Meet Professional Columbus Singles With Us EliteSingles
Columbus Speed Dating Singles Events - Monthly Columbus ...
PreDating Speed Dating - CityScene Magazine
Speed Dating In Columbus - Let's Get Cheeky!
Ohio Speed Dating Singles Events by Pre-Dating - Dating ...
Columbus Ohio Dating Scene - Looking to meet Columbus ...
Dating Directions — Best Matchmaker Dating Service in ...
Cleveland Singles Mature Dating Cleveland Speed Dating
Singles Mingles of Central Ohio (Columbus, OH) Meetup
Speed Dating & Matchmaking in Columbus SpeedColumbus Dating
For questions about the Event email Customer Service , your Columbus Pre-Dating Speed Dating Coordinator or to register by phone call 877-477-3328. In order to ensure equal numbers of men and women at our events, everyone must register in advance. Sophisticated Simplicity. Our in-person speed dating events, virtual speed dating events and matchmaking services offer fresh alternatives for Columbus singles. Whether you’re looking for a night out with fellow singles, prefer a night in with our virtual events or find one-on-one matchmaking to be your cup of tea, we bring just the right amount of flirty to suit any need. Online Columbus Dating with EliteSingles. We know life is busy, and that you want to make the most of your free time. There's not always space in your schedule for swiping through unsuitable profiles, attending speed dating events or other types of singles events. Are you looking for Dating Sites? Real Cleveland Singles is, based in Cleveland, more than a dating service and offers an exclusive full-service dating. ,, - . Due to COVID ... speed dating events or local singles close by Cleveland Singles offers a full Dating Service solution. 40+ Singles and Dating ... Ohio 44131 [email protected] Our Matchmakers are Columbus Ohio’s Premier Dating Experts. Over 15 years we’ve helped singles navigate the often confusing world of modern dating and find their perfect match! You can trust our process, we’ve literally written the book on Dating Success. Pre-Dating ® is the World's Largest Speed Dating Service Focusing on Busy, Single Professionals. Pre-Dating Speed Dating Singles Events in Ohio Pre-Dating not only holds monthly events in many Ohio cities, our 70+ Speed Dating Event Coordinators hold our fast-paced singles events in over 100 cities in the US and Canada. Speed dating and other singles events in Columbus Have you sometimes chatted with someone really nice online for a few weeks but once you got on a real date, there was no speed whatsoever? Conclusion So, there are tons of sites to meet singles in Columbus, Ohio. Silver Singles review : 7 things you must know! Please enter your comment! 7520 High Cross Boulevard, Columbus, Ohio 43235. September 13, 2016. 10:07 AM. Print. Pre-DatingTM is the world's largest Speed Dating service for single professionals with monthly events in over 70 cities in the US and Canada. If you are so successful and busy that you don't have time to meet new people, don't like to date clients or co ... Join one of Central Ohio's most exclusive singles social groups to meet real people, make new friends and experience all that the Columbus area has to offer. This group is intended for the active, single person to get out into social settings that they prefer to do with other like minded singles. After residencies at bar…. Online service Artkive will open its first pop-up store at Easton Town Center on…. Farmers Reviews in Columbus and the Central Ohio area are underway. Event Information. If black are…. If you've purchased tickets to any events held in Columbus since July, you may….
Top Ten G-ay S-ex Da-ting New
2020.08.28 18:09 HaulA28AuglTop Ten G-ay S-ex Da-ting New
1888Queen Victoria grants William Mackinnon's Imperial British East Africa Company political & commercial rights
1888 Charles Turner becomes the first bowler to take 250 wickets in an English season - a feat since accomplished only by Tom Richardson (twice), J.T. Hearne, Wilfred Rhodes (twice) and Tich Freeman (six times).
The Welch family had passed down ownership of ‘Welch’s Tailor and Men’s Apparel’ at 1679 Haywood Street in downtown Asheville, North Carolina since 1918. As the shop approached its one-hundredth birthday, the keys to the building were passed from Gregory Welch to his son, Scott Welch, on his thirty-second birthday. With this change came a rebranding of the store, with the word “men’s” being dropped to promote what Scott called “inclusion of everyone, for everyone.” So this became the motto of the shop, and under its window-top sign sat an inscribed gold plate confirming this exclamation. Scott loved the store, if not for the work, then for the simplistic routine it represented. He had spent hundreds of hours in the store as a boy, and continued to do so as he worked his way through grade school and The University of North Carolina. Since taking over the business eight months prior, he repeated the same ritual daily. He would wake up at 6:00am, run three miles at 6:30, eat two eggs and a small bowl of cereal with his first cup of coffee at 7:00, and get into the shower by 7:30. From there on began the real work, his grooming routine was meticulous and obsessive, involving fifteen minutes of washing and rinsing every string of skin and hair on his body, followed by at least seven minutes of hair brushing and gelling, ensuring perfection in his deeply brown pompadoured hair. Following that, he would shave his chin and face as tightly as possible without leaving a cut, rub deodorant under his arms, and brush his teeth. After his initial cleaning he would shuffle into his room and pull on a clean white t-shirt, boxer briefs, and a pair of flamboyant dress socks that fit the season. He would then examine the suit he had ironed the night before, iron it again, and put it on as carefully as possible. Finally, he would slide on a pair of loafers and his Masonic ring, and stoll out the door. On this particular day, Scott completed this routine as usual, pulling into the employee parking lot on Haywood Street and unlocking the store fifteen minutes before opening time at 9:30am. He sat in the front desk of the store as usual, reading a book (‘In Cold Blood’ by Truman Capote, today) and reading through emails on his computer. As was normal, a few customers, mostly local lawyers and business owners, came in and out of the shop asking for a new order or an up to date fitting. Around 1:00pm Richard Meyer, a seventy year old county judge, struggled into the shop on his lunch break and greeted Scott with a warm and exhausted “Hello!” “Hello sir!” Scott responded with the spirit of a salesman “How’s it been today, Scotty?” Judge Meyer responded, starting to catch his breath “Well, you know how it is in the summer, we’ve been a little slow” Scott said, pushing himself up using his desk. “Well” Meyer said briskly, cutting himself off at that word, seemingly losing his train of thought as he peered around the room slowly as old men do. “You know son, I can tell you’re ambitious about this place,” he continued, in a breach of character that surprised Scott. “Ambitious, sir?” Scott responded, wide eyed “Yes son, ambition” “What makes you say that?” Scott said, pushing further up on his desk Meyers bent down, grabbed his knee and let out a prolonged sigh, before groaning “I’ve lived in Asheville my whole life, my Daddy took me here to get my first suit when I was little, when I started working at Johnson & Salem I got myself fitted here, and I cannot imagine myself going anywhere else,” Scott looked up at him in increasing curiosity “And do you know why that is, Scotty?” “Why, sir?” Scott asked, the anticipation further building within him “Because it’s steady here” “What do you mean?” “I mean I don’t care too much for changes. I like simplicity, and with all the changes going on in this goddamn town I could use some more of it, a lot of us could” Meyers said with a hint of old southern aggression. “So you’re saying not to change much?” Scott said, shocked by the seeming outburst “I’m saying not to change at all son. Keep the place simple, and it’ll never fail, because it never has before” “Of course sir, because it never has before,'' Scott said in agreement. Meyers shook his head up and down in affirmation “Good.” Meyer shuffled out of the shop with a similar exasperation to that which he came in with, and Scott couldn't help but mumble under his breath, “Miserable old man.” Behind this congested statement was the worsening of an intense inner anxiety that had troubled him since being handed the business. His anxiety was one derived from an idea much more intimidating than failure, the reality of plausible failure. ‘Welch’s Tailor’ was a one-hundred year old business in a city comprised of largely first-generation residents with an entirely different cultural scope than that of the slow southern money that dripped from Asheville in the prior century. The new generation of monied residents came from a foreign source, one that had a disdain for any old order or perceived bigotry. Being a tailor had meant to Scott’s predecessors holding deeply ingrained relationships with the permanent names of Asheville’s elite across the professional fields. Tailoring had meant attending Masonry meetings, congregating at the First Baptist Church, and exchanging favors with any repeat customer that held merit in the community. These community members, such as Judge Meyer, still comprised the majority of the customer base at ‘Welch’s Tailor’; but Scott knew well that relying on them would be impossible in the near future. Their children and grandchildren had all moved far away from Asheville, and the shop, and new money had moved in. The repetition and comfort of 1679 Haywood Street was a niche habitat that Scott had grown accustomed to, and would fail without. With this an ever present anxiety had stayed with him up until that moment, as he searched for what it meant to be a tailor in the new Asheville. As the temperature reached its peak on that yellow July day, so did Scott Welch’s anxiety. He sat with his legs crossed up on the front desk, distractedly reading one paragraph of ‘In Cold Blood’ repeatedly, and sweating through his thick white shirt. For the two hours since Judge Meyer’s visit not one customer had walked through the front doors. Summer was the slow season for tailors anyways, as heat and the absence of any special occasion drives customers away; but this day seemed to be particularly devoid of business. Just as Scott determined that Meyer’s visit had been a harbinger for the end, a customer strolled through the doors. He was a thin, slim man of about forty, who appeared to have been successful in warding off his impending middle age years. He wore a slim-fit light grey suit, with a neatly knotted pink bow tie, and matching brown glasses and loafers. A glowing brown belt lined his thin waist, and he continually adjusted it as he walked into the store. He peered through the shop with intelligent eyes, and more purpose than Meyers had. His eyes finally settled on Scott Welch sitting at the counter looking back at him. The man walked over to the counter, pulled back on his well-combed black hair, and said “hello there, sir” with an extended hand and the arrogance of a successful social climber. “Hello, sir” Scott responded after a moment of hesitation. Scott’s encounters with new people always were filled with these hesitations. “This is a wonderful store you’re running sir! Very classy, very good vibes” With these words, Scott’s anxieties from before melted from his mind, and in response to this said “Well, that's what we're all about here in Asheville, good vibes” elongating the “i” in vibes. “Of course sir, that's the reputation” the man said, resting his arm on the desk, leading Scott to notice a black sapphire ring on his left pinkie finger. They sat in silence for a moment, both pretended to appreciate the moment in contentment, looking around separately and smirking while nodding their heads “What did you say your name was again sir?” The man said, breaking the silence “I’m Scott Welch, and your name?” “You can just call me McKay” the man said, looking up with a bright, inclusive smile. “Well, it's nice to meet you Mckay” “It’s wonderful to meet you too, sir.”
The pair walked around the store with McKays initiation, in search of a pair of Navy pants to replace a pair he had ruined the day before, spilling coffee on himself flying into Asheville. McKay explained to Scott Welch that he was involved in the business of shipping and distributing construction materials, and was based out of Columbus, Ohio. As Scott searched for the perfect pair of slim-fit Navy pants, he was preoccupied with the persona of his customer. McKay was clearly a man with high levels of social awareness, he used each word and facial expression as an opportunity to convince his partner in conversation that he was being entirely genuine in communicating himself. Whereas often a pat on the back and an attempted charismatic smile come across as unnerving, McKay used his gifts so masterfully that he was able to relax even the most critical and awkward persona, in Scott Welch. In discussing business, hometowns, and menswear, Scott felt as though his presence in that moment was the only thing in the world that mattered to McKay. Scott’s prior uneasiness was quickly replaced by a sense that he was taken care of, which was his main desire since being given the responsibility of the family business. So, in twenty minutes of pants shopping, Scott became enamoured by the magical figure in a pink tie. When Mckay finally decided on a deep navy, and slightly less slim, pair of pants, the two exchanged business cards and began to discuss mutual connections that they had. “I cannot believe you don’t know Roger Prescott” McKay would tell Scott laughingly, among a multitude of other names that were seemingly important and definitely unknown to Scott. This blindness to the modern names of business reinvigorating Scott’s feelings of incompetence as a tailor.
“You know, you could always come to an Egg Society meeting” McKay told Scott, sensing his worries. Scott asked “What is the Egg Society?” Recognizing his naivety, silently thankful that McKay was there to take care of him. “Well, Scotty, the Egg Society is a group of men throughout the country that have the unified purpose of empowering community leaders” “That sounds very important, much too important for me” Scott said laughingly “No no Scott, we would love to have a man like you join, guys like you are the pillars of our community” “I very much appreciate the offer, I do, bu-” “No but”! McKay interrupted affably, “you’re coming tonight buddy” Both of them laughed, and Scott agreed. McKay wrote down “42 Old Revis Road, West Asheville, 10:00pm” on the back of his card and handed it to Scott. He pointed down at it and commanded “be there.” “I’ll be there” Scott responded, with another hesitant pause. “Maybe it’ll help business” he thought to himself.
The remainder of the day went by as any summer weekday at ‘Welch’s’ did, a few familiar customers strolled in and out of the store to greet Scott and buy something minor. In contradiction to the earlier half of the day, Scott even fit a few new customers, which he hadn’t done in days. He assumed this must have been a sign that McKay and the Egg Society would bring him good fortune. As the day wound to a close at 6:00pm, Scott’s nervous excitement rose. He shuffled through the shop blaring Neil Young as he swept and dusted its whole radius. He locked the door with a pleased skip, with “Alabama” still blaring in his head. He drove home faster than usual, fifteen miles over the speed limit, rather than ten. When he reached his house, he ran inside with the intention of maximizing the success of that night.
McKay hadn’t told him what to wear, so he decided that wearing a shirt, tie, and slacks should suffice for a meeting with such important figures, and decided to bring a jacket just in case he was under dressed. He repeated his morning grooming routine, and compulsively ironed out any wrinkles in his clothes. “Scott Welch, you are the man” he said to himself, staring at the mirror. He passed the remaining minutes until 9:36 (which is when he determined he should leave his house) by pacing and distracting himself with cleaning, as he always did when he was nervous. He felt almost child-like in his excitement, which embarrassed him. He worried that this new acquaintance was out to ditch him in a dirt field, or prank him in some way. This made him feel even more like a child. So when 9:36 hit, Scott Welch was dreading the drive.
Scott arrived at 42 Old Revis Road at exactly 10:00, as would be expected of Scott Welch; and no one was there. It was a small, closed off dirt parking lot, surrounded by thick bushes and collapsed wooden fencing. “Oh God” he whispered nervously, with his mind wondering to all of the possibilities for why MacKay wasn’t there. Had he lied to him, playing a practical joke that would result in public shame? Maybe he died on the drive over, or even worse, right after he left the shop! Scott sat with anxiety sending shock waves through his body, and his heart rate further increasing. It finally broke its pace when a shiny black Escalade pulled calmly into the parking lot at 10:12, and only did so to skip in his chest. Out of the Escalade hopped McKay in a large dark purple robe, large ovular glasses (with no spectacles), and what appeared to be slacks, a white collared shirt, and a black tie underneath the robe.
“Hurry!” He aggressively whispered to Scott as he knocked on the drivers side window of his car, “No one can see me in these!” “Alright, alright” Scott responded in a hurried anxiety. He hesitated to speak again, coming out of his head for the first time in hours. The two shuffled into the Escalade, dipping their heads for secrecy on McKay’s request. “We made it” Scott said in a confused relief “Well, we don’t know if we made it, at least we hope no one saw us” “I don’t think anyone did” Scott responded, trailing off at the end of his sentence to show his confusion The two sat in silence, and Scott looked out the window and slouched down into the seat. This often happened to him after moments of severe worry. “Where are we going McKay?” Scott questioned in annoyance “What do you mean where are we going?” He gave little time for Scott to respond, “We’re going to the congregation of course!” McKays eyes opening wide with these words. “The congregation of the Egg Society I’m assuming?” “Of course that’s what I mean!” McKay’s voice continuing to get more and more excited “Where exactly is this meeting?” “Oh, you’ll see soon enough, we generally don’t just outright tell embryos like you where we meet. Security purposes” “Embryos?” “Yes newcomers, do I have to explain everything to you?” McKay commanded, losing his patience. Scott Welch has always had a problem with asking too many questions.
Eventually, the Escalade pulled onto a long and bumpy gravel road, and drove up what seemed to be an entire mountain. Scott’s mind wandered to the thought that he had hastily gotten into a car with a lunatic, the egg society? He couldn’t believe he had fallen for that. He determined he must be in the car with a schizophrenic sociopath, which would explain the paranoia and charismatic charm.
After an eternity of bumps, nearly falling off of the side of the mountain, and quiet anxiety; the pair arrived at a large, imposing house at the top of the mountain, surrounded by dozens of cars and covered in egg paraphernalia. Scott looked around hurriedly and noticed that there was at least one carton of eggs on each car, two large gold painted ovals at either side of the door, and a sign that looked like an advertisement in a ballpark outfield reading, very simply, “Egg.” “Here you go Scotty, you’ll need these” McKay said, reaching into the back of his car and pulling out a large pink robe and a copy of the ovular glasses that he wore. “I put them on?” Scott asked again, continuing his nervous habit “Of course you do!” McKay said excitedly The two men hopped out of the car, and while Scott dressed himself, McKay walked around to the back of the car and pulled out two cartons of eggs. “I got a dozen for you, we put these on our car as a sort of offering” “Okay” Scott responded nervously, unable to think up a response to such a ridiculous statement. “Now listen, we’re going to go up to the front doors and a man in a tuxedo is going to open the doors, just let me do the talking” “Don’t worry, wasn’t planning on saying anything” They walked to the front door, and McKay knocked twelve times , and just as he said, a man came to the door sporting a thin, well-kept mustache, and a butlers tuxedo. “Good evening gentleman” the man at the door said calmly “Hello sir, I have brought a friend with me this evening, a potential embryo” The man stared deeply at Scott, with empty, calculating eyes. He leaned towards him with only his upper body, and sported a pretentious facial expression. Scott had absolutely no idea what he was thinking. After an uncomfortably long moment of that, the man said, “Very well sir, you both may enter”, and relaxed back into an upright position. McKay led the way into the house, and Scott followed, sweating intensely and pulling on the shoulders of his robe. He was beginning to feel self conscious about his attire. He followed McKay through what appeared to be a silent and empty house, beside a massive stairwell, under dozens of extravagant light fixtures, and across a creaky, thin-paneled hardwood floor. The house reminded Scott of one he had seen in a Scooby-Doo cartoon as a child, a mansion “haunted” by greedy relatives seeking a wealthy inheritance. So this is what he imagined as McKay led him down into the houses large empty basement, where he began to hear voices of people quietly socializing, a group of wealthy social climbers looking to gain more from each other. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, McKay stepped beside him, guided him by his back, and announced to the room “Hello everyone! This is my dear friend, Scott Welch!” McKay said this immediately as they turned the corner, giving Scott no time to scout out the environment before his presence was announced, making his introduction to the society a room full of strangers staring at him; which did not bode well for his already present sense of anxiety. His heart fluttered, and he felt an intense dropping sensation, as he overstimulated himself scanning hurriedly around the room. He saw white and yellow painted faces staring back at him blankly, all dressed in magnificent robes of flamboyant colors, all covering men in white collared shirts, ties, and black slacks. The room was decorated with professionally photographed shelled eggs. It contained no windows, and was comprised of dark grey concrete walls, and a brown carpeted floor. There was a piano in the corner of the room occupied by a man wearing a large egg mascot head, complete with webbing in front of the eyes for him to see out of. The members of the society congregated across the room, but were specifically concentrated around tables on each wall of the room that were covered by pastel Easter table covers, and large silver bowls containing deviled eggs, egg salad, scrambled eggs, and what Scott deduced must have been eggnog. In the center of the room was what appeared to be a shrine, where more photographs of eggs and dozens of small candles surrounded a mature hen locked inside of a black cage that appeared to be meant for a much larger animal. After a few moments of staring, the crowd chanted to Scott in unison, Welcome, welcome brother egg Young one born of feathered kind To the white one we shall beg To welcome your incipient mind
“Come on in Scott,” McKay whispered, leaning into his ear. Scott raised his eyebrows in nervous agreement, and followed McKay’s leading hand that was placed on his lower back. He took him around the room, introducing him to each person in the room. They greeted him pleasantly, but it was a disturbing pleasantry. Their smiles were artificially wide, and their eyes were opened to an extent that wrinkled their entire face. Scott tried to match them, but his face could not extend itself as far as those staring at him. He began to notice patterns in the flamboyant dress of the members of the society, those dressed in purple or red robes were those with the most power and social clout in the club, and were surrounded by the largest numbers of people. Scott estimated that there were around forty members in the basement, of which about four wore purple and red robes, with the rest in pink or baby blue. Every member of the club was a young, in-shape man, all but one of which was white. The lone non-white member was an African-American man who called himself ‘Sunrise’. Scott got in a long conversation with Sunrise, as McKay had politely excused himself to have a discussion with the other men in purple and red robes.
“You look like a very nice man” Sunrise said with an eerily large smile, barely spreading his teeth as he spoke “Thank you sir, you look nice too” Scott said, looking around the room nervously “I can tell you aren’t very comfortable here” sunrise said, not breaking eye contact and sending a chill down Scott’s spine “You can?” “Of course” he paused “everyone is at first, but you get very, very used to it” “I hope I do, you seem like a great group of guys” “Oh yes, but the focus isn’t on us” Sunrise said with a closed mouth giggle “Now let's go get your face painted, silly!” The pair walked over to one of the tables across the wall and were stopped by McKay with a push. “And what do you think you’re doing, Sunrise” he commanded, not breaking his artificial smirk. “H-he needs his face painted” Sunrise stumbled, for the first time losing his smile “Oh well, Scott here will be painting his face using a different instrument tonight”
Scott and Sunrise went back into the corner they had talked in earlier, and stood silently while other members greeted Scott. “It’s such a pleasure to have you here tonight, you’re truly doing The Society a service” he told Scott, rubbing gently down on his red robe. “Why don’t you have some eggnog, brother.”
“Of course I'll have some” Scott said hesitantly, it couldn’t be too bad he thought, everyone else is drinking it, and he had to do something to blend in with these people and get out of the basement safely at the end of the night. From the first sip, Scott was in heaven. His body buzzed in a pleasurable warmth, and he enjoyed spinning and wobbling around the room. Suddenly, he felt his own smile widened as his bliss intensified. He observed in flashes himself stumbling around the room, giggling with the rest of the club, and being handed more and more to drink. As the night went on for however long it did (Scott was not quite sure) there was a growing tension in the room, despite his inner joy. An overwhelming sense that the evening was for him caused a great deal of nervousness. Eventually, the two members in purple, one of which was McKay, began to ring singing bells in front of the cage; and everyone in The Society moved in front of them. After a moment of this, the men in red appeared from around the back of the cage, with the unmasked one, a long, slim man of about forty sporting a neatly trimmed black beard, carrying a tray with multiple black straps and a knife. The man with the egg on his head, who could be easily decipher as the leader, began to speak in a commanding, fatherly voice. “Hello my friends!” he commanded, throwing his arms into the air to an intoxicated applause from the crowd. “May the white one be with us!” there was more applause, and with it, the crowd repeated back to him in unison “May the white one be with us!” “Very good, friends” the man with the egg on his head said, bringing his hands together. “Now. Let us discuss business! We have a new man in the crowd, his name is Scott, everyone greet him!” “Hello Scott” they said obediently, causing Scott to laugh intensely and fall to his knees. Everyone stared at him, so he decided he better stand up. “It is a pleasure to have us all gathered here today in appreciation of the white one!” this drew a cheer from the crow, a welcomed distraction from his mishap for Scott. “As you all know, we have brother Golden here today, all the way from Columbus, Ohio”! The man said, motioning at McKay and drawing another rowdy cheer “And let us not distract ourselves from our purpose tonight, brothers.” the crows looked over at Scott. “Tonight! Will be the night we welcome a new brother! Give our brother a new name! He will reinvent himself, through blood, for the white one!” this statement resulted in the loudest reaction yet from The Society, giving Scott pink cheeks even in his intoxicated stuper. “The time has come! Brother Scott, may the initiation begin!” The man with the egghead motioned at his partner carrying the, who proceeded to carry the tray to the cage, sitting it on the ground and pulling out the struggling hen that sat in it. He strapped its legs to the tray, expertly avoiding its wild claws and emotionlessly tying down the squawking bird against its will. “Now, brother Scott! The time has come! Remove the white one!” Scott was confused, and while he normally would have been shocked with empathy for the bird, he was intoxicated by the drink he had been repeatedly given and by the increasing roars of the crowd. “Brother Scott!” the man repeated, as the tray carrying the still struggling chicken was placed on back in the opened cage. “You are to take this knife, and remove the white one!” Scott was visibly shaking, and still a bit confused. Although the intentions of the club members were becoming more clear, he was expected to cut the chicken open, and remove any eggs it carried in its body. “I shink em not hearin’ you right” Scott slurred drunkenly, hoping he was misunderstanding. “Cut into the hen brother Scott!” The cheers of the crows grew louder, and Scott’s drunken haze more intense. The room was spinning now, uncomfortably so. He decided the only way to get out of this state would be to do what the man in the egghead said. He knew best. Scott approached the cage now, slowly stumbling, regaining consciousness with each step. The roars of the crowd encouraged him, these were his new brothers, the new generation of influencers. He grabbed the knife. Hadn’t the founders been fascinated by the occult? Weren't the Romans a beautiful and dark people? He stared down at the hen, squealing less intensely now, but still jerking its head around in fear. It didn't even notice him. He was no longer alone, the cheers of the crowd still grew in intensity, as did his confidence. He looked down at the bird again, finding confidence in his empathy for it. He could kill. So he drove the knife into its stomach, unsure of chicken anatomy, and cut all the way down to the bottom of its torso. It let out a painful scream, unable to let go of its grip on life as it lose control entirely. The crowd cheered, and Scott spread its intestines, exposing multiple fully developed eggs. He pulled one out, the biggest one, and the cheers of the crowd grew louder, making more noise now than the movements and fading squawks of the hen. He turned to the crowd now, and there was a moment of silence as he presented the object of their worship. The man with the egghead walked to him now, put his hand on Scott’s back, and cried out “He has found the white one, now let him paint his face in blood!” The crowd let out an enormous cheer, and Scott proudly lost any sense of empathy that he had left. He turned back to the chicken, and rubbed the blood from its opened stomach across his face. “He is born!” the man yelled. For just a moment, Scott Welch was proud. He had initiated himself into a society of men who could get him places, and had done so with joy. These were his brothers in blood, his brothers in the yoke that spilled on his face when he ate the egg under the man with the egghead’s command. Slowly, he lost this passion. As he slipped out of intoxication from the crowd and the drink, the crowd greeting him proudly suddenly became horrifying to him. “What have I done” he thought internally, looking back at the mangled body of the hen laying still in front of its cage. He no longer felt pride in its death, or even felt beauty. There was no beauty in that soulless mess of blood and struggle. He drank no more, and wanted nothing but to leave. His pain grew more and more severe, to the point that it was intoxicating him again, until he left the basement with McKay. “Wait brother!” the man with the egghead yelled at them as they left. “We must give you a name.” Scott inwardly dreaded the possibilities. He thought he would be named ‘hunter’ or ‘yoke mouth’ or something of the like, to always remind him of the shameful event. “We shall call you brother Birth!” “Brother Birth” The crowd repeated, all coming sadly out of their haze. Scott smiled, and left the room somberly.
The ride back down the mountain was quiet, with a bit of small talk between Scott and McKay that eventually died down. Scott could still taste the blood and egg on his breath, as well as the alcohol. “Brother Life” he thought, as the Escalade pulled slowly back into the dirt parking lot where the two had met hours earlier. “See you soon, Brother Life” McKay remarked with a wink. Scott said nothing. There was a thick musk of shame present. Scott went home, repeatedly looking at the clock that now read 4:13am, focusing on the anxiety of waking up in the morning rather than the pain of the events that just occurred. “Brother Life,” he could not get the words out of his head. He went home and tossed in bed, eventually leading to a shallow hungover sleep. He was in a repeating state of waking, but never fully got up until 11:00am. He was very late. So Scott Welch concluded that he had better sell the shop. It was better for someone responsible to be in charge of the family name, he decided.
2018.06.30 13:42 rm_a2018 Ultimate College Football Road Trip
2018 Ultimate College Football Road Trip
As a big fan of both college football and road trips, I set out to create a road trip that would allow one to attend as many college football games as possible in 2018.
The goal is simple: attend as many college football games in 2018 as possible. I aimed mainly for Division 1 teams, with a slight preference to G5 teams because I like them. Some D2/D3 conferences don't seem to have a schedule released, though this should have a minimal impact as the vast majority of D2/D3 games are on Saturdays. As we'll see later, there are a bunch of games that have TBD times that we'll need to work with. The assumption is each game lasts 3 and a half hours. All times are in Eastern Time to make time zones easier to deal with. Travel times and distrances are calculated on Google Maps, with the ability to make up a little time on the road if necessary. For the purpose of this post, the games were chosen based on ability to travel by car (with one exception) or other ground methods of transportation. Leave your frequent flier card at home, we're putting the miles on your car. Since cars require maintenance, we also need to factor in oil changes, and routine maintenance at specific milestones. Starting out, you will need a buddy to share driving with, a pillow (you aren't staying at hotels most nights, sorry), your passport, ample food, and a few many Red Bulls.
