Spring and summer meant Saturday fishing trips with my Dad.The early morning tap on my shoulder would signal the start of activities that included the dawn drive along the river followed by the chilly five-minute walk across a bridge, down a winding trail and across the rocks to our fishing spot on the McKenzie River.
Worms were always the bait of choice, matched with a heavy sinker to keep it in place on the snag prone river bottom.
I was only 6 years old when I started tagging along, my Dad took care of all the knot tying.My job was to put the worm on correctly so the soft end properly covered the hook.
I have fond memories of these trips.The early sunrise and the warmth that followed. The joy of catching the first fish of the morning.Like any kid, as the day wore on my interest would start to wane, replaced by anticipation of a stop at the store for snacks on the way home.
There was one thing I feared though.The thought of getting my line snagged on the bottom.My Dad always reminded me to lift the rod tip and reel quickly. This helped to avoid catching the rocky bottom.Nevertheless, I still managed to lose my line all too often. Dad would come over and tie on a new swivel, sinker and hook along with a friendly warning to lift and reel.Once was ok.Twice was, shall I say, highly discouraged.
So you can imagine how I felt one Saturday, when I went to retrieve my line and felt the steady resistance that told me I was hung up again; I had already used my free pass for the day. With a sinking feeling, I gave a steady tug and realized that my line moved a little; I was hooked on something that was moving.I quickly pronounced, with great relief, that I must have caught a large piece of wood.I continued to pull, reel and pull again.
Eventually the end of my line arrived and was surprised to pull out a large metal telephone.I’ve often wondered what the story was behind that phone. Someone had to carry it across the across the bridge, down the winding trail and across the rocks before throwing it in. Why? I guess I’ll never know.
(Below is the full version of what I wanted to write about Veterans Day. I also wrote a short version that was published in the Statesman Journal that can be found here.)
By Ted Werth
As I approached my office on a sunny morning in September, I caught the movement of falling leaves. As I turned to look across the street I paused mid-step and felt sadness. The handful of small, bright yellow leaves floating through the air framed, all too perfectly, the statue of the kneeling soldier. Behind the soldier is a wall. A wall with the 113 names of those Oregon soldiers, Marines, airman and sailors who made the ultimate sacrifice for their county in Iraq and Afghanistan. It was as if each of the small, gently falling leaves represented a name on that wall. I was sad for the lost lives and the potential they represented; sad for the families who live with a personal loss the rest of us can never fully understand. Later, I felt sadness for the many that seem to forget all too soon the sacrifices made daily on behalf of this great country.
You see, it is easy to get motivated in the middle of a crisis like 9/11. But less so once things have calmed down and the threats seem to have gone away. For us, life goes on, but the threats never really go away. We are tempted to pretend they do. There are still those that would like nothing better than to harm us. Politicians debate the war and the appropriate war strategies. Those who volunteer live day to day. Not knowing when they will be called on to step into harms way. Not knowing when violence might strike. Veterans Day is a day to remember those who have, and are, protecting us.
I grew up in the Vietnam War era. Aside from my original 1964 GI Joe Action Figure, my first recollection of soldiers came from a letter I received from a soldier in Vietnam. Our 3rd grade class had written letters of encouragement to random names of those serving. I have no recollection of what I wrote, but for whatever reason, I was the only one to receive a letter. At that point the war, although I didn't really understand it, became personal. It would soon become even more so as my older brother sailed up and down the rivers of Vietnam delivering Marines to the front lines.
Radio was big back in the 1960's. We didn't have iPods, CD's or even cassettes. Record players were not so portable so we mostly listened to the radio. It was somewhere along here that I heard the song "Green Berets" by Barry Sadler. I was alone in the room I shared with my younger brother. It was a sunny day, probably a Saturday. Before this I had shared a room with my older brother who was now overseas. We used to listen to the radio as we relaxed in our beds before going to sleep. A few years later, I listened as the words came from that same radio:
"Back at home a young wife waits, her Green Beret has met his fate He has died for those oppressed, leaving her this last request Put silver wings on my son's chest, make him one of America's best He'll be a man they'll test one day, have him win the Green Beret"
It left me thinking about the soldier who wrote to me; how was he doing? I wondered about my brother. We waited patiently for his letters;. There were no cell phones or email back then. Near my home was a war memorial at a city park. It listed the names of local men and women serving in Vietnam. I knew right where my brother’s name was; I wondered about the others.
