tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43550906085760292222024-02-18T19:33:12.963-06:00The Harry Helms BlogNews, views, memories, and randomness from the mind of Harry "Butch" HelmsHarry Helmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16523477704774302608noreply@blogger.comBlogger155125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355090608576029222.post-58857093508239402672009-08-24T17:21:00.003-05:002009-08-27T13:32:26.013-05:00Greetings From Fort Mill, South Carolina<span style="font-family: arial;">Di and I have finally settled into our new home in Fort Mill, SC.<br /><br />Yes, I know we were supposed to be heading for Las Vegas. But sometimes he who hesitates is saved instead of lost.<br /><br />We made an offer on a house in Las Vegas, but that fell through when the seller discovered the buyer of our Corpus Christi condo had-----without our knowledge, and in breach of the sales contract-----taken out a second mortgage on the property, thus invalidating our representation to the Las Vegas seller.<br /><br />But this incident did trigger some further discussions of where we should move. While Di had professional contacts in Las Vegas, she had no close personal friends or family. And I had neither in Las Vegas. But when death is looming, you need your family and friends more than ever.<br /><br />It was Di who first suggested moving back to the Carolinas, and I readily agreed. We bought a condo on Highway 160 near Tega Cay, about a mile from the state line with North Carolina. I am just a few miles from the graves of my parents and grandparents; while it sounds illogical, I find this comforting.<br /><br />My journey began here, and it will soon end here.<br /><br />All the people I love most are now near me. I have often written here about how lucky I have been in my life, and the biggest stroke of luck has been my loving, generous, and kind aunts, uncles, and cousins. In particular. I want to thank my Aunt Polly for caring for me while Di handled the move back in Corpus Christi. Polly never had children of her own, and she lovingly babysat me when I was five or six years old. I'm now 56 years old, and she lovingly babysat me for the past three weeks. If I have ever known a saint, it is her. My Uncle Grady has two hobbies: golf and helping other people. He and his wife, my Aunt Betty, have been in daily contact, offering to take me places, bring me stuff, shop for me, etc.<br /><br />My cousin Cheryl visited me often. While I love all of my cousins, Cheryl and I have long been tuned into a frequency the rest of the family can't receive. When she visited, she brought me reading material such as <span style="font-style: italic;">National Enquirer</span> and, of course, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Elvis Encyclopedia</span>. She and I share the same demented worldview, and she never failed to lift my spirits.<br /><br />To all of my aunts, uncles, and cousins, I love you more than I can express in words. Pure, unconditional love is a rare, miraculous thing. I am so lucky to have been bathed in it since my return.<br /><br />Physically, I am declining fast. I can still eat, bathe, and generally care for myself, but I can't walk more than a few steps before becoming exhausted. I spend most of my time in bed or on the sofa. The only difference between me and a street junkie is that I have a doctor's prescription; we both need our periodic drug fix to get through the day.<br /><br />But I am happier than I have been in a long time. I'm not going to live any longer here, but I will die surround by people who truly love me. That means a lot.<br /><br />And this will be my final post here. One reason I started this blog was to keep my family informed about my status; now I can tell them face-to-face. As a writer, I hate to leave projects unfinished, and this blog is no exception. And frankly there are much bigger priorities in my life than this blog. So now it now ends (although one of my survivors may post my death notice).<br /><br />I thank everyone who has read and followed this blog. I also thank everyone who read my books and articles over the years and the many people around the world I came to know from my radio hobbies. And my friends in the publishing industry have given me far more than I have given them.<br /><br />To borrow the old Navy farewell, I wish you all fair winds and following seas.<span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /></span>Harry Helmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16523477704774302608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355090608576029222.post-34161124958716301512009-07-27T08:55:00.003-05:002009-07-27T09:47:13.457-05:00Interesting Links And QRX De W5HLH<span style="font-family: arial;">I've found some interesting links I hope you'll check out:<br /><br />• If you ever get the feeling the current economic crisis is different, that it is unprecedented in history, you're not alone. <a href="http://www.weeklystandard.com/Content/Public/Articles/000/000/016/763ixjus.asp?pg=1">David Smick says the key problem is export-oriented economies who are relying on the United States as the consumer of last resort.</a> I don't agree with everything in Smick's analysis, but I do agree with his identification of the key problem. I hope some people in Washington read and consider Smick's argument.<br /><br />• Of course, much of the current economic situation is due to inept corporate management. As a disgruntled former Microsoft shareholder, I think you can make a strong case that Microsoft CEO Steve Ballmer might be the most incompetent CEO this side of former General Motors CEO Rick Waggoner. <a href="http://www.marketwatch.com/story/is-the-party-over-for-microsoft-2009-07-24">John Dvorak agrees and lays out a blistering indictment of Steve's blunders.</a> It is astonishing to think that a company that 15 years ago-----on the brink of the release of Windows 95-----seemed poised to own the computing world now seems ready for a swoon as deep and severe as IBM's in the early 1990s. IBM managed to recover, and Apple was struggling 15 years ago. Maybe Microsoft can stage a similar comeback. . . . . . . . but it never will as long Ballmer is running the show. (A new board of directors would also help.)<br /><br />• And it's not just for-profit companies that are reeling from the effects of greed, hubris, and wishful thinking. <a href="http://www.vanityfair.com/politics/features/2009/08/harvard200908">Harvard is facing a huge financial crisis and no one seems to have an idea of the extent of the crisis and how to deal with it.</a> Is a federal bailout for Harvard in the works?<br /><br />• Outsiders are often puzzled by the fierce loyalty University of North Carolina alumni feel for their alma mater. I can't explain it; like Zen, you either get it or you don't. But Emily Banks, who just finished her freshman year at Carolina, comes <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/26/education/edlife/26tarheels.html?_r=2">very close to articulating the ineffable</a> in this <span style="font-style: italic;">New York Times</span> essay.<br /><br />• "QRX De W5HLH" is radiotelegraph code; "QRX" means "wait," "de" means "from," and W5HLH is my ham radio license call letters. This is a roundabout way of saying I won't be making any posts for at least a couple of weeks as Di and I prepare to move. I'll still have access to e-mail when i find a WiFi hotspot, but I doubt I'll have the time or energy to blog until we're settled into our new home. I'll be back around mid-August if everything goes right.<br /></span>Harry Helmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16523477704774302608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355090608576029222.post-33947715667755944582009-07-25T10:09:00.021-05:002009-07-25T11:17:30.465-05:00Memories Of My Atomic Youth<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Some of my most vivid memories from the late 1950s and early 1960s involve the old Civil Defense (CD) program. White it seems like utter lunacy in retrospect, quite a few Americans and government officials devoted a lot of time, energy, and money back then to planning how to survive a nuclear war with the Soviet Union. Seriously.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhljMIgzbUlm5Iafucw1uyYaKAzw-YNZFI2giALRcohs8a4Ib2O_Z7o1vGHuj6bA4V1demx9aQIgF-vhLTzbhD8iDFA4FmpQJP1bdQ65pW5UWPGH6pfIHbwyY34tHYkqJxlxx4aCsoQVms/s1600-h/CD+logo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhljMIgzbUlm5Iafucw1uyYaKAzw-YNZFI2giALRcohs8a4Ib2O_Z7o1vGHuj6bA4V1demx9aQIgF-vhLTzbhD8iDFA4FmpQJP1bdQ65pW5UWPGH6pfIHbwyY34tHYkqJxlxx4aCsoQVms/s400/CD+logo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362416252807081618" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk7Yvn1miLrKThHk7jlDLYR_Ks3y3-zY-01CrVz_C4fB8RJQhPulUAq1PkCWEUKCoP5RVVrlnZzfUHP4o5Q3YMRQTttS1qIHgOTvyjHZ-W6eQxc6anrkvDI8SAT3pqBbbc0RFFvMwbNPw/s1600-h/CDPreparednessSign1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 138px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk7Yvn1miLrKThHk7jlDLYR_Ks3y3-zY-01CrVz_C4fB8RJQhPulUAq1PkCWEUKCoP5RVVrlnZzfUHP4o5Q3YMRQTttS1qIHgOTvyjHZ-W6eQxc6anrkvDI8SAT3pqBbbc0RFFvMwbNPw/s400/CDPreparednessSign1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362416534672097298" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF0TdXHn6RUU4pk1ozWD0UGK1abO2ocLpGtbR_hv23Q0hvwDKPzF5j3MOuOpKmYOiN1RfRY0nGb2VRO2tA2VcMh0mS22d-9gRFbXu5aWlP6NDMbdtcTV6jAWqneXUnlYShyphenhyphenKqQ1MzBJac/s1600-h/Defense+Againist+Fallout+sign.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF0TdXHn6RUU4pk1ozWD0UGK1abO2ocLpGtbR_hv23Q0hvwDKPzF5j3MOuOpKmYOiN1RfRY0nGb2VRO2tA2VcMh0mS22d-9gRFbXu5aWlP6NDMbdtcTV6jAWqneXUnlYShyphenhyphenKqQ1MzBJac/s400/Defense+Againist+Fallout+sign.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362416875907493762" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The theory behind CD was that most deaths in a nuclear war would come from radioactive fallout instead of the bomb blasts themselves; while the poor folks in New York City or Los Angeles would be reduced to cinders, people in the hinterlands could retreat to underground shelters for two weeks until the radioactivity levels dropped to safe levels and people could move about safely above ground. To house large numbers of people, "fallout shelters" were established in the basements of large buildings such as schools and office buildings. I even remember visiting Tuckaleechee Caverns in Tennessee back in 1961 or 1962, and seeing that a couple of the cave's rooms were being used as fallout shelters!<br /><br />These "mass storage" fallout shelters were stocked with cots, blankets, medical supplies, and food, such as these appetizing-sounding "survival crackers":<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcesZ89N3llRyzZDMxDM41s7JdUAb3xmyHDRoRFIuegYO6qq2jCm25uQHbxZAdUnUvScFZio7uc1wCMFgCKlj9MQ3I-BNCkxISN_I0l7fjvQjbzJvMQOsSoa6ndPigCcre4kL4LAlgpY4/s1600-h/CivilDefenseCrackers3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcesZ89N3llRyzZDMxDM41s7JdUAb3xmyHDRoRFIuegYO6qq2jCm25uQHbxZAdUnUvScFZio7uc1wCMFgCKlj9MQ3I-BNCkxISN_I0l7fjvQjbzJvMQOsSoa6ndPigCcre4kL4LAlgpY4/s400/CivilDefenseCrackers3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362420008518276882" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">As you might expect, radiation detection equipment was also standard in "mass storage" fallout shelters:<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwKfaR2MjCbGpB0g5rFpK92kdLzrYjXtxqTnkN3QcRCS6o7PWlhC-gZJPNyxmYLvas_PGc_A0_nXt2F2lSFDxVK-1QXczUnRPS0b1Na-_Q3Nh82nySCmxseLCu6ajOBz8-AfpNO4jnDIY/s1600-h/CD+rdiation+detection+kit.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 319px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwKfaR2MjCbGpB0g5rFpK92kdLzrYjXtxqTnkN3QcRCS6o7PWlhC-gZJPNyxmYLvas_PGc_A0_nXt2F2lSFDxVK-1QXczUnRPS0b1Na-_Q3Nh82nySCmxseLCu6ajOBz8-AfpNO4jnDIY/s400/CD+rdiation+detection+kit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362420719482575650" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">In addition to public "mass storage" shelters, Civil Defense encouraged people to build and equip their own fallout shelters. CD did this the time-proven way: they scared hell out of people:<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-vlCUa-IZVzIaVtTvTR6W72PRkWwqCqpTbe-g-lPDva4uM-TqhBmGX85MblOYyEhd_QPSFzlsgRoeEIAld6hx_Oe0RrGHj_ukmyncW_llPThMRTnABQept80TxHeYHA45rVJw8_mWybE/s1600-h/fallout+patterns.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 276px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-vlCUa-IZVzIaVtTvTR6W72PRkWwqCqpTbe-g-lPDva4uM-TqhBmGX85MblOYyEhd_QPSFzlsgRoeEIAld6hx_Oe0RrGHj_ukmyncW_llPThMRTnABQept80TxHeYHA45rVJw8_mWybE/s400/fallout+patterns.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362421580641701346" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNPj6p7Ca4CVf31ZUGvyX0NQez1eCtp0wQhGCoQaT_1DX9yFVPuORMroeCADcm1abLOnfxY4gKL7IYdsVnushhKPrE9QdLJA8_UTDB2lKgdKxli309NWRzOUAonVsdYQSbc96LADx81rY/s1600-h/suburban+mushroom+cloud.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 172px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNPj6p7Ca4CVf31ZUGvyX0NQez1eCtp0wQhGCoQaT_1DX9yFVPuORMroeCADcm1abLOnfxY4gKL7IYdsVnushhKPrE9QdLJA8_UTDB2lKgdKxli309NWRzOUAonVsdYQSbc96LADx81rY/s400/suburban+mushroom+cloud.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362421768029970994" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmrb74VeIT_c27q4Box9lJ0HC5ZqYaw_ECIqH1AealSSNzMsQfB3vRMtE5Fg6aItqMr0DU-f8D6t4Sz5B7xTYE03Hj35DrzI2jFMXd5mq-w8M-ju60-6aYzRElAB1VJswGwEt9NeOKj8g/s1600-h/why+a+shelter.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmrb74VeIT_c27q4Box9lJ0HC5ZqYaw_ECIqH1AealSSNzMsQfB3vRMtE5Fg6aItqMr0DU-f8D6t4Sz5B7xTYE03Hj35DrzI2jFMXd5mq-w8M-ju60-6aYzRElAB1VJswGwEt9NeOKj8g/s400/why+a+shelter.