The master of games

Or Gamemaster.  As in the Gamemaster Series.  In the mid-1980s, Milton Bradley, that Standard Oil of game companies, produced a series of games called the Gamemaster Series.  The flagship of this series was the game Axis & Allies.  Turns out, MB obtained the idea of Axis and Allies from an old, and rather crude, chit style wargame centered broadly around WW2.  I was happy when I discovered the game was purchased from one first published in the late 1970s.  In high school (c. 1981), I had the idea of a WW2 version of RISK, but never pursued it. When I discovered A&A, I was a bit bummed and wondered if I missed out.  Glad to see I didn't.  The idea was already there. 

Anyhoo, Axis & Allies is the main game, and I believe the most successful by far, spawning an endless stream of expansions, special editions, and micro-versions based on the original (my oldest recently received the latest, an A&A version of the North African Campaign from WWII).  Nonetheless, it wasn't the only one, as the name 'Series' suggests.   Over the years I managed to find all but one.  And even in the day, I managed to play all but one.  Several friends and acquaintances back then had at least one of the games.  Below are the games that made up the series.  Not in any order, just for fun and trivial things during these crazy, hazy days of the tale end of Bidenomics.  

Axis & Allies (1984)

I've written enough on this before, such as here.  Suffice to say it's still a favorite among the boys.  Naturally, we don't play it much now.  But in the day, it was a goto when game time was available but not so much as to stretch over endless days.  As I said, I believe it spawned the most variants, and we own several of those from back in the day.  

Conquest of the Empire  (1984)

This was the Ancient Rome variant.  I bought this some years ago, and our boardgame guru son warmed up to it nicely.  Unfortunately, the others didn't express much interest.  It's a shame, because just in our little tutorial session, it appeared fun, if not a bit predictable.  It was a game that seemed more interested in developing a skill for the game than sweating any thing close to a simulation of ancient Roman politics and military maneuvering.  Still, every game has to give and take. 

Fortress America (1986)

My best friend, who didn't mind D&D flavored video games but wouldn't be caught dead playing D&D, was the same way with board games.  He was like that with anything to be honest.  As a bona fide jock in high school, he was always sensitive about how any pastimes might appear to others around him.  He and I used to play RISK, but he kept it hush-hush.  Until a friend he knew, who was in some big local metal band in Columbus, came by one afternoon.  I was there and had brought the RISK game.  My friend was visibly aghast at me having a RISK game there and his cool big hair metal guitarist friend showing up.  Until his friend saw my game and brightened up immediately, singing the game's praises, and asked if we could play a round.  After that my friend practically had RISK tournaments in his house going late into the night with any and all friends available.  For some reason, piggybacking on this openness with RISK, he felt Fortress America was acceptable.  When I bought A&A a year or so into college, he purchased this on the same shopping trip.  I think it was an old Service Merchandise, but don't quote me on that.  The premise is basically Red Dawn in board game form, with a little sci-fi tech to add flavor.  Problem is, it seemed rather slanted toward America against its three invaders.  My friend chose the invaders. I simply hunkered down in Denver and let the super-lasers do their work.  After four rounds of trying to take Denver and losing everything, my friend took the game board with pieces still on it and heaved it out the door.  That was that.  But it was fun for those minutes we played.  Years later I got a copy and played it with our three older sons.  I was America, they were the invaders.  When it was over, they sympathized with my friend.    

Shogun (1986)

Perhaps the second favorite among my sons.  Shogun, as the name suggests, loosely (and I mean loosely) runs with the feudal period of Japanese history.  Truth be told, it's Axis & Allies, just scratch out 'Tank' and add 'Samurai.'  Or more honestly, it's really just RISK at the next level.  There is some secret investing in various items, and a ninja - because you have to have ninjas - you can hire for the odd assassination.  It has a little bit of a 'fog of war' mechanic, with entire armies peopled by so many of the plastic playing pieces, but only a single marker on the game board to show its location.  The idea being the others can't tell how large your armies are.  But they can.  All you do is count the pieces on the army board on the other side of the table.  But it adds flavor. And let's face it, any game that allows finely crafted miniature models of the celebrated Osaka castle is going to be pretty awesome. 

Broadsides and Boarding Parties (1984)

Never owned it.  Never saw it.  Never met a person who did.  You can almost see the desperate stretching of the concept to include the age of buccaneers into the series.  From what I've read, it didn't work.  Hence there's a reason I've never met a person who owned it.

Prayers for the victims and families of the those killed in the train collision in Texas

As the son of a former railroad engineer, this hits hard.  By the era of diesel engines, even in the olden days, things were safer for railroad workers than the era of steam.  Nonetheless, it was still a job with risks.  You were working around massive industrial products, settings, and equipment.  Those engines were big!  I don't know if you've ever been near one, but they make standing in front of a semi truck feel like standing in front of a Hot Wheels car.  I tried to stand right in front of one once but didn't have the nerve.

So things did happen, and even in the later years of my youth, sometimes people died.  Again, it was overall safer, but the problem was certain things were simply outside your control as a crew member.  The biggest problem is that you can't just stop a train on a dime. The main things we worried about were collisions with other trains, and the dreaded gasoline truck stalled on the tracks.  More than a few train crews met their end that way.

One was a friend of my Dad's in one of those bizarre events that makes you realize sometimes it is just your time to go, and sometimes it isn't.  Back before I was born, my Dad worked the road.  That means he went to the local train yard, ran the train to another train yard often in another state, and then waited until it was his turn to get another train back.  It worked in rotation.  First one in was first one out.

There was a day when a friend of my Dad's was behind him in the rotation.  He and his wife were planning a social event, and he asked if he could trade with Dad so he could get home first.  Dad said sure, why not.  The train came in, and just as my Dad's friend was getting ready to board, his wife called and said the social had been canceled.  Being a good guy, he went back and offered my Dad his place back at the head of the line.  So Dad got on the train and ran it back home.  He came in and promptly took his obligatory two hour nap for the day.

While he was sleeping, the phone rang.  My Mom answered and it was the railroad yard.  They asked if Dad was home.  She told them he was in sleeping.  They said they were just checking, as there had been a train accident and apparently some mix up as to who was on the train.

Mom woke Dad up and told him him what happened.  Dad called in to find out the details.  It turns out that his friend was on the train behind him.  On the way near Marion, Ohio, a switch had been thrown.  This caused another train to run headfirst into his friend's engine.  All but one of the crew in the two engines were killed instantly.  The survivor was found wandering around a couple miles away later in the day.