It wasn't long after this that Tim Ownbey, a friend of our family, gave the ultimate sacrifice. I vaguely remember the funeral. Mostly I remember the sadness and hurt that his Mom carried. His name too is on a wall. The wall in Washington DC.
In January 1991 my family watched, like millions across America, as explosions captured by night-vision cameras appeared on our TV screen. It was the start of the first war in Iraq. Most of America under age fifty had never seen a war like this. It turned out to be a short conflict that ended with the Iraqi Army hightailing it out of Kuwait. But beforehand there was a level of anxiety about how well we would do. There were many unknowns. As we continued to watch the TV that evening, my almost 4 year old daughter asked me "why are we fighting?" Attempting to put war in context for a four year old requires a certain simplicity. I told her that there was a group of people who lived next door to Saddam Hussain's country and that one day Saddam decided he wanted what they had. So he sent his army in and took everything for himself. A slight scowl came across her face as she contemplated this. A few moments later she declared "Saddam is a bad man." I think it made it personal for my daughter that day. She now serves in the U.S. Marine Corps at Twentynine Palms, CA. As you can understand, Veterans Day is once again very personal for me.
Recently I read about the death of another Oregon soldier. I found myself thinking of the wall across the street. Thinking that one day soon, workers will arrive to inscribe another name in the granite memorial. Several times a month I take a walk through the various memorials to wars current and past. I always pause at "the wall" and read several of the names; then I say a prayer for those families. I don't know their circumstances or history. I do know that their life is less complete, and that we owe them a debt of gratitude, along with the assurance that we will not forget.
It is fitting that we honor our Veterans at least once a year. It helps us to remember their personal sacrifice; it keeps things personal for us. On this day it is also appropriate for us to put aside our differences to say thanks to all that have served; each and every individual.
I went out during lunch that September day and picked up one of those leaves. I have it pinned to my wall. It helps to remind me to say a prayer, not only for my daughter, but also for all the other brave men and women that keep us safe.
The name of the Marine mentioned in my last post was released today. Marine Reserve Sgt. Cesar B. Ruiz of San Antonio, TX. He is survived by his wife and 14 month old son.
"Maria Ruiz was celebrating her birthday on Halloween when she learned her son had been killed that same day by a roadside bomb in Afghanistan.
“‘It doesn’t matter which day they told you that your son died,’” Ruiz’s daughter, Maricela Chapa, remembered her mother saying. “‘It matters that your son died.’”
At dusk Tuesday, 20 or so family members remembered Marine Reserve Sgt. Cesar B. Ruiz, a 2000 Taft High School graduate who died Saturday in Helmand province, Afghanistan’s most violent area.
I had a great time October 31st. I spent the evening in Eugene watching the Oregon Ducks soundly defeat the USC Trojans. The defeat was of such a magnitude that you have to go back to 1946 to find a game where an opponent gained more yards against a USC team. For a Duck fan, it just doesn't get any better.
On Monday we received an email forwarded by a marine mother we know.
"Hey mom, just got on long enough to send you a quick message, and hopefully I'll be able to call you soon! We lost one of our own on Halloween. Sad story, don't want to talk about it.. good Marine."
I'm often struck by how easy it is to surround ourselves in our activities and comfort while our soldiers fight. Even as you read this, there is a battle going on somewhere.
A week from now Veterans Day will be upon us. But there is no need to wait until then to say a prayer for our troops. They need our support every day, as do their parents, spouses and children.
After what I thought was an unfair comparison made of the Oregon football player LaGarrette Blount, the Oregon player who punched another player, I wrote a short note to the columnist at the Statesman Journal and offered the thoughts that I posted on my blog earlier.
To make a long story short they used one of my comments in a larger list of reader comments in the paper this morning. I had half expected this after the columnist wrote me during the week to ask permission. I had speculated to myself what they might use. I was pretty sure they would use one of three thoughts and sure enough, they took what I had quickly jotted out in my email which was:
"I'm a Duck fan and like to win as much as the next guy but my motivation for giving Blount a chance to redeem himself has nothing to do with winning. I just believe, based on my own life experience, that it is the right thing to do."
