leone would be proud

My girls wanted to rent something from Redbox and so they picked the computer-generated film RANGO.   I wasn't planning on watching it with them.  I was going to go about cleaning house as they enjoyed a kid movie together.  There was something about the sounds coming from the next room that kept drawing me back in, so I sat down and watched it.

I don't care for most kid movies that come out.   There have been exceptions.   I really enjoyed the SHREK.  I liked the first CARS, TOY STORY 1, 2, & 3 as well as UP.   I am a big fan of the exceptions.  Most kid movies though have little for the adults in the audience.  I think it's a bad move.  After all, it's we the adults that take their children to the movies and have to sit through it.   I can't tell you how many kid movies I've paid to go see and ended up falling to sleep.  RANGO is one of the exceptions, because it is exceptional.  It offers more than great characters and a good storyline.

What I like most about Rango is that it's a good Western with desert animals and reptiles in the cast.  Not only is it a good Western, but a good Italian Western.  It was like the entire film was paying tribute to the work of Sergio Leone.  I believe that any avid fan of Leone and the Spaghetti Western genre would appreciate this flick.   

Down through the decades directors have tried to pull off a Leone-esque Western.  Very few have given us anything thing memorable.  The most recent success was Quentin Tarrentino's WWII adventure The Inglorious Bastards.  Rango offers us some animated Leone, a familiar style, sounds and textures - making up a very unique film.

The cinematography of this movie is fascinating.  The film offered non-stop references to Spaghetti Westerns.  For any Leone fans out there, listen for the sounds, watch how each scene is framed, the characters.  I know my kids just enjoyed the characters, the action, and the humor - but dad sat there and enjoyed Rango on a completely different level.  Rango offered the grown-up in the room something special.

fallen fortress

While talking to the old airman at the Mighty Eighth Museum in Savannah, he told me that the Liberty Belle had flown her last.  The plane caught on fire and the pilot landed the plane in time for the crew to escape.

2007 flight on the Liberty Belle:

therein lies the rub

Gina had to work throughout the weekend as well as the Fourth of July holiday.  We've been on one car for an entire  month now.  Gina took the VW Monday morning and had it for the majority of the day.  My daughters and I spent the day stranded at home and making good use of the situation.  We cleaned house.

Usually we don't do anything special for the fourth. This time we had some ribs in the fridge.  I took some time from housecleaning to rub down the ribs - prepping them for the grill.  The two for one deal at Winn Dixie allowed for more meat than our small family needed.  Gina's been working so hard - I thought she might like to see her mom a little.  I called Mrs. Hale and asked her if she'd like to come over and help us gnaw on some dead pig bones.

We had a pretty big spread and all of us ate entirely too much.  Mrs. Hale brought over a big bowl of her incredible green beans.  She also made a pan full of fried okra.  I didn't ask her to bring anything, but glad she did.  It was a feast.  After the meal and the table was cleared, Gina and her mom sat down for a game of Scrabble.  They both seemed to have a good time together.

The one about the grill:

For years Gina had been push the idea of own a grill off on me.  She didn't want to just go buy one without justifying it as a birthday, Father's Day, or Christmas present.  She'd always ask me if I wanted a grill for a present.  I'd always turn the offer down.  I am not a grill person.  Unlike a lot of men, I don't find pleasure in owning or cooking on a grill.  I'd just as soon cook on a stove top.  The house has air conditioning and I don't have to scrape and scrub the eye of a stove like I do an outdoor grill.  Now I LOVE food smoked/cooked on a grill - but I'd just as soon pay somebody who knows how to do it better than I can.

Every time a birthday, Father's Day or Christmas rolled around Gina would ask the same question.  "How would you like a BBQ grill?"  It took her well over a decade to finally get the message that I didn't want a damn grill for a present.

Eventually she started a different approach by saying, "It coming up on our anniversary, or let's make OUR Christmas (or Anniversary) present to each other a grill."

"Gina." I'd say to her, "let's just go buy a grill and not make it a present."  I don't want it as a present - even if it's a shared present. I'd just as soon we buy a tire jack for each other.   "I don't want a grill."  Gina's mind doesn't work that way.  The expense of a grill has to be justified as a gift for some reason.  There was no sense debating it.  I didn't want the gift of a grill because I knew that it was a gift that had to keep on giving.  Like I said, I find no great joy in grilling.

