. Definitely my turn the next time.

Yours in Scouting, George F. Drake

Too busy livin' to write

2008-09-29T12:12:00.000-07:00

Hello my friends:

I'm a story teller. I don't miss a chance to tell a story. All I need is an audience. I don't even need a subject, just an audience.

Often times folks would say "You gotta write your stories down. You gotta write a book." "Can't," I respond, I'm too busy creating more stories."

And so it is right now. Too busy. I haven't written to my blog for two weeks. Sorry, didn't know any one was out there listening (reading).

So what have I been doing? Well, family stuff, medical stuff that comes with growing old, a cheap form of cancer cells cut off my right calf, no biggie, just 20 stitches to close the cut and then only to find out the ole doc didn't get it all. Oh, well, back for more choppin'. Limits riding for a while. I could use it as an excuse to quit till it was all healed but that would be cheating as the wound does not preclude riding.

Then, before I knew it I realized I gotta get ready for a trip to Japan with a city delegation to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the Sister-City relationship of Bellingham with Tateyama, Chiba Prefecture, Japan. I was there for their 40th celebration ten years ago and recently was very much involved with the activities organized for the visit of the delegation that came to Bellingham from Tateyama in July of this year. So on the 13th of October I will fly to Narita airport north of Tokyo, spend the night in a hotel near the airport and then join the rest of the Bellingham delegation the next day. I am flying Asiana Air Lines which goes through Seoul, Korea while the rest of the group is going by Northwest on a direct flight from Seattle to Tokyo/Narita. Since I want to stop off in Korea for a week after I leave Japan I need to fly via Asiana. In Japan I will stay in a home of a Japanese host family, sleep on the floor on the tatami mat, eat with beautiful wooden chopsticks, etc, etc, I was going to take my cycling shoes, pedals and helmet and borrow a bicycle and go riding from 6:30 a.m. until 8 a.m. daily but realized that would be imposing on my hosts so I will go out for a walk each morning instead. On the 19th of October my hosts will dress me in a Samurai costume, complete with helmet and swords which I will have to wear in the Satomi Festival, one of the major festivals of this small Japanese city. Tens of thousands of Japanese come to watch the Samurai parade and engage in activities at the local temple. I will be the six-foot 'gaijen' (foreigner) who helps them in their battles. Sounds like fun but I just found out that once in that elaborate costume one can not "relieve" oneself for many hours as the costume is not to be taken off until the end of the day. That tells me that I will not be able to indulge in four cups of coffee earlier in the day nor have any Asahi beer during the afternoon. Nuts! That's no way to treat a guest!

The Japanese are 'gift givers' and there is no way one can 'out-gift' the Japanese, so don't even try. But you gotta take gifts, lots of gifts, a separate suit case just full of gifts, but not to worry, not only will it be full when you come back you will have to purchase a second suitcase for the other items you will get as gifts. And at the airport, just before you leave your hosts and head for your security check they give you a shopping bag with more items, large items, bulky items that you will never be able to crunch into your suitcase. So there goes your plan to purchase a bottle of cognac at the duty free store as you are lacking the six arms needed to carry everything. So, learn to smile broadly, say "Domo ari gato," bow low and make like you are absolutely delighted at the ceramic tea set that you just received (the fourth on this trip.) So I am trying to assemble at least 50 or 60 gift packages. By the time I am done I will have spent $300 to $500 on gifts. By the way, while in Tateyama I will be attending a meeting of a Japanese Boy Scout troop. Does any one have any extra scout badges that I could give to boys in the troop as a gift from scouts in the USA? If so send them to me at 'George Drake, 1421 Cornwall Ave. #B, Bellingham, WA 98225."

If I just went to Japan and came home I might be able to pull it off with relative ease but I also plan to spend a week in Korea, and they, too, are gift givers, not so avid as the Japanese, but still ya gotta take some small things for your hosts, dignitaries you will meet, etc. It will be a bit easier in Korea as I will give copies of my little book "GIs and the Kids - A Love Story: US Forces and the Children of Korea 1950-1954." I will autograph the book with a flourish for my lunch or dinner host and that is good for a $100 meal ticket. In Korea it is long metal chopsticks and at least 12 (or more) plates of various kinds of kimchi on the table around your main dinner plate. I love kimchi so I am in seventh heaven at a traditional Korean restaurant. I purchased a large collection of Boy Scout stamps on e-bay several months ago to use as a gift for one of the leaders of the Korean Scouts Association. He also happens to be the head of Samsung Construction that built the billion dollar Seoul/Inchon airport. I hope to have dinner with him when in Korea and solicit his help in my current Korean projects.

What is taking so much of my time now is the protocol and the letters, e-mails, FAXs, etc. arranging appointments with folks I want to meet, e.g., the US Ambassador to Korea, the Mexican Ambassador to Korea, the Commander US Forces-Korea, the Korean Minister of Patriotism and Veteran Affairs, staff of the President of Korea, President of the Korea Welfare Foundation and a few other such types. I drove to Seattle last week to meet with the Consul General of Korea. We had a good visit. He is a graduate of a US college and speaks excellent English. My Korean is limited to finding the bathroom and getting the price for a bottle of beer, and, of course the amenities of thank you, you are welcome, etc. What I wanted of Mr. Lee was his help to get an appointment with the Minister of Patriotism and Veterans Affairs. I want the Korean government to award (posthumously) their highest military honors to two fellows in the USAF, Colonel Blaisdell and M/Sgt Strang, who saved the lives of over 950 orphans in the 'Kiddy Car Airlift' that they pulled off on 20 December 1950. During their lifetime neither got even so much as a piece of paper from the government of Korea saying 'thank you." Chaplain Blaisdell got several awards from the USAF but Sgt. Strang got nothng until I was able to move the US military bureaucracy to grant him a posthumous bronze star and also grant him the "Four Chaplains Award", the highest award of the USAF Chaplain's Service, 53 years after the rescue. Now I am banging on he door of the Korean bureaucracy for similar awards for these two great unsung heroes of the Korean War. I want that award announced at the ceremony I am organizing in Gwangju, South Korea in May of next year.

I also want Consul General Lee to use his good office to get me an appointment with someone in the Blue House (Korean White House) so I can try to convince them that the President of Korea should attend the ceremony I am organizing in Gwangju. I also want them to get the President to agree to autograph 20 copies of a poster that I am having made to announce that ceremony which I will sell for $1,000 each. I'm shameless and, you know, I might actually even be able to pull it off! At least I'm gonna try.

I already have been able to get an appointment with the Mexican Ambassador to Korea. I will host him and the Agregado Cultural (Cultural Affairs Officer) at a breakfast meeting on the 23rd of October at one of the 5-star hotels in Seoul. There will be five of us at the table so there is another $300-400 dollars shot. But you gotta do wot ya gotta do to achieve your goal. I will be asking the Mexican Ambassador, His Excelency Arellano, to host a reception for my friend the great Mexican sculptor SEBASTIAN when he arrives in Korea next May for the dedication of the sculpture he is donating to Gwangju to serve as the Korean War Children's Memorial honoring the U.S. servicemen and women for their humanitarian aid to the children of Korea during that war. That sculpture is valued at $750,000 and will be the first by SEBASTIAN in Korea. I also want Ambassador Arellano to agree to attend the dedication ceremony in Gwangju in May. If he agrees to attend then I can use that to leverage the US Ambassador to Korea also to attend which will put pressure on the Commander of US Forces, Korea to attend and, if I work it right , the President of Korea will also be there. Now that takes a little bit of chutzpah ('cajones' en espanol) as I am doing all this with no money other than my social security check and retirement annuity from college teaching. I keep getting the sense that my wife is a bit annoyed with my ability to spend money we don't really have.

As if all this isn't enough I have to raise the money to bring the sculpture from Mexico City to Korea. That will be about $7,000 but I have a number of ideas of where I will be able to get that money. Then there is the book. Yup, I'm working on having a book published in time for the dedication of that sculpture. It will be a book of 'thank you' letters from Korean War orphans whose lives were saved by American servicemen and women in the Korean War. My plan is to inundate the Korean media with requests that they send out a call for such letters from the former 'war child' of Korea, their children and grandchildren, friends and just ordinary Koreans who want to show their appreciation for the acts of kindness shown by our 'Army of Compassion.' From my collection of over 2,000 photographs of the GIs and the children of Korea during the war years we will select pictures for the book. I already have about 20 letters we can use from the time of the war so the book is underway. The one I received from Eddie Cho is printed elsewhere on this blog. Now I want about 200 more such letters. The book will be published in Hangul (Korean) and English and will be available in Korea and the US. One letter will be selected as best of all those submitted and the author will be invited to read their letter at the ceremony in Gwangju in May. Hopefully the book will be out by then also...a mere six or seven months time frame for writing a book and getting it published, ouch!

Then we have to find the appropriate location for the placement of the Korean War Children's Memorial sculpture, discuss details of the bronze plaques to be affixed to the base, etc, etc, etc. Ah, yes, lots to accomplish in the 8 days I will be in Korea. At the same time I will be lugging around all those wonderful Japanese gifts! ;-) My energy will be sustained by Korean beer and kimchi. Aaaaah. Sounds good to me.

Today I sent off my critique of a manuscript of a book I have been reviewing on the life of an incredible Canadian sculptor, David Marshall, who was a good friend of mine. Here is one paragraph from that letter:

"Overall I think the book is GREAT! I loved David and he knew it. He knew how much I admired his incredible craftsmanship and his drive for perfection. He accepted my offers to help....to a degree. That conservative streak and distrust of galleries almost killed the one-man show I was preparing for him at Big Rock Garden Park. He was VERY difficult to work with when it came to selling or even showing his art. He was his own worst enemy in that regard but I felt that with knowing him I got to know one of the great artists of this century. No hype, no glitzy pamphlets, no jumping front stage, just long hours of hard work seeking to present his art to the world. He eschewed publicity. He was the most self-effacing person I have ever known. Yet he knew he was good, not in an egotistical sense but rather as a master craftsman and artist appraising his own work. I take real joy and pride in having been a part of his life. gfd
When I was owner (with my wife) of the "Gardens of Art - Gallery of Fine Art for the Garden" in the acreage next to our house here in Bellingham I was showing the owner of a major Japanese corporation around the gardens. He spotted one of Marshall's works and asked about it. I told him that David's work was not popular. He did not produce for the market. He produced art to meet his own sense of what a work of art was and that began with incredible craftsmanship which he used to effect the shapes he sought in the sculpture. Nonetheless, I told him, after one or two centuries this work will still stand as the finest presentation of this genre of art. "How much?" I was asked. "$12,000" I responded. He did not say anything until about 300 ft. further on he noted another large bronze work and asked "Is this also by Marshall?" "Yes." "How much?" "$19,000." "I'll take this one." and he moved on as though he had just purchased a bunch of radishes in a grocery store. David was flabbergasted! He had never sold anything for more than $2,000 before that sale. But then, he never really tried. He was not making art for sale. He was making art because he was driven to do so and selling it was inconsequential to his mission in life. Read the book "Shakespeare in Rehab" to know more of this type of person, an absolutely unique individual who, to me, epitomized what the creative process is all about."

So, forgive me, if in these last few weeks I have been living more stories rather than writing them. I may get a couple more posted before I head off to play Samurai warrior in Japan or hustle the 'honorables' and 'excellencies' in Korea. Life is a 'kick.' I'm enjoying it. Tomorrow bodes to be a beautiful sunny day and I think I will put all thoughts of wot's on my task list in the desk drawer and go to the mountains with Mary Ann. After all, it is a sin not to be outdoors on a day like that, and I am not a sinner.

Sayanara. gfd

Fraudulent Hero

2008-09-16T06:57:00.000-07:00

AIR FORCE ‘HERO’ FOUND TO BE A FRAUD

When I visited Korea in 1998 the Public Affairs Officer of US Forces/Korea suggested that I read the book Battle Hymn as it was a wonderful story of how Colonel Dean E. Hess, USAF saved the lives of almost 1,000 orphans. On return home I got a copy of the book and I was truly impressed. But then I also began collecting everything I could find on the relationship of US servicemen and women and the children of Korea during the war years and, much to my consternation, I found that Hess is rarely mentioned in the early reports of that rescue pulled off on 20 December, 1950. A reporter from Airman Magazine, the publication of the U.S. Air Force, called me and asked what I knew of that rescue and I had to admit that I was suspicious of Hess’s claim of being responsible for the rescue. Then Tom Brokaw’s staff phoned me and I, by that time, was even more certain that Hess had nothing to do with the rescue. I was able to direct Brokaw’s staff to movie footage of the actual rescue that was in the US National Archives. Then I met Chaplain Russell L. Blaisdell, Colonel, USAF, Retired who was the one who actually rescued the children. He gave me a copy of his diary of that event which clearly indicated that Colonel Hess had nothing to do with the rescue.

Frankly, I was shocked! I now had the evidence that one of the great “heroes” of the Korean War was a FRAUD! And, frankly, I am now doubly shocked to find out that no one seemingly gives a damn. In fact I have been called by a General in the Air Force located in the Pentagon asking me to ‘lay off” and not push this any further. I provide herewith an early statement that I prepared spelling out my charges that Colonel Dean E. Hess is a FRAUD.

I will comment further on this story in a later posting. gfd
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Hess: Fraudulent Hero

by George F. Drake, Ph.D.

[The author presents evidence that Col. Dean E. Hess, supposed hero of the Kiddy Car Airlift, did not plan it, did not direct it, did not witness it, did not participate in it and even tried to delay it. His only role in the airlift was to prepare the housing for the children when they arrived at Cheju-do and yet he shamelessly, over the years, accepted credit and the highest awards of the Government of Korea for this rescue. His written account of the rescue presented in the book Battle Hymn suggested by innuendo that he was responsible for the rescue but the movie, supposedly a "true story," took the falsehood even further. Here is the story of how Dean E. Hess stole credit for the Kiddy Car Airlift.]

When the Chinese forces were approaching the northern edge of Seoul in December of 1950 Air Force Chaplain Russell L. Blaisdell and his Chaplain’s Assistant S/Sgt Merle Y. Strang, arranged for trucks to take 950 children and 80 orphanage staff of the Seoul Receiving Center and another smaller orphanage out of Seoul to Inchon to board an LST for escape to Pusan at the southern tip of the Korean peninsula. Chaplain Blaisdell was responsible for the rescue of many of these children from the streets of the devastated city in the months prior to their evacuation for Inchon. It was Blaisdell and Strang who stayed by the orphans and staff in a 35 ft. by 70 ft school building for four and a half days waiting for the ship that never arrived.

It was Chaplain Blaisdell who, on a desperate trip back to Seoul, with Sgt. Strang as driver of his jeep, made arrangements for the flight of sixteen C-54s to fly the children and staff from Kimpo airport the next morning to Cheju-do Island located to the south of the Korean Peninsula. It was Blaisdell and Strang who commandeered the trucks (Blaisdell “pulled rank” to take the trucks away from another unit loading cement on a boat in Inchon harbor) necessary to transport the children, staff and 15 tons of food and belongings to Kimpo Airport on the morning of the 20th of December. Hess had nothing to do with any of this and was totally unaware of the exigencies faced by Blaisdell at every step of the way in effecting this rescue.
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On the 19th of December as soon as Blaisdell had arranged with Colonel T.C. Rogers, Assistant Director of Operations for the Fifth Air Force, for the flight of C-54s to arrive at Kimpo the next morning he wired Hess that he would arrive on Cheju-do Island on the 20th with the children. Hess wired back that the situation on Cheju-do was not ready for them and asked Blaisdell to delay the operation. Blaisdell responded that there was no way he would postpone the rescue flights. Other than this exchange of messages initiated by Colonel Blaisdell there was no other contact between Hess and Blaisdell regarding the rescue of the children between their last meeting in Taegu a week earlier and their meeting on Cheju-do after the rescue.

Hess states in his book Battle Hymn that he desperately was trying to make arrangements for the flight of C-54s from the Combat Cargo Command. No one doubts that he was working on that task but nowhere does he clearly state that he actually made contact with anyone who made a commitment to send the planes to rescue the children. If, in fact, he did make that contact and obtained a commitment for the flight of C-54s Hess gives no indication of how he got that information to Chaplain Blaisdell so Blaisdell could get the children to the airport to meet the rescue aircraft on time. Hess is portrayed in the book Battle Hymn, the movie and in later newspaper articles as desperately calling every one he could to get a flight of planes to rescue the children. We can agree that Colonel Hess was concerned about the children but the facts show that it was Blaisdell and not Hess who was successful in making contact with the Combat Cargo Command to bring in the flight of C-54s to rescue the children.
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In other words Colonel Hess actually had nothing to do with the successful rescue of the children in the famous Kiddy Car Airlift. Accordingly it is incomprehensible how Hess could successfully claim over the years to be the one who rescued the children.

Once the children were located at Cheju-do Colonel Hess was in regular contact with the orphanage and provided extensive assistance. Besides the involvement of Hess and his crew many tons of material aid and tens of thousands of dollars were coming from persons in the U.S. and from military units in Korea and Japan to help the orphans. Most of this was as a result of Hal Boyle’s Associated Press article on the rescue that appeared in newspapers throughout the United States. Colonel Blaisdell went to Cheju-do with an air shipment of aid packages on several occasions but Colonel Hess was there on a regular basis doing all he could for the welfare of the children.

Hess’s first inference that he was the one responsible for the rescue of the children in the Kiddy Car Airlift appeared in his autobiography Battle Hymn which was first published in 1956 almost six years after the actual air lift. On the book jacket one reads “But Colonel Hess will perhaps be best remembered for his heroic efforts in Seoul, Korea, in 1951 [sic.] on behalf of thousands of defenseless Korean orphans about to be engulfed by the Chinese Communist armies sweeping down from the north. Tormented by the sight of these homeless doomed children in the streets of Seoul, he shepherded them to the Seoul airport where he sent out a distress call to his commander. At the last minute, a Fifth Air Force airlift, later to become famous as “Operation Kiddy Car” picked up the orphans and flew them to safety on Cheju Island off the southern coast of Korea.” This statement is total fiction and part of a publisher's campaign to sell the book as a true story.
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This blatant misrepresentation of the facts of the case was but the beginning of a steady flow of falsehoods. The book Battle Hymn as a grossly self serving distortion of the facts of the Kiddy Car Airlift and a poorly researched document. Had Hess actually read any of the media coverage given the Kiddy Car Airlift, which he refers to in the book, he would have been able to write a much better and more accurate account of what actually happened with regard to the airlift. The lack of accurate information in the book regarding the airlift is inexcusable since Hess, after leaving Korea, was appointed Director of Air Force Information Services and had access to everything published in the Pacific Stars & Stripes newspaper on the rescue.

The errors of the book were magnified in the movie. In the movie, which was presented as a true story, Hess is shown walking with the children from Inchon to Kimpo Airport. None of them walked. The movie doesn’t even mention Blaisdell and leaves the viewer believing that it was Hess who organized the rescue and was with the children during their time of trial.

In the first several years after the rescue the media recognized Colonel Blaisdell as the person who successfully rescued the children and orphanage staff in the Kiddy Car Airlift but after the release of the book and movie in 1956 and 1957 no one went back to the earlier records to ascertain the truth. The accepted story from then on was that it was Colonel Hess who rescued the children. And, it seemed that Hess began to believe the distortions as truth and accepted credit for a rescue he did not organize, did not manage, tried to delay and was not even witness to.

This is unconscionable as Hess had dinner one night in Los Angeles during the filming of the movie Battle Hymn with Mike Strang who had assisted Chaplain Blaisdell in the rescue. Hess asked Strang about the rescue but once knowing the truth from one of the actual heroes of that airlift he refused to help Strang get a role in the movie. Even if Hess had never read any of the articles printed in the Pacific Stars & Stripes, Colliers Magazine, Time Magazine and other publications about the rescue back in 1950, 1951, 1952 or 1953 he now had information on what really happened directly from Sgt. Strang.

It seems that Colonel Hess was now a captive of his own inaccurate portrayal of the rescue as presented in his book. The media now had him as the hero, the person who walked with the children from Seoul to Inchon and back to Kimpo for the rescue. Now that the rights to the book were in the hands of movie producers Hess had lost control of the story. And the story really got out of control when the movie was promoted throughout Korea and the U.S. as a true portrayal of the Kiddy Car Airlift.

The articles published in newspaper accounts about the book and film were outrageous in the amount of incorrect information that was printed. From various issues of the Pacific Stars and Stripes we quote, “Using AF C-119 aircraft, Hess gathered some 800 orphans from different sections of the country and flew them to safety”. (27 Sept. 1956) “Hess organized “Operation Kiddy Car” (12 Jan. 1957). “Battle Hymn Has Seoul Premiere…Korean waifs and ROK Air force bands teamed up to provide fanfare marking the premiere of “Battle Hymn” describing Col. Dean Hess’s heroic actions in saving trapped Korean orphans from the Chinese communists in the winter of 1950-1951.” (30 June 1957). “Air Force Col. Dean Hess, famed for his life-saving rescue flights of Korean orphans during the 1950 fighting…” (21 July 1959).

On 18 December 1960 we read “Hess to get ROK (Republic of Korea) Honor. U.S. Air Force Col. Dean Hess, whose Korean War exploits were depicted in the movie “Battle Hymn,” will receive the Republic of Korea Order of Cultural Merit Tuesday in Seoul ceremonies. ROK President Posun Yun is scheduled to present the award at a banquet in Hess’ honor. During the Korean War Hess was instrumental in saving the lives of some 800 orphans. He airlifted the waifs from battle-torn areas to Cheju Island, some 70 miles off the southeast coast of Korea.”

And on 21 December we read, “Republic of Korea President Posun Yun Tuesday presented the Order of Cultural Merit to U.S. Air Force Col. Dean E. Hess, the “flying parson” of Korean War fame. Hess, first American military man ever presented the Korean medal, received it for his humanitarian assistance to Korean children. … The presentation was made 10 years to the day after his Operation Kiddy Car airlifted 1,000 Korean orphans from the communist-menaced Seoul to the safety of Cheju-do. … His famous airlift was carried out virtually under the nose of the communist armies streaming toward the Korean capital. He managed to round up 16 planes to fly the children south away from the battle.”

Newspapers on 18 January 1962 reported “Col. Hess To Receive Sopa Award. SEOUL, The annual Sopa Memorial Award will be presented to U.S. Air Force Col. Dean E. Hess during ceremonies here at 2:30 p.m. Saturday at the Korea House. Hess, public information officer of the Fifth Air Force, is being cited for his extraordinary service in saving some 900 homeless war children during the Korean War.”

The above are cited as examples of the recognition Col. Hess received for an airlift he did not organize, a rescue he did not manage and even tried to delay, and, from all evidence in his own report of the incident, he wasn’t even an eye witness to! It is obvious that the reporters following Hess’s every move in Korea used his book and the movie as their source of information on his role in the airlift. Nowhere does Hess explain that he had no contact with Colonel Blaisdell after their meeting a week prior to the evacuation of the children from Seoul, knew nothing of their wait in Inchon or return to Kimpo Airport, that he had no contact with Chaplain Blaisdell regarding their rescue other than to attempt to delay the rescue one day until he could complete arrangements in Cheju-do to receive the children. Never does Hess give credit to Blaisdell and Strang for their role in the operation.

But then Hess also fails to give credit to any one else who was helping the children once they were located on Cheju-do. To read his book one would think it was his unit that was providing the bulk of the material and financial support for the orphanage. In reality the material aid coming to the Orphans' Home of Korea as a result of Hal Boyle's article far exceeded anything Hess and his unit raised from family and contacts in the states. Nowhere does Hess mention the tens of thousands of dollars coming to the Orphans' Home of Korea from military units other than his own. Hess does not like to share credit with anyone. This additional distortion of the facts led to the false conclusion that Hess was the hero not only of the Kiddy Car Airlift but also in helping the children survive their first years on Cheju-do.

Once the movie was released it seemed impossible for Hess to say “This is not a true portrayal of what happened.” Hess had become a captive of his own earlier mis-statement of the facts of the rescue. Recently Hess has privately, but not publicly, stated that he was upset with the way the movie distorted the story of the rescue but the truth of the matter is that his concern for that distortion of the facts did not prevent him from accepting the honors due someone else. Nowhere does Hess state “Wait a minute. This has gone too far. I want to acknowledge the role of Chaplain Blaisdell and S/Sgt Strang in the rescue of these children.” All of this is very sad in that Colonel Hess was truly concerned with the plight of the orphans and he did provide extensive aid to Whang On Soon and the Orphans Home of Korea. He did not need to steal credit for the airlift to be honored for his work on behalf of the war orphans of Korea. Hess’ role as a fighter pilot and as “Father of the Korean Air Force” truly justifies his status as a Korean War Hero. His work on behalf of the children in the Orphans Home of Korea and with other Korean War orphans justifies him being honored for his work with children but only as one of hundreds, if not thousands, of other servicemen doing the same in othe rparts of Korea. But by also taking credit for what did not belong to him, i.e., credit for the Kiddy Car Airlift, he seriously damages his own credibility.

Hess, who is also characterized as "Preacher" and the "flying Parson" is an ordained minister who gave up his pulpit for the cockpit. His theft of credit for the Kiddy Car Airlift leaves one to wonder about his sense of commitment to his religious credentials.

Drake recently asked Blaisdell how come he and Strang allowed Hess to take the credit for the airlift and accept all those honors and say nothing for all these years? “Well,” Blaisdell responded, “Mike wrote me a letter about this in 1957, right after the film “Battle Hymn” came out. He was angry.” In his letter Mike Strang bitterly complained about Hess taking credit for the rescue and wanted to ‘blow the whistle’ on him. But Blaisdell responded to Strang’s letter writing
“The goal of our efforts, in regard to the orphans … was the saving of lives, which would otherwise have been lost. That was accomplished. In a sense, Mike, well-doing has its own reward, which is not measured in dollars, prestige, or good will, provided the avowed principle is fulfilled in the publication of the book and the preparation of the movie, which is to turn all proceeds over to the orphans. I rest content and would not becloud the issue at this time with an attempt to criticize or correct the portions which we know to be false. In the event that the proceeds did not go to the orphans in Korea I may be inclined to change my attitude."
To Strang's credit he took Blaisdell's advise and said nothing. We have accounts of individuals receiving a Presidential Citation for saving the lives of four Korean war orphans and yet here we have a former Air Force Sgt. and his commanding officer, willing to keep quiet about their role in the rescue of over 950 orphans just to insure that Hess could maximize the income from his book and the movie about that air lift.

So far as is known Hess did turn over to the orphanage all the proceeds from the book and the movie. For that he deserves credit. But Hess, by distorting his role in the airlift, denied both Colonel Russell L. Blaisdell and Sgt. Merle (Mike) Strang the credit due them for one of the most dramatic rescue operations of the Korean War. More than 50 years after the fact Blaisdell was finally honored in Korea for the rescue of the children in the Kiddy Car Airlift. Recently, at the dedication of the Korean War Children’s Memorial in Bellingham, Washington, Blaisdell received the “Four Chaplain’s Award” of the Office of the Chief of Chaplains of the U.S. Air Force for the rescue of the children in the Kiddy Car Airlift.

Unfortunately, Mike Strang was not at that gathering along with Chaplain Blaisdell. He died in Milwaukee, Wisconsin in 1998 without recognition of any sort during his lifetime for his role in that rescue.