I had been referring to the examples in my blog post regarding foster kids who often have repressed anger that comes out. So reading that last sentence in actual print, without that context, I did one of those internal gasps for just a second thinking, what will everyone think I did?
It is human nature to be concerned with the image we project to others. That is what drove my initial reaction. But it is also true that we are not really the image we project. I suspect your LaGarrette Blount moments, like mine, are just not as public. Maybe they are bigger, maybe smaller. It really doesn't matter. I told my wife about my initial reaction and we laughed for a moment. Then I said, you know the truth is we all need second chances. Cheryl replied, "yep, its called grace."
~ But Jesus bent down and started to write on the ground with his finger. When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, "If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her." John 8:6-8 (NIV)
I work with foster kids. This last summer while working at a teen camp I was helping some kids catch crayfish in the creek. Most of the other campers were hanging out a short way downstream in the swimming hole. Suddenly what had been a relaxing time of fun in the sun for everyone erupted into fit of anger with screaming and the foulest of foul language on the part of one of the more easy going campers. I've been to several of these camps and was a little shocked but not as badly as some other adults were.
It was simple enough, someone had sprayed the young man with water which he asked them not to do. He was sprayed again and tried to suppress the anger that was building. But then some of the others around him started laughing and ridiculing him about it. At that point he had what could be referred to as a LaGarrette Blount moment. Yeah, that guy, the Oregon football player, the one who was splashed all over the national news after punching out an opposing player who was taunting him after the game. The same player that tried to go after some fans who were calling him the N-Word and slapped him in the face as he was being taken out of the stadium.
It appears that LaGarrette Blount will be reinstated today and will return to play some more football after all. I'm sure that this will cause great controversy about him being let off the hook for such awful behavior. I'm actually glad this is going to happen and I'll tell you why. From the time I saw the full video of what happened I have thought back to that incident at camp last summer. And also a previous camp where another preteen boy lost control and punched a counselor in the groin. Yikes, you would think that would get you a ride home. But we kept both young men at camp and things turned out well. Despite all the pressure to toss LaGarrette Blount off the side of the ship and label him a permanent loser I've never felt that would be the right thing to do. I'm probably one of the few.
I used to see things really black and white. You know, you do the crime you pay the time; no excuses. But while I still believe in appropriate punishment I see life as a little more gray. I guess you could say my philosophy now is more along the lines as "what can be done to help restore this person?"
My wife and I volunteered for several years at the Hillcrest Correctional Facility here is Salem. It is prison for juveniles. Somewhere along the way I learned to read the dry-erase boards that listed each of the girls we worked with. There was a column that had one of two designations. It turns out that one designation indicates they are under the authority of the adult system. In other words they committed a Measure-11 crime. In Oregon the Measure-11 initiative passed by voters requires that certain crimes have a minimum sentence regardless of the circumstances. You could say that it was passed as a way to make people pay a minimum appropriate sentence. But I think that voters passed this more to protect society from lenient judges like the one I saw a story about this week that gave probation to a man who molested, on a regular basis, a girl from age 8 to 14. One girl I spent some time talking with is in prison for life. After they moved all the girls to Albany and we no longer were working with them I did a little research out of curiosity. She had seemed like a decent young lady despite her bleak future. That could not be said of many of the girls and prison, unfortunately, is probably the best place for them. What I found out from news accounts is that when she was fifteen she took a phone call from a friend during spring break. And then she took the invitation to hang out with her friend and a couple of older teen boys she didn't know. Within a day things went really bad and one of these guys killed the other boys mother for her car. Since she was there and fled with them this girl, who never had been in trouble before, received a mandatory life sentence and will have to move to adult prison in a couple of years. Effectively tossed away as a permanent loser. Something has never seemed right to me about that.
So back to camp last summer. At any other camp I suspect these two boys would have been sent home so that everyone could get back to having a good time. But we don't do that at these camps. Instead everyone went on about their afternoon while this young man explained what set him off. These kids grow up in some pretty awful situations; he didn't learn the awful language on his own after all. And he knew what he did was wrong. But for maybe the first time in his life, he was given a second chance. Instead of treating him like a loser we accepted him back into the camp and showed him the same love as before his incident. Soon he came out of his shell and had a tremendous camp. He learned there are other ways to deal with anger. And the message to him and the other campers was that we care about you and believe in you. I'm am still amazed at the difference this attitude brings to so many of these kids.