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362422158415251426" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPwZXPJFhzii4dbSg4VDcFGHBYqz69nzQ_DLgJii_iYymDjCNFbPXr0sPmnEPfUe__V6w7AmPwUqftMpuAxJfFoEFmwoSHwwrb63v34SpkLUUptgXzgOTRyd_KtnMdQdY4aVOThHg85aU/s1600-h/10+Tips+Surviving+Atomic+Attack3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 262px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPwZXPJFhzii4dbSg4VDcFGHBYqz69nzQ_DLgJii_iYymDjCNFbPXr0sPmnEPfUe__V6w7AmPwUqftMpuAxJfFoEFmwoSHwwrb63v34SpkLUUptgXzgOTRyd_KtnMdQdY4aVOThHg85aU/s400/10+Tips+Surviving+Atomic+Attack3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362422596491092210" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Civil Defense published several booklets detailing plans for building home fallout shelters, which more resembled home prison cells. Look at those cramped dimensions; can you imagine spending two weeks inside one of them without going stark, raving mad??<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN-g_QvtFobPa8tqhvuY9BLOvZiQMlhvaEVJPKhpvRx2CZ4ovOEe_pFNU23CoRbceoS4YQfav_mz2D2VBiiFDopgLfH6RhyPhhrjYTIX5W5IdFheQHw4F6z_QuAt6SE9VeXtyjsfTpeaA/s1600-h/The+Family+Fallout+Shelter.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN-g_QvtFobPa8tqhvuY9BLOvZiQMlhvaEVJPKhpvRx2CZ4ovOEe_pFNU23CoRbceoS4YQfav_mz2D2VBiiFDopgLfH6RhyPhhrjYTIX5W5IdFheQHw4F6z_QuAt6SE9VeXtyjsfTpeaA/s400/The+Family+Fallout+Shelter.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362425407368482882" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaxCLP7UZ-HHgvhN0vKm7TkrVZ7OgtTfTRhSCzCv-T4jSVBDpDiUVmvG00zDdNURPxc4-Z9JtG2eLxvaVg-dkFAcf9wGJ5N_vnlwB549vckxv6ZH1eb0TeIsRMOj4XtVsW-KbmPvmXPtc/s1600-h/basement+concrete+block+shelter.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 388px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaxCLP7UZ-HHgvhN0vKm7TkrVZ7OgtTfTRhSCzCv-T4jSVBDpDiUVmvG00zDdNURPxc4-Z9JtG2eLxvaVg-dkFAcf9wGJ5N_vnlwB549vckxv6ZH1eb0TeIsRMOj4XtVsW-KbmPvmXPtc/s400/basement+concrete+block+shelter.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362425737201318754" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLMND41WkYA3b0HjmtuzyxpUsE4TFFoWT3iONGhUC1pv41J_iRXSm0BxY2G8tqQrH9YfMxmJgxviOWqasZ_amv3ZOmhq6Iw3jlCk3wYNC0oWnwEIc2Qsx9dbAgzJ0z7NkGgxPHfWkXGgA/s1600-h/basement+corrugated+shelter.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 367px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLMND41WkYA3b0HjmtuzyxpUsE4TFFoWT3iONGhUC1pv41J_iRXSm0BxY2G8tqQrH9YfMxmJgxviOWqasZ_amv3ZOmhq6Iw3jlCk3wYNC0oWnwEIc2Qsx9dbAgzJ0z7NkGgxPHfWkXGgA/s400/basement+corrugated+shelter.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362426000230659186" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv9ZOwmS1jDr0AjV54YXk9DH-O1CXgHOi090qkVHu83VX61jYgpC1tuSE0ix9g1dCbQGBMFWPx8dNmqc7uWSC5slVlArLlLc99Pb1QiIehc3fhKpCYlSefhSctVRQZL9GTaqMGaNQ5MmI/s1600-h/fallout+shelter+life1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 278px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv9ZOwmS1jDr0AjV54YXk9DH-O1CXgHOi090qkVHu83VX61jYgpC1tuSE0ix9g1dCbQGBMFWPx8dNmqc7uWSC5slVlArLlLc99Pb1QiIehc3fhKpCYlSefhSctVRQZL9GTaqMGaNQ5MmI/s400/fallout+shelter+life1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362426435704860818" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMKJebSNxC_P09yXqM7FSfe5I-coKfOYcbEDWud1KAb4MRWD6sLKTceGo01K8IcW-PTI60NDuvbbCrUF-bSiT3VtTEU3w6kxm_RhC7yEHRmRICN_OFlY51MFs3b7p3FTk4LqlQBhS4-qo/s1600-h/plywood+box+shelter.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 348px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMKJebSNxC_P09yXqM7FSfe5I-coKfOYcbEDWud1KAb4MRWD6sLKTceGo01K8IcW-PTI60NDuvbbCrUF-bSiT3VtTEU3w6kxm_RhC7yEHRmRICN_OFlY51MFs3b7p3FTk4LqlQBhS4-qo/s400/plywood+box+shelter.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362426834253283858" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPWKSP6B4Q7IxFLFXzpPBDvDZZ2Hwx68F2xrXQjukSN7UH_iqSl8_BrGp-GPSxTI846CUaXQ9UPkwKEtUKXRhuOaOA26eOD1uBb5lGUw0urRwreeBzPEVvQ4jI4ucO31p3Lo8vqTZIZuMW/s1600-h/steel+culvert+shelter.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 286px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPWKSP6B4Q7IxFLFXzpPBDvDZZ2Hwx68F2xrXQjukSN7UH_iqSl8_BrGp-GPSxTI846CUaXQ9UPkwKEtUKXRhuOaOA26eOD1uBb5lGUw0urRwreeBzPEVvQ4jI4ucO31p3Lo8vqTZIZuMW/s400/steel+culvert+shelter.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362427168796223858" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And, as the Civil Defense literature helpfully pointed out, living in a home fallout shelter for a couple of weeks would present some interesting challenges not faced by Ward and June Cleever:<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE5uc3V5Cw_SaH8DSqT7AvSZzJkc6yVsnA4kzxLUzJOxPBRrx-ZQ5YHobN4yGS_KsO4h3rO5zhI8vB4hTiMAn2QJr0KloO0RoxI2iBNyz6hwTLxkFHdsmbEGs_E-eRF38-YI9DuXJtZpOw/s1600-h/fallout+shelter+life3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 230px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE5uc3V5Cw_SaH8DSqT7AvSZzJkc6yVsnA4kzxLUzJOxPBRrx-ZQ5YHobN4yGS_KsO4h3rO5zhI8vB4hTiMAn2QJr0KloO0RoxI2iBNyz6hwTLxkFHdsmbEGs_E-eRF38-YI9DuXJtZpOw/s400/fallout+shelter+life3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362428492195241538" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Civil Defense thought the following items would be adequate for stocking a home fallout shelter. Looking it over, I can't help but wonder: <span style="font-style: italic;">uh, shouldn't a rifle, shotgun, or other firearm be on that list?</span> Something tells me life in a post-nuclear war world would be chaotic and dangerous, and a weapon of some sort could come in very handy:<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx67j-QrEjBibAC-CQQDEJ6SfVhv_QPpztaQF_OLHE2kX4Kcu2AAUnmduHy2ckjPHsOUcPFBUvVoaLgKJkbAE892_8xQP-eqR4NcnkAhyxOjY-W7mqVHOFPYpJjnIJX_giryXa1CB3NHvy/s1600-h/shelter+checklist.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 186px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx67j-QrEjBibAC-CQQDEJ6SfVhv_QPpztaQF_OLHE2kX4Kcu2AAUnmduHy2ckjPHsOUcPFBUvVoaLgKJkbAE892_8xQP-eqR4NcnkAhyxOjY-W7mqVHOFPYpJjnIJX_giryXa1CB3NHvy/s400/shelter+checklist.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362429843062712690" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">During a nuclear attack and its aftermath, the CONELRAD system is how people were supposed to get official information from the U.S. government. This system would have allowed radio broadcasts on just two AM radio frequencies, 640 and 1240 kHz, with transmissions switched between different stations so Soviet bombers could not use the broadcasts for direction-finding. Or at least that was the theory:<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaN3nZoSBr1xwq_5_rkMZvRHrvVpgt8OAKAvQnAOi7nA3zwtWz0ajxi6du8HqX7YPU-MvleauOc7ulZCp59wotJu-foKzKoVSM6ezk0y6450PaB056pYqSZgKlRw68oS4BxEb6d2GUAopP/s1600-h/Conelrad.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 342px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaN3nZoSBr1xwq_5_rkMZvRHrvVpgt8OAKAvQnAOi7nA3zwtWz0ajxi6du8HqX7YPU-MvleauOc7ulZCp59wotJu-foKzKoVSM6ezk0y6450PaB056pYqSZgKlRw68oS4BxEb6d2GUAopP/s400/Conelrad.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362431626730376050" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Station WBT in Charlotte was selected to participate in the CONELRAD program, and here's <a href="http://www.nrcdxas.org/articles/WBTBombShelter.html">a link to a story about WBT's "fallout shelter"</a> from which CONELRAD broadcasts would be transmitted.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Yeah, it all seems so crazy now. But fifty years ago people took all of this very seriously.</span>Harry Helmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16523477704774302608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355090608576029222.post-26170754656253494582009-07-20T17:19:00.003-05:002009-07-20T17:39:27.385-05:00Forty Years Ago Today<div style="text-align: left;"><span name="intelliTxt" id="intelliTXT"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >We were young, and we were fearless and, after all, nobody had ever told us young engineers </span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">that we couldn’t successfully land humans on another planet. So we did it.</span>-----Sy Liebergot, electrical, environmental, and communications mission control officer, Apollo 11 mission.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">There was a time when the United States could accomplish the impossible. There was a time when heroism and accomplishment were celebrated and honored in this country. It dreamed big, and a lot of those big dreams became reality.<br /><br />What the hell happened to the United States??<br /><br />Where did it all go wrong??<br /><br />Forty years after arguably the most magnificent achievement in human history, our most remarkable accomplishment today is the debt we're running up with the Chinese. We are now much better at denying we have problems, or avoiding facing reality squarely, than we are at solving problems.<br /><br />What the hell happened??<br /><br />I feel lucky that I was alive when the United States was at the height of its power and glory. And I feel lucky I will be dead by the time China passes the United States as the world's dominant economic, political, military, and scientific power.<br /><br />And the next visitors to the moon will be Chinese.<br /></span> </span></div>Harry Helmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16523477704774302608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355090608576029222.post-14117560944019026582009-07-18T17:26:00.011-05:002009-07-18T18:11:31.851-05:00Artist's Palette And Other Places In Death Valley<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The Artist's Palette Drive is located on the east side of Death Valley, up in the Black Mountains. It gets its name from the colors produced by oxidation of various metals on the mountainsides. The drive is a little over nine miles road and the road is well-paved and suitable for all cars.<br /><br />Below you can see the start of the drive. Note the "layer cake" look of the hills and the reddish streak running upward toward the right:<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ASvw2MBYRyhJGpx3i0yzMJyMG_78hApnkSWWWY306Bzw3JNShuCKMEsXSjR-nq-u73UAAHhyphenhyphenuHnUZz2ru_mRzwcYCix0-mcDDEwG6UXdUWpiI10IUE_bLCVgsgVpwxv2G6-SDaJzGEI/s1600-h/ArtistsPalette1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 319px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ASvw2MBYRyhJGpx3i0yzMJyMG_78hApnkSWWWY306Bzw3JNShuCKMEsXSjR-nq-u73UAAHhyphenhyphenuHnUZz2ru_mRzwcYCix0-mcDDEwG6UXdUWpiI10IUE_bLCVgsgVpwxv2G6-SDaJzGEI/s400/ArtistsPalette1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359932380088320242" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">As you drive along, you will see patches of green and aquamarine among the brown and white of the hillsides:<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpIyCOl4kK5s9ubzPKVMVDo2_yAVhyJt4pCboBzVWHEjvgtkO4vxZSZW-w72lU9fGdTF4vYBg5_XELOqq2NFRNES03I15x2O6V2l-ebILu-ca1pf5pRQTVmPSH5XPzRIP_dE_jBVbiutk/s1600-h/ArtistsPalette2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 319px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpIyCOl4kK5s9ubzPKVMVDo2_yAVhyJt4pCboBzVWHEjvgtkO4vxZSZW-w72lU9fGdTF4vYBg5_XELOqq2NFRNES03I15x2O6V2l-ebILu-ca1pf5pRQTVmPSH5XPzRIP_dE_jBVbiutk/s400/ArtistsPalette2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359933061327515282" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrQS34IyL6gn_EBfAQiKnlmAJlVQX_pykOky7GqoZbilBSHCKd4InQ_huuvr5oqn6pYh6vs6yJ5y_OzQK5YqgIU5rIJGNX5PTub2J1JZ4Rsgr_Of0L96ODBUcbw_df34ssTUz9nqGvryg/s1600-h/ArtistsPalette3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 319px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrQS34IyL6gn_EBfAQiKnlmAJlVQX_pykOky7GqoZbilBSHCKd4InQ_huuvr5oqn6pYh6vs6yJ5y_OzQK5YqgIU5rIJGNX5PTub2J1JZ4Rsgr_Of0L96ODBUcbw_df34ssTUz9nqGvryg/s400/ArtistsPalette3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359933244138620434" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">As you drive along, the green and aquamarine patches become brighter and larger, and are striking under the bright Death Valley sun:<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcmgpukyWw5qvwwlBzDzK69Zon3RyLfVVeJOrOrN-o_4L5XXRu8t-L_rbPZj3XFifUYEepkHPrFrD8If0FcL-ySOhyphenhyphenPA5SdWtBT4E0mg0HZVeKBX7olAStbVgqeg9yvUuugWEm3MkQN98/s1600-h/ArtistsPalette6.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 319px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcmgpukyWw5qvwwlBzDzK69Zon3RyLfVVeJOrOrN-o_4L5XXRu8t-L_rbPZj3XFifUYEepkHPrFrD8If0FcL-ySOhyphenhyphenPA5SdWtBT4E0mg0HZVeKBX7olAStbVgqeg9yvUuugWEm3MkQN98/s400/ArtistsPalette6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359934248323731474" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIHk5boTG9DWUEEVMvOVwGmmms9Zd7Cn4S_LiuFNMtd-CpHjvaHTZgE1_BwIjsNNbS9fW0pAH49xi6v4wFG4tEGocMLoJrBpwWCk7Z1lMz7KnWuWlTcaGoNU0pdAB4Yv9SFI9ijySrfTY/s1600-h/ArtistsPalette8.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 319px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIHk5boTG9DWUEEVMvOVwGmmms9Zd7Cn4S_LiuFNMtd-CpHjvaHTZgE1_BwIjsNNbS9fW0pAH49xi6v4wFG4tEGocMLoJrBpwWCk7Z1lMz7KnWuWlTcaGoNU0pdAB4Yv9SFI9ijySrfTY/s400/ArtistsPalette8.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359934794702200994" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Salt Creek is located on the floor of Death Valley near the junction of California highways 190 and 267. I can't help but pity all those early explorers and travelers in Death Valley who thought they had found a huge source of water in this godforsaken desert, only to taste it and learn why it came to be called "Salt Creek." The water does support some plant life, however:<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvRJ0O1aibRH0VT2krJ9m6sey2TF91EWjYB4yuh6aC2S4fjW4BV1ftKqo2vu4U19QXfasCRuV289O2mWJw_nHXEwVBPNdM78oD-N_SSLBbrjN0zDH9qyR4hyphenhyphen4pY6h-PF2a5a48jF5gj04/s1600-h/SaltCreek1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvRJ0O1aibRH0VT2krJ9m6sey2TF91EWjYB4yuh6aC2S4fjW4BV1ftKqo2vu4U19QXfasCRuV289O2mWJw_nHXEwVBPNdM78oD-N_SSLBbrjN0zDH9qyR4hyphenhyphen4pY6h-PF2a5a48jF5gj04/s400/SaltCreek1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359936472080406018" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Stovepipe Wells is along Highway 190 on the western side of the park; it is the most used entrance to the park and offers gasoline, food, and lodging. It's also the starting point for the trail up Natural Bridge Canyon, an easy hike in cooler weather. Below is a look at the natural bridge:<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGrx96LaIgYuTWCDj5tJ45grxARMlM_0POFyBSGzy4Q6jKxxdPR1qj2e7EN8EwMQKpKhFU7m3dZZNs5s99I7UE2_zD-xmj7V-KTUeg3XOONLOnHVzHVdteWIoE5k8e-kX3Ljk7lsY_kfs/s1600-h/NaturalBridgeItself.