Another of my Dad's friends, named Fred, was in the caboose of his friend's train.  He said that, oddly enough, the train came to a smooth stop.  Being a freight train, it could have been a mile or more long.  He did say that when he looked out the window of the cupola, he saw a massive mushroom cloud rising up from where the engines were, but didn't know anything else.  Only when they got out did they see the wreckage.

So had the fellow been selfish, he would have come home and lived on in life.  As it was, he was thoughtful enough to trade back with Dad.  I've often wondered if his wife was sorry about calling him and telling him the social was cancelled.  Then again, I've often wondered what other options I have.  If those events hadn't happened, I wouldn't be here today typing this story.

It's what I thought about when I read about the train collision.  In such passing headlines, don't ever forget that there are lives involved, families and friends, and sometimes those not yet born.  It's enough to more than just pray to God, but to trust God.  And pray for peace for the loved ones, the victims, and all who were touched by this and all of the other tragedies that happen in a day

A very Cold War Christmas

Reagan addresses a relieved world in November, 1985

The best year of my life - before I met my wife (nice save) - was 1985.  Not 1984, though my boys would think otherwise.  They always laugh because almost anything we talk about when discussing events or releases or just general news from our past seemed to happen in 1984.  From Van Halen to Orwell, it was a year fully aware of itself.  But for me, the best year ever was 1985.

That was the year I graduated high school.  The summer after graduation was just what you'd want a summer after high school graduation to be. Someday I might post about some of our adventures.  I just need to research the particulars regarding the statute of limitations.

My first quarter of college was every bit as good and, to be honest, the best time I had in college.  There would be other good years in school, but that first quarter of my first year was what you would want your first experience in college to be.  

I only went to the nearby branch at OSU (we called it The Twig since it consisted of only one building).  But new friends, new girlfriend, still visiting old friends, visiting my best friend on the Columbus campus, and just a flood of memories of good and satisfying events made it the best of times.  There were parties with new acquaintances, being out and about in a new city, and just getting to know people I'd never met in a brand new setting. 

The Twig as it looked when I attended

Even the Christmas break was wonderful.  Old friends came back home and we attended parties, and watched movies, and played cards, went to arcades, attended more parties, and generally hung out together for what in many cases would be the last time.  On one weekend - my first after exams - my best friend and several others literally chugged through almost three straight days of round the clock parties and fun and shopping and games and movies.  By that Monday night, we had slept about four hours in three days.  I was sitting at my best friends house and the TV show Newhart was just coming on.  The next thing I knew I woke up the following afternoon at about 2:00 PM on their sectional.  It was that kind of a time. 

I also remember it was a time that seemed - no doubt coincidently - to be surrounded by pop culture nods to the Cold War and its waning presence.  One was a spoof, one a drama and one a Rocky movie.  Spies Like Us, which I wrote about before, was a John Landis project with SNL alums Chevy Chase and Dan Aykroyd; a lampoon of Reagan era patriotism and the much maligned Star Wars program.  Rocky IV was ham-fisted on the opposite side, with Rocky practically winning the Cold War against what could only be seen as cardboard cutout Russians.  Finally White Nights, starring Gregory Hines and defecting dancer extraordinaire Baryshnikov, was a drama with dancing.  In it, audiences were reminded that, for all its sins dragged out by Raymond Greenwood, the USA was still a better option than Soviet Russia.  All were late Cold War themed, and all were released within a week of each other around the first of December. 

So charging into the end of the quarter towards that wonderful break, things were still soaring, despite yet another loss to Michigan.  On top of everything, all of that fun and all those Cold War movies were given a boost because of a news story right around Thanksgiving. It was a little meeting in Geneva between Ronald Reagan and the latest Soviet premier, Mikhail Gorbachev.

By then I was paying attention to news, probably more than many of my friends.  I saw the laments of editorials worried that Reagan might botch this historic chance given us by the Soviets.  When he was there, I still recall some media generated outrage over something Reagan did when he grabbed Gorbachev by the shoulder and said something I can't remember.  

But as if to add cake to the year's icing, when Reagan returned from Geneva and addressed Congress, it was a strange moment.  Even Reagan's staunchest critics joined his supporters, and even most of my peers, and heaved a great sigh of relief.  For the first time it looked like we might really, really come through the old Cold War without mushroom clouds and Skynet strikes.  Hard to believe, but that was a light at the end of the tunnel many my age didn't think we would see in our lifetimes - if at all.

Not a bad way to spend an already wonderful first college Christmastime.  A fine year capped off by a fine time entering college.  A first quarter in school that rose to the occasion and was all I could have hoped.  And on top of it all, a meeting with our president that suggested what many were beginning to suspect:  That the Soviets were through, and we were going to come out of it all not only peacefully, but victoriously.  For a couple weeks that December, everything seemed focused there, and if that wasn't a happy holidays, I'm not sure what it would take. 

Official 1985 Cold War video

Bonus update!  The aforementioned best friend emailed me even as I was putting the finishing James Browns on this post.  I hadn't heard from him for some time.  His parents are getting down health wise and that took from his time, as it will.  He'll be getting in touch after the holidays, so that was a nice little bonus.  He lives in Las Vegas, but should be around some after the first of the year.  And yes, he's the best friend I often reference in various posts of nostalgia.  So a nice convergence heading into another Christmastide, you might say. 

Friday frivolity

Just because it's my blog: My favorite arcade video games.

Like some old codger sitting by a fireplace and regaling his grandchildren about his days fighting the huns, I tend to talk to my boys about the 'good old days.'  I inform them that, unless you had a terrible life you wish to forget - and hopefully that doesn't include them - you tend to look back, remembering with fondness the good times, and letting the bad times fade into memory.  Always remember the bad times were there, that way nostalgia doesn't melt into unreal sentimentality that can hamstring your ability to deal with the real world.  But never feel guilty for looking back and pondering the good times of old.  Long after their Mom and I have passed on, they'll only have the stories to remember, and that's what makes it a very human thing to do.

One of the things they ask about is what it was like in the early days of the big tech boons that they take for granted today.  What was it like in the early days of cable TV, or portable phones, or personal computers, or VCRs, or video games?  They find it hard to believe that there was a time when there were entire buildings - vast, cavernous rooms - dedicated to endless rows of video game consoles, with hundreds and hundreds of gamers standing there, popping quarters by the ton into the games as passersby stopped to watch the action.

It's true.  I was never a big video game fan, but I had my moments.  And there was an end game to those old arcade games.  It was seeing your initials at the top of the High Scores list at the end of each game.  And there was a time when playing a game could end up with dozens of strangers standing around, rooting you on.  I can remember Pac Man.  I only played it a couple times, but I remember people standing around three rows deep if someone was playing it well or even making it past the first few levels that anyone could handle.

