Dan, Dan the Shoe Shine Man

I was walking around being a typical tourist in New Orleans when I crested the flood wall to get a view of the Mississippi and discovered it was not so mighty this far south. I know it has the ability to be devastating despite my disillusionment, but compared to the crossings I’ve made at St. Louis and reflecting upon my memories of the mighty Mississippi near Memphis, I was more than a bit annoyed by its complete lack of grandeur.  I had seen the Hudson look more majestic back in New York, but this unexpected site explained why I had somehow missed crossing it during the night as we drove in. It merely blended in with the other “minor” tributaries we crossed on our approach. I looked around at the tourists and nodded politely to a few, wondering if they were equally disappointed. A man to my left was leaning on a handrail and when I made eye contact and wished him a good day, he nodded at my shirt that consists of a rather patriotic American flag fabric complete with the image of an eagle.

“I like your shirt, man.” He grinned with a smile only half-filled with teeth and offered his hand.

What was I to do but shake it in return and say, “Thanks! My wife bought it for me.”

“I like your shoes, too.”

He didn’t let go of my hand, and as I looked down at my sneakers doubtfully, trying to figure out why anyone would like those shoes, alarm bells began to go off in my head. Too late. Sure enough, the hook followed:

“I bet I can tell you where you got ‘em.”

Now I’ve been around the world and seen enough carnivals and conmen to know better. I’ve also spent years in the recruiting world and perfected the art of opening conversations while asking open ended fact finding questions. I knew exactly who I was dealing with at that moment, and 99.9% of the time I would normally walk away at this point, disengaging from whatever scheme he had in mind.  But part of me registered his claim as to knowing where I got my shoes, and I didn’t think there were any telltale signs that would allow him to figure it out.

I snuck my other hand in my pocket to clutch my wallet, fingered my ID Card to make sure it was still there, and hesitated just long enough for him to set the hook.

“Are you an honorable man? You look like you’re in the military. Are you in the service?”

This wasn’t an open ended fact finding question, this was an emotional hook. How could I possibly say I wasn’t? How could I possibly deny the life I have lived for 20 years?

“Are you an honorable man?” he asked again.

“Of course I am.” I smiled, resigned to the fact I was now going to have to ride this con to its conclusion and hope it didn’t hurt my wallet too bad. But I also had confidence that there was no way he could guess where I got my shoes.

“Okay, then,” he said. “I’m going to tell you where you got your shoes. Now notice I didn’t say where you bought ‘em, or where they were made. I just said I could tell you where you got ‘em, and you got ‘em on the bottom of yo feet.”

I couldn’t help it. I had to laugh. As an English teacher, I pride myself on paying attention to words, and as a general rascal, I derive great pleasure in playing with words myself.  He got me good, and we both knew it. But he also knew I was under no real obligation to entertain this game any longer, so he quickly dropped my hand, bent down and with a deftness I hadn’t anticipated, began to apply some milky liquid to my tennis shoes.  Now I began to get annoyed, but sensing this as well, he dropped a bomb on me.

"I knew you were in the service, Sir. I can tell. See, ‘cause I was in the service, too. Did eight years in the Army.  I was a 91B and jumped into Panama in the invasion.” He stood quickly to lift his shirt and show me several scars scattered from his midsection to the right side of his chest. “I took shrapnel in that one, even though I was just a medic.”

He bent down to continue rubbing the milky liquid on my shoes as I resignedly looked out upon the Mississippi that swirled angrily around the nearby bend in the river. What the hell was an eight year veteran doing in New Orleans scamming tourists?

“This here is saddle soap. It’s all natural and will clean and protect your shoes from the rain. You know it’s gonna rain soon, this is New Orleans, so aren’t you glad you got protection, now?”

“Sure.” I mumbled as I looked at the interwoven cloth material the tops of my sneakers were made of while he vigorously applies his concoction to the small pieces of synthetic leather on the sides.

“My name is Dan, Dan the Shoeshine Man. I done two shoes, two for twenty. That’s the going rate. Normally I do two for forty, but because you’re in the service, I’ll give you a break. Now we made a bet, and it’s not wise to go back on a bet in New Orleans.”

“I didn’t’ bet you anything.” I retorted.

“Now you said you was an honorable man, and I told you I bet I could tell you where you got your shoes. And it ain’t wise to go back on a bet in New Orleans.”

He was right. He did say that. But of course I hadn’t thought of it as a monetary bet. It didn’t matter at that point. I had had enough of this and turned the tables.

“What is a military veteran of eight years doing down here working like this?”

“A man’s gotta eat.”

“Why’d you get out?”

His entire countenance changed as he reflected back on his career. “I was in the 82d Airborne for all eight years, and one day in a jump, somebody went under me an’ stole my air. I dropped about three stories, did my PLF, gathered up my chute, jumped on the back of a 5-ton, and only then did I notice my leg start to swell. I broke my femur, so they medically discharged me.”