The last time she mentioned giving me a grill - I told her that it wasn't I that wanted the grill.  I told Gina that it was SHE that wanted the grill.  If SHE wanted the grill - let's go to Lowes and just don't buy her a grill.

About three or four years ago Gina handed me a Lowes Black Friday Ad. She had circled a picture of the grill SHE wanted and told me to go get it.  "This grill is what I want for Christmas."
Okay.  I immediately went over to Lowes and bought it.  I took it home and assembled it.  It was a nice looking grill.  I hauled it up the stairs onto the deck.  It's been used about six times since its purchase.  I noticed while making the ribs yesterday how faded it looked.  It's even got some rust spots on it.

City of Savannah

"City of Savannah" 5000th airplane processed through Hunter Field, GA in 1944

While roaming the Combat Gallery at the Mighty Eighth Air Force Museum, an old airman approached me to talk about the B-17, 'City of Savannah' on display.  He told me that this particular Flying Fortress was built toward the end of the war never left The States.  Nevertheless, this bomber has an interesting history.

It was purchased for $350.00 after the war's end and used to fight fires.  Go rent the 1989 movie Always and you'll get a good idea what kind of combat this old bird experienced.  This B-17 was retired from the fire department in the 1970's and ended up at National Air and Space Museum until 2009.

It was then disassembled and trucked down 1-95 to the Might Eighth facility.  The ball turret and tail gun section had been removed decades ago to fight fires.  The old vet told me that they've secured a tail gun section and will be installing it soon.

You can see images of her restoration on facebook.

the mighty eighth

B-17 "Flying Fortress" being restored at the museum.

I was welcomed at the door by a kindly old veteran.  He introduced himself as we shook hands.  While visiting the Mighty Eighth Air Force Museum in Savanah, I could tell on the faces of all three old guides, that they were proud to be there.  At one point, one of the old gentlemen said that he's just as proud of his service to the Mighty Eighth Army Air Force Museum just much as he did during the Korean War.  They were there to honor those who served and didn't return.

As a boy, I was fascinated by that war.  I'd watch the old television shows, the movies.  My dad had a book Collier's Photographic History of WWII (1945) on the bookshelf.  I spent hours upon hours as a kid flipping through the pages of that book.  At that time, the war was only a few short decades ago.  The black and white images pushed the war into ancient of days.  Fathers didn't talk about it much so their children could be spared the pain of their sacrifice.  Their gift to their children was peace.

I continued my fascination as I grew up - reading many books about that war.  I have never lost my fascination of that time in our nation's history...in our world's history.

There was a moment during my visit to the museum that I thought about my boyhood fascination versus my adulthood fascination.  The museum attempted to offer the visitor a firsthand multimedia experience to simulate a bomb mission.  I felt the blast of cold air hit me from the bomb-bay doors opening from the floor, flack bursts in stereo, back and forth radio chatter. I didn't feel an exhilaration that I would have once felt as a boy.  I sat there trying to hold back tears.

my friend jim

I met Jim when I drove out to look for apartment not too far from Art Institute of Atlanta.  I had talked to him prior on the phone after receiving a list from the school of new students looking for places to live like myself.

Jim Byrant was 19 at the time.  I was about 27 years old.  We met face to face for the first time at a fast food joint.  After a vague and uninformative meeting, we decided to look around together for a place to live.  I didn't quite know how to take the guy.  I'm sure it was just as obvious to him as it was to me that we had little in common and that we came from different worlds.  It wasn't just the age difference.

Jim offered to drive us around because he grew up in Newnan, GA and was acquainted with the streets in Atlanta more than I was. It wasn't long before we found a place to live at Cherry Hill Apartments on Bufford Hwy.  We ended up having another roommate, who was a little younger than I was.  I soon discovered that I was the 'old man' around the Art Institute.  Most of the other students looked like they were just out of high school.

Whenever Jim and our other roommate Jeff went out to party, I'd stay home and study, read a book or watch television.  I've always have been quite the homebody.  Jim started jokingly call me 'dad' when he would leave to do his gallivanting.  I'd follow by telling him to drive safe - keep it in the road.  Even though we started out absolute strangers - we quickly figured we'd get along just fine together.