It looked so much like what I saw with LaGarrette Blount. He had his head down trying to suppress his frustration and leave the field when he was hit on the shoulder and mocked. And then he snapped. Many of the kids that come to the Oregon football program come from some of the same awful backgrounds as these kids I work with. Many are attracted to, and respond to, the family atmosphere that Oregon tries to instill in their football program. While many respond in a positive way some don't and when they don't respond to discipline they are often quietly let go.
LaGarrette Blount strikes me as a young man who deserves another chance. He has done everything the football program has asked of him including counseling and discussions with former NBA player Kermit Washington who went through a similar incident years ago; overcoming his bad episode to become a productive citizen. I don't know what LaGarrette Blount's future holds but I'm hopeful that one day he will look back at this as a positive turning point in his life.
“Pam passed earlier today.” That was the simple message from my wife. It was something I knew was inevitable from our short discussions about her friend and co-worker Pam. You see Pam was diagnosed with cancer several months ago. Before this morning I didn’t expect to return to the subject of life and death for a long time. While waiting to board my plane at the airport I read a couple of Facebook posts from my wife and her co-worker. The pain of their loss came through and my mind returned once again to my earlier writings.
I wrote a story called Vapors of a Life Well Lived earlier this year on the anniversary of the sudden and tragic passing of a friend several years ago. The point of the story being that although we all pass on we leave behind a legacy and memory for those we knew. That certainly was the case with Pam. Although I had met her on several occasions I can’t say I knew her. However, over the last several months, I was struck by the closeness of the office my wife works in. It is a small office of people who have generally worked together for many years. Over ten years in the case of my wife.
It is so much different than the story of my friend Tim who passed away suddenly in an ocean accident. Pam’s situation was the extreme opposite. An initial case of not feeling well, eventually leading to a diagnosis of cancer. Then came the operations and chemo, the ups and downs, the hopes and fears that eventually gave way to resignation, and a slow and painful goodbye. I don’t know which is worse; in truth, they are both hard and seemingly unfair. In one sense it is like taking off a large band-aid. Do you pull it off fast or slow and steady? Both methods leave you hurting. And while the band aid only hurts for a short time, the loss of a friend and loved one never really ends.
Pam worked in the office for 25 years and was, in a sense, the steady force; the person who could keep things in perspective and lift up others when the sailing was rough. The person you knew you could count on to be a positive influence. So when she shared her initial diagnosis there was a certain disbelief; the inevitable question, “why?” Questions to which we never really find an adequate answer.
From what I could tell Pam was upbeat, a fighter who was worried more about those around her then herself. Eventually accepting that the battle was lost, she kept her head up. When she could no longer physically lift her head or communicate verbally, my wife said Pam looked her in the eye and they understood. Like my friend Tim, Pam was able to leave behind a legacy and example for her daughter; how to stand tall when life seems unfair. And make no mistake, life is not always fair.
I’m convinced some things will never really make sense to us. And yet as it is for Tim, we can rest assured that Pam is in a better place. No more pain and suffering; for her, the start of a "forever" that we can’t start to comprehend. The apostle Paul wrote that to “to live is Christ, but to die is gain.” I love life and wouldn’t change mine for anything; How is it then that death is gain? If that is true then what is the point of life? I think it has to do with our life being that vapor; in the sense that our legacy and influence stay behind to encourage those we knew. Encouragement and example that, of necessity, must be passed from one generation to the next.
To those we share life with, we never really leave. We can know that for Pam, the pain and suffering is over; that she can now enjoy experiences that we cannot even imagine. And most importantly, for family and friends, there is the opportunity to one day be reunited. Until then, we live with the memories of a life well lived.
Hi, I'm Ted. I'm a native Oregonian as well as a Native American. I love the outdoors and find myself anxiously anticipating summer by the time March rolls around.
I've hiked or backpacked all over the State. Oregon has not only incredible hikes but a wide diversity of hiking that is pretty rare. From Humbug Mountain towering over the Pacific Ocean in the SW to Ice Lake in the middle of granite mountains in the NE you can find pretty much whatever you desire.