Game 1: Wednesday, August 22 6:00PM Muskingum Muskingum Fighting Muskies at Wittenberg Wittenberg Tigers (Scrimmage)
In all my research, it appears that this is the first college football game in 2018 between two different colleges in the US. We're starting out our adventures in Springfield, Ohio, midway between Dayton and Columbus, with a scrimmage between two D3 teams. A nice matchup before we get to full-fledged action.
Game 2: Saturday, August 26 Time TBD Duquesne Duquesne Dukes at UMass UMass Minutemen
Travel: 751 miles, 11 hrs 19 min There's a number of games on the Saturday of "Week 0" but this will be the only time we see UMass play, and it's at home so we get to see the UMass Marching Band. They're better than the football team. Time is TBD, however largely irrelevant. Other Saturdays this will not be the case.
Travel: 1,679 miles, 24 hrs We're watching some midweek GACtion, despite many other schools starting games up. Ouachita Baptist made the D2 playoffs last year, so this could be a good game. A couple hours away Oklahoma State is playing Missouri State, but we're taking this game instead because there won't be any untimed downs.
Game 4: Friday, August 31 9:30PM Colorado Colorado Buffaloes vs Colorado State Colorado State Rams (Denver, CO)
Travel: 522 miles, 7 hrs 51 min Rocky Mountain Showdown under the lights. Get ready for our first double header in just a few hours.
Game 5: Saturday, September 1 12PM FAU Florida Atlantic Owls at Oklahoma Oklahoma Sooners
Travel: 697 miles, 9 hrs 57 min Last night's game ended at 1AM (11PM local). This game kicks off at 12PM (11AM local), so we have time to get some gas in Kansas and try to find some food, but there's minimal time we're off the road. Lane Kiffin looks to extend his winning streak in one of the more exciting matchups of the weekend.
Game 6: Saturday, September 1 7PM Central Arkansas Central Arkansas Bears at Tulsa Tulsa Golden Hurricane
Travel: 127 miles, 2 hrs While Joey Freshwater is hitting the bars, we're hitting the road. We have three and a half hours to make it to Tulsa. Central Arkansas was 10-2 last year and Tulsa was 2-10, so we could witness an FCS upset.
Game 7: Sunday, September 2 7:30PM Miami Miami Hurricanes vs LSU LSU Tigers (Arlington, TX)
Travel: 276 miles, 4 hrs 19 min Opening weekend means bonus football. This is a primetime game so we have travel time to spare.
Travel: 818 miles, 13 hrs 11 min FCS Missouri State takes on D2 Lincoln in this weeknight matchup. We're coming up on 6,000 miles and it isn't even the second Saturday of the season, so it's time for a tire rotation and oil change in Missouri.
Game 10: Friday, September 7 8PM TCU TCU Horned Frogs at SMU SMU Mustangs
Travel: 414 miles, 6 hrs 37 min The Battle for the Iron Skillet continues for a 98th year in Dallas.
Travel: 494 miles, 7 hrs 24 min Once again, we're driving on a Friday night. This week the trip is a bit shorter, only to Manhattan, Kansas for a SEC-Big 12 matchup. It just means more.
Game 12: Saturday, September 8 7PM Wyoming Wyoming Cowboys at Missouri Missouri Tigers
Travel: 249 miles, 3 hrs 49 min We're keeping the SEC theme for our doubleheader, and we're also hauling ass. We need to make up 20 minutes on I-70 to make kickoff, but it'll be doable. We'll see how Wyoming does without Josh Allen, and how Drew Lock looks in his senior season.
Travel: 652 miles, 9 hrs 47 min Your 2025 National Champions look to pick up a win over a team towards the top of a Power 6 conference.
Game 15: Saturday, September 15 12PM Miami Miami Hurricanes at Toledo Toledo Rockets
Travel: 682 miles, 10 hrs By this time we're used to traveling on Friday nights. This week we're going to a packed Glass Bowl in Toledo. How could we pass up a (likely) ranked P5 team visiting a G5 team?
Travel: 25 miles, 28 min One of the advantages of having your rival a half hour away is an intense rivalry game. In our case, it helps us complete our doubleheader. Toledo's cross division rival, Bowling Green, takes on FCS Eastern Kentucky as we arrive minutes before kickoff.
Game 17: Thursday, September 20 7:30PM Tulsa Tulsa Golden Hurricane at Temple Temple Owls
Travel: 542 miles, 8 hrs 18 min Tulsa travels to Philadelphia in a cross division AAC matchup.
Game 18: Friday, September 21 9PM Penn State Penn State Nittany Lions at Illinois Illinois Fighting Illini
Travel: 769 miles, 11 hrs 49 min Penn State night games are nice, except this one is in Champaign so there's no whiteout. Lovie Smith looks for his first big win for the Illini.
Travel: 428 miles, 6 hrs 42 min We're off to West Virginia for some noon D2 football. It's that time of the year where times are still TBD, so we're seeing games where times have already been announced – mostly lower division. Another possible doubleheader (depending on game times) is: Michigan State Michigan State Spartans at Indiana Indiana Hoosiers, WKU Western Kentucky Hilltoppers at Ball State Ball State Cardinals, Boston College Boston College Eagles at Purdue Purdue Boilermakers (noon)
Game 20: Saturday, September 22 7PM NC State NC State Wolfpack at Marshall Marshall Thundering Herd
Travel: 41 miles, 46 min It's the third week in a road where we're watching a P5 travel to a G5. I could get used to this. We Are!
Travel: 403 miles, 6 hrs 23 min This game intrigues me. While searching D2 schedules, I came across this game scheduled for a Sunday. It's the only Sunday game I have seen besides Miami vs LSU on Labor Day weekend. ESPN has this game listed on their site for Sunday, as do the two colleges. Benedict's press release lists the game on Saturday, Fort Valley State does not have a press release for the schedule. Did an intern transpose the date incorrectly? Do we actually have Sunday football? Regardless, we're heading to Columbia, SC in search of Sunday college football.
Game 22: Thursday, September 27 8PM North Carolina North Carolina Tarheels at Miami Miami Hurricanes
Travel: 627 miles, 8 hrs 41 min Our third time watching Miami play, but first time we see them at home. Another tire rotation and oil change are in order before we head to Friday's game.
Game 23: Friday, September 28 8PM Memphis Memphis Tigers at Tulane Tulane Golden Wave
Travel: 852 miles, 11 hrs 38 min The only other D1 games this Friday at in the northeast or Colorado. Tulane is the closest, so we're off to the Big Easy.
Travel: 827 miles, 11 hrs 38 min It's the second day in a row of a nearly 12 hour drive, but a schedule full of TBD times has us watching some non-scholarship football in Indianapolis. Another possible doubleheader is a bunch of home games in North Carolina. Two of these games are bound to have kickoff times that allow a doubleheader: South Alabama South Alabama Jaguars at Appalachian State Appalachian State Mountaineers, Rice Rice Owls at Wake Forest Wake Forest Demon Deacons, Virginia Tech Virginia Tech Hokies at Duke Duke Blue Devils, Virginia Virginia Cavaliers at NC State NC State Wolfpack, Old Dominion Old Dominion Monarchs at ECU East Carolina Pirates.
Game 25: Saturday, September 29 7:30PM Stanford Stanford Cardinal at Notre Dame Notre Dame Fighting Irish
Travel: 137 miles, 2 hrs 24 min We're cutting it close, getting to South Bend about a half hour before kickoff. It'll be one of two #Pac12AfterDark games this trip.
Game 26: Thursday, October 4 8PM Tulsa Tulsa Golden Hurricane at Houston Houston Cougars
Travel: 1,147 miles, 17 hrs 24 min I originally had this day as Georgia State Georgia State at Troy Troy, but Houston has a semi-new stadium that is worth checking out. Fear not, Troy fans, we'll see the Trojans in a few weeks.
Travel: 955 miles, 14 hrs 32 min We're headed back north for a Friday night ACC matchup.
Game 28: Saturday, October 6 12PM McMurry McMurry Warhawks at Belhaven Belhaven Blazers
Travel: 588 miles, 8 hrs 23 min And we're going back down south for a noon kickoff in Jackson, MS between D3 schools.
Game 29: Saturday, October 7 7PM UAB UAB Blazers at Louisiana Tech Louisiana Tech Bulldogs
Travel: 155 miles, 2 hrs 14 min There's a number of D1 games within a couple hours of Jackson on October 7, but only this one has a kickoff time. Any of the following games would work with a 7PM kickoff or later: Connecticut UConn at Memphis Memphis, ULM ULM at Ole Miss Ole Miss, Auburn Auburn at Mississippi State Mississippi State.
Travel: 301 miles, 4 hrs 58 min It's the thirtieth game of the trip and finally a Tuesday game - we've seen a game on every day of the week! After the long drives to the previous games, a 5 hour drive is nothing.
Travel: 672 miles, 9 hrs 54 min Our Sun Belt drought was snapped last game, and now we're watching a second Sun Belt game in three days.
Game 32: Friday, October 12 7PM USF USF Bulls at Tulsa Tulsa Golden Hurricane
Travel: 483 miles, 7 hrs 23 min We're at around 18,000 miles less than two months in, so before the game the car's getting another oil change, tire rotation, and whatever else it needs. It's our fourth time seeing Tulsa, and second time at Chapman Stadium. The Tulsa football team is getting a little creeped out.
Game 33: Saturday, October 13 1PM UAB UAB Blazers at Rice Rice Owls
Travel: 505 miles, 7 hrs 31 min We're seeing UAB in back to back weekends as they take on Rice in Houston.
Game 34: Saturday, October 13 7PM Louisiana Tech Louisiana Tech Bulldogs at UTSA UTSA Roadrunners
Travel: 197 miles, 2 hrs 47 min We're also seeing Louisiana Tech in back to back weekends as well. The 7PM kickoff means that we need to make up 17 minutes on I-10.
Travel: 982 miles, 14 hrs 9 min Finally. We've been traveling across the eastern half of the United States and finally we have made it out west. My original plan was home games at Arkansas State Arkansas State, Pennsylvania Penn, Bucknell Bucknell, and Morgan State Morgan State (shoutout to the Magnificent Marching Machine), but game times were updated since I originally planned it out so we're headed west. We're watching some real #Pac12AfterDark.
Travel: 928 miles, 14 hrs 32 min There's a Friday night game in Las Vegas, Air Force Air Force at UNLV UNLV, however my experience with the residents of Boise makes the extra 10 hour drive through nothingness in Nevada absolutely worth it. After the game, we won't have time to go to the bars with the Boise locals because we have a long drive to make
Travel: 842 miles, 13 hrs 57 min We're taking the long overnight drive from Boise to watch a D3 matchup in the oldest college football stadium in Los Angeles. No time for sleeping after the game - we have another game to catch.
Travel: 125 miles, 2 hrs 9 min To my surprise the drive from LA to San Diego leaves nearly an hour to account for traffic, time to park the car, and a graceful walk to the stadium for a #MWCAfterMidnight game.
Game 39: Tuesday, October 23 8PM Troy Troy Trojans at South Alabama South Alabama Jaguars
Travel: 1,930 miles, 28 hrs It's a good thing there's no Monday games.
Game 40: Thursday, October 25 7PM Baylor Baylor Bears at West Virginia West Virginia Mountaineers
Travel: 937 miles, 14 hrs 13 min We've almost hit the halfway mark in our journey, and what better way to celebrate it than with Country Roads and couch burning. I love Morgantown.
Game 41: Friday, October 26 8PM Indiana Indiana Hoosiers at Minnesota Minnesota Golden Gophers
Travel: 934 miles, 14 hrs 31 min We'll get another oil change and tire rotation before this Big Ten matchup. We've put another 6,500 miles on the car in exactly 2 weeks.
Travel: 763 miles, 11 hrs 43 min Not that Notre Dame. This Notre Dame is located outside Cleveland, Ohio.
Game 43: Saturday, October 27 7PM Walsh Walsh Cavaliers at Findlay Findlay Oilers
Travel: 158 miles, 2 hrs 23 min This game was originally Navy Navy at Notre Dame Notre Dame, but duffman13jws corrected me that the game was actually in San Diego. We can't get across the country that fast.
Travel: 326 miles, 5 hrs 4 min Put your passport away, we're going through Ohio and Pennsylvania to get to Buffalo. But keep it handy, we'll need it later.
Game 45: Wednesday, October 31 7:30PM Ball State Ball State Cardinals at Toledo Toledo Rockets
Travel: 318 miles, 5 hrs 4 min 5 hours back the way we just came. And there was a Tuesday night game only half an hour away at Bowling Green State University, but we decided to drive to Buffalo. Isn't this fun?
Travel: 155 miles, 2 hrs 27 min It's our third MAC game in a row, but we aren't complaining because our other option was to drive down to see the National Champion UCF UCF Knights all the way in Orlando.
Game 47: Friday, November 2 7:30PM Pittsburgh Pittsburgh Panthers at Virginia Virginia Cavaliers
Travel: 678 miles, 10 hrs 53 min We can make all the jokes in the world about the quality of this football game, but Virginia's basketball team was bowl eligible last year and their basketball team had the #1 seed in the men's basketball tournament. We'll celebrate their successes by visiting Charlottesville.
Game 48: Saturday, November 3 12PM Air Force Air Force Falcons at Army Army Black Nights
Travel: 389 miles, 6 hrs 31 min No college football bucket list is complete without a visit to West Point for game day. We even left time to check out Highland Falls and to tailgate on Buffalo Soldier Field.
Travel: 54 miles, 1 hr 6 min A jump across the Hudson, and we're at the second game of our doubleheader for this weekend - a D3 matchup in the Massachusetts State Collegiate Athletic Conference.
Game 50: Tuesday, November 6 7:30PM Kent State Kent State Golden Flashes at Buffalo Buffalo Bulls
Travel: 391 miles, 6 hrs 13 min Back to the track stadium to watch some Tuesday night MACtion.
Game 51: Wednesday, November 7 TBD Ohio Ohio Bobcats at Miami (OH) Miami Redhawks
Travel: 450 miles, 7 hrs 8 min Battle of the Bricks on a Wednesday night.
Game 52: Thursday, November 8 7:30PM Wake Forest Wake Forest Demon Deacons at NC State NC State Wolfpack
Travel: 538 miles, 8 hrs 49 min It's November which means a game a day except for Sundays and Mondays, thanks to the NFL. Luckily all the games are at night or else we'd be pulling doubleheaders.
Game 53: Friday, November 9 7PM Louisville Louisville Cardinals at Syracuse Syracuse Orange
Travel: 649 miles, 10 hrs 2 min You won't need your passport to get into the Cuse Nation for this trap game. Syracuse has won 6 of their last 7 Friday home games, including two against ranked opponents.
Travel: 1,043 miles, 15 hrs 45 min It's a long trip, but it's going to be slightly shorter since we need to make up 15 minutes on the road. Our next game is slightly less of a drive.
Game 55: Saturday, November 10 7:30PM Southern Miss Southern Mississippi Golden Eagles at UAB UAB Blazers
Travel 1 mile, 5 min Yes, you could walk it. No, you won't want to walk it. We're driving. Our overnight drive to Alabama has us at around 7,000 miles since our last trip to the shop, so we're back for an oil change, tire rotation, and a 30,000 mile service. In three months we've more than doubled the miles the average American drives in a year.
Travel: 2,301 miles, 34 hrs We're headed back to Oxford for our fourth Miami game. We got an oil change and tire rotation a week ago, but a trip to California put another 6,000 miles on the car so we get that taken care of here.
Travel: 1,172 miles, 17 hrs 38 min We're skipping the Egg Bowl Egg Bowl to see another game at a service academy. Happy Thanksgiving!
Game 64: Friday, November 23 12PM Texas Texas Longhorns at Kansas Kansas Jayhawks
Travel: 551 miles, 8 hrs 10 min So Black Friday has a few games that could allow for double headers, mostly in the Ohio region. But we don't have game times yet, so we have to pick a game. Texas hasn't lost to Kansas since....2016.
Game 65: Saturday, November 24 1PM Old Dominion Old Dominion Monarchs at Rice Rice Owls
Travel: 764 miles, 11 hrs 30 min It's the last day of the regular season for the vast majority of teams, and we're headed to Texas.
Game 66: Saturday, November 24 7PM North Texas North Texas Mean Green at UTSA UTSA Roadrunners
Travel: 197 miles, 2 hrs 57 min Out of all of our times that we need to make up time on the road, this could be the hardest. We need to cut off half an hour of a three hour drive. It means going 80mph down I-10. Yikes.
Game 67: Friday, November 30 7PM MAC MAC Championship (Detroit, MI)
Travel: 1,457 miles, 21 hrs 40 min It's conference championship time and we aren't done watching MACtion. Too bad it isn't on a Tuesday night. The MAC is the only G5 conference to have a neutral site for the championship.
Game 68: Saturday, December 1 8PM Big Ten Big Ten Championship (Indianapolis, IN)
Travel: 301 miles, 4 hrs 38 min These drives are getting better, after the November we had.
Game 69: Saturday, December 8 3PM Army Army Black Knights vs Navy Navy Midshipmen (Philadelphia, PA)
Travel: 650 miles, 10 hrs 17 min There's D2 and D3 playoffs going on, but times and locations are TBD. It's time to watch America's Game.
Travel: 162 miles, 2 hrs 19 min Our first FBS Bowl of the season and we are flying down I-85 to make it to Montgomery in time. Another 6,000 miles has elapsed - we get the oil change and tire rotation after the game.
Travel: 22 miles, 40 min Here's the biggest stretch of them all. There's two bowl games on this day - in Boise and the Bahamas. There is not a snowball's chance in hell we can go from Tampa to Boise in 16 hours - we'd have to be going over double the speed limit. Rather than take a day off we're going to the Bahamas. We'll drive to Tampa International Airport, conveniently located right next to the Gasparilla Bowl. Our passport is finally being used! Our flight is Delta 1872, leaving TPA at 6:30AM on Saturday morning. With a 38 minute layover in ATL, we land at NAS at 10:45AM. After getting a rental and making the 14 km (9 mile) drive to Thomas A. Robinson National Stadium, we're ready to watch the game. With a 12:30 kickoff, we expect to have the game end at 4pm. Add in our 16 min drive back to the airport, it's 4:16pm. The last flight that gets us back to TPA in time for us to make our next game is Jet Blue flight B6 2394, leaving NAS at 7:05pm. Most websites that I see suggest arriving at NAS about 3 hrs prior to an international flight, so we're cutting it close but can still make the flight. After a 2 hour layover in FLL, Spirit flight NK 574 gets us back to Tampa at 11:20pm. If somebody tells you the Bahamas is not a day trip, we just proved them wrong.
Travel: 569 miles, 8 hrs, 55 min Spirit Airlines is well known for delayed flights, so luckily we have a ~3 and a half hour cushion between our expected arrival at TPA to when we need to leave to drive to Birmingham.
Travel: 260 miles, 3 hrs 44 min We've had little rest in the last week - nearly everything has been back to back and this bowl game is no different. We need to make up 14 minutes on the road, but by now we're pros at speeding. Unfortunately, it's our last Saturday double header.
Travel: 199 miles, 2 hrs 58 min Coming off a double header, I tried to find a way to make a double double header with the three games being played, but unfortunately we can't make either of the other games.
Travel: 870 miles, 12 hrs 8 min Just when you thought the long drives were over, we’re driving to Tuscon. We've seen every other G5 conference play in a bowl game besides the Mountain West, so we’re skipping the playoff games. We get our last oil change and tire rotation of our journey, and a 50,000 mile service. We haven't driven 50,000 miles yet though, we're only at 49,564.
Travel: 347 miles, 5 hrs 7 min Hooray! We’re made it. We turn around and head back to Santa Clara for the last game of our long season. Despite what the Nevada Dental Association says about UCF, this National Championship goes in the record books.
We watched 85 games. 1 was a scrimmage, 66 were regular season games, 4 were Championships (including the Celebration Bowl), and 14 were bowl games. Excluding bowl games, we have seen 74 different FBS teams. The conference we saw the least was the SEC, where was saw three teams once. We saw teams from the MAC the most - 18 times, but the ACC had the most number of unique teams - 12.
We saw a double header 16 times, and despite my best efforts I could not find a single triple header, though I am convinced one exists. If you find one, I am very interested in knowing when/where.
We drove 50,868 miles in 31 days, 22 hours, and 50 minutes according to the GPS, excluding any time we made up. Over a month was spent purely driving. At 35 mpg on the highway and $2.85 a gallon for gas, we spent over $4,000 just on gas. We also changed the oil a number of times, got some other maintenance, and rented a car in the Bahamas. We traveled through all but 14 states: Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, Rhode Island, Iowa, Nebraska, North Dakota, South Dakota, Wyoming, Montana, Utah, Washington, Alaska, and Hawaii. Of the states that we visited, Oregon, Wisconsin, Nevada, New Jersey, Maryland, and Delaware we did not see a game in. If the Sunday game at Benedict College is actually an error, South Carolina is added to this list. You can access the map here. Some locations I used the campus rather than the football stadium for, and the mileage is ~100 miles different than the individual destination to destination totals that I used Google Maps for. It also does not include our trip to the Bahamas. But it gives a general sense as to what our route was. We saw a football game in every FBS stadium in New York, West Virginia, Minnesota, Kansas, Missouri, Idaho, and Arizona (though we never saw the Wildcats, they host a bowl game). OptiMap does not show the distribution by state, but we saw the most games in Texas. The fastest trip was Birmingham-Southern Birmingham Southern to UAB UAB Blazers - 1 mile The longest trip was Fresno State Fresno State to Miami (OH) Miami - 2,301 miles
2018.04.05 06:00 ZappaOMaticMy Writing Archive: NASCAR Storytime, Bears History, and Other Works
I see you have stumbled upon my userpage. Well, I like writing stuff. Said stuff ranges from NASCAR Storytime at /NASCAR to my Bears History articles at /CHIBears to general football history posts at /NFL. Below is a complete archive of what I have written and posted here on Reddit (which will also be updated whenever new posts are published). Should anything happen to these posts, mirrors can be found at my writing archive on WordPress.
"Bears History: The 1943 team lost their head coach to World War II, nearly merged with the Cardinals, was under investigation by a government agency, brought a legendary fullback out of retirement (to play tackle), had a record-breaking quarterback who joined the military, and won the championship"
"Bears History: The 1932 Playoff Game between the Bears and Portsmouth Spartans determined the year's champion after the era's standings system was unable to solve the teams' tiebreaker. Played indoors at Chicago Stadium, the game would shape the NFL's rules and future championships"
"Today would have been Sid Luckman's 102nd birthday. In 1939, he wrote a letter to George Halas saying he would not play pro football for the Bears. In 1983, Halas wrote a letter of his own to Luckman."
"[OC] Red Grange's Barnstorming Tour (Part 1/3): In 1925, college star Red Grange prepared to join the Bears and the NFL at season's end. Surrounded by public rumors and covered up by those involved, this sparked a media circus that followed him all year."
"[OC] On this day 100 years ago, the Decatur Staleys played their inaugural game. Taking on the Peoria Tractors, they focused heavily on defense and held their opponent to (a controversial) 3 points, but were shut out."
"[OC] On this day 100 years ago, the Decatur Staleys were supposed to play the Rantoul Aviators of Chanute Field. However, the Aviators' trucks broke down on their way to Decatur, forcing the game to be canceled."
"[OC] On this day 100 years ago, with their biggest game coming up, the Decatur Staleys had a tune-up game against the Champaign Eleven, a team of Illini ineligible to play for their college and former Champaign High stars. After a 0–0 tie at halftime, the Staleys scored 32 points in a shutout."
"[OC] Almost on this day 100 years ago, the Decatur Staleys played the Taylorville Independents for the Central Illinois Championship. Taylorville, who had shut out all but three opponents since their creation in 1914, was upset 21–7."
"[OC] On this day 100 years ago, the Decatur Staleys played the Rantoul Aviators in a do-over after the Aviators literally failed to show up to the first game. The Aviators had planes fly to Decatur and perform at halftime, while the Staleys won 61–0."
"[OC] On this day 100 years ago, the Decatur Staleys beat the Arcola Independents 41–0. Seeking revenge, Arcola hired Dutch Sternaman to build a superteam. The Staleys found out, canceled the rematch, and ended their inaugural season with a 6–1 record."
"The 1932 season saw more safeties (8) than field goals (6), with Portsmouth's Dutch Clark accounting for half of the latter. In 1933, the goal posts were moved to the goal line; that year, 36 field goals were converted."
"In 1923, a man posing as a college football star named Dolly Gray made his NFL debut with St. Louis. After three (bad) games, he was sold to the Packers as a joke. He mysteriously disappeared following another poor game."
"In the 1920s, the Ironton Tanks and Smoke House had one of the craziest rivalries in (semi-pro) football. In four years, it saw biased refs, insults from newspapers, the use of college players and even those from other teams, and a canceled year for being "too strong for the game"."
"In 1938, Pittsburgh was fleeced in one of the most lopsided trades in NFL history: They traded their 1939 first rounder to the Bears for Edgar Manske. Manske returned to the Bears midseason, while the pick became the #2 overall, which was used on future Hall of Fame QB Sid Luckman."
"The 1942–45 Cardinals lost an NFL-record 29 consecutive games, including two straight winless seasons in 1943 and 1944 (the latter as Card-Pitt). The Cards nearly merged with the eventual champion Bears in 1943, and snapped their losing streak in 1945... against the Bears"
"In the 1930s, fullback Joe Savoldi was kicked out of Notre Dame for having a secret marriage. The Packers tried to sign him but did not due to league rules, though the Bears picked him up anyway. He later became a champion pro wrestler and secret agent for the Allies during World War II."
"During the 1942 [sic] title game, Redskins owner George Marshall sat on the Bears bench. Bears GM Ralph Brizzolara accused him of spying, and Marshall was escorted to the stands by police before being ejected for not having a ticket. Marshall then declared he would never talk to Brizzolara ever again."
"The 1932 Packers blew their lead atop the standings and ruined their hopes of a four-peat by losing the last two games of the year. The resulting events not only created the NFL postseason, but helped shape the NFL's rulebook."
"In a 1920 game against the Rock Island Independents, Decatur Staleys (Bears) center George Trafton injured four players and was chased out of the city by angry fans. This sparked a feud between a Rock Island sportswriter and an Iowa newspaper."
"During the 1920s, Bears Hall of Fame center George Trafton was called the "toughest, meanest" player by Red Grange. Trafton ruined Grange's leg on a tackle, was chased out of a city, changed how centers snapped, boxed a baseball player and a world champion, and helped coach the Packers to a title."
"In the mid-1960s, the NFL launched Operation Hand-Holding, a plan in which the league hired babysitters to supervise college players and hide them from the AFL. The AFL's Chiefs and Raiders responded with dramatic missions to steal them back."
"Before the Pro Bowl, there was a game between the new champs and an NFL all-star team. In its history, it saw a player nearly get kicked out of the league for refusing to play, another retire after having a heart attack in practice, and the commissioner investigate Sammy Baugh for missing it."
"In 1985, TCU running back Kenneth Davis was suspended one game into his senior year. He tried to join the NFL later that season, but was not allowed under the Red Grange Rule. In response, Davis (nearly) sued the league."
"[OC] Red Grange's Barnstorming Tour (Part 1/3): In 1925, college star Red Grange prepared to join the Bears and the NFL at season's end. Surrounded by public rumors and covered up by those involved, this sparked a media circus that followed him all year."
"On this day 100 years ago, the Decatur Staleys (now Chicago Bears) played their inaugural game when they took on the Peoria Tractors. Emphasizing defense to stop the Tractors' potent offense, the Staleys held Peoria to (a controversial) 3 points but were shut out."
"On this day 100 years ago, college teammates Sunshine Gepford and Roy Adkins helped the Decatur Staleys (now Bears) beat the Taylorville Independents, who had shut out all but 3 teams since 1914, for the state title. Their college coach, who was at the game, kicked them off the team the next day."
"100 years ago today, the Decatur Staleys (now Bears) beat the Arcola Independents 41–0. Wanting revenge, Arcola hired Dutch Sternaman to build a superteam, but the Staleys found out and canceled the rematch. Sternaman would be the first free agent signed by George Halas and a Bears co-owner."
"On New Year's Day 1946, U.S. Marines played a game of football in the ruins of Nagasaki. Chicago Bears star Bill Osmanski led the Isahaya Tigers to victory in the "Atom Bowl" over Heisman Trophy winner Angelo Bertelli's Nagasaki Bears."
