OCR Text |
Show THE ZEPHYR/JUNE-JULY 2007 jector operator invited us to visit Major Our teachers went with the author wherever he led, never interrupting the flow with north end of Blacktail Butte. We drove on an educational aside. Were they totally absorbed in the story? They were, I’m pretty sure, even in that terribly long and tedious “The Crisis,” by Winston Churchill, Mrs. Erzinger reading. There stalked the Abolitionist, and the Black Republican and the damned Southern Democrat, the vacillating Northern Democrat and the despicable Copperhead. Who were those folks? Even Abe Lincoln, the great explicator, failed us. “An Old Line Whig, said Abe, “is one who takes his toddy regularly and votes the Democratic ticket occasionally and who wears ruffled shirts.” This was worse than nothing to Jackson kids who had never heard of a Whig, let along the Old Line variety, and to whom Democratic Ticket meant FDR. But we endured and spring came creeping in, sometimes in a grand surge and Hattie Erzinger read the last line, “Abraham Lincoln loved the South as well as the North,” and closed the red covers for the last time. Thus ended our years of literature spoken and free of penalty. (1) Mapes, who had a retirement home near the the snowy highway, parked and walked a short distance to the cozy cabin where Mapes showed us his shortwave apparatus. He fiddled with the set, found a channel that broadcast continuous code. We practiced translation of the random letters. Then our host gave us a little talk about radio, employment opportunities aboard ships, and the opportunity to join the world-wide short-wave fraternity. Little did we know. War and postwar years would bring vast progress in technology, shifting shortwave people into the ranks of mere hobbyists. Those hobbyists are still with us and sometimes they have been of crucial help in emergencies. I have a fond memory of that class, but am grateful that my sea-sick-prone body was never hired as radio operator on any ship at sea, or Great Lakes, or any body of heaving water anywhere in the world. I remember too the kind and gentle ways our two instructors treated us. Signing off now. dah-dah dah-dah (1) This section is adapted from /Teacher’s Choice/, in /Teton/, 1987. Martin and his sister, Joanne. in Jackson. Sometime in the mid-30s. COMING SOON TO: GRAND JCT., COLORADO GEORGE WINSTON To see more photos of | Martin and his early days in Jackson, turn to | page 16. Wednesday, July 1, 2007 7:30 p.m. The Recital Hall at the Moss Performing Arts Center Mesa State College Grand Junction, CO $28.50 reserved seating. Bring a canned food ra item for the food bank! On sale __ NOW. Produced by Sandstone Concerts & Square Peg Concerts We acquired a refugee from Nazi Germany, very well educated in the European fashion. He worked at the town laundry and lived near the east end of our street, Lovers’ Lane. Our parents invited him to dinner. He could read Russian, a skill my dad, Olaus, was most interested in because he had heard there was a Russian who was pretty much the equivalent of our Ernest Thompson Seton. Charles Huff and I pal’ed around for several years before he was packed off to a military school in Florida. I happened to be in the Huff's living room with our refugee from Hitler Germany, both of us listening to one CHERISH the LADIES of Charles’ older sisters, Gretchen, a wonderfully outspoken woman who often drove Charles and me to places in the mountains we wanted to explore. Gretchen was holding forth about the scandalous behavior of Fred Brown, reputed to be a descendent of John Brown of Harper's Ferry fame. Gretchen said that Fred had eaten beetle grubs scrounged from inner bark of rotten trees and he recommended grubs as perfectly good food, loaded with protein. Our refugee agreed with Gretchen. He turned to me. “Martin, Fred’s problem is that he is self-educated.” Fred Brown, a tall, husky cross country and downhill skier, also a ski jumper, very much a mountain man. He once gave me a kid goat and later on loaned me a horse for one summer. I wanted to defend him, but stood there spell-bound by this romantic figure from that far-away fascist world, but also astounded by his urbane complacency. Complacency. I guess that trait started riling me early on. There’s a lot more I could say about Fred. Maybe later. I wanted to defend him, but stood there spell-bound by this romantic figure from that far-away fascist world, but also astounded by his urbane complacency. Complacency. I guess that trait started riling me early on. Senior year in Jackson-Wilson High. The school offered us seniors a series of classes in the technology of radio, or an excuse for downhill skiers to skip classes and join the ski team practice on the recently named “Snow King” mountain, scarcely two blocks from school. My pal, Harold, an avid ski competitor kept urging me to join the team, but I was captivated by a dream: radio operator on freighters. I think all of the seven or eight seniors who opted for the radio training had the same idea. Employment. It was high time Friday, August 10, Avalon Theater $30 reserved, $25 general admission (balcony) On sale NOW. Produced by Sandstone Concerts GORDON LIGHTFOOT Sunday, August 19 Avalon Theater $42 reserved On sale NOW! Don't delay!!! Produced Sandstone Concerts for us to think about that. In the introductory session, the two instructors, one a radio re- pair man for the valley, the other a motion picture projector at the Rainbow Theatre. Both of them told us about Morse Code and how key tappers were needed on ships. Both men were highly knowledgeable, taking turns at the blackboard, drawing circuits and formulae. We took notes, consulted each other later, discovered that we were all pret- ty much lost in that sea of engineering expertise. But we stuck with it and one night the film operator invited us to the apartment at the top of the Rainbow where he and his wife lived. He presented each of us with a little metal platform with a hole fitted for a vacumn tube and other holes for wires. He guided us through a bit of wire welding. What a thrill, seeing the results of our inexpert fumbling, the vacumn tube glowing. We hooked up our keys and tapped. Sounds! Wow, we were producing code! di,di,di,dah dah,dah di,di,di. We carried our little creations home and practiced. Near the end of the course the pro- Sandstone Ticket Hotline: (970) 243-TIXS www.sandstoneconcerts.com |