HIKING IN KOREA 1952-1953

2008-09-16T04:26:00.000-07:00

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When I was a soldier in Korea during the war I was stationed north of Seoul but not quite up to the front lines. Our camp was surrounded by rice paddies that were fertilized with ‘night soil.’ It stunk, especially in the summer time. I hated being cooped up in that compound and every chance I could I took off for a hike in the hills not too far from the camp. Here is a picture of me out on an exploratory walk in the neighborhood. In this photo I am a 22 year-old GI, Pfc, newly arrived in Korea.
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The first thing I did when out on a hike was to hire one or more local youths to go with me. They knew the trails, where to look out for the booby traps, the land mines, etc. I usually took my camera with me. Here is a picture of some of the kids who went with me on one of my hikes.
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On the trail up to the hills we would encounter brush cutters who made their living gathering brush to be used for cooking and heating the houses.

Way up in the hills we came across an ancient wall of carved granite blocks. It was strange to see that wall up there with no evidence of a road, only the small trail that we were following.

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As we got higher into the hills we came upon military observation posts, now deserted as he battle lines had moved northward about 30 miles.

One had to be careful when encountering old bunkers. Often they were booby-trapped. I encountered one with a decomposing body in it. I was about to poke the body with a long pole and one of the boys yelled. He indicated that it was booby-trapped and we would have been blown off the hill if the hidden land mine exploded.

These hills were not just low bumps on the landscape. It was a good day’s hike to get to the top of the ridges from the camp. Often times I would get back to the camp just as darkness was falling. Here is a photo of the hills I hiked in.

Late one evening the company commander called for me to see him. A group of Korean soldiers were in the commander’s tent. He explained that there were reports of an enemy sniper hiding in the hills and since I knew the trails he wanted me to show this group how to get to the ridge leading to a certain observation point that I knew about but hadn’t been to. So, with rifle and ammunition ready for an encounter with Chinese or North Korean infiltrators off we went. When about half way to the ridge the mission was called off as the Koreans got a message that the lights at that point were from one of their own men. That’s the closest I ever got to being in face-to-face armed conflict with the enemy.

Now, I am told, this area is a popular area for persons from Seoul who want to spend a day hiking in the mountains. I have not been back to this part of Korea since the war.

PACIFIC GROVE HIGH SCHOOL TEACHING 1959-1961

2008-09-15T12:30:00.000-07:00

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When I got my job teaching 9th Grade Social Studies at Pacific Grove High School in California I was told that I would be the first teacher to introduce a unit on ‘Sex and Society’ for 9th graders. The Home Economics teacher would teach the unit on the biology of sex to Seniors but I was to introduce the subject to Freshmen via a unit on the sociology of sex. My class room was in the basement of the building and had a very high ceiling as the school was on a hill. Well, what I did was to have the students clip advertisements from magazines and newspapers that were in their living rooms. They were not to clip advertisements from magazines that daddy hid in the bedroom. The advertisements were to illustrate how sex is used in advertising: from selling cars, vodka, tooth paste, underwear, etc. I then plastered the large wall in my class-room with these advertisements which the students mounted on 8-1/2 x 11” sheets of paper. To say the least, that was not the normal décor of a high school 9th grade class room.

We then discussed the meaning of this in terms of societal values. Wow, were the students ever interested! I first had them prepare a list of questions that they wanted answers to regarding the display, e.g., why were 95% of the ads using female figures, why were the females scantily dressed while the guys were in cowboy costumes, etc., what did this say about prejudice, etc. It got them thinking and some great discussions and library follow-up resulted. But one thing I did not expect was the reaction the wall of advertisements generated on ‘parent’s night’ and as the story spread throughout the building it seemed that all parents ended up visiting my room. Some parents laughed, some were very thoughtful, some were outraged. I’ll tell you one thing though, the kids were really ‘joining issue’ with the subject and initiating study on their own through this impetus.

Soon after arrival at PG High School I became ‘informal’ advisor to the marginal kids, the children of the Portugese and Sicilian fishing families, kids of families on welfare, from broken homes, kids who were having trouble with the law, etc. For whatever reason they felt that my room was a safe hang out for them, and it was. Several times a week we would close the door to the “goodie-goodies” and have a group discussion of some matter of concern to the bunch. We pulled our chairs in a circle, no empty chairs allowed and when one left their chair was removed from the circle. The kids chose the topics of discussion. One time they wanted to form a club and compete as a club in school activities. I suggested that their club would have the same status as they did in the school and would be at the bottom of the pecking order. No, I suggested, if they wanted to raise their status and acceptance in the school pecking order what they should do is to infiltrate a ‘good’ club, especially one with a budget, and then take it over when new officers are elected. They loved the idea so plans were made to do just that.

The woman who taught Home Economics was aghast when I informed her that I had encouraged the ‘marginal’ girls to join the Home Economics Club and hoped that she would be able to instill in them some good family values. She was afraid that these rough-and-tumble street wise girls would destroy her nice girls club. I told her that she could not refuse them permission to participate and that she had to do her best to make them feel at home in the group.

One morning she called me aside and in a very troubled voice told me that she was afraid the girls were up to mischief, that at the end of the club meeting the night before she overheard one of ‘my’ girls say “Let’s go over to my house to see what we can cook up.” I was a bit concerned when one of the girls saw me in the hall that morning and said that we had to have a meeting at noon, that the group has something they want to tell me. I said “OK, I’ll be there.” I sat with my back to the door and chit-chatted with the kids as the circle grew larger, waiting for Jeanne Maitre, one of the ‘ringleaders’ of the girls group to arrive before we got down to the concerns of the kids. Then I felt two arms come down, one on either side of my head and in the hands of Jeanne Maitre was a lovely cake in the shape of a heart. It was Valentine’s Day and the cake decoration said “To Our Valentine George– thanks!” I blushed, my eyes watered and the kids cheered. Ah, yes, they had truly “cooked something up” the night before.

At 2 a.m. I heard a tapping on my bedroom window and heard a voice softly call “George.” I went to the door and found one of the kids, really shook up, wanting to say ‘good by’ as he was running away from home. His mother had another “uncle” spending the night with her who beat him up and threw him out of the house. He was fed up with this life and was going to ‘hit the road.’ I asked how much money he had in his pocket and what he was taking with him. He had less than a dollar and was taking nothing with him. I told him that was stupid, that he should sleep in the garage and return home in the morning and see me at noon when I would give him some advice on how to ‘hit the road.’

Well, the word passed among the group that I was giving advice on how to ‘hit the road,’ i.e., how to run away and by noon I had about 12 kids in my informal seminar. Of course all of this had to be very hush-hush. I had years of experience hitch-hiking in many countries, finding food, finding a place to sleep, etc, etc. so I was able to bring some reality to the table. We met each noon that week and on Friday I said, “Enough of the bull. Now it is time for experience. Jim, you go to the Schnitzel Inn, Jeanne-you go to Sambo’s, Bill you go to the Black Angus, etc,etc” I assigned each kid a restaurant and told them their assignment was to get a free meal over the week end AND NO STEALING! We would meet on Monday and discuss the experiences. Well, Monday came but the kids didn’t. I didn’t see any of them. On Tuesday I saw Jeanne and called but she merely waved and ducked into the girls’ room. On Wednesday I cornered one of the kids and said I wanted all of them in my room at noon. Well, what had happened was that not a single one of them did their homework. The subject was dropped and no one ran away.

One of the subjects I was to cover in the 9th grade social studies classes was race. Well, I told the class, we are not going to spend time discussing Apartheid in South Africa, nor would we discuss race relations in Little Rock, Arkansas where the High School had recently been blown up. I said, let us take a good look at our own town of Pacific Grove, California, this nice little Methodist Church community (the West Coast copy of Ocean Grove, New Jersey.) PG still had ‘blue laws’ and no alcoholic beverages were sold in shops in PG. You had to go across the border to Monterey to buy a bottle of wine or spirits. And, of course, the town had lots of lovely old churches. But underlying all this pious façade was a racist attitude that reflected many values to be found in American communities in the 1950s and 1960s.

Sure, we did the intellectual trip but I wanted the students to experience race prejudice so I assigned the class the task of locating the Relator’s ‘red line’ beyond which a home would not be sold to a minority person. I brought to class the dead on the property that I owned on which was written “This property is not to be sold to or occupied by any person of African lineage, Native American lineage, Oriental lineage or whose ancestors have ever lived under the domain of the Ottoman Empire (that kept out the Jews.) Samuel Morse, founder of Pebble Beach and formerly owner of all this property placed these covenants on all his property. I then related to the students several public protests when a Chinese or Korean instructor at the local Army Language Institute tried to purchase a home in Pacific Grove in the area protected by these covenants.

The students went out in pairs to do their field research. Two girls went to the Chamber of Commerce where they were met with indignation by the secretary there. She was outraged that their teacher was spreading lies and stirring up trouble. She insisted that there was no such line and sent them to see the City Manager who should know these things. Well, the City Manager was new to town so he called a friend who was a Realtor and asked him about the race line. His friend said, “Of course there is a line. Beginning at … “ he described the line as the City Manager marked it on a small city map. When he was done talking with his friend he got out a very large city planning map and with a red marker made a heavy line indicating the Relator’s ‘red line.’ The City Manager was appalled at this information and wished the girls luck in their research.

Well, as you can imagine, the ‘stuff’ hit the fan. Not only did the Board of Realtors get after the Principal of the high school, they protested to the School Board and all of this became part of the class lesson on “Race in America.” The Principal told me that I had been called some very uncomplimentary names but he agreed that the students certainly got a vivid lesson on the role race plays in their own small town, but, “Please George, stick to South Africa next time!”

Another time I got in trouble with the School Board was when they decided not to renew the contract for the school psychologist and use the money freed up to hire an additional staff person for the grounds department. I went to the board meeting and spoke up for keeping the school psychologist and letting the grass grow over the roof of the school, that the mental health of the kids was more important than the aesthetics of the school grounds. They disagreed with me and terminated the position of school psychologist.

Well, not too long after that was another “Parent’s Night.” My social studies students did some demographic research and we prepared a large poster on ‘butcher paper’ about six ft. tall and about 30 inches wide. It was directly opposite the entrance of the room and VERY visible. On it we wrote “PG High School has 750 students (as I recall) and of these during their life: (then line by line we wrote) 150 will end up in a mental hospital classified as psychotic, 420 will be divorced, 35 will commit suicide, 225 will spend time in jail, they will have 300 illegitimate children, etc, etc. We had a footnote by each figure and on the bottom of the poster indicated how we calculated the figure. I don’t recall all the social ills we listed nor the actual numbers but they were impressive. Next to the large poster with the demographic characteristics we had another poster saying: “Exam for Parents = which is your child? NOTE: the school board just removed the position of the school psychologist so they could hire a gardener. Do you think this is a wise choice? What are you going to do about it?”
Every school board member visited my room that night. One of them said to me in a low voice “You bastard!.” At the next meeting of the school board they reinstated the position of the school psychologist and fired the school nurse. I was next.

The Principal called me in to his office for an “evaluation” session. He told me that he was disturbed that students who were expelled from school by the vice-principal were found ‘hiding’ in my classroom. [the vice principal came into my room one day and found three kids that he had expelled earlier in the day sitting in the back of my room. “They are not supposed to be on the campus.” He exclaimed. “They will disrupt your class.” “No,” I explained, “this is their home. They will not give me any trouble and later, when school is out, we will talk about their problems. Leave them alone.”] After a bit of discussion with the Principal of the problems that I was causing him with the community and the school board he suggested that it might be best for my own professional career to seek employment somewhere else. He indicated that he was not going to fire me, yet, but that such was immanent if I did not shut up and behave. So I went job hunting.

HAVING FUN IN THE LIBRARY (Shhhh…don’t tell the librarian.)

2008-09-14T12:27:00.000-07:00

One of my responsibilities as the 9th grade teacher in Pacific Grove, California back in 1959 and 1960 was to introduce the students to the library. The school had a large library overseen by Miss Whitehead. I wanted to encourage the students to see the library as a mine where, with sufficient exploring, you could find gems, but you had to know how and where to look. That was what I was supposed to teach them.

As we walked around the room I spotted a white leather bound edition of the complete works of George Bernard Shaw on the lowest shelf. I reached down and picked up the copy of Man and Superman. “Wow,” I quietly exclaimed. “I don’t think Miss Whitehead is aware that this is down here. Look, no one has checked this book out of the library for a long time.” And then I blew a lot of dust off the top of the book. I opened to Chapter III and quietly but with a sense of doing something illicit, I read the first lines of Don Juan in Hell.

THE OLD WOMAN Excuse me; but I am so lonely; and this place is so awful.

DON JUAN A new comer?

THE OLD WOMAN Yes: I suppose I died this morning. I confessed; I had extreme unction; I was in bed with my family about me and my eyes fixed on the cross. Then it grew dark; and when the light came back it was this light by which I walk seeing nothing. I have wandered for hours in horrible loneliness.

DON JUAN [sighing] Ah! you have not yet lost the sense of time. One soon does, in eternity.

THE OLD WOMAN Where are we?

DON JUAN In hell.

THE OLD WOMAN [proudly] Hell! I in hell! How dare you?

DON JUAN [unimpressed] Why not, senora!

THE OLD WOMAN You do not know to whom you are speaking. I am a lady, and a faithful daughter of the Church.

DON JUAN I do not doubt it.

THE OLD WOMAN But how then can I be in hell? Purgatory, perhaps: I have not been perfect: who has? But hell! oh, you are lying.

DON JUAN Hell, senora, I assure you; hell at its best: that is, its most solitary - though perhaps you would prefer company.

THE OLD WOMAN But I have sincerely repented; I have confessed-

DON JUAN How much?

THE OLD WOMAN More sins than I really committed. I loved confession.

DON JUAN Ah, that is perhaps as bad as confessing too little. At all events, senora, whether by oversight or intention, you are certainly damned, like myself; and there is nothing for it now but to make the best of it.

THE OLD WOMAN [indignantly] Oh! and I might have been so much wickeder! All my good deeds wasted! It is unjust.

Acting out a little scene I glanced around to make sure Miss Whitehead had not seen what I was doing with the students and said to them quietly in the manner of a conspirator, “There are real gems to be found in Shaw. But be careful,” I added, “there are folks who do not think Shaw is proper for young people to read.”

The next day Miss Whitehead said to me “George, you really turned those kids on to Shaw. Every copy of his books that we have in this library were checked out yesterday by your students.”

I wonder how many of them still remember those first lines of Don Juan in Hell?

My Cabin in the Woods

2008-09-10T08:50:00.000-07:00

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In about 1973 I responded to an ad in the local paper advertising cedar fence posts. When I got to the farmer who was selling a stack of used fence posts I noticed an old log cabin that was almost completely covered with blackberry vines. I asked him how much he wanted for the cabin. He glanced at it and then at me and responded “Someone once offered me two hundred dollars for it but he never came back. If you want to pay that much you can have it.” I immediately wrote him a check for $200.

The cabin was built by an Icelander settler in about 1864 out of old growth hand split cedar logs. It is about 16 ft by 20ft and has but one room with a door on the front and a window on each side. It had no fireplace. The octogenarian who sold it to me said that it was on the land when he purchased the property and he lived in it with five children until he built the farm house that he was then living in. Soon, though, he would be moving to town as his land was purchased by a large oil company to become part of a parcel of land for a refinery. Accordingly, he was selling everything he could as all structures would be razed and the land totally cleared.

I cut back the brambles and stripped the cabin interior and exterior down to the original logs. I removed the rotted shake roof and removed the roof timbers. Then I numbered each of the logs and took many photos of the structure. I removed the caulking which was mainly clay although at times I would find cloth stuffed between the logs. I removed the window and door frames which had been modernized, probably in the 1920s. For the most part the logs were devoid of rot and were in solid condition. With help I then lifted down the logs, one by one. They were ‘dove tailed’ and the cabin walls were built with no nails, the dove-tail character of the log ends held the building together.

Once on the ground I now had the problem of getting the logs home. We had a 1970 VW bus which was used (abused) to achieve that goal. At the end of the task of getting all the logs to my home the back seat of the VW bus had a distinct sway to it and the roof rack also had a curve to it. I could not carry too many logs at a time so it took many trips to move them to Bellingham from Ferndale, a round trip of about 30 miles. I had a pile of old timbers from a railroad trestle that had been demolished not too far away from our home which I used to construct a foundation for the cabin which raised it about 20 inches off the ground. I found some salvaged 12 inch by 12 inch old oak or maple timbers that I used for framing the floor. Then I reconstructed the cabin on that base.

An old retail lumber company went out of business in town and there I found several very old windows that fit in the spaces in the cabin walls for the original windows. Originally I covered the roof timbers and framework with hand split cedar shake but the wet weather we have here in the Pacific Northwest combined with the fact that the cabin was in the woods and was in the shade most of the time caused the shake to be covered with moss and soon rotted. Eventually we replaced the shake with a metal roof that is now faded so it blends with the wooded environment.

Rather than use clay as caulking material I used cement. I hammered in lots of small nails near the space between the logs and then plastered the space between the logs with cement which, when dry, was held in place by the nails which were totally covered by the cement. This has held up well for over 30 years. I ran an underground electrical cable to the cabin from the house which is about 50 ft. away and brought it up into the cabin from beneath so it is not visible from the outside. Then I framed the inside of the cabin with two-by-fours and filled the spaces between with heavy insulation. The ceiling was framed for a drop ceiling and florescent lights were installed. An electric wall heater was built into one wall. I covered the walls with beautiful straight-grain 2 x 6 boards placed horizontally that I got as salvage material from a local manufacturing plant that made cross-ties for power poles. They were varnished rather than painted so as to keep some of the aesthetic of an old wooden structure. The floor was fully carpeted with a dark green tightly woven carpet. I characterize the job as having built a silk purse inside a sow’s ear.

The structure served as my wife’s weaving studio and has a bed in there for guests who are willing to ‘rough it.’ Grandchildren of the man from whom we purchased the cabin come from time to time to get their pictures taken in front of the old family home. I do not pretend that it is an original pioneer log cabin but rather characterize it as a cabin constructed with elements from an older cabin built by early settlers in this area. The original structure cost me $200 but I figured that I had spent about $2,000 reconstructing it on our property. I am sure it is worth much more than that now. Regardless of its putative market value we enjoy having it on the property as one of our ‘out buildings.’

I Am Not A Sinner

2008-09-06T16:43:00.000-07:00

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My Polish grandmother used to say when the weather was lovely "It is a sin not to be outdoors on a day like this."

Well Thursday was a magnificent day and not wishing to be sinners Mary Ann called David, our son, and together we went to the end of the road at Mt. Baker, to "Artist Point." It takes takes less than one hour to go by car from our house to the parking lot at Artist Point. Since Mary Ann broke her neck two years ago she has not been able to walk the distance to the end of the path from the parking lot but David and I did. Here is a photo of me at the end of the path with Mt. Shuksan in the background. I am facing west, toward Mt. Baker.

We moved to Bellingham over 40 years ago and have loved it for the opportunities for outdoor living. In the early days we would go hiking and camping with our two sons. We climbed to the tops of various ridges and vista points all through the North Cascades but we never attempted to climb Mt. Baker or Shuksan. We knew which trails opened first as they had more sun and the snow would melt soonest. Some of our favorite hikes would be in the high alpine meadows but often they would not be open for hiking until late August or early September and if we had an early snow before we got up there we would not do that hike in that year. We got books on the
wild flowers of the Pacific Northwest and taught our sons to identify them. David really took to hiking and loved it but Todd would rather be on pavement than on the trail in the forest. As we get older we have to give up some of our favorite hikes but the roads here take us up into the mountains which allows us to drive to where we can get some of the most incredible views imaginable so we still get out but do not do the hiking we so loved years ago. For many years during the summer months we would dedicate one day each week for a hike in the forest and take turns deciding which hike we would take. Each year we would also plan at least one camping trip and one visit to Mexico, Guatemala or some other destination in a warm climate in the winter.

Just so you don't sell your home and move to Bellngham let me add that not all days in the summer are like this. In the winter months we get weeks on end where we do not see the sun and clear sky. When it rains it drizzles down. Often we think we had a good rain and the weather report says it was a 'trace.' That is one reason we always take off for sunny areas for a week or two in mid-winter. But, when the sun is shining it is a sin not to be outdoors as this is God's country.

gfd

The Day is Done

2008-09-06T06:06:00.000-07:00

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I have no idea how poetry got into my life. All I know is that I have appreciated poetry for well over 60 years. I noted in my diary that at Philmont Scout Ranch in 1946 that I recited the poem “The Day is Done” by Henry Wordsworth Longfellow at a campfire ceremony. Without cheating let me see how much of it I still remember. Those of you who want to give this professor a grade can check this against the printed form and send me a correction.

“The day is done and the darkness
Falls on the wings of night
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.

I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the rain and the mist
And a feeling of sadness comes o’er me
That my soul can not resist.

A feeling of sadness and longing
That is not akin to pain
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.

Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay
That shall sooth this restless feeling
And banish the thoughts of day.

Read to me not from the grand old masters
Nor from the bards sublime
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of time.

For like strains of martial music
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life’s endless toil and endeavor
And tonight I long for rest.

Read to me rather from some humbler poet
Whose songs gushed forth from his heart
As rain from the clouds of summer
Or tears from the eyelids start.

Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease,
Heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.

Such songs have the power to quiet
The restless pulse of care
And come like the benediction
That follows after prayer.

So pick up thy treasured volume
And read the poem of thy choice
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.

And the night shall be filled with music
And the cares that infest the day
Shall fold their tents like the Arabs
And silently steal away.

I remember that a neighbor for whom I did gardening gave me my first book of poetry, a book of the complete works of Henry Wordsworth Longfellow. That must have been back in about 1943 or 1944. I can still recite many others of his poems that I had committed to memory. I used to write the verses of the poems on little cards and as I rode my bike to school I would look at the cards and memorize the verses. When in Korea in the Army back 55 years ago or so I had several books of poetry in my tent. It was interesting for me to note how many officers, when inspecting our tents, singled out my books of poetry for comment. I guess taking a book of poems to war is not normal.

Earlier this year my wife, noting an article in the newspaper said, “Oh, today is Flag Day.” And immediately, without thinking, I responded “Hats off, along the street there comes, a blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums, a flash of color beneath the sky, hats off, the flag is passing by. Blue and crimson and white it shines, O’er the steel-tipped, ordered lines. Hats off! The colors before us fly, but more than the flag is passing by…” and on and on I went until she said “stop it, I am trying to read.” Oh, well, she has heard them all before.

I often memorize short poems or passages from books that catch my fancy. Once, when attending a class on “French for Doctoral Candidates” which was given from 8 to 9 a.m. daily for four weeks followed by the doctoral language exam, the instructor, an older professor, stood in front of the class and said (in English) “Man is but a reed.” He paused and I thought he was waiting for some one to continue the rest of the statement so I said aloud “the most feeble thing in nature, but he is a thinking reed. The universe need not arm itself in order to destroy him. A drop of water, a bit of vapor suffices to kill him but if the universe were to crush him man would still be more noble than that which killed him, for he knows that he dies and of this the universe knows nothing.” I was sitting in the center of the front row of the classroom with about 300 students behind and along side me. He said “Young man, see me after class.”

I did so and he inquired how come I knew that quotation from Blaise Pascal. I responded that when I was sitting on mountain tops in Panama and Guatemala working for the Inter-American Geodetic Survey I always took a stack of books with me and on one occasion I took a copy of the Ponse of Pascal. “What else do you know from that work?” he asked. I proceeded to recite half a dozen more fragments such as “Why do you kill me?” “What? Are you not from the other side of the mountain? I shall be a hero. Were you from this side of the mountain I would be a murderer.” Or “a fly lands on the King’s nose. History is changed.” He expressed pleasure that I liked Pascal and told me that I should make certain that I have him as my examiner since there were three proctors for the exam. Well the day of the exam I made sure I was in his room. He came to where I was sitting and randomly opened the book from which I was to translate a section and had me begin my translation. Within ten minutes he came by, took a look at my work and said, “Good job” and proceeded to sign my card as having passed the French language exam. I was the first out of the room. I maintain that I did not pass in French but rather in Pascal, which happens to be a computer language named after this French philosopher, mathematician and scientist.

One day, many years later, I stood in front of my class, looked at the students and began “Man is but a reed…” and at the end of the recitation asked who in the class could recite one or more verses of poetry or phrases from classical literature. No one venture to respond. Then our class ‘redneck’ sheepishly raised his hand. I encouraged him to go on… and he recited verses from contemporary poets. This astonished his class mates as he came across as a guy who raced motorcycles, was a commercial fisherman in Alaska (in season) played loud music and sneered at ‘bleeding heart liberals’. I asked him how come he learned poems and he, to the delight of the class, actually blushed a bit and laughed. He said his mother posted poems on the bathroom wall behind the toilet and lavished praise on the child who first could recite the new poem. He said the boys in the family had a distinct advantage over the girls and always learned to recite the poems before they did. We all laughed.

Once, at a formal dinner hosted by the Governor of Sichuan Province, China for Governor Spellman of Washington State our governor led about 30 of us Washingtonians in singing a number of old standard U.S. folk songs. We would have come off OK if he had limited it to one verse of each song but he insisted on singing three, four or five verses. That often left him singing alone at the end, much to our collective embarrassment. On conclusion he asked the Chinese governor to have the Chinese delegation sing some Chinese songs.
“No,” the Chinese Governor responded. “I will recite to you a 17th century Chinese poem about a fisherman going down the Yangtze River from Chungching to Wuhan. I do not want it translated. I merely want you to listen to the sounds and the cadence of the words and envision the boat going through the gorges, down the rapids, along the quiet stretches of the river and then finally arriving home to family in Wuhan.” He then proceeded to recite at least twenty verses of that classical poem. It was a magnificent tour de force. Wow! I wonder if the current governor of Alaska can do the same? Or the governor of Washington State?

One day I read in the local newspaper that Ethel Boynton Crook was celebrating her 95th birthday. I went to see her in the retirement facility where she was living and shared with her my pleasure at knowing her mother, Sue C. Boynton, who, almost 30 years earlier, at age 95 read one of her poems at the Bi-Centennial ceremony that I had organized which took place in the old city hall. I also told her how I had invited her mother to come to one of my classes on “Community Organizing” to tell how she created the PTA association in Boston back in 1895. When in front of the class, “Mother Boynton” as she was wont to be called, said “I have to admit I lied to Dr. Drake when I said I would love to talk about community organizing in Boston in 1895. But I just had to get out of that nursing home. The people there are lacking in life, lacking in spirit, lacking in joy. I wanted to come here to see young people, people with energy, spirit and joy, so please forgive me if I do not talk about Boston in 1895. I would rather show you some family photographs and recite for you some of my poems.” I assured her she could do whatever she wanted.

For almost an hour she had that class entranced with her stories, which were suggested by the photographs she passed around the room. She recited or read poems she had written in years past, recalling one or another while telling about a photograph or an incident in her life. When the hour was up the class did something no other class had ever done, they gave her a standing ovation! It was a ‘love in.’

I asked Sue Boynton’s daughter, Ethel, if she would join me in creating a county-wide poetry contest in her mother’s name, the “Sue C. Boynton Poetry Contest and Poetry Walk.” The contest would be open to any one who could write, of any age or level of education. The top ten poems would be engraved in plastic and mounted for one year on the “Sue C. Boynton Poetry Walk” and those poems plus the next 15 works, called “Merit Awards” would be printed and displayed in the city buses for the ensuing year. She agreed and with financial help from her family and friends we got the project going.

