September 16th, 2008 by Bill Keitel

Today I’ve been asked to take a pair of glasses to the Lions Club. The Lions Club makes sure that glasses get redistributed to people in need.

My friend’s glasses are of interest to me…..as my daddy was an Optometrist and these items are of forensic value. Glasses are the eyes of your world, glasses allow you to view your domain, glasses give you perspective of your own world.

I suspect my friend’s glasses have seen many things far differently than my own. I’ve led a life of relatively few travails. My friend hadn’t the good fortune to be as lucky. Her life was different than mine. We grew up in houses , side by side. Her glasses saw life from a different side, her glasses saw life from a side that was different than mine.

She was a friend of mine. She was a gal who I considered not only my friend, but a gal who could be called upon in a time of need. I too, would rise for her, if necessary.

She had a great spirit that allowed her to see the curious inequities in the pantheon of life. She was not perhaps… the prettiest, she was not perhaps… the smartest, she was not perhaps..the highest achiever. She was however, someone I considered a barometer of our humanity. Her insights & wit, gave me a perspective that I exceedingly valued.

She was a gal who could appreciate your own accomplishments, she was a gal who could appreciate your aspirations. She was a gal who could be called upon to help assisit you in your own dreams and aspirations.

Somewhere, she’d drifted off course. Her own aspirations weren’t considered. We hadn’t communicated for sometime. She had worked for us in the distant past and it worked. However, she moved on and left for a far off city.

Alas, it didn’t seem to connect.

Recently, I was at an all time “high” in a community service mode, and she was at an all time “low” in her despondancy. She didn’t call, she didn’t reach out, I didn’t inquire…..we hadn’t communicated for a few years. She was adrift without appropriate saftey devices, she was without.
Today I’m left burying my friend, the flowers are beautiful, yet, she is all powder in a box.We’re taking her glasses to the Lions Club. I look at her glasses from that forensic point of view………..they seem to be tear stained.

billkeitel

September 16th, 2008 by Bill Keitel

MEMORIAL WEEKEND 2008 – Fathers and Sons

We landed in the city of East Troy, almost a distant suburb of Milwaukee, WI.  East Troy is positioned equidistant between the major Midwestern sailing ports of Lake Geneva and Pewaukee.

(Son-in-law Kevin Jewett is the Executive Director of the Lake Geneva Sailing School that is coupled with the Lake Geneva Yacht Club. )

As Kevin goes about his duties at Lake Geneva, I was able to wander about assisting with all manner of yacht club tasks. Few sailboats are ever trailered into the water and I had the opportunity to run the boat hoists, lifting sailboats and the yacht club zodiacs that act as tenders for the sailing fleet. Most of the folks that frequent this place are seriously adept sailors. I glance over and study the race committee boat and see that it has the traditional armament….a real race /starting cannon…solid brass.

A six or seven year old boy scampers by me and slides his small sailboat into the water (without the aid of my hoist!). At first I’m a bit alarmed that he’s so young & also, so bold……then I notice the name on his life preserver and realize that his grampa is a gold medalist and world cup champion. His father is a few steps behind him….and is comfortable with his sons head start. At 6 or 7 years old H. Melges the 4^th turns and yells back to his dad on shore and says “come out and follow me with the motor boat”. The lad is as comfortable on water as he is on land. Young Harry the 4^th skitters off in a light breeze as proficient and confident as any sailor 3 or 4 times his age.

Dad follows up…25 to 50 yards behind keeping a watchful eye (shouting out some unintelligible instructions…as I try to listen from shore) , he leaves some room for confidence building.

The cell phone rings and its my daughter…..Kevins son Augie will be late to connect with us. He has some new obligations and has to go to the grocery store to supply the entire X boat fleet with party food. At 12 years old he has just won the Memorial Weekend X Boat Competition. Tradition dictates that the winner supplies the party food.

The following day we find ourselves at yet another yacht club venue (Pewaukee). Kevins “day off” is taking on the responsibility of skippering the A boat (V-3) & crew-sponsored by Milwaukees own-…Pabst Blue Ribbon. The owner is 73 yrs. old and a season sailor and has flown in from his home in Switzerland to be with his sailing crew for a few months. As they discuss the days strategy, the owner leans over and “asks” the crew that this is the year he would like a “first place”, and then looks directly at the skipper …Kevin.

For those unacquainted with “A”boats…..they are the biggest things going on inland lakes. They sport between 1,200 and 2,000 sq. ft. of sail and a complement of 6 very competent crew members.

These boats are some of the fastest and smoothest in the sailing world (when being crewed properly). The amount of power generated when “throwing up” an additional 750 sq. ft. of spinnaker is an astonishing sight and surely not for the inexperienced.  Rescue/tender  boats were on hand and monitored the fleet as they take to the race course. If one of these boats tip over , it takes all the power of a 500 horse power motor to right the floundered craft. It also can be a dangerous event.