I think the differences faded as classes got underway and we found ourselves in the same classes, bringing the same assignments back to the apartment.  At first, I didn't know why Jim even got into graphic design.  The thought was rolling in the back of my mind that he was probably going to lose interest any day. I never saw him draw much.  I wasn't really impressed with his sketches.  At the time I thought people had to have a capacity to draw in order to become graphic artists.

I was wrong.

Jim ended up surprising me.  He didn't have to draw.  Jim was phenomenal at layout.  He quickly got the hang of design work.  His projects were always sharp looking pieces.  Working together soon made us buddies.  He was great at design and slick presentation and I was strong on concept and handy when it came to original illustration work.  We became a good team, like peanut butter and jelly.   I've always worked kind of fast and loose and Jim made sure everything was tight and polished.  I loved working with Jim.  This young fellow made me a better artists.

We were a dynamic duo when it came to projects.  Usually when instructors gave us an assignment, he or she would tell us to go and purchase specific materials we HAD to use for each project.  This got expensive fast.  Teachers didn't seem to acknowledge the fact that students had to eat too.  So my diversion from the official rules started early.  I decided that in order to eat, I was going to have to break the rules.  I decided I was going to start saving some big bucks and start being creative with the ever growing art material scraps back at our apartment.

Now Jim wasn't in the same financial bind that I was.  He had resources.  Since we always ended up helping each other with our assignments, he got into the game too. We challenged each other to not use the required medium/materials required and ace the projects in the process.  We made each assignment as a pass or fail endeavor.  If we got caught, we'd fail.  If we didn't, we'd pass.  We never failed. We always seemed to break all the given rules and present our projects to where the instructors couldn't tell we made up our own rules.  I didn't see it as cheating. We were having to work harder, challenge ourselves, be more creative to pull it off.  Our design projects were at the top of the class.  We were never caught and always made A's.

Along the way, Jim befriended another fellow that later became our roommate, Troy Williams.  Troy was an incredible artist and had a great eye for design and business.  Troy soon became my friend too.

Jim Bryant didn't finish his art training in Atlanta.  His dad drove him up to check out Parson's Art School.  Jim moved up to New York to finished his design training.  I only saw him a handful of times since those days.  Troy and I became roommates and Jim was out of the picture.

Jim ended up living in Manhattan, working at a prominent Ad agency with national clients.  He kept moving up, eventually running the entire agency.  Years later Jim moved back down south and worked for another large agency.  He also became a graphic designer for Coca-Cola.  Eventually he ended up away from the design table and in marketing end of the business.  Sharp fellow.
 
We'd keep in touch from time to time down through the years - but not often enough.  Anytime we did talk, it was as if no time had passed at all.  We were still buddies as the decades passed.  He became a very successful designer, a very sharp Ad man.  He knew the business more than I did.  When we talked, his projects seemed so interesting and adventurous.  He had come a long way from that kid I met that first day.

I had not talked to my friend in a very long time.  I Googled  his name online late this afternoon, hoping to find his phone number.  I found his obituary instead.

Mr. James (Jim) Bryant III
 
We were so very different from each other,  and I am thankful that life put us together for that short while.
 
I stayed at the office tonight and searched for family members on-line.  I had to know what had happened to Jim.  I tried to find his dad, or one of Jim's siblings.  After many failed calls to phones that no one answered - I found his brother Don.  Don Bryant remembered me, and was kind enough to take the time to tell me what had happened to his brother - my old friend.

Don said that Jim had an elderly neighbor across the street who looked like he needed help cutting down some branches.  At one point the neighbor went in to cool down and rest a little.  Jim offered to continue with the work.  After a while, Jim's neighbor noticed that the chainsaw had stopped.  Jim's truck was parked at the end of the drive, and that it was running.  Don guessed that maybe Jim got in the truck to run the A/C a little in order to cool off.  Jim's  young son came across the street to find his dad unconscious.  The neighbor got someone to get Jim's son away from the truck and back home.  Jim neighbor tried to resuscitate him.  It was no use..