We formed a committee that had on it several nationally known poets. They, in turn, contacted colleagues to serve as jurors for the contest. The only information the jurors have about the poet is their grade in school if they are in a K-12 class. The first year we had 78 contestants, the second year 125 persons sent in poems and this year we had 275 participants ranging from first graders to an 82 year old grandmother. The awards ceremony brings a large crowd to the rotunda room of the old city hall. After a few more years the project will be ‘institutionalized’ and have a permanent niche in the cultural life of this community. This year a prize winning third-grader ‘brought the house down’ when he read “My mother is having another baby. I hope it is better than the last one.” As you can see, our jurors define poetry fairly widely.

Shortly after the poetry contest was publicly announced in the local media a member of the county historical society visited me and asked if I wanted (free) copies of the book that they had published years ago on the life of Sue C. Boynton since they had quite an overstock of the volume. I naively said we could use all that he had as we would give them as prizes to contest winners. The next week he showed up with almost 1,000 copies of the book. We distributed the book to all senior centers, to all retirement homes and nursing homes, to every school in the county (over 125 of them) and to all libraries. The distribution of the book helps ‘legitimize’ the poetry contest, making it truly a part of the culture and history of this community.

=========== It is now past midnight so I can say, “the day is done and the darkness…..” gfd

To: Order of the Arrow, Cowaw Lodge #9

2008-09-03T08:16:00.000-07:00

To: Order of the Arrow, Cowaw Lodge #9
One year summary of scouting activities.
14 September 1949
c/o I.A.G.S., Box 2031
Balboa Heights, Canal Zone

Dear Lyle:

Again I write to you, this time from Costa Rica rather than Panama. I came here on Friday with my mother who is visiting me for several weeks from New Jersey. We are spending a week’s vacation here in Costa Rica. As soon as I got here I looked up the scout association again. As you recall, I spent one week with them in March of this year.

There are several reasons for this letter. One, of course, is to say ‘hello’ to you and let you in on what is new in Panama. The other reason is to report to Lodge #9, Order of the Arrow, on my scouting activities since becoming a member of that lodge one year ago. If I were living at home, where I could assist the lodge in their activities, this letter would not be necessary. As it is, you might think, if you didn’t hear from me, that I was a disinterested member.

I am very much interested in the Order of the Arrow so please do not let my name be dropped from the list. I do not know the amount of dues that I owe nor when they are due. I would appreciate it if you would bring me up to date on that information.

I am having an interesting time here in San Jose at present. A Scout Manual has recently been published in Spanish for the Scouts of Costa Rica. The trouble is that it was published without the acceptance of the National Council and included many things that were definitely not acceptable to the Scouting standards of Costa Rica.

I attended a meeting of the National Council and listened in on a debate about allowing an American Boy Scout troop operate in San Jose. I was permitted to say a few words on behalf of the Boy Scouts of America troop.

On the morning following the meeting of the National Council I talked for two hours with Reverend Fish who is organizing American scouting in San Jose. In the afternoon I attended a Costa Rican troop meeting. I then spent two hours discussing scouting methods with several Costa Rican scouters. In the evening I talked scouting for three hours with three scouters of San Jose. I was asked to check on the Costa Rican branch of the order of the Arrow. This International Scouting if very interesting.

I would now like to bring the Lodge members up-to-date as to my scouting activities after one year in the Order of the Arrow. I therefore enclose a summary of my activities since September, 1948.

Yours in Scouting,
George F. Drake

Summary of Scouting Activities of George Drake for one year following the Ordeal of 1948 of Lodge #9, Order of the Arrow.

1. I am registered as an Explorer Scout in Post #31 of Spring Lake, N.J. Until December, 1948 I was Post Guide. I have attended no meetings since December, 1948.

2. I am a Life Scout and a Woodsman Explorer. I have passed no scout requirements of any kind since December, 1948.

3. I have done the following hiking and camping with scouts since becoming a member of the Order of the Arrow:
a. Went on a 3-day exploration hike with Mexican Rover Scouts spending 30 hours underground in a cave in Taxco State, Mexico.
b. Went on a 2-day hike with full pack with Mexican Scouts from Xochomilco to Cuernavaca, following a straight line over the mountains, about 45 miles.
c. Participated in a 1-day hike up Popocatepetl, a snow-capped volcano near Mexico City with Rover Scouts. Four out of 13 made it to the top. I was one of the four.
d. Went on a two-day camping trip with scouts of Guatemala.
e. Went on a one-day hike with Guatemalan scouts.
f. Joined Scouts of El Salvador on a one-day horseback ride.
g. Went on a one-day mountain climbing trip with Scouts of Costa Rica to the top of Poas Volcano.
h. Went on a 3-1/2 month trip, by all means of transportation, through Central America to the Canal Zone. The uniform of the Explorer Scouts of the Boy Scouts of America was worn at all times.

4. I visited the following local council offices of the B.S.A.:
a. Raritan, NJ
b. Monmouth, NJ
c. Norfolk, VA
d. Orlando, FL
e. West Palm Beach, FL
f. Miami, FL
g. Pensacola, FL
h. Mobile, Alabama
i. New Orleans, Louisiana
j. Balboa, Canal Zone

5. I visited the following National Offices of Scouting
a. New York City, B.S.A.
b. Mexico City, Mexico. Association of Scouts of Mexico
c. Guatemala City, Guatemala. Scout Association of Guatemala
d. San Salvador, El Salvador. Exploradores de Salvador
e. Managua, Nicaragua. Scouts de Nicaragua
f. San Jose, Costa Rica. Cuerpo Nacional de Scouts de Costa Rica.
g. Panama City, Panama. The newly organized Scouts de Panama.

6. I have met and discussed scouting with the following leaders of scouting in these countries: a. U.S.A.: Mr. McKinney, Mr. H. Patton, Mr. G. Cronie, Mr. R. Mozo and others in the National Office, BSA.
b. Mexico: Mr. Juan Llane, President of the Scouts of Mexico, as well as with the National Commissioner of Cub Scouts of Mexico and leaders in Rover Scouting in Mexico.
c. Guatemala: Mr. Deutchman, President of the Scout Association of Guatemala, also with Armando Galvez, Sr. Armado and other national leaders.
d. El Salvador: Padre Juan Garcia Artola.
e. Nicaragua: The association President, National Commissioners of Scouting, Cubing and Rovers and others.
f. Costa Rica: The President of the association and all national officers.
g. Panama: The President of the Scouts of Panama.

7. I have sent American scouting literature to scouts in the following countries: Mexico, Canada, Australia, Guatemala, El Salvador, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Venezuela, England, Chile, Germany, Austria, Greece

8. I correspond with scouts in the following countries: United states, Canada, Mexico, Guatemala, El Salvador, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Venezuela, Chile, Scotland, England, Finland, Sweden, Australia, New Guinea, South Africa, Indonesia, Burma, Pakistan, Hindustan, China, Greece, Belgium, Austria, Germany

9. I have had articles published in the following Scouting magazines:
a. Lone Scout, BSA
b. The Scout, England
c. Escultismo, Mexico
d. Xxx , Indonesia
e. Xxx, Nicaragua

September 14, 1949

Community Volunteer Programs

2008-09-02T08:11:00.000-07:00

In the early 1970s when I was Director of the University Year for Action program at Western Washington University a student volunteer, Chris Avalon, told me about funds available for a program getting seniors involved in community volunteer activities. I called the national office of the Retired Senior Volunteer Program and got the forms for applying for an RSVP grant. I proceeded to write the grant proposal that got the program started in Bellingham.
I designed a program that would get the seniors involved in speech therapy along with the student UYA volunteers in public school speech therapy programs. This would be only one of many ways we would get seniors involved in community service activities but it was to be the focus of the new organization. Soon after the grant was submitted to the ACTION office in Washington, DC I was called back there for a meeting of UYA program directors. It just happened that there was a joint meeting of the Boards of Directors of the AARP (American Association of Retired Persons) and RTA (Retired Teachers Association) being held in the same hotel where I was staying. These two organizations were among the largest voluntary associations in America at the time. The time and location of the reception was noted on the hotel bulletin board, and not being shy, I decided to crash the reception.

At the reception I was enthusiastically talking about the RSVP-UYA program for putting seniors and college students in the classroom to help kids needing speech therapy when the person I was talking to said “I would like to invite you to join us for dinner.” I responded, “Don’t you need permission of someone to invite me to join you?” “No,” he said, “I am the President of AARP and you will be my guest.” [How’s that for crashing a party?]

During dinner he introduced me to the assembled dinner guests and said “Dr. Drake, why don’t you take three minutes and tell us about your program ideas for Bellingham.” At the end of my comments he turned to a man seated next to him and stated “This is the kind of program we want to see funded.” That person happened to be the Director of all Senior Programs for ACTION at the national level. After dinner he asked that I call on him the next day, which I did. Our program was funded, of course.

When I ran for a seat on the Bellingham City Council a year later I used the slogan “The greatest untapped resource of the community is the talent and good will of its citizens”. Once on the council I created the Civic Partnership program for placing citizens in volunteer positions with city agencies such as the Park Department, Library, Police Dept., etc. That program was funded with money from the city budget. Later it was expanded to include county programs and was combined with a new struggling Voluntary Action Agency to become a single organization. I helped get on-going city funding to help pay for staff. About a decade later it joined the RSVP in a single office.

Today, some 35 years since its founding, the local RSVP program has over 4,300 registered volunteers who, in 2007, volunteered over 100,000 hours of community service. The Whatcom Voluntary Action Agency had over 1,200 volunteers last year donate more than 280,000 hours of community service. I think we can say that these two agencies that I helped create many years ago are an outstanding credit to our community.

I feel that my impetus for the creation of this type of program came out of my experiences with the scrap paper drives and the drives for aluminum pots and pans and other metals held by Troop 59 of Manasquan, New Jersey that I participated in during the years of the Second World War and following. This was the Boy Scout oath and law in action. It is community resource mobilizing at its finest. It is taking Boy Scout values into the wider community giving all citizens a structured way to help their fellow citizens.

One thing has to be noted though, and that is the self realization that my talent lies in dreaming up these organizations, designing their structure, getting the funding and giving them a kick-start and then getting out of the way. I am not an administrator. I am the guy that has the vision and who happens to have some expertise. in community sociology, knows something about community systems analysis, etc. and can put these things together. But I also have the sense to leave them alone once they get started. I also quickly get bored doing the same thing time and again. I want to create new programs, take on new projects and have new adventures. It seems that my attention span is between two and four years, then I quit my job, my "temporary" assignment, my current activity and head off in a new direction. During my 23 years at Western Washington University I served as a classroom teacher, Director of the Center for East Asian Studies, Director of the University Year for Action Program, Special Assistant to the President, Founding Director of the China Teaching Program (for training professionals to teach English as a second language to co-professionals in the PRC). I ended my career at Western Washington University as Director of International Programs.

Senator Goldwater... I would like to introduce Charlotte Godfriedson of the Colville Tribe

2008-09-01T09:12:00.000-07:00

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I was in Washington, DC, attending a meeting of Directors of University Year for Action programs. We had been asked to bring two or three students with us so they could talk to the press about their experiences in the program. One of the students I took was a young Native American woman, member of the Colville Tribe, named Charlotte Godfriedson. We were in the hotel lobby waiting for someone to meet us when Charlotte came running to me saying "George, Senator Goldwater is in the barber shop! He is one of my heros. Oh, how I would love to meet him." "Come on," I said, "show me where he is." We went down the hall to the barber shop and yup, that was him all right. "Come with me" I said to Charlotte as I entered the barber shop. "Senator Goldwater" I said and paused. "Yes," he responded. "Senator I would like to introduce to you Charlotte Godfriedson, a young member of the Colville Tribe in Washington State who thinks you are the greatest Senator ever." "What a pleasure to meet you," said the Senator as he held out his hand to a startled Charlette. After an exchange of a few pleasantries we left and once in the hall Charlotte asked how I came to know the senator. I responded that I had never met him before but that I did not have to know him to make an introduction.

She found this hilarious but when I told her how I learned this 'trick' she laughed even more. Back when I was working with the Inter-American Geodetic Survey in Panama I was attending a local fiesta in a small town and was in a bar with a fellow named Guillermo. I was standing with my back to the bar surveying the crowd and Guillermo was on my right talking to the bar tender. Up comes a lovely young senorita to my left and orders a drink. I give Guillermo a light poke and point to my left. His eyes light up and he runs around me and says "Senorita, may I introduce my good friend George Drake?" And she responds as we shake hands, "Mucho gusto, soy Maria Sanchez." We chatter a bit when Guillermo gives me a hefty kick and whispers "Now you introduce me, you pig!" Now that I have her name I introduce the two of them to each other. Oh, well, I learned fast.

I guess I had always been a bit forward, though. I recall being in Princeton, New Jersey, one Saturday when I was about 15 or 16 years old with a crew that was conducting an inventory at a hardware store. The gang of us, all employees of the same chain of hardware stores, moved all over the state doing that on Saturdays. After my lunch I went for a brief stroll when I noted coming toward me a person who could only be Albert Einstein. "Good Morning, Dr. Einstein," I said as we came close to each other. "Good Morning young man" said Dr. Einstein as he passed. So now I can tell folks that I once met Dr. Einstein and exchanged pleasantries with him. Name dropper!

“I Resign” Follow up = The University Year for Action Program

2008-08-31T09:07:00.000-07:00

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The trainers we had brought in to help train the Board of Directors of the local poverty program were from the Federal Region VII ACTION office in Seattle. This was the office that oversaw all of the various ACTION programs (including the OEO –poverty programs) in five or six states. They enjoyed my resignation tactic at the training retreat and had my contact information so one morning I got a phone call at my university office from one of them. “Drake, do you think your university would be interested in running an off campus program similar to VISTA but getting students involved in community service agencies while still getting academic credit and training in the field they are working in?”

“Sure,” I said, “Put us down as interested.” I was informed that I would be contacted again when decisions would be made as to which universities would be invited to submit a proposal for consideration in the initial round of grants. I immediately called Ralph Munro, head of the Washington State Office of Voluntary Action, and asked him about this call. “Oh,” he said, “that is the University Year for Action” program. I just came back from Washington, DC, where I helped design it. Drake, you should call Jerry Brady, National Director of the program and convince him that Western Washington University should be in the first group of universities to be funded.”

So I immediately called Washington, DC and got through to Jerry Brady. “How many schools are going to be funded in the first round?” I asked. “Eleven.” “How many are already selected?” “Nixon announced the program at Little Rock, Arkansas so the first program will be there. No other commitments have been made as yet.” I continued, “Put Western Washington University down as the second to be funded.” “Whoa, slow down.” Brady said. “First you have to fill out all the necessary forms.” “OK, send them to me. How long will it take for you to respond once we have the forms filled out?” “We will take no longer than you take to fill them out.”

I got the forms in two days and took three to fill them out. The following week Jerry Brady was out to visit our university and we got funding as the second university in the nation with that program. The Dean for Research and Grants named me as Program Director a post that I held for the next several years. The UYA program initially generated an immense amount of ill-will on campus where traditional academics felt students could not learn anything if they did not attend daily lectures taught by Dr. Ego himself. It also generated hundreds of thousands of dollars each year in grant money, something that makes university administrators drool.

Well, we worked it out and if the proof is in the pudding, we succeeded beyond our dreams. Now, 35 years later the program has morphed into what is called the Human Services Program in the Woodring College of Education. It currently has over 400 majors in that program who are getting their university degrees while working in social service agencies throughout the state and attending classes especially designed for them once or twice a week in the evenings, on week-ends or in special seminars held in their region of the state.

One of the campus academic departments that worked with us early in the program was the Speech Pathology and Audiology Department. We placed their volunteers in public schools to help the speech therapists in their work with students who needed such help. This program was deemed so successful that such an internship is now a required element in getting a degree from WWU in that field. Such is also now required for State Certification as a speech therapist in public schools.

The program almost was killed, though, when a new Regional Director for ACTION was appointed in the Region VII Federal Office in Seattle. The woman appointed to that post was a former Republican Senator in the Washington State Senate. She held our university President and Dean for Research and Grants in very low esteem because of the contumelious manner in which those two clowns addressed the legislature when giving testimony at legislative budget hearings.

A warning call came from a staff person in Washington, DC, telling me that our proposed third-year budget was to be cut by one third by Marge because of her prejudice toward WWU. Two days later the caller informed me that he was wrong, it was to be cut in half. I called Marge in Seattle and asked for an appointment to meet with her and her staff. I took with me two of my staff. Due to my “I Resign” stunt several of her staff knew me and were supportive of our proposed programs. We eventually went over every element of our program, item by item, budget figures and personnel needs. To my delight Marge not only approved our proposed plan as originally submitted but also increased some elements that she felt we were under-budgeting!

The Dean for Research and Grants took the final grant proposal to Washington, DC for submittal but while there he did some ‘adjustments.’ After his return I received a phone call from one of the D.C. staff telling me what Dean xx had done but that his call had to be confidential as the Dean had gotten him to agree not to tell me of the change. A bit later the Dean for Arts and Sciences called me and said “Drake, this is in confidence and you are to tell no one but you should be aware that Dean xx adjusted your UYA program by inserting a young lady as ‘liaison’ between your office and his.” The next day I got a phone call from the person who would be replacing me as Director of the program as I was going back to the classroom after two years of serving as full-time director. He informed me of this change also but, again, stated that I was not to react to the information as I was not supposed to know about it. So I waited for another three days until I answered the phone and a very angry Marge was on the line demanding an explanation of this change in the program after she had agreed to the one we had worked out with her and her staff. I told her that I was waiting for her phone call and now that I officially knew of the changes I would go and confront Dean xx. I asked, “Are you telling me that if this ‘liaison person’ is not removed from the grant proposal it will not be funded?” “Correct!”

When admitted to his office I asked the dean how things had gone in Washington, DC and whether he had any trouble with the grant. “No,” he said with a big smile, “Everything went beautifully.” “Well it may have while you were there,” I responded, “but the shxx has just hit the fan and if you don’t remove your pretty liaison from the grant the university will loose it as it will not be funded in its present form. And,” I added, “the world will know why.” This bully turned beet red and started shouting “Remove it. Remove it! Put it back as it was and get your axx out of here.” Plus a lot more expletives. As I left his office he slammed the door as hard as he could. His staff in the outer office were shaking and looked down at their typewriters as I left the office. Before returning to my office I went to the Academic Vice President to report what had just happened as I was still an un-tenured faculty member and could be subject of dire repercussions. I was assured that nothing would happen to me so I went to my office and called Marge in Seattle and told her of the result of my meeting with the Dean. She commented “That didn’t take long.” I responded, “No. but I’m going home (11 a.m.). I need a drink.”

If any one in their naivete thinks such things do not happen in academia they have to be roused out of their sleep. Dirty politics and underhand dealings are not limited to Washington, DC. Such has a potential of happening where ever there is a resource available for distribution, universities and poverty programs included. I am all for ‘transparency’ and ‘public accountability’ and since I am an activist and not a mere academic I tend to get involved more often than is good for my career.

More of that later.

‘nuf for now.

gfd

RX for Foreign Dignitaries

2008-08-30T09:03:00.000-07:00

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For about 30 years I served as host for the United States Information Agency ‘International Visitor Program.’ This was a program that brought foreign dignitaries or influentials to the United States for a 30-day tour of the country to better know the US, its people and culture. If they wanted to visit to the Northwest I would get a call as I did one day “Drake, would you be willing to host a 3-day visit by the Minister of Fisheries of Morocco? “Sure, send me the resume and I will organize his appointments.”

When I got the resume and found out the interests of Minister A, I called one of the members of our Port Commission, Ed Griemsmann, who was a retired Air Force pilot. Ed agreed to escort Minister A on his tour of the local fishing industry, the largest freezer plant in the world, the Alaska Ferry terminal, etc, etc. I had pointed out to Ed that Minister A had listed in his resume “President, Private Pilot’s Association of Morocco.” “That’s interesting,” said Ed, “I’ll take him up for a ride.” Ed owned a bi-plane that he kept at the local airport.

On the afternoon of the last day of Minister A’s visit Ed asked if he would like to go for a ride in a bi-plane. “Oh, that would be nice.” He innocently replied and went with Ed to the airport. What Ed did not tell him was that he was a stunt pilot. I leave it to your imagination what Ed did with this distinguished foreign dignitary! Rolls, loops, dives, drops, flying upside-down, etc. "A" claimed he thoroughly enjoyed the ride but I did not know how much until I got a phone call from someone in the State Dept. several weeks later.

“Drake, you did it again. We had an interview with Minister A before he left for Morocco and found out that after a 30-day tour of the United States all he wanted to talk about was Bellingham. Tell me, Drake, who the hell was that pilot?”

Maybe we should do the same with all visiting Ministers of State! It might help our foreign relations. Thanks, Ed.

(Ed died last week and I am posting this story on his obituary blog.)

George

I Resign!

2008-08-30T05:31:00.000-07:00

Shortly after arriving in Bellingham almost 40 years ago I was appointed by the university president to serve as the university representative on the Board of Directors of the local poverty program called the Whatcom County Opportunity Council. The Board was composed of 1/3 public service agency bureaucrats, 1/3 elected officials and 1/3 persons representing populations in poverty. I was a bureaucrat. I quickly saw that the organization needed some serious changes and, I felt, one of the first was to get rid of an officious, incompetent and grossly insensitive Executive Director.

Well the chance to do something about this came shortly as there was to be an election of officers for the Board of Directors. Most of the board members representing the poverty populations had become friends of mine and they wanted me to run for President against the person nominated by Rabi XXX, who was a one-person nominating committee. The Rabbi was very upset when I declared that I would stand as a candidate for the office of President and not accept his recommendation that I be listed as candidate for Vice President. I was breaking precedent and this was deemed inappropriate by many of the politicians and agency bureaucrats on the board. To resolve the issue three of the ‘influentials’ that had a lot of impact on how the organization was run called me to meet with them over coffee one morning at a local restaurant.

I was asked what it would take to get me to ‘back off’ and not run against the official candidate. I responded that I would do so if (a) the board agreed to have a consulting firm come in and conduct a training session on how to operate as an effective board of directors and (b) the official nominee would have to walk up the street to the office of the organization and tell the Director that he would be fired regardless which of us were elected. The official nominee for the position of President of the Board of Directors was called and within 30 minutes did just as he was instructed so when he then joined us at the table and told us what he had done I accepted the position of Vice President on the official slate. At the next meeting of the Board of Directors all hell broke loose when the official ballot was distributed and those who supported me for President found out I was not running against the official candidate. My buddies thought that I had sold out. The new slate was voted in and the first order of business was to begin the process for removing the executive director and the second order of business was to plan for a retreat for a week-end of board training.

When the board members gathered for the retreat the new Board President felt that there would be too much conflict in the room as many of the members were angry that he was the President rather than me. He felt he could not handle the conflict that was going to occur so he asked that I chair the gathering, which I did. I began by iterating the order of the day, how we would proceed with the training program but was interrupted by a Native American board member who stood up and asked in a loud voice why I had ‘jumped ship’ and allowed myself to be bought off by the conservative old guard. He wanted to know what kind of dirty back-room shenanigans were going on. So, with the Executive Director who was on his way out of the organization not in the room I explained what happened. “So what?” he responded, “The Executive Committee hasn’t really changed, it is still a bunch of white bureaucrats.”

“Well”, I said, “Let us see if we can change that. With the new board now in place we need a nominating committee to prepare for any Executive Committee vacancies so I name you Tom (Native American), Don Jose (Hispanic) and Mabel (welfare mother) as the new nominating committee. “This is all a sham” was the response. “There are no vacancies to fill!” “Oh yes there is.” I responded. “I herewith resign as Vice President of the Board of Directors” and as I said that I turned around and on a large sheet of newsprint on a pad attached to the wall in front of the room I wrote "I Resign." I gave it to the new member of the official nominating committee and told them that by the end of the day I wanted their official nominee and we would vote on it immediately so the position could be filled before we went home. That is how the organization got a Native American from the Nooksack Tribe as Vice President. He moved on to the Presidency the next year and did a good job. The training session went smoothly after that brief interlude.

'nuf for now. gfd

Singing a Song of Democracy

2008-08-25T07:27:00.000-07:00

Hello my fellow patriots:

Back at the time of he U.S. Bicentennial Celebration I was a member of the Bellingham City Council. Late one night just before the City Council meeting adjourned I raised my hand and when recognized by the Council President said that I was disturbed by local Bicentennial celebrations. We had a carnival come to town. We had fireworks, We had a parade. We had all kinds of recreational activities but we had nothing that celebrated the fact that the Revolutionary War was about local governance. I proposed that the City Council hold a celebration honoring local government. "Good idea," said the Council President. "I appoint you a committee of one to organize such a ceremony. Any more business?" Before he banged the gavel closing the meeting I said "I need a budget." "$300", he responded and, banging the gavel said "Meeting adjourned."

What I did was to plan a ceremony to be held in the old City Council chamber in what had become the 'rotunda room' of the city museum. We invited every living former elected official in city government. As I recall we had seven former city Mayors and over 35 former City Councilmen attend the meeting. They came from southern California, Hawaii and Florida and places between. A fancy certificate was printed honoring them for service to the City of Bellingham. I wrote to the President of the United States and to the Governor of the State of Washington asking for a message to be read at the ceremony. President Ford and Governor Dan Evans both responded with statements to be read on their behalf. We had a local brass band play some Revolutionary War music and had members of the local Theater Guild read statements from patriotic documents of the time of the Revolutionary War. I invited a 94 year-old poet to read the message from the U.S. President - but first she read one of her own poems on community service.

As Master of Ceremonies I took the opportunity to give a speech for the occasion. It is as follows:

SINGING A SONG OF DEMOCRACY
by George F. Drake, City Councilman, 4th Ward
Given on 5 December 1976 in the old Bellingham City Hall Chambers

Walt Whitman, one of America's great writers, begins his famous poem about America with the line "One's self I sing, a simple separate person, yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-Mass."

Were Walt Whitman alive tonight he would surely appreciate this evening's ceremony. He might write again, as he once did, "I hear America singing" because tonight we sing a song of ourselves, a song of citizens in a small town in America celebrating the occasion of their country's 200 birthday. With our prayers, unabashedly and with pride, we give thanks for all the riches we share as a community, the spiritual riches as well as the material. We sing with the words of our president and our governor as they address our meeting tonight. We sing with the voice of the oldest among us as she reads her poetry that touches the heart strings in all of us who share this evening together in this chamber.

We sing a song of ourselves as our pulse beats to the music of the revolution and as the words of our founding fathers are read to commemorate the great ideals on which this nation was founded. We sing a song of ourselves as we recognize that democracy has survived through two centuries by virtue of acts of citizens like those in this room who accepted the civic challenge and dedicated a portion of their lives to the well-being of their community.

We can sing with pride because the system of governance we have in America has worked so well. At the same time we must recognize that we have not fully achieved the ideals of a democratic society. The reality of democracy in America is that it is a process that continually needs to be attended to or we regress. The process we speak of is that of defining our common problems and allocating public resources to address those problems. Problems change, as do answers to those problems, and the dynamics of the ever changing nature of our collective concerns places a continual pressure on those who serve in government to be sensitive to those changes.