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGrx96LaIgYuTWCDj5tJ45grxARMlM_0POFyBSGzy4Q6jKxxdPR1qj2e7EN8EwMQKpKhFU7m3dZZNs5s99I7UE2_zD-xmj7V-KTUeg3XOONLOnHVzHVdteWIoE5k8e-kX3Ljk7lsY_kfs/s400/NaturalBridgeItself.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359939129637923138" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Adjacent to Stovepipe Wells is a network of sand dunes that visitors can hike across. These dunes are spectacular in the light of dawn and sunset:<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRaKif5tjKtJXl7ELhy_A68Lv-XcwUlXnHI9E8s_N93bXzhMQ2ra3nLZHB_gOKERHXx77M-hmThrV6kgCauK3DvF__RleShPEUjzkhwcV_7wvq_CaKLJc4WnIcrU3Y2DVvm5uB8uG_hwc/s1600-h/StovepipeWellsDunes3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRaKif5tjKtJXl7ELhy_A68Lv-XcwUlXnHI9E8s_N93bXzhMQ2ra3nLZHB_gOKERHXx77M-hmThrV6kgCauK3DvF__RleShPEUjzkhwcV_7wvq_CaKLJc4WnIcrU3Y2DVvm5uB8uG_hwc/s400/StovepipeWellsDunes3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359940025828930130" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">There is much, much more to see in Death Valley; it is my favorite national park by far. If you're thinking of a California vacation, skip the usual tourist traps like Disneyland or Fisherman's Wharf and instead head out to Death Valley. You'll be glad you did.</span><br /></div>Harry Helmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16523477704774302608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355090608576029222.post-38149417795734163562009-07-16T07:59:00.004-05:002009-07-16T09:50:31.561-05:00Finally, A Shot Of Reality In The Health Care Debate<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">There is a terrible reality in the current national debate on health care reform that no one, regardless of whether they're conservative or liberal, wants to admit: too many treatments today are too expensive for the benefits they offer and consume resources that could, and should, be redirected to other patients. In other words, we can spend a lot on one patient or spend smaller amounts on a lot of patients, but we can't afford to spend a lot on a lot of patients. There are hard choices to make when it comes to health care, and we shouldn't pretend otherwise. The only way to afford universal health care will be to deny certain treatments to patients, especially those patients whose long-term survival is already dubious.<br /><br />Let me give you an example from my own experience. From February to July, 2007, I was administered a chemotherapy "cocktail" every two weeks. It was a potent brew that included several pricey drugs such as Eloxatin, Fluorouracil, and Avastin; I had to go to St. David's Hospital in Austin for the infusion, which took several hours.<br /><br />And it cost over $50,000 a month for those treatments, which turned out to be totally ineffective. My cancer returned less than two months after the end of the chemo, and that's when I put my foot down and said "no!" to any more chemo. In other words, all those treatments-----all that money-----were a complete waste. I might as well taken that $50K each month and gone to Las Vegas instead; the results would have been the same and I would have had a much better time.<br /><br />My case is hardly unique. Many very expensive treatments fail more often than they work, and even when they do the net gain is measured in months instead of years. I have to wonder if that money spent for me each month should have been spent instead on programs for early detection of various diseases, childhood vaccination programs, etc. In other words, was my life really so valuable compared to the needs of other people?<br /><br />Honesty compels me to say "no."<br /><br />And if we're going to be honest about health care reform, we're going to have to admit we can't afford to give everyone anything and everything that might help them. We, as a nation, will have to reach a point where we say that a patient gets a treatment if there is a 60% chance it might work but a treatment will be denied if there is only a 30% chance it will work.<br /><br />Some individuals will have to suffer for the good of others. There is no getting around that terrible truth.<br /><br />That's why I was pleased to see the <span style="font-style: italic;">New York Times</span> publish <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/19/magazine/19healthcare-t.html?_r=1&ref=magazine">this piece</a> by Peter Singer, a professor of bioethics at Princeton, in which he openly discusses the hard choices we must soon start making. Read it.<br /><br />Rationing and denial of certain treatments is inevitable in the health care system. The only question is whether it will be done by the government or by the market. But it will be done, and don't fool yourself into thinking it can be avoided.<br /></span></span></div>Harry Helmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16523477704774302608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355090608576029222.post-7671030396256958732009-07-15T18:42:00.002-05:002009-07-15T19:10:16.323-05:00Is The Book Industry Going To Get "Napstered"?<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Before I retired from the publishing industry, I was a big advocate of eBooks-----in fact, if I were not sick, I would be managing my own eBook publishing company now. While I don't think eBooks will ever largely supplant print books----especially for fiction----I think they have a ton of potential for professional, scientific, and technical works, especially in subject areas where frequent revision is necessary. eBooks would also make sense for topics that are inherently "time limited," such as books on various software releases. It's doubtful anyone will need or want a Windows Vista book a decade from now, so why not distribute them in electronic form? Publishers and readers could both save money and trees with eBooks.<br /><br />But one of my frustrations during my days as a publishing consultant was the emotional, irrational opposition to eBooks on the part of many publishing executives and managers. One fear is "piracy," the notion that people will download eBooks for free from outlaw web sites instead of buying authorized versions. Another, more deadly notion is that eBooks must be priced close to the list price of print editions lest eBooks destroy the market for print editions. Both of these are ridiculous ideas, but a surprising number of senior publishing executives treat them as if they came down fromn Mount Sinai on marble tablets.<br /><br />I feel these attitudes will eventually cripple some book publishers, and <a href="http://www.slate.com/id/2222941/"><span style="font-style: italic;">Slate's</span> Jack Shafer agrees</a>. If you're in the publishing industry, you need to read his article.<br /></span></span></div>Harry Helmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16523477704774302608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355090608576029222.post-18474544022341943962009-07-10T15:37:00.012-05:002009-07-10T16:52:59.964-05:00The Marble Canyon Mining Camp Ruins<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The Saline Valley is located just west of Death Valley, and is almost as hot as Death Valley itself. It is also far more isolated and undeveloped than Death Valley itself (for example, you are dozens of miles from the nearest electric service or gasoline). The sole road through Saline Valley is a graded dirt road running from Highway 168 in the north (the Big Pine entrance) to Highway 190 in the south (he Owens Lake entrance). The road definitely requires a high clearance 4WD vehicle, like my late, lamented, and much beloved <a href="http://harryhelmsblog.blogspot.com/2008/06/white-thang-was-one-bitchin-auto.html">White Thang.<br /></a><br />Saline Valley was added to Death Valley National Park in 1994, and many of the mining claims in the area where abandoned over the next several years. One of the best preserved is at Marble Canyon. It is reached by taking Highway168 east from Big Pine, CA, approximately four miles to the Saline Valley turnoff. The Marble Canyon site is about 20 miles down the Saline Valley road.<br /><br />The first signs you're approaching the mining camp are some buildings and mining equipment that are starting to fall apart:<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBB_KtG4m1M76D9Aa3Ag04FuyQJRMPH_zbVKdaY74lNhJpdnpUTCLgFbyL_RXl2j2bNND9723XGCYqvsMqIPALNWg7_kK9x7CofR_GYn8qo09YwJ88-PSfr707Sp6nToGdY4fmBPGjBaE/s1600-h/Marble+Canyon+Mines1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 319px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBB_KtG4m1M76D9Aa3Ag04FuyQJRMPH_zbVKdaY74lNhJpdnpUTCLgFbyL_RXl2j2bNND9723XGCYqvsMqIPALNWg7_kK9x7CofR_GYn8qo09YwJ88-PSfr707Sp6nToGdY4fmBPGjBaE/s400/Marble+Canyon+Mines1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356939627159772882" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQZzaTiVhqrDP9VuLJchv2GaSiWIRn5ExnV0DrH74yUb6svVh-FBdbutWBZ05QyFME5Ht8Idshbj0F53RAtQ3Tf8SJHQKoqx44Boyp0Qd9P8SDr-UdTqxFmTTaLMfMCZa0YhE5S_vvVN8/s1600-h/Marble+Canyon+Mines2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 180px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQZzaTiVhqrDP9VuLJchv2GaSiWIRn5ExnV0DrH74yUb6svVh-FBdbutWBZ05QyFME5Ht8Idshbj0F53RAtQ3Tf8SJHQKoqx44Boyp0Qd9P8SDr-UdTqxFmTTaLMfMCZa0YhE5S_vvVN8/s400/Marble+Canyon+Mines2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356939863927853698" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">It amazes me how people managed to build such an extensive mining camp in such an isolated area------you're well over 100 miles from the nearest hardware store, and transporting those materials down the Saline Valley road must have been a huge challenge. The result is impressive:<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3MWK28hXfWdn4LRTYZqX3oMWDALNmw71PPOCM67DhAUh-cfiDth6usVoIroLCdIfLuUwjXwMdFiSPt3aoVN29RotRciYCeZyf-wW7JpBEigdBFbTWs7vMs4YzvxFJUojSnRyj90rwA08/s1600-h/Marble+Canyon+Mines3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 319px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3MWK28hXfWdn4LRTYZqX3oMWDALNmw71PPOCM67DhAUh-cfiDth6usVoIroLCdIfLuUwjXwMdFiSPt3aoVN29RotRciYCeZyf-wW7JpBEigdBFbTWs7vMs4YzvxFJUojSnRyj90rwA08/s400/Marble+Canyon+Mines3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356941274881237538" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The interior of the residential building was well preserved</span></span>; <span style="font-family:arial;">the kitchen looks like it had been abandoned only a few months earlier:<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT8ZmshFiUEc5G6ze_RL-ra-urA2uwOTCznjWt3pc179K5TiPTCm-r6qTE7yAwSWSFJnKLhgMKJBKmjUPCopSouMEOAx27oRClBfznp06Tc2ksCDU5gZn4CDXDdfzKATZnfD5pP0hLSTU/s1600-h/Marble+Canyon+Mines+4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT8ZmshFiUEc5G6ze_RL-ra-urA2uwOTCznjWt3pc179K5TiPTCm-r6qTE7yAwSWSFJnKLhgMKJBKmjUPCopSouMEOAx27oRClBfznp06Tc2ksCDU5gZn4CDXDdfzKATZnfD5pP0hLSTU/s400/Marble+Canyon+Mines+4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356942188750145602" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The National Park Service has a policy of leaving abandoned buildings in the same shape as they were when they came under the jurisdiction of the National Park Service; the buildings are not restored but instead are allowed to naturally decay. The result is that some sites are trashy with lots of junk, like the one at Marble Canyon:<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBNeoPPVDlue8Du-mq8eo5POwm5R_rwsZxumu73KKAbM8o9pKNR-8hofzVhtYmaYoRFmu7qzTiqyk-NhXv8YmuyaXDm19n8bsy8Uhzf4Lq4_U7wzNdHNeoI_Ib0Jw0-fyMgR4Gfz3aIls/s1600-h/Marble+Canyon+Mines5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 319px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBNeoPPVDlue8Du-mq8eo5POwm5R_rwsZxumu73KKAbM8o9pKNR-8hofzVhtYmaYoRFmu7qzTiqyk-NhXv8YmuyaXDm19n8bsy8Uhzf4Lq4_U7wzNdHNeoI_Ib0Jw0-fyMgR4Gfz3aIls/s400/Marble+Canyon+Mines5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356943630906994114" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The one exception to this "leave it as it was found" policy involves entrances to mines. The National Park Service seals off the entrances to abandoned mines, as you can see below. This policy is necessary because every year several idiots manage to get themselves badly hurt or killed by exploring abandoned mines; causes include collapse of the mine shafts, poisoning due to toxic gases accumulating in the shafts, rattlesnake bites, etc.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiblNpH6f83csnBsiG6V08ThSnKomXyKYqhU4AAHpH3a-4uJahrJg3Klz9Ig2A6lPKFHXIvIYPtF__pu9BuDjPsqOCENq8j28mzYpvJ0-pQo82d50FGoTQKhgDfvW5xEZUNhRtcdacqdIQ/s1600-h/Marble+Canyon+Mines8.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiblNpH6f83csnBsiG6V08ThSnKomXyKYqhU4AAHpH3a-4uJahrJg3Klz9Ig2A6lPKFHXIvIYPtF__pu9BuDjPsqOCENq8j28mzYpvJ0-pQo82d50FGoTQKhgDfvW5xEZUNhRtcdacqdIQ/s400/Marble+Canyon+Mines8.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356945573576677810" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Like many isolated desert locations, the Marble Canyon mining site has some quizzical sights, like this open-air chair</span></span>:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCen-sAaOvoyawvM-xrqWZWTHA-DhocBH3mLkiWJLCRGB80-6ze3xIWEV-izDNB9cCNgmhU6pTeZE0KrnmP_TEiUMmReZPsa51Y1ED4rgKwDlJ38d_EqEr5tow5WIXzl8ILHqOlItjuZY/s1600-h/Marble+Canyon+Mines6.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 180px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCen-sAaOvoyawvM-xrqWZWTHA-DhocBH3mLkiWJLCRGB80-6ze3xIWEV-izDNB9cCNgmhU6pTeZE0KrnmP_TEiUMmReZPsa51Y1ED4rgKwDlJ38d_EqEr5tow5WIXzl8ILHqOlItjuZY/s400/Marble+Canyon+Mines6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356946789889496658" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">While the Saline Valley road is isolated and not for 2WD vehicles, it has several signs and is easy to navigate without a GPS</span></span> <span style="font-family:arial;">receiver or maps. As the photo shows, the Marble Canyon mining camp is at a high elevation. The Saline Valley road is often closed by snow in winter, and the best time to visit is autumn or spring.