We were talking about this last week, and it got me to thinking about some of the favorites I did have at different stages in the video game phenomenon, as well as stages in my youth.  Below are the ones I remember playing, even for a season, with some form of regularity.  Nothing big, but at the end of the craziness in the world today, it seems almost sane to think about compared to the alternatives.

Asteroids.  This was the first arcade game I ever played with any regularity.  It was located in one of those old KMart knock off stores that was located in Marion, behind the old (now abandoned) Pizza Hut.  That was the same PH I worked at in my early college days.  By that time, the store was there, but the game was gone.  But back in my early high school days, whenever my Mom went there, I made sure to bring quarters along.  While she shopped, I did my best to stay alive on the fewest quarters possible.  My best friend, Kelly, sometimes came along.  As always, he was far more versed in such things, and could do a much better job survival-wise.

Cliff Hanger!  This was in Marion's only shopping mall, the closest big town near the small farming village in which I grew up.  About a half hour away (or half that as I drove it), it was our main hangout on a weekend.  This game was under most radars.  Borrowing the Laser Disk technology that made Dragon's Lair a smash hit, it was heavy Anime style about two hapless casino thieves rescuing a kidnapped bride from the clutches of some super-villain.  Sort of Smokey and the Bandit meets James Bond.  Don't know why, but I determined to get through it to the end of the story.  Being one of the few video games with an actual end, I had that goal to shoot for.  And after about two years of hunting it down once it moved from the mall, I finally did it.

Gauntlet.  Wizard needs food badly!  Ah, this was in the old Dairy Mart down the street from where I lived for a few years when I was in elementary school.  My best friend had seen the game while at Columbus campus the year it was released (1985), and we spent more than a few nights pouring about $20 worth of quarters each to make it through endless mazes, demons, ghosts and goblins. That was near the end of what I call the Great Fantasy Renaissance, which kicked off in 1977 by the release of Star Wars.  Though my friend would never be caught dead within a hundred yards of something like Dungeons and Dragons, he had no problems playing video games that were obviously inspired by the same.  This chewed up the first year of college when he was back from school, especially during our first Christmas break.

Crossbow.  Don't shoot your friends!  Speaking of playing games that my best friend wouldn't be caught dead near if they weren't electronic, this was another one he discovered.  It was in the lobby of the movie theater attached to Northland Mall in Columbus, Ohio.  That was the mall in all of central Ohio.  At Christmas, the police would issue warnings to people to stay away from that area of northern Columbus because it became so packed and busy.  Today it's a parking lot.  But then it was the cultural/hang out mecca for everyone in central Ohio that was under 25 years old.  We went to the movies when I would visit him, or sometimes if we were down in Columbus just for fun (or looking for girls).  To kill time, we played this several times.  As usual, I was less competitive than he was, so ended up being the cause of most game ending casualties.

Rastan.  This was in the small arcade in the Ohio State University Student Union.  Back then, the Union was mainly classrooms, conference rooms, a cafeteria and some fast food shops with a McDonald's as the anchor eatery.  The arcade was in a small area between the cafeteria and one of the conference rooms.  There were probably about a dozen or so games, and this was one.  During my autumn quarter, I had a class at noon (geography), followed by my last class of the day, Western Civ 101 at 3:00.  That gave me enough time to have lunch, relax, and then study play this game I discovered.  Though well past either the D&D fad or the general Fantasy Renaissance, it was obviously inspired by both.  It was fairly popular, though the whole of the Video Arcade was already beginning to run its course.  By the next quarter, my schedule changed and I wasn't around the area with enough time to bother.  By the time I would have time to hang around there again, the game had been removed.  Nonetheless, autumn quarter of my Junior year, 1987, found me, between the hours of about 1:00 and 2:00 PM, with an endless supply of quarters trying to help our intrepid hero battle chimera, lizard men, gargoyles and falling boulders.

Omega Race.  What?  Most have never heard of this.  At the end of my 6th grade year, for no particular reason, my parents moved out of town and onto Rt. 95.  There was nothing nearby except two houses with grown adults and no kids, a gas station, the town's main factory, and across the street, our local bowling alley.  Oddly enough, I never cared enough to learn to bowl or play pool, though both were available.  What I did do, however, was save up quarters from mowing the neighbors' yards or shoveling snow to go across the highway and play this game.  Of all games I ever played, I came closest to this to topping the High Scores. I made it to second place.  It might have been because nobody played it much, and the competition was minimal.  Nonetheless, I saw it as a thing of pride that people began to come over to see if today would be the day I made it to the top.  I never did make it to the top.  But for most of my 8th grade year, I had this to look forward to at the end of each school day.

Space Invaders.  What can be said?  The one the started it all.  Just slap a space picture on the side and suddenly the pixels have an identity and a purpose, as does the player.  I actually only played it once or twice in arcades.  By the time it came to any venues that were near me, it had been surpassed by other, more advanced game.  I first heard about it in 7th grade on a school trip to a roller rink (remember those?).  Naturally, my best friend, who was typically well ahead of the cultural curve, had already seen it.  A kid named Randy was playing it when I came over and saw it for the first time.  Given that video games had, up to that point, meant Pong, this was quite a change.  When Atari grabbed the licensing for this and teamed up with Sears, it was the game to have.  It was the closest to my own BB Gun Christmas I ever had; begging  my parents on a daily basis for the console.  My Dad came through in flying colors, not only getting the game plus a couple extra, but also a new color TV on which to play it.

So there you go.  There were always others that we played here and there or once or twice.  And naturally it doesn't count those home video games which always seemed fun at first but, to me at least, passed their sell-by dates fairly quickly.

Some times are better than others

Yep.  There are some times in life that you look back on with fondness, some you wish you could forget, and then many that you eventually forget whether you want to or not.

In my life, there have been ups and downs to be sure.  Since I've had kids, the memories seem to run in a different way, being a hodgepodge of good, bad, scary, thankfulness and just never eager for the kids to grow up since I realize some day I will miss most of what they brought to the table while living at home.

Before I had kids, however, in hindsight at least, I had certain periods of life that were very good, and some not so good, and many forgettable.  Also, it's odd how certain things trigger and tend to bring you back to those better memories more often than not. Take this picture for instance:

I can't say I've ever only sat on a bench in the fall once in my life, but when I saw this on a page dedicate to all things Autumn, there was one memory that came right to my mind.

It wasn't a particularly proud memory, but yet it is one that marked a very good time in my youth.  It was late October of 1987, and it was my Junior year of college, the first semester that I had moved away from home to live at the main campus of The Ohio State University.  It was most of what one would hope for in their first foray at a major university, and it wasn't hurt by the fact that in that semester at least, the seasons were almost perfect.  From a warm late summer, to a crisp, cloudy autumn, to snow in the last weeks of the quarter, it seemed to give me almost everything I imagined college would be in the Midwest, at least atmosphere-wise.