"In 1947, Brooklyn's Harry Buffington picked up a fumble on the opening kickoff but ran toward his own end zone. Upon realizing his mistake, he tried to lateral to a teammate to avoid a safety, but it was batted and recovered by Baltimore for a TD. The score was the Colts' first play in team history."
"In 1950, the Bears traded George Blanda to the Colts. When he was cut after Week 1, the Packers claimed him off waivers. Before the signing could be made official, the Colts revoked the waiver and sold Blanda back to Chicago as their trade terms said he couldn't be sent to a conference rival."
"Pete Barnum holds the NFL record for the longest pick-six by a rookie, recording a 103-yard score in 1926 with the Columbus Tigers. The team folded at season's end, while Barnum died three years later after falling into a vat of molten metal."
"In 1991, a semi-pro kicker won the Oilers' job after watching the incumbent struggle in preseason and felt he'd do better; he was cut midseason after missing a game winner. His replacement then missed a chip shot in the playoffs. That offseason, they drafted Air Force's K, unaware he had to serve."
"In a 1970 game against the Chargers, Broncos QB and captain Alan Pastrana led his team within range for a game-winning FG when he was knocked unconscious. His team could not call a timeout as only the captain was allowed to do so, and time ran out to result in a tie."
"[OC] The NFL was formally created on this day 100 years ago. Held in a car showroom, the meeting saw a team get "kicked out", the Cardinals get mistaken as being from Wisconsin, a $100 membership fee that nobody actually paid, and the introduction of a trophy that has since gone missing."
"75 years ago today, World War II's D-Day commenced. During the war, the Army formed two all-star teams led by Tennessee's Robert Neyland and Duke's Wallace Wade that played NFL teams before the 1942 season."
On January 27, 2018, at 0121 eastern standard time, a Cessna 172F, N8559U, collided with trees and terrain while maneuvering near Waynesboro, Indiana. The commercial pilot was fatally injured. The airplane was destroyed. The airplane was registered to a private individual and was being operated by a brokerage firm under the provisions of Title 14 Code of Federal Regulations Part 91 as a ferry flight. Visual meteorological conditions existed near the accident site at the time of the accident. Although no flight plan had been filed, the pilot was receiving flight following services. The flight originated from Rickenbacker International Airport (LCK), Columbus, Ohio, at 2141. Track data retrieved by NTSB indicates the airplane took off and flew northwest, climbing to around 4,500 feet msl (mean sea level). It continued on a northwest heading to around Tipton, Indiana, then it turned left to a west-southwesterly heading, and remained there until about 25 nm (nautical miles) east-northeast of Danville (DNV), Indiana. It then began a slow descent that continued to about 12 nm east-northeast of DNV, where it made a slight turn to the left, then turned back to the right, then back to the left until track data was lost at about 0121. The last recorded altitude was 1,475 feet msl when the airplane was about 8.8 nm east-northeast of DNV. The airplane average ground speed was about 60-65 knots during the first half of the flight, then dropped to 40-50 knots throughout the remainder of the flight.
Name/Alias: Castor Accard/Escapade Age: 25 Physical appearance: Castor sports a slightly overgrown crew cut with the naught but the bare minimum of maintenance and no concern for hiding his brown hair's receding hairline. Beneath a faded scar on his left temple his hard face frames his deep light brown eyes, some not so noticeable tan lines accentuating this, his skin otherwise healthy if a bit pale. His cheeks littered with the kind of stubble you get from only shave twice a week, punctuated by stress grays and freckles. His fashion choices can be described utilitarian at best, but nigh indiscriminate bargain bin hunting by most standards, with a tendency for long sleeves. Underneath the clothes he conceals his lithe athletic body, his chest and shoulders embellished with tattoos of remembrance, his leg hair patchy scars ravage this once fuzzy domain. Over his heart a beachfront with a caricature of an old lady relaxing under an umbrella, a banner makes its way through the design "Miami in our hearts." A chalice overflowing with liquid in front of a rising sun claims hold of his right shoulder. Down a small span of his left shoulder, a list of dates and numbers: Jan 4 2010: 1, Oct 25 2011: 12, Aug 21 2012: 0, Dec 11 2013: 31, Sept 23 2015: 2. Despite looking like a man who probably has never owned a suit, he stands poised and walks with purpose, each movement seeming practiced and deliberate. When he dawns the mantle of Escapade, he sports a light blue body suit with white highlights that resembles a racing suit with pronounced areas of extra padding. His emblem is a red comet its tail crossing over his right shoulder into a thin cape that flutters three feet in his wake. The collar from the suit connects to a blue helmet with white highlights on the aerodynamic grooves, a glare reducing visor across his eyes. Under the helmet he wears a ski mask turtle neck hybrid and aviator goggles. He wears a utility harness, prominently housing a combat knife, various colored paracord bundles, and manacles. Aside from the a fore mention padding the suit has built in tonfa like protrusions along the forearms. The suit is rounded out with color coordinated gloves and toe shoes, and PRT in black on the back of the suit. Mentality: Castor is a man who believes in second chances and redemption. He has a soft spot for children and the elderly and puts a higher priority on keeping them safe, he also has no qualms with admitting to this when confronted, be it by friend or foe. As a product of the wards he puts some stock in how they operate, viewing the program as a better solution to teenage villains and vigilantes than corrections programs. If a kid gets sent to Tartarus he would think the system has failed them. He prefers to open a dialog rather than resort to direct violence, even if it puts him at a disadvantage. Of course, as with all parahumans, sometimes he is just having one of those days and needs to just get them in cuffs, regardless of the method. Views being a hero as a duty, romanticizing the actions of his predecessors. As such he is overly self conscious of his past as a villain. Steadfast in his beliefs, he has few insubordination black marks on his records from putting his ideals before his orders. Operates in a somewhat fatalistic manner, not explicitly saving for retirement opting to live in the now. Core to his world view is the idea that, while you don't need to strive for it, a person can always improve themselves, the second you think you have no more room for improvement you start regressing. He thinks his power is the will of his past life and attempts to live symbiotically with it, also views himself as just another part of the cycle. He thinks of his power as endless, limited only by his aptitude as a vessel rather than his understanding of it. He also thinks that he is a person who once had enlightenment, and that he can use the knowledge that he gained from it to help people, as the enlightened should assist the ignorant. TL;DR Backstory: Triggered when someone screamed shark a few time at a crowded beach, more to do with rowdy crowds than the threat of a shark. Flubbed first gig as a villain and got taken in by the wards. From Miami so when Geb attacked it sucked, and people died. He abandons his ward cape name and joins the non cape side of PRT. Re-capes for next endbringer, spends the rest of his ytd career jumping from city to city responding to almost every endbringer attack. Getting transferred this time because he had a turkey day tea party with the local villains during an endbringer attack. Backstory: NAME CASTOR ACCARD ALIAS ESCAPADE DOB 03 28 1992 SOC xxx – xx – 4418 RACE CAUCASIAN (PARAHUMAN) H 5' 9 W 163 LBS BLOOD TYPE A- Castor stared down the transfer papers, impersonal sheets filled with facts and numbers; power name, age, height, power classification, a list of commendations and demerits, a handful of bullshit sexual harassment complaints, enough information to give a not so subtle reminder that they know how you tic, and can take you down should it be necessary. EX - VILLIAN He sighed, there is was staring him straight in the face. The greatest blemish on his record, one bad decision that would forever leave a black-mark on his record. No room for any reasoning or justification, just a word, no place for his side of the story, just a word. How would he tell it, he began to reminisce... Guess I would start with the trigger event, we all got'em and they're kinda defining. It was leap day, Belial had made a mess in Belgium not even a week ago. I had been paying attention to the news, pretty easy when you get the paper for free. The death toll didn't seem real, a fifth of it not even from the monster, but people losing reason during the evacuation. That part really stuck with me, Mufasa is cool and all but trampled is not a good way to go. So anyways, we had a half day that Friday so I did what most kids who copy all their homework did, I went to the beach! They weren't anymore crowded than usual, the water was warming up nicely and I was out there with a few hundred other folks. That's when it happened,the memory is vivid as if I were still there. I heard a whistle blow, loud, long, the blowers lungs worth of air, a click of a megaphone, a moment of silence, then SHARK! SHARK! SHARK! RUN! People stood still for a moment, a bit of a deer in headlights type moment, I started to make my way to the shore. As soon as I had started moving, my surroundings were a cacophony of screaming and shouting, someone bumped me, another bump. Someone shoved me from the side, I fell in the water. They were stepping on me, I couldn't breathe, and all I could think about were those reports about people getting trampled by crowds. From there things were a blur, by the time I knew where I was, I was wrapped in my towel sitting on the balcony of my grandmother's apartment. I shambled inside clumsy like a newborn horse, I was shivering and my body had an odd sensation I would come to recognize as my new powers, a cross between numbness and undertow. I took a warm shower and went to bed early that night. Over the next couple of weeks I experimented and came to a level of understanding about my powers. Running my paper route in the morning and moonlighting as a magician I experimented with different application of my abilities. It didn't take long, March 20th, 2008: the birth of my cape career. I had been found out, being the master of subtly you would expect any fifteen year old boy with super powers to be, and was approached with a job offer that payed well. The job was simple wait for the money truck, grab a bag and run. I had told myself that I owed to my grandmother, she had been taking care of me since my mom dumped me on her when I was five, she had a violent split with my dad and didn't want to raise his kid, my birthday was coming up and I thought it would be cool to get her an expensive reverse gift. It took various gymnastics, mental and physical, to get me on the roof of Jerry's Super. The truck pulled up the guards came out, I double checked my costume. This joke was simple, a black hoodie, sunglasses that were tight on my face, a bandanna, track pants, and of course a pair of purple dish-washing gloves, because fingerprints, that's what I need, disregard that I can jump over houses wholesale and half the capes in town could track my dumb ass down within a month if need be. Yeah, those guards aren't trained how to use those guns they carry, that's just for show. My hoodie and purple gloves will totally protect me from bullets. The guards came out it was time for my debut, as a super powered purse snatcher. I jumped down, threw some cards in the guards faces, landed and grabbed the bag. I had the bag and before I could make my exit I heard a loud voice. “I would stop now if I were you.” There he was in the sky Takeshita Yuuto, Captain Brimming, in the flesh. I thought my luck was some real shit, running into someone liable to spend more time of the evening news than with his family. It was a fight I couldn't dream of winning, I might've been able to get away, but attempting to run could be disastrous. Disregarding the fact that it would be another charge if I failed, there was too much potential to drag other people into the mix, not something wanted weighing on my conscience while I failed to sleep that night. So I chose to talk. “So what would you do if you were me?” I must have sounded a little coy. “Surrender, you should know you don't stand a chance.” I did have a chance, but it was slim. “Then I'll do that.” “Really? You'll have to--” The sound of the bag getting thrown into the back of the armored van interrupted him. “So how does this work?” I asked while raising my hands. His face said it all in that moment, it usually doesn't. We went through the motions, the cuffs didn't restrict me as much as I expected, I might have been shaking. I was asked about a lawyer and opted to call my grandmother, telling her what happened was the hardest part. A few lectures later and being told I was using my powers for the wrong purpose, Mr. Takeshita proposed that I join the wards. I didn't know she could swear but grandma cursed up a storm when she saw the Endbringer permission slip, she didn't sign it nut still let me become a ward. The Miami Wards were an interesting sort. Summer, the leader, also know as Titania in costume, a master with control over fairies or a shaker that moves large amounts of small debris, depending on who you ask, a tall, blond, beautiful, and crazy to round out the package. Yggdrasil a case 53 with arms that looked like tree trunks, literally, among other things, he could take a hit and make little growths that he could control, pretty sure him and summer were an item. Jesus was the same age as me, he went by Geyser in costume, a blaster shaker combo with water control. We were friends prior to my foray into cape life, he was mad because he had lost a friend that wasn't part of the Wards, that passed quickly. Melisa, the tinker of the group, she went by Melody in the public eye but we all called her Mel regardless, kinda ticked her off some days, her specialization was in sound and frequency related tech, not so much music, which she of course loved. She had a piano in her personal quarters, same one I learned to play on. The final member of the team was Lily, she was the youngest of the group, her cape name was Poofy, we didn't have the best relationship. Poofy was a shaker of the highest caliber, her power took something and just removed it. I never saw her use it on living things but that's not to say she couldn't, we're talking about a cape so powerful when asked to test the limits of her range she wrote “Poofy was here” on the moon, that likely got her in trouble. So she had some skewed expectations when I was good enough to get a pas for being a villain and get welcomed into the wards, especially when I got knocked out cold by a thug without powers on our first mission. She would call me TMF short for The Magnificent Failure, a play on one of the early cape name ideas that was followed by the magnificent, because cards and magic tricks were easy to brand, I ended up going by Spreedom, a play off of spree and freedom, during my time with the Wards. In return for the terrible nickname I called her Potholes, because that's how she fought more or less. Sadly this didn't continue during the entirety of my time in the wards. On June 30th, 2009, Poofy sortied to Switzerland and didn't return alive, Mel who had also stayed behind was visibly devastated. I remember the look of sheer disappointment mixed with scorn in Jesus' eyes, as if to say if only you had come, if only you had been there. She had died in his arms. We stopped being friends after that. I made my resolution, I would be 18 next year, I would fight, the permission slip couldn't hold me back any longer. It didn't take long for my new year's resolution to come to a head. Geb, the nightmare chicken attacked early on the morning of the 4th Geb disappeared from the surface of the moon, by the time we knew where he was going there was less than an hour to prepare. I spent most of that time arguing with Mr. Takeshita to let me participate, he flew me to a shelter personally and told he couldn't face my grandmother if he went back on his word and let me fight, that would be the last time I heard his voice. The ground shook violently and I saw a spire of earth rise of in the distance Mr. Takeshita left, double time, Geb just hit the local PRT headquarters. I didn't listen, there was no way I could, my town was in trouble, and that fucking chicken was just sitting on top of his spire raining destruction, I had to help. I was at the top of my game, anytime the topography changed I could adapt, I was able to navigate the environment with unsettling ease, finding people was harder, but I managed. Then it happened, I had found an injured girl and was running her to a field hospital, when Geb made his move, they started to rise, schools, hospitals, the underground shelters, everything we had set up to help. He toyed with us for a few hours, waited for us to get set up, and he destroyed us. The structures were encapsulated in earth and then wrung out like a damp rag, I didn't want to think of the implications. All I could think about was saving the girl in my arms, he headed north where he would continue his destruction up to lighthouse point, I ran west over route 41 to Naples, the first few miles of the road had been crushed, gridlock and all. I collapsed in front of an emergency room after an excruciating two and a half hour run. “Your sister didn't make it, I'm sorry.” I don't have a sister, the girl I tried to save had died, I had failed. It took a few days for the news to reach me, I'd lost my Grandmother, Mr. Takeshita was gone too, I didn't ask about the others, I didn't want to know. I'd be 18 before the foster program finished processing my paperwork, and tracking down my parents would be more trouble than it's worth. I decided I would break myself down and build up again, so I could do better next time. I looked at PRT suit assigned to be my caseworker “Sign me up for protectorate.” It took some convincing but I got in, not as a cape but for the rank and file, they'd more or less gifted the seniors GEDs and that helped a lot. Chopped my hair and burned my costume. I was done being Spreedom, I'd be going by Cadet Accard moving forward. The course ran through august, during which I learned a fair bit; I'm no crack shot but I can shoot a respectable 500, the fighting style I has been using with the wards was a refined form of school yard tussling and was liable to get me killed if I kept it up, and of course we covered parahuman response training and protocol that was slightly different from what I learned as a ward. I moved to Wilmington North Carolina, a smaller cape scene. I had wanted to establish myself, Castor Accard, before taking up a cape identity. It didn't take long for that to crumble, a few minor delays here and there, Trumps I wasn't allowed near, villains deemed too dangerous for regular troopers, and a fair bit jealousy from watching the local heroes get showered with praises for picking up our scraps, it got to me. I hadn't done this to run away, I was doing it to refocus, and there were certain privileges my powers could afford me and I wanted them. I used the trust to start working on my suit, the year was almost over and I owed Lily a proper participation in an Endbringer battle. The original suit was a racing suit with a red piece of the same material covering the logo, a ski mask goggles and helmet, my PRT issued gloves, some sneakers and a pouch on a belt. A far cry from the top hat magician theme of Spreedom, but a bit of a long shot from the sleek skydiver like motif I was aiming for, a starting point if nothing else. I was only missing two things, a proper debut, our local heroes had things pretty well under control and I wasn't going to light the sparks for some vigilante boom, and a name. I got both in October, Hadur showed up in Tokyo. The local capes were already engaging but there was an open call for reinforcements, I had to go. I phoned my CO, who knew of my parahuman identity, he wasn't happy and prattled off some shit about dereliction of duty and how he would have my job. The thing that made me hang up on him was a question “You ran away once you'll run away again, how long is this little escapade of yours going to last?” It really ate at me, not the running away, he was right on that count, but calling my attempt a heroics an escapade, as if to say that it's fleeting, that I would give up on it. I had big shoes to fill sure, but I was planing to make it my life's work to fill and exceed them. In that one sentence he basically denied the person I was trying to cultivate for the last three years. It kept eating at me until all I could think about was that word. “You think my life is just an escapade? Fine, I needed a name for it.” I became Escapade, I'll show you how long I can last. Japan was a win for the history books, but a personal failing for me. By the time we arrived, Hadure had already be driven off. I found out very quickly that if you want to run around helping with endbringers, two languages wasn't going to cut it. I had spent all that time preparing and couldn't even tell people I was here to help, and my transportation isn't exactly soothing, and without my cape I didn't make enough noise when I moved so I was accidentally sneaking up on the doctors. They had me working with the coroner after a few too many complaints. When I got home there were transfer papers on my desk, not too unlike the ones in front of me now. Having your civilian identity working for the PRT raises its own complications, long work days, and later you end up with a bit of an open secret identity as a few troopers connect the dots after a few transfers. But I wasn't thinking about any of that at the time, I had a full schedule between work as both Escapade and Trooper Accard, and learning Japanese, there was barely enough time to eat and sleep. I was working as a trooper in Baltimore Maryland and as a cape in DC, I didn't even own an apartment I literally slept in either of the barracks. The lifestyle wasn't sustainable, and I was getting sloppy. I applied for transfer to a different unit. I got bounced from California to Kansas, that's when someone caught on and told me, and the rest of the locker room, about it. They had me pegged, it wasn't a bad thing, just gave them an excuse when I beat them in sparring. The capes I was with are known as the Stormchasers, not an official name mind you, but we loved it. Cape crime wasn't huge in the area, mostly guys too scared to go to Vegas, and that left us free to chase all sorts of natural disasters, including the Endbringers. The attacks on China were frustrating. First, Hong Kong, They thought they could take Belial, some sort of oneupsmenship with Japan, they were refusing help, it took them three hours to cave. By the time we got there Belail was gone, you hear stories about Houston, but seeing it in person is something else, the city was a writhing mess. It was more of a clean up and containment exercise at that point, not much room for search and rescue when that abomination gets involved. They were much more open to help when Hadur hit Shanghai, we were there for the fight this time, long enough to lose Slipstream and Maniac, Maniac would have joined the triple threat club if he made it home from this fight, proof that even the arguably least horrendous Endbringer is still a walking death-machine. Hadur left, and we picked up the pieces. The next attack would be a marked departure from those suffered by Asia, Geb was making another descent. I couldn't bring myself to board the transport, I was afraid, the last time I saw Geb he shook my entire world, I froze in front of it. I couldn't move I looked to my team word words of encouragement, and was met with looks of disappointment, the same kind the Miami wards had after Switzerland, a look that says “We can't tell you how much you have let us down, and we're angry that it's not appropriate to say it.” They left without me. I knew the Stormchasers had lost a member that day, they would lose 3 more before sunset. As I stood there watching the transport with my former team leave, I stewed in a myriad of emotion, fear, anger, hatred, relief, uncertainty, sorrow, and confusion. As I went to push these emotions away, I thought back to that day on the beach, something was wrong. It was at this moment I had an epiphany, these emotions were part of me, and I wanted to just push them aside and trample them, every time I did this I would just be denying a part of myself. I was so focused on control, I had neglected the very option of acceptance. Trying to control forces beyond my understanding would lead to ruin, shoving people in a panic lead to a cycle of greater panic and destruction. I am one being, my power and I together, each bringing good and bad. A moment of enlightenment is greater than a lifetime of experience. We gained freedom by seeing our restraints, we gained power by understanding our weakness, we gained compassion from hated, we gained consciousness from torpor, I gained self through a collective. Over the next two years I transferred another 16 times never spending more than two months in one city, with a few cases of back and forth. Figure one in three PRT guys can piece together or just plain know my identity by now. During this time I got to see, once again, just how useless I am when Belial attacks, can't really rescue what he does to people. Moving around so much took its tole on my personal effects, I pared down till I could fit everything I own into a bag, buying essentials as needed and living out of the barracks. At the tail end of August I found my way here to Columbus. Things were going well and everyone had given me a warm welcome, our director informed she would like to see me stay. Poltergeist, a local villain stranger with singular invisibility, even gave me an early Christmas present, she shattered my left kneecap with what I heard was a baseball bat. This had me out of commission for the events in Vancouver, we should really go under high alert truce mode when they haven't hit till December. Other than that Columbus has been great, especially meeting Bruce, well up until the recent events that will see me transferred. So I was prepping an early feast for turkey day, was going to celebrate with our heroes so that we could be extra vigilant during the holidays. And of course, the abomination throws a wrench into my plans and attacks Jamaica. I get asked, ordered, to stay behind to babysit the local villain population, should they do anything untoward. Anyways, I decide it would be easier to just round them all up on neutral ground and keep an eye on them there, I'd stress eat some of this food too while I was at it. So apparently the PRT doesn't take kindly to having an unauthorized meeting with all the local warlords, and treating our enemies to a feast is in fact something that could be interpreted as conspiring with them. So they aren't going to throw me in Tartarus but I can under no circumstances stay in Ohio. Resources: Salaries from both Trooper and Cape work with the PRT Roughly 150,000 in savings An extra set of his suit and gear a copy of the Tao Te Ching Bruce, a three and a half year old pit mix trained as a service animal for emotional support Alignment: Hero/Protectorate Equipment/Weaponry: Name: Escapade's Suit Character: Made by PRT connections for Escapade. Appearance: See 2nd paragraph of character description. Abilities: The helmet has a built in smartphone that is operated by a smart watch on the wrist, there is an external camera. The helmet is equivalent to level II rated. The suit itself has three layers the outer layer is gortex, the inner layer is hexarmor and the padding is level IIIA rated. There are aluminum rods in the forearms of the suit to further stop blades. the suit also features concealed hip holsters for throwing blades six blades per holster. He has a redundant suit. Duration: The outer layer of the suit can be patched with duct tape when damaged as a quick fix but will need a little more maintenance. The suit needs to be aired out and periodically laundered. The phone in the helmet needs to be charged. Amounts to about an hour of maintenance each week. Notes: The suit is one piece, the helmet and smart watch detach and the rod can be removed, but the shoes and gloves are built in. The whole suit costs about 8000 to replace. A typical load out a one strap back pack that holds 100ft of rothco style rope -Or a quick deploy shoot when dealing with heights/trumps he can wear both but the bag has to be discarded to use the shoot a utility harness with modular compartments he will usually have to following secured to the harness -4 10ft lengths of paracord -A combat knife -A utility knife -A compass -Binoculars -A water bottle -Protein bar -A cell phone -4 decks of playing cards -A very basic first aid kit -$200 cash -2 sets of manacles -An empty pouch to store things in The harness has enough room to append this list with four additional items of comparable size, or a couple of guns. Specializations: Fluent in English and Spanish, Literate in Chinese, speaks conversational Japanese and French, knows enough Italian and Portuguese to get by, Can play the piano, versed in PRT protocols, practiced in hand to hand combat, a bit of first aid, General suit of survivalist skills with a focus on tying knots, an almost complete high school education, former magician, thrown weapon specialist. Power: Escapade's power is to muck with electromagnetic force during the transfer of kinetic energy. He can store and release this energy. He uses this power to achieve super human feats movement and agility, along with a few other perks I will cover. TL;DR It's super parkour. -Movement- I like to break Escapade's movement into three categories basic, vertical, and free, and call the inter usage of these together as dynamic movement. Basic movement is the walking. running, and sliding of the every man. I'll get to walking later as I don't think it's relevant in this section. He can run faster because his power stores the force from air resistance as energy to exert later and uses some of his stored energy to propel him faster, this allows him to achieve faster speeds for less effort, he can run a 100m dash in under four and a half seconds sprinting. Escapade can slide friction free for around 60 feet, baring an obstacles, during this time he does not gain or lose speed. Vertical movement defines his ability to move on vertical surfaces as long as there is friction opposing the strongest gravitational pull, that's earth by default. He does not have to wall crawl, while he can do that his passenger has a preference for faster movement so he tends to run on walls with the occasional hand touch for support. He does not stand stock straight on walls, aiming more often to be closer to the opposite of gravity. With enough contact to a wall he can stick to it, the passenger lets him do this for as long as he can hold his breath. Using the 100m dash for speed comparisons, using exclusively wall running it would take him a bit more than 10 seconds to scale that distance. Free movement will reference his jumping and aerial movement, I'll break this down into four categories jumping, launching, gliding, and flight. Escapade is capable of jumping six feet straight up. He also is capable of using some of the energy stored to launch himself into the air, about 60 feet straight up, this is his fastest form of movement. While airborne he can increase the friction of the air, similar to how he clings to walls, to slow his decent, this too is restricted by the passenger and limited by the time he holds his breath, also worth noting is this friction will slow forward momentum too. Finally Escapade cannot fly naturally, given some device he could likely achieve flight with moderate ease but that is not the direction he wants to take his ability, but he can use the same trick he uses to glide to either launch or jump while in the air, however his passenger doesn't allow him to launch if he launched to get into the air and he cannot repeat this process with out touching a solid object. Once again dynamic movement is the combination of his full toolbox of movement abilities and is faster than anyone mode alone, mostly through chaining launches together into slides. Due to the variance in the speeds of each movement type dynamic movement is measured in average travel speeds. The two numbers for dynamic movement are moving at an average speed of 40 mph being about as exhausting as jogging and 86 mph being a full tilt sprint. -Storage and the passenger- Escapade's passenger stores energy that is absorbed from friction and impacts, so it can release them to do cool things like launching and gliding. He cannot turn off his power and it is always storing energy from air friction and the impacts of his footsteps, it especially likes when he lands from high heights. This energy is later released when he glides, wall runs, clings to walls, double jumps, or launches himself. The limits to all of those are imposed by the passenger, otherwise the energy reserves would be completely used up. The storage of energy is not omnipotent, the effect is Manton limited. The limit can be described as direct influence, that is to say if a person is directly influencing the energy it cannot be absorbed. An exception is Escapade himself is unaffected by this, so if he fires a gun he absorbs some of the recoil, if he swings a bat he absorbs the feedback. Things that fall under direct influence are just about every hand held weapon, knives, bats, whips, etc, and people themselves. Direct influence parallels intent in the less obvious circumstances, for example if a car with a distracted driver hits him, he'll come out better than if some one is explicitly running him down. There cannot be more than 6 degrees of separation (finger, trigger, hammer, powder, bullet, impact = 4 degrees) between the human action and the impact for it to be effective, no Rube Goldberg machines. Some things that are outside of direct influence would be Cars, various debris, hail and rain, Bullets that he has shot, things that have been dropped, however he can still be crushed. The storage cannot absorb from things such as electricity, lasers, sonic attacks and fire, this can usually be extended to parahuman abilities with no obvious physical delivery method. To clarify Escapade is incredibly vulnerable to striker powers, should they get close. The energy stored is technically always increasing as the passenger absorbs more energy than it uses in most cases, resulting in a net gain. The energy released increases as the pool of stored energy does, but always in such an amount the stored energy can keep increasing. However the speed and level of improvement is not enough to make a difference within any short period of time, as the power also requires a level of physical prowess to use, Escapade's peak is likely to happen in his late thirties or early forties with dynamic movement speed close to if not in slight excess of 100 mph.
META: The above paragraph, marked in italics, is fluff on how the power works, it doesn't need to have any baring on the game. Any and all adjustments to his power, after approval, will be made in the form of annual equipment posts with gains not to exceed an increase of 2 mph. My insistence on keeping this part is to reinforce the character trait of believing in constant improvement making him slightly faster now than at the start of his career.