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx9JHgScVwFNh7gRmanzqZtqJ2fzJVbcQImglP7ZJlEq8dSahWrbVLMRBMe1W2Un9ypJ9Parh3u91_1MzgtAsc_Ceyj8-tTy4bGngpvzY8YYvdX6CO9-20JQ02VddGXbzR0x3ALxvBQqQ/s1600-h/Marble+Canyon+sign.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 319px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx9JHgScVwFNh7gRmanzqZtqJ2fzJVbcQImglP7ZJlEq8dSahWrbVLMRBMe1W2Un9ypJ9Parh3u91_1MzgtAsc_Ceyj8-tTy4bGngpvzY8YYvdX6CO9-20JQ02VddGXbzR0x3ALxvBQqQ/s400/Marble+Canyon+sign.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356948138061117378" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The Saline Valley gets only a fraction of the visitors Death Valley gets. It is difficult to reach, but it's worth the effort.</span></span><br /></div></div>Harry Helmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16523477704774302608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355090608576029222.post-8820416238864773132009-07-08T09:58:00.002-05:002009-07-08T10:06:53.053-05:00I Loved Lucy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRtF6scH4Vm6cG1xP2MPZlkSxiOXqpBF7u0A7mhYTBzGodTObBUaipCegPmDpf1Om9iVdJ-tMsRRg-waXi2RLTkidHGs6pLB16yUs6mURYSIYAGXZv_2N74tHS4zd6P11-LuRF_yZxWp8/s1600-h/LucyAmazon1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 319px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRtF6scH4Vm6cG1xP2MPZlkSxiOXqpBF7u0A7mhYTBzGodTObBUaipCegPmDpf1Om9iVdJ-tMsRRg-waXi2RLTkidHGs6pLB16yUs6mURYSIYAGXZv_2N74tHS4zd6P11-LuRF_yZxWp8/s400/LucyAmazon1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356104234629049074" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">My rabbit Lucy died yesterday of an apparent stroke. She was about ten and a half years old and had been my companion since January, 2001.<br /><br />When I developed cancer and started receiving chemo, I would rest on the sofa with Lucy laying on my chest. I would rub her head and she would reciprocate by licking my face. Those were some very peaceful, relaxing moments; all the stress and angst in me would drain away.<br /><br />I loved that little rabbit and will miss her greatly.<br /></span></span></div>Harry Helmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16523477704774302608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355090608576029222.post-85206297375565551162009-07-04T14:50:00.004-05:002009-07-06T11:00:17.784-05:00July 4, 1982<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I spent my first, and only, Fourth of July outside the United States on July 4, 1982. I was in London with my girlfriend (and future wife) Tina; she was in London on business for CBS Records International. I tagged along to do some business-----negotiating North American rights to books published by British publishers such as Granada and the Institution of Electrical Engineers-----but most of my time was being a tourist. On the morning of July 4, Tina was in the CBS offices while I was exploring the Egyptian section of the British Museum (yeah, mummies fascinate me). </span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">We had thought about going to the cook-out and baseball game held at the American Embassy in London each July 4, but instead decided</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"> to have dinner early that day and to meet in the Soho section of London.<br /><br />We were both feeling a little homesick that day, and almost puzzled----<span style="font-style: italic;">why are these stupid Brits working today?? Don't they realize it's the Fourth of July?? </span>The Soho area has several terrific Chinese restaurants, and we finally decided on one that had air conditioning (that's still a rarity in the UK). We ordered, and sat back to await the arrival of the spicy vegetables on crispy noodles. The background music in the restaurant was the instrumental, "Muzak" style you hear in elevators and doctor waiting rooms.<br /><br />And then we both started laughing hysterically, because a syrupy version of "White Christmas" began playing over the restaurant's music system.<br /><br />It was like a scene from a David Lynch film: I was in a Chinese restaurant in London, on the Fourth of July, listening to "White Christmas." And I wished, I really wished, I was back in the United States. Oh, I always enjoyed London, but on that particular day, at that moment, I was more conscious of being an American than I had ever been before in my life.<br /><br />I often hate the American government and American politicians (both Republicans and Democrats), but I love the American nation. I consider being born an American citizen to have been the luckiest break of my life. And since July 4, 1982, this holiday has had a very special meaning for me. All it took was a Chinese restaurant and an instrumental version of "White Christmas."<br /></span></span></div>Harry Helmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16523477704774302608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355090608576029222.post-27529093056350568232009-07-02T17:31:00.011-05:002009-07-02T18:26:58.057-05:00Memories Of Las Vegas<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Now that Di and I are headed "home" to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Las</span> Vegas, I'm getting nostalgic about my first period of residency in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Las</span> Vegas.<br /><br />My condo was in the northwest corner of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Las</span> Vegas, in the La <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Posada</span> section of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Summerlin</span> development. My condo faced west, toward Red Rock Canyon State Park, which was located about five miles away. I loved visiting this park; the colorful rock formations were surreal in the light of a setting sun:<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi29bhW6oKlQFoPQDF3IqXW-qtp_COg7FqL9fnkjM5Eid3Nig2sTbjpHQvABtRDNKQESlL9VqCv8u7-Z9wpa-ABuHZhfVDjzELrKE-y-9O49wHk5hJ7g2-kGiVppZphlw76aJOk3xogs6k/s1600-h/Red+Rock+Canyon1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 380px; height: 253px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi29bhW6oKlQFoPQDF3IqXW-qtp_COg7FqL9fnkjM5Eid3Nig2sTbjpHQvABtRDNKQESlL9VqCv8u7-Z9wpa-ABuHZhfVDjzELrKE-y-9O49wHk5hJ7g2-kGiVppZphlw76aJOk3xogs6k/s400/Red+Rock+Canyon1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353996541899799122" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLVPZwdlncZN6ZQuCIsUidHlmX5oTPvIPD8e3jAtarurAkjgC5mFvp2mIeTt39SfJG6JRTDTDqMBvkqYh90gfKj31V1GRRNDO5K3o2AlM_8VOGCG1Zj0ZKWwbSYzPI_5AXOdhbR3nsToQ/s1600-h/Red+Rock+Canyon2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 360px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLVPZwdlncZN6ZQuCIsUidHlmX5oTPvIPD8e3jAtarurAkjgC5mFvp2mIeTt39SfJG6JRTDTDqMBvkqYh90gfKj31V1GRRNDO5K3o2AlM_8VOGCG1Zj0ZKWwbSYzPI_5AXOdhbR3nsToQ/s400/Red+Rock+Canyon2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353996678417896050" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">My first visitors after moving to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Las</span> Vegas were my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">LLH</span> partners, Carol and Jack Lewis. Here they are in Red Rock Canyon:<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc6li2-HxX5HIMFQxMl9FJpoDcI5f8txptLtwe-RI5WDJdfZUJCzdU1bgGF6R8LsDgMKc7FSEJgnB7vxKuyCL19WMgNkHZB7fTbxr7cPubTkNTiC8cWebWQbm2yRBPqdZYbe6m8tr1KJg/s1600-h/Carol+and+Jack.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 360px; height: 271px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc6li2-HxX5HIMFQxMl9FJpoDcI5f8txptLtwe-RI5WDJdfZUJCzdU1bgGF6R8LsDgMKc7FSEJgnB7vxKuyCL19WMgNkHZB7fTbxr7cPubTkNTiC8cWebWQbm2yRBPqdZYbe6m8tr1KJg/s400/Carol+and+Jack.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353997377640436274" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">As you can see below, poor Carol was all tuckered out after her busy, busy day in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Las</span> Vegas, and feel asleep in my living room:<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifSXDJOZ9UN4fvCQhd7xTrSR2lKyLKjJgEI-IztQeaj3X5fcGHFKpm5oiHzEluC8dtvo-EarqehYGSbAOSWJAdft-JY2IaFr9beycCvV-oQyJ7IF5ErTnp9cRsy3G5qF0UcbU6A2GC22M/s1600-h/Exhausted+Carol.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 360px; height: 233px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifSXDJOZ9UN4fvCQhd7xTrSR2lKyLKjJgEI-IztQeaj3X5fcGHFKpm5oiHzEluC8dtvo-EarqehYGSbAOSWJAdft-JY2IaFr9beycCvV-oQyJ7IF5ErTnp9cRsy3G5qF0UcbU6A2GC22M/s400/Exhausted+Carol.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353998665171156130" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">In May of 2003, a very angry <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">thunderstorm</span> moved into <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Las</span> Vegas from the west. Looking at it from my condo balcony, I noticed a very distinct wall cloud and "elephant trunk" funnel cloud descending from it. By the time I located my digital camera and </span></span><span style="font-family:arial;">booted it up, the funnel had started to dissipate. If you look at left below, you can see the remains of the funnel cloud:<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIDJGIMy84OxdCidYjUrkYlUHPtqjyZssz5-hOMD1k9x8SAm69WmEejtV7Cv9ovGqWo-HG2PDz5v4MJoy-s8fL6NUxrT-Vd7sVQt_iI4zk3HxW9EJRl6t1BphKQ0l52jqQfaioywhINoE/s1600-h/Las+Vegas+wall+cloud--funnelJPG.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 289px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIDJGIMy84OxdCidYjUrkYlUHPtqjyZssz5-hOMD1k9x8SAm69WmEejtV7Cv9ovGqWo-HG2PDz5v4MJoy-s8fL6NUxrT-Vd7sVQt_iI4zk3HxW9EJRl6t1BphKQ0l52jqQfaioywhINoE/s400/Las+Vegas+wall+cloud--funnelJPG.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354000473662217554" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Las</span> Vegas is in the desert, but it is also a center for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">watersports</span> thanks to Lake Mead. Di and I would sometimes rent a boat from a Lake Mead marina and cruise out to the middle of Lake Mead. It was like having our own private lake for swimming, sunbathing, etc:<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDJSDSoed-x2p8CYxHg1N6HunYbNULLbm6h2nf0gL7xFNXN3CW5rm6lBnOr5Bu8Sg-KFwb_eDSGm3ZKlzktBsJiEXg9Zvc3vzNvZ2-HvOzcXkigFCeUvqDT-rSZKYkR-Qs8gjnlfVEkNM/s1600-h/Lake+Mead2jpg.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDJSDSoed-x2p8CYxHg1N6HunYbNULLbm6h2nf0gL7xFNXN3CW5rm6lBnOr5Bu8Sg-KFwb_eDSGm3ZKlzktBsJiEXg9Zvc3vzNvZ2-HvOzcXkigFCeUvqDT-rSZKYkR-Qs8gjnlfVEkNM/s400/Lake+Mead2jpg.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354004960387595138" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The desert around <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Las</span> Vegas is populated by wild burros. These hardy critters descended from the burros used by miners and prospectors, and do quite well in the harsh desert climate. If you travel the back roads around Lake Mead or Red Rock Canyon, you'll eventually see a burro like the one below on the roadside:<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK90cts4FRJZeVcxmMSkVwuH2ISbdqxZywAIqdQ3UWcN-0QjV-C-C6EUaw_EzkAsxOadTOPhxuicSerMQdRFSjDKuRwK3T3ARxvvsrxMx4YzQHIkA3dkMpzdP5wOuih3_B2ygloWgXjqs/s1600-h/Wild+Burro.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 259px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK90cts4FRJZeVcxmMSkVwuH2ISbdqxZywAIqdQ3UWcN-0QjV-C-C6EUaw_EzkAsxOadTOPhxuicSerMQdRFSjDKuRwK3T3ARxvvsrxMx4YzQHIkA3dkMpzdP5wOuih3_B2ygloWgXjqs/s400/Wild+Burro.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354006409950638562" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I'll be returning to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Las</span> Vegas by air and I know it will be a physically grueling trip; fortunately, I think my new painkillers</span></span> <span style="font-family: arial;">will help and I'm no longer too proud to admit I need a wheelchair for long distances. But emotionally I am really jazzed about returning to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Las</span> Vegas. As I've written before, the story of Di and me began in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Las</span> Vegas and it should end there------<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Las</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Vegas</span> is "our" home. And anything beats sitting around here and waiting to die. I'm looking forward to one last adventure!</span><br /></div>Harry Helmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16523477704774302608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355090608576029222.post-88518121776955928202009-06-28T19:27:00.002-05:002009-06-28T19:51:29.440-05:00Why We're Losing The "War" On Cancer<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I've repeatedly made the point here that most of the money raised to fight cancer and find a cure is, to put it bluntly but honestly, pissed away. <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/06/28/health/research/28cancer.html?_r=2&ref=instapundit">And the <span style="font-style: italic;">New York Times</span> agrees</a>, as you can read at the linked article. You should read the whole thing, but here are some money quotes:<br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;">Yet the fight against cancer is going slower than most had hoped, with only small changes in the death rate in the almost 40 years since it began.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;">One major impediment, scientists agree, is the grant system itself. It has become a sort of jobs program, a way to keep research laboratories going year after year with the understanding that the focus will be on small projects unlikely to take significant steps toward curing cancer.