Anyway, on this particular fall day, I was sitting alone and recuperating.  What was I recuperating from?  A friend of mine had invited me to a big post-midterm party with him and several of his friends from the theater and dance departments.  I was not in either department, but he and I had grown up together.  So I agreed to go. I even plucked up the courage to ask a fine young lass named Heidi if she would join me.  She said yes, against all odds.  So on that Saturday, I couldn't wait to be there and to see what might come of partying with a very well presented young woman I had come to like.

Now, it was the age before cell phones, before the internet, and before any way of contacting someone if you didn't know the phone number.  So I had no way of knowing she had been called upon to work late and couldn't come to the party.  Not knowing this, I became rather crestfallen.  My friend, being a stupid college kid, decided to help me 'drown my sorrows.'  And drown I did.  I drank, and drank, and drank some more.  I mixed drinks with wine, whiskey, beer, cocktails, and something blue.  I became so hammered I couldn't remember leaving.

I walked home alone near that witching time of night, not wishing to get sick in front of everyone, which my inebriated brain was nonetheless able to communicate was going to happen.  And it happened.  Boy did it happen.  Back at my apartment, I continued to get sick over and over and over again.  One of my roommates woke up amidst the noise and took to fixing me tea and toast, just to give me something to get sick with.  It was so bad that I burst the vessels in one of my eyes, turning the whole orb a bright, blood red.  In addition, my face was swollen as if I had been in a fight, and the pain was from my head down to my side.

I was panic stricken.  My face, and worse my blood filled eye, could have been permanent for all I knew, and I had no way of knowing what happened.  My best friend was nowhere to be found, and I knew nobody else from the party. The next Monday I had to go to class.  I wore sunglasses through the classes to avoid showing off my visual impediment.  I then kept to myself while I waited for my late afternoon class.

As time for the class got nearer, I walked over in the chill of the day to the area near the class building, just beside the old Student Union.  I sat down on a bench, wrapped in my black overcoat and donning my sunglasses.  While sitting there, still smarting for reasons I didn't know, another student walked by.  Suddenly he stopped and came up to me.  He was African American and, being from a very white village growing up, I had a dearth of African American acquaintances.  I had no idea who he was.

He paused, and bent down as if to get a better look at me.  Then he asked if I was the fellow at the party Saturday night. I clarified the one he meant, and he meant the very party I had attended.  I said yes.  He then erupted with a smile and laugh and asked what happened to me and where I went.  I told him I left due to whatever reason I came up with.  I asked him how long everyone else stayed around.  He said almost no  time at all.  Apparently once I left the party broke up because, according to him, I was the life of the party.   He said most were only staying around to see what I would do next.

Fortunately it was nothing too embarrassing.  Though apparently I did guzzle half a bottle of Jim Beam as several of the young men bowed and genuflected before me.  Hence the sickness.  Also, one of the students who lived there, being in theater, had one of those large director's chairs that sit about five feet off the floor.  Apparently I had crawled up there at one point and then promptly fell, a dead fall straight onto the concrete floor.  Hence the pain and swelling in my face (as well as explaining a sudden scream I vaguely recalled but couldn't explain).

He talked a little bit more then continued on to wherever he was walking.  I never saw him again.  I chuckled to myself about what must have happened, and later found my best friend who assured me that I did nothing too humiliating, while also informing me why Heidi never showed up.  And yes, the swelling and the eye eventually worked themselves out and all ended up fine.  After that, I never binge drank again.

It's odd how that picture brought all of that back to my mind.  Again, it was a fine time, a good time.  There were many enjoyable memories from that time, especially that first Autumn semester.  I don't mean to be too gushy, but I might even call it one of the more magical times of my life.  Perhaps it's a bit of that ol'magic that allows a simple image on the Internet to transfer me back in the blink of an eye and remember something that still feels as if it happened yesterday.

Ohio State in the fall, as I remember it

Seems like old times

It was a cold, rainy spring day in 1977.  Most likely March, or possibly early April.  I lived about a mile away from our school, so I walked back and forth most days.  Since my mom was, like most moms back then, a stay at home mom, she would sometimes take me or get me if the weather was too bad.  

This particular afternoon, however, she was nowhere to be seen  after school let out.  There was heavy rain, it was cold, and a battalion of cars arrived as other parents showed up to pick up their kids who normally walked.  But no mom.  Finally, I saw a kid walking by who was in another homeroom class than mine.  It was fourth grade after all.  We each had our own home classrooms apart from the other ones. Even in a small town you didn't know everyone.  

But I recognized him because his mom and my neighbors' mom were friends, and he had been there a couple times when they visited.  I suppose they knew each other from being Catholic.  Catholics were not a majority group in our village by a long shot.  Plus his mom was Lithuanian, and our neighbor Dutch.  So there was probably a bit of the non-native bond, too. 

I didn't know him otherwise, except I was aware he went by my house on his way home.  It wasn't hard to notice.  His dad drove an old, black pre-60s pickup truck with wooden slats, and a big Donald Duck painted on the passenger door.  So noticing him walking to his truck that afternoon, I asked if he could give me a ride home.  Knowing little more about me than I knew of him, he nonetheless agreed and asked his dad if I could get a ride. 

And the rest, as they say, is history.  After a rocky start, he would end up being my all time best friend I've ever had.  More a surrogate brother actually.  He was an only child, and I had one surviving sibling, a sister almost nine  years my senior. Which is sort of like being an only child, but without the advantages. 

I've mentioned him many times over on the old blog. We had many grand adventures over the years, some when we were young and some when we were not so young.  My wife and I still raise a glass of beer as we undertake some annual traditions in memory of the times he and I had, even before I ever met my wife. 

As I said, we were more brothers, and brothers who often had little in common. He loved cars, I cared enough that they worked and got me where I was going.  I preferred to stay home and read and listen to my dad's classical, crooner and soft jazz records.  He loved to party with the popular set and was up on the latest MTV rock group and heavy metal tour.  He was also one of the premier football jocks in a setting that elevated football to Trinitarian levels.  I wasn't.  I ran some track and cross country, and played baseball for a few years in my younger days.  But athletics and I were always distant relatives.  

He, on the other hand, was competitive, athletic, and very cosmopolitan for our rural community.  Partly because his godfather worked in Hollywood and often helped them travel and gave him a heads up on coming trends, like Space Invaders, a host of video games, the latest music news, and of course the upcoming release of some new space movie we might like called Star Wars.  And he was very, very popular.  