A hundred years ago Whitman was singing about the throbbing pulse of America, about its vitality. America is no less dynamic today but it is surely much more complex. Not only has the population grown in number but also in life span. Even more dramatic, though, has been the growth in technology and new knowledge. Old problems are no longer the same because new knowledge forces a redefinition either of the nature of the problem itself or of the answers he have open to us as alternatives for action. In addition we have thrust upon us a new array of concerns which local communities have not had to consider before. The new language used indicates the changes: CETA, Title XX, CSA, LEAA, AAA, Revenue Sharing, Block Grants.

Many of these federal programs or laws call for an increase in local initiative and autonomy in allocating federal dollars in general areas of concern. The old way was to send dollars for streets, sewers, parks, computers. In other words, the priorities were established in Washington, D.C. But now local communities have to establish their own sense of priorities about those things they wish to spend the federal dollars on.

The new federal laws have laid out strict guidelines for involving citizens in the decision-making process, not only during December when public hearings are held on the budget but at the very beginning of the process when problems are defined and also later when they are prioritized and adjusted to meet the resources available. The New Federalism process is, in effect, forcing local elected officials to invite the ordinary citizen into a broader partnership of collective problem solving efforts. What is happening at the federal level is also happening at the state level. Only yesterday we received copies of three new bills being studied by committees of the state legislature. Each of them called for a process of citizen involvement to establish the particular program goals and objectives at the local level.

In the third century, U.S.A., I predict we shall see a much greater involvement of citizens in governmental decision-making. We know full well we lack the resources to solve our every problem but as we come to recognize that perhaps the greatest resource of a community is the talent and good will of its citizens the elected officials will seek ways to develop that civic partnership wherein together, the elected official and the people, will strive to address those concerns of greatest priority. The elected official will not have less to do but as all citizens join together to face the problems of the future we know we will succeed to a higher degree because of the increasing strength of our democracy.

Tonight, the 25th of August, I read this speech over once more and decided that I would not change a thing that I said on that occasion. So here it is, as I wrote it.

Regards,

gfd

I was accused of being a Boy Scout!

2008-08-24T07:20:00.000-07:00

Hello my Scouting friends:

The phone rang this morning (Saturday, 23 August) and when I answered a voice said "George, your Boy Scout Good Deed is known by everyone in this retirement facility." The fellow on the other end of the line had no knowledge that I had anything to do with scouting but felt that my behavior epitomized the public image of a Boy Scout doing his 'good deed.'

What happened was that when I parked my car near my office on Friday I spotted an elderly man leaning on a post office box looking at a map. I asked if I could help and he said he was looking for the Ace Lock Company. He needed a key made. He didn't look too steady on his feet so I said "You can't get there from here on foot. It is too confusing. Let me take you and I opened the car door. He gingerly got in and we took off. The shop was only four blocks away but I was not too sure he would have been able to make it. I waited while he had his key made and then took him back to the bus terminal, a block from my office. He told me that he was 94 years old and had terminal prostate cancer and was encumbered with a large pad but that he was determined to do everything he could for himself as long as he could. Nonetheless, he appreciated my offer of a ride and thanked me profusely. He asked my name and I told him.

My caller said at the dinner table that evening he asked the group if any one knew George Drake and found that several did. He told the story of our encounter. The story passed around the dining room and the consensus was that if I ever ran for City Council again I would have every vote in the place. What pleases me about this little anecdote is that if you do a good deed you are accused of being a Boy Scout. I hope Scouting can hold onto that reputation but on the other hand I hope doing good deeds is not limited to Boy Scouts.

Even before I joined the ranks of 'old folks' (78 qualifies me, doesn't it?) I used to engage older riders on the city bus in conversation. One day I asked a little old grey-haired woman sitting next to me how she had earned 'pin money' when she was a child. A smile crept across her face and she responded "I used to buy ponies from the Indians and break them to the saddle and then sell them. That was fun!" and it was obvious from her big smile that the memory of that enterprise really pleased her. Whenever I saw Floyd Chandler, well into his 90s, on the bus, usually sitting by himself, in a loud voice I would ask, "Floyd, is it true that there used to be a bear pit at the end of the road here?" and that was all he needed totell anyone who would listen about the bear pit and the amusement park thatused to be in the neighborhood. Folks riding the bus would stop their chatter and listen to him tell his stories. There's stories all around us if we would stop to listen. Maybe you have to prime the pump to get them going but everyone has stories. One time I asked a man obviously in his 80s or older what was the funniest thing that ever happened to him. He began to laugh and said that he was on the city police force when they got their first cars and within a day he crashed his at a street intersection into the other car purchased by the police department at the same time. So both new cars were now laid up for repairs and he and the other officer were back on foot patrol.

One time I was trying to be nice and was rudely brushed away. It was at Tikal, the incredible Mayan ruins in the Peten jungle of Guatemala. A group of visitors from the American Museum of Natural History was touring the grounds listening to an anthropologist who was responsible for some of he excavations. This was obviously a group of museum docents, donors, etc. as they all seemed to be elderly and well dressed. Some of the stone steps were over 8 inches high and very narrow. I was next to a woman probably into her 80s who seemed to be a bit unsure of herself going down that steep stairway. I offered her my arm to help steady her as she descended. She
literally snarled at me "If I want your help I will ask for it!" Others in her group looked aghast at her crude response to my offer but said nothing. I responded, "Lady, I think your mother just rolled over in her grave. She probably taught you manners when you were a little girl. What happened as you grew old?" Shocked silence. This woman was obviously a wealthy dowager, supporter of the museum, etc. and used to being kow-towed to. She glowered at me for a few moments and then, reaching out her hand for my arm said "You are right. I apologize. Thank you for your offer." The group applauded.

You don't gotta be afraid of old folks. Just talk to them.

More stories later.

gfd

Las Vegas Photo Exhibit

2008-08-23T06:44:00.000-07:00

Hello my long suffering friends:

Here is another long post. When I decided to tell the story of the relationship of our servicemen and women to the children of Korea during the Korean War I felt one way to do so was to create a photo exhibit with pictures taken from the thousands that I had collected. In a recent post I told of the opening of that photo exhibit in Gwangju, Korea. Herein is the story of the first showing of that photo exhibit in the MGM Grand in Las Vegas, Nevada on 30 June, 2005. We decided to have the grand opening of the exhibit in Las Vegas because that was where Chaplain Russell L. Blaisdell, Col. USAF (Retired) then lived. He was in his 90s and in poor health so we took the exhibit to him.
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The photo here is of him at the dedication of the Korean War Children's Memorial Pavilion in Bellingham, Washington on July 27 of 2003.

Russ was the hero of the Kiddy Car Airlift that rescued over 950 children on 20 December of 1950. I will tell his incredible story in another posting. His family raised the money to pay for the first printing of the photo exhibit.

I e-mailed a friend of mine in Virginia, Link White, a Korean War orphan who is now a successful realtor, and asked him for ideas for a program for the opening event. He suggested that we invite the well known Hollywood actress Ms. Terry Moore, to be one of the hostesses for the evening event. Terry was touring Korea with the USO during the war and wanted to adopt Link. At that time she was married to Howard Hughes. Many were the guys in Korea who had a pin-up photo of Terry Moore in her white ermine bikini. Link opted to be adopted by an Air Force Sgt. but he and Terry kept in contact all through the years. Terry agreed to come and help out with the program and she offered to bring her good friend Jane Russell. Now you younger guys may not have heard of Jane Russell but we of the '50s sure as hell did. In person she, as well as Terry, were treasures, just wonderful folks to work with. We made Terry Moore the MC for the reception and she and Jane served as joint MCs for the evening program.

Link White, Terry Moore, George Drake and Mary Ann Drake

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Jane Russell in her dressing room reading over the script for the evening program

Buzz Aldrin, astronaut and Korean War Veteran was the lead off speaker for the program. He came as a 'freebie" as did Jane and Terry. We just had to pay their hotel costs.

---Buzz Aldrin

The main part of the program consisted of presenting certificates of appreciation to Korean War Veterans who had helped rescue the children of Korea during the war. I had located an article in the Readers' Digest telling of a 'Sgt. Who Wouldn't Go Home.' It was about Sgt. Werner Krenzer who had been assigned to work with a civilian relief project and was specifically assigned to rescue the children living like rats in the rail road yard and rail road station in Seoul. He teamed up with a little Korean kid and together they got scores of children out of the RR ghetto and into orphanages where they could get food and medical attention. When it was his time to rotate back to the US Werner offered to remain for another tour of duty in the army if he could continue doing what he was doing with the children. It is estimated that he saved the lives of over 150 children. His story can be found on my web site http://koreanchildren.org/docs/MIS-003.htm . I was able to track down Werner Krenzer and he agreed to come to Las Vegas to be recognized for his work on behalf of the orphans of the Korean War. To present to him his Certificate of Appreciation I telephoned a friend in Indiana, Thomas Park Clement who is currently the CEO and owner of a major medical instrument manufacturing company. He is a former Korean War Orphan who lived in that same pack of urchins in the rail road yards of Seoul from age 4 years old to age 6 years old! So, one of the kids from the rail road yards of Seoul presented to Sgt. Werner Krenzer his certificate of appreciation for saving the lives of Korean War orphans.
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Werner Krenzer and Thomas Park Clement

I received a telephone call from a Dr. William Latham who said he would be coming to Las Vegas for the ceremony. He told me of how he volunteered time at the Star of the Sea Orphanage in Inchon. One time, he said, a little day or two old infant had been found and taken to the orphanage when Dr. Latham was volunteering. He and the other doctors saved that infant's life. The little infant was later adopted by the commanding officer of a naval air craft carrier and taken back to the US on that ship. When little "baby George Ascom" was placed in his bassenette on the deck the announcement went over the PA system telling the guys on the ship that they could visit the baby. He became know as "the Navy's Baby" and many years later a 'made for TV' movie was made of that infant and his trip to America. Dr. Latham suggested that I should find that movie and show it at the exhibit ceremony in Las Vegas. Well, I did better than that. I found the baby. I called him, now named Dan Keenan, and asked him if he would like to present to one of the doctors who saved his life and other children in the Korean War a certificate of appreciation? Would he? You bet! So, on stage I called Dr. Latham forward to be recognized for his loving care for the orphans at the Star of the Sea Orphanage and specifically for helping save the life of little "baby George Ascom." After telling his story I said, "And now to present the Certificate of Appreciation to Dr. Latham is that very baby. Dan Keenan will you please come forward." There wasn't a dry eye in the place.

Dr. William Latham and Dan Keenan

And so it went all evening. Lots of tears. Lots of hugs. Lots of emotion from the Koreans present as well as the veterans and their families. Even my wife got an award. Link White called her up to the stage and presented her with a large red paper heart on a ribbon with the letters P U G printed large on the heart. That was her "Putting Up with George" award.

We had gathered there Korean War Veterans who had saved the lives of well over a thousand children and not a single newspaper in America carried the story. Except for my home town of Bellingham, Washington where the Bellingham Herald generally covers activities relating to this project held in Bellingham (they did not cover the Las Vegas or Gwangju, Korea events) not a single newspaper in America has carried the story of the Korean War Children's Memorial project. On the other hand when a US military vehicle accidently runs over two girls in Korea newspapers around the world carry the headline of how American soldiers killed two Korean girls. Yet tell the same newspapers we saved the lives of 10,000 children and they yawn. "What's the story line?" they seem to be saying.

Worse yet, we had sent an invitation to the Korean Ambassador in Washington, DC to come and honor those who had saved the lives of children orphaned by the Korean War, or, if he could not come to send a representative or even a letter to be read to the audience. We got no response from the Korean Embassy. We sent a letter to the Consul General of Korea in Los Angeles, asking the same but not only did no one come from the Korean Consulate General's office but he, too, did not even deign to send a letter or to respond to our request.

The photo exhibit honored the American GIs who had saved the lives of over 10,000 children in the Korean War and not a single representative of the government of Korea found it appropriate to attend. If this were any "civilized nation" of the world the Prime Minister or someone of high status would most certainly be present. Not Koreans. Why? I think I know why but that will be the subject of another entry. This is enough for now.

gfd

Scouting in Korea 1952

2008-08-22T13:48:00.000-07:00

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Boy Scouts of Korea in Seoul, Korea 1952

One day in November (?) of 1952 while serving in an army unit located to the north of Seoul I got a one-day pass to go to Seoul to do some shopping and exploring. As I wandered around that devastated city I came upon a Boy Scout leader with a group of ten Boy Scouts in front of a small building that had a sign across the front that read “The Smallest YMCA in the World” and another vertical sign “YMCA.”

Since I had already visited Boy Scout organizations in over 20 countries of Latin America and Europe I was delighted to have this encounter with Boy Scouts in Korea. The leader spoke some English so we exchanged remarks and I took the photographs shown herewith. This particular branch of scouting began under the aegis of the YMCA and that is where they had their offices. You will note in the photos that the YMCA was demolished by bombs during the war and the little structure labeled "Smallest YMCA in the World" was built of bricks taken from the rubble.
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The scoutmaster told me that they had lost everything in the war and had nothing left in their Boy Scout library. When I was discharged from the service in late December of 1953 I went to the Monmouth Council Boy Scout office in New Jersey and purchased a copy of every publication that they had and sent two boxes of books to this “Smallest YMCA in the World.” This was the beginning of the new library of the Korean Scouts Association in the Seoul YMCA. The letter I received acknowledging the gift pointed out that future letters would be sent by surface mail due to the cost of air mail postage, a clear indication of the financial state of the organization in early 1954.

In August of 2006 I spent two days at the Korea Scouts Association National Patrol Jamboree in Cheonan, Korea. I showed the photographs to scout leaders there and they recognized that the scoutmaster in the photographs was Chung Seong Che, one of the founders of scouting in Korea. I was told the photographs were valuable for the history of Korean scouting as Chung Seong Che was kidnapped by North Koreans shortly after I took the pictures and never seen again.

Since all of their files of the Korean Scout Association had been destroyed in the war these photographs were unique and had saved a bit of the history of Scouting in Korea. The photographs are now published in a book on the history of scouting in Korea.

gfd
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Don't Shoot the Messenger

2008-08-22T10:00:00.000-07:00

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Hello friends:

In August of 2006 my photo exhibit "GIs and the Kids - A Love Story" opened in the new city hall of the Metropolitan City of Gwangju. The exhibit told the story of the relationship of American servicemen and women to the children of Korea. In doing my research on that topic in the U.S. National Archives in College Park, Maryland and in the archives of the Pacific Stars and Stripes in Tokyo, Japan I collected over 2,000 photographs. Those, in addition to the ones I took while a serviceman in the Korean War and others that I copied from books and magazines or that were sent to me by Korean War veterans, constituted the source of the photos in the exhibit. The exhibit consisted of 35 panels each about two foot by four foot. It takes about 100 linear feet to hang the exhibit. Rev. Haeryang Yoo Kim of Gwangju had purchased a copy of the photo exhibit and added Hangul translations for most of the English titles of the photographs. It was through her efforts that the exhibit had its first showing in Korea in the new Gwangju city hall.

Little did I realize the impact that the exhibit would have in Korea. I was mobbed by the press. Never before had I been confronted by a veritable wall of photographers, TV cameramen and reporters.

I have 54 pages of newspaper clippings about the exhibit. The story was on all the TV news channels that night. The public affairs officer of the US Forces - Korea told me that this was such a refreshing breath of fresh air as most media coverage of the US forces in Korea had been very negative for the preceding decade or more. He was even more astonished by the fact that the exhibit opened in the City Hall of the Metropolitan City of Gwangju as Gwangju is known as the hot-bed of anti-Americanism in Korea. Airmen at the local U.S. missile base do NOT go into Gwangju in uniform and are not well received there even in civilian clothes. At the ceremony opening the exhibit the commanding officer of the US base and all the servicemen and women were invited to attend = the first time they had ever been invited to any function in city hall.
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A 36 page booklet had been prepared by my hostess, Rev. Haeryang Yoo Kim, as a program for the day's events in which all the speeches to be given by the dignitaries were printed in English and in Hangul (Korean). When I read the speeches that were to be given I was appalled! It was all about George, George this, George that. Everyone was missing the story. The story was about the tens of thousands of servicemen and women who helped the kids, not about George. I quickly spoke to the official interpreter and gave him my new speech to look over and be prepared to interpret for the Korean speaking audience. When I was finally introduced by the Mayor of the city I went to the microphone and said, "When a messenger comes bearing bad news it is not nice to shoot the messenger."

I paused and a number of persons laughed. Then I said "and if the messenger brings good news it is totally inappropriate to make the messenger into a hero." I let that sink in for a bit while the interpreter rendered it in Korean. I continued "I am not a hero. I am merely a messenger. I have a wonderful story to tell. It is a story of love and compassion in the middle of a war. It is a story about our servicemen and women who saved the lives of over 10,000 children in the Korean War. Don't mistake me for the story. I am a sociologist. I am a story teller." And with that I sat down.
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Gwangju Mayor Park Gwang-tae was very pleased with all the publicity the event generated and offered to make me an "Honorary Citizen" of the Metropolitan City of Gwangju. Feeling that such a formal ceremony would even further spread the story of how the American servicemen and women rendered humanitarian aid to the children of Korea during the war years I agreed to go back to Korea for the ceremony provided he made it clear that he was honoring me for saving this wonderful bit of history of the Korean War and as a representative of all those GIs who did so much for the kids fifty some years earlier. At that ceremony in early December of 2006 I was once again surprised at the amount of publicity the event was given but much to my pleasure the emphasis was on the story that I had saved and the orphanage museum that I was helping get created in Gwangju. When the mayor placed the collar of flowers around my neck I broke out laughing as I felt I had just won the Kentucky Derby. It was a lovely ceremony and I enjoyed every bit of it....especially the dinner later at the Chung Hyun Memorial Orphanage where the orphanage museum and archive will be developed.

'Till later,

gfd

I'm a Broken Hearted Deutcher

2008-08-21T08:08:00.000-07:00

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George and Roy about 1934

Hello friends:

When I was born back on 3 July of 1930 there were identical twins born instead of only one kid. The woman in the bed next to my mother in the hospital remarked "Don't cry lady, one of them usually dies." Ever since, my brother (Roy) and I would argue which of us is dead. When I was about 12 years old I found my mother's scrap book with photos of her as a flapper, dressed with her bowler hat, scarf, etc. She also had a clipping of a poem written in German accent pasted in her scrap book which I promptly copied and memorized. Let's see if I can still remember it now 66 years later.

I'm a Broken Hearted Deutcher

"I'm a broken hearted Deutcher
dot ist filled mit crief und shame.
I'll tell you vot the troubles ist.
I do not know my name.

You dink dis ist very funny, eh,
But when you de schtory hear
You vill den not vonder so very much
Vy it ist so strange und queer.

You see mine mutter had two little tvins
dey vas me und mine brudder.
Vi looked so very much alike
you couldn't tell vich from di utter.

Von of our pays vas Jacob
und Hans di utter's name
But it never made no difference
Vi both got called da same.

Vell, one of us got dead
Ja, meinjeer dot ist so
but Hans or Jacob mine mutter
she don't know.

So now I am in troubles
I can't get tru mein head
Vetter I am Hans vot ist living
or Jacob vot ist dead.

=======

So now I am in troubles, I can't get tru mein head, vetter I am George dot ist living or Roy vot ist dead.
May he rest in peace.
Roy Drake, S.J., 3 July 1930-21 August, 2008..

Photo: George and Roy about 1934.

gfd

Taking American Values Abroad

2008-08-21T06:16:00.000-07:00

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"Distinguished Benefactor" pergamino

Hello my friends:

About 46 years ago, when J.F. Kennedy was President and Edward R. Morrow was head of the United States Information Agency, I was sent by the USIA to serve as Director of the Centro Colombo-Americano in the city of Manizales, Colombia. There was a concern on the part of the State Dept. that this city was a hot bed of communism in the country and needed a strong U.S. presence to counter the propaganda and the activism of the communists. So this youngster, a mere 32 years old at the time, was sent to try to present democratic idealism as practiced in the United States to the citizens of that province.

Those U.S. Cultural Centers, American Libraries, English Teaching Centers, etc., were a way to put a U.S. presence in cities throughout the world. Most of them were supported, in large part, by providing English as a second language classes. Even though these centers usually were locally registered corporations the US government selected the directors and paid their salary. So it was in Manizales. I was the second person to hold the role of Director of the cultural center in Manizales, a city of about 250,000 population. The center was located on the main street in town, on the second floor of an old building, above a hardware store. It had no heat even though the city was at 7,000 ft. altitude. It was a drafty, cold and damp building. Eventually we purchased our own building and restored it to its historical character and made it a truly wonderful cultural center only two blocks from the central plaza of the city.

One of the first things that I did was to decide that the mornings I would spend in my office and the afternoons I would be out in the community getting to know the various social institutions operating in the city. I also spent a lot of time walking in the slums and talking to the residents, trying to get to know the people and the needs of the community. It wasn't long before I had the BNC (Bi-Natinal Center) involved in many community service activities such as providing literacy classes for the poor illiterate persons who lived in some of the squalid slums of the city. Before coming to the classes held in the BNC they would scrub themselves and come in their best clothing washed for the occasion as they would be rubbing shoulders with children of the middle and upper class families who were studying English at the same time they were learning to read and write their own language.
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"Community Development Seminar" pergamino.

We expanded the programs in the BNC to include training in operating photo laboratories as no such course was available in the country, to our knowledge. We had classes in mechanical drawing, auto mechanics, music appreciation, art, natural science, anthropology, typing and secretarial training. Many of these classes were taught in other locations and some of them were free or offered at a minimal cost to the participants. We also sponsored many seminars or lectures on community development oriented to the directors of social service agencies in the city. The Manizales BNC became a center where local organizations could meet and discuss common issues they faced in attempting to provide social services to populations in need in the community. On occasion, when a particular social problem faced a wide portion of the community the Centro Colombo-Americano was where the meetings would be held so the public and relevant service agencies could come together to discuss the issue and decide on a collective course of action. On occasion this got the BNC into trouble with local authorities.

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Pergamino naming me "Adopted Son of the City"

Such was the case when the milk that was being brought to Manizales for CARE was impounded by the railroad because the governor of the State of Caldas had not paid the shipping bills for many months. Given this action on the part of the railroads the local administrator of CARE decided to close their operations in the state and move elsewhere. I saw this as a real loss to the community and, with the agreement of the Director of the CARE office in the city, called a meeting of the representatives of some of the major social service organizations in the city. When this group was told of the situation and the eminent loss of the milk that CARE was providing to orphanages, 'gota de leche' programs, food programs for the poor, etc, they decided to seek an appointment with the governor to protest his failure to abide by the state agreement to pay for the shipment of the milk from the port to the city of Manizales. The governor was furious that this had been made a "public issue" and demanded to know why the citizens were meddling in the affairs of the "government." The citizens committee stated that this was the affair of the people of the state and not a private affair of the governor. With the public 'eye' on him (the newspaper had a reporter at the meeting) the governor agreed to sign a new contract with CARE and to pay the outstanding bill owed the railroad so the impounded milk could be released.

Reaction to the role the BNC played in this affair varied. Local citizens commented that the BNC was perhaps the only place in the city where such a meeting could have been held and served as a demonstration of the role and responsibilities of citizens of a democratic society. The U.S. Consul in Cali, in whose district the BNC was located, was not too pleased with the involvement of the BNC in this issue as he felt it was getting involved in political action which could threaten the BNC standing as a 'non-political' organization, (Duh!) He felt this notwithstanding the philosophical basis for the action but accepted it as "well done" since there were no repercussions. I felt that the BNC was merely offering a channel of communication between the interested parties so that civic responsibility could be accepted by the persons affected by this situation.

The list goes on and on of such involvements on my part in the life of the community for the two years and two months I spent in Manizales. On my departure the Mayor of Manizales, Dr. Fernando Londono Londono, one of the wealthiest land owners and coffee growers in the nation, former Ambassador to France and to the U.N., formerly head of the conservative party of the

--- nation, granted me, my wife and infant son David the title of "Honorary Citizen" and presented me with the "Keys of the City in Gold" for my work. This was the first time such was ever presented to a foreigner! And this merely because I was trying to teach by action the role of a responsible citizen in a democracy.

Now most of the Bi-National centers are closed or no longer play a role in the spread of the ideology of democracy. Even the United States Information Agency no longer exists. It's role is replaced by contract PR firms in Washington, DC whose job it is to place favorable articles in foreign media telling the poor how good we are. We no longer fund people on the streets to promote democracy in the poor barrios as well as among the oligarchy. Read the ordinance written by Dr. Londono Londono bestowing 'Honorary Citizen" status on me and my family and wonder if such work could be replaced by a P'R firm in Washington, DC. I am also showing here several other honors I received for these activities. One is a 'pergamino' or illustrated sheep skin on which is written "The attendees of the seminar on Community Development as an honor of gratitude [ presents this] to Sr. George F. Drake for his valuable services given to the city." It is signed by the attendees but the signatures are fading now after about 44 years.

Another pergamino is a large one on which is written: "The society of Manizales positively laments the absence of the distinguished caballero Jorge Drake, appreciates his life and his work as an example for the community and feels pride in declaring him, 'adopted son of the city.' This document is signed by over 100 persons who attended a banquet hosted by the governor of the state the week before I left to return to the USA. Another pergamino, this time painted on a sheet of plastic cut to represent a real sheep skin, is from the Rector, Faculty and Students of the Francisco Jose de Caldas industrial trade school. That school was attended by some of the poorest boys in the city and when it collapsed in an earthquake I had the Centro Colombo Americano raise donations in Colombia and in the USA to help in its reconstruction. (resource mobilizing). I also intervened with the state government in getting some things done for the school by state entities. (political mobilizing using influence). This pergamino reads: To Senor Jorge Drake: The Rector, the Professors and Students of the Instituto Tecnico Industrial Francisco Jose de Caldas, appreciate the multiple assistance of Senor Jorge Drake and take honor in proclaiming him "Distinguished Benefactor of the Establishment." It is signed by the administrators, faculty and students of this very poor industrial trade school. This is but one more sign of the breadth of our work in this city. No PR firm in Washington, DC can replace this type of American representation abroad.

When my wife and son and I got on the plane to leave Manizales I wept. I loved that city and felt truly to be a part of it. I had been deeply involved in the dynamics of social change in the city, from work in the poorest slums to working on projects with some of the wealthiest citizens of the nation. So, why did I leave? It wasn't because the Embassy was fed up with my activities. On the contrary, they gave me the highest performance evaluation possible. It was a family matter. Our son, David, is Downs and needed better medical attention and professional training than was possible to acquire in Colombia. It was a choice of keeping the family together and go back to the 'states to teach or to work on the Ph.D. or to separate with me remaining in the Foreign Service pursuing the goal I had dreamed of for many years. I chose family and went back to the United States but Manizales will forever have a place in my heart.

Como siempre,

Jorge

Spelunking at Las Grutas de Cacahuamilpa

2008-08-20T06:17:00.000-07:00

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Looking into my box of 'keepsakes' I found some letters that I had typed and sent home to my mother in Manasquan in the early days of February, 1949. One of those letters told of the trip I took with a group of Rover Scouts from Group VII in Mexico City to the caves located near Taxco. The upper caves are well lit and developed for tourists. The cave we entered had no such amenities as lights, steps, cables, etc. I sure wished that I knew Spanish at that time so I could have communicated with the scouts and told them of the path that I found when I climbed way above them looking for a way forward into the caves. I went back to Taxco to explore more caves five or six years later but that is another story.