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></span><span style="font-family: arial;">And I'll say it again: there is a critical need to redirect some cancer funding toward helping existing cancer patients. In particular, there is a desperate need for counseling, therapy, and support services for patients and their families. Almost no health insurance plans provide for such services, and the attitude of most oncologists is to deliver the bad news to a patient-----"Your cancer has metastasized to your liver"-----and then get the hell out of the exam room ASAP, leaving the patient and his/her family to cope with the crushing news.<br /><br />Yes, we need to look for a cure. But a cure is a long way off even under the most optimistic scenarios. And meanwhile many cancer patients have real, serious needs that are being ignored.<br /><br />I'm lucky to have Di, my family, and my friends to get me through my cancer. Many of my fellow cancer patients are not as lucky, and suffer in silence with a host of emotional and logistical problems arising from their cancers.<br /><br />And that makes me madder than hell. We urgently need a honest, no-bullshit national discussion of how to deal with cancer.<br /></span></div>Harry Helmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16523477704774302608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355090608576029222.post-48634089555448116642009-06-27T13:01:00.006-05:002009-06-27T16:21:51.764-05:00Thoughts On A Very Eventful Week<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Wow, what a week! Much happened that deserves some commentary.<br /><br />• We accepted an offer for our condo yesterday and will be returning to Las Vegas in August. It was on the market only 32 days, a tribute to the still-robust Texas economy (memo to most of the other states in the union: Texas is clearly doing something right in its state budgeting and governance, and you should emulate what is done in Austin). Di and I met in Las Vegas, got married in Las Vegas, and bought our first home together in Las Vegas; it is fitting that our story will end in Las Vegas.<br /><br />• This condo community is a gossipy one; it sometimes reminds me of high school. Here's proof: Di took one of our dogs for a walk about two hours after accepting the offer, and three people stopped her and said they heard we had sold our condo. Yet we never told anyone here!! It will be a relief to again live in a place where some people are not obsessed by other people's business.<br /><br />• The cause of our neighbor problems was the rental of an adjoining unit to two adults who were not related to each other; this is explicitly prohibited by our condo association by-laws but, for some reason, our condo association and officers decided to look the other way. There are now several other units rented to non-related adults, most of whom are students at Texas A&M-Corpus Christi. This week we met with an attorney who told us any unit owner would have a very strong case for a lawsuit against the condo association and its officers for permitting such widespread violations of association by-laws. Since we're moving, we obviously won't be pursuing any legal action. But I know some people in our condo community read this blog, and perhaps they might want to keep this in mind if the board continues to turn a blind eye to these blatant violations of the by-laws. A couple of the association officers are suffering from advanced hubris, and a lesson in humility---the kind provided by depositions and discovery----would have a salubrious impact on them.<br /><br />• I was deeply moved by the death of Farrah Fawcett; I feel a connection to people like her (and Tony Snow) who have a cancer similar to mine and were diagnosed about the same time I was. Their deaths make me even more grateful to have defied the odds and survived as long as I have. But <a href="http://www.slate.com/id/2221433/">Farrah's story is also a cautionary tale for cancer patients and their families.</a> The money quote:<br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Diagnoses of cancer routinely generate periods of what we might call "ritualized optimism." No matter what the reality is, surgeons announce they "got it all," and patients declare that they are cancer-free. It is hard to criticize these types of proclamations. Indeed, it is difficult to conceive of other ways one might describe the first weeks and months after being diagnosed with cancer. Even if patients themselves believe or suspect otherwise, they want to reassure family and friends that they are on the road to cure.</span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />I myself have fallen into that trap. The key is to know when it is time to renounce optimism for a cure in favor of a hard-nosed realism that acknowledges that cancer is going to kill you but also acknowledges there is much in life to enjoy before that happens.<br /><br />• I saw my doctor on Wednesday and my new painkillers are oxycodone and darvocet. I was fearing an "upgrade" to methadone, and I'm glad to still not be at that point. I don't want to make Keith Richards envious of me just yet!<br /><br />• Mark Effin' Sanford, governor of the great state of South Carolina! His press conference this week was something out of a David Lynch film; it was both hilarious and profoundly disturbing. What struck me was that he showed more empathy and compassion for his mistress than he did for his wife and, especially, his four sons. For those kids, every Father's Day in the future will be a reminder of the weekend Dad left them in Columbia and flew down to Buenos Aires to see his girlfriend. Sanford should be impeached, not for the adultery itself but instead for his breathtaking lack of judgment and common sense. Suppose Sanford was the CEO of a Fortune 500 company and he abruptly vanished for a few days, telling no one at the company where he really was, and turning off his mobile phones so he couldn't be located. What would happen to that CEO? That's right, he would be promptly fired upon his return. And that's why Sanford must resign or be impeached ASAP; it's not about the sex, it's about his obvious mental and emotional issues. Sanford is nuts and needs some industrial-strength therapy.<br /><br />• There really not much to say about the death of Michael Jackson other than how creepy the parallels are to the last years and death of Elvis Presley. Those two both had it all and threw it all away; both surrounded themselves with sycophants who told them what they wanted to hear instead of what they needed to hear. At the end, neither had anyone who loved them enough to pull them back from the abyss. And so their talent, careers, money, and eventually lives were squandered away. Such a waste. . . . . . .<br /></span></span></div>Harry Helmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16523477704774302608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355090608576029222.post-81538496978783149282009-06-20T15:39:00.002-05:002009-06-20T15:48:59.035-05:00Say Hello To Tinuviel May!<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Tiffany Gasbarrini is a dear friend of mine from my days of consulting for Elsevier; she and her husband live in the Boston area. It was a joy interacting with Tiffany because she was highly intelligent, funny, and passionate about publishing.<br /><br />And now she's a mother!! On June 16, her daughter Tinuviel May arrived in this world at 8 pounds, 3 ounces (wow, what a big baby girl!). And as you can see in the photo below, she is adorable.<br /><br />I am so happy for you, Tiffany! And I wish "Nuvi" (as they have already nicknamed her) a long, happy, and fulfilling life.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZsboLr40UbQAUW8zxXLMFNC4Uu069mVnmERylor7ihiKdzSQF92gzZvtrdRbW3WMuIFe-cJhTbLiHClGsh5uTijePERvpjKNKzdau1udAViFpzQ4sNL9GLlxYVuFe_6oBjStlUxVpNn0/s1600-h/tiffany's+daughter.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZsboLr40UbQAUW8zxXLMFNC4Uu069mVnmERylor7ihiKdzSQF92gzZvtrdRbW3WMuIFe-cJhTbLiHClGsh5uTijePERvpjKNKzdau1udAViFpzQ4sNL9GLlxYVuFe_6oBjStlUxVpNn0/s400/tiffany's+daughter.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349514416054447298" border="0" /></a>Harry Helmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16523477704774302608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355090608576029222.post-81287249565187573072009-06-20T10:36:00.011-05:002009-06-20T15:59:08.254-05:00Random Photos, Random Thoughts<span style="font-family:arial;">I was doing some housecleaning on my photo files and found some interesting (well, at least to me) shots from my past.<br /><br />The one below was taken in 1986, and shows me in front of St. Basil's Cathedral in Moscow's Red Square. This was on a tour of the USSR that included Moscow, Leningrad (now St. Petersburg), and Kiev. This photo was taken on April 26, and the next day we flew from Moscow to Kiev. We had no idea that a catastrophic accident had taken place during the night at a nuclear power plant at Chernobyl, located about 30 miles from Kiev. And we were in Kiev for three days before we learned what had happened, and that was via the BBC and Voice of America-----I had packed along a Sony portable shortwave radio. I have often wondered if my cancer is the result of exposure to the radioactive particles vented by the Chernobyl reactor; thankfully, my then-wife Tina is still in good health. Regardless, it's a hoot to consider that I visited a country----the Soviet Union-----that no longer exists.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPaSKoBxy93WmyClpVpWwHPxTMmVEtOEPjWQROehA8RTmA97warVf1y6aGqxV0ZoWXWxk3duUXlDTxPp8T9QhRjRQJ2BasztoSs-OXil3HhvQU0s-X4hPcPdy0HVIdVQ9wKLkXY_a1LYI/s1600-h/Harry+in+Russia.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPaSKoBxy93WmyClpVpWwHPxTMmVEtOEPjWQROehA8RTmA97warVf1y6aGqxV0ZoWXWxk3duUXlDTxPp8T9QhRjRQJ2BasztoSs-OXil3HhvQU0s-X4hPcPdy0HVIdVQ9wKLkXY_a1LYI/s400/Harry+in+Russia.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349453046781725394" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Here's me preening next to the summit marker atop Sugarloaf Mountain, 9980 feet, in the San Bernardino mountains of southern California. When I lived in San Diego, I loved doing these single-day climbs; I'd hit Interstate 15 around sunrise and be back home by sunset. The photo is how I want people to remember me: <span style="font-style: italic;">Strong! Vigorous! Goofy!</span></span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjimClLcisLakaPKDQ9P3UKp044F-5eyAtDSAXJHiVtLldvrn9PdAT0v0pUxYMs7UJ-NXhIJ84dGt8UVo3Wugw8d3lNLJUlKIplbWuAlGb6hcATzxdntF_4lzLq8NWE7QQEz7yE_GhBOa0/s1600-h/Sugarloaf+Mountain%232.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 230px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjimClLcisLakaPKDQ9P3UKp044F-5eyAtDSAXJHiVtLldvrn9PdAT0v0pUxYMs7UJ-NXhIJ84dGt8UVo3Wugw8d3lNLJUlKIplbWuAlGb6hcATzxdntF_4lzLq8NWE7QQEz7yE_GhBOa0/s400/Sugarloaf+Mountain%232.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349455183579525842" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The highest mountain in southern California is San Gorgonio at 11,499 feet. I did this as a single-day climb, and believe me that was one of the longest days of my life! Timberline in southern California is about 10,000 feet, and as a result the upper reaches of San Gorgonio are like the Sierras-----boulders, talus, and scree. Here I am celebrating my ascent; that's a can of Diet Cheerwine that I'm swigging:<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXRZUjYj7-pVFlqPU3OqXAONxrORlVWFEMgB39NqQ-9-kAuiIcQIcw2p_QKCUltDcjeUwZvUQ2amFGwIDxV_lp1JclCp2pSTTgV7VJgEkoOwM8JotB_d1jLP_wRN7aQIss8t3CvYxY1hI/s1600-h/On+the+summit.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 259px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXRZUjYj7-pVFlqPU3OqXAONxrORlVWFEMgB39NqQ-9-kAuiIcQIcw2p_QKCUltDcjeUwZvUQ2amFGwIDxV_lp1JclCp2pSTTgV7VJgEkoOwM8JotB_d1jLP_wRN7aQIss8t3CvYxY1hI/s400/On+the+summit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349457748816007602" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The photo below shows me atop Humphrey's Peak, the highest mountain in Arizona at 12,666 feet. It is an extinct volcano and gives spectacular views of the Grand Canyon and Painted Desert from the summit. Northern Arizona is a very different world from Tucson and Phoenix; there are pine trees, cool breezes, grassy fields, etc. I look exhausted in this photo, and it's because I was; the last few hundred feet up to the summit are steep and scrambling over several boulders is necessary:<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikggLWYk55Bwcqv77nW3ZCL57Doiu4ivtsdVWr1PkMlYu3a2F9OUblpPg7JwlAOdMqdhP_1rM24SgSaLV62wk04MHdijNAvjl171-AGDxxuhn1rRWtR3Tb35AzGd_fLOVoOjVlGXm6VU0/s1600-h/Me+on+Humphreys+summit.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikggLWYk55Bwcqv77nW3ZCL57Doiu4ivtsdVWr1PkMlYu3a2F9OUblpPg7JwlAOdMqdhP_1rM24SgSaLV62wk04MHdijNAvjl171-AGDxxuhn1rRWtR3Tb35AzGd_fLOVoOjVlGXm6VU0/s400/Me+on+Humphreys+summit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349460493966362754" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Finally, here's a photo of a borrego ram that I saw in the Anza-Borrego Desert State Park east of San Diego. This fellow jumped atop the boulder and spent the next several minutes eyeballing me and my hiking companions (including my business partners Carol and Jack Lewis). Eventually he moved away and we reported our sighting to park rangers; these animals are considered an endangered species and sightings of them are very rare. We were very lucky to spot this guy!<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFbQbnwtwjDWUd33HSgsVmBmdvmj_b2o1PRB5L0mRt4eVLFCqnkDQSlUasFK7pia_W8DJEnjULSbOVyYpJKuxU1mHneY33lru2cyeuITMBipTUlcH8NdFv_A7cPZNiNmroK1MSw8gVwWY/s1600-h/BorregoRam3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 201px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFbQbnwtwjDWUd33HSgsVmBmdvmj_b2o1PRB5L0mRt4eVLFCqnkDQSlUasFK7pia_W8DJEnjULSbOVyYpJKuxU1mHneY33lru2cyeuITMBipTUlcH8NdFv_A7cPZNiNmroK1MSw8gVwWY/s400/BorregoRam3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349464617841000946" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Photos like these are why I say I want no one to feel sympathy or pity for me; instead, feel sympathy or pity for those who haven't seen, done, or experienced the things I have. It's been a great life, compadres!