We talked for at least thirty minutes, and in the end I gave him some small cash for his story, not his con. But I also left him with some other financial advice that if he listens will preclude the need to hustle on the streets. I gave him my phone number and told him to call me after he took a few steps along the path I laid out for him. I walked away and back through the flood gate both mad and frustrated. Why does a veteran turn to hustling for his money? This guy was receiving $2,200 a month in disability. I know there are other programs to help veterans. I know he could go to college. He wasn’t dumb. He gave me his real name once I broke past his charade. This is a man that can easily become more than he is. I have used every benefit the Army offers to rise through the enlisted ranks, achieve a higher education, and become an officer. I know about the benefits people can take advantage of. But what I don’t know is why people don’t take advantage of these opportunities. Why do people settle for mediocrity or even less when there are programs in place to help them? I read in USA Today that there are an estimated 170,000 Iraq and Afghanistan veterans unemployed. The numbers run from 11.9-15% unemployment rates for veterans, to include ones with undergraduate degrees. They say that some employers see military service almost like “a felony.” I find that last bit hard to believe, but I’ve seen crazier things I didn’t believe in. Why can’t veterans get work? 170,000 unemployed veterans just from these two wars is unacceptable and incredibly frustrating. The Army is an institution I believe offers one of the most powerful and rewarding careers with a plethora of benefits that should prevent these issues of unemployment. What is the disconnect? How can we fix it? I am frustrated because I don’t have the answer, and these are my brothers and sisters in arms. Dan the Shoeshine Man may or may not take the advice I gave him… Either way, I wish him luck. He was a smooth cat.

~ Shawn Neely

Memorials

Although I have visited DC a couple times in the past, yesterday was the first time I have been to the Lincoln Memorial. Margaret was gracious enough to take me around to the various sites at the National Mall, and as we strode up the stairs towards Lincoln’s statue, every film clip where I had seen Lincoln’s Memorial, from Martin Luther King JR’s speech to Planet of the Apes (and every other film I can’t instantly recall), fell from my memory, discarded like a sleepy child haphazardly drops a trail of clothes across the floor as he climbs into bed. There was Lincoln in all his marble majesty, a man who had an unmistakably profound impact on our nation. To physically experience his seated countenance in a Greek Doric temple eclipsed any concept I could have experienced vicariously through the inadequate medium of film. I entered the memorial, and although I was surrounded by hundreds of people, I felt alone for the first time in DC. Not so much in front of the statue despite the profound impact it had on me, but because I turned left and read the Gettysburg Address. I don’t know how many times I have read the Gettysburg Address, but I do know that yesterday was the first time I have experienced it: “[G]overnment of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.” Not from the United States, but from the earth. And then I crossed the chamber to the other side and read his second inaugural address. At that moment I felt truly alone as I embraced the moment and listened to Lincoln’s words as I read them to myself. I had not intended to take the time to read the entire address, but his words held me captive, and I felt that if I didn’t read everything, my visit would be incomplete. I am glad I did. Brilliant. There is too much to go into in this blog, but if you have never read it (as I am ashamed to admit I had not), then I encourage one to do so. It is worth the read.

As we headed back towards the Metro station, we walked by the Vietnam Memorial. I have never been there, and I must admit to my shame that it doesn’t move me like it does most of the nation. I am bothered by this, but I have a feeling it is a defense mechanism. I walk by it seeing little. Maybe it is because I refuse to look. I don’t see the 57,272 names inscribed upon the black granite. I see myself. I see other people. I use the reflections to create a distance, using the depth of the mirror image to foster an odd detachment. Instead, I think of a poem by Ezra Pound called “In A Station of the Metro” published in 1913, and wonder about its seemingly perfect applicability to that moment, having arrived at the Mall via Metro just an hour earlier. I walked on looking, but not seeing. There was an old beret left at the base of one panel and tourist after tourist scrambled forward out of the passing crowd to rotate their camera lens, focus properly to their best aesthetic sensibility and snatch an image of someone else’s painful memory. All around us there were intramural softball games that made me smile. Tourists were watching the games and taking pictures of them with what seemed to be just as much interest as they had the memorial…

The sun was setting and what had been a scorching hot day began to cool off into a pleasant mugginess as we strolled back towards the Washington Monument. This monolithic structure seemed to dominate every picture I took. From the Museums by the Castle, I snapped a picture of it in the distance. From the WWII memorial, I took great pains to maneuver around the beautiful fountains so that I could get an American flag, a fountain, and the Washington Memorial all in the same shot. From Lincoln’s Memorial, I stood on the steps and took a picture where the Washington Memorial blocked out the Capitol building. The reflecting pool is drained and under construction, but as we passed the nearby pond I enjoyed the view of lovely weeping willows and the spire of the monument peeking over their heads. And as we finally came abreast of it, the flags that encircled the monument suddenly made me think of service to country, the twilight of my own career, and my fallen comrades. I allowed myself and my thoughts to be distracted by the appearance of a late afternoon moon. Because the Washington Monument had intruded on every other view, it seemed perfectly appropriate and quite natural that is should share the same space.