Jim was rushed to the hospital, but there was nothing anyone could do.  Jim had suffered a massive heart attack.  My heart goes out to the Bryant family.  I am sorry for their loss.  I feel the loss too.

one family under God

Our old '92 Mazda minivan went haywire two and a half weeks ago.  It was due to some kind of weird electrical thingamajig going bad.  Like most families, we have to be in different places at the same time.  Life has been a juggling act as of late.  My wonderful mechanic Bill Noah says he finally located the part needed to fix our van.  We are driving everywhere in my 1973 Super Beetle.  Needless to say we have been a closer family as of late.

We leave home earlier in the day and come back later in the day.  We zip around Etowah County and leave each other off to get stranded at places until someone comes along with the ride.  It's not so bad, but it it's not so good either.

I am very thankful that we do have the car we have.  We are daily inconvenienced but getting along.  I sure wish our mechanic will call soon to say the van is good to go.  For a while there, I thought I'd be getting a call saying the part is no more - making the van no more.  I was relieved to hear that reliable Bill eventually found the part.

RULE Np: 1  If you want something in life, you've got to make sacrifices.

Gina and I wanted to have a business together.  This has always been our dream.  We opened our clinic doors in July of 2006 after Gina became a certified lymphedema therapist.  The new healthcare laws have dramatically limited what we can do for our patients.  The laws also cut therapist reimbursement.  Once again our government has seriously challenged our business.  We are currently looking into other avenues to invest in our company's future.

Gina and I realized a long time ago that we can't have everything we want now.  Like most privately owned business today, going through a bad economy, we have to daily endeavor to persevere.  There are a lot of people, a lot of small businesses in the same boat that we are.  We are not the only ones trying to stay afloat these days.  We are still manning the wheel, controlling the yard, doing our best to keep a steady course.  I just wish those clowns in Washington would quit drilling holes in our hull as they try out their grand social experiments.

After all this endeavoring, all this effort, I look at my old vehicles  and hope they have enough miles left in them to get us over and past this hard road ahead.  We will continue to make whatever sacrifices to make it to safer waters.  I pray for my family, my business.  I also pray for your family and your business.  I am praying for my country too.
 
"But as for me and my household, we will serve the LORD.”- Joshua 24:15

God bless America.  Let's all do our part to keep her under God's protective wing and protection.

a new, old photo

Westbrook Finlayson & the Melodians

 Carrol Lee Melton, ?, Billy Duvall, ?, Ned Hickson, ?, King Reid, Jimmy Gainey, Steve Salvo, Charlie Adkins,  Westbrook Finlayson (crutches)

Beverly believes that Steve Salvo
is the fellow on the drums.

My cousin Beverly F. Triber, Wofford's daughter, just sent me this photo of one of dad's orchestra's.  This group preceded the H. Westbrook and His Orchestra.  Beverly jotted down some names beneath the photos with some guesses.  Pardon us if the names are wrong guesses.  Beverly said in her letter that these pictures were sent to her by the widow of a former band member, Steve Salvo.  You may recall that it was during a meeting with brothers Jimmy and Tommy Dorsey that it was suggested to change the name of Westbrook's band.  They felt that the name Finlayson should not be used, to pick a name that the public would not only be able to remember but to pronounce.

My uncle Pat died a little over a month ago.  Beverly found the above photo with a letter from Steve Salvo's wife.  It had been sent to him only months before Pat's passing.  The letter reads as follows:

Ainsworth,
Thomasine passed your letter along to me, I was so glad to hear from you and appreciate your words of sympathy.  Steve had a hard fight the last couple of years.  He always loved to talk about working at the movie with Jimmy and the rest of the crowd and playing with Westbrook's band.  I had a copy of the band made for you and Jennie Llew in case you do not have this picture.  I can remember the faces of the two boys in center back but not their names.  Some may have been substitutes - like Charlie Adkins for Fred Posten at the piano.

I guess at the end of the sweetest life long friends are the ones in our little class of 1938.  Hope  you are doing well.
Love,
Ouida

end time events

When Gina and I were married (September 1, 1990) we relocated to Bowling Green, KY.  We were working off of one car that day.  Gina had to see some patients at a nursing home and I needed to get a Kentucky driver's license at the court house.  Gina dropped me off at the court house and drove off.

I had to wait a while before I was eventually picked up by my bride.  Gina pulled up to the curb and I got in.  She immediately asked to see my new license.  She wanted to see the photo.  The light had turned green and she was holding up traffic.  I urged her to move along, that there was nothing to see.