-Releasing energy- I briefly mentioned this in the previous two sections but there are some noteworthy aspects to this. First whenever he uses just about any kind of movement he draws upon his pool of energy for the initial investment and digests the dividends. The other way is related to his Manton limit, he cannot release energy to cause direct harm, so no enhanced kicks or punches. However were he to say launch himself into a person, you would think he could use the momentum to land quite the blow, but he can't. His passenger views such collisions as potentially dangerous to its host and thus will use energy to dampen that collision significantly. This coincidentally is part of what lets him carry a person while using his power, and keeps him from death by bird strike. -about those perks- The power has two smaller perks to it. The first is that due to the fact that it constantly siphons off friction and softens impacts, Escapade does not make sound normally, it's part of why he has the cape, to flick and make noise to announce his presence. He can wrap the cape around his face to eliminate the noise it makes. However, when wall climbing an noise akin to sneakers squeaks is audible, and both gliding and launching make an abrupt gust of wind. The other perk ties hand and hand with one of the other qualities of his power, it's always on. Escapade's control mechanism comes in the form of a sort of enhanced dexterity via hyper kinesthesia, knowing how each piece of his body is moving, figuring out how to control each specific one. This also opened up various kinesthetic learning options, making him adept at picking up new skills that involved physical activity, martial arts, how to move your tongue and mouth to make sounds for languages, how to play the piano, and how to walk so that your passenger doesn't throw you into the ceiling. Additionally the hyper kinesthesia grants an enhanced sense of pain. -Usage and Exhaustion- Escapade's endurance is not endless, and while the actual use of his power is not draining the physical actions to keep up can be quite draining. For example I equated his top speeds to all out sprints, that means that he will be visibly out of breath after 10 seconds of keeping that pace and his speed will drop back down to a resting pace, sharply. If he tries to power through and keep that pace, not only will his speed drop but his condition after the sprint will get worse, results ranging from on his back gasping for air, 18-25 seconds, to ending up collapsing in an adrenaline fueled fugue, up to a hard cap of 40 seconds moving barely above his jogging pace. The other paces follow a similar endurance time frame ratio(4x is the hard limit). So with that the ratios are as follows: PACE: SPEED:BASE TIME Sprint: 86mph:10s Hustle: 70mph:10min Marathon: 60mph:1hr Jog: 40mph:3hr Brisk: 22mph:5hr Resting: 6mph:1day[he still needs water to survive] Endurance at speeds of marathon or lower can be enhanced by keeping hydrated and gearing down his pace to conserve energy. He can hit the speeds in between the listed paces but for simplicity sake just round up for exploring his limits. Versatility: A lack of control goes hand in hand with a lack of versatility. Escapade is aware of more or less everything that his power can do. He is far more likely to play with his equipment load out than to dig deeper into his power tool box when making plans. If his powers are a set of wrenches then they aren't exactly the adjustable kind. A tactical retreat is a mainstay of his play book, and his power lends itself to that, he can scope out and tail a target from a distance and wait for backup. Example: Escapade leaned over the top railing of the stairwell, the target would have to go this way, they disabled the elevators. “Eyes up Cas, they just landed a heli on the roof.” “Roger that.” “You've got two heading to the service entrance, clear to engage.” “Negative, not sure what I would be getting into, the target takes priority.” “Your call, your ass, over and out.” He migrated down a level and set his phone over the railing before exiting the stairwell. The rest is luck. He let out a sigh as he looked at his watch, the view the same stairwell he was just in. From behind the door he heard a voice “Jacob's ladder is ready.” That's gotta be the all clear. Here we go! He had spotted the target. Escapade bursts through the door, side steps the man from the roof, vaults over the railing and launches himself at the target. four guards “Gentlemen” he lands with a cheeky greeting and riffles two full decks of cards in the face of the two between him and the target. One of the remaining escorts reacts by reaching for his gun the other grabs his target. Not on my watch! He grabs the two confused escorts and pulls them down the stairs, they stumble. In the same motion he draws his utility knife and slashes at the wrist of the escort who grabbed his target, he let go and the girl stumbled and starts to fall. Escapade lets go of his knife and catches the girl, hugging her as he jumps over the railing, launching himself towards the ground floor just as the last escort finished chambering a round. Escaped exits the stairwell. Warm... Guess I could have been more gentle. “Control, this is Escapade, hostage secure. Clean up crew the stage is yours.” “Roger, how is she.” “She seems okay, but I'm taking her to the paramedics just to be safe.” “No one is going to compliment you for following protocol you know, but you did good today.”
Sheriff Stallings was killed at the age of 41 while attempting to arrest an offender. He left behind a wife and four children. The offender responsible for shooting him was found dead seven months later. He had served with the Cherokee County Sheriff's Office for a total of 1 year.
Officer William "Will" Albright attempted to arrest Sam Provine, age 20, and a man named McMiller. Officer Albright was attempting to arrest the two young men at a house of "ill fame" in Paris. During the arrest attempt, the two men shot Officer Albright in the neck, breaking it, and he was killed. Sam Provine and McMiller were arrested and "held for examination." The records which would show the final disposition of this case have since been destroyed in fires that destroyed all the criminal court records in the Lamar County courthouse. William Albright was survived by his wife and two small children. No cemetery records, or the burial location, have been located.
Officer Edward Kyser died two days after being shot while investigating a theft. He had arrested a man for stealing a hat at a local hotel when the suspect suddenly produced a handgun and shot him. Officer Kyser had served with the Parsons Police Department for two years. He was survived by his wife and three children.
Marshal Morgan was shot and killed by a U.S. deputy marshal who he had arrested for disorderly conduct two days earlier. The U.S. deputy marshal was upset about the arrest and obtained an arrest warrant for Marshal Morgan under false pretences. When he went to serve the warrant the two exchanged shots and Marshal Morgan was fatally wounded. The U.S. deputy marshal was also shot and killed. Marshal Morgan had been with the agency for eight years and was survived by his wife and three children.
Deputy Collector Eli Moffitt was shot and killed while serving a warrant a distillery near Pennington's Ferry, in Montgomery County, North Carolina. As Deputy Collector Moffitt announced the warrant the subject named on the warrant opened fire with a shotgun, killing him. Other members of the posse returned fire, killing the subject. Deputy Collector Moffitt had served with the Department of the Treasury for three years and had previously served as sheriff or Randolph County, North Carolina, for 10 years. He was a Confederate Army veteran of the Civil War.
Deputy Sheriff Tom Walsh was shot and killed by a man when he made a visit to the man's farm to serve him with legal papers. The subject surrendered to local law enforcement officials later the same day. He was convicted of first degree murder and sentenced to life in prison on April 11th, 1900.
Officer James was shot and killed while attempting to arrest a murder suspect. He and another officer were handcuffing the man when he was able to grab his weapon and open fire. Officer James had been with the agency for 12 years and was survived by his wife and nine children.
Constable Carlos Carpio succumbed to a gunshot wound sustained three days earlier in Socorro, Texas, while struggling with a subject he was attempting to arrest. The man had entered a dance hall and started waving his hand, which was covered in blood. A struggle ensued when Constable Carpio attempted to arrest him. Constable Carpio's .45 caliber discharged during the struggle and he was struck in the side. The subject was arrested and charged with Constable Carpio's murder. Constable Carpio had been elected as the El Paso County Precinct 3 Constable only four days prior to the shooting. He was survived by his wife.
Patrolman Paschall was shot and killed while investigating the robbery of two people. While questioning two suspects in the robbery he was shot in the head. Witnesses saw the two men running towards a railyard and located Patrolman Paschall's body. One of the suspects in the shooting was later shot and killed while in custody for the murder of Patrolman Gus Chitwood.
Police Chief John Scott was shot and killed in a local drug store by an intoxicated man who had a grudge against him. The suspect, who said he was resisting an illegal arrest, was found guilty of first degree murder and sentenced to life in prison on April 28th, 1916.
Officer Angell was shot and killed with his own service weapon after stopping to question a group of men at St. Aubin Street and Warren Avenue. Officer Angell became suspicious of the men when he observed walking down the street carrying a turkey. The men attacked him and violently beat him with his night stick and then shot him several times with his service revolver. Officer Angell had served with the Detroit Police Department for 7 years.
Detective Skotnicky succumbed to gunshot wounds sustained one week earlier by a suspect wanted for robbery. Detective Skotnicky was on en route home when saw the man and arrested him. He took the man to his home for dinner, and as they left for the jail the man produced a concealed .32 caliber handgun and shot him. Detective Skotnicky was taken to Mercy Hospital where he remained until succumbing to his wound later in the week. The suspect fled the scene after the shooting and was the subject of a statewide manhunt. He was eventually apprehended and convicted of the murder. He was executed on June 9, 1921. Detective Skotnicky had served with the agency for 9 years. He was survived by his wife, son, parents, three brothers, and sister.
Patrolman Yates was shot and killed while investigating the sounds of gunfire. He stopped two men he saw to ask them about the shots. One of the men, who was drunk along with the other, produced a gun and shot Patrolman Yates. The gunman was convicted of first degree murder and sentenced to death. The other suspect was convicted of accessory to murder and sentenced to prison. Patrolman Yates was survived by his wife and child.
Patrolman Alfred Van Cleaf was killed when his motorcycle crashed while he was pursuing a vehicle. He was pursuing a vehicle when his motorcycle skid on wet pavement, causing it to crash near the corner of Richmond Turnpike and Bulls Hill Road. Patrolman Van Cleaf was assigned to the 63rd Precinct, the present day 122nd Precinct.
Patrolman Clemens was shot and killed when he interrupted a burglary on East Front Street. He encountered three men stealing tires from a business and was shot by one of the men. A citizen found Patrolman Clemens holding his flashlight and service weapon. He was transported to St. Elizabeth's hospital where he succumbed to his wounds a short time later. Two suspects were apprehended and the third suspect was captured in Butler, Pennsylvania four days later. One of them admitted to killing Patrolman Clemens. Patrolman Clemens' killer and a second suspect, ages 18 and 19, were convicted of murder and sentenced to life in prison on March 2, 1928. On April 21, 1930, both were two of 322 inmates who died in a fire at the Ohio Penitentiary in Columbus. This was the worst fire in Ohio's history and in American prison history.
Patrolman Dingman was shot by three men he attempted to stop. Patrolman Dingman had been on patrol at 31st Street and Jackson Avenue, when he pulled up next to a car carrying three men. He attempted to approach them, and two of the suspects opened fire. Patrolman Dingman was mortally wounded, and died two days later. The three men were later arrested, and it was learned that they had been released from jail that October and were known gangsters. The three confessed to at least fifteen recent crimes, including the murder of Patrolman Dingman. One of the three was hung for Patrolman Dingman's murder on January 15, 1932. Patrolman Dingman had been with the agency for six years and had served with the National Guard for four years. He was survived by his wife.
Patrolman Charles Glafcke was shot and killed by a vagrant on the city's south side while waiting for a patrol wagon to arrive. The suspect was captured after a three hour chase in the winter snow. The suspect was convicted of murder and sentenced to death. On June 24, 1931, he was executed by electrocution. Patrolman Glafcke had served with the Michigan City Police Department for 20 years. He was survived by his four children.
H. A. Carnes was a legendary lawman along the Texas-Mexico border. His brother, Texas Ranger Private Quirl Carnes, was shot and killed in the line of duty on July 31, 1910. His brother, A. B. Carnes, was sheriff of Wilson County, Texas from 1917 to 1937. Carnes joined the Texas Rangers in 1903 and rose to the rank of sergeant. He resigned in 1911 and became a Mounted Inspector with the United States Customs Service. During his 29 years of policing the border he was involved in numerous gun battles. Carnes and three other mounted inspectors received information from an informant of smugglers transporting illegal liquor across the Rio Grande River near Ysleta, about 13 miles down river from El Paso. The federal agents were concealed so well the 2 smugglers in the advance guard started walking between them, creating a dangerous cross fire situation. Carnes rose and ordered the smugglers to surrender. One smuggler fired at Carnes. The bullet hit Carnes' pistol and split into two pieces, entering his abdomen. Carnes and the other inspectors opened fire, but the smugglers escaped into Mexico. Inspector Carnes was taken to a hospital in El Paso where he succumbed to his wounds three days later. He was survived by his wife and three children. He was buried in the Restlawn Cemetery in El Paso.
Deputy Sheriff James Bowlin was shot and killed while attempting to serve a warrant. The subject who shot him was arrested and charged with murder. Deputy Bowlin's brother, Chief of Police Thomas Bowlin, was shot and killed in the line of duty on April 13th, 1925, while serving with the Jellico, Tennessee, Police Department.
Investigator William Pappan and a private investigator were shot and killed while inspecting beer licenses at a club in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Two men approached and assaulted them as they spoke to the bouncer. As the struggle moved outside both investigators were beaten and fatally shot. Investigator Pappan had served with the Internal Revenue Service - Alcohol Tax Unit for only four months and had previously served with the Tulsa Police Department. He was survived by his wife wife and six children.
Correctional Officer Hervey Burnham was stabbed to death by an inmate in an unprovoked attack at the Vermont State Prison in Windsor. The inmate was walking in the main corridor of the prison when he suddenly attacked Officer Burnham without warning and stabbed him with a potato knife. Other guards were able to subdue the inmate and place him in solitary confinement. The inmate was found to be insane and committed to the Vermont State Hospital. Officer Burnham had served at the Vermont State Prison for two years. He had previously served as the Doorkeeper at the Vermont Capitol for four years, as overseer of the poor and as a deputy sheriff in Chittenden County, and as a state traffic officer for five additional years. He was survived by his wife, daughter, and mother.
Sergenat Trembath was killed in a motorcycle accident while returning from a two week training course at the academy in Sacramento. The day he was killed was his last day as a motorcycle officer as he had just been promoted to Sergeant and was scheduled to receive a cruiser the next day.
Constable Marvin Winter was killed when he was struck by two different automobiles while directing traffic at the scene of a truck accident in North Harris County. He succumbed to his injuries early the next morning. Constable Winter was survived by his wife and two children.
Officer Clinton Burtner succumbed to injuries sustained in a motorcycle accident one week earlier. A car failed to yield at a red light and collided with Officer Burtner's motorcycle at the intersection of Main Street and 8th Street. The driver of the car plead guilty to negligent homicide and was sentenced to probation. Officer Burtner had served with the Riverside Police Department for eight years. He was survived by his wife, two children, and one grandchild.
Guard Philip Ketchum was shot and killed by an inmate along State Route 2, south of Proctor, West Virginia. He and another guard were transporting 27 prisoners to the state penitentiary at Moundsville. Guard Ketchum, who was driving, had stopped the bus on the roadway to clear dirt from its windshield. While stopped one of the inmates, who was an escapee who was being returned to the prison, grabbed the pistol from the other guard and opened fire. Three of the shots struck the guard he grabbed the gun from and one of the shot struck Guard Ketchum in the chest, killing him. Despite his wounds, the wounded guard and another inmate threw a chain around the subject's head and were able to subdue him. Troopers from the West Virginia State Police transported the prisoners to the penitentiary. The subject who murdered Guard Ketchum committed suicide by hanging himself in his cell 11 days later. Guard Ketchum had served at the West Virginia State Penitentiary for only six months. His father served as warden at the facility.
Sheriff Harber was shot and killed by a suspect while he and the Melbourne town marshal served a warrant for forging checks. The suspect had somehow slipped out of his handcuffs while being escorted out of his home and tackled Sheriff Harber. During the ensuing struggle the man yelled to his father to grab his shotgun. The man's wife then drew a revolver and held the marshal at gunpoint. The suspect was able to break away from Sheriff Harber, ran inside and grabbed his shotgun, then returned outside. He ordered the town marshal to leave the area and then shot Sheriff Harber twice at close range, killing him. The suspect and his wife fled into the hills and remained at large for almost two weeks. He was convicted of Sheriff Harber's murder and sentenced to death. He was later granted a new trial; convicted of second degree murder and sentenced to 21 years. On May 3, 1951, he was granted a furlough and released from prison. On Febuary 25, 1953, by order of the governor, the suspect was returned to prison besause of a fight he got into at a cafe in Bradford. Sheriff Harber was survived by his wife and daughter. His wife was sworn in to complete her husband's term of office. She served from December 10, 1945, until December 31, 1946.
City Marshal D. C. Early arrested L.T. Barnett on a warrant out of Wichita Falls charging Barnett with forgery by check in the amount of $800.00. Marshal Early left Bellevue about noon with Barnett to take him to Henrietta, the county seat of Clay County. Marshal Early's daughter reported him missing that night when he did not return home. Early's body was found about 9:00 a.m. the next morning in a dry creek bed north of Henrietta. He had been shot twice. His pistol was missing. Barnett was charged and tried in Clay County for murder. He was sentenced to fifty years in prison. In 1966 Barnett was given a full pardon. Early was survived by his wife and two daughters. He formerly served as the Constable of Precinct 1 in Denton County from 1926 to 1928. He was buried in the Bellevue City Cemetery. The City of Bellevue no longer has a police department.
Officer DeRoo was killed when his patrol car struck a tree. At 0145 hours Officer DeRoo was responding to a report of an unconscious man laying in the street, when his patrol car struck a tree on a curve on the Montauk Highway. Officer DeRoo died at the scene from his injuries. The call he was responding to was later determined to be unfounded.
Deputy Davis suffered a fatal heart attack during a vehicle pursuit of a bank robbery suspect. The suspect had attempted to rob a bank in Mount Vernon as the two tellers returned from their lunch. As he attempted to force them to open the safe a third employee entered and interrupted the robbery. After a short struggle between the employee and suspect the man ran from the bank and fled in his vehicle, with a citizen in pursuit. Deputy Davis and a highway patrol officer were notified and immediately attempted to locate the vehicle. Minutes later they came across an accident which occurred when the suspect's vehicle struck another vehicle head-on. The suspect and driver of the second vehicle were killed in the accident. Deputy Davis collapsed as he and the patrol officer began to offer aid. Several days later another man suffered a fatal heart attack when he saw the two cars that had been involved in the accident. Deputy Davis had served with the Rockcastle County Sheriff's Office for 3 years. He was survived by his wife, four children, and mother.
Undersheriff Ira Wofford was killed in an automobile accident in Arapahoe County, Colorado, while transporting a prisoner back to Sequoyah County. The was wanted in connection with a burglary of a service station and had been arrested in Denver, Colorado. Undersherif Wofford, along with an investigator from the Oklahoma Bureau of Investigation, were driving the man back to Oklahoma when a truck forced their car of the road. Their vehicle overturned, pinning both officers underneath it. Despite being handcuffed and injured, the prisoner attempted to lift the vehicle off of the officers. When he was unable to do so, he flagged down a passing truck driver for assistance. Undersheriff Wofford was survived by his wife, three daughters, and two sons.
Sergeant Johnson was killed when his patrol car was struck by a train while he responded to an accident with injuries call. Because of the fan-type horn on the train, Sergeant Johnson did not see or hear the train approaching as he entered the railroad crossing. The impact knocked the car 91-feet and caused Sergeant Johnson to suffer fatal head and internal injuries. The Muscogee County Police Department was later disbanded and was incorporated into the Columbus Police Department. Sergeant Johnson had been with the agency for 13 years.
Deputy James Hillberry was shot and killed after stopping a car for a traffic violation. The driver began to struggle with him and was able to gain control of his gun. The suspect shot him in the stomach, inflicting a fatal wound. The suspect then turned the weapon on a reserve officer who was riding with Deputy Hillberry before fleeing the area. He was arrested a short time later in West Palm Beach. The man was convicted of murder and sentenced to life in prison. Deputy Hillberry was survived by his wife, three children and a brother.
Sergeant Salvatore Genualdi was struck and killed at a roadblock while attempting to stop a pursuit. Sergeant Genualdi had responded to assist a neighboring agency in the pursuit and was standing next to his cruiser which had been parked in a roadblock position with the passenger side facing the oncoming pursuit. As the suspect neared the scene Sergeant Genualdi stepped from the patrol vehicle and attempted to wave the vehicle to a stop but was struck and pinned between the two vehicles. The suspect was apprehended at the scene. Sergeant Genualdi had served with the Steamwood Police Department for seven years.
Officer Terry Simmons was killed in an automobile accident when his patrol car went over the guard rail of the Vandeventer Overpass on Highway 40. The patrol plunged 60-feet onto Market Street and landed on its roof. Officer Simmons was a veteran of the US Navy and had been with the agency for exactly one year and two days. He was survived by his wife and two daughters.
Officer Jerry Morris was shot and killed while off duty after being attacked by three men. Officer Morris, his partner, and another man were driving on South Capitol Street SE, in front of Bolling Air Force Base. Another car passed them at a high rate of speed and then cut them off. The car Officer Morris was in passed that car and then the car passed them again. The occupants of the car began shooting at them. Officer Morris' vehicle pulled to the side of the road to let the vehicle pass, but it instead pulled over as well and the occupants continued firing. The two officers identified themselves and Officer Morris' partner returned fire. In the exchange, Officer Morris was fatally wounded. As the other vehicle sped away, it struck Officer Morris and dragged him down the street. Three suspects were apprehended in connection with his murder. Officer Morris had been with the agency for two years and was assigned to the 5th District.
Corporal Bruce Verhoeven was shot and killed during the search for an armed robbery suspect. He was working a special holiday crime prevention detail when he responded to an armed robbery call. The suspect had been chased to a nearby apartment complex by another officer. Corporal Verhoeven responded to the scene and began to cordon off an area then took cover nearby. When a group of bystanders began to assemble Corporal Verhoeven left his cover to protect them. The suspect opened fire fatally wounding Corporal Verhoeven. The other officer was able to return fire and kill the suspect. Corporal Verhoeven had served with the Sacramento County Sheriff's Department for 10 years.
Patrolman Robert Frahm was struck and killed by a vehicle while attempting to stop a suspicious person at the intersection of Big Timber and Hillcrest roads at 6:40 pm. A citizen notified a nearby officer of the accident and Patrolman Frahm was transported to a local hospital where he died approximately 30 minutes later. Patrolman Frahm had served with the Elgin Police Department for four years and was a US Air Force veteran of the Vietnam War. He was survived by his wife, two children and parents.
Sergeant Miller was killed in an automobile accident on US 171 in Sabine Parish, 12 minutes before the end of his shift. He had just picked up a person to transport him when a vehicle traveling in the wrong direction on the roadway struck them head-on. The driver of the other vehicle was convicted of reckless driving and negligent homicide. Sergeant Miller had been with the agency for 24 years and was assigned to Troop H.
Deputy Andrews was shot and killed while working an undercover operation. During the operation a suspect attempted to rob him and he identified himself as a deputy. The suspect then shot and killed him. Deputy Andrews had served with the agency for 8 years and was survived by his wife.
Lieutenant Anthony Shepeard was killed when he was crushed under an old police car at a local junk yard. He had gone to the junk yard to remove parts from the police car. When he failed to show up for the shift change a lookout was put out for him. The owner of the junk yard, hearing the lookout on the radio, went to the location of the old police car and found that the jack had collapsed and the car had crushed Lieutenant Shepeard. Lieutenant Shepeard had served with the Lake Linden Police Department for 4 years and was survived by his wife, two sons, and a daughter.
Chief of Police Gregory Adams was shot and killed while making a traffic stop in the parking lot of the Agway Feed Store. Chief Adams was on Water Street when the suspect sped past a stop sign. Chief Adams pursued the man and caught up with him when the man attempted to turn around in a supermarket parking lot. Chief Adams used his patrol car to block the exit of the parking lot and approached the driver's side door. When asked to provide his driver's license, the man gave Chief Adams a fake ID and then shot him twice in the chest. The man then got out of the car and the chief returned fire, but the shots were not fatal. The suspect then used Chief Adams' gun to pistol whip him and fled the scene. Chief Adam's weapon was found seven miles away in Winfield, Pennsylvania, and the suspect's car was found in Warwick, Rhode Island. He was placed on the FBI's 10 Most Wanted list in 1981, but was removed from the list in March 2007. Chief Adams was not wearing a bullet proof vest at the time because he had lent his to another officer. It is believed that the suspect was en route to rob a jewelry store when Chief Adams stopped him. Chief Adams was a U.S Marine Crops veteran. He had served with the Saxonburg Borough Police Department for seven years and had served in law enforcement for nine years. He had previously served with the Metropolitan Police Department in Washington, DC. He was survived by his wife and two sons. He is buried in St. Mary's Cemetery, Herman, Pennsylvania.
Deputy Clark Rosenbalm was shot and killed when he encountered a drug deal while on patrol. As he exited his patrol car he was shot twice with a .357 caliber handgun. The suspect was apprehended shortly after the crime and executed for the murder in 1999. Deputy Rosenbalm was survived by his wife.
Patrolman Garcia was killed in an automobile accident on Culebra Street while responding to an officer needs assistance call. His patrol car went out of control and struck a utility pole during the response. Patrolman Garcia had been with the agency for two years and was survived by his mother, sister, and two brothers.
Agent Juan Cotto-Santana was shot and killed while intervening in a robbery at a store on Highway 174 in Guaynabo, Puerto Rico. He shot multiple times after identifying himself as a police officer while he attempted to draw his weapon. The subject who shot him fled and remains at large. Agent Cotto-Santana was on sick leave after having been shot in the shoulder during another robbery attempt in the same store one week prior.
Officer Friel was killed when his patrol car was struck by another vehicle driven by a drunk driver. The driver was convicted of charges filed in connection with Officer Friel's death and sentenced to 3 to 6 years in jail. Officer Friel had served with the agency for only 6 months and was assigned to the 5th Police District. He was survived by his son, two sisters, and a brother. Officer Friel's brother also served as a Philadelphia police officer. One of Officer Friel's uncles was killed in the line of duty in 1986 while serving with the Philadelphia Fire Department.
Chief Marshal James Kautz died from injuries he suffered one month earlier after being struck by a vehicle at the scene of an accident. Chief Marshal Kautz was assisting the Michigan City Police on U.S. 12 near State Road 212 when he was struck at approximately 5:45 pm. Chief Marshal Kautz had served with the Long Beach Police Department for 20 years and was a Vietnam War veteran having served two tours of duty and being awarded the Bronze Star three times.
Corrections Officer Eugene Harris suffered a fatal heart attack shortly after having a physical confrontation with a juvenile inmate at the Brentwood Juvenile Medium Security Facility. The juvenile was removed from the cell as a result of the incident and as Officer Harris collected the juvenile's belongings he collapsed. Officer Harris had served in law enforcement for 15 years. He was survived by his wife.
Chief Constable Carr was killed after being struck by a van as he was directing traffic at a two vehicle accident on State Route 23. He was transported to a local hospital where he died of massive internal injuries. He is survived by his wife and a child.
Deputy Sheriff Barrett Hill was shot and killed while chasing car theft suspects in a wooded area. Deputy Hill and his training officer had responded to a call of two people breaking into cars. Upon their arrival, the suspects fled into the wooded area and the officers pursued them on foot. Deputy Hill radioed that he had captured one of the suspects. Soon after, his partner heard gun shots and was unable to reach Deputy Hill by radio. He was located moments later by his partner. Despite wearing a vest, Deputy Hill had sustained gunshot wounds to the face, chest, and hand. He was pronounced dead at the scene. The suspect carjacked a woman in a nearby apartment complex and made his escape. He was arrested later in the morning approximately 75 miles away after being spotted by a deputy in another jurisdiction. On January 16th, 2002, the suspect was found guilty of murder and sentenced to death. Deputy Hill was a U.S. Army Veteran of the Gulf War. He had served as a jailer for the Harris County Sheriff's Department for three and a half years, and was just finishing his field training before becoming a patrol deputy. He is survived by his wife, two daughters, parents, and siblings.
Deputy George Selby was shot and killed as he and other members of the Narcotics Unit, attempted to serve a warrant at a home in the Frayser neighborhood in northern Memphis at approximately 2000 hours. The deputies knocked on the door and identified themselves. No one answered the door and moments later shots were fired from inside the home. Deputy Selby was struck in the shoulder in an area not protected by his vest. He was transported to Regional Medical Center where he succumbed to his wounds. One of the suspects was shot and wounded and both were taken into custody. The shooter was sentenced to life plus 100 years in prison and the sentence was upheld on appeal. Deputy Selby had been employed with the Shelby County Sheriff's Department for eight years, and had been assigned to the Narcotics Unit for two years. He is survived by his wife and two children.
Officer Foster was killed in an automobile accident when her patrol car was struck head-on by a vehicle that crossed the center line on Gender Road. The vehicle was being driven by a suspected drunk driver. At approximately 0130 hours, Officer Foster was responding to a non-emergency call involving a prowler and was following another patrol car. When the other vehicle crossed the center line, the first patrol car swerved to avoid a collision. However, Officer Foster was unable to take evasive action and her patrol car was struck. She was flown to Grant Medical Center where she succumbed to her injuries a short time later. The driver of the vehicle that struck her patrol car was charged with aggravated vehicular homicide. The suspect had a previous conviction of involuntary manslaughter from 1997. On August 9, 2005, the suspect was sentenced to 13 years in prison and the life time suspension of his driver's license. Officer Foster had served with the Columbus Division of Police for 7 years. She is survived by her two children.