I haven’t talked much about the World War II Memorial, but I couldn’t end this entry without saying I find it breathtakingly beautiful and worth its own space in writing when I get the chance.

                                     

~Shawn Neely

The Elements

Today is our last day in DC before heading home and I find myself woefully behind in regards to posting. Driving has taken its toll on me physically, and I’m too stubborn to admit I’m not twenty-something anymore. With late arrivals and early mornings, I simply don’t last long at night after planning for the next day’s drive and updating our finances. I suppose we live and learn, and I’ve learned I’m not as young as I used to be. The lyrics of Toby Keith’s song have been ringing in my ears lately: “I ain’t as good as I once was, but I’m as good once as I ever was.” I find that song bothering me a bit, though. I don’t want to be good once like I used to be; I want to be better than I ever was. Having said that, one thing is for sure: I ain’t as young as I once was, and that just stinks!

The Mule (our van) has been a trooper so far, and a pair of new windshield wipers has effectively ensured we saw no more rain, and that’s a good thing considering how the weather has caused us to change our route more than once. In fact, the elements have had quite an impact on our trip. We started out on a bright sunny day, watched tornadoes pass to our south, read about them traveling across the same path we just drove, ran into massive flooding in North Dakota where we stopped to fill sandbags, and were halted in Medora where flooded roads in the Badlands prevented us from driving straight through them. We had to bypass Little Bighorn because those roads were flooded, and when we got to Yellowstone, half the park was closed due to snow. In fact, we never made it to our campground because a snowstorm burried it in 8 inches of snow that closed the roads, and we couldn’t drive to Old Faithful the next day until it all melted off the mountain pass. More snow the next day forced us to take an alternate route out of Yellowstone that added 2.5 hours drive time to our destination in Bend, OR. The nights were colder than expected in California, and didn’t improve until we made our way down the coast towards L.A.. By the time we made it to the Grand Canyon, wild fires forced us to leave the park by an alternate route on our way to Los Alamos. When we reached Albuquerque that night, smoke had settled like a blanket on the city as fires spread out of control across the state. Temperatures soared as we drove through Texas, and we completed our transition from rain, snow and ice in the North to drought and desiccating temperatures that soared above 100 degrees in the South. As we pushed through South and North Carolina, we saw news reports in truck stops of people dying from heat related complications. It is safe to say that we have experienced extremes that Mother Nature seemed to delight in throwing at us; however, although this country has certainly demonstrated nature’s multi-faceted power and fury, we have also seen our share of breathtaking landscapes and absolutely gorgeous days.

~Shawn Neely

More Flooding

                Once we got to the hotel in Adora, North Dakota we started walking around the small town, which only has a population of one hundred people, to check out the shops.  It was only 6:45pm and all of the shops were closed.  The end of the road was closed off due to flooding, so I decided to ask the police officer how long this area had been flooded.  He told me that it had been flooded since last Wednesday and the water now covered the camp site in this area as well as the beautiful golf course.  I asked him how high the water had risen and he said it had risen 21 feet, caused by the melting snow caps in Montana.

                We went to eat dinner at a little buffet, which only served pizza, salad, and cookies.  The cookies were good, but I knew I would have to do a workout later on that night.  While at this buffet I started talking to this employee named Chelsea.  She told us that the flooding had closed off one of the major highways, I-90 through Crow Agency, Montana, which is the same highway and place that we are supposed to drive through tomorrow.  I was shocked; however, I was thankful that we had met Chelsea because if we didn’t we would have driven all the way to Crow Agency, Montana to find out that 60 miles of I-90 was flooded.  Everything happens for a reason.  Now we have to figure out an alternative route to get to Yellowstone National Park for tomorrow.

                On our way back to the American Inn, David, Clay, and I decided to get a little workout by playing some basketball with some volunteers in the area.  These guys didn’t explain what they were volunteering for, but we played some 4 on 4 against these 24 year old guys with a guy from Mongolia on our team who had a really good shot.  When we started playing we were losing 6 to 2 and the song I started thinking of was "Cant be touched" by Roy Jones Jr.  We weren’t that good, but we were able to win because we all have great endurance from the sports that we play at West Point.

                About to go do some P-90X and Kenpo with Clay to work on some abs for California.  That’s the end of my blog for now.  Please continue to follow us on our trip.  Have a great day.