</span><br /></div>Harry Helmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16523477704774302608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355090608576029222.post-54356996951482026512009-06-16T19:04:00.002-05:002009-06-16T19:07:13.379-05:00Thought For The Day<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i style="font-family: arial;">“Cowardice asks the question, 'Is it safe?' Expediency asks the question, 'Is it politic?' But conscience asks the question, 'Is it right?' And there comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular but because conscience tells one it is right.”</i><span style="font-family: arial;"> -- Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.<br /></span></span></div>Harry Helmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16523477704774302608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355090608576029222.post-22584430213466089972009-06-15T17:38:00.013-05:002009-06-16T09:40:23.766-05:00QSL Card Gallery<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">One of the traditions of the shortwave/ham radio hobby was something called the "QSL card." "QSL" is the radiotelegraph code abbreviation for "I acknowledge receipt of your message," and QSL cards were 1) sent by stations to listeners who correctly reported reception of the station, and 2) exchanged between two ham radio stations who had established contact with each other. In effect, they were souvenirs-----much like the picture postcards you'd collect on a car vacation with Mom and Dad----of having heard or contacted a radio station.<br /><br />Okay, so it sounds silly. And it was. But it was also fun. I loved getting those envelopes from distant lands with their exotic stamps; inside would be a colorful card and other materials like program guides. I collected QSL cards the way some people collected baseball cards.<br /><br />Take a look at this beauty, all the way from the small African nation of Togo. Ever heard of Togo? Thanks to shortwave radio, I had an outrageous knowledge of world geography:<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_vFFiCGgHPCuFUmIaP8ROqV7dhlM12FxDyfALwIpboBhnb_aQDk4fFZPT-zcwAJ16kc2XmhPJE8RehT69rPrrkuv_Xm-VZeM6lLAJgITTWYtzWgN9fCnJfwpWan2XdjXe27uQeykjMsw/s1600-h/TOGO.GIF"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 160px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_vFFiCGgHPCuFUmIaP8ROqV7dhlM12FxDyfALwIpboBhnb_aQDk4fFZPT-zcwAJ16kc2XmhPJE8RehT69rPrrkuv_Xm-VZeM6lLAJgITTWYtzWgN9fCnJfwpWan2XdjXe27uQeykjMsw/s400/TOGO.GIF" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347690476486531890" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Some QSL cards commemorated historic events, like this one issued by Germany's Deutsche Welle broadcaster two decades ago to celebrate the reunification of West and East Germany:<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggQN6hgHKk14pDkm-Z6NFWRsNAzqLJK3sxgr4l8rH1z2gnq74h84hKpK1Wy5a7rLF_B57MCBRuwjW5yfSnHIBE4K2JctEiLP1nNQL4psJuL_6_6g9zliqBoGmPCjXjK4YmDJ89FyododY/s1600-h/DW.BMP"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 208px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggQN6hgHKk14pDkm-Z6NFWRsNAzqLJK3sxgr4l8rH1z2gnq74h84hKpK1Wy5a7rLF_B57MCBRuwjW5yfSnHIBE4K2JctEiLP1nNQL4psJuL_6_6g9zliqBoGmPCjXjK4YmDJ89FyododY/s400/DW.BMP" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347691843651764962" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">A historic QSL card I managed to snag was for the first test of digital AM broadcasting back in 1995. The test was conducted in Las Vegas during the annual National Association of Broadcasters convention, and it was easy to hear from my then-location in San Diego:<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilZBW1Uw789f95V1QgSvH67HJQD_Yz795nlGao7Vcma35Un9MWJ6Jk2FYhhM74fuyB1EQwKycyt6fMmrdjk8ZU5kOnDllEsVoBD0Zhw4rMBtqmjmrBPNk6Hw6hwPGbOShuZrIbqmLrzlo/s1600-h/KUSA.BMP"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 323px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilZBW1Uw789f95V1QgSvH67HJQD_Yz795nlGao7Vcma35Un9MWJ6Jk2FYhhM74fuyB1EQwKycyt6fMmrdjk8ZU5kOnDllEsVoBD0Zhw4rMBtqmjmrBPNk6Hw6hwPGbOShuZrIbqmLrzlo/s400/KUSA.BMP" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347693265543911906" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">In the mid-1990s, the AM broadcast band expanded to include 1610 to 1700 kHz. I carefully looked for stations in that range, and was lucky enough to catch KXBT, Vallejo, CA-----the second station authorized for the new frequency range-----on its first night of transmitter testing:<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC84EcLIMVmjKOi3R_ZJ3W-9sNsmIHl3BqUQtAZg23ki2pGs98V_J-uhP7y5sFpTrATmj_ioB-YbfXjvJFEOuuUMDgIvLddSYA9p2TRwPQKKofosPdGtLKFVvCICHJQrTwgc2K-SfXIBI/s1600-h/KXBT.BMP"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC84EcLIMVmjKOi3R_ZJ3W-9sNsmIHl3BqUQtAZg23ki2pGs98V_J-uhP7y5sFpTrATmj_ioB-YbfXjvJFEOuuUMDgIvLddSYA9p2TRwPQKKofosPdGtLKFVvCICHJQrTwgc2K-SfXIBI/s400/KXBT.BMP" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347694450255556898" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Before the 1610-1700 kHz range became populated by broadcast stations, it was often used by low power traveler information stations at airports, etc. The QSL card below represents a really difficult reception; the Dallas/Fort Worth Airport operated a 60 watt information station on 1680 kHz, and I managed to hear it in Solana Beach, CA. That's quite a haul for such low power, but I was using some highly advanced radio equipment (the Drake R8B receiver):<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIktoztCywlbpZ0AedDgj56MGiYDGMYjSpX3Q9JLnlkIl5t9To5P28IBS2eS-PKSaKbzg7bVjmUTwudZE7wofVNcU8zCqlhIH1kZUwZbeNXDKJ7bvjxfsiZFOdl00eZtiU3Ede5fjK_Ys/s1600-h/DFW.BMP"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 265px; height: 325px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIktoztCywlbpZ0AedDgj56MGiYDGMYjSpX3Q9JLnlkIl5t9To5P28IBS2eS-PKSaKbzg7bVjmUTwudZE7wofVNcU8zCqlhIH1kZUwZbeNXDKJ7bvjxfsiZFOdl00eZtiU3Ede5fjK_Ys/s400/DFW.BMP" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347696270090792098" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">I also swapped QSLs with hams all over the world when I established contact with them, as shown below. I received QSL cards from hams in various countries----like Czechoslovakia, East Germany, the Soviet Union, etc.----that no longer exist:<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm4yaOPLi82ADWCEIjDnFaK6ypm7sbGRv8ViwXI95F6DJi1Fmsld1Zl-Jr-oyxSgH3E3zrNK18Nv_v0NEdCv7-vufDNZRzfPzOwfAUlMuoMUJe3EQL4M7z-8g0MalpCYJk-HIt5ECBQxU/s1600-h/EI4DW.BMP"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 226px; height: 120px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm4yaOPLi82ADWCEIjDnFaK6ypm7sbGRv8ViwXI95F6DJi1Fmsld1Zl-Jr-oyxSgH3E3zrNK18Nv_v0NEdCv7-vufDNZRzfPzOwfAUlMuoMUJe3EQL4M7z-8g0MalpCYJk-HIt5ECBQxU/s400/EI4DW.BMP" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347697683326949138" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Some shortwave stations in Latin America would also send out colorful cloth or paper pennants with their QSL cards, like this one:<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMZvBSL2GTuJsYY3gGqHwrPtp2NCP23cEdrAOEnh19R_GeEJG9nGka6Ng-1FBR6tRZ-ql7Sasvv8cCMG099vfbYVqX55jv5mpGvAfLm6ZGoD7esaWManUlG5wMVEopz4kgM99106Nm5Sc/s1600-h/MIRA.GIF"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 141px; height: 247px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMZvBSL2GTuJsYY3gGqHwrPtp2NCP23cEdrAOEnh19R_GeEJG9nGka6Ng-1FBR6tRZ-ql7Sasvv8cCMG099vfbYVqX55jv5mpGvAfLm6ZGoD7esaWManUlG5wMVEopz4kgM99106Nm5Sc/s400/MIRA.GIF" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347698672317321858" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The practice of sending out QSLs declined as shortwave listening declined in the late 1990s with the rise of the internet. Printing and mailing QSLs is expensive, and declining broadcaster funding and staffing has caused many stations to stop sending out QSLs. And the situation has been exacerbated by the closing of many shortwave broadcasters.<br /><br />The QSL era is now in its final stages; soon QSLing and QSL cards will be quaint historical artifacts, much like boarding passes and menus for trans-Atlantic passenger ships or cross-country steam locomotives.<br /><br />But it was fun while it lasted, and I'm glad I had a chance to be part of it. Sadly, I don't look forward to the mailman's arrival each day like I once did. . . . . . . .<br /></span></span></div>Harry Helmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16523477704774302608noreply@blogger.com112tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355090608576029222.post-38764808515826401192009-06-15T11:53:00.003-05:002009-06-15T18:39:46.359-05:00Hats Off To Sony!<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">A lot of blog entries complain about poor customer service from various companies.<br /><br />This one is different. It is to praise Sony for their outstanding response to our problem.<br /><br />Shortly after moving to Corpus Christi, we purchased a 42" Sony HDTV for our master bedroom. In late May, it failed------the screen started to display a "rainbow" pattern. And it developed this problem exactly two weeks after the one-year warranty expired.<br /><br />We contacted Sony anyway. And Sony today agreed to repair our set without charge.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Thank you Sony!!!<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" >If you're thinking about buying a HDTV set or other item of high-end consumer electronics, put Sony at the top of your list. They are clearly interested in doing right by their customers, and that's very rare today.</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span><br /></span></span></span></span></div>Harry Helmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16523477704774302608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355090608576029222.post-22643716132680615632009-06-14T17:02:00.006-05:002009-06-14T17:32:52.364-05:00The Ghost Town Of Zurich, California<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Zurich, California was a stop on the Carson & Colorado narrow gauge railroad that ran on the eastern shore of Owens Lake from Laws to Keeler, California. It's located on Highway 168 about two miles east of Big Pine, California. Zurich was founded in 1888 and its original name was Alvord. It was renamed Zurich in 1913 because the wife of the depot master said the view of the Sierras reminded her of her home town of Zurich, Switzerland.<br /><br />This railroad stop operated until 1932 and as a result the depot is still well-preserved:<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6XNq1ho6T4cc5chkHqU72C8EPyA7f9SK_D7d_BmpGE7fEENzXjjZ_R_KP7sLN2dGN2zmjkihy8UrExx7Ogs2tcUhDiBUWxwRbSCpKnooyT1MUlpivcyszAJdALzd8tTp4Z4IUGiEAfCA/s1600-h/Zurich1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6XNq1ho6T4cc5chkHqU72C8EPyA7f9SK_D7d_BmpGE7fEENzXjjZ_R_KP7sLN2dGN2zmjkihy8UrExx7Ogs2tcUhDiBUWxwRbSCpKnooyT1MUlpivcyszAJdALzd8tTp4Z4IUGiEAfCA/s400/Zurich1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347310523914953666" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The station platform is now crumbling:<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMreLfU9cOfd00ULbihkm_UFo7UeoKQ2D6lrgpyxjgERxzF5PegmxoSi_SKvTpRX81a2bLmUQh8QJxUpD9XU11PwyjfLB7GqFqSVraJxDqG9HkeXgfy6lCdwJx1i3JAeUIb0EvTvsM8qA/s1600-h/Zurich3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMreLfU9cOfd00ULbihkm_UFo7UeoKQ2D6lrgpyxjgERxzF5PegmxoSi_SKvTpRX81a2bLmUQh8QJxUpD9XU11PwyjfLB7GqFqSVraJxDqG9HkeXgfy6lCdwJx1i3JAeUIb0EvTvsM8qA/s400/Zurich3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347311253071930402" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Here is why the depot master's wife wanted to change the name to Zurich. There are five 14,000+ foot peaks in the photo below; the snow to the left is the southernmost glacier system in the United States. IMO, the view of the Sierras from Big Pine is the most sublime and beautiful vista you'll find along that range:<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS4LMEFQc5Dy_aGP-XPS_cmUAuu04tKIf84NGBTR-9YV9Btynt-SifIwfayhK__QN3yLiw2va4oyQUwPN91NY9dsQR8OZHzxjGICXUiDY5JI9wmKlEErcThceyodapm-zPkGdJHjEK4Ww/s1600-h/View+from+Zurich.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 319px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS4LMEFQc5Dy_aGP-XPS_cmUAuu04tKIf84NGBTR-9YV9Btynt-SifIwfayhK__QN3yLiw2va4oyQUwPN91NY9dsQR8OZHzxjGICXUiDY5JI9wmKlEErcThceyodapm-zPkGdJHjEK4Ww/s400/View+from+Zurich.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347313650999483506" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Just north of Zurich is the Cal Tech radio astronomy observatory. If you look carefully in the photo below, you can see the "dish" antenna structures of the observatory:<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGvDD1jlO4vgX6aoZsRNYCIj5XDlL-9G9nhNbyLMW5R29-gYYQB-ZSn_7bJPB321az41mMTkJb2RUcReDxg1eRKPGsuOkxq7wn6JS2xtWRbdBu5I0hAZo-dteS2S5ReC1LdcKP1UeUelQ/s1600-h/Zurich2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGvDD1jlO4vgX6aoZsRNYCIj5XDlL-9G9nhNbyLMW5R29-gYYQB-ZSn_7bJPB321az41mMTkJb2RUcReDxg1eRKPGsuOkxq7wn6JS2xtWRbdBu5I0hAZo-dteS2S5ReC1LdcKP1UeUelQ/s400/Zurich2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347314473909664066" border="0" /></a><br /></div>Harry Helmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16523477704774302608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355090608576029222.post-82974704742229597882009-06-04T14:47:00.008-05:002009-06-04T18:22:41.516-05:00Barrack Of Arabia<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I don't like to get into politics here, and God knows I have enough issues in my life already. But my mind is reeling from today's speech by President Obama in Cairo; the transcript is now on-line, and I can't believe what I'm reading. Yes, I know President Obama is a Harvard Law graduate, is obviously intelligent, projects a soothing public persona------hey, I not only voted for the guy, I donated money to his campaign------but it's clear that, while he may be intelligent, President Obama is not wise. In fact, he's starting to remind me of those "professional" graduate students-----you know, the ones who are 28 and working on their third masters degree-----who deal solely in abstractions and concepts and are totally lacking in pragmatism and common sense.