To more easily read the scans of the original journals click on any one of the page images.

George
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What I said & Democracy in Action

2008-08-18T05:59:00.000-07:00

Hello my friends:

Several days ago I told how I was asked to give a spontaneous presentation to a group of about 300 poor slum dwellers meeting in the Communist Labor Federation building in Manizales, Colombia. Well, to the best of my memory, here is what I said:

My dear friends it is an honor to be here with you this evening and to listen to your stories of how you are participating in the life of your community, barrio by barrio. You tell of raising money to purchase a bottle of aspirins. You tell of forming committees to call on government officials to present to them your concerns about the help you desire from the government to address the needs in your barrio. I see here, in this room, that you are accepting your civic responsibility as a citizen in a democratic society.

Two weeks ago I met with Sr. Jose Galat in the national presidential palace in Bogota. He is the director of the program called "Integracion Popular" which was instituted by President Carlos Lleras Restrepo to help strengthen democracy in Colombia. The goal of this national program is to strengthen democracy by helping organizations such as yours develop among the two thirds of the citizens of this nation that are 'marginados' and do not have access to the resources of the nation. I commend you for your participation in this gathering here tonight and for your labor in improving life in your neighborhoods. That program, instituted by the president of Colombia calls on you to define your collective problems, to prioritize them, address them through "accional communal" (collective action) and to call on the government for help when and where needed.

As an American representing the people of my nation I want to thank you for the privilege to be with you this evening and watch democracy in action in Manizales.

The next day I received a phone call informing me that the head of the secret police (DAS - the FBI of Colombia) in the state wanted to see me. I went to his office and he told me he was very upset to hear that I was lecturing a group of communists and encouraging them organize against the government. I told him that I knew that he had one or more agents in the room the previous night and that if he wanted I would give them an exam to see if they really paid attention to what I had said. I then asked him if he wanted me, on my next visit to the presidential palace in Bogota, to inform the president of the nation that he, the local DAS director, was opposed to the policy of the president when it came to working with groups of the poor? He blanched at that and assured me that he merely wanted me to know that I was talking to a group of communists and that I had to be careful. So I left thinking that democracy will have a hard time to grow in Colombia.

The program of Integracion Popular was similar to other programs in Latin America of the same time such as Accion Popular, Participation Popular, Accion Communal, etc. What is interesting is that Dr. Carlos Lleras Restrepo, President of Colombia, knew exactly the political implication of what he was proposing. Jose Galat , the man he put in charge of the program, explained it as follows:

"If we wish to save our Democracy, we must be sure that the common good is also available to the marginal man (2/3 of the population of Colombia that do not partake of the "good" produced by the nation for popular consumption.) But, and here is the root of the problem, we can not hope that the common good be FOR the marginal man while at the same time it is not obtained, oriented and decided WITH them and BY them also. In other words, in order that the marginal individuals become beneficiaries of the common good it is necessary that they be permitted to participate as agents and protagonists of the same. And this implies, logically, a redistribution of political power."

Of course, such a redistribution of power never happened. The oligarchy, the elite, the current power holders, however you want to call them, made sure that such efforts on the part of the poor failed. Good intentions and pretty words alone can not bring about such changes in the nature of decision making in a society. The least threatening form of community action is where the citizens get together and through collective action buy a bottle of aspirin or raise a barn. Such action generally is non-threatening to the holders of power in the society. That is called 'resource mobilizing." It is when citizens get together and demand a redistribution of existing resources such as seeking a minimum wage law or a redistribution of land so the poor can raise food for their families or want a home loan program that would allow the poor to borrow money and build a home that the power holders get nervous. Such action is 'political mobilizing' and is calling for a redistribution of existing resources, not the generation of new resources. I define power as the ability to allocate collective resources and it is comprised of 'authority', the right to make decisions based on position or role in an organization or social system and 'influence' which is based on the personality and personal relationships of the 'social actor' involved in the decision making process.

So, what does one do with all this reading, visiting barrio groups and studying social power structures in Latin America? Well, on arriving in Washington State to take up my position in the Sociology Dept. at Western Washington State College (now 'University') I decided that I would do a study on the power structure of the Hispanic community in the state. I began with a simple questionnaire sent to over 1,200 persons such as mayors, county commissioners, county health officers, school district executives, chiefs of police, sheriffs, all elected city, county and state officials and many other "community knowledgables" who might know something of their Hispanic neighbors. I asked "If the governor were to appoint a committee to advise him on the needs of the Hispanic population in the State of Washington who would you nominate to that committee from the Hispanic population in your jurisdiction, whether or not you know them personally?" The questionnaire wasn't out more than a week when I received a call from the Governor's office asking that I come to Olympia to discuss my research with one of his staff. I was informed that the governor was already planning on setting up such an advisory body and wanted me to be a (volunteer) staff to that committee. Yup. Glad to do so and for a number of years I traveled all over the state, often in the Governor's plane, to attend meetings of the committee, helped them write reports and helped draft legislation. What started out to be the 'Governor's Mexican American Advisory Committee' now, 40 years later, is the 'Washington State Hispanic Commission."

Ah, yes, democracy in action.

George

Scouts thinking on their feet!

2008-08-15T06:52:00.000-07:00

Hello Friends:

When doing my research in the slums of Manizales, Colombia, I attended a meeting of the Central Nacional Pro-Vivienda, a national organization seeking housing for the poor. The meeting was held in the Communist Labor Federation building. The organization had close ties to the communist party in Colombia. I was told the meeting would start at 8 p.m. and arrived at that time. The building was in one of the poor barrios of the city of 250,000 population. Guarding the entrance were two six-foot tall members of the mounted police carrying assault rifles. They were there to 'keep the peace' (read: intimidate those who would attend the meeting.)

When I entered the room I found that the meeting had already started. Seated on narrow benches without any backs were about 300 of the poorest of the poor to be found in that city. The weather, at 7,000 ft. altitude, was not only chilly, it was downright cold and yet many of the attendees had only ragged cotton shirts or blouses and no poncho, coat or sweater. All benches were full and many persons were standing in the rear of the room. I stood behind them but since I am fairly tall I was quickly noticed by the chairperson who stopped the meeting and announced "Please welcome our guest this evening, Dr. Drake, from the United States who is here representing the people of that great nation, not the government. Dr. Drake, please come forward and join us up front." I had not expected that and was quite embarrassed as I went to the front of the room to the sound of a loud applause. There I tried to hide behind a file cabinet so I was not so conspicuous.

The gathering was an assembly of representatives from each of the barrio committees, each of which had their own community projects. I listened as a representative from one of the barrios told of their community health project. She and her friends made empanadas (bits of dough folded over a bit of vegetable or a bit of meat and fried) which they sold to persons walking in the city parks on Sundays when the poor people were out walking and enjoying a day off from their jobs and activities. The woman reported that after several weeks they had made enough money to purchase a small bottle of aspirin which was now the proud possession of the barrio health committee. If someone in the barrio got sick they could go the the community health committee and get a free aspirin! The audience gave her an applause for her report.

Sr. Elias Oliveros, President of the organization, then pulled a fast one on me. He announced "Dr. Drake will now make a presentation." Everyone applauded as he turned to me and asked me to come forward and speak to the assembly. I was aghast! I had no speech ready. I wasn't forewarned that I would be called on to address the group. What could I possibly have to say on behalf of the citizens of the United States to this assembly of some of the poorest citizens of the city?

What would you say?

Think about that for a bit. What would you, an American citizen speaking on behalf of the people (not the government) of the United States, have to offer this assembly?

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I will tell you what I ended up saying two days from now. Meanwhile here is your chance to think about what you would say to those poor folks who are dreaming of having a house of their own, even it it is not much larger than 100 square feet in size, if that. You can say it in English and I will interpret for you. That is your homework assignment. ;- )
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gfd

Climbing Mt. Popocatepetl

2008-08-14T05:50:00.000-07:00

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January, 1949.

I was enjoying a ‘night on the town’ one Friday evening with a group of Rover Scouts of Group VII, Mexico City when the question was posed to me “Would you like to climb Mt. Popocatepetl?” Of course I agreed immediately. A couple of the guys got on the telephone to call around to see if anyone else in the group were interested. Arrangements were made to meet the rest of the fellows the next night at midnight. That settled, then I went with the fellows to various scouts homes to gather gear for the climb. The next night German and I were at the meeting place early. Soon the bus that we had hired came along. There were to have been about 20 boys going but only 13 showed up. That meant that the expense would be greater per boy but we fixed that later.

At 3:16 a.m. we arrived at the point where the road ended. Some of us decided to start climbing immediately. The others slept for a while. There was a good path to follow most of the way up the lower slopes. It was very easy to follow in the moonlight. A Rover Scout by the name of Mateos came along side of me and said “Let’s go!” The others were already straggling behind.
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Mateos kept up a steady pace which I soon found I could not follow. The climbing was very steep and the air was getting thin. I could only go about 300 feet and then had to stop for a few minutes for my heart to stop pounding. In that manner I was able to keep up with Mateos fairly well. Then I lost him. I called to him and heard his voice from above so I started climbing the slope nearby. The slope was all right for a while then it grew steeper and steeper until I had to make use of the ice ax to cut a hold in the mountain side. Eventually I got to the point where the going was easier. Mateos was waiting for me. He had gone up a slope to the left of the one I went up. It was much easier than the one I used.
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We then started climbing together. The wind was very strong and at times we had to force the spike at the end of our ice ax into the slope and lean forward on it so as not to be blown over. The wind blew many stones loose far above us which came tearing down at terrific speed. They weren’t more than eight inches in diameter for the most part but would hurt plenty if we were hit. To add to our difficulties the wind would often blow some sulfur fumes from the crater upon us.

It was very cold climbing, especially at that time of the morning. I lost feeling in my feet soon after leaving the bus. We wore several pairs of socks, gloves, a woolen cap that covered the ears and chin with only the face exposed and a heavy jacket. When the wind grew so bad as to blow sand in our eyes we put on goggles. We had the ice ax in one hand. It is a tool with a hoe-like blade on one side of the head and a pick on the other. On the top of the handle is a spike which we often used in climbing. We had steel spikes, called crampons, attached to our shoes.

As we were going up we could see many towns in the distance looking like patches of light. As the sun came up we could see the towns themselves. Directly in back of us was Iztaccihuatl with its three snow covered peaks. Its name means “the sleeping lady.”

Mateos finally sat down and admitted that the conditions for climbing were worse this time than any of the four other times he had climbed Popo. He would go no further. He said it was not worth the risk. I went about 100 ft. more but was still about 300 ft. from the crater. There was a party of four hikers up there at the same time as we were. They also went no further so I didn’t feel so badly in not completing the climb. As it was, Mateos and I were two of the four out of the party that reached the ice cap. None of us go to the edge of the crater.

It was almost impossible to go down the slope we had just come up without use of the crampons and ice ax. When we were about half way down we stopped and had breakfast. It would be quite something if I could have a view for breakfast every morning that I had on that morning! That is one of the satisfactions you get from climbing a mountain, the view. Only birds and those in planes see the same thing, it is wonderful!
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German and Cocolicio met us on the way down. They were the other two of our party who got to the ice but they, too, returned because of the falling rocks and the extreme wind. A swift descent brought us to the place where the bus and the rest of the group awaited us. We then started back to Mexico City. To help pay for the cost of chartering the bus the boys changed the sign from “Especial” to “Mexico, D.F.” and picked up passengers along the way who were charged a reasonable fare. Not only did they get a cheaper ride to Mexico City than they otherwise would have they soon became involved in the singing and games the scouts were playing as the bus hurtled down the mountain to the city far below. German taught us all to sing the song of the elephant dancing on the web of a spider. At the end of each verse another boy would join those already singing the song until all were singing. Then we played hat games, also while singing a scouting song.

The fellows in Grupo VII of the Boy Scouts of Mexico City did not usually make decisions to go on a hike of this nature just the day before the actual climb but they were intent on having this Gringo Boy Scout have the experience of climbing Mt. Popocatepetl and knowing that I would be 'hitting the road' soon they made a quick decision and were able to put it all together in only one day. I am glad that I was able to put on a good show, notwithstanding the high altitude and the rugged nature of the hike. After all, the reputation of the Boy Scouts of America was at risk. I had to show that U.S. Scouts also could handle themselves on mountains. Maybe those thoughts imposed a bit of pressure on me but in reality I went and thoroughly enjoyed this adventure with the guys from Grupo VII because I loved this type of adventure. I truly appreciated that the fellows of Grupo VII were so friendly and accepting of this strange kid from across the border who couldn't speak any Spanish. In the fullest sense of the word these fellows portrayed the brotherhood of Scouting.

[This story is based on entries in my diary of my trip from New Jersey to Panama in early 1949. Gfd]

Popocatépetl (commonly referred to as Popo, El Popo or Don Goyo) (IPA: [popoka tepet ]) is an active volcano and, at 5,426 m., the second highest peak in Mexico after the Pico de Orizaba (5,636 m). Popocatépetl comes from the Nahuatl words pop ca 'it smokes' and tep tl 'mountain', thus Smoking Mountain. Popocatépetl is linked to the Iztaccíhuatl volcano to the north by the high saddle known as the Paso de Cortés, and lies in the eastern half of the Trans-Mexican volcanic belt. [from Wikipedia]

Rocks and Minerals Merit Badge 1947

2008-08-13T05:25:00.000-07:00

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Photo taken at Monmouth Council Merit Badge Show in Asbury Park. Date? Probably in 1947. My booth which I set up by myself as a Lone Explorer Scout was next to the Cycling Merit Badge booth. Little did I know then the role Cycling would have later in my life.

Hello friends:

It seems all children in grammar school somewhere along the line are exposed to dinosaurs and fossils. When I learned that one could find fossils in coal I took it upon myself to look for such in our coal bin at home since our house was heated with a coal burning furnace. After several hours of sitting on the coal pile and examining hundreds of chunks of coal I had a few nice specimens of ferns. I also had some VERY dirty clothes and badly needed soap and water myself. Therein began my collection of fossils, rocks and minerals. A year or so later I spotted an interesting rock in an empty lot not too far from our house in Irvington, New Jersey. It had impressions of shells on it. As I recall, the rock was about six foot long and about two foot wide. I did not know how deep into the ground it extended. With a big hammer and chisel I broke off a piece and took it to the Newark Museum in Newark, New Jersey. Someone on the staff identified it as fossiliferous sandstone containing brachiopods.' In 1943 I donated that specimen to the museum and shortly received a note of appreciation with an indication where my donated rock was now to be found on display. Woopee! At age 13 I had my own fossil discovery on display in a real museum with my name on it! With that I started collecting rocks, minerals and fossils in earnest. When at Philmont Scout Ranch in 1946 I collected all the rocks I could and ended up with a knapsack with 34 lbs. of rocks which I ended up shipping home to Manasquan from the scout ranch.
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A photo of George with his skull collection

In Manasquan High School I built my own beam balance and jolly balance to ascertain the specific gravity of minerals. I studied how to use the Bunsen burner and various reagents to test for the chemical content of minerals I was analyzing. In school I took on the role of maintaining a science display in the school library. One of my teachers was taking Saturday classes at Rutgers University and I would ride with him there from time to time and then spend the day in the museum. Not being shy I soon got to know a number of the staff. Before long I was borrowing material to take back to Manasquan High School for display in the library. Not satisfied with that I would take the Jersey Central or hitch hike to New York City and spend delightful hours visiting the laboratories and offices of staff that were 'behind the scenes' at the American Museum of Natural History. I would gain access to the staff scientists' offices by taking a fossil or mineral specimen that I wanted help identifying. It worked and I am sure I became a real pest up there.

Lone Explorer Scout George Drake in his 'Rocks and Minerals Merit Badge Booth' c. 1947

[Why is it when you think you have a good photo of yourself in some public activity there is always a little kid in the foreground picking his nose? :-) ]

Once I took my collection of rocks and minerals to a Boy Scout Merit Badge Exhibit held in Asbury Park, probably in 1947. There I had my own Rocks and Minerals Merit Badge booth next to the Cycling Merit Badge booth. It was a job to get that display case to the show but somehow I was able to con friends into letting me put it on their truck and get it there and back.
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I also had my collection of skulls, pressed flowers, woods (tree cross sections), shells, Indian arrow heads, plaster of paris casts of wild animal foot prints, butterflies, natural and man made textile fibers, beetles and whatever else caught my fancy. I had my own museum in the attic of our house. It was fun, educational and a great hobby. For the most part my collections were based on things that I could collect myself in their natural environment. I probably could identify every wild flower within 20 miles of my house, knew where to look for arrow heads, fossils of various sorts, etc. That is how come I got the job as Nature Counselor at Camp Cowaw at the Delaware Water Gap in 1948. There I collected snakes. Lots 'a fun.

When I graduated from Manasquan High School in June of 1948 I donated most of my natural science collections to the school for use of other students.

I am including herewith some photos of those collections.

Enjoy,

gfd

Counting Our Blessings

2008-08-11T05:22:00.000-07:00

Neighbors and Friends

At a meeting of some of the poorest citizens of this city perched 7,000 ft. above sea level, high in the Andes I noticed a woman trying to read a newspaper. I say 'trying' because she was holding it up side down and only on seeing a photograph did she turn it around. I asked her for permission to visit her residence as I was studying how folks such as she lived. "Oh, mister, my dwelling is very humble. I don't think you would be interested in visiting me." "On the contrary," I responded, "I want to visit persons in all social situations." She gave me the number of her house in Barrio Galan and suggested that I call at 2 p.m. the next day. The health department numbers all shacks in these slum neighborhoods.

The next day at 2 p.m. I knocked at the door frame of the indicated shack. Looking inside the open door I noticed a large bed frame. One family lived above the bed frame and another lived underneath it. The dwelling was less than three meters by four meters in size. I informed the occupant that I was looking for Sr. Fulana de tal (Mrs. so and so). I was informed that she lived "en los bajos." (in the basement.) The shack was built on a steep hillside so I went around back and looked into a small space cut under the floor boards of the shack above. Every time some one walked in the unit above dirt would fall down on the residents of this poor space. A single light bulb of about 20 watts illuminated the darkness even though it was two in the afternoon. The electricity was stolen as someone had tapped into the city power line.

The woman I had met the evening before was there and apologized for her humble circumstances. With her was her husband, lying on a litter in the limited space that they occupied. I was informed that he had a broken back and could not work. An infant was crying. The woman gave the baby a bottle that had colored water in it. I inquired what she was feeding the baby and was informed that she had put a bit of panella (sugar from sugar cane) in the water as that was all that she had to feed the child. She explained that they had another child about 10 years old who was mentally retarded but one day he went out and never came back. She thinks he was probably kidnapped to work on a farm as slave labor. But she has never heard of him again.

To begin the interview I asked her where she had come from before she lived in this barrio and was told that she and her family had fled from the countryside as the violence there threatened their lives. [this was the time of the civil war called "La Violencia en Colombia."] I followed up this question by asking "How do you like living in this barrio?" and I will never forget her response. "God has given us such wonderful neighbors, weare blessed. When we arrived a neighbor nearby came with a small cup of soup to welcome us to the neighborhood. Yesterday another neighbor brought us several bananas. We truly feel lucky and count our blessings to live in such a wonderful neighborhood."

Ah, yes, let us count our blessings.

During this time my wife and I were living with our two sons in a three bedroom house in a nice residential neighborhood of the city. At noon, when we were having our meal, if there was a timid knock on the door we would have one of our boys answer the door. If it was a child from the local orphanage begging leftovers (pidiendo sobreitas) we would have him go to his plate and share some of his food with the kid at the door. We wanted our sons to have the ability to recognize that they were blessed and should share those blessings with the less fortunate in this world.

gfd

Walk a mile in THEIR shoes

2008-08-10T04:26:00.000-07:00

On one occasion when I was in one of the worst slums (tugurios or barrios bajos) in the city of Manizales, Colombia I was caught in a torrential downpour. I pressed tightly against the wall of one of the slum shacks hoping that the small overhang of the roof would keep a bit of the rain off me. The door to the shack opened and an old woman appeared and invited me to step inside and get out of the rain. "Thank you, Senora," I said, "but I really do not want to disturb you." "No problem," she responded and again invited me in. I stepped inside this little dwelling, about nine feet wide by nine feet long, barely large enough for a bed and a small table. It was the epitome of poverty. The woman looked ancient, dressed in black and looked like she was only skin and bones. I wondered how she managed to live under the conditions I envisioned from her surroundings so I said to her, "Senora, I am a college teacher. You and I will never meet again. I would like to tell my students about persons like you who live under the most trying circumstances. May I ask you several personal questions? Would you help me inform my students about how you live?"

She studied me for a few moments and responded, "Si senor." My first question was "How old are you?" "72" "Do you live alone?" "Yes." "How do you survive? How do you get the income to pay your rent, purchase food and other necessities?" She quietly said "I am a whore." "How much do you charge?" "Whatever I think I can get. Sometimes ten cents, some times more." "How many times a week do you have visitors?" "Not too often, three, four, five times. It varies." "Is that enough to live on?" "Barely."

Then with emotion she said "Mister, when you tell your students about me tell them that this is not the way I thought I would live when old." Then, with emphasis and almost shouting she said "But I have the right to survive!" [Pero yo tengo el derecho de sobrevivir!] "Tell your students not to judge me. They have no right to judge me. If they think this is not what an old lady should be doing have them find a way to help me. But do NOT judge me. I do what I have to do to survive and I HAVE THE RIGHT TO SURVIVE!"

I apologized for having disturbed her and, passing a bit of money to her, I assured her that my students will be deeply touched at her situation and would fully understand her feelings. The rain having stopped I departed.

I have often thought about this brief exchange with this poor woman. Don't we have an expression "Do not judge a person until you have walked a thousand miles in their shoes?" or something similar? My experiences with the refugees of war torn Korea as well as with the extremely poor in various nations (including our own) has taught me not to judge but rather to try to seek understanding. To make moral judgments without understanding is merely prejudice, i.e., a pre-judgment. I am not suggesting that we suspend all judgments or evaluations of the behavior of others but rather that we delay such judgments until we have sufficient information to allow us to do so without prejudice. Not a simple matter, to be sure. I do not pretend that I am without prejudice but I sure try to correct my thinking and my behavior when I become aware or am made aware of such prejudices on my part.

gfd

Bellingham Washington Environs

2008-08-09T06:34:00.000-07:00

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We had old friends (Joe Beard and Marj Powell) with us on Thursday and Friday last week. He is an avid photographer and took over 400 photos. Here are a few of them that I am passing on to you so you can get an idea of our living environment, not only around the house but nearby. Victoria, BC, Canada is only 3 hrs. by boat through some magnificent islands.
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Mt. Baker is but one hour from the house by auto. Big Rock Garden Park was our former nursery and garden. It is now the city sculpture garden. We access it by our private gate since it is adjacent to our home garden.

gfd

Lake Whatcom, Washington

Joe Beard writes:

While in Bellingham we visited the Drake home several times and a pleasure it was. Their place is in woods overlooking Lake Whatcom which we stopped by on our way to their house. The area surrounding the house is filled with collected objects as is the interior -- like visiting a museum in itself. George and Mary Ann have done a marvelous job of creating the home of their lives.
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Check out his albums of pictures here:

1) Lake Whatcom and the Drake Home

http://picasaweb.google.com/jwbeard1124/LakeWhatcomAndTheDrakeHome

2) Visit To Mount Baker and Snoqualmie National Forest

http://picasaweb.google.com/jwbeard1124/VisitToMtBakerSnoqualmieNationalForest

Veterans

2008-08-07T04:21:00.000-07:00

Hello friends:

One day I spotted a note in the local newspaper asking Veterans to share stories with classes at the local high school on Veteran's Day. I decided to volunteer and went to the school at the appointed time on that November day a number of years ago. I was one of about 50 veterans from various wars, some in uniforms with all their medals pinned to their jackets or shirts, some in ragged jeans, some, like me, in casual attire. We were each assigned to a class and a student escorted us to our appointed classroom.

...

Sgt. George F. Drake, 326th CRC, Korea, Summer of 1953.

In the room I was introduced as a Korean War Veteran. I was in front of the class sitting cross legged on the top of the teacher's desk.

'Well, you have a live one." I said. "What do you want?"
"Tell us war stories." called out one kid.
"I don't tell war stories." I responded. "War is not entertainment."
"Did you enlist or were you drafted?" asked another.
"I enlisted."
"Why?"
"Because I had a sense of duty to my country and wanted to help in the fight to protect our democracy. This is a Senior Civics class is it not? Will one of you please define 'democracy'?"
No one ventured to do so.

"OK," I said, "Let us take a different approach. Next week I will be hosting a delegation of visitors from Latin America including the Minister of Education from Panama, a newspaper editor from Costa Rica and a State Senator from Guatemala. They will be in Bellingham for three days to learn a bit about democracy in a small town in America. What should I do with them?" One student suggested that I could take them to the movies.

"Last year I saw the movie 'Rambo' in Chungking, China." I said. "Would you suggest that the Chinese learned anything about American democracy by seeing that film?" Silence.
"You could have a beer bust" suggested one of the boys.

"This is almost the anniversary of 'Krystallnacht' which was in November of 1938. I am sure that began with a beer bust, or ended with one. No, having a beer party is not a symbol of a democratic society."

I pointed to a boy in the back of the room and asked him what I should do with my visitors to show them democracy in Bellingham. The teacher intervened and said "Juan just arrived from Spain as an exchange student and speaks little English. It would be better to call on someone else. I responded, "En la semana entrante voy a tener un grupo de visitantes de America Latina. Que hago yo con ellos para muestrar a ellos la vida democratica en Bellingham?" Immediately he responded, "Se puede llevar los a un reunion del ayuntamiento." [You could take them to a meeting of the city council.]

A girl in the front row asked if I would translate for her what he said and I responded "No. Too many people think that the only way to defend or to fight for your country is to shoot someone. You might begin by learning another language. Visit other countries. Sit on a rock in a slum and chat with the residents. Find out what their dreams are and how they feel about Americans. Learn something about their culture, their social systems and their values. In learning about them you will also learn more about yourselves. You might even learn what it is to be an American."

We spent the rest of the period discussing how America treats her veterans. Not a happy time was had by all.

After resigning from the United States Information Agency I volunteered to be a local/regional host for the USIA International Visitor Program which brought influential visitors from countries all over the world for a 30 day visit to the US to 'see democracy in action' and to get to know the American way of life and culture first hand. I served in that role as a volunteer for over 30 years and hosted more than 100 delegations from nations all over the globe. One visitor was Amalia Garcia, currently governor of the state of Zacatecas but at that time she was a Senator in the Mexican Congress and the Vice President (later to become President) of the PRD, the left leaning political party of Mexico. I had one of our Washington State Senators tell her about the laws and ordinances that we had delineating how one files for public office, the paperwork one had to fill out about one's wealth, property, etc., public disclosure of money donated to one's campaign war chest, who it was from and how it was spent, etc, etc, etc. I took her to meetings of supporters of the Republican candidate for office and a neighborhood gathering for a Democrat candidate. She went door-belling with one of our women candidates for public office. On election day she went to the polls with me, entered the booth with me, watched me punch the ballot card and watched as I dropped it in the ballot box. She then went with that box in the car to the courthouse where she followed the box to the room where the lock was opened, where each ballot was checked for 'chads', where there were observers from both parties. She watched as the cards were put into the counting machine and then went outside to the public area and watched the results being posted on the bulletin board. When the results were all in we went to several parties of the winners of the various contests.