Deputy Yvonne Pettit was shot and killed by her estranged husband while on duty. The suspect had located her and her partner and opened fire with an AK-47 rifle. Deputy Pettit was fatally wounded and her partner was shot 10 times. Despite his wounds, Deputy Pettit's partner was able to return fire and kill the suspect. Deputy Pettit had served with the Washington Parish Sheriff's Office for 5 years. She is survived by her five children.
Officer Philip Davis was shot and killed while making a traffic stop on I-65 at approximately 11:50 pm. After Officer Davis wrote a speeding citation and returned to the vehicle, the suspect opened fire and fatally wounded Officer Davis. The suspect then fled the scene and was arrested two hours later. The suspect was found guilty of two counts of capital murder, and was sentenced to death on June 16, 2011. Officer Davis had served with the Pelham Police Department for four and half years. He had previously served with the University of Alabama Police Department and Calera Police Department. He is survived by his wife and two children.
Chief of Police Jerry Hicks succumbed to injuries sustained six days earlier when his patrol car collided with a tree at the intersection of Route 8 and Railroad Road, in Washington County, at about 6:30 am. He was driving to the Potosi Correctional Center to pickup an inmate work crew when the vehicle slid on a patch of ice on a highway bridge, causing it to leave the roadway. The vehicle collided with the tree on the passenger side. Chief Hicks was flown to a hospital in Creve Couer, where he remained unconscious until succumbing to severe head injuries. Chief Hicks was a U.S. Army Reserves and U.S. Navy veteran and had served in law enforcement for 25 years. Prior to joining the Leadwood Police Department, he had served with the St. Francois County Sheriff's Office, Ste. Genevieve County Sheriff's Office, and the Elvins Police Department. He is survived by his two adult children, five grandchildren, and three great-grandchildren.
Police Officer Robert W. Kaminski died as a direct result of illnesses he contracted after inhaling toxic materials as he participated in the rescue and recovery efforts at the World Trade Center site following the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001. Officer Kaminski served with the New York City Police Department for 20 years and retired in 2005. He later fell ill from his service at the World Trade Center. He was last assigned to the Fleet Services Division.
I slept like shit last night. Every time I closed my eyes, it was like I never went to therapy or started my meds for my PTSD and anxiety. There was a thunder storm and the power went out around 9pm. Flashes of the last 48 hours and the dreams I had over the weekend were as insistent as the lightning outside my windows. I kept hearing things in the lull between rumblings, insignificant little sounds like bushes rustling in the wind, things you normally don't hear when the power is on and the air conditioning drowns all the auditory minutia out. I finally fell asleep, even with the intermittent beep of the smoke alarm telling me that without the power on, the battery was definitely low, but I could swear I kept hearing a sound like a faint whir on the odd occasion. Some people say that the silence will mess with you. I was jolted awake by the A/C unit powering on at around 6 am, oh goody, my place will be nice and cool while I'm at work. I tried to sit up but every muscle in my body was sore and resolutely decided for me that I would not be "hopping" out of bed this morning. So, I lay there, testing my joints and range of movement. I've been here before, I have degenerative arthritis in both shoulders from a training accident in the Military and every so often when I exert myself physically, I tend to pay for it in a most unpleasant fashion. I felt fine when I went to bed, mild queasiness aside, but this felt like I'd fallen off my roof on to soft dirt or something, you know, not bad enough to break anything but enough to really hurt. I eventually rolled my ass out of bed. Yes, literally rolled. I knew immediately that something was wrong when my feet hit the floor and I almost went ass over tea kettle onto the hardwood. My floor was, for lack of better wording, moist, and then the scent registered, floor cleaner. What the hell? Did I get up in the middle of the night and Swiffer the shit out of my house? I know I'm a bit of a neat freak but shit. as I went through the house I noticed every surface had been cleaned. Floors, counters, everything. If it weren't for the fact that I didn't remember doing any of this, I thought, sleep cleaning isn't a terrible problem to have. I grabbed a banana for breakfast and stuffed my work clothes in my seat bag, along with another package of barely tolerated Ramen, lunch of champions, college students and underpaid cubicle jockeys, hopped in the shower to rinse off the night sweats, thankfully the power had been back on long enough to afford some hot water to loosen my stiff muscles as well. As I dipped my head under the water, a searing pain shot through my scalp, I cried out involuntarily as something fell out of my hair, making a flat tink sound on the hard plastic of the tub before being whisked down the drain by the water without having chance to see what it was. I saw red in the water as I must have opened up a scab or something on my scalp, but I didn't remember hitting my head on anything recently. If you've ever cut yourself on your head, you'll know that it bleeds like a stuck pig. It bled longer than I would have liked, but what can you do about head wounds, especially in the shower? I must have knocked myself pretty hard while I was sleep-cleaning last night. I got to work just barely on time and advised my boss that I needed to leave work about 2 hours early to go to the VA for my appointment. She's pretty used to me with my VA appointments but she usually busts my balls about the company attendance policy. Today, she was exceedingly accommodating and even stated that she'd file the PTO request herself. Weird. The workday flew by in a haze of one irritable idiot after another until at 2:30, my burgeoning complacency was interrupted by a DING. I got an email from DALNI: "Mr. Kroll, A VA transportation van will be arriving at your place of business at precisely 3pm to convey both you and your bicycle to the VA Regional Medical Center. Please be as prompt as possible. - DALNI Staff". As I walked out of the office 25 minutes later I threw some of my coworkers a "see ya tomorrow" and waved goodbye to my boss, who smiled nervously and barely glanced at me, which wouldn't have bothered me any except for the forced smile, she never smiles at me. As promised, there was a van waiting outside the building with the side and back doors open. I unlocked my bike and placed it and my bag in the back, hopping in the seat just behind the passenger, who, like the driver weren't what you'd expect of the average VA transport driver, which in this day and age is usually an older Vietnam Vet who does this to keep boredom at bay in their retirement. These two, however, were more my age, 30-40 years old, fresh high and tight haircuts, both in khakis and golf shirts, Ray-Ban sunglasses, definitely NOT VA employees. I decided to keep my disquiet to myself, these guys didn't look like the talkative types anyway. We rode the 15 minutes to the VA in silence. As we pulled up to the front, the guy in the passenger, without turning around says "Mr. Kroll, you can leave your bike and bag in the van if you wish, we'll be more than happy to give you a ride home after your appointment." Now, I'm usually not one to worry about a ride because I just take my bike everywhere, but with the way I'd been feeling recently and the fact that they'd be drawing blood, I wasn't going to turn down a free ride. "Call me Jake guys, and I'll take you up on that offer, much appreciated." I went in and checked in at the Lab Services counter and turned to sit and wait my turn when a Lab Tech I'd never seen before stepped into the room and called out, "Kroll, Jacob?". I almost tripped over my own feet, there were at least 20 other vets in the waiting area and I'd just checked in. I went back into the lab area with the tech whose phlebotomy skills were not to be trifled with. She had the needle in my arm and the fist vacuum tube inserted in the time it usually takes most techs just to get the rubber band rope around your arm and fastened. After the fourth tube was removed and she reached for another I had to ask, "Jesus, how many are you taking?" She responded, without much inflection or interest in the matter, "They ordered a full spectrum, so... yeah." I assumed that "They" were either the VA or DALNI so I just soldiered on and waited. 8 more tubes later, the tech removed the needle, taped on the requisite gauze and bid me farewell, packed up her kit and left the lab with 12 vials of my blood. I was leaving the lab area when the desk clerk called me over, "Mr. Kroll, do you have a moment to speak with your primary care team doctor?" I looked at my watch and saw it wasn't even 4 o'clock yet, In and Out in record time and I didn't have a hot date or anything to speed my departure, "Sure, why not?" I took the elevator up to the 3rd floor and walked down to the Red Team check in and said the Dr. Sagawa was waiting to see me. Dr. Issei Sagawa, my PCP for the last 3 years came out to usher me back to his office and sat me down, asked how I was doing since my last physical 4 months earlier and proceeded to tell me why I was here. "Jake, we got a request from a contractor to monitor your health after you stated you had an incident of what might have been food poisoning. Now, they sent over a copy of the paperwork you filled out, giving them permission to access your medical record and everything seems above board, so I'll ask some additional questions for the file here. Is that OK with you?" "Sure Doc, ask away" "OK, so... when did you start feeling ill?" "A couple hours after I ate Dinner, I wasn't sure if it was the food, the alcohol, a combo of the two, or if I'm just coming down with something." "Right, so, when you vomited, did you get a good look at the contents? Color, consistency?" "No sir, I wasn't that interested in seeing it, I just buried it and left it there." "Did you, or have you had any strange dreams in the last few weeks?" "Well,.... wait, what does that have to do with this?" "It's just a question Jake, is that a yes?" I felt a prickle on the back of my neck telling me to get the fuck outta there, but then I remembered that Heckle and Jeckel in the van had my only mode of transportation and my keys in my bag. "No, nothing strange or abnormal, just my usual night terrors on the odd occasion." Doc seemed to relax visibly and continued to ask a few mostly mundane questions about my meds and such, but I still felt the pull to the door. Then I remembered the shower from this morning and I asked the Doc the take a look at my scalp. He grabbed a light source and started poking around where I indicated I'd somehow hurt myself. I felt the Doc stiffen a bit as he looked, but he said "Looks like a mild abrasion, I'd just keep it clean and maybe apply a dab of Neosporin, other than that, nothing to write home to mom about." I thanked the Doc and he said to set up a follow-up appointment in a few weeks with the receptionist. I did and made my way down to the entrance where Heckle and Jeckel were waiting with the van. I hopped in and they just started driving. I was about to give them instructions to get to my house when the Passenger seat guy quoted my address and asked if that was right. I said it was and sat in silence for the rest of the ride. They dropped me in from of my place and I thanked them for their hospitality, grabbing my bike and bag and beating feet to my front door. Once inside, I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. I took a peek through the blinds and the van was gone, thankfully. I sat down and flipped on the TV, hoping to distract myself, of course the news was on with more details about the animal attack at Hocking Hills, "a family of 5 was attacked in their sleep, all signs point to a large predator, which is confusing officials as the largest reported predator in Ohio is the Coyote. We are now report that there was a survivor, Jemma, the 4 year old daughter, who has been uncommunicative. The family, from Canton was in the area for their annual camping trip, said the grandmother. it was supposed to the last trip for Jennifer and Jessica, the 18 year old twin daughters of Jim and Patricia Holt before they left for The Ohio State University and Northwestern respectively in the fall. Police say they that the Department of Fish and Wildlife are unable to speculate as to the species of the animal at this time." I feel my stomach growl and I get up to head to the kitchen when the Name of my town catches my ear. "And now more news about the grisly discovery of a woman discovered missing from her home early this morning. Her roommate, Stacy James had reported that Heather Mason, 24, (They flash a photo of a beautiful blonde woman on the screen, smiling and full of life) of the Northeast Columbus area was not home when she arrived there shortly after 3am this morning, she stated that Heather had left work at the restaurant where the pair worked together around 11pm, stating she was going home to get sleep before she had class this morning. Upon arriving home, Stacy went to check on her roommate, only to discover a scene that still horrifies her. Stacy: "I got home and I went to check on Heather, her bedroom light was on so I popped my head in her room to say goodnight. There.... there was glass everywhere, it looks like someone smashed through her bedroom window and dragged her out, there were bloody drag marks on the window sill, you could tell Heather fought whoever took her..... I..I can't...." The young lady, crying, runs away from the camera, leaving the reporter in the studio to scramble for his next lines. "Leading up to earlier this afternoon and the grisly discovery of a woman's body in the Sharon Woods Metro park area. That body has indeed been identified as 24 year old Heather Mason, we'll update you when we know more." I stare at the screen, unable to move. Why are these terrible things happening in my area? First an animal attack, then this kidnap and murder. This place is going to hell in a hand basket. I double check my locks before I walk to the kitchen, my stomach twists like a knife, bringing me to my knees. I'm SO HUNGRY, I get to my feet and shuffle to the refrigerator, I'm sure there's leftovers. I open the fridge and there before my eyes is the most beautiful ham sandwich I've ever laid eyes on, sitting on a plate covered in saran wrap. I wish I'd checked the fridge before work, I could have avoided another Ramen day for lunch. I grab the sandwich, mayo and mustard and set it on the counter, remove the saran wrap, and the smell hits me, I start salivating and move a little faster, I take off the top piece of bread and apply the condiments, replace the bread and grab a beer from the fridge, I earned it, why not. I sit back down in front of the TV and take a bite. It's like mana from heaven. I take another bite, and something stringy remains attached to the sandwich, a hair, ugh.... I hate hair in my food. Normally it would put me off, but I'm so hungry it just pull the hair out, it's a lot longer than I'd anticipated because my hair isn't very long, and it isn't blonde... DING!.... I'm going to check my email, I'll be back.
2016.07.09 17:35 beachedwhale1945Four Medals of Honor in Two Hours: A Ship You’ve Never Heard of
While doing last minute research for this week’s Side-by-Side Saturday composite, I came across this incredible ship I had heard of but never thought significant. Unfortunately, it is currently not drawn on Shipbucket, and therefore I cannot include it in today’s composite of historic American ships. While I work on the final touches, here is the tale of the ship that saw 7% of all US Navy WWII Medal of Honor recipients earn their medals in two hours. During WWII, 57 US Navy personnel earned the Medal of Honor. During the Pearl Harbor attack, no less than fifteen were earned for some insane acts of heroism. Ensign Francis C. Flaherty and Seaman James Ward in the capsizing USS Oklahoma stayed at their stations in the main turrets and guided the crew out with flashlights, sacrificing their lives. Chief Boatswain Edwin Hill jumped onto the quay, cut the lines holding USS Nevada in place, swam back to the moving battleship, and was blown overboard and killed by one of the many bombs that struck the ship. Machinist Donald Ross, also aboard Nevada, stayed at his station in the forward dynamo room until blinded and knocked unconscious, then on coming too moved to the after dynamo room, again fell unconscious, and when he woke stayed at his station until ordered to abandon it. Captain (later Lieutenant Commander) Samuel Fuqua, senior surviving officer aboard USS Arizona, led firefighting and rescue efforts on “in such an amazingly calm and cool manner and with such excellent judgment that it inspired everyone who saw him and undoubtedly resulted in the saving of many lives.” Commander Cassin Young was blown overboard by Arizona’s explosion, swam back to his ship stark naked, and “with extreme coolness and calmness” got the repair ship Vestal underway and beached it when all options to save his ship were exhausted (he also received command of the heavy cruiser USS San Francisco and died in battle off Guadalcanal). I could go on, but seriously, go read the citations linked above. These men were heroes in every sense of the word. But one ship is special. One ship had FOUR Medal of Honor recipients earn their place in history on December 7th, three posthumously. I know of no other ship with such a distinction: even mighty Enterprise only had one Medal of Honor recipient among her crew (Lieutenant Edward “Butch” O'Hare. And sadly, this ship is overshadowed by the other famous ships at Pearl Harbor when at any other engagement she would be legendary. Even her Wikipedia article only lists two recipients. That ship is USS California. This Tennessee class battleship was struck by two torpedoes, one direct 250kg bomb hit, and two 250kg bomb near misses that caused severe flooding (full damage report). Her crew fought courageously for three days until she at last sank into the harbor mud. She was raised in March 1942 and sent to Washington for an extensive overhaul that added sixteen 5”/38 guns among numerous other improvements. Effectively a new ship, she left the US in May 1944 and bombarded Japanese positions on Saipan, Guam, and Tinian. At the Battle of the Surigao Strait in October 1944, she fired 22% of all US Battleship shells fired in the battle and can claim many hits on Yamashiro that helped sink the battleship less than half an hour after opening fire. Only ten survived. Victorious, the American battleship supported landings on Luzon before taking a kamikaze to the after main battery director, killing 44. After making temporary repairs, she continued bombarding Japanese positions. After repairs in Puget Sound, she returned to bombard Okinawa and was certainly on the list to bombard Kyushu for Operation Downfall scheduled for 1 November 1945. After WWII, she was put in reserve and scrapped in 1959. But this post was not about the history of an American battleship, but the heroism of her crew. Her are in full the four Medal of Honor citations earned in the Pearl Harbor attack. JONES, HERBERT CHARPOIT [posthumous] Rank and organization: Ensign, U.S. Naval Reserve. Born: 1 December 1918, Los Angeles, Calif. Accredited to: California. Citation: For conspicuous devotion to duty, extraordinary courage, and complete disregard of his own life, above and beyond the call of duty, during the attack on the Fleet in Pearl Harbor, by Japanese forces on 7 December 1941. Ens. Jones organized and led a party, which was supplying ammunition to the antiaircraft battery of the U.S.S. California after the mechanical hoists were put out of action when he was fatally wounded by a bomb explosion. When 2 men attempted to take him from the area which was on fire, he refused to let them do so, saying in words to the effect, "Leave me alone! I am done for. Get out of here before the magazines go off." PHARRIS, JACKSON CHARLES Rank and Organization: Lieutenant, U.S. Navy, U.S.S. California. Place and Date Pearl Harbor, Territory of Hawaii, 7 December 1941. Entered Service at: California. Born: 26 June 1912, Columbus, Ga. Citation: For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty while attached to the U.S.S. California during the surprise enemy Japanese aerial attack on Pearl Harbor, Territory of Hawaii, 7 December 1941. In charge of the ordnance repair party on the third deck when the first Japanese torpedo struck almost directly under his station, Lt. (then Gunner) Pharris was stunned and severely injured by the concussion which hurled him to the overhead and back to the deck. Quickly recovering, he acted on his own initiative to set up a hand-supply ammunition train for the antiaircraft guns. With water and oil rushing in where the port bulkhead had been torn up from the deck, with many of the remaining crewmembers overcome by oil fumes, and the ship without power and listing heavily to port as a result of a second torpedo hit, Lt. Pharris ordered the shipfitters to counterflood. Twice rendered unconscious by the nauseous fumes and handicapped by his painful injuries, he persisted in his desperate efforts to speed up the supply of ammunition and at the same time repeatedly risked his life to enter flooding compartments and drag to safety unconscious shipmates who were gradually being submerged in oil. By his inspiring leadership, his valiant efforts and his extreme loyalty to his ship and her crew, he saved many of his shipmates from death and was largely responsible for keeping the California in action during the attack. His heroic conduct throughout this first eventful engagement of World War 11 reflects the highest credit upon Lt. Pharris and enhances the finest traditions of the U.S. Naval Service. REEVES, THOMAS JAMES [posthumous] Rank and Organization: Radio Electrician (Warrant Officer) U.S. Navy. Born: 9 December 1895, Thomaston, Conn. Accredited To: Connecticut. Citation: For distinguished conduct in the line of his profession, extraordinary courage and disregard of his own safety during the attack on the Fleet in Pearl Harbor, by Japanese forces on 7 December 1941. After the mechanized ammunition hoists were put out of action in the U.S.S. California, Reeves, on his own initiative, in a burning passageway, assisted in the maintenance of an ammunition supply by hand to the antiaircraft guns until he was overcome by smoke and fire, which resulted in his death. SCOTT, ROBERT R. [posthumous] Rank and Organization: Machinist's Mate First Class, U.S. Navy. Born: 13 July 1915, Massillon, Ohio. Accredited to Ohio. Citation: For conspicuous devotion to duty, extraordinary courage and complete disregard of his own life, above and beyond the call of duty, during the attack on the Fleet in Pearl Harbor by Japanese forces on 7 December 1941. The compartment, in the U.S.S. California, in which the air compressor, to which Scott was assigned as his battle station, was flooded as the result of a torpedo hit. The remainder of the personnel evacuated that compartment but Scott refused to leave, saying words to the effect "This is my station and I will stay and give them air as long as the guns are going.''
[Part 1] https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/4m528s/tasty_perks_part_1/ I slept like shit last night. Every time I closed my eyes, it was like I never went to therapy or started my meds for my PTSD and anxiety. There was a thunder storm and the power went out around 9pm. Flashes of the last 48 hours and the dreams I had over the weekend were as insistent as the lightning outside my windows. I kept hearing things in the lull between rumblings, insignificant little sounds like bushes rustling in the wind, things you normally don't hear when the power is on and the air conditioning drowns all the auditory minutia out. I finally fell asleep, even with the intermittent beep of the smoke alarm telling me that without the power on, the battery was definitely low, but I could swear I kept hearing a sound like a faint whir on the odd occasion. Some people say that the silence will mess with you. I was jolted awake by the A/C unit powering on at around 6 am, oh goody, my place will be nice and cool while I'm at work. I tried to sit up but every muscle in my body was sore and resolutely decided for me that I would not be "hopping" out of bed this morning. So, I lay there, testing my joints and range of movement. I've been here before, I have degenerative arthritis in both shoulders from a training accident in the Military and every so often when I exert myself physically, I tend to pay for it in a most unpleasant fashion. I felt fine when I went to bed, mild queasiness aside, but this felt like I'd fallen off my roof on to soft dirt or something, you know, not bad enough to break anything but enough to really hurt. I eventually rolled my ass out of bed. Yes, literally rolled. I knew immediately that something was wrong when my feet hit the floor and I almost went ass over tea kettle onto the hardwood. My floor was, for lack of better wording, moist, and then the scent registered, floor cleaner. What the hell? Did I get up in the middle of the night and Swiffer the shit out of my house? I know I'm a bit of a neat freak but shit. as I went through the house I noticed every surface had been cleaned. Floors, counters, everything. If it weren't for the fact that I didn't remember doing any of this, I thought, sleep cleaning isn't a terrible problem to have. I grabbed a banana for breakfast and stuffed my work clothes in my seat bag, along with another package of barely tolerated Ramen, lunch of champions, college students and underpaid cubicle jockeys, hopped in the shower to rinse off the night sweats, thankfully the power had been back on long enough to afford some hot water to loosen my stiff muscles as well. As I dipped my head under the water, a searing pain shot through my scalp, I cried out involuntarily as something fell out of my hair, making a flat tink sound on the hard plastic of the tub before being whisked down the drain by the water without having chance to see what it was. I saw red in the water as I must have opened up a scab or something on my scalp, but I didn't remember hitting my head on anything recently. If you've ever cut yourself on your head, you'll know that it bleeds like a stuck pig. It bled longer than I would have liked, but what can you do about head wounds, especially in the shower? I must have knocked myself pretty hard while I was sleep-cleaning last night. I got to work just barely on time and advised my boss that I needed to leave work about 2 hours early to go to the VA for my appointment. She's pretty used to me with my VA appointments but she usually busts my balls about the company attendance policy. Today, she was exceedingly accommodating and even stated that she'd file the PTO request herself. Weird. The workday flew by in a haze of one irritable idiot after another until at 2:30, my burgeoning complacency was interrupted by a DING. I got an email from DALNI: "Mr. Kroll, A VA transportation van will be arriving at your place of business at precisely 3pm to convey both you and your bicycle to the VA Regional Medical Center. Please be as prompt as possible. - DALNI Staff". As I walked out of the office 25 minutes later I threw some of my coworkers a "see ya tomorrow" and waved goodbye to my boss, who smiled nervously and barely glanced at me, which wouldn't have bothered me any except for the forced smile, she never smiles at me. As promised, there was a van waiting outside the building with the side and back doors open. I unlocked my bike and placed it and my bag in the back, hopping in the seat just behind the passenger, who, like the driver weren't what you'd expect of the average VA transport driver, which in this day and age is usually an older Vietnam Vet who does this to keep boredom at bay in their retirement. These two, however, were more my age, 30-40 years old, fresh high and tight haircuts, both in khakis and golf shirts, Ray-Ban sunglasses, definitely NOT VA employees. I decided to keep my disquiet to myself, these guys didn't look like the talkative types anyway. We rode the 15 minutes to the VA in silence. As we pulled up to the front, the guy in the passenger, without turning around says "Mr. Kroll, you can leave your bike and bag in the van if you wish, we'll be more than happy to give you a ride home after your appointment." Now, I'm usually not one to worry about a ride because I just take my bike everywhere, but with the way I'd been feeling recently and the fact that they'd be drawing blood, I wasn't going to turn down a free ride. "Call me Jake guys, and I'll take you up on that offer, much appreciated." I went in and checked in at the Lab Services counter and turned to sit and wait my turn when a Lab Tech I'd never seen before stepped into the room and called out, "Kroll, Jacob?". I almost tripped over my own feet, there were at least 20 other vets in the waiting area and I'd just checked in. I went back into the lab area with the tech whose phlebotomy skills were not to be trifled with. She had the needle in my arm and the fist vacuum tube inserted in the time it usually takes most techs just to get the rubber band rope around your arm and fastened. After the fourth tube was removed and she reached for another I had to ask, "Jesus, how many are you taking?" She responded, without much inflection or interest in the matter, "They ordered a full spectrum, so... yeah." I assumed that "They" were either the VA or DALNI so I just soldiered on and waited. 