<br /><br />My fellow Americans, we are in terrible, terrible trouble with this guy in charge.<br /><br />Let's start with the venue for his speech. Why a Middle Eastern Arab nation? While many people think Muslim = Arab, only slightly more than 25% of the world's Muslims are Arabs. The most populous Muslim nation in the world is Indonesia. There are more Muslims in central and southern Africa than in the Middle East. By speaking in Cairo, Obama reinforced the stereotype that all Muslims are Arabs.<br /><br />Moreover, Islam is not a monolithic religion and its tenets are not observed as strenuously in all Muslim nations. For example, the Qu'ran forbids alcohol to Muslims, yet Indonesia has a thriving beer industry. Malaysia is another Muslim nation, yet their annual per-capita alcohol consumption is over 20 liters per person. In Saudi Arabia, possession of a single bottle of beer will get you a public flogging (if you're lucky). The Arab world is dominated by Saudi Arabia's wahhabist strain of Islam, a fundamentalist, primitive interpretation of Islam on par with Christianity's snake handlers and speakers in tongues. In other words, the wahhabists are full blown batshit crazy. Whether he realized it or not-----and he should have realized it-----speaking in Cairo gave an implicit endorsement to the fundamentalist versions of Islam practiced in the Arab world.<br /><br />A city like Lagos or Jakarta would have been a much better venue than Cairo. Such a choice would have demonstrated that Islam is not the exclusive property of the Arab world. Frankly, the fundamentalist Muslims in the Middle East could learn much from nations such as Indonesia and Malaysia on how to cope with the modern world. That is a message that President Obama should have delivered today.<br /><br />I am troubled by Obama's silence on the excesses of fundamentalist Islam as practiced in the Middle East. He has not hesitated to criticize Israel, yet in Saudi Arabia a couple of days ago he had nothing to say about certain aspects of Saudi life, such as the subjugation of women, stoning to death of gay people, banning all other religions but Islam (mere possession of a Bible is a crime in Saudi Arabia), amputations of hands and feet of criminals, restrictions on what clothes a man or woman may wear, etc. etc. In his speech today, the president vowed, "</span></span><span style="font-family:arial;">I consider it part of my responsibility as President of the United States to fight against negative stereotypes of Islam wherever they appear."</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">Uh, that's good, Mr. President, but what if those negative stereotypes are, ya know, based on cold, hard, and indisputable facts?</span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />An honest speech in Cairo today would have taken Muslim fundamentalists to task for their disregard of basic human rights. An honest speech would have told those fundamentalists they will never be accepted into the community of the 21st century until they leave the Middle Ages behind.<br /><br />That sort of candor and honesty would have truly been change we could believe in. But instead today we got a spew of cultural relativism, the sort of aversion to making moral judgments that betrays an utter absence of principles and standards. It is Oprahism gone amok: <span style="font-style: italic;">I'm OK, you're OK, and those fundamentalist Muslims who stone gay people to death are OK too.</span> After all, who are we to judge??<br /><br />Barrack Obama seems to think kind words and a willingness to compromise are all a leader needs. Those are important tools for any leader. But a leader, especially a president, also needs the ability to make people shit in their pants with an angry look. A leader needs to understand it is more important to be respected, or even feared, than it is to be loved.<br /><br />Barrack Obama doesn't get any of the above. Like other overly idealistic presidents-----Woodrow Wilson and Jimmy Carter come to mind-----he will fail because of a misplaced belief in the innate goodness of all people and an entirely unjustified faith in his own lofty assumptions about how the world works.<br /><br />And the United States will pay the bill-----and it's going to be a hell of a bill----for Obama's learning curve.<br /></span></span></div>Harry Helmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16523477704774302608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355090608576029222.post-43238175931696663902009-05-31T16:11:00.006-05:002009-05-31T18:27:42.707-05:00Throwing In The Towel<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Things have been going very badly here since mid-April, and Di and I have decided to put our condo in Corpus Christi for sale and move.<br /><br />When we first moved into our condo development over a year ago, we were impressed by the homeowner association rules. They were (and are) written to encourage occupancy by owners and discourage renters; for example, the rules forbid rental occupancy of a unit by two adults who are not related by marriage or blood. The intent of this is to discourage rental to students at nearby Texas A&M-Corpus Christi, who tend to be party animals.<br /><br />But in February a new slate of officers was elected, and since then things have fallen off a cliff in our development.<br /><br />In mid-April, the unit adjacent to ours was rented to two young women who are not related to each other, a clear violation of condo association rules. But that was not what bothered us about our new neighbors. Instead, it was the loud crashing, thumping, and bumping sounds that we started to hear late at night from their unit. These sounds were not just annoyances. Instead, they were loud-----I compare them to dropping a boxload of books, or someone jumping off a bed and hitting the floor with both feet-----and would wake Di and I from deep sleep. And most of these sounds would happen from 11:00 pm to 2:00 am.<br /><br />We complained to one of the board officers----a person for whom the term "feckless" would be high praise indeed----who spoke to our new neighbors. Their response was to amp up the noises and they made several false charges against my wife in response. What really pissed off Di and I was the eagerness with which that board officer believed their outrageous accusations.<br /><br />And the thumps, crashes, and bumps continued. I'm dying of cancer, and I have enough trouble sleeping through the night as is. All In want is to be able to spend whatever time I have left in peace and quiet. Apparently this is too much to ask for our neighbors and certain board members.<br /><br />However, there will soon be a resolution in our favor. Our neighbors made the big mistake of putting their libelous accusations in writing. That document was addressed to their leasing agent, the unit owner, and the condo board. We were not sent a copy. Not only was their document libelous, but it also contained several statements that could be easily shown to be false, including a real whopper where they lied about what a police officer supposedly told them about Di and I----I spoke to the officer about what he supposedly said, and the officer vehemently and angrily denied making the statement. (Unfortunately, the lie by our neighbors triggered an internal affairs investigation by the Corpus Christi police department; I expect the officer's denial to be fully upheld.)<br /><br />Some people were involved in circulating our neighbors' document, and the highly libelous accusations in them, to third parties. Suffice it to say that lawsuits for libel and defamation of character will soon be filed against responsible parties. I'm sure some of the affected individuals think it's all a big joke and these are empty threats. They are about to learn a hard, painful lesson.<br /><br />But the entire experience since mid-April has really soured us on remaining in this condo development and Corpus Christi. The strain on Di and me has been terrible; we're often cranky, short-tempered, and get into arguments with each other over silly things. As for me, it is pushing me toward a dark place where I feel like completely giving up and just dying. While we have met some outstanding people here (like our neighbors Sue and Tom), that is offset by an increasing disgust and contempt for other people who have refused to help us with our neighbor problems. We don't feel welcome, comfortable, or even safe here any longer-----and, to be honest, we are seeing signs of anti-Semitism being directed toward Di. (If true, that would explain certain things.) Regardless, when you can't help but see people each day who you genuinely hate, it's time to leave that place.<br /><br />The condo is for sale and Di will be returning to Las Vegas. The move makes sense for a lot of reasons. Las Vegas real estate is an amazing bargain now, and Di has friends and professional connections there. It will be a perfect place for her to re-start her life after my death.<br /><br />I will accompany Di to Las Vegas if at all possible. I'm not trying to sound melodramatic, but I am slipping fast and I don't know how much longer I'm going to be around. Las Vegas is where the the story of Di and me began, and it would be a perfect place for it to end. I hope it can.<br /><br />I will be posting only rarely here in the future. I feel like I have said about all I feel like saying.<br /></span></span></div>Harry Helmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16523477704774302608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355090608576029222.post-89023896132938761212009-05-22T16:02:00.012-05:002009-05-22T17:50:32.843-05:00Rin Tin Tin Toys<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">When I was five years old, it was easy to find me at 4:00 pm Monday through Friday. I was in front of our television, eagerly awaiting a new episode of <span style="font-style: italic;">The Adventures of Rin Tin Tin</span>. The show starred Rin Tin Tin, the smartest, bravest German Shepherd in the known universe, and Rusty, a schlubby little kid who I had to envy because Rin Tin Tin was his dog. The show was set in the Wild West; Rusty and Rin Tin Tin lived at Fort Apache, a U. S. Army outpost in hostile Indian. . . . . . .er, I mean Native American territory. I always looked forward to those episodes in which Rusty was kidnapped by Apaches. Those episodes would end with a ne'er-do-well savage holding a knife over Rusty, getting ready to plunge it down, when suddenly Rin Tin Tin would leap into action, biting the savage's wrist and causing him to drop the knife. Rin Tin Tin would then lunge for the Native American's throat, and I would giggle hysterically at his death screams. It was perfect entertainment for a wholesome, innocent age in which everyone respected President Eisenhower.<br /><br />Like many Baby Boomers in the 1990s, I became possessed with an urge to collect pieces of my childhood, and naturally Rin Tin Tin was at the top of my collectible list. One of my prize finds was this Fort Apache playset; it included Rusty and Rin Tin Tin figures, as you can see below:<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLCuyEIe2Wg4EsIfVBXamdQmO0xBUY6V23lQMo0QY2wt53YOANDN7vMTkVhBzVgoYtwua3-eE-uouz5pZplgd_VVbgxOaj4yYtBI1cIUodlom3pqqbWVpb_gwPyIhyphenhyphenahvNm6PaBoz-nds/s1600-h/Fort+Apache.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 260px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLCuyEIe2Wg4EsIfVBXamdQmO0xBUY6V23lQMo0QY2wt53YOANDN7vMTkVhBzVgoYtwua3-eE-uouz5pZplgd_VVbgxOaj4yYtBI1cIUodlom3pqqbWVpb_gwPyIhyphenhyphenahvNm6PaBoz-nds/s400/Fort+Apache.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338766598818411570" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I think Rin Tin Tin was one of the first kids' shows to derive more income from merchandising than from syndication fees. Among the items available back in the 1950s were stuffed Rin Tin Tin stuffed animals, jig saw puzzles, pennants, board games, "magic" writing slates, etc. Here are some examples I found:<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc2g5ags67HGuR2ZwWyxNVjzawwgdQiatdsKOrPARLZEcJTj6pT6Bcv4dOLqtzyPkYZh5HguvVK1k-9b7P2LjkRo0mcdo88Eq9w6HNRPAmspmgS2ZV786TKAHJ5nUBGtYBBzKzU7FO5jM/s1600-h/RTT+%26+puzzle.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc2g5ags67HGuR2ZwWyxNVjzawwgdQiatdsKOrPARLZEcJTj6pT6Bcv4dOLqtzyPkYZh5HguvVK1k-9b7P2LjkRo0mcdo88Eq9w6HNRPAmspmgS2ZV786TKAHJ5nUBGtYBBzKzU7FO5jM/s400/RTT+%26+puzzle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338768373270781122" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnuhTPAlYncmf0MH21BQx0xMFS_1LjSSM-fr5R0Nt-L0EhApxsH9n99l-EmJ4KE_7v7yMDdKISmc8D8J0v9LeiORBUS7i98kEkVdHOTkbm_eXJz6hBhdXSa_J_fPR-j6RxlvZVY2WCKDo/s1600-h/RTT+board+game.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 356px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnuhTPAlYncmf0MH21BQx0xMFS_1LjSSM-fr5R0Nt-L0EhApxsH9n99l-EmJ4KE_7v7yMDdKISmc8D8J0v9LeiORBUS7i98kEkVdHOTkbm_eXJz6hBhdXSa_J_fPR-j6RxlvZVY2WCKDo/s400/RTT+board+game.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338768557946261266" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigklP5jtag6qfcX9UqndSI2yUC5k8CD04R1ELB_xG7_OiUestkvnPIce82ZZkki4Y1oTuNbp_cOMNsvTdk9I9pl3LEBbrRP1n1R68rniTu1hA5PYMS7qPo91-ZwBC18iM6_J6qZ0C18Yk/s1600-h/RTT+Magic+Slate.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 297px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigklP5jtag6qfcX9UqndSI2yUC5k8CD04R1ELB_xG7_OiUestkvnPIce82ZZkki4Y1oTuNbp_cOMNsvTdk9I9pl3LEBbrRP1n1R68rniTu1hA5PYMS7qPo91-ZwBC18iM6_J6qZ0C18Yk/s400/RTT+Magic+Slate.