Nothing to see?  "I want to see what your license looks like."  I encouraged her to drive and I would explain it to her.  As she drove, I told her that the State of Kentucky was doing something entirely innovative and new.  I told her that the DOT was modeling a new system of identification/licensing for the entire nation that didn't require a card.

Gina listened.  She just wanted to see my new license.  I told her that she couldn't see it with her naked eye.  The more I explained, the quieter she became.   I told her that even though she couldn't see it - I did get a license.  I got a permanent number.  I could tell that she was all the more puzzled as I explained it to her.  I told Gina that the number was imprinted on my hand, but could only be seen by infrared light.  I told her that it was a great idea because you can't ever lose the number like you could lose a billfold.  I explained the benefits of having this personal bar code mark in great detail and with believable enthusiasm.

She made an illegal U-turn.  I asked her what she was doing.  She told me that we were going back to the Warren County Court House to have them take it off!  I laughed and told her that it couldn't be removed - that it's permanent.  I'll have it till the day I die.  I can't explain the look she had on her face.  She turned white and looked ill.  She stopped the car and freaked out. "David, what have you done!"

It was at that moment I pulled my new drivers license out of my wallet and showed it to her.

a good time for a story

A few weeks ago we buried our uncle Patillo Ainsworth Finlayson.  A few years ago we made the same trip to Cheraw, South Carolina to say good-bye to Pat's older brother James Murdoch Finlayson.  While at the old St. David's Church, I remembered a Thanksgiving Day back in 1997 that all the Burruss & Jennie Wait descendants met in Cheraw for a family reunion.  It was a little over ten years ago.  The three remaining siblings, Pat, Murdoch, and Jennie Llew met us there.  It was a beautiful day for such a gathering.  We spent a leisure weekend there walking around the old township, driving down old neighborhoods and visiting the cemetery at the Old St. David's Church.  Everywhere we went, we paid close attention to catch a shared memory among the last of Burruss' children.  This is where they grew up. 

There is an old Confederate memorial there in the quiet of the Old St. David's Church.   I read where originally the monument did not mention Confederate soldiers because the area was still occupied by Union forces.  Cheraw has a lot of Civil War history.  After all,  the first call for secession in a public meeting was made at the Chesterfield County Courthouse. John A. Inglis of Cheraw introduced the resolution for South Carolina to secede. General Sherman later occupied the area, but didn't strike a match. There was a terrible fire that burned down much of the downtown district because of an accidental munitions explosion.  The Yankees of course were to blame, but it was an accident.  Sherman and his troops had taken a liking to town's charm.

The Old St. David's Church was used as a hospital for both Union and Confederate troops during the course of the war.  The church was also used as a hospital for the British during the Revolutionary War.  It's a very small town with abundant history.

The Confederate monument reads:
"To the memory of our heroic dead who fell at Cheraw during the war 1861-1865.  Loved and honored though unknown.  Stranger, bold champion of the South, revere and view these tombs with love; Brave heroes slumber here, Loved, and Honored, though unknown."

It was there at the monument where I found my uncles Pat and Murdoch standing together talking.  After spotting them it took me several minutes to reach them.  At the time I had no idea as to the significance of the monument or the spot where they were standing.  The way there were standing there made me wonder what they were talking about at that moment.

When I reached them they were just standing there close together in quiet thought.  I asked them what they had been talking about.  Both smiled while looking reflectively at the monument.  They both shared the story, interrupting with their own memories of Memorial Day's past.  They told how when they as children would march from their school to this monument with roses.  When they arrived, they would all scatter the peddles around the white marble obelisk, singing a special song for the occasion.

There were orations, choirs, and special guest - it was a very big day each year in Chesterfield County.  It was a tradition that started on Memorial Day of May 10, 1867.  The tradition ended in 1961.

But there was more to the telling.  Pat and Murdoch told me not only of those days but about the old Confederate veterans who were in attendance, quietly standing among children.  Murdoch looked at me and said that as children, those veterans seemed so old to us back then.  Now we are the old soldiers standing here.

That was my favorite moment during our reunion.

Finlayson Family Reunion 1997, Cheraw, South Carolina