-Sherman Pruitt II

Dwelling in the Land of Nod

Can we imagine American literature without Of Mice and Men, Grapes of Wrath, and (my personal favorite) East of Eden?  We can’t because our understanding of ourselves has been changed because Steinbeck wrote them.  As our docent at the National Steinbeck Center focused briefly on how East of Eden replicates the story of Cain and Abel over generations, I wonder why we focus on the obvious in that novel to the exclusion of the subtle.  Yes, it is a novel about brothers, but only so that Steinbeck can explore the source of their damaged brotherhood: the powerful father who prefers one over another.  I remember the King James Bible’s translation of that story.  Cain and Abel both offer God a gift.  Each gift is the young man’s labor of love.  Why is the gift of a lamb preferred to the gift of the harvest? I imagine Cain’s arms loaded with the fruits of the field and garden—the colors and textures and sharp scents of vegetables warm from the field flashing like jewels.  I see the lamb in Abel’s.  Both are offerings of love to their Father.  Only one is acceptable to the Father.

The biblical narrative does not give us enough information to know why God preferred one gift above the other.  As I have taught East of Eden over the years I have often been delighted by the student who with a fundamentalist’s resistance to biblical interpretation nevertheless assures me that one of the gifts is preferable.  God’s choice looks particularly arbitrary to me in this narrative.  I suspect it also did to Steinbeck.  Mothers are absent from East of Eden.  Fathers arbitrary and unjust.  (Cathy does not count because the narrator places her outside human parameters; she’s an obstacle, an unnatural phenomenon.)  The motive for the biblical, first murder is the Father’s approval of one and rejection of the other. 

Are we inherently good? Inherently evil?  Cathy is born with what the narrator describes as “something missing”? Is Cal, following his mother, born bereft of some essential human quality?  Or is it the coldly perfect Aron who lacks humanity?  Steinbeck will not let us come to a simple conclusion.  Timshel he reminds us again and again, even on the final page as the dying, unrelenting patriarch refuses to provide his son with peace and love at the last.  What are we to make of the fact that others must step in to provide the unconditional love that is the root of our humanity?  That we can father others?  That we can and must parent those who have been damaged?  That it is our duty if not our choice.  Timshel.

~Margaret Downs-Gamble

My Great Work and Our Nation's Magnum Opus

I think that it irritates my offspring when I say that raising them has been my greatest joy and my magnum opus.  They want me to be proud of my professing (I am) or my research (ditto).  I am proud of that work.  I believe I have helped others to become better writers and more analytical thinkers.  I began teaching in 1987.  I still think of the work as significant.  It still gives me joy.  It is not, however, more important than my children.

While we were in L.A., Elizabeth took the day off from work to see me and serve as our guide.  Al had never been to the beach and the others wanted to go.  Elizabeth chose Venice Beach as a youthful, avant-garde culture we would enjoy.  From the kiosks to the pale sand and the clear light, the morning was a success topped off by a patio lunch at the Ale House Pub and Grill.  Hollywood in the afternoon marked us as the tourists we suddenly were.

Just listening and watching as Elizabeth interacted with the cadets was enough to provide me with a “daughter-fix.”  The fact that she and I got a little time to speak with one another was a bonus.  She’s thinking of moving to Austin.  She’s actively thinking about what next, about what career might serve as a good match for her gifts and abilities.  Without insulting her, she reminds me of myself at her age.  I wasn’t sure, beyond mothering Alastair, what or even if I possessed gifts that might contribute anything to anyone else.  I wonder whether she will have the discipline and develop the tough skin to accept the role of professional writer.  She has the gift.

I’m glad I accepted the gift of teaching.  I say “accepted” because I was raised in an extended family in which three professions dominate to the point of boredom.  Three great aunts, Aunt Mary, Aunt Martha, and Aunt Itasca, did their graduate work in English at Columbia University in 1909, 1910 and 1911.  English professors . . . Their brothers were lawyers and doctors.  All were writers.  My sister works in the ER at a hospital in Fort Worth; one of my cousins is a lawyer in Vancouver, another cousin a professor in D.C.  My son’s decision to go to law school was no surprise, but had he determined to do or be something else I would have been happy as long as he was.

Like Alastair, Elizabeth has multiple interests, but of all the writing members of the family, Elizabeth’s gift seems most apparent.  Having just visited the National Steinbeck Center and heard that Steinbeck was supported by his family well into his thirties, I am reminded again how much art requires a community of support to establish itself. Family, community, state and nation must support art—must nourish and develop the voices of the next generation. 

~ Margaret Downs-Gamble

Savannah River National Lab

The Savannah River National Lab has to be by far my favorite lab. Its technology is exciting, futuristic, and very applicable. From hydrogen energy to hollow glass microspheres I couldn’t stop my mouth from dropping in amazement. I wanted to learn more about the amazing technology that I used to only dream and read about. The hollow glass microspheres really caught my attention out of everything in the lab, even though the hydrogen energy projects are very interesting to me as well, as when I was younger I read a book by Michael Crichton called Prey. The book had nanotechnology that was very similar to the hollow glass microspheres.  I couldn’t stop my imagination from wondering about the possibilities the little microspheres could do. The look of the microspheres in the glass container were so small that when put together, the microspheres actually looked like a fluid. These little spheres are so tiny, but due to their hollow structure they are able to contain gas, toxins, etc. The microspheres are also very stable as they can take great amount of force without breaking. Applications of this technology could be used for containing hydrogen, absorb gases, spew out toxins, create healing armor, etc.. Seeing such a great little invention, the possibilities are endless. I would love to work with these hollow glass microspheres someday as I do believe that it had endless potential for our future.