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338768787809266082" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">As a kid, I owned the item below. The "pictures" were on plastic-coated paper and the "crayons" were soft and putty-like</span>. <span style="font-family:arial;">When I colored the pictures, the colors were more smeared on the pictures instead of being drawn. The colors did wipe off quickly with a paper towel, but I remember getting quickly bored with this toy:</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmolvhYuzXPtm4bEKn4F8UVMUn506oWnoCJyvOgmc_fbCAjUGLpScB1Xb261Z8fwaq65Sidyah7vWvgbPr7fTnxuat7uQloYpnmZT1clmtUwVGdd4Ib_8CgK0qEpoh17hs_gGapn9v9Ig/s1600-h/RTT+Magic+Pictures.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 301px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmolvhYuzXPtm4bEKn4F8UVMUn506oWnoCJyvOgmc_fbCAjUGLpScB1Xb261Z8fwaq65Sidyah7vWvgbPr7fTnxuat7uQloYpnmZT1clmtUwVGdd4Ib_8CgK0qEpoh17hs_gGapn9v9Ig/s400/RTT+Magic+Pictures.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338771031571192770" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Numerous Rin Tin Tin books and comics were produced, as you can see below. Note the book in the upper left corner; it was from the 1920s and was published in conjunction with the movies of that era that starred the original Rin Tin Tin. I have videos of those 1920s silent films, and I have to admit the original Rin Tin Tin was a genuinely remarkable dog------many of his stunts are mindboggling, and he was incredibly athletic.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDVlJkQtXX9Eb0hI44_LKP2sAB2xOo4JKxZr08iv9FkCK6AriGDl4MDBHI7sfwgQp5kCpG-t4fnTsTbs6Xl9dUsSr4gJIL-40SEHR6Gk6elzigLJfs8E9xcrRDo2Kggly22ei0JKcjrDs/s1600-h/RTT+Books.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 301px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDVlJkQtXX9Eb0hI44_LKP2sAB2xOo4JKxZr08iv9FkCK6AriGDl4MDBHI7sfwgQp5kCpG-t4fnTsTbs6Xl9dUsSr4gJIL-40SEHR6Gk6elzigLJfs8E9xcrRDo2Kggly22ei0JKcjrDs/s400/RTT+Books.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338773272236916658" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">For my fifth birthday, I got a Rusty playsuit for a present. I put it on and spent several happy weeks pretending I was Rusty. It should be no surprise that I was thrilled to locate the mint Rusty playsuit below. It was still in its original factory wrapping and even had the same smell when I opened the box that I remember from my fifth birthday.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3dRcBUkKahVjOlUJMiiSEDrRyY9p1g2AIIhlqDqdlp8NK_dRZq-EyEFgpsof-WUg5p7wsiKcE0GEa0Z4l0-6CK6Zfw_07ZB1mzPeED3jor_MN02TzkuzCvh-sMuQovXawKhIXPbcXN-A/s1600-h/Rusty+Suit.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 301px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3dRcBUkKahVjOlUJMiiSEDrRyY9p1g2AIIhlqDqdlp8NK_dRZq-EyEFgpsof-WUg5p7wsiKcE0GEa0Z4l0-6CK6Zfw_07ZB1mzPeED3jor_MN02TzkuzCvh-sMuQovXawKhIXPbcXN-A/s400/Rusty+Suit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338775890810969730" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I have greatly downsized my Rin Tin Tin collection; I'm trying to leave Di without much to sort through after my death. It was fun to once again own this stuff, and I'm glad the items above now resides with other Rin Tin Tin fans.</span><br /></div>Harry Helmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16523477704774302608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355090608576029222.post-15168751091318055872009-05-10T11:56:00.003-05:002009-05-10T12:20:09.454-05:00Mother's Day 2009<span style="font-family:arial;">This is the third Mother's Day for me since the death of my mother, and, as has been the case on her birthday each year since her death, I have this hollow, empty feeling inside me.<br /><br />She taught me to read and write before I started school. I didn't get every toy I wanted, but if it was something to read-----a book, a magazine, etc.-----she always bought it for me. There is no doubt my writing and editing career was a direct result of her efforts.<br /><br />And she loved me truly and unconditionally. I am glad that I was in remission-----which, to her, meant "cured"-----when she died and she never knew my cancer returned.<br /><br />When I was a kid, my favorite meal was Mom's baked macaroni and cheese. She would use real cheese which would melt and flow through the macaroni; the top would harden into a crunchy crust that I loved to bite into. She would serve it with a green vegetable and some of her sweet yellow cornbread.<br /><br />Years after I moved away, she would always make baked macaroni and cheese when I came to visit. I always knew it would be waiting for me when I arrived at the airport in Charlotte.<br /><br />I would give everything I own to taste that meal again.<br /><br />In a a world that is often dark and angry, mothers are beacons of light, hope, and love. I hope every mother out there today receives the love and honor they deserve.<br /></span>Harry Helmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16523477704774302608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355090608576029222.post-35064487732203711922009-05-06T16:46:00.006-05:002009-05-06T17:33:35.149-05:00The Ghost Town Of Lida, Nevada<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">You'll do some serious driving to visit Lida! From Las Vegas, take Highway 95 north for 180 miles until you reach the intersection with Route 266. You will turn left off Highway 95, and it's hard to miss where to turn------the Cottontail Ranch Brothel is at the intersection, and is the only business for several miles. The nearest gas, food, and other services are in Beatty, NV, about 40 miles south. I strongly suggest topping off your gas tank in Beatty. You'll travel about 30 miles on Route 266 to reach Lida. The road is paved, although it is narrow in places.<br /><br />Lida came into being in 1873 when a post office opened there. Numerous small gold and silver mining claims were being worked in the surrounding countryside, and Lida served those miners with supplies, services (like assaying), and recreation (like gambling and drinking). By 1905, Lida's population reached 300. But that was the peak of mining activity in the region, and the town began to slowly decline. By 1918, the post office closed and Lida was almost totally abandoned a few years later. However, there are still a few people living in the area who conduct ranching operations, so Lida is not totally deserted.<br /><br />Much of the ruins of Lida is on private property and is fenced off to visitors, so you have to be content with looking instead of touching:<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg4rHySBBprluFX7A1gWfjG0sH7nOLV8tsd8LSRbgUxlxDXYw9YOLAj6LtAnb2gv-uE0KDuyrtl0HEurtwVy6gWOd-CDjxIaeMIETuAJQ9aLhbjRfBH8D5LMsND0srRD435nWuNCMkFWE/s1600-h/Lida3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg4rHySBBprluFX7A1gWfjG0sH7nOLV8tsd8LSRbgUxlxDXYw9YOLAj6LtAnb2gv-uE0KDuyrtl0HEurtwVy6gWOd-CDjxIaeMIETuAJQ9aLhbjRfBH8D5LMsND0srRD435nWuNCMkFWE/s400/Lida3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332839725258449458" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">However, a few standing buildings are not fenced off and can be visited:<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibw6x5SXsSjnhUVyt8Msvb4s1B68K-eiEiRFR1I6ViCHf5J3GSQW_iN6EScRXSsiu4EI3awOQ5j24C6wCPNke-gUTVRH9Y68RoyuOUNTFdVLrxghZDVF8vcjGKOpb-agbNSOIyr1GbXRo/s1600-h/Lida1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibw6x5SXsSjnhUVyt8Msvb4s1B68K-eiEiRFR1I6ViCHf5J3GSQW_iN6EScRXSsiu4EI3awOQ5j24C6wCPNke-gUTVRH9Y68RoyuOUNTFdVLrxghZDVF8vcjGKOpb-agbNSOIyr1GbXRo/s400/Lida1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332840567694794594" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV1l4OBvBaEK-d3Mrv722zAiHmQW_RiU10kT2i360k5XA_2d_qoTE0Ho0pMVVwckAgKc617CMmSbRbDAdyee0gEfzI6drwbd9jacPQrqZSkKAydX1kq_m6H2sLfc97YZ0J7mk4WzhiDNI/s1600-h/Lida2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 231px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV1l4OBvBaEK-d3Mrv722zAiHmQW_RiU10kT2i360k5XA_2d_qoTE0Ho0pMVVwckAgKc617CMmSbRbDAdyee0gEfzI6drwbd9jacPQrqZSkKAydX1kq_m6H2sLfc97YZ0J7mk4WzhiDNI/s400/Lida2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332840916356710626" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The state of Nevada erected the sign below to mark the site of Lida. And I got a couple of friendly waves from working ranchhands as I drove through Lida. Maybe you'll be lucky enough to get a similar reception if you visit.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlr3RMQoi5uAXokEM43kX43XdnT5YnW5Dt_cxffNtWIrkfkxIGzxziny6GWs7vU0xZYC9ZqAtZ6LKWp7wAuptbqdrilTMwSu31xTohc3OsZoOOwpLIdKmTgmKW-pwYVi8OLepm5z81ykc/s1600-h/Lida+sign.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 319px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlr3RMQoi5uAXokEM43kX43XdnT5YnW5Dt_cxffNtWIrkfkxIGzxziny6GWs7vU0xZYC9ZqAtZ6LKWp7wAuptbqdrilTMwSu31xTohc3OsZoOOwpLIdKmTgmKW-pwYVi8OLepm5z81ykc/s400/Lida+sign.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332842439874887346" border="0" /></a><br /></div>Harry Helmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16523477704774302608noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355090608576029222.post-62704682679441354552009-05-05T16:31:00.007-05:002009-05-05T17:13:50.065-05:00The Ghost Town Of Kelso, California<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Kelso, California was a stop on the Union Pacific railroad running from Los Angeles to Salt Lake City. The site was chosen because of abundant springs in the area for water. Kelso boomed about a century ago because of gold and silver deposits in the surrounding mountains. By 1940, the population was about 2000, but began to drop rapidly after World War II. In the early 1980s, there were only a few people left and Union Pacific wanted to close down all buildings and raze them. Fortunately, a preservation effort was launched and Union Pacific agreed to turn the townsite over to the state of California. Today, Kelso is part of the Mojave National Preserve and is administered by the National Park Service.<br /><br />Kelso is reached by taking Interstate 15 from Los Angeles or Las Vegas; Baker is almost midway between the two on I-15. From Baker, take Kelbaker Road south 37 miles to the site of Kelso. The road is paved the entire way and suitable for all vehicles.<br /><br />The most impressive structure in Kelso is the old Union Pacific station shown below. When I visited back in 2001 and took these photos, it was closed. Happily, the National Park Service has restored the building and it now serves as a visitor center and has the only restaurant for quite a few miles:<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOkBQJxM-pQitVG-PYHIG-I-G2eZs45G01FhFaffvLU2hM6Na5sP5obiVepFW0OVBmrdpvYbHnQW54XihMvUhfcOXOCfoAieqnm1YCgTqoaOBkViFLIUoygXqmHvK7SMHQcPoSkjuJ8RE/s1600-h/Kelso+Station.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOkBQJxM-pQitVG-PYHIG-I-G2eZs45G01FhFaffvLU2hM6Na5sP5obiVepFW0OVBmrdpvYbHnQW54XihMvUhfcOXOCfoAieqnm1YCgTqoaOBkViFLIUoygXqmHvK7SMHQcPoSkjuJ8RE/s400/Kelso+Station.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332460454869541298" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Another well-preserved building in Kelso is the post office below. This was the last building to close in Kelso back in the 1970s:<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg12p8v_hSvIhGa5bs5p3IZYYYHahBG4BZxwKpLFUflNMNe-ZLAow5fc0Fc33MUk-IRTMtyTQynSOgbYa_0kFpmqCYJ3xvCNJpPFAsCdSrTd-WSQiOt6JjRDZhTqS8B77_VjDqpcLSUd8k/s1600-h/Kelso+Post+Office.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg12p8v_hSvIhGa5bs5p3IZYYYHahBG4BZxwKpLFUflNMNe-ZLAow5fc0Fc33MUk-IRTMtyTQynSOgbYa_0kFpmqCYJ3xvCNJpPFAsCdSrTd-WSQiOt6JjRDZhTqS8B77_VjDqpcLSUd8k/s400/Kelso+Post+Office.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332461512173200642" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Most of the remaining structures in Kelso are behind fencing, meaning you can look but not touch:<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEWYFLbQ_Dx2MHZbRoGq-13KmFhviKSYwUpxsTQoF6XhMbC9EaryamJof62tQPo4XuJqC69TQZoXEzNCMCY9_ohmM75ZuwckWQgN0CfsGKITyaO2ONK_tE0aRWHBrEB2wVS32YeHZDRyg/s1600-h/Kelso2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEWYFLbQ_Dx2MHZbRoGq-13KmFhviKSYwUpxsTQoF6XhMbC9EaryamJof62tQPo4XuJqC69TQZoXEzNCMCY9_ohmM75ZuwckWQgN0CfsGKITyaO2ONK_tE0aRWHBrEB2wVS32YeHZDRyg/s400/Kelso2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332462309018576098" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeKjNmqprlrNLpSvjbHVLqMPBIK7HUm1gVVZhvrIjJYHyF10w9IpRqFs_3ueKB44bpjhyphenhyphenp4w5E7KGajQ7Bv8z31PlhlmXkdBCpUd_UZ74Hx28lZSJBHM7qLywfotX0vwWRbUnN_rTIZ7g/s1600-h/Kelso3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeKjNmqprlrNLpSvjbHVLqMPBIK7HUm1gVVZhvrIjJYHyF10w9IpRqFs_3ueKB44bpjhyphenhyphenp4w5E7KGajQ7Bv8z31PlhlmXkdBCpUd_UZ74Hx28lZSJBHM7qLywfotX0vwWRbUnN_rTIZ7g/s400/Kelso3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332462497405169474" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The only buildings not protected by fencing are falling apart:<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgPdIlOvuIulZEsMpMRLcN5W4QNqiLSwi7aVNDl2BaNHW76dd0uxTIRTB-hKPZAYVBFeIpL22i0m2kK2I20ML9He3oCoiiq3uymKXtSwKD6QbBTTCVg-7kADQ__dFe4uVJ5oIJHLCAM84/s1600-h/Kelso1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgPdIlOvuIulZEsMpMRLcN5W4QNqiLSwi7aVNDl2BaNHW76dd0uxTIRTB-hKPZAYVBFeIpL22i0m2kK2I20ML9He3oCoiiq3uymKXtSwKD6QbBTTCVg-7kADQ__dFe4uVJ5oIJHLCAM84/s400/Kelso1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332463292665728466" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Near Kelso are some impressive sand dunes called, appropriately enough, the Kelso Dunes. David Carradine walked across them in the opening sequences of the 1970s TV program <span style="font-style: italic;">Kung</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">Fu</span>, and you can retrace those historic steps after visiting Kelso.</span></span><br /></div>Harry Helmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16523477704774302608noreply@blogger.com