She spent 30 days touring the US but when she was debriefed by staff in the US Embassy on her return to Mexico City all she wanted to talk about was her four days in Bellingham! The following year when my wife and I were in Mexico City we called her Senate office and asked if we could have lunch together. She asked us to meet her at a certain restaurant and on arrival we found that joining us were about ten members of the Mexican Congress, all members of the PRD political party and also the Public Affairs Officer of the U.S. Embassy who had arranged her trip to the US. At the end of the delightful lunch she said that since we had shown her anything she wanted to see in Bellingham she wanted to know what we would like to see in Mexico City. I responded that I wanted to see one of the poorest barrios of the city. I said I wanted to see where the people who picked through garbage in the city garbage dumps lived. "That's easy," she replied. "Those people are all members of our party." Turning to one of the delegates at the table she asked him to show us some of the poor sectors of his district later that day. That visit is a story for another day.

gfd

Scouting Values at War

2008-08-06T05:20:00.000-07:00

George F. Drake with a delivery of packages of aid for the company orphanage sent by folks 'back home' to their boys in Korea 1952

Hello friends:

Soon it will be ten years since I began studying the impact of the Korean War on the children of that nation. In 1998 an old man, probably no more than three or four years older than I am, but who looked much older than I was at that time, came into my office. He asked what was the Korean War Children's Memorial Project that he had heard about. When I explained the purpose of my research he began to weep. Shortly he pulled himself together and said "I have a Silver Star for my service in the Korean War along with three Purple Hearts. I could accept the GI to my right or left being killed. That was the nature of war. I could never accept what was happening to the children. That memory has haunted me ever since. My wife and my children do not know that I served in the Korean War. I never wanted to discuss it or think about it again." and, standing up, he offered me his hand and left my office. I never got his name.
One had to teach our young men to aim a gun at another human being and shoot to kill. One did not have to teach them to try to solace a crying child, feed a hungry child, take an injured child to a medic or to find shelter for the homeless child. That came with being American. Our American armed forces took to Korea (and Iraq and elsewhere) with them our basic values of love and compassion for little children, the most innocent victims of any war.

Shortly after arriving in Korea I was assigned to the 326th Communication Reconnaissance Company. I found out that the men in my company had founded an orphanage called the Manassas Manor Orphanage and I immediately began volunteering with the company orphanage committee. When our little orphanage closed and the children moved to the Seoul Sanitarium and Hospital Orphanage run by Mrs. Grace Rue I continued to help in every way that I could. That experience led me to feel that the celebrations for the 50th anniversary of the Korean War was missing the humanitarian element of the war so I took it upon myself to do something about it. That initiative resulted in the website <http://www.koreanchildren.org/> which has 1,500 pages of photographs and stories of the relationship of our GIs with the war child of Korea. It also resulted in the photo exhibit "GIs and the Kids - A Love Story" which I will elaborate on some other time.

All sorts of things came out of that project. One of the most moving moments for me was when I opened the following letter. It was a 'payoff' for all my volunteer labor and research, far more rewarding than money.

Dear Mr. Drake and members of the 326th CRC:

My name is Eddie Cho and I am one of your Manassas orphans. I was about four years old when the Korean War broke out. I remember my father being taken captive by the North Koreans and my mother being so sick and eventually dying of the black plague while trying to escape, on foot, from Seoul. This left my brother Woo Yeon (7 years old), my sister Ja Yeon (2 years old) and myself homeless, hungry and desperately hopeless. I experienced a lot of sadness and loneliness during those days. But the miracle of being taken to your shelter where my brother, my sister and I lived for many months will never be forgotten.

I have often thought of the American soldiers from the 326th Communication Reconnaissance Company who took care of us at the Manassas orphanage. I had always wished that I could have known their names and addresses so that I could have expressed my gratefulness, but all I remember about them was that they were the 326th Company. I didn’t have any photos of them or names. What I did not realize was that Mrs. Rue [Director of the orphanage where all Manassas children were taken] knew you and your unit very well. Recently, Mrs. Rue visited our home and brought your letter and photos, in connection with your work in Korea.
You cannot imagine how thrilled I was to learn of your whereabouts, to see the photos, read your letters, hear of the Korean War Children’s Memorial, and the 50th year anniversary celebration. My life long wish to personally thank you for your loving care, kindness, and empathy shown toward me and each orphan you cared for, has come true. I love the pictures-what a treasure! I have never seen anything like them. They remind me so very much of my childhood days. I have reviewed each picture over and over again. And I can assure you that my best memories were when I was at the Manassas orphanage under your care.

You gave us the best food and better care than all other orphanages in Korea. Under you, Mr. Drake, I had my first sip of Coca-Cola; it felt like a thousand bee stings on my tongue. At first I thought I drank the wrong thing and would die. So many wonderful memories; you teaching us English, telling stories, singing songs, taking us to church on Sunday mornings. Oh how we loved to ride to church in the American army truck. We were kings of the world! You included us in each and every recreational activity, such as games and movies, with the spare time you had. I cherish and thank you for those precious memories you provided for us at the Manassas orphanage.

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened to me if you and Mrs. Rue had not cared for me. Today I have no riches, fame, or social rank, which our society views as successes, but I have been blessed with much greater riches. Those riches include Christian principles, the blessed hope, the inner joy, and eternal values I hold in such high esteem today. I am certainly convinced that you made it possible for me to be the person that I am today. No words can express my sincere gratitude for all you have done. I know that God will surely reward you in heaven someday for each one of us that you cared for and loved. This is my sincere desire for you, Mr. Drake, the 326th CRC and Mrs. Rue.

I am anxiously looking forward to seeing you in Bellingham on the 27th of July. [2003, 50 years after the cessation of hostilities in the Korean War]. What a reunion that will be! I can hardly wait to see you again. Thank you so very much from the bottom of my heart, Mr. Drake and to your gracious colleagues from the 326th Comm. Recon. Co. for everything you did. May God bless you and keep you forever. With all my love and admiration I remain,

Sincerely yours,

Eddie Cho

Photo of Eddie Cho taken in November of 1952 by George F. Drake

In my research I was able to document that our servicemen and women had saved the lives of over 10,000 children during the three years of that war. We helped support over 54,000 children in more than 400 orphanages, most of which we built or repaired. We donated more than two million dollars from our pay which was little more than $50 per month. We wrote home to family, friends, neighbors, home town newspapers seeking help and received thousands upon thousands - not of packages - but tons of packages of material for the children and their care-givers. Our GIs (all branches of service, men and women alike) truly constituted an "army of compassion." What scout values would you suggest were reflected in that humanitarian aid and compassion our servicemen rendered the children of Korea during the Korean War? Are not these values the same ones that also help define us as American? Do not for a moment think that all societies have these same values. Unfortunately our "Army of Compassion," then and now, is largely ignored by the press, a press that is more interested in the abuse of those values by one or a small group of servicemen or women.

With love for all children, I remain,

George F. Drake

Lone Scout Magazine Nov. 1948

2008-08-03T20:28:00.000-07:00

Physcially Strong

2008-08-02T03:07:00.000-07:00

I gave some thought to the Scout Oath today as I went on my noon-time bike ride. "On my honor I will do my best to do my duty to God and my country and to obey the Scout Law; to help other people at all times; to keep myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight."

At 11 a.m. today I was fed up with working on the computer and got suited up for a bike ride. I just had to get those muscles working and get the restlessness out of my bones. I ride a titanium steed with dura ace components, ksyrium wheels and use Carnac shoes with Shimano SPD-SL road bike pedals. The bicycle weighs about 17 lbs. A dog bought it for me! Well, not really. The insurance company of the owner of a dog that took me down several years ago bought it for me. The outfit that I wear when on the road is the Saunier Duval yellow outfit. I like it because it is so VISIBLE. No one can run me over and tell the judge that they did not see me. It just so happens that the Saunier Duval kit that I have was used by Chris Horner, an American rider from Oregon, when he rode in the Tour de France several years ago. When he left the team he sold his kit on eBay and I purchased it. I also like it because it makes people think that I am a fast cyclist. I work on that deception. The Spanish Saunier Duval team withdrew from the Tour de France race this year when two Italian riders on their team were caught using drugs. I will have to keep my eyes open, checking to see if more of those yellow outfits will now show up on eBay as riders get rid of their 'tainted' team clothing. I have no problem wearing the Saunier Duval clothing since I, too, use drugs. Daily I take half an aspirin and half a Zocor pill for cholesterol. Besides, I subscribe to the scout law wherein I am to be "thrifty." Maybe in this case I am not thrifty but cheap. I am not about to dump these rags for something else merely because of the morally corrupt behavior of several cyclists in Europe.

I am six foot two inches tall and weighed 167 lbs today at the YMCA when I came out of the shower. I try to keep my weight at 165 or less. On my way into the YMCA there was a nurse taking blood pressure readings so I stuck out my arm. 110 over 60. Not too bad for a 78 year old I would guess. My health insurance company pays the membership fee to the Y for my wife and myself and for our disabled son. I think that is a good policy as being physically fit keeps us away from the doctors and hospitals until we really need them. Besides, one can think better (mentally awake) and just feel a hell of a lot better when in good physical condition.

Today I headed north. There were quite a few clouds in the sky and a bit of a wind from the south. The temperature on the reader board at the bank said 68 degrees F. I rode alone. In ten minutes I was out of town on a two lane country road that went along Bellingham Bay providing beautiful views of the water and the San Juan Islands off to the west. For awhile there was a wide shoulder but soon that disappeared and I took the lane (rode in the center of the lane.) I try to get a good work out on my ride which is usually between one hour and an hour and a half in duration. On the level portions of the road I ride about 23 to 25 miles per hour. I generally average between 17.5 and 18.5 mph on rides over one hour duration. [ On my 72nd birthday I did a ride of 72 miles at an average speed of 18.9 mph. but I have to admit that I was 'sucking wheel' (drafting) much of the way.] On uphill grades I slide back in my seat and push hard. I rarely stand as that is very inefficient. When going down a hill I rarely go over 37 miles per hour. In a race at times I will go up to 45 mph but I guess I am too chicken to go faster. My strategy to win a race now is to out-live the competition since bicycle racing is by age categories. I got a gold medal in the Washington State Time Trial Championships several years ago. Not only was I the only rider in my age group, I was 12 years older than the next older competitor. There were very few cars on the road today and they gave me wide berth when passing. Often when riding in the country I will see bald eagles, red tailed hawks, blue herons, wild turkeys and, in the late fall there are flocks of trumpeter swans but for some reason today I saw few birds.

On the road heading south I had wonderful views of Mt. Baker, our local snow capped peak, glistening in the distance to the west, a mere 50 miles from my house to the snow line.
As I came back into the Bellingham city limits I noticed another cyclist who had stopped and was looking at a map. So I stopped to offer help and found that he was from Japan and had flown to Canada to participate in a supported 1,000 mile bike ride. Now that the ride was over, having ended in Vancouver, BC, Canada, a mere 50 miles from Bellingham, he decided to ride to Seattle which is 90 miles to the south of us. He will take his plane home from there. He spoke excellent English and is from Kobe. When I told him I expected to be in Tateyama, Chiba Prefecture, Japan in October and would be taking my shoes, pedals and helmet with me and would be borrowing a bike so I could ride each morning he said he would ride from Kobe to Tateyama (hundreds of miles away) and go on a ride with me! I led him into town and offered to buy him lunch but he declined as he had eaten not too long before. It is a habit of mine to treat any long distance cyclists from other parts of the US or other countries that I encounter on the road to a lunch at a small restaurant in town run by a highly competitive cyclist. It is a hang out for cyclists, runners, tri-athletes, etc. I have been treated to so many meals as a scout travelling in scores of countries that I have hundreds, if not thousands, of meals to repay. I rode with my new friend to the southern edge of town and saw him on his way down Chuckanut Drive, the magnificent road that winds along the edge of the waters of Bellingham Bay, one of the most scenic roads in America. Ah, yes, a Scout is 'friendly' and 'helps other people at all times.' I did not offer help to this Japanese cyclist and befriend him because the Scout Oath and Law mandated that I do so. I behaved as I did because that was my way of life, my modus operandi. I had internalized the Scout Oath and Law as a kid so it was part of my life and needed no conscious checking against the Scout manual to see if I was on the right track. These Scout values shape us as individuals and make us what we are. I am talking about behavior, not rhetoric as I note in my comments at the end of this bit of musing.

Then back to the Y to clean up. Total time on the bike = one and a half hours. I do this at least three times a week. Sunday mornings I do a 30 to 50 mile ride. Today was my level ride, i.e., no real hills. Other days I will ride to the south which begins with a four mile up hill climb. That is a good work out. Sure it is hard but is there a way to keep physically fit without pushing the body a bit? There is an expression in cycling called 'empty miles' when one is not getting aerobic benefit nor anaerobic benefit from the effort expended. It is just sauntering along but on a bicycle. I didn't get into serious cycling until I was about 65 years old. A friend of mine who was a former national level racer saw me on a club bike ride one day and convinced me that I should dump the 'hybrid' bike that I had for a real bicycle. "How much?" I asked. "$1,800" was the reply. When I broached the subject to my wife she 'went up the wall' at that price tag. I countered that the cost was less than a month in a nursing home and would keep me out of one for at least ten years....therefore a good investment. "Only if you ride it" she said, "so buy it but get your a== out the door and put on the miles". Shortly afterwards, at a meeting of parents of developmentally disabled children, I met a newcomer to town with an autistic child. He asked me to help get his son specialized programming in the local schools. I said I would do so if he would give me help in learning cycling skills. In our conversation I found out that he had been the coach and trainer of the Edmonton, Alberta (Canada) bicycle racing team. So for about a year I had some really good, physically rigorous training. I complained to him, calling him a sadist, when I felt he was pushing me too hard and he responded that I was a physical wimp, that I had to learn how to suffer! I finally agreed with him, not that I was a wimp but that to achieve one's goal of physical fitness one had to push oneself to the edge of current ability and to excel one had to learn how to suffer, i.e., push till it hurts.

Frankly, I get ticked when I visit a troop meeting and find that the Scoutmaster has a belly that hangs over his belt so far you can not see the belt buckle. What kind of an example is he giving the boys? Isn't the Scout Oath for him also? When on one of my Sunday morning rides (this one a 55 mile ride) I noticed a Boy Scout Pancake Feed advertised at a fire hall. So I pulled off the road to use the facilities and chat with the scouts and troop leaders. I found four of the adults, the scoutmaster and several other troop leaders in full uniform, outside the fire hall smoking! and with big bellies! I am afraid that I made them a bit uncomfortable as I challenged them to abide by the values they supposedly were teaching the youth. Oh, they had all the patches on their shirts showing all their accomplishments, camps attended, rank, etc. but that big belly and a cigarette cheapened those proud insignias of Scouting. I told them my feelings before I took off, saddened that more self discipline wasn't shown by the scout leadership in that group. Strangely, I had not been a registered Scout or involved in the Scouting movement for over 50 years and yet I still felt that way.

'nuf for tonight.

Small World - Allenwood Grade School

2008-08-01T09:48:00.000-07:00

Small world we live in. I saw an old friend today, who asked if I was still deep into Scouting. I gave him a brief run though. We talked about fishing, working at his farm when I was in college, and then I brought up our ongoing exchanges. As I related more of your youth years as a Scout, he said, what is his name? When I said George Drake he roared.

John Geiser was in the 7th grade and you were the 8th grade. The small school had the two classes combined. He told me he was the fastest boy or girl in the school for several years, until your family moved in. Apparently you were just as fast, but much taller than John, and your long legs were just too much for him.

He would love to hear from you. He is a Sportswriter for the Asbury Park Press. He has been with them for, gosh maybe the mid-50's. He and my Dad were hunting and fishing buddies. They took my twin brother along on many "adventures". He used many of them in his weekend articles, because they were outrageous and really did not need much, if any embellishment to make them fun stories.He is known for his fishing coverage, particularly salt water. You can pick get the APP online, and go to the weekly Fishing Section which he edits.

He is a farmer at heart. He has about 20 acres here in Wall with his wife and son George. They have a very good summer farm market. You go in and get all the local news while you get fresh vegetables.

BTW; He envies your azalea growing climate.

Bill Pearce
Kikey Ktemaque Auwen Takachsin

A Hike with Scouts in Montana, August 1947

2008-07-31T14:10:00.000-07:00

Hello friends:

Yesterday I opened an old box that had the note on it "Keepsakes - do not discard." In it I found all sorts of scout things including the diary of my Philmont trip in 1946, the hitch hike trip around the USA in 1947, the vagabond trip to Panama beginning in December of 1948 and lots of other things. Here is a story I wrote in September, 1947 and filed away only to be found 61 years later. It has never been published. I have made no changes to the original document. This is a story about a hike that I took with scouts camping at Melita Island on Flathead Lake. Looking at the Montana Boy Scout web site I find that they were totally unaware that scouts were using the site this early. I sent this story to the Montana scout executive and told him that I have lots of photos of this trip and more stories about expeditions I took with scouts from that island camp. Photos by Leonard Derby of Missoula, Montana.
George

NOTE: McDonald Peak is 9,820 ft in elevation with a good 5,640 ft sticking up beyond Sheeps Head.

Climbing Mt. McDonald August 4th 1947

By George F. Drake

“Whew!” gasped Kenneth. “That was a tough climb. Let’s rest awhile.”

“Agreed”, said Cy as he dropped to the ground.

We had just passed the last stand of timber and were now on the rocky slopes of the mountain. Above us loomed Sheep’s Head and beyond it lay McDonald Peak, both to be climbed that day.

"LOOKING SOUTH FROM McDONALD PEAK: To right hand side the diamond shaped peaks are called "Glacier Peaks." The lake in the center is appropriately named "Lake of the Clouds." The ridge is the one the two grizzlies were on. No hunting. Too bad!"
Notes by Leonard Derby of Missoula, Montana

Our party was made up of eight fellows. The leader was Cy Varnum, hike master of Melita Island Senior Scout Camp. Cy had lived in the western mountains all his life and had climbed in these hills many times. Another Melita Island Senior Scout Camp staff member, Earl Freels, Explorer Scout of Spokane, Washington, was with us. Leonard Derby, Kenneth Egan, Jr, Dick Waltermire, Clifford Wordel and Donald McGowan, all Explorer Scouts from Post 8, Missoula, Montana, and I made up the rest of the party.

"On our way up Sheep's Head." George Drake nearest the edge.

We had started hiking at six that morning at the foot of the Mission Range. At first climbing had been easy but as the trail had grown steeper the switchbacks had started. Every once in a while there had been openings among the trees on either side of us. On one side we could see the sections of land in the Flathead Valley laid out in geometric patterns which, from where we stood, resembled a gigantic checker board. On the further side we had caught glimpses of the Ashley Lakes with their emerald green water reflecting the mountains around them. Near the timber line we had seen wild flowers blooming in profusion. The forest floor was virtually covered with masses of red, yellow, white and blue flowers with the early morning dampness still on them, glistening in the sunlight.

After our rest we started climbing again. In front of us were snow capped peaks, glaciers and rocky cliffs. McDonald Peak, the highest in the Mission Range of the Rocky Mountains rose above us 10,000 ft. into the heavens.

"Looking west from Sheep's Head. Ashley Lakes in foreground."

“Our party is probably the first to ascend McDonald since two scouts climbed up there in 1939, eight years ago .” Said Cy. “A party of Jesuit priests from a mission in the valley was the first to the top. They erected a large cross on the summit.”

By noon we had reached the top of Sheep’s Head, 9,000 ft. above sea level. “Where does Sheep’s Head get its name? I asked Cy. “From the valley in the winter time its snow capped peak looks like an enormous sheep’s head.” He responded. “People often climb it but they stop here. The glaciers and sheer cliffs between Sheep’s Head and McDonald Peak make the climb too dangerous for most people. You need plenty of equipment = ice axes, crampons, pitons, rope, etc” he continued.

_________

"On the way up Mt. McDonald. August 4th, 1947."

Later we crossed a small glacier on the southerly side of the mountain and with our canteens filled we spread out and worked our way up a broad sloping incline. There was so much loose rock that it was safer not to climb too closely behind one another. Our immediate objective was a saddle in the ridge between Sheep’s Head and McDonald Peak. When we pulled ourselves over the last pile of rocks we gasped in awe. In front of us was McDonald Glacier. Before we could only catch glimpses of portions of it but now we could see the full expanse of treacherous ice. More than a mile below us was the bottom of the glacier. I shudded to think what would have happened if one of us had been unfortunate enough to go careening down the slippery surface.

"Dick Waltermire, Kenneth Egan and Cy Varnum on the edge of the glacier."

After a slight pause we turned to ascend the final reaches of McDonald Peak. The outlook was poor. We could go neither right nor straight ahead. We chose the more perilous but shorter way, along the crest of the glacier itself. Each of us put a loop of the rope around our waist and ventured out on a crest of ice sixteen inches across. To our right was a crevice at least twenty feet deep and three feet wide. Beyond rose a cliff of sheer rock. To our left was the terrifying slope of the glacier.

“Just how steep is this glacier, Cy?” Donald asked, shuddering.

“Only about 43 degrees.”

"Looking down McDonald Glacier. McDonald Lake in upper right corner."

“Is that all?” Donald gulped and stepped gingerly forward. We proceeded, one behind the other, with Cy in the lead for half an hour. Suddenly I saw Kenneth Egan slip. His feet slid out from under him and down the glacier he went. Instinctively everyone braced himself for the jolt. We dug in praying that the rope would hold. As soon as Kenny stopped sliding we pulled him back to his place in line on the ridge of ice. When everyone gained confidence once more we went on. “I have been on many hikes and camping trips in my eight years of scouting but this has them all beat” Earl exclaimed. Finally, by popular vote we decided to get off the ice and climb on the rock where we thought the going would be easier. Cy spied a ledge above us in the rock. He untied himself and with the ax went on ahead intending on reaching the ledge by ascending an icy slope. With a cry Dick Waltermire called him back. Taking the ax he smacked the ice where Cy had just been. It cracked and fell to the bottom of the crevice.

"The boy is Donald McGowan of Missoula. McDonald Peak is in the background."

Cy, wiping his brow, started for the ledge again, this time making a wider circuit of the crevice. After a successful leap he tied the tope on the ax which he wedged securely into a crack in the rock. Then he let down the rope to us to climb to join him. Have you ever climbed up a rope suspended over a rock ledge? Your muscles tighten and you swallow hard. There is no real choice but to hang on. You are too frightened to think of the consequences of letting go. So it was as we went, one by one, up that rope dangling over the icy crevice below.

With everyone safely on the rock we continued the short, steep climb that lay ahead of us and accomplished it with some strain and puffing. Only a narrow ridge remained between us and the last upward thrust of the peak. At that point two of the fellows dropped to the ground exhausted. They decided to wait where they were for us to come back. The others dashed on ahead. Cy and I followed about 100 yards behind. When we were half way across the remaining narrow ridge we all froze in our tracks. Directly in front of us at the far end of the ridge two young grizzly bears popped up, seemingly from nowhere. The bears, too, stopped movement at the sight of us. Not until they had turned and scampered away did we dare to move. Further up near the peak we found some shallow spots in the rock that showed evidence of the bears having slept there.

At last we reached the top of McDonald Peak. We seemed to be standing on a cloud with the world at our feet. To the south we could see row upon row of mountain ranges and snow covered mountain peaks. We saw the Glacier Peaks with snow and ice on their slopes. High up in the mountains was the Lake of the Clouds. Nearby was Mountaineer Glacier, largest in the Northwest. To the north rose Mt. Harding. Flathead Lake was visible in the distance. To the west were the farm lands of Flathead Valley and near our feet, the Ashley Lakes. On the other side of the ridge leading up to Mt. McDonald was McDonald Lake.

"Cy Varnum and Kenneth Egan on top of McDonald Peak add a rock to the cairn on top of the peak."

Cy took a mirror out of his pack and started signaling toward Ronan, about fifteen miles away. Cy had told his father to look out for signals. Presently tiny flashes of light came back, telling us that someone knew we had reached the top. I wrote all of our names on a leaf of my notebook, wrapped it in a bit of foil and placed it in a can that we buried in the cairn on the summit of the mountain. Then we headed back down the mountain.

Instead of trying to cross the ice again we went down the south side of the peak. Even though the slope was frightfully steep we descended with some speed on the loose rock. Soon we were again at the timber line.

It was evening when we reached the first of the Ashley Lakes where we picked up a trail. Shortly, though, the trail ended on a rock ledge. All efforts failed to regain it failing we sruck out on the same level for the ridge where Cy knew there was a path. To cut across a mountain side in the dark, making your own trail is no easy task as we soon found out. In many places the hillside was so steep that we started sliding. In the darkness we grabbed the most convenient tree, shrub or bush which often turned out to be a briar bush or wild rose. What carried us forward I will never know. It seemed as though we had lost all our senses. We couldn’t see, had no energy to talk nor could we think. We just threw one foot in front of the other and gravity did the rest.

Suddenly, with a cry of victory, Darby fell exhausted on the ridge trail, solid beneath our feet and easy to follow even in the dark. At 11:05 p.m. we reached our base camp after seventeen hours of rugged hiking and thrilling adventure.

A Chat With Two Native American Boys

2008-07-31T13:35:00.000-07:00

At noon today (25 July) I hosted a lunch for the Mayor of Tateyama, Japan and about 15 others from that city who are visiting Bellingham. They are here celebrating 50 years as Bellingham's Sister City. The lunch was in Big Rock Garden Park, a 2-1/2 acre sculpture garden that my wife and I developed over 25 years ago as a nursery to provide a sheltered employment for brain damaged, mentally ill and mentally retarded young individuals. It now serves as he city sculpture garden. After the lunch I brought the group down the path to our house. There I showed them the 150 year old log cabin made of old growth cedar slabs with dove-tail corners which I had salvaged from a site about 20 miles away. I numbered each log and reconstructed the structure in my yard. I also showed the Japanese visitors several Hudson Bay blankets that we had, one a brown four point blanket and the other, a white one, a three and a half point blanket. I explained how the British Hudson Bay company traders exchanged these blankets for 3 and a half beaver pelts or for four beaver pelts depending on the number of stripes on the blanket. The blankets also were over 100 years old. I use them on my bed.

In the evening I joined the group of Japanese visitors in a farewell party of fun, western folk dancing and games. At the end of the evening, Shingo Ito, a young student from Japan studying at the local university who works for me when not in class and I were leaving the building when confronted by two teen age Native Americans who asked if we had any food left over as they were hungry and had a ten mile walk back to the reservation. I instantly responded "Hell yes, come on in." and took them to the kitchen where the staff was putting away the left overs of the evening meal. I asked them to fill two plates with food, which they did. One of the boys asked if any of our group were going toward the reservation and I said I was. Shingo looked at me with wonder as this was opposite the direction to his apartment and no where near the road to my house.