Nonetheless, he never cut ties with me.  In fact, apart from 'members only' social gatherings for his various sports teams, he often invited me along with the rest of his team friends when they were out and about.  It would be them with their varsity jackets and me in my customary sports coat and jeans. But the gang and I got on well enough, and he and I would always be there for one another no matter what.  

In college if I needed him at 3:00 AM, he would be there.  Even if he belonged to a fraternity and I  didn't. As can be guessed, he was my best man when I married the love of my life.  And of course I paid back the favor of being there in my own ways over the years.  Even when he lived in California, working in third party companies that rent out to the music world, and we went decades not seeing each other, I knew if I needed him he would be there. 

Over those many years of adventures, we developed certain traditions and traditional pastimes together.  One was always going to each other's home on Christmas Day.  Another was visiting him at least once in the Fall in college when he lived on Columbus campus, before I began attending the main campus as well.  And yet another was, in keeping with the MTV spirit of the age, attending rock concerts. 

Like many things, I was a Johnny-come-lately in that department.  But in the 80s, almost everyone seemed to be attending concerts.  Contrary to some fears in the music world that MTV would cause a drop in desire to attend such events, it seemed to do the opposite.  But not for me.  Again, my tastes had been informed by listening to my dad's music, and I can assure you that did not - usually - include the latest on American Top 40 or MTV playlist.  

But in the summer of 84, several of the gang got tickets for a group that hit it big at that time called RATT. A throwaway group to be sure. And not to my preferences in the least.  But everyone in our cadre was going, and I didn't want to be left out.  So I went, too.  

Despite my low expectations, I was still disappointed.  I can see why they didn't last.  They seemed less invested in the concert than I was.  Though the opening act was impressive. I hadn't heard of that group, but after the concert I told the others that the opening act would probably go places.  They were energetic, enthusiastic, filled with an obvious love of what they were doing, and the lead singer possessed that important trait great entertainers have of making us think we were the only ones in the arena that they were performing for. That opening act's name was Bon Jovi. 

I ended up attending dozens and dozens of concerts over the years, usually with my friend.  The only one we didn't see was Van Halen in 1984, since those tickets were like gold.  But we did see the group and singer after the breakup a couple years later.  Despite it all, I was never a big fan of this, not only because a lot of the music wasn't my cup of tea, but I've never cared for large crowds or loud music.  

Nonetheless, my friend was all into it, and eventually would work in the industry - stage design and setup.  So I went and went again.  In later college and after, he worked for companies that the tours would hire in local areas to set up the bulk of the lighting and stage sets that you see.  It was working in such a setting, BTW, that my friend was able to get some choice goodies for me.  This included a stage hand T-Shirt for Paul McCartney's 1989 world tour and, the biggest of all, tickets for excellent seats for my parents and me to see none other than the legendary Frank Sinatra in one of his last concert tours.  We sat in the center in the first row behind the VIP limo section.  Not bad at all.  A memory I cherish. 

But that was long ago. This year has been a rough year for him.  His mother, who was like a second mom to me, died back in January.  And this November, his dad - the one who agreed to take me home on that cold, wet spring day all those years ago - passed away.  Because of their health concerns, he moved back a few years ago during the Covid lockdowns, living in the same house he lived in when we were kids. Having never married, and with most of his family gone or in distant countries far away, it's pretty much him at this point.  Still in that old house in which I spent many an evening playing games, watching movies, or just crashing after long weekends. 

I met with him after the passing of both parents a month ago.  We chit chatted as always.  Though it's amazing how talk runs dry when you have distant memories to recall, but decades apart otherwise. Still, shortly after our dinner he texted me.  He invited me to see the Trans Siberian Orchestra the day after Christmas when they play at Columbus. 

Now, the Day after Christmas (in some places, Boxing Day) has long been our real Big Day of the holidays.  First, in my ministry days, people sometimes invited us to a Christmas dinner or such things on Christmas Day proper.  Plus, Christmas Day is busy.  That's why, as a pastor, I always took my Christmas vacation starting on Christmas, not before (since unless Christmas fell on a Sunday, no church).

That was something I also did in the secular workplace.  In fact, most people oddly like to get the weeks leading up to Christmas off for vacation.  That left me, even when I had scant seniority, open to get the week after when I wanted it.  So for most of our lives, we usually had the whole week after Christmas off together - at least until the boys grew up and got jobs and their own schedules.

But the day after has always been our big 'kick back, relax, enjoy the fruits of the day before, and chill' day.  So much so that there have been times when the boys said they were prepared to work Christmas Day itself at long as they could get the day after off.  

Which is to say, it is on the precious Family Day of the Year, the day after Christmas, that the concert is taking place.  I wasn't sure about saying yes, and first checked it with the family.  But we concluded he probably could use a little bit of an outlet this year, and some company.  A concert with me, like the olden days, might be the ticket.  So breaking a thirty year plus tradition, I agreed to take our big Day After and go with him to the concert this year.  Christmastime, the two of us hanging together, going to a concert - it will be like old times.  Hopefully it will give him a bit of a boost after the year he's had.

Oh, and I'm still not a fan of loud music or big crowds.  But you do for family. 

Welcome back Great Eight

In a little blast of nostalgia, eager Cincinnati Reds fans got to see something they haven't seen in decades.  The Great Eight, the best starting lineup in baseball history, was finally reunited after a dazzling win tonight by those youngsters of 2013.  The glitch has been in getting Pete Rose back into the reunion.  Johnny Bench tried, but couldn't get around Rose's ban.  Rose, who foolishly bet on the game rather than rape, murder, sell drugs or take drugs, has been banished for decades from so much as using a bathroom near a little league baseball park.  But for Joe Morgan's weekend, they finally got the eight together.  When I was young, my Dad and a good friend of his went to see them several times during those two legendary seasons.  My Mom and Dad went once.  As a family we went once.  And I got to go with Dad, his friend, and his friend's son.  It was magic then.  And it brought a tear to the eye tonight.  Time is an odd thing. It makes you remember and yet reminds you that all times must pass.  Still, a nice chance to share with the family and tell our boys about all those years ago when we were their age.  My wife, who lived outside Cincinnati in those days, also went to see the Big Red Machine.  We've wondered if we were in the park together one of those nights.  I guess we'll never know.  Anyway, thanks for the memories boys, even if we were only children when you helped make them.

The Great Eight, the greatest starting lineup in baseball history, as we'll always remember them.
L-R Pete Rose, George Foster, Dave Concepcion, Johnny Bench, Cesar Geronimo, Joe Morgan, Ken Griffey, Tony Perez

RIP Roger Mosley

L-R: John Hillerman, Tom Selleck, Larry Manetti, Roger Mosley

I saw that Roger E. Mosley has died.  For most who knew of him, especially from my generation, he was Theodore Calvin - T.C. - the chopper pilot friend of Thomas Magnum in the 1980s mega-hit Magnum P.I.  