8 more tubes later, the tech removed the needle, taped on the requisite gauze and bid me farewell, packed up her kit and left the lab with 12 vials of my blood. I was leaving the lab area when the desk clerk called me over, "Mr. Kroll, do you have a moment to speak with your primary care team doctor?" I looked at my watch and saw it wasn't even 4 o'clock yet, In and Out in record time and I didn't have a hot date or anything to speed my departure, "Sure, why not?" I took the elevator up to the 3rd floor and walked down to the Red Team check in and said the Dr. Sagawa was waiting to see me. Dr. Issei Sagawa, my PCP for the last 3 years came out to usher me back to his office and sat me down, asked how I was doing since my last physical 4 months earlier and proceeded to tell me why I was here. "Jake, we got a request from a contractor to monitor your health after you stated you had an incident of what might have been food poisoning. Now, they sent over a copy of the paperwork you filled out, giving them permission to access your medical record and everything seems above board, so I'll ask some additional questions for the file here. Is that OK with you?" "Sure Doc, ask away" "OK, so... when did you start feeling ill?" "A couple hours after I ate Dinner, I wasn't sure if it was the food, the alcohol, a combo of the two, or if I'm just coming down with something." "Right, so, when you vomited, did you get a good look at the contents? Color, consistency?" "No sir, I wasn't that interested in seeing it, I just buried it and left it there." "Did you, or have you had any strange dreams in the last few weeks?" "Well,.... wait, what does that have to do with this?" "It's just a question Jake, is that a yes?" I felt a prickle on the back of my neck telling me to get the fuck outta there, but then I remembered that Heckle and Jeckel in the van had my only mode of transportation and my keys in my bag. "No, nothing strange or abnormal, just my usual night terrors on the odd occasion." Doc seemed to relax visibly and continued to ask a few mostly mundane questions about my meds and such, but I still felt the pull to the door. Then I remembered the shower from this morning and I asked the Doc the take a look at my scalp. He grabbed a light source and started poking around where I indicated I'd somehow hurt myself. I felt the Doc stiffen a bit as he looked, but he said "Looks like a mild abrasion, I'd just keep it clean and maybe apply a dab of Neosporin, other than that, nothing to write home to mom about." I thanked the Doc and he said to set up a follow-up appointment in a few weeks with the receptionist. I did and made my way down to the entrance where Heckle and Jeckel were waiting with the van. I hopped in and they just started driving. I was about to give them instructions to get to my house when the Passenger seat guy quoted my address and asked if that was right. I said it was and sat in silence for the rest of the ride. They dropped me in from of my place and I thanked them for their hospitality, grabbing my bike and bag and beating feet to my front door. Once inside, I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. I took a peek through the blinds and the van was gone, thankfully. I sat down and flipped on the TV, hoping to distract myself, of course the news was on with more details about the animal attack at Hocking Hills, "a family of 5 was attacked in their sleep, all signs point to a large predator, which is confusing officials as the largest reported predator in Ohio is the Coyote. We are now report that there was a survivor, Jemma, the 4 year old daughter, who has been uncommunicative. The family, from Canton was in the area for their annual camping trip, said the grandmother. it was supposed to the last trip for Jennifer and Jessica, the 18 year old twin daughters of Jim and Patricia Holt before they left for The Ohio State University and Northwestern respectively in the fall. Police say they that the Department of Fish and Wildlife are unable to speculate as to the species of the animal at this time." I feel my stomach growl and I get up to head to the kitchen when the Name of my town catches my ear. "And now more news about the grisly discovery of a woman discovered missing from her home early this morning. Her roommate, Stacy James had reported that Heather Mason, 24, (They flash a photo of a beautiful blonde woman on the screen, smiling and full of life) of the Northeast Columbus area was not home when she arrived there shortly after 3am this morning, she stated that Heather had left work at the restaurant where the pair worked together around 11pm, stating she was going home to get sleep before she had class this morning. Upon arriving home, Stacy went to check on her roommate, only to discover a scene that still horrifies her. Stacy: "I got home and I went to check on Heather, her bedroom light was on so I popped my head in her room to say goodnight. There.... there was glass everywhere, it looks like someone smashed through her bedroom window and dragged her out, there were bloody drag marks on the window sill, you could tell Heather fought whoever took her..... I..I can't...." The young lady, crying, runs away from the camera, leaving the reporter in the studio to scramble for his next lines. "Leading up to earlier this afternoon and the grisly discovery of a woman's body in the Sharon Woods Metro park area. That body has indeed been identified as 24 year old Heather Mason, we'll update you when we know more." I stare at the screen, unable to move. Why are these terrible things happening in my area? First an animal attack, then this kidnap and murder. This place is going to hell in a hand basket. I double check my locks before I walk to the kitchen, my stomach twists like a knife, bringing me to my knees. I'm SO HUNGRY, I get to my feet and shuffle to the refrigerator, I'm sure there's leftovers. I open the fridge and there before my eyes is the most beautiful ham sandwich I've ever laid eyes on, sitting on a plate covered in saran wrap. I wish I'd checked the fridge before work, I could have avoided another Ramen day for lunch. I grab the sandwich, mayo and mustard and set it on the counter, remove the saran wrap, and the smell hits me, I start salivating and move a little faster, I take off the top piece of bread and apply the condiments, replace the bread and grab a beer from the fridge, I earned it, why not. I sit back down in front of the TV and take a bite. It's like mana from heaven. I take another bite, and something stringy remains attached to the sandwich, a hair, ugh.... I hate hair in my food. Normally it would put me off, but I'm so hungry it just pull the hair out, it's a lot longer than I'd anticipated because my hair isn't very long, and it isn't blonde... DING!.... I'm going to check my email, I'll be back. [Part 3] https://wh.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/4mgnzn/tasty_perks_the_unraveling_thread_part_3/ [Part 4] https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/4nxsoz/tasty_perks_love_is_in_the_err_part_4/ [Part 5] https://wh.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/4o3o3u/tasty_perks_a_history_lesson_part_5/ [Part 6] https://wh.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/4oard0/tasty_perk_levity_in_brevity_part_6/ [Part 7] https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/4ogtgp/tasty_perks_planning_ahead_part_7/ [Part 8] https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/4p0se2/tasty_perks_what_to_expect_part_8/ [Part 9] https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/4p8mu3/tasty_perks_hell_hath_no_fury_part_9/ [Part 10] https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/4qakeg/tasty_perks_warfooting_part_10/
2016.02.01 22:48 GermanoMuricano117(Part 2) Macho Man passes away in auto accident. The Story of Randy Savage. Wrestling Observer [5/30/2011]
part 2, by Dave Meltzer From the late 1970s until the early 90s, Savage was considered one of the great in-ring workers in the business. He was in his prime, a quick and fearless daredevil known for his intensity, which bordered on scary at times. His unique interviews were among the most recognizable, imitated by people in and out of wrestling to this day. However, his national fame didn’t come until 1985 with WWF because his family ran a renegade wrestling promotion and were unofficially blacklisted from the mainstream. “I remember in 1981 when we were talking about new talent in St. Louis, and (booker) Pat O’Connor told me, the best young talent in the business is Randy Savage, but we can’t use him,” remembered Larry Matysik, a longtime wrestling announcer and promoter out of St. Louis, who first met Savage right out of high school, and was friends with Savage, having worked with him before he hit it big, and was the local promoter for World Wrestling Federation events in the city during his heyday. Savage, who was in his early 40s, was being phased out of in-ring competition by Vince McMahon Jr. in the early 90s, and in 1994, signed with rival World Championship Wrestling, following the lead of Hogan, who had signed there a few months earlier. He was back in the ring as one of the major stars in that organization through 2000, including a period from the spring of 1996 through the spring of 1998 when it was the leading promotion and he was one of its biggest stars. By that point he had suffered a number of serious injuries from his years of wrestling high-flying, physical style. Savage made a brief comeback in 2004 with Total Nonstop Action, but clearly could no longer perform as he was only in a match for seconds and then left the company. “I hadn’t seen him since TNA in 2004,” said Dusty Rhodes, who was booking TNA when Jeff Jarrett made the deal to sign Savage and feud with him. Savage had pinned Jarrett, the NWA champion at the time, in a trios match a few weeks earlier to set up the title match. Even though he had not wrestled in nearly five years and due to injuries, couldn’t do much, he was scheduled to win the title, and then drop it back to Jarrett at a later date. “The last words he said to me was, "I can’t do this. I don’t want people to see me looking like this." Jerry Jarrett called Keith Mitchell in, and I told him change the main event. I don’t even remember what we did (Monty Brown won a three-way over Diamond Dallas Page and Kevin Nash to earn the title shot, and Jeff Jarrett beat Brown). I said, `Randy, just go home. It’s okay with me.” “He just said he wanted to be Macho Man Randy Savage, he didn’t want to hang on and hang on like many of us have done. He wanted to be remembered in a different way.” The whole Savage situation in TNA was strange. He debuted on November 7, 2004, at a TV taping, signing for a number of appearances. He did an interview, and felt double-crossed because Jarrett invited Hulk Hogan, who brought Ed Leslie, to the show. Savage at the time hated Hogan. Savage had many times on Tampa radio challenged Hogan to a fight for charity, and when Hogan showed up, he told Savage they could go right there if he wanted and Savage, 52 and broken down by that time, did not want to go. While normally this type of story would be dismissed as Hogan-inspired hyperbole, there were enough witnesses in TNA with no dog in the fight that have confirmed that was how it went down. After the taping, Savage called TNA and said he was pulling out of his deal, citing an unsafe working environment. But ten days later, he was back, and appeared on the next few weeks of TNA television doing interviews. This led to what turned out to be the final match of his career on December 5, 2004, where Savage & Jeff Hardy & A.J. Styles were to face Jarrett & Kevin Nash & Scott Hall. Savage ended up not wrestling the match, which was three-on-two until Savage showed up late, worked about ten seconds and pinned Jarrett after a punch. The entire angle was shot this way because Savage, who had not done a regular match in years, was afraid that he couldn’t do anything. He then quit again a few days later. “I could see it in his eyes,” said Rhodes. “It wasn’t worth the old era stuff (giving him a speech on being advertised and owing it to the fans, or even trying to threaten him). He didn’t want to do it. If you find out why, let me know. Obviously, he was financially set. Maybe the secret of walking away he should have given to Flair, Hogan, Andre, myself, of the stars of my era. How many of us walked away? One.” “He was one of those guys who wanted it perfect,” said Rhodes about his in-ring program with Savage in the WWF. “If you had a spot, you didn’t have a lot of ad libbing. He was one of the five stiffest guys I ever worked with, which I liked and that was cool. He wasn’t one of the top guys I worked with, but he was higher than the middle. Maybe a seven. He was more of an entertainer and a showman and that made him successful at drawing money. He had timing and psychology which sometimes overrides the kind of a match a guy like Seth Rollins (Tyler Black) or even a Ricky Steamboat would do. As far as technicians, halfway up the top. “But he was a player, Terrell Owens, Brett Favre, there are a few people who are players and you can’t knock them, and he was one of them. In our industry, he was like Brett Favre, T.O., as far as our industry and our fans, he was one of the biggest stars. “He was an acquaintance. We weren’t close. We had different agendas. We went different ways. He said, `I can’t do this and thank you brother’ and he walked away, and I never talked to him again, and he lived 20 miles from here. He became the Howard Hughes of our business.” Rhodes said that when he met Savage in the WWF, as their paths never crossed until 1989. When they met, Savage told him that he remembered going to matches in Tampa when he was playing minor league baseball. Savage had already done some pro wrestling. When the Tampa Tarpons of the Florida State League, a Class A minor league team, had a home game on Tuesday, as soon as the game was over, Savage would lead a group of players, who would rush from the game, still in uniform, to the Armory, where they would get in hoping to see the main event. That was during the summer that Rhodes first turned babyface, usually wrestling against Pak Song and manager Gary Hart, and the territory was setting attendance records. “I noticed a couple of times at ringside guys wearing baseball uniforms, from the Reds, at ringside,” said Rhodes. “I remembered a group of guys in uniforms and he told me the story later on. I remember Cincinnati Reds uniforms, but I don’t remember him” “I saw his tryout with the (St. Louis) Cardinals in 1971,” remembered Matysik. “Sam (Muchnick, a legendary wrestling promoter who was friends with Randy’s father, Angelo, a pro wrestler, as well as close to those in the Cardinals organization), helped him get the tryout at the old Busch Stadium. Man, he could hit. He was a little squirt, I don’t think he was more than 165 pounds at the time.” Matysik also remembered 20 years later, when WWF decided to promote a major outdoor show at Busch Stadium, the same place Savage got his tryout. At the time Savage was “retired,” having lost a retirement match to Ultimate Warrior at WrestleMania VII. At the time he wanted time off because he and Elizabeth wanted to start a family, but that never happened. That summer saw Savage work as an announcer and while not wrestling, was in a program building to him getting up the guts to ask Elizabeth to marry him in storyline. That marriage was promoted as half of a double main event of that year’s SummerSlam in Madison Square Garden. But in promotion of the show, where Savage was going to referee a Hulk Hogan vs. Sgt. Slaughter main event, Savage was sent in early to promote it with the baseball team. Matysik noted how it was clear how much Savage loved baseball, even more than wrestling. Savage would have done anything, and did, to make it as a baseball player but he just wasn’t talented enough to make the majors. While his athletic skills and speed in the ring made him one of the best athletes inside a ring of the past 35 years, those traits didn’t translate as well to his first love. Surprisingly, Savage as a baseball player only had average speed. And while wrestling fans remember him for his lithe, bodybuilder-like physique, before he discovered steroids in wrestling, Savage was a skinny guy, even though he did weight work and conditioning that most in baseball in that era didn’t do. Matysik’s appraisal mirrored that of nearly everyone who grew up with him in Downers Grove, that Randy Poffo was obsessed 24/7 with making it in baseball. He idolized Pete Rose for his endless energy. Pete was known as Charlie Hustle in those days, and his other favorite player was Johnny Bench, then the game’s best catcher, his position. Randy was born November 15, 1952, in Columbus, OH, when his father, Angelo Poffo, a solid star but not a superstar in wrestling, was working the Ohio territory. In recent years, Randy had spent a great deal of his time with his parents, helping take care of them. Angelo passed away last year. Angelo Poffo was best known by the wrestlers for the gimmick name he used under a mask late in his career, “The Miser.” He spent little. And he saved a lot. Every week he put something away and invested in AT&T stock, which in those days provided strong growth. In Randy’s early years, the family moved often. Lanny was born in Calgary when Angelo was working for Stu Hart, and Randy, a baby, used to play with the older Hart children. But as the kids got older, Angelo largely stayed put, living in Downers Grove, a Chicago suburb. He worked the Chicago territory mostly, sometimes Indianapolis. Angelo Poffo was a headliner in the late 50s in the area, even holding the United States Television championship, at the time one of the major titles in wrestling since it was the same belt Verne Gagne held a few years earlier as the top belt on the national show out of Chicago on the Dumont Network. There were trips to other territories. The kids even missed a year of school in 1968-69, when Angelo did a run for Ed Francis in Hawaii. During that year, Randy and Lanny did nothing but play baseball. Savage was intense and driven in everything he did. He played minor league baseball from 1971 through 1974 in the Cardinals, Cincinnati Reds and Chicago White Sox farm systems, and was once managed by noted baseball star Jimmy Piersall. He took after his father, who was a star high school baseball player as a catcher and played at DePaul University. He loved baseball for as long as anyone could remember, going to White Sox and Cubs games with his father and younger brother. Someone who played American Legion ball with him as a teenager remembered that Savage, then 140 pounds, was one of the smallest guys on the team. He remembered Randy Poffo as being soft-spoken, and just remembered him always insisting to the other kids that wrestling was real when they would ask about his father, who always attended his games. The Poffos were known among the kids as the nicest parents, but also thought to be a little eccentric. Angelo would come to the games wearing nothing but his wrestling trunks, while Judy dressed provocatively at the games by the standards of those days. Randy Poffo was inducted into the Downers Grove North High School Sports Hall of Fame in 1994. He was the team Most Valuable Player in 1970 and 1971 on teams that won the West Suburban Conference title. He was then a catcher, like his father, hitting .500 as a junior and .525 as a senior, before moving to the outfield as a minor leaguer. He attracted the attention of some major league scouts, and on the day of the high school draft, he waited by the phone. He didn’t get a call on the first day, nor the second. So he headed to St. Louis for an open tryout camp. Matysik remembered Randy being the best player at the tryout, most notably connecting with a shot that hit the outfield wall. He was the only player offered a minor league deal, being offered $500 per month to go to the Cardinals rookie league team in Florida. He played two seasons with the Gulf Coast League Sarasota Cardinals in the Rookie League. He moved to being an outfielder, and was a teammate of Larry Herndon, who had a substantial major league career. He met his second wife that season when he was 18 and she was 16. “I have memories of him as a great teammate and a great man,” Herndon told ESPN. “He was a purehearted individual. He really cared a lot about others.” He hit .286 as a backup outfielder with two home runs in 35 games in 1971. In 1972, he hit .274 with three home runs in 52 games as a starting outfielder on the same team, where he made the Gulf Coast League All-Star team. Players remember him exercising endlessly. Jethro Mills, a pitcher on the team, remembered Poffo would wake up every morning and do 1,500 sit-ups. The team was renamed the Redbirds in 1973, and he played 25 games for them, and was hitting .344 when he was moved up to the Class A Orangeburg Cardinals, managed by Piersall, where he hit .250 with two home runs in 46 games as a sometimes starter. He separated his right shoulder after a collision with a catcher at home plate. It was disastrous, because the only aspect of his game that was considered of major league caliber was his throwing arm. Poffo and girlfriend Lynn Boyd split up when he was called up to Orangeburg. They somehow found each other 35 years later, and got married on May 10, 2010. Randy Savage, after his first marriage to Hulette broke up, was always dating younger women, most notably stripper Stephanie Bellars, known as Gorgeous George in WCW and George Frankenstein later on the stripping circuit. Savage was a recluse from almost everyone, never being seen or photographed. He looked so different that when Bret Hart and Chris Jericho had a conversation with him at the funeral of mutual friend Brian “Crush” Adams in 2007, neither Hart nor Jericho immediately knew who this gray-haired guy was standing next to them and talking like he knew them. Whether allowing himself to go gray and marrying a woman who was his own age was a sign that he was no longer in a mid-life crisis, which was the joke always said behind his back in the WCW days, or an attempt to somehow transform back to the innocence of something that represented his teenage years and chasing his childhood dream playing baseball. The injury left him unable to throw with any force with his right arm. While in junior high school, one year when Savage thought he was going to be a pitcher, he spent several months teaching himself to throw left handed. He believed at the time that his future was not as a pitcher, but didn’t want to ruin his prize arm young, so figured he’d pitch left handed to save his right arm when he’d need it in the big leagues. He essentially taught himself to be ambidextrous. That came in handy after the injury, as Savage spent the fall and winter of 1973, hour after hour, re-teaching himself to throw left handed in an attempt to continue his career. But he was cut by the Cardinals after his shoulder injury, but was signed by the Reds and sent to their Class A farm team, the Tampa Tarpons of the Florida State League, where he played both outfield and first base, but was mostly a designated hitter. But he only hit .232 with nine home runs, and was cut by the Reds after the season. He signed with the White Sox, but ended up being cut before the 1975 season, and went full-time into pro wrestling. He had started his wrestling career to make money during the baseball off season, working usually as The Spider, under a mask, just in case someone from the Cardinals organization would discover him appearing on television and recognize him as Randy Poffo. “My thoughts about Randy are different,” said Ric Flair. “I think he was such a competitive guy. Randy had a really hard time relaxing and I feel bad. I think about the times I used to say to him, "Hey, man, just calm down and don’t worry about this and this, whatever happens is going to happen.’ If you go to sleep at night worry about what’s going to happen the next day, it’s just too hard.” “I never had personal differences with him, nothing about lifestyle. It was just about business and it doesn’t stop my opinion, he always did favors for me. He came in and opened some of my Gold’s Gyms. We were great friends. He and I clashed in business but outside of the ring, we were great. He could drink beer and have a good time. And I made him laugh and helped him take his mind off things that bothered him. We got along great and had a lot of fun together. “I used to say to him all the time, he probably died with $300 million in the bank, I’m being facetious, but Randy was very thrifty. He used to say to me all the time, because he would stay at hotels that were less cost effective than where I stayed, you can criticize it all you want but I’m going to enjoy the moment because you never know. The irony is that Randy was only 58 years old. That’s sad because I guarantee you he’s got enough money to live 200 more years. “He worked very hard to earn it. He deserved it. But I always used to say to him, `Man, you live for the day.’ Today’s another example of why you have to live for today. You never know.” During the Monday Night Wars period, McMahon often said he would welcome Savage back, but would never welcome Hogan back. Savage, along with Sting and Ric Flair, and later Bill Goldberg were consistently the biggest ratings movers for WCW during the Monday Night Wars, with Savage averaging moving quarter hour ratings 0.3 to 0.4 points per appearance. But after WCW folded in 2001, McMahon for the past decade had refused to listen to any ideas regarding bringing Savage back, even for guest appearance roles that didn’t require him wrestling, even though a short-term Savage return would have strong nostalgia value. All sorts of rumors spread about why McMahon, who brought back men who had sued him and tried to bury the company, was adamant about never doing business with Savage. Whatever the reason, it regarded a change of mind by McMahon after the heat of the Monday Night Wars was over and not dating back to Savage leaving the company in 1994. Savage, along with Bruno Sammartino, who had refused induction, remain arguably the two biggest stars in company history that McMahon never put into his Hall of Fame. “I don’t know why Savage isn’t in,” said Jericho. “He deserves it more than anyone. Maybe not more than Bruno, but more than Backlund. He carried that company from WrestleMania V to WrestleMania VII or VIII. You don’t realize until he’s gone how amazing he is. He is to me one of the top five total packages of all-time. For my personal taste, Bret, Shawn, Flair and Savage. Austin was not as good. He was better than Rock, too.” Few know it, but after Rock retired in 2004, the two names he said he wanted to work with at WrestleMania in 2005 before he had the contract situation fall through with WWE were Sting and Savage, although by that time, Savage really wasn’t a viable option. Bret Hart remembered when Savage left for WCW, the wrestlers were all told how Savage had called Vince, drunk, at 6 a.m., and started yelling at him. He remembered when he got to WCW, asking Savage about it, and Savage was stunned, saying nothing like that ever happened. Others said McMahon felt Savage was too old to be in his old top position, and had to focus on younger talent. While this had nothing to do with him not being invited back, there was bitterness of Savage taking the WCW offer without at least coming to Vince and asking for a counter offer. Savage may have been Hulk Hogan’s all-time best opponent, when Hogan got into WCW, he made the play to bring Savage in. Savage had tried to ambush Hogan a year earlier on a radio interview. Hogan was invited on the Jim Ross WWF radio show, and the idea was Savage, who hated Hogan because of his role in Elizabeth divorcing him, would bury him for among other things ironically enough, lying about steroid use, but Hogan decided against doing the show. Savage still went on and buried Hogan. But Hogan was always about business, and in the long ups and downs between Hogan and Savage, Savage was able to look past whatever his personal feelings may have been if it was the best way to make money. With WCW, he was offered more money, and a chance to be the headliner that in his mind, he felt he should have still been. WCW made at least one earlier play for Savage, in 1991. Matysik remembers a discussion he had with Savage and Elizabeth that year, where Savage was talking about wanting to stay in WCW, while it was, surprisingly enough, Elizabeth who said this was a business and you go to whoever makes you the best offer. It ended up being a moot point, because in his meeting with WCW, they offered him significantly less than he was earning in WWF at the time. While Randy Savage and Elizabeth were a television fairy-tale relationship, and a part of 80s pop culture, real life was often very different. The two met when he was 26 or 27, and she was 19. Hulette, from Frankfort, KY, was a teenage wrestling fan who developed a crush on Savage, who was billed as the ICW world heavyweight champion for his father’s promotion based out of Lexington. She grew up without a father, and according to friends of hers, seemed drawn to controlling men. While nobody who knew her had anything negative to say about her personally, it was noted that if her real life story was ever told, it would make for a fascinating television movie. But the friend who she confided with felt out of respect for her memory she didn’t want to elaborate. Randy at the time was dating woman wrestler Debbie Szotecki (second generation woman wrestler Debbie Combs). As the story goes, when he first met her, she was heavy. Feeling she needed to lose weight to get him, she went on a strict diet, became a knockout and the two hooked up. In such a small operation, she quickly became part of the family business. She would sell programs at the shows and help out doing office work. By 1983, she was the pretty face appearing in front of he camera who hosted the television show and introduced the video clips. They were married on December 30, 1984. But she was always with him, traveling to all the shows well before that. In 1985, while working for Jerry Jarrett in Memphis, Savage got a call from Jimmy Hart telling him the WWF was interested as booker George Scott had seen a tape of Savage, and wanted to bring him in for a major run as an opponent for Hogan. Hart didn’t have Savage’s number, but called the TV studio on a Saturday morning when they were taping. Guy Coffey answered the phone, and Hart asked if he could talk with Savage. Given that there was a promotional war going on, and Coffey worked for Jerry Jarrett, Hart had to make up a story and say that he knew someone who wanted to buy $500 worth of Amway products, since Coffey knew Savage was selling Amway on the side at that time. Hart then told Savage that WWF was interested, and Savage went into the parking lot to talk. Even though Savage was among the most talented men in the business, and had been since the late 70s, because of him spending so many years as an “outlaw,” which was what wrestlers and promoters who worked against the establishment at the time were called, he had never made big money. At first there was a concern that Savage was too small, then 6-1 and 220 pounds, to get over as an opponent for Hogan, who the feeling was needed big powerful heels to work with. He got a little bigger leaving Memphis with the bigger paychecks, but was probably never more than 230-235 pounds in that era. But he became Hogan’s all-time greatest long-term drawing opponent. Vince McMahon asked around to a number of people that knew Savage, because only a few years earlier Savage had a terrible reputation in the business among mainstream promoters due to the antics in those ICW years, most notably the physical threats made against the Jarrett wrestlers both on television and in person at live events. Savage had long since apologized and been involved in a lucrative program with Lawler, then turned babyface and teamed with Lawler, and then turned on him again. “When Howard Finkel, Vince’s right-hand man called me and asked me what I thought of him, I told Howard to tell Vince that Savage would set the WWF on fire, which he did,” said Jeff Walton, who managed Savage using the name Tux Newman, in Tennessee in 1985 before Savage signed with WWF. Matysik remembered McMahon calling him and asking him about Savage, and Matysik, who used Savage when he ran opposition to the St. Louis Wrestling Club in 1983, gave similar reviews. McMahon later asked him what he thought of Elizabeth, as he was considering making her his manager, but wanted to know what she was like, because he said he didn’t want a woman around the dressing room every night who would cause drama or sleep around with the other boys. Elizabeth would sit with Matysik’s wife, Pat, a high school teacher, at the shows when Savage worked in St. Louis, and she described her at the time as being like one of the popular seniors in her class. Elizabeth was not necessarily the only choice for the role. The word going around wrestling in 1985 was that George Scott, who was then the booker for WWF, was looking for a beautiful woman to manage the Macho Man. The role was not described as being the one it turned out to be. A few women, including Missy Hyatt, who was at the time not yet in the business, sent in photos, and she remembered she did get a call from either Scott or Lanny Poffo about it, but never a follow-up. But when David Manning heard that WWF was interested in her, he hired her in World Class. “It just dawned on me a few minutes ago, I owe my whole wrestling career in some manner to Randy Savage,” said Hyatt a few hours after his death. McMahon went with Hulette, who became for the next few years, the biggest female star wrestling ever had. It was like a typical movie, the kind-hearted good girl, Elizabeth was the portrayal of the homecoming queen, or movie princess, who was nice to everyone, even if they weren’t popular, with the idea of her always being nice to the neanderthal like George “The Animal” Steele, who Randy would pick on. He finally went good. But then he went bad again, blaming her and they split up. One day, when he was down on his luck, she reappeared. They got married. But instead of two hours, this played out over six years, so was far more memorable. But it wasn’t a fairy tale, and didn’t have a happy ending. At the time, all the major WWF heels had managers. To set Savage apart as being special, they did an angle where all of the managers in the promotion were scouting him and bidding for his services.