-Clay Sohn 

Grand Canyon

The Grand Canyon preserves water movement through geologic time.

Resigned Commision

Eastern Time

Just before we arrived in Atlanta, we returned to the eastern time zone- leaving behind the land of bloody marys, pina coladas and beer to go ... and neon art.

The 9th Ward

We drove the 9th Ward before leaving New Orleans this morning. There is much left to do.

A bit of Bourbon

Al, Clay, Sherman and I left dinner to go tour Bourbon Street.  Last year in the fall, I had the opportunity to come to New Orleans on another school trip for four-five days.  I had already experienced the infamous street and was excited to take the other three. I think everyone should experience Bourbon Street, even if it’s only once. We walked up and down the street to get a feel for the…culture if you will. Bourbon Street is an experience, even if one does not partake in the activities. From drinking and partying to all of the dancing women, Bourbon Street is a lot to take in especially with all of the barely clad women running around and dancing everywhere. My Youtube link goes along with this visual:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XomQLhjCYYk

One of the places I remember from my previous visit was a karaoke bar called the “Cat’s Meow.” I loved it because it has a huge stage at the front where people can go up and sing and dance. There are usually two workers who act as hosts and commentate and direct all that happens there. I told the others I thought we should go there and we proceeded to make our way down. We got there just as the place was starting to get packed. I told Clay and Sherman that they would have to go up there on that stage and sing before we left that night. After much thought, they decided on singing “Hot in Here” and patiently awaited their turn. The place was a hit and their song was well received! All in all a good night! More adventures to follow…

-Cait G.

Cafe du Monde

If New Orleans were not known as food heaven, Cafe du Monde would be worth the visit.  365 days a year, 24 hours a day, it serves fried air drenched in powdered sugar fresh and hot from the oil.  It is a peculiarly New Orleans brand of fried dough and one that should not be missed.  Put it on your bucket list.  New Orleans begins at Cafe du Monde.

~ Margaret Downs-Gamble

Beignets

Cafe du Monde

Why L.A. Matters to Me

In Chicago Steinbeck tells us that he met up with his wife Elaine, and because that meeting departed from the primary narrative of his heroic quest to discover America, he left it out.  I could do the same about the meeting with my children in Los Angeles, but will not.  They, too, are Americans, and in my personal quest remain central, even as my influence in their lives naturally decreases.  These are adult children and people I like as well as love.  My quest for all that is good in Americans might begin and end there.  I am proud of them.  They make me seem a better parent than I was.

So, in Los Angeles we met up with my children when we ate at the HMS Bounty Pub and Grill.  My son is a regular.  He meets his friends there after work.  Because he is a lawyer, “after work” is for him often nine p.m.  He works hard.  He works long hours.  He is stereotypically American in that regard.  He loves the challenges of his work.  He’s passionate about his profession.  In that way, perhaps, he is less stereotypical.  We say we are individuals pursuing our passions, but do we?  I think he does.  But he has many passions: law, music, writing, politics, and pursues them all.  I think Americans are less inclined to pursue their various passions, that we limit ourselves to one specialized thing.  We encourage our students and children to do a single thing and to choose that career at 16, 17, 18 . . . as though we cannot (and do not) change our minds and directions often throughout our lives.  Why do we tell our children that lie?

Meeting my son in L.A. was a brief treat for me on the way to our hotel in southern California.  My daughter served as our tour guide the following day as we explored Los Angeles.  More on that anon . . .

~ Margaret Downs-Gamble

The United State of Texas

     Twenty feet past the state line hung the all too familiar red, white, and blue flag against the flat, brown land: welcome to Texas. In all of our travels, the lone star state is the most ironic entity in this here United States of America. Texans are known for their pride in our country and is the symbol of patriotism, yet they have “Yes, we can secede!” and “Native Texan” (like they are a race of their own) signs, license plates, and bumper stickers. Texans uphold and revere the sanctity of marriage above all, and also boaster billboards that read: “Need a divorce? Call 1-800-426-FREEDOM”. Of course a majority of the oil fields are powered by wind energy. And only in Texas is a large sandwich from the state famous Schlotzsky’s barely able to fit in a take-away Styrofoam box while a small is still larger than a normal American sandwich. Whenever I try to describe a Texan to my mother, I make the mistake of listing adjectives, like one would do to describe anything. I list one after another after another, but can never get the full sense of the person. After about ten adjectives I stop and say, “he’s a Texan” and that seems to solve the problem. But after it all, America loses its excitement and image without Texas and Texans in itself and in the world stage.

How Grand!