His character was an important one in those days, and it was mentioned then that his role was not merely of a token black man.  He was not Magnum's black friend as much as he was Magnum's friend, who just happened to be black.  A big difference since many shows back then that featured black characters made it clear their main purpose on the screen was being black.  He also played against stereotypes.

One of the show's running theme-gags was that the high cultured British gentlemen Jonathan Quale Higgins (played by Texas born Jonathan Hillerman), was a man of class, culture and sophistication.  This was set in juxtaposition to Magnum's beach bum, beer and chilidog and baseball cap persona.  While it was clear Magnum was educated and culturally aware, it seldom interested him. Rick, the other main character, was altogether culturally ignorant.  

The character of T.C., on the other hand, was - next to the Higgins character - the most culturally sophisticated of the regulars.  On more than one occasion he could quote literature, appreciated music, loved the ballet and could reference opera.  In addition, while Rick was a philanderer and Magnum's morals were considered cutting edge in those days (though seldom shown), T.C. was the man who spent his off hours helping kids and coaching little league and being a mentor to the down and out in his neighborhood. That went a long way, in the early 1980s, toward breaking old Hollywood stereotypes. 

It's also worth noting that the show itself used T.C. to build on some of its main themes.  In those days, an uber-theme of our society was reconciliation.  That was big in the early 80s 40th Anniversary of WWII.  On multiple occasions I remember the lessons of the war being about reconciling and putting the ills of the past behind us.  Magnum P.I. had more than one episode where that was the point, including stories about past racism, bigotry, wrong doing and persecution.  And they weren't afraid to put the character of T.C. into the mix as both victim and survivor of such wrong doing, but always ready to forgive and reconcile. A different world to be sure. 

Like all characters in high profile parts, T.C. became Mosley's chief identity. But there was more to him than that.  I heard years ago that, in a way similar to his on screen alter ego, he dedicated himself to coaching and mentoring young people in Los Angeles.  While he continued to act and perform, I can't help but think of his work with youth as his significant accomplishment.  How keeping in character can you get? 

RIP Mr. Mosley, and thanks for the memories. 

Who will rid me of this meddlesome priest?

No, it's not a wishful headline on CNN blog, it's the popularly quoted lament of King Henry II of England regarding that meddlesome Thomas a' Becket.  It's odd that so many days of Christmas are spent commemorating martyrs.  Just yesterday  we remembered the martyrdom of the Holy Innocents.  The day after Christmas, we honored St. Stephen the Deacon, famously martyred while St. Paul stood nearby holding the cloaks of those doing the stoning.  

It's an odd thing to unpack, the historic approach to Christmas.  If you look at the whole Christmas celebration, it's beyond even what Linus enlightens Charlie Brown about.  There's something very holistic about the Church's historic approach to the Incarnation.  Far from a simple throwaway holiday slapped on nearby pagan solstice festivals, it is a rather methodical approach reminding us of just what our faith is all about.  From the preparation of Advent, to the joy of the Nativity, to the Feast of Epiphany, it walks us through the important highlights.  

But along the way, we stop to reflect on a few of those who were true heroes of the faith, or at least who paid a price for the faith so many would be hard pressed to pay.  The message?  For all the gifts and giving, for all the wrapping and tinsel, for all the carols and after-Christmas sales, the real point is remembering what God did for us, while also throwing out a few days to remember what this cost to those around the event, or who believed in the event enough to pay the ultimate price.  It reminds us of the evil in the world that God had to save us from in the first place. 

Becket's martyrdom is one of the most famous of all, with pilgrimages to Canterbury being among the most popular in the Middle Ages.  Through this fact, and Chaucer's own writing on the subject, most people have at least heard something of the story, enough not to bother repeating here.  Oddly, the events would be repeated in some ways centuries later, when another St. Thomas ran afoul of another King Henry.  

In both of these cases, the crux of the issue was a man who was on friendly terms with a king, being forced to stand his ground on what he believed to be right.  In both cases, it was standing against someone who the respective Thomas actually liked, someone he considered a friend.  Sometimes, as Dumbledore points out, it's standing up to a friend that can be toughest of all.  And yet stand they did, even to the point of death.

This Christmas has brought attention to a couple feasts that are often overlooked.  The horror of Newtown put a different spin on the oft overlooked Feast of the Holy Innocents.  Our parish had a special service for that yesterday, quite moving with young people leading us in a rosary.  I wish more had come.  Today, we remember a man who, despite his close relationship with the ruling power, was forced to stand against the wishes of a monarch, a monarch with power of life and death.  In the case of both Thomases, they chose death rather than compromise.  As we will be heading into a new era in American History, where the first attempt to control religious thought from the Federal level will be enacted,  drawing on this day for inspiration couldn't hurt.

Will the Bishops really stand their ground?  I hope.  They've put so much on the line, if they back down now, expect all credibility - that which is left following the scandals and the general lack of fealty to Church teaching in the American Church - to go down the tubes.  But it will also demand courage from the Catholic faithful.  For it isn't just a bunch of Church hating atheists or barbarians at the gates who will be screaming loudest at the Bishops for resisting, it will be Catholics in the pews who have long ago cast aside the Church as only beneficial when it conforms to the latest progressive movement.  Yes, conservative Catholics can be guilty of the same, but this isn't their great hour.  The gauntlet has been thrown, and we will have to see what comes of those Catholics who have long embraced the post-Christian worldview.  Will they see the writing on the wall and join the cause?  Or will they stand alongside the growing menace in the east, and dare their friends and fellow Catholics to resist?  Or will there be those who do neither, and prefer to sit in the bleachers and cast scorn on everyone else for not being as hip as they are?

We'll have to see.  But for those who pray the Bishops stand their ground, and for those who are willing to take a similar stand, even if it costs a friend or two, we could do worse than looking to this day, when we remember a man who had much more to lose by standing firm.

Game time again

So it was another great year for the boardgamers in the home.  I've read that board games are all the rage again.  Of course we've been playing board games on a regular basis for years.  My wife and I spent our second date on New Year's Eve, 1991, playing Scrabble with her family.  Since then we've always had a soft spot for the quieter side of life even in our younger, crazier salad days of marriage.

We raised our boys in the same manner, and they're quite good at navigating board games every bit as much as video games.  In fact, two of them seem to prefer the non-digital approach to family entertainment.  But then, they also have their own peculiar interests, such as asking for a film version of Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, and then schooling their youngest brother on the finer points of the play as they watch it together on Christmas Day.