2015.02.01 00:31 M59GarAm I the only one that sees that the Moon is on fire? [Final Update]
Part 1 Part 2 I never knew how hard it would be to set up a resistance movement. You can't trust anyone… at all. I wished I'd had more time to watch spy movies. We had to come up with tactics on our own, especially because we didn't have the same test that the Changed had. Eight is four. They could force someone to look up at the Moon, and then assume that person had become theirs. They didn't know that they could be wrong, and that those of us with mental issues were instead made whole by the conflicting energies in our skulls, but rumors were beginning to circulate to that effect. And, for us, even if a person was free and sound of mind, that didn't mean they wouldn't defect out of self-interest, like Donald had. I'd resented him at first, but he'd taught me a valuable lesson. I've never met my co-conspirators. We can't meet. I can't be sure they're on my side, and they can't be sure I'm on their side. I don't even know how many of us there are. All I know is that we've been passing messages through ridiculously elaborate methods, or anonymously online, and I'm getting some sense of what's happening in the world at large. That's the weird part: life is going on as normal. Farmers are farming, cab drivers are driving, office employees are lounging around talking and taking smoke breaks every hour… the only difference is that any talk of religion has been replaced by praises of the Dreamer On High, and the world lies excited for the coming event. Some believe it will be a Rapture, and some believe the Dreamer will simply come in person and rule over us for all time. Me? I'm using my newfound clarity and solid sense of reality to work my way up the ranks of trust. I feel smart and capable in a way I've never been. Is this what normal people feel like all the time? I understand now that individual motivations have not changed. Will still thinks he's helping me, in his own way. He thought tricking me out of the house and forcing me to accept Him was saving me from the life of a homeless and mentally deficient outcast. He wasn't wrong, I suppose. He continues to pursue relationships with higher-ups, and he continues to try to get us deeper in and trusted more. "We're going to be His prime disciples," Will says often, excited and determined. "Brother, I always said I'd take care of you. You and Laura… and Dad, too… we're gonna be at the top of the food chain when the new order comes. We'll be taken care of." I would nod and smile, but secretly think: tell that to our step-mom. Minutes are hours. It's funny that we all started out paranoid and suspicious of the Changed, and now the Changed are paranoid and suspicious of us. Or is it sad, rather than funny? That the free human race is now the fringe? They had a funeral and buried Tracy in the cemetery and everything. Dad stayed sober for two whole days, and cried publicly at the reception. You killed her, you psychopath, I remember thinking to myself. But he didn't feel guilty about it, since it had to be done, son. The doublethink the Change engenders brings hypocrisy. You want what you want for your own life, but service to the Dreamer On High takes precedent over all of your desires, no matter how strong. That's why I know that I can't trust anyone, not even my own family. They wouldn't hesitate to murder me, and passersby would cheer the silencing of another heretic. That's the crazy thing: I remember people acting this way before. This isn't new to humanity. Suspected heretics are the new second-class citizens, the new victims of the witch-hunt. Different race? Different ideology? Different religion? Now it was down to simply having a different mind. It's insane how scared they are of anyone who might not share their fanaticism. I got a look at what their plan is. Yellow is blue. I understand, now, why their plan will actually work. They have, among them, members of the cult that I'd thought I'd imagined. They're called brownshirts, now, because of their distinctively plain manner of dress, and they're among the top priests of the Order. They've got abilities that I can't explain. They can sense electromagnetic waves of all sorts, and they hate computers and robotics of any kind. I don't know who they are, but I get the strangest sense that they're not human. They look completely human, and they eat, breathe, and walk around, but the way they talk and move and peer at things is just… wrong somehow, like somebody who never learned to be a person. Which is unfortunate, because I need to get into contact with at least one of them. If anyone out there knows a brownshirt that hasn't been Changed, I need to meet them. Leave a note at Location Yellow in eight minutes from the time of this post. The meeting went well. There are two Free brownshirts still alive and present. From what they said, the rest of the Free fled southeast, over the mountains, and… to another universe, if you can believe that. They're so strange, I kind of accept it when they say it so calmly. I also accept it because of what I've seen the Changed building in the center of the city. Why Columbus, Ohio? This, I wondered often. The answer turned out to be very simple: they're building the altar here because this is where the brownshirts were, and are. My hunch had been right. The two said they'd remained behind to try to save what members of their kind they could. They claimed to be from elsewhere, and that they were on an exodus to a place of safety, a place where they hoped old alliances were still in place. They would not elaborate. But they did say that they would help. We have our first real allies now. They swore their assistance when I told them what I'd seen: a gigantic altar being built in front of the city capitol building. The base was mostly in place, but the rest seemed to involve strange biomechanical artifice, and… a row of brownshirts, chained and integrated to the machine. They were aware, and happy to be of service, save one. One remained Free, perhaps due to the same effect that kept me so, and his face and arms were battered and bloody from torture. It's a week until Christmas, and, somehow, I feel like it will be humanity's Last Day. The irony is not lost on me: a holiday tale about the birth of a religious savior will, in some twisted sense, be made true. Get ready, everyone. If the plan we've built together doesn't work, it's going to get bloody. They caught somebody skulking about the high rises downtown. They know for certain that we exist now, and they know why we exist, because he was an escaped mental patient. I've come under intense scrutiny, but Will has been protecting me. I fear that they will force me to undertake some act of loyalty to prove I'm not a heretic. They've been keeping Laura close. I have a feeling they're going to ask me to kill her. She and I haven't been close since my illness started, but that's just one more reason I don't think I can bring myself to do it. She's still my sister. But the entire world's on the line… I've been watched and followed recently. Updates and communication are going to get sparse. Stick to the plan, everyone. Two days remain. The altar construction seems right on schedule. God, it's not going to work! I don't think even half of you will get this message in time, but it's not going to work! My brownshirt allies sensed it first, and, then, an observatory contact of mine confirmed it - not that the holy news isn't spreading among the Changed like wildfire. There are five more objects on the way, coming in at near-light-speed. They'll be in here in a day and a half, roughly, same as the first took from detection to arrival. God, we've nearly lost it all to just one. It sits up there, mocking us, brainwashing us, and now five more are coming? This can't be a coincidence. The timing is too neat. A day and a half to Christmas; a day and a half to the ritual; a day and a half to the arrival of five more apocalyptic near-luminous objects. Will they hit Earth? If so, we'll never know, because we'll all be dead. Perhaps the Moon saved us the first time… but if these five also hit the Moon, the threat of the Dreamer On High will grow sixfold. What are these godforsaken things? Seeds? Embryos? Brain matrices, portals, what? I can only imagine, and theorizing is pointless. If we don't stop this before they arrive, we lose. We lose everything. We have to move up the plan. We have to strike now. But it won't work unless everyone's on board… we're in a serious bind here. Spread the word: we have to strike at the alternate time we discussed from the beginning. It's hard for me to think back on it all. Quite a few of you have asked me to detail exactly what happened on that day. Now that January is over, and a month has passed, I think I can face it. News and understanding has been fragmented, obviously, but I do think I can paint a clear picture. As you know, our plan didn't work. It was a really good try, but we were amateurs, and half of us were spies and defectors. It did help that absolute chaos broke out at the proper time. I went there on Christmas morning, to the city center. Tens of thousands had gathered to see the Coming of the Dreamer On High. My two brownshirt allies stood with me, wearing the normal clothes I'd found for them. I'd trained them on how to act, and we'd worked together to mask our feel, because they said their kin could sense them otherwise. Will thought they were just two friends of mine. He was thrilled to see me making friends. Will was the High Priest's assistant by then, but that old man didn't trust me very much. I had to stand a bit away from the altar, in the dense crowd, while the High Priest began giving a speech to thunderous cheers and applause. The weird thing is - weird in many ways, as it turned out - was that the altar was already active. They'd built it and completed the first parts of the ritual the night before. A gigantic oval lay torn in space in the middle of it, kept open by the row of chained brownshirts. It was a portal; an honest-to-God portal in space. That's not the weird part, though: my two allies whispered that it shouldn't be able to do what it was doing. It wasn't just a portal in space. Among the random flitting locations on Earth it displayed, I recognized some as very ancient… but bustling with life. It was showing other times, too. I saw a tribe of cavemen. I saw the Colossus of Rhodes. I saw the crowd, our crowd, then and there, from behind. Many of the sea of people waved at themselves for a few moments, laughing and cheering. That should have been impossible, my allies told me. The configuration of the altar was not just augmenting and focusing the abilities of the brownshirts, it was fracturing spacetime, too. Whatever might have intended to use that portal, they said, it was something extraordinarily dangerous. They couldn't emphasize it enough: there was dangerous, like a gun; really dangerous, like a nuclear bomb; extremely dangerous, like a universe-eating swarm of machines, and then… whatever this was. It was worse… worse than all that. They couldn't even hazard a guess as to what it might be. But it didn't make sense to me. The Dreamer On High was on the Moon. That much had to be true. The object had hit, the Moon had gone molten - and remained molten, so massive as it was, casting lurid orange over my Free senses and the crowds and high rises around me - and then, the Dreamer On High had begun His insidious work. He was already here. He didn't need a portal strong enough to fracture spacetime. He was already here… He was just stuck on the Moon. And now, five more somethings were coming to reinforce his power. So what was this portal for? I understood the gravity of our errors the moment I saw Him. A black-robed figure moved through the crowd, parting disciples like waves. A hood covered his face, but I knew who it was the moment I saw him. He walked slowly up to the altar and faced his High Priest. My brother Will stood to the side, among many helpers and assistants, each dressed in flowing purple and gold. Next to them, and in many strategic places, stood brutish men with guns. We'd had provisions in our plan to handle the men with guns, but that plan was on thin ice, now. The Dreamer On High was already here. They'd summoned him the night before. They'd brought him to Earth somehow… the night before… We'd been tricked. We'd been outsmarted. They hadn't cared about the holiday at all. They'd just used it to subtly dupe us! He moved past me, close enough to almost touch. I thought, in my mind, that I should pull my knife, leap forward, and slice his throat… but chill waves kept me frozen in place. My two brownshirt allies looked away, lest he sense them. Had that been my chance? I began feeling my limbs again as he stepped up onto the altar. At that moment, the crowd murmured, and I turned to look with the rest of humanity. A single man ran down the empty wake left by the Dreamer's passing. He looked wild and half-homeless, but desperate… the men with guns hefted their weapons and began to aim, but they were too late to stop his simple attempt. He hurled a book at the portal. That was all. With twenty thousand other pairs of eyes, I watched it sail through the air. It wasn't a fiction book. It had no image on the cover. It must have been a journal. It looked like it was about to fall short, but the effect was an optical illusion. It curved up a bit in the roiling air and sailed into the vast portal. The moment it passed through, the portal flashed into a dozen fractured images of other, similar books sailing through the air. Behind them, we could all plainly see other individual men and women in other crowds completing throws in the midst of vast crowds. In each alternate version of our own scene, a Dreamer stood, black-robed, calm, and unmoving. Instead of shooting him outright, the armed thugs grabbed the lone man and brought him to the ground. Whoever he was, the lone man screamed for help, half in gibberish… and no one helped him. How could they? To do so would mean death. "That's what it's for," one of my brownshirt allies whispered. "He's accessing a different vector than we expected. He's not trying to access alternate Earths in the parallel reality sense. He's trying to access different quantum choice trees of this universe." "What?" I asked fiercely, sort of grasping what he was talking about. He moved a little closer to speak without being heard by the crowd pressed against us. "This could have happened a thousand different ways. We could have come to other cities. A different man or woman could have thrown that book. That's what you're seeing: all the other presents and futures of these events." I kept my expression positive despite my intense worry about what he was describing. We hadn't understood or planned for any of this. "Why?" Silence. A blasting tidal wave of utter quiet tore across the city center. As one, humanity froze. The Dreamer turned to face us. A vast darkness comes. A cheer began swelling. Silence. The chill voice, as if someone were whispering directly into our minds, brought absolute stillness. I can sense that not all of you love me. I can feel your minds. I can feel your hatred. I gulped, and kept my thoughts positive. Each of my two allies clutched one of my arms, and helped hide us from the probing energies I felt roving around the air. I speak to you now, non-believers. A great darkness is coming. I have always been here, watching you from just outside the walls. Security is illusion. Safety is a self-imposed tomb. I reeled under the icy cold of his words in my thoughts, until something occurred to me: why was he speaking to us at all? He would only address us in this manner if we were threats… if we actually stood a chance… The portal's destinations were starting to slow down, going from rapid randomness to slowing coherence, almost as if a spinning wheel was losing momentum as someone applied the brakes. I could see the chained brownshirts focusing… and a thug near the one Free brownshirt applied a shocking prod to him to force him to comply, too. If the Dreamer was addressing us at all, then we actually stood a chance. I lifted the flare gun I'd hidden under my shirt, wondering if it might be the last act I ever took. I pulled the trigger, and an orange flare shot up, burning the color of the molten sky. As I said, absolute chaos did break out at the proper time. Two of the armed men were with us, it turned out. They rotated in place and immediately shot several of their fellows in the back. The crowd around us surged intensely, and fighting broke out all around. Nobody knew who the enemy was; Changed or Free, everyone suspected everyone else. It was as we'd expected, but I hadn't anticipated the sheer violence. Blood sprayed through the air as friend murdered friend; as family murdered family. A concerted push aimed for the altar plateau - our plan, actually taking shape. A knot of men, women, and even teenagers that I'd never seen before surrounded us, and we punched, sliced, and kicked our way to the staging area while five blue stars grew brighter in the sky - the approaching objects, blueshifted by their sheer speed. The goal wasn't to get me to the portal - it was to get our two allies close. Together, the two Free brownshirts stared at the portal, and the space around it trembled from the interference. Somehow, though, it was me that the Dreamer turned to face. Stop. The command was inviolable, and I froze as ordinary men and women massacred each other in a circle around the two of us. Order them to stop. I'd never felt pain like that, and I can still remember it vividly: the two rooms in my mind began cracking, as if their foundation was shifting. I remember shaking, and seeing my vision brim crimson as… blood began welling out of my eyes. Behind the Dreamer, Will pushed his way through the fighting and reached me. "Stop hurting him!" he shouted - and the black-robed figure turned his attention on my brother instead. That freed me, and I stumbled forward, through misty red, lurid orange, and growing blue, to feebly try to tackle the Dreamer On High. I fell right through him. Fool. "The portal," I breathed, writhing on flat metal. "How can you use it if you're not here?" It's not for me. It's for you… all of you. I am your savior. There is a chain of events in which the human race survives the coming darkness. There is one future in which you escape the crushing forces that approach. You will come to that land of plenty and be safe there… under me. The Dreamer stood in place and looked up at the molten orange sphere hanging low above us. He lowered his hooded head as five streaks of vivid blue rapidly sliced across the sky. I turned my head as blinding white and orange exploded above. Even that wasn't enough as successive impacts followed, and the sea of people fighting one another fell in waves against the sheer brightness. The ground trembled beneath us, and incredible winds began pouring through the channels between the high rises. Many began running without prompting, and the rest organized an evacuation. I helped unchain the brownshirts, all now Free, and we ran. The Dreamer was gone, the portal was gone… and, as you all know, so was the Moon. A ring of molten rock arcs through the sky now, lighting each day and each night until it cools. The remains of the Dreamer On High are up there, too… gobs of unidentifiable organic mass that many say looks like brain matter. I believe it. Thing is, we never understood what we were facing: the Dreamer hadn't come with that first object. It had always been there. It had, in all likelihood, formed the Moon by its arrival. That's why we have - well, had - two Moons, and why one has always been so different from the other. The other Moon lurks still beyond the molten ring, glimmering with reflected orange. I don't like that sight at all. Not one bit. I still feel watched. It'll go back to staying beneath my horizon for three months soon, like it was from October to December, and I can't wait for that reprieve. Let the southern hemisphere take a turn feeling creeped out. Some unknown power shot those objects at us eons ago, some power unrelated to the Dreamer. That's what we figure, now, and I'm sure you've all heard the theories. The first object was a calibration test, possibly, and failed to kill the Dreamer On High. The next five were right on target, and completely obliterated the Moon just to make sure. Whoever had fired those objects hadn't been trying to kill us. They'd been trying to save us. Had they suffered at the hands of the Dreamer On High, or something like it? Had this incredible gift been their final act? Scientists turned their telescopes toward the origin point, but there was nothing left there now… that star had gone nova when Earth was in its infancy. Whoever they'd been, they'd saved us without a word, and without a single thank you. Still, we thanked them, the world over. But I can't help feeling like we're not safe. The words the Dreamer spoke to me - and to nobody else - linger with me. Was it actually, in its own twisted way, trying to save us from something worse? The brownshirts have moved on, but they left me and the other members of the resistance they trusted with a few concerns. First, if they can find the rest of their people - the ones that moved on - and if they can find the old allies they spoke of, they'll come back for us to make sure we're alright. Second, they left us with a small metallic chip, one of several they had, that will show us the way to some sort of safe haven if they never manage to return. The chip is very old, and I'm not sure how to use it, but I'm certain we'll figure it out if the coming darkness turns out to be real… And, finally… now this was the odd one… they warned that someone or something was hunting them. They didn't know who or what it was, only that they sensed it on their trail, and it had already passed through here following the rest of their kind. There was no guarantee the hunter would not return. They requested: if anyone came through here asking about them, lie. Gladly, I told them. That is why I give no specific descriptions in my tale here. I don't want the hunter to know what they look like. As far as anyone else is concerned, they're just slightly odd humans. Me, I'm procrastinating. I have to go visit Will's grave with Laura today. Dad can't go, of course, because he drinks even more than before this all happened - before he killed Tracy, the only woman who put up with him. It's just me and my sister now, and I'm left in Will's place to take care of the tattered remains of our family. On the bright side, I don't need pills anymore. The Dreamer permanently gave me wholeness of mind, even as it took away my older brother. He died there on that altar, taking the Dreamer's attack in my place. He died there a hero, along with the thousands of others who didn't survive Christmas day. And the human race recovers from their shared hangover together, with me as a new member. I've got a strong handle on myself now, and a new confidence born of everything I went through. I'm even going on a second date with Ashley in a few days, and, this time, I think I won't screw it up. Silver linings, I suppose… Yeah, I'm finally a functioning member of the human race, alright. Only, I'm not sure I like this club. I can't help but dwell on the statistics that came out last week. According to the surveys and studies done after the fact, only eighteen percent of the population truly came under the Dreamer's control. Eighteen percent. That's how many people were one hundred percent brainwashed. That's how many human beings have completely whole minds. It was like a grand social experiment, the lead scientist said on TV. Only eighteen percent. The rest were partially controlled, or totally free. The rest simply fell in line out of fear, self-preservation, and paranoia. That's the thing: like so many eras in human history, nobody knew who was who. Nobody knew who to trust. Lines of communication were controlled by key members of the Changed, and neighbors were turned against one another in classic fashion. I can't shake the dark despair that such news leaves in me. The Dreamer had no power - except what we gave it. The end... Follow more stories like this here
Other than cancelling and calling back to start new service, not really.
You can get reduced pricing (which sometimes is cheaper than new customer pricing, it depends on time of year and region) by calling and speaking to the Retention team. They basically have retention codes (we call bundle codes 'campaigns') that have lower pricing than "retail value" or rate card price.
Example: You sign up for a 12-month bundle price of 79.99 and after the 12 months it goes up to 120.95, or whatever. Usually retention will have something like 99.99 or whatever, depending on fluctuating market prices. The key is to call whenever your pricing plan is up so you're not paying retail price, because retail pricing is absurd.
Honestly I disliked the planned merger with Comcast (which was being talked about back in OctobeNovember), along with the whole Net Neutrality situation. That is really one of the only things I disliked, because aside from that it was a great company to work for and my division particularly cared about customers and treating employees well.
Well, for the most part if you're fairly tech savvy, do all the in-home troubleshooting yourself. It very much depends on what your issue is. Reseat all your cabling, reboot/factory reset and reconfigure all your equipment and possibly even check your modem settings.
Most of the time that clears up 60-75% of all inbound customer calls. The more complex stuff is like detecting EMF interference affecting wifi, replacing coax wiring in home, or outside work that needs to be done by a tech.
There's so many things that can go wrong with this technology its really hard to give one clear cut answer, lol.
There's a specialized tool that can detect it, to my knowledge, but that's customer premise issues, because if your power outlets or inside wiring are affecting your wifi or internal coax (which can happen from time to time), then its your problem, not TWC's.
Depends on what modem you have, 192.168.(0 or 1).1 works for the modem/router combos, but most of them have a login IP written on them on the sticker. You might have to call and ask for the login IP and password as well. Motorolas are 192.168.0.1 - admin/motorola as default.
Well first and foremost, data streams should not be treated differently based on where the data originates or is destined to go. This opens up a big bad can of worms in terms of small start-ups and will absolutely demolish free market competition (such as it is in this company). Time Warner Cable, as a business, treats data as a commodity (which is okay for now), but eventually they need to change the idea that bandwidth is precious into something more fruitful for our economy and consumer base, because right now the current methodology is hurting consumers in the long run.
Because eventually with the current mindset, the Internet will cease to be something that fosters innovation and competition, and will be something like this. You'll notice it resembles a shitty free-to-play game. That kind of stuff is damaging to the integrity of the internet as a global source of information and innovation. When you put caps on the amount of data someone can consume, you're putting caps on the amount of information they can consume, which is a dangerous thing to do.
I had health/vision/dental insurance through them as well as term life. Beyond that, a few discounts from certain retailers locally and with Verizon Wireless (was only able to get it after I became a supervisor and had a @teleperformance.com email address).
Probably not exactly, but if you call into Retention, they can give you something pretty similar. For example, most of the time Standard is $34.95/month or around there, then goes up to $54.95 without the campaign (discount) code. If you talk to Retention and tell them you are thinking about switching when your price goes up, they might be able to get you a campaign for like $39.99 or something along those lines.
I loved my job. Unfortunately I had to leave because my attendance got fucked over due to my car getting repo'd and by the time I got a new one I was pretty much screwed.
My supervisor was awesome, he hand-picked me for the Insight acquisition project. He was a pretty cool guy. The other supervisors were all helpful and knowledgeable and very hands on.
As for goals, I pretty much never needed pushing because I scored a 3.75/4 on my scorecard every month. They pushed for Customer Satisfaction scores, lowering Customer Repeat Rate, and Sales when we could get them. But most of the focus was CSat and CRR.
Yeah it really sucked. Ran into some financial issues and my loan company refused to work with me anymore on my car loan. I probably could have played it better, but...you live and learn I guess. Hopefully in a year or so I can go back to TWC and get my job back. My supervisor loved me, so I can hope that they rehire me (although I was told it was extremely rare to rehire someone who had attendance issues).
I ended up resigning to avoid termination, because one slip-up in the future would have ended up with me getting fired. Their attendance policies are harsh, yes, but that's because Call Centers are notorious for their turnover rate.
This is true but if they did that a lot of people would abuse the system, leading to high truancy rates, which means customers suffer longer queue times, meaning more customers ditch the company, which means lower profit margins, which results in cutting jobs, etc etc etc.
Yes and no. Yes because they can absolutely increase speeds without too much work.
That being said, they did that at a decent loss to their bottom line, as an effort to retain customers in an area with an insanely strong new competitor emerging. So also no, because without the competition from other providers, the whole industry stagnates (which is what is happening now.)
Honestly, I have a high school diploma and that's pretty much it. Before going to TWC I worked for an outsourced call center taking calls for Verizon FiOS and was a supervisor there. Totaled about 4 years before moving to TWC.
I would say find a call center locally, get some experience with that (especially if its tech support), keep learning stuff on your own, maybe take A+/Network+ certs. Then apply to TWC. You'll probably get hired on the spot.
I definitely recommend buying your own because its generally gonna be a used modem that's been through hell and back you're renting.
As for the download speeds, if you're running speedtests and getting bad results direct through the modem, and/or seeing dropped packets or bad packet latency, call into customer service and ask to talk to Tier 3...should be able to get it fixed.
Multiple reasons, that I will try my best to explain my opinion on.
First, you have the increase of prices coming from places like NBC, CBS, FOX, etc to distribute their content. These companies often will negotiate higher prices for their content, or TWC will lose them (for example, the CBS debacle that happened last year.) While these price increases are not necessarily extreme, TWC has about 100 different channel providers they are constantly at war with regarding contract pricing. This means that whenever a producer wins a contract negotiation, other producers will try to do the same.
Secondly, TWC is always expanding infrastructure and moving into new markets, or attempting to push new value into current markets. This doesn't necessarily create the need to increase prices, but coupled with the first point it means that ultimately their revenue stream is diminished nonetheless, which means annual/biannual price increases helps recoup this loss.
Finally, the value of the dollar also impacts, although to a much lesser extent. Dollars are frankly worth less than they were a year ago, despite the fact that wages don't go up to match. This happens with every commodity, and is less a TWC problem and more on par with the government.
These are just some of my opinions on why the prices increase, and I don't necessarily justify some of their price increases.
Well I would occasionally see Midwest region execs and most of them were pretty cool. They generally felt that we provided a good service to the majority of our consumers (which, for the most part, we do). The ones in charge of my division (Tier 3) always pushed us to take care of customers to the ends of the earth. I didn't have a ton of interaction with the high-level management like former CEO Glenn Britt/etc, outside of maybe a walkthrough of my building. I worked in the Midwest HQ, not the overall company HQ.
I can say that they are very concerned about losing customers and losing the war on cable, which is why TWC is pushing On Demand so much.
Personally, I know they make some bad decisions overall but I don't think they're intentionally trying to screw customers. It just happens sometimes in business, and it should definitely be mitigated as best as possible. But with such a big consumer base, you're bound to piss a lot of people off.
That being said, I absolutely disagree with the way they treat Net Neutrality, and the like.
Honestly, not sure. I know the fiber is the backbone of most of our structure up to the CMTS and hubs, but honestly FTTP (fiber to the premises) is pretty much a long way off for most cable companies because coax is cheaper and effective enough for them to use up to 100+mbps.
OnDemand might be a great thing in the near future. Stuff like Netflix and Hulu, etc. TWC is still in the baby steps of OnDemand for the most part, and right now charging redbox prices aren't feasible in part due to the fact that the rights to distribute OD content are insane. But I see a future possibility where TWC has an OnDemand system similar to Netflix, maybe a little more pricey but less than what you currently pay for cable, with almost as many options.
Sometimes yes, sometimes no. A lot of times the modems we provide are used and can sometimes be beat to hell. So in a lot of cases, buying one is the best option. However, I've seen a lot of new bought modems that don't work well on our network. Almost a coin flip, tbh.
IPv6 compatibility was still in the testing phase when I was there. I know the ability exists for v6 capability, but I have no idea when they're going to fully implement full compatibility. Hopefully soon.
Yep. We sent tickets to the GNOC or engineers if we couldn't fix something and it wasn't able to be fixed by on-site techs. Usually we would create the ticket and monitor it and when the plant engineer or GNOC sent it back we would call the customer back to test resolution.
Ask to talk to Tier 3, because you're probably talking to T2. Also, if 3 techs come out in a 30-day period, a ticket is escalated to Tech Ops/corporate and they will usually be able to fix the issue in a very timely manner.
For the most part, you're right. They're generally small, lower-viewership channels that most people only watch because its part of their package and they just so happening to be broadcasting something they're interested in at that point of time.
But still, this means that a lot of stuff that potentially you or I like will be gone.
Someone dropped the fuckin ball. I assume you're a biz customer?
With residential at least we pretty much stayed hands-off for people wanting anything to do with a VPN, because for the most part its nothing that we handle. I knew enough about VPN support to get it working for most people, but that's something outside the regular use for residential support.
As for the IP question - honestly, no idea. Me personally my IP has changed about 3 times in the last 6 months, but I don't know what reasons they have for staying the same for so long or why they change them. Its one thing I could never figure out. Static IPs really should be available to residential customers but I guess right now its a business model to keep customers who would need a static IP on the biz platform. More money for TWC, and more specialized support for the customer who needs a static IP.
Just kidding. Tivo/Cable cards are basically the bane of our existence because even among Tier 3 and Signature Home (the group that handles the bulk of CC issues), there's not a whole lot of information or expertise. One of the worst calls would be cablecards, because the tech behind our cards was (in my opinion) crap.
Honestly, I've never heard of Maxx. Might have been something that was in a different region or wasn't put into my region until later. At the moment, the highest upload speeds available are 5 for most regions to my knowledge.
Call, usually. I say that because, while T3 does some chats, most of it is just chat escalations. Tier 2 (Philippines) did most of the chats, so you're talking to a person who has a tenuous grasp of English and might not be able to handle all your issues.
I had pretty basic equipment, because most of the tech was software-based. Hardware wise I had a new-ish Dell (i wanna say 860 or something in the 800 series) PC with two 22" monitors, 8gb ram and a 3.5ghz processor. They upgraded to 64-bit Windows 7 and upgraded to Avaya One-X. That was mostly it for hardware, nothing special. Most of the cool stuff was proprietary software, which I can't talk about :)
We were out to dinner one time when I was visiting, and as we're eating dinner my grandfather starts telling a story about something or another. We had finished our meals, and for another 30+ minutes he keeps telling this story while waving his fork around with a piece of pork chop still attached to it. He still had about 2/3 of the pork chop left on his plate, too, so he obviously wasn't in a rush.
I worked at Celeryville after that in Jr. High. There were the Krugers and the people that came from Holland, and they loved that black peat ground where they could plant celery. They would pay you ten cents to plant a row, or a big bunch of celery. If I did two or three rows (an hour and a half per row), I would usually take the celery and sell it to relatives or friends (and once to Bishop Brown!) - you could get 35 cents for a bunch of celery if you marketed it right. While I was still doing Illumilite, I had two brothers and my oldest brother Paul was a machinist who knew how to run the automatic lathes. He and a couple friends bought, I think, 6 rather old Brown & Sharp single spindle lathes. They seemed to be doing good, at one point, I think after the Korean War finished, they had some bills and needed to borrow $2500. I said I don't have it to loan to you, but I'll cosign a loan at the bank. They were supposed to pay $50/month for two years or something like that, and after about 3 or 4 months I get a call from the bank and they say, "Hey, we ain't getting no payments!" I go to see what's wrong, and my one brother was in debt and he was going to have to go bankrupt. It turned out that Paul would work on Monday, but by Tuesday he would take the brass chips from the lathes down to the junk yard for scrap money, and that was enough for beer for two days so he wouldn't come back to work until Thursday, so the bills weren't getting paid. On another war the scale of WWII - "Not on this planet."
He probably would have. As it was, he ended up getting involved in some other ventures, and retirement gave him and my grandmother some time and more inclination to do things like travel the world. He has stepped foot on all seven continents.
"Well, they're gradually moving to drone warfare. Makes it a little simpler than having all of them people up in the air. Airpower is what won World War II, but it isn't the same now. It's a changing world. And with the instant replay, it's all on CNN and HLN, it's probably a less dangerous world but we learn whatever's going on so quickly we can probably reduce conflicts among big powers, but could possibly increase the number of overall conflicts."
On the Great Depression: "It probably was a healthy thing. I was fortunate to be in a family that had a small farm, a blind horse, and Uncle Milty who knew what needed to be done first. 'Get the corn in before the 10th of May!' For a young kid growing up to be able to help, Uncle Mitly couldn't see well and the horse was blind so it was my job to make sure the horse was planting the corn rows straight.
You learned how to take care of the blind horse, and then you went to town to help Uncle Milty make it home. He'd get his old age pension check, go to the penny store and buy new long underwear that he'd wear year-round, and some new farm shirts and overalls. Then he would get a haircut and a shave. Then after '33, Prohibition was over. I'd wait with the blind horse and he'd go into the saloon, and after a while I'd have to go in after him.
The blind horse knew the way home. It was brick highway #19 that went to Bucyrus, but she knew just when to get off the highway to get home. She could bring him home herself, but if he was in there too long someone else would have to get into the stall to get the harness off. Every kid should have a blind horse and an Uncle Milty to learn from."
Sorry, he's kind of in story telling mode at the moment. I've not heard some of this stuff myself, so I'm not interrupting him too much.
I gave him the question and he answered away as he saw fit. When he had a lot to say I typed as fast as I could (not fast enough) and when he didn't we moved on to the next question. It was a great way to spend an afternoon, though.
"I finished flight school at Corpus Christi, Texas, the new aviator college there. I originally trained to be a Kingfisher pilot, which would originally get duty on a cruiser or a battleship - it was a float plane, triple floats, and had been part of the Navy since the 1920's. The scuttlebutt at Corpus Christi was to take Kingfisher training, which was known as Scout Observation, and then just before graduation was to be commissioned into the Marine Corps. Supposedly, you would get sub patrol in the Carribean! Two or three of us did that, and were sent to Cherry Point, NC, where there was a Marine Air Station there. We were on our way! When we arrived and turned in our papers, they said, 'We've closed the float plane base in St. Thomas, USVI, you're going to be in a fighter squadron.' And we have some new planes, they were originally delivered to the Navy for carrier duty but it had too many problems for carrier duty. They sent someone from the factory to help conquer the problems, and it was none other than Charles Lindbergh.
He spent a week with us in the barracks, where he spent the week watching us take off and land. After the week, he says we're going to forget everything that they told us at flight school about tail first landings. The left wing would stall out before the right wing when landing, and it would cause them to crash on the carriers. Lindbergh advised us to land front-wheels first above stall speed and then cut your throttle, let the tail land on its own. If you wander off the runway, don't kick the rudder or you'll go into a ground loop - kick opposite rudder. I heeded his advice for my five years of active duty.