It is truly something grand, indeed!  But its tremendous depths, splendid colors, and vast expanses did not excite my wonder as I would have expected of them.  Instead I found myself content in humble solemnity... I think that an individual’s condescension in the face of a beautiful creation stems from his inability to fully appreciate its creator.   But all the same, its beauty was overwhelming and my time spend in its presence was enough to insist another return in the immediate future.  And though our time spent there was brief and rushed, I have consoled myself in the fact that all the time in creation wouldn’t suffice for the degree of contemplation that the Grand Canyon insights within me.   

D Faust

Bourbon Street In New Orleans

Hey everyone,

Today was another long drive to New Orleans, even though it was only two hours.  In Austin, Texas Clay woke me up in the morning around 8am to go for a run.  We stayed at one of Dr. D.’s friend’s house, Mrs. Marian, so we decided to take the opportunity to run in a neighborhood.  Of course the route that we took was all uphill for about 15 minutes.  The view was beautiful because we could see houses on the other side of the hills and these were houses that I dream about having one day.  We couldn’t really enjoy the view too much since we were focused on running up the hill, but that quick moment running down hill opened up more opportunity to enjoy the landscape and houses.  These roads didn’t have sidewalks so we had to listen carefully for cars coming from behind us or in front of us so that we could move out of the way.  When we arrived back at Mrs. Marian’s house we did some push-ups and didn’t hesitate to jump into the pool to cool off.  Rather than jumping, I did more of a falling motion into the pool.

                While driving down the freeway on the way to New Orleans we ran into traffic about an hour away from our hotel.  I was getting impatient and the weather wasn’t helping since it is 60% humidity here.  “Brown eyed girl” came on the radio and my attention was instantly changed from being frustrated from the traffic to thinking about my mom.  Whenever I went to visit my mom as a kid, she would always play this song.  After arriving to New Orleans we ate at a little restaurant and I ate some barbeque shrimp which was good.  When we were finished eating we explored the night life of New Orleans on Bourbon Street which was an experience.  Bourbon Street has at least one thing that you will enjoy if you ever decide to come here as well as a variety of music suitable for all audiences.  We finally found a Karaoke place and of course I had to sing something to get the full experience.  Clay and I chose “Hot In Here” by Nelly which was fun.  There was a little bachelorette party so a group of eight women got on stage and tried to sing “Ridin’ Solo” by Jason Derulo which definitely killed my ears because they were horrible.  It was clear that these women had one too many drinks early on in the night. 

Anyway, there is a lot to experience in New Orleans and I am excited for another night on Bourbon Street.  Here is the "Ridin' Solo" song by Jason Derulo: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D24dNnwunRg

-Sherman Pruitt II

Coming Home

Leaving Austin was hard, harder perhaps because I had not anticipated how hard it would be.  Austin is my home.  Of all the places I have lived in my life, I have lived the longest in Austin.  So, length of living occurred there.  Significance of living too happened there.  I raised my son there; my daughter was born there.  I was married and educated there—educated in so many ways.

One of my oldest and dearest friends, Marian Henley, hosted us for our visit.  I thought the cadets would enjoy a home stay with a gracious family.  Marian’s husband, Rick Wupperman, and their son William extend the tradition of southern and Texan hospitality as we sat on their deck and swam in the pool overhanging the Texas hill country.  From homemade Guacamole and Hummus to breakfast pastries and organic coffee and easy conversation swirling through all, there is gentle grace in even the smallest things.  Marian knows me at my best and worst, in strength and weakness, and is still my friend.  Unlike Steinbeck, who dreaded attempting to describe his wife’s home state, it is my home, these my people.  I could do worse than show the cadets an inside view on a Texas household via this family.

As we drive south through Houston, I speak to Shawn of John Slatin, friend and professor.  I saw him just before his death, in the hospital the weekend Elizabeth’s dad and I dropped her at Rice University for her first semester of college.  Almost every turn in Austin and far too many exits along our route provoke memories and compel stories. 

I tell the cadets the story of the black and white stones as we drive toward LaGrange, Texas.  I had heard it growing up in Texas and again at West Point after I arrived, because the story is about West Point trained men.  Soldiers who were captured were commanded to reach into a vessel filled with black and white river stones. Half the men grasp a white stone; the other half black.  Those who pulled black were shot.  Those with white allowed to live.  A survivor later built a house in LaGrange, Texas, and paved his courtyard with black and white stones to commemorate his comrades.  As a very young child, I stood in that courtyard and remembered those men to whom Fate was particularly cruel.  I think I cannot escape Texas.  Even as we drive south and east, heading to the Louisiana border in our push toward New Orleans, I feel the threads of the past tethering me to Texas.  It may be time to come home.