Alas, the eldest boys are getting older and moving on.  With jobs and college and their own lives to lead, they're not around like they used to be.  They do try to set aside at least one day a week or so to hang out with the family, or do things like have their 'Bro Night' with their youngest brother to keep him in the loop.  But even he has said he prefers time with his own friends now, realizing that the time for his older brothers' inevitable step into the next stages of their lives is at hand.

Still, for those times when we are together, it's eating together and then enjoying movies, the big game, or a "quiet' board game or two during the down time that still marks the primary way in which we spend time together.  This Christmas saw quite an addition to our collection of games, and hopefully over the next couple weeks, when their schedules are loosened and they're not hanging with their own kind, we'll get to plow through a few of them.

Here are the ones we received this year.  We'll see how they are, though some are already known to us and I think they'll be just fine:

I have no clue on this one.  This was for me from the boys.  It certainly looks fun, and taps into my preference for history oriented games, especially in the Medieval realm.  If quality of product is any indicator, it should be fun. 

We have the game Mansions of Madness, which is quite fun, but time consuming, long to set up, and requires the better half of a ping pong table of area to play.  I heard this is similar, but more condensed.  My one son said it is well reviewed, if not a bit graphic for our youngest.  We'll see.  But the set up and play time seems more restrained than MoM, so it might be a good goto for those dark, scary nights when an appropriate themed game is in order.  

We had this game when my oldest boys were younger, and played it extensively.  I'm not sure how our marriage and family survived.  We lost a couple pieces from the one we had and hadn't played it in years, but I found a copy intact this year.  I would call this perhaps one of the most stressful and exasperating games I've ever played.  It's a race against the clock to find four keys, dodge guard dogs and guards and booby traps, and get the keys back to shut down the alarm before time runs out.  Especially at harder levels (those with less time allowed), not a beat can be missed or you'll likely loose.  It's a team effort.  My wife and I played the guard and guard dog respectfully, letting the boys team up - such as it is.  We played it once and that's all our nerves could handle.  But the fun factor means we'll likely play it again soon. 

My third son, our resident game connoisseur, found this. I don't know what it is.  It seems to be like a German game we found years ago called Labyrinth.  Basically you put tiles down that have all manner of labyrinthine paths.  The goal is not to collide with another player and not end up being sent off the side of the board.  It's a fast game, with the two we played lasting no more than about ten minutes.  With no time to set up, and fast play, this will be a nice goto when the boys are around for a quick evening and not much time. 

My best friend bought this in 1986 at the same time I purchased the company's other game, Axis and Allies.  Not interested in history or such, my friend - at the time all into the college ROTC program - jumped on this with its obvious military/Red Dawn vibes.  We played it once before he became enraged and threw the game - board, pieces and all - out the door.  I had told my boys about that for years and, along with the fabled Dark Tower board game, it loomed large in the myth of my youthful days.  My third son, again, warranted this one, and so far he seems quite pleased with it.  The theme is America fending off a joint attack during a fictional late Cold War meltdown (set in the late 20th and early 21st Centuries).  For me, it was interesting insofar as it assumed America as the good guys, and framed things against the USSR which was still the baddie.  

What a difference a couple decades make. 

Not sure about this one.  It seems an unpacked and expanded variation on Simon Says.  It seems to be a beat the clock game, everyone do what they are told to do in the order they're told to do it, and hit the button within an allotted amount of time.  

Got the game a few years ago, but the electronic component didn't work.  This was from my best friend again.  He had the game when we were kids, I didn't.  We played it quite a few times.  To be honest, by now it's younger than my boys, and even our ten year old is likely beyond it.  Still, they enjoy these games from back in the day and typically see them in the most positive sense, with admiration for the creativity, quality and imagination.  The gist of the game is pretty simple, the electronic part of the game gives clues as to the thief's whereabouts.  I bought a new electronic component that needed replaced, so we'll see. 

This was seen by my oldest and I when we were shopping for one of the brothers.  We have played the old game 221B Baker Street and, such as it is, it's always been a fun, atmospheric romp through the London of Holmes and Watson.  This seems to take it and, as my sons said, inject the concept with steroids.  I've seen good reviews of it, and we're looking forward to it, though it doesn't appear to be something you can polish off in an hour.  Which is fine.  It also seems to be something you can return to over a course of time. 

Honorable Mention:

We got this years ago per recommendation, but we couldn't figure it out.  More than once we sat down and attempted to work it through.  Perhaps it's because Asian history/culture, while mildly interesting to us, is not our main focus, but we couldn't get a handle on it.  Then this year it was the Big 10 Championship game.  Ohio State was losing badly to Wisconsin.  My wife and third son concluded the football game was too stressful, and decided to let the blood pressure go with me and the other boys.  To fill time, they pulled this off the shelf and decided to have another go.  And guess what?  They broke the code!  Turns out this is a fine game, quality product and a lot of fun.  Takes a bit of time and space to set up.  A bit like Mansions of Madness.  But the effort was worth it. So I add this to the list because 2019 will go down as the year we broke Yedo!

The enemy of the Christian West is their friend

Thus: 

I'm old enough to remember when it was offensive that Western women, like journalists, had to don such apparel when visiting a Muslim nation.  Heck, I can remember when the very appearance of such apparel was seen as an affront to women's universal equality.  But I do believe that if that the Left, or some ally committed to the demise of the Christian West, said here wear this:

that liberal women would fall over themselves to do just that.  And not just feminists. For instance: 

Yep. Because we know that nowhere in the Muslim world do those within the LGBTQ lifestyle enjoy anything close to equality, if not the ability to survive.  But the enemy of the West is the Left's friend.  Better the Muslim world thrive even as it crushes gay rights than the country that panders to gay rights not be destroyed.   

Oh, and I'm not stupid.  I know one of the Left's talking points is that if anyone not Euro-American does something bad, like oppress homosexuals, browbeat women, murder Jews - it's because they learned it from the West.  That is not only a common retort, but an increasingly accepted one. But that sort of BS that only an intellectual could believe is for another time. 

Speaking of reposting, here's one of my first posts I thought of as I look at the window at the magnificent October clouds rolling by

I suffer from terminal nostalgia. I don't know why, but I've never been able to shake the tendency to see in every picture, commercial, or movie, or hear in every song, or see in every cloud or tree or rock something that makes me think of times gone by. For instance, one October evening the first year I was in college, I drove to meet up with a friend of mine. He was Catholic, though the extent of his devotional life was never apparent. Nonetheless, he found employment that fall by mowing the yard of the parish rectory. Not that I, a burgeoning agnostic, had any idea what a rectory was. It was just the place where the priest lived, situated next door to the modern styled Catholic church sitting in the middle of sparse woods and vast corn fields, now harvested and bare. His mother told me where he was - this being before cell phones - and I drove out to meet him.