Within a month we were off to San Diego, where we stopped at Atlanta, to Shrevepoint then to Tuscon, and then to San Diego. My flight leader was Captain Lemons. We left Shrevepoint early in the morning and encountered a major storm, but despite his great efforts at trying to round the storm. We then climbed up to 20,000 feet, put on our oxygen, and for reasons I don't know he then dove back into the storm. It was pitch black until there was lightning, and we were facing hail the size of softballs.
I got into a tailspin, and after recovering I saw a clearing in the storm and realized I was looking at the tree tops. I was able to pull out of it and got out of the storm. Captain Lemon was not so lucky. I proceeded on to an Army air base in Abeline, TX, where I met up with another Corsair pilot. We were told to stay there until the rest of the air group caught up with us. We were there for four days when my commanding officer, Major Gordon Knott came to me and asked what happened to Lemon. I told him what happened, and he said, "Well, Smitty, you made your way and now you'll fly wing with me." Now I've gone from being in a low-level division and am now flying with the squadron commander.
We proceed to the air station at North Island, where I told Knott that I needed more instrument training. They took me out every day where I learned a lot more about instrument flying - you have to have your instruments uncaged before you get into the storm! We proceeded to the carrier Nassau, a Jeep carrier that was a converted Liberty ship to head out to the Pacific.
We didn't learn until we were offshore that we were headed to American Samoa, where we were still expecting a Japanese invasion. En route to Samoa, there was a kind of mutiny among the pilots. The Captains all felt that Major Gordon Knott was too aloof and not experienced enough. He was replaced with Edmund F. Overrand - we called him 'End-over-End.' When we get near Samoa, they catapult us off and we occupy a new airfield made of coral near the beach. We spent 4 weeks there where we learned how to shoot the machine guns. I had been asked whether I had voted against Major Knott where I was asked if I had been voted against Major Knott where I said no - I was taking instrument lessons and nobody asked me to vote. As a result, I was demoted back to the squadron and had to tow targets for most of our four weeks at Samoa.
After four weeks there, we knew the Japanese weren't headed to American Samoa so we headed to Port Villa in the New Ebradees group of islands - they're now known as Vanauatu. From there we were divided into new 4-plane divisions and I'm assigned to fly wing for Captain Steen. We're then sent north into the Solomon islands, refueling at Guadalcanal and then on to a coral strip on an island strip on the island Vela la Vela.
There, our new CO, Major Overrand, met up with our other flying veteran, Major [long pause, I haven't given him any information other than the name of the Black Sheep Squadron] Greg, Gregory Boyington. He was looking for Overrand and was hoping someone might have some spirits with them. We had all brought some of the Tolly, Scott & Tolly Gin and Brandy, but his preference was Maj. Overrand's Teacher's Island Cream Scotch. He's arm-wrestling in the skipper's tent for drinks. We had the one boy from Mississippi, we called him Zombie Blount, and Blount puts him down. Boyington then says best of 3, then best of 5, then best of 7, but Blount keeps winning. Then he decides 'Let's really wrastle outside of the tents.' By this time I'm putting my foot locker away in my tent, and Captain Steen is sitting there in distress of some sort. He finally asks, "Smitty, would you come and get Doc Wolf to maybe come see me? I'm having problems." I go to find Doctor Wolf, he was a Navy lieutenant which made him a Captain by Marine standards and was our squadron doctor. I find him and tell him that Steen asked if he could come see him. Wolf says, "Waitaminute, these guys are wrasslin' and I have to stop this match between Boyington and Blount!" Boyington had swung his leg on a tent stake, so Wolf pulled Boyington away - Boyington had broken one of the little bones in his leg and got priority.
Shortly after that Doc Wolf gets back and asks to see Steen alone. As I'm leaving, I hear Steen commenting about his wife and saying that he never should have gotten into that. The next day we have a mission briefing about our mission in the mess tent. We get there and Boyington is there with a cast on his leg! We're leaving at 4 AM with 150 gallon belly tanks to get up to Papa New Guinnea so we could get up to Rabal. We'd drop our belly tanks at St. George's for full speed and maneuverability. When I get back from the mission briefing, I learn that Steen has turned in his wings and resigned his commission. I show up the mess tent the next day and talk with my buddy Uteness, who we decide we'll pair up and scissor [a fighter technique]. We get up in the air and before we hit radio silence we're told that there are no bombers, only fighters, so we're flying over the island with Boyington on the radio yelling at them to come up and fight. Since they didn't have anything to protect, they opted not to fight since our planes were faster, and that was my first mission. Nothing happened on that trip, and we flew back to Vela la Vela. A few other groups claimed they saw planes, but we didn't see any of them."
"We had no way to get him back, he had no way to get back so he stayed up with the squadron for the whole tour. After about two months we'd head back to our home island while they repaired our planes' engines, and we'd get some R&R either in Australia or New Zealand. While we were on the home island, he'd taxi around the intelligence guys who took our reports and check out our parachutes. He tried to be helpful. He never did go back to Port Villa with us, he made it back to Esperilla Stantos where he section 8'd out with two other guys, including Samuelson and Buzzard. What a nickname, Buzzard and I shared a plane for a while. He got a Dear John letter from his girlfriend and came into my tent waving around a .45 until the MPs came pretending he was going to kill himself. They eventually shipped 'em back stateside for psycho evaluations or whatnot."
He points out Buzzard in the squadron photo and points out Buzzard to me. Standing in front of the plane directly right of the vertical propeller blade. Samuelson is sitting on the wing, third in from the left side of the photo. Steen is not in the picture.
He's got many stories. I'm trying to keep the stories short, but I'm 8 paragraphs into the Black Sheep story trying to get to that story. Give me a few minutes.
"Well, there's a new book out and I just bought some, I think the guy's name is Gamble [ed: He shows me the book, Bruce Gamble, Invasion Rabaul] that is a trilogy about the longest battle of WWII. It was the biggest part of my war. We did fighter sweeps over Rabaul to gain air superiority, then bomber support to knock out their six airfields around the volcano crescent."
He pauses for a minute or two here.
"Lark Force was a group of Australians that had been conscientious objectors to going to Europe and fighting for England, and they were mostly members of the Salvation Army. They were recruited and forced into a military unit. They were mostly Bandsmen and Marching Band people, typical of the Salvation Army. They were originally sent to an outpost to simply scare off anyone from simply moving in, but the Japanese who were so successful in 41, 42, and half way through 43, no one seemed to be able to stop them. Their hope was to occupy as far as Northern Australia and New Zealand. Their biggest fortress was in the Caroline Islands, a group of islands with a place called Truck Lagoon in the middle of it, it was a big anchorage for warships and merchants. As soon as they had the flanks solidified, they moved south out of Truck into northeast Papa New Guinnea. They moved into Bouganville and the northernmost part of the Solomon group. Rabaul already had an airfield, but Simpson Harbor was even better of a harbor than Truck Lagoon that they quickly occupied all of New Britain and New Ireland islands (eastern half of Papa New Guinnea. They quickly built 5 more airfields so they would have air command over New Guinnea, northern Australia, and the Solomon Islands with the hope they could move south into New Zealand and seal off Australia from any assistance from any direction.
As our squadron arrives into Vela la Vela, we're there a week or two and a month or so earlier they (the US) had taken a piece of Bouganville Island (closer to Rabaul) to where the CBs in 3 days had built an iron runway. That put us close enough to Rabaul that we no longer needed to use the belly tanks to reach our destinations. We would escort B-25s, B-24s, and occasionally some B-17s. MacArthur, operating out of Port Moresby, southern half of Papa New Guinnea, had claimed that he had neutralized Rabaul using his B-17s. The problem was, high altitude bombing did no damage to the runways or the shipping in the harbor. The bombs rarely hit anything except the water.
My orneriest mission was on a B-25 escort, where I was given what was called low/underneath cover. My wingman and I were on the backside of the formation underneath to weave back and forth to prevent any Zeroes or other enemy aircraft to come in from underneath. The route usually would go westard to Point St. George and St. George's channel (runs between New Ireland and New Britain). Cape St. George is where they (Japanese) had an AA gun established as well as radar. They put up so much AA material that would go above the formation and then drop phosphor bombs. They rarely did much damage, but with everything going on above the formation with the top defense formation dropping all of the extra AA flak and linkage material from the fighting going on above it was like I was being rained on with aluminum. Somehow I ended up sucking some junk into my oil cooler that caused me to start loosing oil, and I noticed that my oil pressure was dropping quickly. When the engine sputters and you can't keep up, flight school teaches you to point your nose down and maintain gliding speed, turn into the wind. From 20,000 feet, I was fiddling with switches and things to see if I could get it going again. The Corsair would stall at 90 knots, so you had to maintain 140 knot airspeed to keep the plane under control. This meant about a 45 degree downward glide, and there's no way to keep up with the formation. Usually during the day, the sun beating down on the ocean causes cotton-candy clouds forming from about 4 to 12 thousand feet, and I glided through looking for a place to bail out. At 10,000 feet, I'm within sight of Duke of York island, which is occupied by the Japanese. I pop the canopy and wait until 5000 feet and I'm away from the island but the water doesn't look good to land on. At 2500 feet the water looks much better, but there's not enough air left so I take the plane down to the water... I made one of my better landings.
As I hit the water, I hit the gunsight (I had unhooked the harness while looking for the right place to ditch) and get some lacerations on my arm. In 3 seconds I'm out of the cockpit. 5 seconds later, the plane is 45 degrees in the water with the cockpit underwater and the engine dragging it down. I swam away trying to avoid any potential vortex from sucking me down. After 20 seconds the plane is down to Davy Jones.
I look around and realize that nobody has seen me and nobody has followed me. I'm sitting there with my parachute on and a lifejacket bobbing in the water, and my first thought is "How can I stay invisible?" This was about 3 PM, and I waited until about 6 PM (around twilight) and I decide, "Now I'll get the raft out." The raft is right under the seat cushion, and there's a CO2 bottle to trip it, and I wish somebody had told me beforehand to tie it onto myself. I trip it, and the raft jumps 10-20 feet away. I'm wearing these L'il Abner shoes and it's tough to swim. That was tough to catch, the wind was moving it, but I was able to get to it.
I got into the raft, there was a little paddle system, and my parachute and harness system were still floating. I took my shoes off because they were an obstruction, so I tied them to a raft. I'm really tuckered out by this point. I look around and can't see anybody. We'd gone north to get to the target and then the plan was to go south to get back home. I had a canteen of water hooked to my belt, a Smith & Wesson police revolver, a .38 caliber? A .36? I think it was a .38, and the bullets were tied up in another pocket in my suit. The bullets seemed dry and I could blow through the cylinders to dry it out, so I loaded it up with tracer shells. Then I decided 'Wait a minute," took out the tracer shells, and put in regular shells.
I had some peanut butter, there was a guy in our squadron, he was a little beaver guy, and one time when we were in the ready tent and I asked what he was doing. He had gone to the quartermaster and was always wheeling and dealing, and he'd fill up the toilet paper tubes with the peanut butter and would seal them up in a bag. He was putting them into his survival cushion, so I traded him a bottle of White Horse scotch for 6 of these peanut butter tubes to put in my survival kit. So I was having peanut butter for supper.
So I get pretty comfy, and I fell asleep. All of the sudden in the middle of the night, I can hear dogs barking. It reminded me of an uncle who always wanted to go coon hunting (he made me hold the lantern), but it sounded just like those dogs when they pick up a scent. I don't know what to do, I don't want to expose myself, but I need to figure out what's going on. So I pull a one-cell flashlight out of my survival kit, and here are a bunch of little sea lions barking at me and giving me some looks. So I quickly shut off the light, they bark some more and then they go away and I go back to sleep.
I wake up around dawn, and I pull my emergency map out to figure out where I am. At night, there's a 4 knot current flowing south through the channel, but it only flows south [ed note: towards friendly forces and away from enemy forces] during December and January and it's now January 22nd. I'd drifted about 50 miles south, and I'm now out of the channel. I said, 'Oh, there'll be another mission and they'll come over, I'm in good shape.' They came later that day, but were way up, probably 15,000 feet. I fired two tracer shells at them, but nobody came down to investigate. So I waited for them to come back, and I shot all of the tracers I had and had thrown my emergency dye in the water, but nobody comes down. Now I'm thinking, "Wow, I'm in big trouble." I'm in a raft, the wind is picking up and I'm being blown north and I don't really have any drag.
At about 4 in the afternoon, I'm dozing but then I realize that there's a plane nearby. It's another Corsair, it's only at about 500 or 600 feet, so I get my emergency mirror out and flashed it at him. He comes down to the deck to investigate, I wave at him and he waggles his wings at me and heads off. A while later, here comes Dumbo - a Catalina PB-Y float plane. I'd run a few Dumbo escort missions in my tours. The sea wasn't whitehorsing, but there were some swells so they couldn't pull right up to me. They get as close as they can as they circle around and toss me a rope, and boy do I know what a walleye feels like when it gets hooked. Bam, that thing yanks me right out of the raft and I'm holding on. Everything I had on got ripped off me - pistol, holster, flight suit, all I've got left is a stretched out t-shirt. They pulled me in one of the gun blisters, and as they pull me in they go, 'Lieutenant Marsh?' I'm like, 'No, I'm Smith.' They weren't looking for me, but they found me somehow. We got on the radio so they could figure out who I was, and realized I was another pilot so we got back up in the air to keep looking for Lieutenant Marsh. We found him about an hour later, and the water was smooth enough that we could just taxi right up to him and pull him in without needing the rope.
Marsh and I got together every year after that until our wives both passed away in 2012, then we didn't get together."
Ed note: If you check out the book You Are Not Forgotten you can see a picture of Lieutenant Marsh and my grandfather together in 2013 for a book signing about another lost pilot.
"I flew with them, but I never flew one. They would usually be top cover, they would race us on the way home from a mission. With water injection, we could beat 'em, but once the water was gone they could catch up with us again. Their problem was maneuvering - if they tried to pull too hard on that Davis Wing or whatever they called 'em they could end up in a horizontal spin.
Usually they would get hit first. We'd go on a mission and the Japs would be waiting for us, and they'd be up at 38, 39 thousand feet. They'd be the first getting hit, and you'd hate to see it but you'd see the two parallels coming down. The Zekes could turn inside of them, they were so maneuverable. Our strategy was to not cut throttle and try to dog fight with them at full throttle.
The roughest mission would be escorting SBDs, the Dauntless divebombers. After January '44, after we took over the Green Islands, now we were close enough to take the dive bombers in so we could take them in and back. The rule was 4 plane fighter division with every 4 plane dive bomber division. When we got to target, first leader would peel off and I would go down with him and turn on the guns to suppress the AA fire, and boy them SBDs could lay that egg right down the smokestack of a ship or on a bomber on an airfield or a series of holes right down those runways.
During the recovery, you're all single file and they're all single file, and that's usually when the Japs would jump us. We'd be trying to catch up. One time I looked in my mirror and there's a Zeke right on my wing! Did he think I was his squad leader? No, he was just trying to tease me into letting up on the throttle and fight with him. But I looked in my mirror and saw [another squad pilot, name missed] coming up behind me so I used the water injection. Then I pulled up my legs because I didn't have any armor plating there and my plane started crabwalking sideways in the air. All of the bullets are coming over my left wing because he thinks I'm turning, but since I can't work the pedals with my feet the plane is still going straight even though it looks like I'm going left."
There's another story about the SDBs that I missed trying to capture this. I should really have had a voice recorder going.
I kept in touch with Ben Elwood, he was a Black Sheep guy, he lived in Columbus and we'd go to ballgames together. Love them Buckeye tickets. We had reunions about every 10 years, I didn't make all of them, sometimes you're involved in something that you can't make it.
The last reunion was in 2000 at Laguna Beach Hotel, where we were quartered back when I was an instructor at El Toro. [reminiscing] There were so many girls that you spent your money so fast, then I went back out for the Okinawa campaign, did some kamikaze duty, take my division out to a destroyer with radar and he'd tell us what to do.
It ended up that after the first A-bomb that it was spotted that civilians were taking over the Kyushu (sp? The southern island) airfield. There was a naval station in the town of Omura, and that's where the kamikazes were coming out of... they were taking the roofing off of the buildings so we load up a DC-3 and fly our planes in, it was a grass field and I landed that Corsair there and had to hunt around to find a dry place to sleep. I found a little boat near the airfield in a canal or something.
I remember getting a parachute, a Jap parachute, out of one of the airplanes that was still there. Beautifully well done, and I brought it home over here. [ed: there's another story here that I already know, it involves a dummy over a high school football game]. I ran into a collector at the 2000 reunion, he said that the parachute would have gone for ridiculous amounts of money but I didn't have it anymore."
"As a naval Marine aviator, maybe 650 to 700. [ed: he bought a surplus Steerman after the war for $450 and continued flying after the war] We would turn in the radio to Tokyo Rose and listen to the radio when we were flying the long legs."
I know he served a lot of time in the Solomons, especially out of Bougainville. When he was relaying the story of when he was shot down, it started off a lot like he was going to tell a story out of the book he mentioned so I prompted him if he served there and he was like, "Well, yes, I did most of my service there." He's mentioned a few other bases over the year, but I don't recall the specific names of them.
I didn't get to ask him this, but here's what I do know: he earned the Distinguished Flying Cross and the Air Medal with 5 gold stars. He certainly spoke with no hostility about any of the other countries, Axis or Allied, during our conversations - he has visited Germany and Japan since the wars were over.
I'm honestly not sure if he ever achieved Eagle, though I'm pretty sure he did. He's also got the Silver Beaver. My dad, my brother, and I all have earned our Eagle Scouts, though.
Two scouting stories for you. First, he went to the '37 Jamboree in Washington DC. The troop had to raise funds for a year, it was $50 for a scout to attend and in the end they could only send 4. They sold jars of soup for $0.25 apiece. They pitched their tents on the National Mall (he was close to the Reflection Pool), and said that he saw Roosevelt driving around waving at the scouts while smoking a giant cigar.
Second story: My grandfather was key in getting a new council building built, especially as the local councils had had financial trouble for years and had 3 councils combine together to try and streamline operations. As such, they gave him the right to name the building.
He asked if there were any restrictions on who he could name it for.
They told him he could name it after anybody he wanted.
So he told them he wanted to dedicate the building after the man who got him into scouting.
"That's great!" they told him. "What was his name?"
"Homer Simpson," he said.
They told him he had to pick another name.
Last updated: 2014-05-22 17:47 UTCNext update: 2014-05-22 23:47 UTC This post was generated by a robot! Send all complaints to epsy.
I am definitely the same way, I've lucked out enough to have an extremely good staff that I work with (Mexicans might, in fact, be the chillest race on the face of this earth, as I've found out) and I love it. I personally think it's fun to talk to people all day long, but obviously, a good portion of the time, people are assholes (hence this ama). Overall though, yeah, I take pride in it. I think its just the mentality I have of not wanting to be attributed with a shitty place/shitty service, because that makes you look bad.
Honestly, yes. Again and again, it's all based on locations, and the one i'm at right now is the perfect storm of employees, pay, and job atmosphere. That can't be said for many other employees of The Party (excuse my "1984" reference), but I definitely would, seeing how our store manager salaried pay is in the 80k range.
One time I was working front counter when a mom and her kid were in the lobby filling up their drinks at the drink station. The kid was whining about something, and the mom wasn't really paying attention to the kid. Kid walks over to the sweet tea container, and holds down the auto-lock handle. Me, just watching this ensue, does not move, does not even say "hey! stop!", I just watch the kid go unnoticed for about 20 seconds, draining 2 gallons of sweet tea onto himself, and onto the floor. The lady turns around, flips shit, and I am still standing there with the same expression on my face of "well, that kids a dumbass". 2 gallons of sweet tea on the floor, I walk over there and asked her if she wanted any napkins.
It honestly all depends on what McDonalds it is. I know some charge, some don't. We are supposed to, but I usually try to be the good guy greg and just don't charge them. I mean, come on, it's just sauce. You wouldn't believe how fast those arguments escalate though.
Sell weed to eachother in the stockroom. Contrary to popular belief, NOBODY (at our location, at least) would ever, ever mess with the food that is going to a customer. That't like the biggest dick move ever.
Some lady came through claiming we apparently didn't give her all of her food (which is a realistic possibility), so the protocol in that scenario is to check their receipt, confirm that the order was recently placed, and technically the customer is supposed to call into the store to have their name written down, so we can correct the mistake when they come back. However, none of these were done by said lady, and after a heated argument, and her holding up the drive-thru window for 10 minutes, she told me to go fuck myself, and told the mexicans she was going to call corporate and report them to immigration services.
Now that Pokemon has started, it has been an all out orgy between customers to get their hands on the legendary Pikachu toy. I just give them weird looks to make them purposely feel shameful for coming inside as a 30yo man looking for a happymeal toy.
My manager refused a refund to someone with a teardrop tattoo (There's your first mistake), then the man got mad and attempted to come behind the counter, going after my manager. Luckily, the store maintenence (I can't spell that word right for the life of me) man named "Big Tim" was also behind the counter working on something. Big Tim, who is 6'4, picked the man up, walked outside, and set him down right next to his car, and made him leave. So no, that was about is close as it got.
An exact replica of "The Mystery Machine" was my personal favorite. And most people don't know, that when you pull up to the drive thru to order, a metal detector is set off (therefore assuring it is an actual vehicle that has pulled up, and not some dumbass kids in a cardboard box), and therefore alerting the headset order taker. So you can't really bring much through besides actual cars. Many people drive thru backwards though.
Possibly, as I've said 500 times before haha it all depends on the location and the restaurant. Maybe some locations have motion sensors, which would be alot more convenient than metal detectors, seeing how everything that comes through would register.
Our mcdonalds parking lot is a notorious spot for Ents to hang out, because if you just sit in your car and blaze, it simply (at night, at least) looks like kids just eating food they just got in the drive thru. The perfect alibi. Toke on, my man.
My nightmare came true, I got off 5 minutes before we closed, so it was just my manager and a couple grill workers left, we assumed we were done for the night. Enter band geek charter bus. 100+/- kids get off the bus, I thought about just speeding outta there, but I decided to go back in. I took all their orders, the grill workers made them all, and my manager bagged them all. We made an extra $900, and the store owner told the story of how i came back inside "for the sake of the company" and a central ohio manager meeting, made me feel pretty good.
I replied to another earlier, but people have told me to go fuck myself, I've gotten ice cream thrown at me, threats to "I oughta mothafuckin kill you", etc. Another dimension of bad experience mostly relate to the customers ignorance. The neighborhood I live in is an exponentially growing one, so there are a lot of...eh...."foreigners" such as japanese and indians who do not know any english that attempt to come through the drive through. It is perhaps the most frustrating thing I deal with on a daily basis. The sheer fact that they are not comprehensible holds up the drive thru line forever, and other customers get mad, and it is just a bad chain of events.
It was during the whole "cone-ing" fiasco/sensation that hit a few months back (look it up if you've never heard of it", so I couldn't really get mad of a bunch of sophomore high school girls trying to make a funny video for youtube.....good eye though, the one exception haha....
Do I. One thing I've learned, the Indians only, and only, will have "Rrrrranch dipping sauch" with their nuggets. Also, there have multiple that come thru and ordered "One MACdouble, no bun, no meat!" I don't know why, but they order shit without buns, patties, etc. Weird, I know the meat thing is to do with certain religions either. And, 99.9% of the time, the Indians will either be in a Honda odyssey, or a Toyota Camry. Only Honda, only Toyota. Never fails. Since we cannot see the people (only hear them on the drive thru headset, until they pull around), all employees play "guess the race" games most days. I've personally gotten pretty good, certain races order certain food items together, and combined with the makes of their car, we are able to guess accurately before we see them face to face. (Pontiac, dodge, or chevy are almost all driven by blacks)
Black family v. Black family, in the parking lot. Half of the restaurant went outside to watch, I think it was started after a fender bender, because they were never inside to eat. They just all pulled in, all got out, and all started yelling, hoopin, hollering, and slapping eachother around. Our mangers went out threatening to call the police, and they moved their argument over to the Krogers parking lot.
If someone physically abused me (e.g. threw food at me, soaked me with their drink, etc.) I would promptly open up a can of whoop-ass on them, and accordingly quit. Almost all of the job is verbal abuse though, which isn't hard to take.
I cannot stress enough that things differ from location to location (Based on rankings, staff, overall "prestige" if you will of the McDonalds), but for ours, 10 minutes tops (if already made). Otherwise, the patties can sit in the steamers for up to an hour before they lose structural integrity (meaning, 1 out of 100 people might be able to tell it doesn't taste fresh). Our McDonalds is one of the top 500 in America though, so we go hard in the paint, so to speak. If you go to some "shitty" one, maybe out in the boonies of nowhere, they could have their burgers sitting out for hours on end.
Mainly good deeds, like i said before, many McDonalds policies differ from location to location, but for us, the few blatantly homeless people we've encountered, we've tried to be good guy Gregs to, and give them a hand.
Never, ever underestimate the ignorance of the customer. I know that sounds bad, but the key to enjoying the job, is to keep calm, and be chill about everything. The last thing you want to do is instigate an argument by yelling or something, because that evens out the playing field. If you act chill, and act like you ain't even mad about anything, everyone will respect you, and make your life (for the most part) easier.
Ours is, every 10 minutes it's required that someone cleans the tables in the lobby, as well as the floors (if needed). Like I said in another comment, we go hard in the paint. When it comes to getting shit done, and having a good restaurant ranking, we don't fuck around.
If you go into mcdonalds, and say you want to buy some of the sauce, they may, or may not let you, depending on how chill the management is. The boxes come in 5 levels, 50 sauces to a level. So you could probably get away with buying a level, if they accordingly charged you, that would cost you $5. (assuming they run on the standard .10cent per sauce charge)
For the most part, that is generally true. The steamer is set on high for our grilled chicken, but yes, it doesn't sell too well, and it can remain there for a decent amount of time. Grilled chicken average life span where I work, they can push it to two hours waiting.
Thanks man, the pics I upload nearly daily from my work experiences have been apparently received tremendously by my twitter followers and friends, so that's honestly the best part of the job, making other people smile.
Not really, the computerized menu we have basically allows you to customize your meals with the same extensiveness as customizing a car in need for speed underground 2. That meaning, you can basically put everything and anything together on one bun, all right from the computer, so I never have to physically make my own.
Meet Professional Columbus Singles With Us EliteSingles
SHOULD YOU USE A MATCHMAKING SERVICE OR SPEED DATING ...
Speed Dating 9 Guys Using 5 Senses - YouTube
12 vs 1: Speed Dating 12 Musicians Without Seeing Them ...
Xenia, Ohio Dating Services - Blonde Babe
Bunny Speed Dating with Nugget - YouTube
Would You? - Speed Dating For Ghosts - YouTube
Speed Dating 11 Women Through Their Music - YouTube
Speed Dating Truth or Drink Cut - YouTube
Speed Dating 10 Comedians Based on Their Jokes Versus 1 ...
eHarmony Speed Dating - Commercial - YouTube
Find that special someone is difficult when your choices are masked booger, sentient meatballs or a chain-smoking goblin. Subscribe for more Speed Dating For... Featuring: Roff Grimes Leigh Anne Richman Directed/Edited by: Taylor Engel Produced by: Dale Fagan Copywriters: Taylor Engel, Blake Engel, Andrew Stepp D.P/C... Certified dating coach Svetlana Mukha tells about differences between dating sites and professional matchmaking site. What is the best option for you? What y... this is a dating service video for all the singles out there in the great town of Xenia, Ohio. This sexy blonde loves to party and bust a move. if you're interested please call 1-800-69-Xenia. Shopping for the holidays? Get your humangood apparel before it sells out! 👉 https://humangoodla.com 👈10% of profits from our latest collection will be used ... Follow us on INSTAGRAM: https://www.instagram.com/jubileemedia/ Phil: https://www.instagram.com/ppphhhiiillliiippp/ Ien: https://www.instagram.com/ienthekore... A big thanks to TikTok for sponsoring this episode! Make sure to download the app at http://vm.tiktok.com/m8HWvD/. #ThatsSoTikTok SUBSCRIBE for more! 👉http:/... Sponsor this series: http://www.cut.com/sponsorship Buy Truth or Drink: The Card Game - http://www.playtruthordrink.com/ SUBSCRIBE: http://bit.ly/CutSubscrib... Nugget goes speed dating at a local House Rabbit Society (HRS) shelter to meet some new bunny friends and ultimately find a hunny bunny to bond with. Go to h... Thanks to your incredible support, our latest humangood collection is SOLD OUT! Follow humangood on Instagram and keep an eye out for our next drop: https://...