~ Margaret Downs-Gamble

Welcome to Texas

The only time I had been to Texas was for a one hour layover at the Dallas Airport. I wasn't expecting much as I am not a big fan of country music and did not have an affinity for the country culture. I knew that Texas was a big state and a hot state, and I knew that “everything is bigger in Texas.” But other than those fun facts of blistering heat and oversized munchies, I had much to learn about this state. From the moment of entry, the Texas state was booming with pride. I have always known that Texans were quite fond of their state as every time I meet someone from Texas, they cannot stop bragging about the southern hospitality and culture. If I had my doubts about the degree of southern hospitality in Texas, they are all clear now as staying one night in Austin, Texas with Dr. D's old friend cleared that up. Rick and Marian were great hosts as they completely opened up their home to us. Their home was located on top of a hill that gave a great view of the area (although running up and around the hill as a morning run was quite the workout). Marian was an accomplished artist and writer so much of the interior design was done by her, and her work complimented the architecture of the house beautifully. Creative and intricate I am still amazed by the house. Rick is an orthopedic surgeon, and just by talking with him for a few minutes one could have guessed he was a doctor. Calm and collected, Rick is a very observant person who doesn’t miss much in his observations in you. Rick and Marian were a nice couple but what completed the family was little William. William was their adopted son and he was a ball of pure energy. Although he was shy around us in the beginning, by the end of our time there we had William playing in the pool with us and showing us magic tricks. I felt bad leaving the next morning as I overheard William saying, “Couldn’t they stay one more day?”

                Although we were only in Texas for a day and a night, I will definitely have to come back to experience more of the music scene. Like I said before I am not a big fan of country music, but with the little time we had walking down Sixth Street, the lively atmosphere and bands were really cool. I still have the Derek Dyer band lyrics stuck in my head, “Words in my head.” I guess I have a better understanding of where Texas pride comes from now as a return will be inevitable for me.   

-Clay Sohn

Lawrence Barkeley National Lab

Steinbeck, standing above the Salinas Valley, addresses readers as he muses to his dog that “In the spring, Charley, when the valley is carpeted with blue lupines like a flowery sea, there’s a smell of heaven up here, the smell of heaven” (158).  Spring it was when we arrived.  A series of smells propelled us forward in northern California.  The lupines were blooming in the valleys and along road sides.  In San Francisco and Berkeley the purple flowers of trees I did not recognize mixed with the smells of jasmine and eucalyptus to welcome us with sensory delight.

Lawrence Berkeley National Lab was another kind of welcome.  Ed Turano and his several colleagues gave of their time and enthusiasm to speak to us about their work.  Their vision of the future is as multi-faceted as a gem stone.  I found myself caught up as the various scientists explained current work and future possibilities.  There is no single vision.  There, as at Fermi, is a profound sense of the essential interdisciplinarity of the work.  Physicists talk to chemists who talk to biologists who talk to those who drive the second largest super-computer in the world, and all take time to talk to us.  I am deeply grateful again for the opportunity to share in their passions for a little while.

Super-computing did seem the point of intersection for the other sciences.  There is a convergence of nano technology and cosmic, of biology and physics at the point of future visions.  As we drive from Berkeley down to the Salinas Valley I continue to mull over the bio-fuel project at the Joint BioEnergy Institute (JBEI).  “Materials by design” we heard in the morning round table discussion with Jim Siegrist, Kathy Yelick, Melissa Summers and Ed Turano.  We then saw the electron microscope and the three-dimensional simulations of the structures the National Center for Electron Microscopy (NCEM) has seen. I am not surprised by the geometrical perfection of the forms.  My vision of the universe requires crystalline perfection at the nano-level as well as at the cosmic.  Beauty does not surprise me; it does, however, delight.  Human inventiveness, human creativity and imagination provide sensory delight.

For that reason, perhaps, I find myself most mesmerized by Blake Simmons’s work at JBEI.  Americans’ demand for energy, our demand for fuel, is in no danger of decreasing.  What will be our solution to this demand?  As we stood in the grow rooms at JBEI I could not help but feel the excitement of the possibilities.  Switch grass and pine trees rendered to a primordial ooze may solve the problem of our need.  Some bits of heaven begin with imagination.

~ Margaret Downs-Gamble

Thank you Marian, Rick and William!

Adventures In LA

Hey everyone,

Today was just destined to be a great day because we were staying less than a mile away from Disneyland and in a nice Holiday Inn.  After eating breakfast we all decided to go to Venice Beach and Hollywood Boulevard so that we could see the stars.

                I was surprised to see how many people were trying to make money on the beach.  Walking down the strip on Venice Beach there were shops on one side and then there were people that were set up to sale all kinds of items on the beach side.  Some people sold paintings, clothing, mini-skulls, and jewelry.  We walked around a little bit and then of course….we had to go to the beach.  As we approached the ocean clay jumped in without hesitating.  The Pacific Ocean unlike the Atlantic Ocean is cold.  I was excited for Al because she hadn’t ever been to the beach before.  I gave Al and Cait a hard time because the girls didn’t bring their swim suits, so Clay and I went into the ocean by ourselves.  I had to convince Al to at least come by the ocean to put her feet in.  Clay and I were going to throw Cait in, but Dr. D. saw what we were planning and instantly stopped us.