He was just finishing up. The parking lot was empty. He had been dropped off. I guess he either expected me or a drive home from his parents. It also was a Friday night. In those parts, that meant high school football. Even though we were college freshmen, our connections to our high school Alma mater were still strong. We quickly made some plans to see if there was a home game.

Then, as we were getting into my truck, he paused. He turned around and pointed to the sky. It was one of those fall skies with heavy, billowing gray clouds that just inch across the landscape. I never had really paid attention before. But he said, as he looked up at the sky, 'I love it when I see clouds like that. It's so October, so fall. I just love it.' Now he was never one prone to poetic musings or deep reflections. So his little statement caught me a bit off guard. I looked up and agreed. Then we got into the car and drove somewhere and did something that has gone into the long list of forgotten memories.

I will never forget that moment, though, that scene in my life; that evening, standing in the empty lot surrounded by barren fields and staring at a chilled, gray autumn sky, will stay with me as long as I live. I never see a cloudy fall day that I don't, at least for a minute, travel back in time and remember that instance with a friend long gone in a time long past. It's for that reason I say I suffer from terminal nostalgia. Perhaps, in the overall scheme, that's not bad. After all, remembering is a fine thing, and one that helps counter the tendency today to see everything beyond last Thursday as irrelevant. And while we don't want to look back after putting our hands to the plowshare, we don't want to focus only on the future and forget all that has come before us, and all that God has done.

Remember His wonders which He has done, His marvels and the judgments uttered by His mouth... Psalm 105.5

A long time ago

In a bookstore far, far away?  A restaurant perhaps?   Posted on Mark Hamill's FB page.

Note how small and informal it looks

I explain to my boys that Star Wars was a phenomenon largely by word of mouth. The old 'make most of your money in the first three weeks' approach to a blockbuster hadn't happened yet.

In fact, much of the country hadn't heard about Star Wars by this point.  It just picked up speed.  Truth be told, I remember hearing more about Jaws before it was released than Star Wars.  I only knew about Star Wars because my best friend's godfather worked in Hollywood and had given him the heads up.  He even had a couple posters on his bedroom closet door.

Unlike most movies, real 'Star Wars mania' didn't hit until well toward the end of 1977, and extended all the way through '78.  It was still quite the fad by the time The Empire Strikes Back came out in 1980.

But in June of 1977, count me as one of the millions who hadn't seen the movie yet.  I had heard about it from my friend, but only went to see it because a fellow who knew my parents recommended it to them.  He said, "If he likes Star Trek, he'll really like a new movie coming out called Star Wars."  So my Mom took me to see it at the old Mansfield mall theaters later that summer, even though I really didn't like Star Trek.  I even got a full color Star Wars fan book.  I wish I still had that.  Would probably be worth a pretty penny.

Why do we remember Paul Revere

But not Samuel Prescott or William Dawes?  Because of Longfellow:

Listen, my children, and you shall hear

Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,

On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;

Hardly a man is now alive

Who remembers that famous day and year.

He said to his friend, "If the British march

By land or sea from the town to-night,

Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch

Of the North Church tower as a signal light,—

One, if by land, and two, if by sea;

And I on the opposite shore will be,

Ready to ride and spread the alarm

Through every Middlesex village and farm,

For the country folk to be up and to arm."

Then he said, "Good night!" and with muffled oar

Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,

Just as the moon rose over the bay,

Where swinging wide at her moorings lay

The Somerset, British man-of-war;

A phantom ship, with each mast and spar

Across the moon like a prison bar,

And a huge black hulk, that was magnified

By its own reflection in the tide.

Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street,

Wanders and watches with eager ears,

Till in the silence around him he hears

The muster of men at the barrack door,

The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,

And the measured tread of the grenadiers,

Marching down to their boats on the shore.

Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church,

By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,

To the belfry-chamber overhead,

And startled the pigeons from their perch

On the sombre rafters, that round him made

Masses and moving shapes of shade, —

By the trembling ladder, steep and tall,

To the highest window in the wall,

Where he paused to listen and look down

A moment on the roofs of the town,

And the moonlight flowing over all.

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead,

In their night-encampment on the hill,

Wrapped in silence so deep and still

That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread,

The watchful night-wind, as it went

Creeping along from tent to tent,

And seeming to whisper, "All is well!"

A moment only he feels the spell

Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread

Of the lonely belfry and the dead;

For suddenly all his thoughts are bent

On a shadowy something far away,

Where the river widens to meet the bay, —

A line of black that bends and floats

On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats.

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,

Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride

On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.

Now he patted his horse's side,

Now gazed at the landscape far and near,

Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,

And turned and tightened his saddle girth;

But mostly he watched with eager search

The belfry-tower of the Old North Church,

As it rose above the graves on the hill,

Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.

And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height

A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!

He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,

But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight

A second lamp in the belfry burns!

A hurry of hoofs in a village street,

A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,

And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark

Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet:

That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,

The fate of a nation was riding that night;

And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,

Kindled the land into flame with its heat.

He has left the village and mounted the steep,

And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,

Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;

And under the alders, that skirt its edge,

Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,

Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.

It was twelve by the village clock,

When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.

He heard the crowing of the cock,

And the barking of the farmer's dog,

And felt the damp of the river fog,

That rises after the sun goes down.

It was one by the village clock,

When he galloped into Lexington.

He saw the gilded weathercock

Swim in the moonlight as he passed,

And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare,

Gaze at him with a spectral glare,

As if they already stood aghast

At the bloody work they would look upon.

It was two by the village clock,

When he came to the bridge in Concord town.

He heard the bleating of the flock,

And the twitter of birds among the trees,

And felt the breath of the morning breeze

Blowing over the meadows brown.

And one was safe and asleep in his bed

Who at the bridge would be first to fall,

Who that day would be lying dead,

Pierced by a British musket-ball.

You know the rest. In the books you have read,

How the British Regulars fired and fled, —

How the farmers gave them ball for ball,

From behind each fence and farm-yard wall,

Chasing the red-coats down the lane,

Then crossing the fields to emerge again

Under the trees at the turn of the road,

And only pausing to fire and load.

So through the night rode Paul Revere;

And so through the night went his cry of alarm

To every Middlesex village and farm, —

A cry of defiance and not of fear,

A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,

And a word that shall echo forevermore!

For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,

Through all our history, to the last,

In the hour of darkness and peril and need,

The people will waken and listen to hear

The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,

And the midnight message of Paul Revere.