As we drove to the Lummi Reservation I got the kids to talk. They shortly found out that I knew their aunt, their grandmother and many other relatives and elders in the tribe. The younger brother told me that he recently went through a naming ceremony held in the shaker smoke house. I congratulated him and told him to treasure his new Indian name and his culture, to protect them and to pass them on to his children and to his children's children. Shortly the older boy (18 or 19 years old) admitted that he had just been released from jail and that he was an alcoholic. I told him to join his younger brother in the smoke house and to go to the sweat lodge with the members of that faith. Believe in them, I said, they love you and want to keep you close to their hearts. They will help you to give up the alcohol and the need to escape from an unfriendly world. I told them that they had a wonderful treasure, a culture passed on to them by ancestors who predated any white man in the region. Hold on to it, preserve it, treasure it and be proud of it, I told them. We talked all the way to the reservation.

When we arrived at the edge of the reservation I stopped the car and got out and opened the door for one of the boys. The other got out on the other side of the car. The younger came forward and offered me his hand and said "Hysqe hsiam, Hysqe." His older brother came from around the car and said "Let me hug you" which he did, and then as he backed off, with tears in his eyes, also said Hysqe hsiam." (thank you, friend.) They walked off in the darkness and I got back in the car.

As we drove back to Bellingham Shingo Ito said "This has been a wonderful day. I have gotten to know more of American today. Thank you, domo arigato Drake sensi."

Peace and love to you all.

gfd

Search for Bill Gregory

2008-07-30T13:47:00.000-07:00

Bill Gregory, son of Taylor Gregory, Scoutmaster of Troop 59 in Manasquan, ran a florist shop in town until recently "Gregory and Sons, Florist". A very helpful gentleman at the Bouquets to Remember shop explained that the Gregory family had sold the shop, houses were built there and that Bill had retired to Ocean County. I have reached out to Mr. Michael Applegate, Thunderbird District Commissioner to get connected with Mr. Gregory and the Troop 59 historical records.

David Crow

Badge Collection

2008-07-30T11:29:00.000-07:00

As I look around at all the scouting stuff I have here I have decided that I will send to you the negatives of the pictures of each page of that collection of badges. You can have them printed or do what you want with them. I have a set of 4" x 6" prints of each negative. That is all that I need for anything further that I will do with the collection. Somewhere I have a copy of the index to the collection and over time I might find it as I go through all my 'stuff.'

Chris Roberts, founder of the Phoenix Patrol of Montana (Google 'Melita Island' and you will find his web site.) just called me and we talked for over one hour. He was excited as all hell at my story of the hike up Mt. McDonald. He is the person most responsible for saving Melita Island as a scout camp. His experiences with some senior BSA folks was less than inspiring.

German Olagary Palacios - Mexico City 1949

2008-07-29T11:19:00.000-07:00

"German Olagary Palacios, leader of Scout Group VII in Mexico City, Mexico taken by Manasquan Boy Scout George F. Drake in January, 1949."

Yup. That's the photo. I gave a nice portrait size copy to German [pronounced 'Herman' with the emphasis on the last syllable.] on a trip to Mexico City about 10 years ago or so.

Korean Orphans

2008-07-28T11:11:00.000-07:00

Several hours after our conversation I received a phone call from a Tommy Kim who is writing a novel about a youth orphaned in the Korean War and wandering the streets of Seoul looking for help. He found my web site and has used the material there, especially the photographs, to give him a better understanding of what it was like to be on the streets in wartime. I gave him the phone numbers of several Korean War orphans to call. One lived on the streets from age four to age six with a gang that lived in the railroad yards of Seoul. The gang was his family. He is a good friend of mine and is now the CEO and owner of a major US medical instrument manufacturing business in Indiana. Another war orphan friend of mine, author of the book Chesi's Story , was the kid Hollywood actress Terry Moore wanted to adopt. She told him that her husband, Howard Hughes, would send him to any university he selected when he was old enough. This dumb kid ;-) turned her down for an Air Force Sgt. When my photo exhibit "GIs and the Kids - a Love Story" opened at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas he got Terry Moore to attend. Terry brought her friend Jane Russell and the two of them were the MCs for the evening program. By the way, Buz Aldrin, also a Korean War Veteran came as a 'no fee' speaker. I found out he came because he knew Terry Moore was coming and he, at one time, proposed to her only to be turned down. I wanted a group photo; the Korean War orphan who turned down Terry Moore's offer of adoption, Terry Moore who turned down Buzz Aldrin's offer of marriage and Buzz Aldrin who was there with his current wife. I would have called that picture "Photo of a Could-have-been Family." Life can be truly fascinating, can't it. A third Korean War orphan I turned him on to was Joseph Anthony whose remarkable story of survival is told in his book "the Rascal and the Pilgrim."

Tommy Kim wanted to talk to me because he was frustrated with the Korean 'cover up' of the story of the orphans of the Korean War. He was absolutely astonished when I told him that I had documented that we GIs had saved the lives of over 10,000 children during those war years. He will call again tomorrow. He said he just HAS to get more of this story from me. I'm game. He can call any time he wants.

A few facts regarding our conversation earlier today. I donated my collection of badges to the BSA in early 1952. I handed it over to Art McKinney who was assistant to the Chief Scout Executive. The collection included insignia from the 1935 and 1939 World Scout Jamborees and from other European national jamborees even earlier than that. Those early badges I got while staying at the Roland House, the British Boy Scout hostel in Stepney Green in London. That was about September of 1950. From there I made a number of visits to Gillwell Park, to the international headquarters of scouting and to the Imperial Hq. of the Boy Scouts Association of Britain.

WOW !!! Out of curiosity I just went to GOOGLE and typed in 'Roland House' and read the history of that establishment and about the life of Roland Phillips. I noted that there was a link to the web site of Groupo VII in Mexico City that was named after Roland Phillips. And lo and behold, I was HOME with my old Mexican boy scout group. When I arrived in Mexico City in January of 1949 I quickly made contact with the Boy Scouts of Mexico and within two days I was invited to stay at the home of German Olagaray Palacios. Much to my surprise I find that he was/is one of the best known and respected scouters in Mexico and even more astonishing to me was to find that the portrait of him on that web site biography page was a photo that I took in January of 1949!

When I was in Mexico this past February with my wife we had a reunion with German and his wife, formerly a leader in the Girl Scouts of Cuba and with Carlos Olagary, his younger brother and his wife in Carlos' home in Ciudad Satelite to the north of Mexico City. What a grand afternoon and evening that was. We reminisced about those days almost sixty years earlier when I went with scouts from Groupo VII to the Mexican Scout camp at Teponaxtle, climbed Mt. Popocapetl, explored the caverns of Cocahuamilpa and hiked from Xochomilco over the old Cortez road to Cuernavaca. On the Groupo VII web site they talk of that first trek from Mexico City over the mountain to Cuernavaca and I realize that I was on that hike with them! I have a lot of photos to send to the web master to add to their web site. Some of the pages in their web site are in English but the one with the biography of my Mexican scout brother, Geman Olagaray P., is in Spanish. Check out the web site at: http://www.grupovii.com/antiguos.html

GERMÁN OLAGARAY PALACIOS R.S.

UNA DE LAS PERSONALIDADES MAS DISCUTIDAS Y SOLICITADAS DEL ESCULTISMO EN AMERICA

Unfortunately I have not been able to copy and paste the photo of German that is with his biography. It is a picture I took of him sitting in an opening in a bell tower of a church on one of our hikes.

I just HAVE to relate to you a story on that hike to Cuernavaca from Xochomilco. The old Cortez cobble stone road went straight down the mountain into Cuernavaca while the automobile road zig-zagged down the mountain. Accordingly the Cortez road crossed the paved road several times. At one of those crossings there was a gas station and in it was a car with a New Jersey license plate. The driver called "Do any of you guys speak English?" With a fake accent I responded "See senior, I speek a leetle." He asked if this was the road to Cuernavaca and I responded "See senior." Then, to his astonishment I said "Meester, I see you are from Essex County, New Jersey. Welcome to Mexico." You could have knocked him over with a feather. "How do you know that?" as asked. "In Mexico we study geography, meester." I don't know if license plate numbers still are indicative of the county of issue but back in 1948 they were. As I walked away, chortling under my breath I heard him yell "Mabel, you will never believe what just happened!"

"A Scout is cheerful!" See seenior! Muy cheerful.

Oh, by the way reference to my comments on Chinese philosophy "ti" means essence or spirit while "Yung" means use. Gu-wen is old writings and Gin-wen is new language or writings. The issue was whether one could accept a new use without loosing the spirit of the old. Can we teach the reality of living and how to survive in the urban jungle without loosing the essence of scout values that were so solidly entrenched and expressed in camping and the outdoors? Did scouting build a box that is irrelevant to today's youth? Can scouting offer an alternative to urban youth gangs? Do we need a new paradigm to make scouting more relevant in today's world?

A distant example of this was a Rover Scout investiture ceremony I attended atop a peak in the Teponaxtle National Park in Mexico. The ceremony was straight out of the British scout manual. I found it totally incongruous to have a 'knighting ceremony' with sword placed on the shoulder of a scout kneeling on one knee in the middle of an ancient Aztec ruin. Afterwards the Rover scouts had a meal of pinole, queso de Oaxaca rolled on a stick and melted in the fire, tortillas, etc. i.e., a truly Mexican peasant meal. I questioned German and the leaders of this Rover group why they did not adapt the ceremony to use something from the Aztec tradition and make it a truly Mexican ceremony. Somehow they felt that if they gave up the British Rover Scout traditional ceremony it would not be legitimate. We had a long discussion on that issue and later I found that the discussion continued between themselves in one of their scouting publications.

Several more of your remarks made me think of how I must have irritated scout leaders over the years. One time when I was visiting my aunt and uncle in Yakima, Washington I visited the local scout office and ended up being asked to give a short talk to a dinner function for members of the Order of the Arrow. Well I told them a few anecdotes about scouting in Latin America and compared it to scouting in the USA. I remarked about the Scouts parading at a national celebration in San Jose, Costa Rica. I stood on the reviewing platform with the Chief Scout of Costa Rica, Conrad Meinike Kokemper Meza Jr. as the troops passed by with their flags. Many of the scouts were in uniform but many of the boys only had a scarf identifying them as a member of their unit. I also noted that there were boys in that parade barefoot. They did not own a pair of shoes! The uniform did not make the boy a scout and a lack of it did not preclude their participation in that parade. A complete scout uniform was neither a necessary nor sufficient condition to be a scout.

I contrasted that with the BSA where to attend a jamboree you need an official short sleeve scout shirt, an official long sleeve scout shirt, kerchif, official scout short pants, official scout long pants, official scout belt, official scout sox, official scout shoes, official scout hat, a scout toothbrush, comb, etc, etc, etc, etc. I said families have to get a mortgage on their homes to dress a kid to send him to an official BSA jamboree. Maybe a bit of exaggeration but I was trying to make a point that scouting in America, in my opinion, had become a business that obviously was going to close a door to the youth who did not have that kind of money. "Oh," I was told, "any scout can afford a uniform." Uh huh. What they really were telling me is that scouting is a middle-class activity that doesn't even have the ability to see the kids in the lowest socio-economic brackets. Those kids join gangs to get the sense of belonging scouts get in their patrols and troops. Those kids learn the values of the gang and not the values scouting has to offer. But then, you really don't want your nice kids associating with those delinquents, do you?

I am lazy. I only have questions, not answers. I used to think I knew a lot. Now I realize how little I really know.

gfd

Philosophy of Change

2008-07-27T11:09:00.000-07:00

Too bad we don't live closer so we could go on a 30 mile bike ride and chatter all the way. I have a professional friend who needs to get away from his place of business and when he is "up the wall" with stress he calls and says "Let's go for a bike ride." He then 'dumps' on me what he can not say in the office/shop to anyone. I am afraid that I 'dumped' on you today and apologize for taking so much of your time. I am feeling a lot better about getting my house in order and trying to find a use for my life experiences.

When at the University of Wisconsin I participated in a seminar on the evaluation of values. It was taught by a 'John Dewey Professor of Philosophy' and was probably one of the most influential academic experiences I had while in the doctoral program at U.Wisconsin, Madison. When I look at the 'use value' of scouting values I find that they are 'right on' when it comes to survival in our social environment. But each generation (or rather, continually) we have to re-evaluate the value in its operational format to see if the value is still consistant with survival given the nature of the continually changing environment. It is the operational definition of the value (how do you operationalize ''loyal," "friendly," etc. ? ) that gets us into trouble with those who make the definitions. [There are good and bad people in this world and the good make all the definitions.]

A value held because it is 'mine' rather than because it is 'useful' has little survival value for the institution. What is the value of camping when most of our youth live in an urban environment, in the urban jungle rather than the one of dense vegetation and massive snakes? Can the organization adapt and, while holding on to the core values, change the operational definition of those values, i.e., how they are to be acted out in daily living?

I can take this into the realm of Chinese philosophy and the argument between 't'i and yung, between chin-wen and gu-wen schools of philosophy. It is really a philosophy of social change.

BSA leadership ignores these forces of change at their peril.

'nuf of that.

The question before me now is "how can my life experiences be of USE to the BSA and the Monmouth County Council, BSA"? Putting my collection of scouting artifacts in a box in the back room of the museum is not the answer. Using this material to illustrate the impact of core values of scouting on the life of an individual scout and the impact this has had not only in his life but in the lives of disadvantaged populations in many diverse nations all over the world, might be of use in reinforcing the pragmatic value of those wordy abstractions and lofty ideals.

Regards, and thanks for the ear.

gfd

Doctor Drake?

2008-07-24T11:05:00.000-07:00

Ah, yes, the "Doctor" title. When I got the Ph.D. my mother-in-law,
who was from Dresden, told my wife that now she will be known as Frau
Doctor Professor Drake. My mother in law was old fashioned and took
such things VERY seriously.

Frankly, now that I am out of the academic setting I do not use the
"Doctor" title and look askance when someone uses that when
addressing me. Too often the title creates a social distance that is
uncalled for and mitigates against free and easy communication. I
quickly tell them that the name is "George." That is how I prefer to
be called.

Regards to all,

George

More on Native Americans

2008-07-23T11:02:00.000-07:00

My relationship to our Native American community goes way back in my scouting history. When we first moved to Manasquan from northern New Jersey (1941?) I quickly learned that once the farmers did their fall plowing and following the first rain thereafter it was worth while to walk the newly plowed fields to look for arrow heads. I learned which fields along the Manasquan River had been used by the Indians and found scores of arrowheads now sitting on top of the plowed furrows. I also found some sharks teeth fossils as many of those old fields had been fertilized with marl dug from pits in the area. In my explorations of the area I found stone geodes (?), i.e. stone pipes and balls, the pipes being about 6" to 8" long and about 2" in diameter. The balls were about 3" - 4" in diameter. These were irregular formations, not smooth. When broken open inside the shell (about 1/4 inch thick) one found powder. One of them was orange and the other was red. I can not remember which was which. Legend had it that this powder was used for making body paint by the local Indians. I recall finding a lot of them on Treasure Island (supposedly used as inspiration by R.L.Stevenson) in the Manasquan River, a place where some of us scouts used to camp.

I was entranced with the stories of our Native Americans and read all I could about them. I recall as a youngster hitch hiking or taking the Jersey Central train to New York City and going to the Heye Foundation of the American Indian to study their exhibits on Indians. One time when I was in the 8th grade (that would make me 13 or 14 years old) in the Allenwood Grammar School I organized a class field trip to NYC to visit the American Museum of Natural History and the Heye Foundation of the American Indian. What I failed to do was to inform the teacher/principal of the school that five of us were going to play hookey and go to NYC. Since there were only 11 of us in the 8th grade this made our absence quite conspicuous. My mom laughed at the consternation of the teacher but I guess some of the other parents did not take it too well. I only took a group once but I often did it by myself. I hear that one can no longer hitch hike at the entrance to the Holland Tunnel in NYC. Oh, well, things do change, don't they?

One day I decided to make myself an Indian headdress so I searched in all the books I could find for information on the construction of the traditional headdress and began the process of making one. First I found an old felt hat that fit me and cut off the brim. Then I had to locate appropriate feathers. I found the feather market located under the Brooklyn Bridge on another of my hitch-hike trips to NYC and purchased a batch of turkey feathers, black on the top but white all the way to the base of the quill. Then I got a batch of 'fluffies' which were short feathers, about 4 or 5 inches long that were more like a small feather duster than a nice flat feather. The final type of feather was the one that was attached to the top of the turkey feather along with several strands of horse hair. As I recall there were 14 distinct steps in preparing a feather for the war bonnet. Chick Hancock, also of Troop 59, joined me in this enterprise. He was part Indian so he had a special interest in the activity. When the headdress was done I made a tail using a bright red felt material and then a number of 'bustles' and a piece that was worn horizontally across the back from hand to hand. It was an awesome costume when done.

To go with the headdress and other feathered items I decided I needed a buck skin outfit. So again I went to NYC to the leather market where one found shop after shop of leather hides of all types. I explained to one shop keeper what I wanted and he took a lot of time with this 14 or 15 year old kid to explain how to tell the quality of a deer skin hide. He helped me select several hides and I went home to Manasquan to begin making my buckskin outfit. Using illustrations from various books on Indian lore I designed the shirt, the leggins and the breech clout. For thread I cut a fine cord from the buckskin and stitched the whole thing together with that buck skin cord. The shirt was heavy and did not 'breathe' very well.

Now, having made the full costume I decided to learn Indian dancing. I was able to locate several books on Indian dancing and taught myself the dance steps. I also taught myself the hoop dance, done, of course, without the headdress and feathered bustles. Having all this gear and dancing skill now I started putting on Indian dances for scout gatherings. When I went in the army in 1951 I donated the headdress and leggins and breech clout to the Order of the Arrow, Lodge 9, of which I was a member. I kept the shirt and finally gave it to a cousin of mine in California. I wonder if that headdress is still in existence? I have a photo of me posing with it.

In 1946 , when I was but 15 years old, I took off from NJ with my knapsack and a sleeping bag and headed out west. I hitch-hiked about 4,000 miles that summer visiting scout camps and Native American reservations and attended many pow-wows. In La Junta, Colorado I spent four or five days with Buck Burshears who created the Boy Scout troop called the Koshare Indians. All the boys in that troop had made their own Native American costume and learned Indian dances. They were about ready to put on a pow-wow in a local stadium so I joined them. I slept at night on bear skins in a tepee pitched in the middle of the stadium . I did not dance in the public performances but did do so at their campfires. It was an incredible experience. At Burshears home he would open up chests and chests of Navajo and other tribal Indian jewelry and show them to me. I felt that I had died and had gone to Indian heaven.

Years later on a visit to Mexico City I went to the tiangis (flee market) at La Lagunilla on a Sunday morning. That market is about five blocks long and contains four or five rows of tables or stalls wherein local merchants sell everything imaginable. The reputation is that what was stolen last night will be for sale in La Lagunilla the next day. Well on this particular visit in about the fifth stall I spotted a magnificent Navajo bolo tie with an immense turquoise stone surrounded by red coral chips on a silver base and with two bear claws on the top. It was signed by Jim Redfeather and had his sign inscribed on the back of the piece under his name. I enquired "Cuanto valle?" (how much) and was told $200 dollars. I rolled my eyes and exclaimed "Ni riesgo." which essentially means "no way!" But I knew I was going to get that bolo tie. So I walked the full length of the tiangis and on return asked the vender, a woman, if she was running a museum. She did not understand the question so I explained that if her price was so high she was merely showing her wares and not selling them. She asked me how much I wanted to pay and I responded $50. It was her turn to exclaim "too little." At this point her neighbors got involved. "Come on mister, buy it. Her husband is in the hospital and she needs the money." I responded that while I was sympathetic with her husband's situation that had nothing to do with the price of the work. "Come on mister," called another neighbor, "it is worth it." I responded "I know what it is worth but we are discussing the price which is another thing." So I left again knowing full well someone could come along and purchase the item. On my return it was still there so I said, "OK, what is your final offer?" "$150" she responded. "I'll buy it" I said and put down $100. She said that was not enough so I added ten dollars. Still not enough. "No," I said, "Now you have to make me a better offer." She dropped the price to $135. I put down $125 and said that was my best offer. She refused it but the neighbors got involved knowing full well that we were closing in on a deal but wanted me to be the one to give in and pay the $135. After much encouragement by her circle of friends I asked "Do your friends always help you like this?" Yes, she replied. "OK," I responded, "I will pay you $135 for the piece provided you buy each of them a beer thanking them for their help and we celebrate the sale." The group howled with laughter knowing full well that she could not say NO. So we had a small party there and parted with smiles all around. I have since been offered over $1,000 for the piece. It is one of my treasures.

I made my headdress with turkey feathers because it is against the law for non-natives to have eagle feathers. But one time I not only had one eagle feather, I had a full eagle feather headdress including the bird's tail. Here is how I got it. I paid the international air fare for a young man of a native community in the Amazon jungle to fly to Seattle, Washington and spend ten days with me in Bellingham. When I met him at SEATAC airport in Seattle he spotted a very obese baggage clerk and remarked "In the jungle we eat pigs when they get that big!" Several years later I spent time with him in the jungle and understood why the natives never got so obese. But, back to the eagle feathers = Edmundo had brought with him not only his personal native costume (on the plane he wore a T-shirt and Levis.) but lots of other items for possible sale. He had a certificate of permission from the government of Ecuador to export these items. Among them was this incredible eagle headdress for which he wanted $1,200. It was worth every penny of it but only a Native American could legally own it. When he returned to his native tribe he left the item with me to sell and I hid it in my safe until I could get it to the local Indian reservation. The head of the Lummi tribe said he would try to find a buyer but he ultimately asked me to take it back as he had no time to play merchant. So I was stuck with this item in my office, hoping no law officer would find out that I had it.

One day the local art guild featured an exhibit of Native American art. I got in for a preview and spotted a magnificent moon mask and a very large sun mask by a Kwakiutle Indian carver. i ended up buying the moon mask but at the close of the show when the artist, Omukin, showed up to get the large sun mask which had not sold I asked him to come to my office. I showed him the eagle headdress and offered it to him in exchange for the 6' diameter sun mask. He agreed. Then I called friends for donations and raised enough money to donate the sun mask to the park near my home where it is affixed to a building in the park with a sign "Dedicated to our Native American Friends and Neighbors." On my next trip to the jungle I gave Edmundo his money.

I have more Indian stories to tell later.

George

Pearce Introduces Forestburg Scout Reservation

2008-07-23T09:32:00.000-07:00

As you know, the Indian traditions are deep throughout Scouting.
Many think it is "show" for the boys. But as you say, when close to nature , which is why Baden Powell took to the woods with Scouting, you get to the core of yourself real fast. The American Indians have it right.

This song was sung to open campfires in our Forestburg summer camp for many years.
When sung properly by a "Chief" high above the campfire ring on a rock face cliff, with the setting sun just about to drop the site into darkness, it sends any boy, and many others, into that special place in your soul that no building, doors, or pulpit can match.

Sadly the tradition was dropped years ago by those who did not understand the words, not the intent. They went "modern", and few of the openings I have seen since are worthy to set the right tone and mystery of a campfire in woods with only a waterfall, a frog croak and insect noises in the background.

You were away from Monmouth Council when we bought and developed this camp in 1956. The waterfall (75 feet), the cliff (40 feet) the 1200 acres with 25 miles of trails, the 70 acre lake, all within 3 hours of our county. Is very special. About 12 miles north of Port Jervis, NY on route 42.

Bill

Pearce Recollections

2008-07-23T09:29:00.000-07:00

George,

It seems we have some very common "roots" through Scouting.

I told you in my last email that I was a Scout who had the influence of
Scoutmaster Larry Heppa of Troop 31 Spring Lake. Another "influence" on
this young Scout was Taylor Gregory. he was our 1966 Philmoint contingent
leader.

He, Mr. Heppa, and my father, long time Troop 69 Scoutmaster, all formed a
Triumpherant of Scoutmasters in the old Southern District that executives
at council office always tried to keep on the "right side".
We camped, all three troops, together often. Some of my fondest ,memories
were the SPLs getting together before any camporee or summer camp
competitions and develoiping strategy to ensure that all other Troops were
eliminated, so that the 3 of us could battle it out for 1rst, 2nd, third.
Then we would combine the "winnings" be they watermelons, ice cream, cakes,
whatever, into a big joint troop campfire celebration.

Taylor was even in his 60's when he led us to Philmont, a tough and
demanding SM. The Troop still meets in its "Cabin". Not the one you did,
it burned down, but in the same place. They still collect newspapers twice
a month. I believe it started back in the Depression, and is a Manasquan
town tradition. they are still sponsored by the Manasquan United Methodist
Church (80 years). Your comment about trucking to the bathroom is right on
the point. Manasquan, not that many years ago, showed up with a moving
van, generator, mega tent and bunks at a camporee. They backpack, but have
always maintained a differnt level of "camping". they ave always been and
still are, a cornerstone of Scouting in southern Monmouth.
the Brielle troop and Cub Pack are still alive as well. I was CM of Pack
63 and Committee chair of the Troop 63 for many years.

Regarding the segregated Troops. My home troop 69 was created about 1950.
Its first Eagle Scout was a Fellow by the name of Clark in 1954 I believe.
I met him at a Troop reunion about 20 years ago. He is black. he had
polio right after returning from service in WWII. he contracted the
disease the same day he took a plane ride with Bill Weise, a Navy pilot
also home from the war. They had taken a flight out of the old SLH
"airport" which was a golf course that summer day. Both were in crutches
and braces the rest of their lives. They were all Scouts in the old Spring
Lake Troop 31 under Mr Mountz until Larry Heppa took the Troop. Mr Clark
moved over to the new Spring Lake Heights Troop, a Mr Cookson.
Bill Weise and my father were Eagles. I camped with two of Bill Weises sons
as a scout. Steve, my age, went to the US Naval Academy, and was a naval
aviator.

It would be fun to spend a day in camp, and an evening at a campfire with
you and some new scouts!

Bill Pearce

Snakes why did it have to be snakes?

2008-07-23T09:22:00.000-07:00

Thanks for your lengthy response to my questions of eligibility to be recognized as a "legitimate" scout in today's world.

What I see happening here is that the collective responses to my initial contact information has released a whole string of memories and emotions in me and I find that I am now finally putting in print things that I should have written down years ago but have been too busy to do so. I have often been told "Drake you just have to write your stories down before you get run over by a garbage truck while out on the road on your bicycle." I find this format very conducive to doing the writing. I had been looking for a way to get started writing my memoirs and possibly this is it. So, tell me more about setting up a 'blog.'

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, you mention several things that I would like to comment on. One is the Order of the Arrow, Lodge 9. I was a member of that lodge and was inducted in it at Camp Cowaw in 1947.

First though, let me tell you some of my memories about Camp Cowaw. I had served in the summer of 1947 as the Nature Instructor. That was the year the song "Nature Boy" was a popular hit and that name became my unofficial title for the duration of the summer. I recall the first night scouts were in camp. The camp director told all the young scouts that if anyone saw a rattle snake they were to call Drake. Well it wasn't too much later when someone yelled "Drake - snake." So I went running with my forked snake stick and there was a large, healthy rattler coiled up, rattling and poised for a confrontation in the center of a large ring of kids all waiting for Drake to put on a show of how to capture a rattlesnake. What they did not know was that I had never confronted a rattlesnake before but with a show of bravado I went forward and executed a perfect pin and took the snake behind the skull with the left hand while holding it pinned with the stick in the right hand. Once in my grasp I carried it like the pied piper with a string of scouts following me to the reptile tank. When I dropped it in the tank I got a rousing cheer from the gang. It became fairly routine after that but that first one was a true baptism under fire. Later when I led a group of the scouts on an overnight hike to a camp on the other side of the 'mountain' I carried with me several rattle snakes in a sack to trade for copper heads which were found on their side of the hill but not on ours. I am not too sure I would do that today.