                After visiting Venice Beach we went to Hollywood to see all of the famous stars.  There were many stars that had their hands and feet cemented into the ground, but the major stars that stood out to me were Marilyn Monroe, Will Smith, Eddie Murphy, Matt Damon, and Johnny Depp.  A woman dressed in a Cat Woman costume asked if I wanted a picture and of course I said, “Yes Ma’am.”  I didn’t realize that she was looking to get money from me, but by that time I already had a picture taken.  As I was walking down the sidewalk looking at all the stars on the ground I ran into a man dressed in a Spock costume from Star Wars.  He even looked like Spock, so of course I had to give him a “Live long and prosper” high five.  After walking away I decided that I couldn’t leave without taking a video of Spock because I didn’t think anyone would believe me.

                I love L.A.

-          Sherman Pruitt II

Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory of Awesomeness

          What a gracious welcoming!  What humbling Knowledge!  The Lawrence Berkeley Lab provided me a perfect opportunity to extinguish my raging curiosity, or so I thought. 

          I came prepared with a vast array of intricately designed questions intimately paired to each of the many sciences explored at the LBNL, and with each answer I discovered more and more that I too would need a lifetimes worth of study just to understand them.  I was nowhere near prepared for the complexity, the perfection, the beauty, and the depth of the research that the LBNL does openly before the public eye. 

          Instead of being extinguished, my curiosity exploded so that it could no longer be contained within me and took physical form as a series of slurred half-finished questions, grinding teeth, dropped jaws, wide eyes, and unconscious drool.  It is hard to put my experience at the Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory into words that would contain within them my whole excitement, and so I am left in quiet astonishment. 

          I thank my gracious hosts for igniting a fire of intrigue within me that will undoubtedly lead to an interest in science I never thought I would ever have.

D Faust

Grand doesn't even begin to describe it...

(June 2, 2011)

          I’m listening to a mix of Tim McGraw, Kenny Chesney, and Jason Aldean as we drive down RTE 40. I’m so excited to go to Austin and see some live country music. I know it’s something my mom would love to go see. And I brought my favorite cowboy boots just for the occasion. We just left Needles, AZ and now the mountains and rocks are towering over the road. My father is a huge fan of the Grand Canyon. I think he’s always wanted to take me. We were going to go during Spring Break and hike around but then I had knee surgery, unfortunately, two weeks before. He always speaks fondly of the Grand Canyon from his childhood. Visiting and exploring the different ridges during his vacations there and what not. Needless to say I am excited.

        I cannot even being to describe the Grand Canyon. Grand does not even begin to depict the spectacular views you witness once you’re there. I was trying to find a postcard for my father in the trade store and I couldn’t find one that could even begin to show the beautiful views. During our walk around the ridge, Al, Clay, Dave and I sat take and just soaked it in. It was about 6PM when we were there. The sun glistened off the red rock causing it to look even more surreal; I couldn’t stop taking pictures. I felt like the cheesiest tourist there.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kc823UD0LeU

-Cait G.

Lawrence Berkeley

After a well deserved break in San Francisco we were back on the move as we had a jam packed schedule. Waking up early we hurriedly dressed in our uniforms, cleaned the room, checked out, and drove to the Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory. Both the host and the guests were equally excited for this visit as the National lab wanted to live up to its name and the cadets were eager to learn about the emerging technology. I particularly took interest in the bio-fuel technology that was being developed. I was fascinated to learn about new method creating diesel fuel via sugars. The scientist took the basic concept of fermenting yeast to expanding that process to create fuel. They’re ultimate goal is to create a plant that will naturally produce fuel, much like a Maple tree producing maple from its sap. Our main host was Edward Turano, an energetic, smart, and very schedule oriented man. As soon as we arrived we were given an overview of the lab and then introduced to Associate Laboratory Directors in the computing sciences, general sciences, and environmental science. As each associate director blew our minds with what they did, from trying to detect dark matter and energy to the world’s fastest computers, I found Mr. Turano’s intellect to be even more impressive. Although his field of expertise was in physics he was very well educated in almost all the fields the directors talked about or mentioned as he knew more than the basics about each and every field. Whether it was about the detailed project of bio-fuel or the difficult concepts of dark matter, Mr. Turano seemed to be up to date with everything. I was fascinated and honored that an individual as smart as Mr. Turano was so willing to explain and show us a prestigious lab such as Lawrence Berkeley. 
 After a fast paced tour in Berkeley, we were able to change to a slower pace when we arrived to the Steinbeck National Museum. Our tour guide was eccentric and full of energy. I feel fortunate that we have been blessed with tour guides who are so passionate about their work/lab. As she filled our brains with Steinbeck trivia we were able to better understand the man we were following. I give props to Mr. Steinbeck after finding out that he didn't believe that chivalry was dead as he personally defended his wife and friends from any taunts or insults. Kudos to you Mr. Steinbeck.


-Clay Sohn