The camp nurse was young, beautiful and a wild flirt. It didn't take long and the camp director probably decided that the next camp nurse would be 80 years old and a strict disciplinarian. On Saturday nights a group of us "older scouts" would squeeze into my car, with the camp nurse, and drive to Stroudsberg, PA where we would head for a German bar and soak up the beer and have a rousing good time! I have forgotten what else we did... ;-)

When it came to nature studies I was truly a "nature boy." I probably knew the name of every wild flower within 20 miles of Manasquan. I had a large collection of tree cross sections - about 3" in diameter and 6" tall with a section cut out to show the cross section and then a diagonal at the top. In addition I had amassed a collection of animal skulls which I got from kids back when I was going to Allenwood Grammar School... which in those times had four class rooms for the eight grades. There were eleven members in my 8th grade. A number of the boys had trap lines in the winter and would give me the skulls of the animals they caught. I also ended up with a cow skull and a horse skull which I carefully cleaned, hinged the jaws and installed a spring so the jaws would flex. I spotted a dead cat along the roadside and over time watched it rot. Finally I took it in the house and put it in a pot of water and set it on the bed of coals in the furnace hoping to boil away all the remaining flesh, skin, etc. Well, at about 4:30 pm while I was up in the attic of the house working in my 'museum' where I had my collections of all sorts of things I heard my mother come home. She was early. Knowing that her routine was to go to the basement, shake down the fire and put more coals on it I raced to the basement in time to see her open the furnace door and find the cat boiling away. Her reaction still makes me feel guilty that a kid could do that to his mother. The net result was that I had to buy her a new pot as that one was not permitted back in the kitchen. I was sure it was sterilized by boiling and could not understand her reaction. I was able to fully reconstruct that cat's skeleton. It was a great addition to my collection.

More, later.
gfd

Maybe a Blog?

2008-07-23T09:20:00.000-07:00

George,

We have quite a "Blog" going here! Maybe that format could be used by the NJSM.org to share your stories and elicit additional comments as I have again provided below.

The requirement today regarding the twelfth point of the Scout Law is the same as 100 years ago as interpreted by lawyers hired by the BSA National Council - it is the "Declaration of Religious Principle" and reads as follows:

"The Boy Scouts of America maintains that no member can grow into the best kind of citizen without recognizing an obligation to God and, therefore, recognizes the religious element in the training of the member, but it is absolutely nonsectarian in its attitude toward that religious training. Its policy is that the home and organization or group with which the member is connected shall give definite attention to religious life. Only persons willing to subscribe to these precepts from the Declaration of Religious Principle and to the Bylaws of the Boy Scouts of America shall be entitled to certificates of leadership."

Only you can decide where you are in your relationship to God but BSA as I interpret it has never specified the nature of that belief. The only jam people put themselves in is when they absolutely deny the existence of God or cannot in good faith agree to the statement above. For youth the wording is the same but parents must sign if they are not yet 18 years of age.

Your life story and anecdotes strike me as very Reverent and in my experience Scouting and Scouters are very accepting of each person's exemplification of their relationship to God. I personally cannot tell you very accurately what beliefs are and church, temple, mosque etc. affiliations are. I know I have helped lead Jewish services at Camp and worked intensively with kosher Troops at the 93 National Jamboree. Monmouth Council's Forestburg Scout Reservation (Forestburgh, NY in Catskills) this summer has actually taken over the traditional Jewish Scouting program from Ten Mile River (Greater New York Councils) of which I am very proud. Not too bad for a Congregational/Presbyterian/Methodist Scouter!

In regard to Native American influence there is a significant history in New Jersey and with Scouting. High points go like this:

1) Two Philadelphia Council Scout Professionals charged with running Treasure Island Scout Camp in the Delaware River in 1915 created a Native American (Lenape or Delaware Indian) themed Camp Promotion society called the Order of the Arrow. Monmouth Council had a "Lodge of the Order of the Arrow" prior to World War II but it was forgotten by the time you went to Philmont in 1947.

2) In 1949 Robert Schwab, the "young man" to whom Charlie Spitz referred and a friend took the ceremonies from Cowaw Lodge 9 where several Councils shared summer camp facilities.

3) In 1950 Robert and others founded Na Tsi Hi Lodge 71 which still operates. For many years we forgot where the name came from but knew it meant "In the Pines". Just before his death, our Museum Curator, David Wolverton, found out from some native Lenape and Cherokee speakers that the words were not Lenape but in fact Cherokee. I attended a reunion a couple years ago of the Sand Hill People who are local Monmouth County families of joint Lenape and Cherokee descent.

4) Some Lenape (Delaware) families never left New Jersey and can trace lineage to 1752 in NJ.

5) The Powhatan tribe has a non-treaty reservation in Burlington County and stages twice annually wonderful craft and Pow Wow events.

6) Na Tsi Hi Lodge and the six other OA Lodges in have Dance Teams and Ceremonial teams that utilize Lenape lore in presenting the three levels of "honors" to Scouts (who are elected by OA members and non-members alike in their troops) and present traditional Native American dances. 250 OA members from NJ and PA are traveling to Puerto Rico to participate in what is called a Section Conclave hosted by the BSA in Puerto Rico who do their ceremonies in Spanish and use Taino Indian culture (61% of Puerto Rico bloodline is Taino today) in August 2008.

7) Practitioners of Native American persuasion performed a special Medicine Wheel ceremony for many of David Wolverton's friends gathered in Pennsylvania for the 2007 OA Conclave a few weeks have David's passing. Very moving and tangible connection with the earth and David's spirit (see Shoshone Benny LeBeau's massive Medicine Wheel project of 5/8/2004 at http://www.experiencefestival.com/a/Native_American_Spirituality/id/5056 ).

8) David's cousin also performed a special Native American dance taught her by tribal elders. The bond between her, David, the elders, the earth and those of us participating and observing was palpable.

9) My years of assisting young men dancing Native American dances in our home made "regalia" (Indian inspired fashions), mostly as a drummer, made me feel the "heartbeat" of the Nation as we described it to the Cub Packs for whom we danced, attempting to evoke the spirit of our Native American brothers. I have heard Native American's joke at Pow Wows "Not bad for hairy legged kids from Texas..."

10) BSA policy is that only non-religious representations be made by Scouts unless under the direct approval of a local Native American authority. This minimizes but not eliminates the chances of offending or intruding into one of the 216 recognized tribes in the United States. Just navigating the mess my ancestors made of their world is quite educational.

All of these things as Bill Pearce noted are what bond Scouts in particular and we believe eventually all people together for good. I look forward to this extended dialog.

Yours in Scouting,

David Crow

Family Story

2008-07-23T09:14:00.000-07:00

I don't think that Cubmaster was lazy. He was just worn out trying to handle a large group of kids with more energy than he had.

Meanwhile, a bit about me and my family. My wife, Mary Ann, and I celebrated 50 years of marriage last August. We raised two sons, one a Downs Syndrome son named David and the other an Afro-American adopted son named Todd. We have one grandson Cyle, age 7 (Todd's son). He has been in Children's Hospital in Seattle for over 7 months with a rampant form of leukemia. Our children have been brought up members of the First Congregational Church here in Bellingham. Mary Ann is active in church affairs. I am not.

Four years ago in a function at the Senate Office Building in Washington, DC, I was presented with the "Crown of Peace" award for "demonstrated exceptional dedication to promoting reconciliation and unity beyond the boundaries of race, religion and culture toward a new era of peace for all humanity." The award was presented to me by the Interreligious and International Peace Council. The following morning at breakfast as members of the gathering were saying good bye speakers went to the microphone and commented on the proceedings the evening before when about 1,000 persons were assembled to honor the new "Ambassadors for Peace" from around the nation. The man at my right was the world-wide head of the Druze religion. Rev. Al Sharpton sat at my left. Finally I went up to the microphone and introduced myself. I said that I was in awe of the assembly of ministers, reverends, rabbis, priests, shamans, imans, and religious leaders from all religions and from all over the world. I then commented that I found that I accepted virtually every value expressed by all these religions leaders and appreciated being invited to join with them in that event even though I did not subscribe to any of their faiths. I told them my sense of the spiritual does not come in a box with a name, It has no scripture, no leadership hierarchy, no membership requirements, no dues. I told them that I loved them all and respected their diverse beliefs but most of all I appreciated that they had room for me whose sense of the spiritual has no name. I thanked them and sat down. A few moments later two women came across the room headed for me and I thought "Oh, no. Here come the Baptists to bring me into their box." How wrong I was. Those two ladies had been recognized for their work on behalf of marginalized youth in urban settings in America. They merely wanted to say "Thank you" for saying what they wanted to say but did not have the guts to do so.

By the way, one anecdote: I was recently asked to give the eulogy for an incredible woman who died at age 94. When I stood behind the pulpit I asked the assembled friends and relatives of the deceased to glance heavenward. There, I said, you will see Lorraine laughing mightily at this scene. She is probably saying "Many Ann could not get George to church. I not only got him to church, I got him behind the pulpit!" The congregation joined Lorraine in laughing at this scene.

Another thought...if you ever want a gathering to have a deeply significant and emotionally moving spiritual element to it call on our Native American friends. Their drums, their songs, their body language and their prayers touch the religious "button" in everyone who is witness to the event. I have been close to the spiritual leaders of the local Indian tribes for many, many years and have often called on them to participate in public ceremonies that I organize.

Regards,

George

Will Follow Up

2008-07-23T09:04:00.000-07:00

This is great and BSA still encourages the initiative (a Scout is Brave still) you exhibited throughout your live. I love the story about the lazy Cubmaster (a Scout is Thrifty still). That spirit moved BSA to end segration ahead of the curve and is helping our current Scouts learn from our more recent arrivals from other parts of the Americas.

Our NJSM Museum Curator Steve Buckley is traveling so I will track down the contacts you offered so we can pursue them before this priceless heritage is lost. Troop 59 is still very active. I am copying to Greg Shinn from that Troop who may be able to help me and Fred Pachman, the President of the New Jersey Scout Museum to get this project and you on our agenda for next meeting.

Thank you for sharing and for your contributions to our country and world.

Yours in Scouting,

David Crow

The Rebel

2008-07-23T09:00:00.000-07:00

I've gotta warn ya that you are dealing with a rebel here, not your typical scout. I was thrown out of the cub scouts once and out of the Boy Scouts twice!

As I recall I entered the Cub Scouts in about 1939. My mother was a den mother and my younger brother and I entered the cubs but I do not recall my older brother being part of the pack. I will have to check some of the old photos to see if he is in any of them. Well, one Saturday the Cub Scout Pack went on a long (probably only five or six miles) hike to the South Orange Reservation. At that time the family lived in Irvington, New Jersey. It just so happened that almost every Saturday my mother would take the three of us boys on a long walk, often as far as the reservation, so this cub scout hike was no big deal for my brother and me. Well, as the day progressed the cub master got worn out and decided that we would all take the bus back to Irvington. I refused, saying that I did not have the nickel for the bus fare. The cub master said he would loan me the money but I still refused saying that I did not want to spend my money on the bus when I could walk home. Mind you, this was the depression when a nickel would buy you a loaf of bread and our family did not have that many nickels. Well, the cub master finally had enough of my stubbornness and yelled "Go ahead and walk home but don't bother coming back to the pack. You are out!" My mother had other ideas and after a confrontation with the cub master I was back in.

In 1941 the family moved to Manasquan, New Jersey and when old enough I joined Boy Scout Troop 59. It was in that troop that I went through the ranks up to Life Scout. I earned 35 merit badges, eventually became a patrol leader and finally Assistant Scoutmaster. Our troop often went camping on weekends at the Allaire Scout Camp. We would all gather on Friday afternoon at the scout cabin and load up the scoutmaster's truck and head off to the camp. Well at one troop meeting I made the suggestion that going by truck was not a good way to learn camping skills. I suggested that we meet at the troop cabin and then hike to the camp with all our gear on our backs. That way we would learn what was most important to take, what we could do without, how to plan for a longer trip, etc. I think I said something to the effect that this troop would take the truck to the bathroom if we could figure out how to get it up the hall way. As you can imagine, the scoutmaster got riled up at this and said that if I did not like the way he ran the troop I could go elsewhere...so off I went and registered as a Lone Explorer Scout.

If you are looking for photos of scouting in Monmouth County back in the 1940's call Bill Gregory of Gregory and Son's Florist in Manasquan. (if he is still alive). He is the son of the former scoutmaster of Troop 59. When I visited Manasquan about five or six years (or more?) ago I stopped in to see him at the florist and he commented that he had a mass of old photos up in the attic that he inherited from his dad. He had been looking through some of them and found lots of photos of me in the pack. You might also contact Sherrill Clark, son of C.B. Clark, former Scout Commissioner for the Monmouth Council, BSA. i do not have any contact information for him. I am sure he must have lots of historical material. He retired from the military and lives somewhere near Seattle, Washington but, I seem to recall him telling me that he is still in contact with the Monmouth Council office so you might have his contact information somewhere. Furthermore he still remained connected with scouting whereas I never formally went back into the movement after my return from Korea although I did help local troops or scout districts from time to time in one capacity or another on a one-day or one event basis.

When I got my job in the Panama Canal Zone with the Inter-American Geodetic Survey (IAGS) I joined the Canal Zone boy scout troop which was made up of boys of US employees in the Canal Zone and of the U.S. military stationed there. I did not get to many meetings as I was constantly working back in the jungles and mountains. For example on one occasion I was taken up the Caribbean coast of Panama in an LCM [Landing Craft Medium] and dropped near the mouth of the Rio Donoso with about 1/2 ton of equipment and my Panamanian helper. I was told that I had four days to get to the top of a certain mountain, set up my lights and show them to crews on other mountains so they could measure the angles between the various peaks in that geodetic arc. I hired a crew of local natives to paddle me up the river in their dug out log and then chop the trail up the mountain to the top where I set up camp. It was the rule of the organization that the observer had to carry the 35 lb. theodolite and not let the natives carry it. On this trip I was not doing the observing but was only a light keeper. Later, when I was the observer, I had to carry the theodolite. It was good exercise!

Anyway, when back in the Canal Zone, if it was troop meeting night I would go. I got the boys interested in going on a jungle trip with me 'back in the bush.' At first the scoutmaster approved of the idea but I guess some of the parents got wind of it and when the kids told them about boa constrictors, coral snakes, tarantulas and other things to look out for they got the scoutmaster to nix the idea. So instead the kids went camping on an army base where our troops set up the tents for the boys, an army cook did the cooking and the scouts hiked on improved roads cut in the jungle and not on native trails. They even had a real American Indian, complete with an eagle feather headdress, imported from the U.S. to add color to the event, tell stories and show Indian dances. There was no need for the kids to go on trails in the jungle with members of the local tribes. I was shocked! But, of course, that was also the time when the US authorities in the Canal Zone had separate toilets for US citizens and for Panamians... institutional racism at it's worst. But before we throw stones we should also remember that in those days Monmouth Council had racially segregated troops. The Blacks (colored kids we called them) had their own troops and did not join white troops. Do any of you guys remember those days? I was asked if I would be willing to serve as Assistant Scoutmaster of a struggling Black troop in Brielle but my dad said he would kill those n*&$%#! if I ever brought one of them around the house. Ah, yes, good old White Christian Boy Scouts. Things have changed somewhat, haven't they? Or maybe they haven't. You don't have any racially segregated troops any more do you?

Back to the Canal Zone scout troop. When I decided to quit my job and go back to New Jersey to start school at Rutgers University I made the decision to go back in time to attend the 1950 Boy Scout Jamboree. I contacted the scoutmaster in Balboa, CZ, and asked him to register me as a member of the Canal Zone contingent. I was then working in the mountains between Guatemala City and the Peten jungle. I was informed that I was no longer considered a member of that scout troop, that I was gone too much of the time. So I was out of scouting again. I then wrote to Art McKinney, International Commissioner of the BSA, and asked if I could attend the jamboree as a Lone Scout since that was the status I had when I left for South America with my bicycle a year and a half earlier. He refused me permission to attend the jamboree since I was no longer affiliated with any scout troop and had not yet registered as a Lone Scout with any scout district office. As I noted in a previous letter, I went anyway and snuk in as a 'wetback' [an illegal immigrant from south of the border].

Since I have been chattering here about my working with the IAGS I might as well tell you how scouting got me that job. My bike broke down in Guatemala in about March of 1948 so I sold it and continued on my way by car, bus, truck and airplane. I finally arrived in David, Panama [near the border with Costa Rica] with thirteen dollars left in my pocket. I was hitch-hiking my way to the Canal Zone where I hoped to get a job when I was picked up by an American army officer in a jeep. He asked where I was going, what I was doing, etc. When he found out that I had been camping, exploring caves [spelunking] and mountain climbing with Boy Scouts in various countries he asked if I knew any trigonometry. I told him I got an "A" in the subject in High School. He thereupon offered me a job with the Inter-American Geodetic Survey as a light keeper, hopping from one mountain top to another all across Panama. He explained that the IAGS was hiring graduate engineers from Johns Hopkins, Cornell, Rutgers and other schools but after two weeks on the job the guys would head back for the safety and security of the 'States. They had engineering skills but lacked outdoor living skills. He felt that given my camping and outdoor living skills that I would have no trouble going back into the bush by horseback, log canoes or foot, climbing the appointed mountain and being isolated on mountain tops for a week or two at a time. He assured me that I would soon learn enough engineering skills to move up the ladder in the organization. Which I did.

When I left the organization I was then 19 years old and Chief of Party for surveying the first order triangulation arc from Guatemala City to the Peten jungle north of Coban. Often times I would have a crew of ten to twenty Mayan Indians working for me, clearing the lines of sight so the observer with the theodolite could "see" the other peaks in the arc. On occasion, if I needed manual labor and the local natives were working their fields, the local alcalde (mayor) would empty the jail of all prisoners and hire them out to me.

On one occasion a group of 20 or so Mayan Indians I had working for me went on strike. I was paying them 25 cents a day for their labor and they wanted 50 cents. Well, since a quart bottle of beer was worth 25 cents I had no problem paying them the price of two bottles of beer for a day's labor. That pay lasted only two days when a Guatemalan soldier came to where I was working and told me the Governor of the province wanted to see me. I went with him to the provincial capital where the Governor informed me that the prevailing wage for day labor was 25 cents a day and that I would pay it or leave the area. He did not add 'alive' but I knew what he meant. The local hacendados and coffee plantation owners called it 'economic stability' to produce an export crop for the international market. I called it 'economic slavery.' But they had the guns and not the Indians. The wage was put back down to 25 cents a day and the governor provided me with an armed guard to make sure the natives continued working and did not give me any trouble. I wonder what kind of a merit badge would have prepared me for that experience?

,nuf for now.

George F. Drake

Possibly SPAM filter problems

2008-07-23T08:51:00.000-07:00

George,

Thanks for your message. Rutgers uses very aggressive SPAM filters, so Isuspect that your earlier messages were discarded automatically and I nevereven saw them.
The spam scores for your current message were sufficient to block the message.

In any event, thanks again for your message. We are VERY interested inworking with you in any way possible.

I've got to run to a scouting meeting right now, but will repond in more detail when I have a few minutes.

- Don
Don Schaffner, Ph.D.
Battleground District Chairman
Na Tsi Hi Web Page Adviser
Troop 18

Response from Pearce

2008-07-22T09:27:00.000-07:00

I grew up as a Scout with Larry Heppa, from Troop 31 in Spring Lake. T 31 and my Troop 69 went everywhere together. (adjacent towns)

I believe he was an adult leader in 1950 at Valley Forge. I could be wrong, because he was also at the 1957 asnd 1960 Jamborees. I was too young for them.

He was my Scoutmaster at the 1964 Jamboree at Valley Forge.

I am sure you will hear from Steve Buckley.

He and I were Philmont 1966.

He is also curator of our NJ Scout Museum. Which is bursting at the seams with memoribila, but nothing as seemingly as broad and rich as yours.

Personally I have not had the opportunity to take Scouting as broadly as you. But I have wonderful friends in many places, because we share Scouting. Regardless of rank.

I believe in my heart, that I have a friend anywhere in the world, once I find a Scout. Language and customs are impediments, but Scouting is the universal bond.

Bill Pearce

Reponse to Spitz

2008-07-22T09:10:00.000-07:00

In 1960 I was a 30-year-old high school teacher in Pacific Grove, California. I did not attend any more BSA jamborees after the 1950 event.

I don't remember Bob Schwab by name but have good photos of some of the guys from Monmouth Council who were there. when I can get to it I will send you a scan of the photos.

I won't get to it for a while though as I am currently hosting a delegation of 15 Japanese visitors. On Friday they will be at my house for lunch so I have to clean up the garden.... which is a 1-acre North West Japanese garden with the stone water fall, dry stone pond, wet pond garden, moss garden, etc. Best of all is the 'borrowed scenery' [shakei] where, when standing on the deck off our living room, one looks over the dry pond garden and the pruned row of cedar trees to look at the lake beyond. The dry pond in the near distance replicates the real lake in the far distance. Even this late in the season we have azaleas from Japan blooming, the Nakahari tsutsugi. When the PRC first opened after Nixon's visit I imported the first ever collection of hybrid azaleas from the Peoples Republic of China and traded cuttings from them for hybrids from many growers in several countries. I am still owed over 2,000 varieties of azaleas by growers/hybridizers in the US. But I no longer am involved in that activity.

gfd

Spitz connection

2008-07-22T09:08:00.000-07:00

Let me add a couple of cents to this discussion.

1. I do not remember ever meeting George Drake, but that does not mean that did not happen since I have some of the longest tenure in MCBSA of those receiving this email. But not nearly the 70 years that George has.

2. I say the above because I was a 15 year old Star Scout when I attended the 1960 National Jamboree, and it is possible that we met there.

3. Robert Schwab, the first lodge chief of Na Tsi Hi attended the 1950 National Jamboree, so the question is does George know Bob Schwab?

Charlie

Have a great day!

Charles A. Spitz, AIA, NCARB, CSI, PP
Architect-Planner-Code Consultant
Monmouth Council Commodore Sea Scouts

Scout Executive Response

2008-07-22T08:48:00.000-07:00

George,

It's great to hear from a Scouter with your history and accomplishments! I'm not sure what happened to your previous e-mails, but this is the first one that I have seen......I would like to meet with you and introduce myself and learn more about your Scouting background. Are you now in Monmouth County? Also I know the folks from the New Jersey Scouting Museum, housed here at the Scout Service Center, would most likely be interested in your Philmont material. I am also copying several of our Executive Board members on this e-mail who would be interested in your Scouting background and story. Thank you for sending this e-mail and I look forward to talking with you.

Lee A. Marconi
Scout Executive
Monmouth Council, Boy Scouts of America
(B)732-536-2347

First Contact

2008-07-22T08:38:00.000-07:00

I noted on the Monmouth Council BSA website that the first Philmont trek was in 1947. I was a member of that group which was actually in 1946 and have lots of photos of it and also my diary. Is any one interested in that material? I know where there are stacks of historical photos and other material on scouting in Monmouth County.

Over the last several years I have sent at least three, possibly more, e-mails trying to make contact with somebody in the council office but the only response I get is invitations in the mail to come to some Eagle Scout ceremony.

I was a Life Scout with 35 Merit Badges but never passed the swimming requirement as I sank like a rock and did not learn to swim until I returned from service in the Korean War and was a student at the UC at Berkeley in 1955.

I didn't make Eagle but I did make Ph.D., served in the US Foreign Service, speak Chinese Mandarin and Spanish, have been named 'Honorary Citizen' in Manizales, Colombia for my work with the marginal populations of that city and also given the 'Keys of the City in Gold' along with the Honorary Citizen title, the first time such was ever given to a foreigner. By the way, while in Manizales I hosted a reception for Lady Baden-Powell. The Mayor of the Metropolitan City of Gwangju (population 1.4 million) in South Korea presented me with the title of 'Honorary Citizen' (number 24) and an impressive gold medal for my work during the Korean War for the orphans. I have been referred to in the Korean press as 'Godfather of Korean Orphans.' My web site on that topic has over 1,500 pages of stories and photographs. <http://www.koreanchildren.org/> . The center for the preservation of indigenous populations of Peru has honored me for my work with the native populations of the world (mostly in Latin America). I was named 'Outstanding Citizen of the Year' in my home town (for the last 40 years), Bellingham, Washington. My resume of civic and community service activities takes 35 pages to list!

I am writing my book "70 years of Scouting" so it will be ready for the 100th anniversary of scouting. I'll mention the Monmouth Council, BSA and, if the council shows any interest in what happened to a former scout from their district I will share copies of all the material used in preparing the book.

By the way, while working in Guatemala in 1950 with the Inter-American Geodetic Survey (climbing mountains and trekking through the jungles as a true scout would love to do) I took several days vacation time and flew to Mexico City to take my College Entrance Exams for admission to Rutgers University. I left the job with the IAGS to return to the U.S. in time to attend the 1950 National Jamboree at Valley Forge but the Korean War broke out so I never did enroll at Rutgers. I attended the jamboree as an 'illegal immigrant' as I was not a member of a registered contingent. I stayed with my former scout troop from Monmouth Council but Art McKinney, International Commissioner of the BSA saw me at the international camp site and ordered me off the premises. Just then the Chief Scouts of Mexico and Guatemala appeared and, ignoring Art McKinney, came over to give me an embrace. In Spanish I told them my problem and the Chief of Guatemalan scouts told McKinner "Drake is an Honorary member of the Boy Scouts of Guatemala and is here as a member of our contingent". McKinney was pissed and scolded me for breaking rules but he ultimately bit his tongue and left me alone. Years later I got my BA and MA at UC - Berkeley and the Ph.D. at the University of Wisconsin, Madison. I retired as Director of the Office of International Programs at Western Washington University in 1990. While there I also served as Professor of Sociology, Chair of the Center for East Asian Studies and for a number of years served as Special Assistant to the President for International Programs. Recently I served for a stint as Research Director for the US National Korean War Museum now being built in Springfield, Illinois.

Scouts are supposed to be physically fit and I try to keep that ethos in mind as I ride thousands of miles on my bicycle each year. My plan is to ride at the National Senior Games in 2010 as an 80 year old. My strategy to win a bicycle race is to out-live the competition. I can recall the suffering I endured on the 50 mile ride to earn the Cycling merit badge. Now, from time to time, I ride 50 or more miles before lunch on Sundays. My bike back then weighed at least 35 lbs, I am sure. Now my titanium steed weighs half that. Oh, I should mention that in December of 1948 I left New Jersey with a new 3-speed bicycle and with a letter of introduction from the Boy Scouts of America I headed for South America. I visited scout groups in Mexico and all countries in Central America. As I note above I returned from that trip in June of 1950.

'nuf for now. I'll send this out in cyberspace and see if it lands anywhere. Do let me know if you want that Philmont Scout Ranch stuff from Wagon Train #-7.

Yours in scouting,
George F. Drake