We had the great fortune to be on a boat that followed the fleet on its race course, as it created a fitting start to the summer season of sailing. We were often positioned on the down wind mark and would revel in the smoothness of the jib & when the spinnakers were thrown aloft with a snap of precision. All totaled  25,000 sq. ft. of sail on the lake made for amazing sailing pageantry, the event of the summer.

The race that ensued was witnessed by most of Pewaukee residents, lake shore home owners and dozens…if not hundreds of boats on the lake. The race was nearing the finish and V-3 Pabst Blue Ribbon and his crew still held the 2^nd place as they had been….most of the race. When the 5^th place boat was rounding the mark in front of us….I heard a yell from our own boat pilot..”they are going over!” I watched and studied the situation for two or three seconds and could not see the concern. In the next instant, they heeled and the bow went up on a diagonal, the main, the jib and spinnaker were within feet of us. Everything was being thrown windward into the water, sails and crew. Imagine a two or three story building tipping over, Nothing smooth, nothing graceful, all atangled in sheets and lines.

Within seconds we all realized that this had now turned into a rescue mission. Eventually a head pops up by the fore, gasping for air, saying “I need help!” another pops up after being underwater for sometime saying “I need on board”. We count heads to make sure nobody is under the tremendous sq. footage of sail that is lying in the water….in front of us. The early summer water is very cold and two sailors appear to have a very hard time swimming and staying afloat (even with life jackets) both are to their chins in the water. We pull them aboard and one is sent to see an EMT the other has just swallowed to much water and seems to be okay.

Boats are everywhere, assisting in the rescue of the sailors and salvage of the boat. When everybody was accounted for and the boat was being righted……….we then heard. The leading boat had made a mistake on its final tack , we turned to look… and in the distance…V-3-Pabst Blue Ribbon crossed the finish line with a “#1”.

Bill Keitel

September 16th, 2008 by Bill Keitel

We’re set up at a street festival (way out west) next to the NRA booth and the folks manning the booth are polite and friendly. I’m an occasional hunter, I have a prized photo of my son and I ….side by side. We are holding our respective shotguns. He holds the third generation prized vintage fowling piece, a double barreled/side by side/ spring trigger 410 shotgun, along with the days bounty of ruffed grouse. An idealic picure father and son, hunters and gatherers, a picture that will remain in my memory as a perfect time. My wife always insists we eat our quarry. We love the hunt…….yet don’t seem to be adept at the culinary arts of cooking wild game. We are in the deep north woods of Minnesota and never have the right ingredients to cook and season it properly. We cook our game, never with the right seasoning or mushroom soup ingredients. Somehow we manage to digest the meal. With all conviction…..we pledge never to ever go grouse hunting again! That pledge usually lasts about 2 or 3 seasons and then we are at it again.

My neighbors in the booth next to us are handing out the “Bill of Rights” and making sure the populace stays vigilant to the cause of gun ownership. The festival we are attending attracts 1,000′s of people and many are given the handout, expressing their unflagging allegiance.

During the course of our weekend I’m asked a few times if I’m a member and if I would like to have this handout. The handout expresses the great concern that we should have regarding any restrictions on guns.

I recognize that this fellow feels he is doing democracy a great service. He must feel he is saving & protecting one of the basic principles of this great nation. He also has never met my friend,….he never will.

My friend spent his life as a hog farmer. Hog farming is not glamorous work. I hope it produced a feeling a accomplishment at the end of the year. It was dirty and smelly work. It was honest work and produced a product that our society needs. The relationship between pigs and humans has been going on for thousands of years. Hogs, chickens and cows make up the majority of meat consumption in this world. Protein packed meat, carnivores like lions spend 2 to 4 hours per week eating. Elephants on the other hand spend up to 20 hours per day seeking enough food to maintain their frames. My friend was a specialist in hogs. I respected him, we toiled together in a small Midwestern community. Recently, after thirty years of toil and sweat……they have saved enough to purchased a home across the street from the lake. After years of effort they now have a home with a view! This spring we attended their daughters graduation, she’s a beauty and she’s headed off to college. Such effort, such toil, such perseverance, nothing was given to them, they all have worked hard, very ,very hard. Dreams come true in small communities…sometimes you just have to work a little harder and wait a little longer. We were honored to be invited to her graduation.

His wife is a graphic artist and dear friend of mine. On a yearly basis we sit down and spend a day or two, producing a full color brochure. We work well together, the end result is a creation that extoles the virtues of this little community. For me its a change of pace, for her…its probably continued toil & perseverance, she seems to enjoy it.

My NRA neighbor asks again if I’m a member? “hey, you know…”The Bill of Rights!” He could have no concept or understand that I’m trying in vain to avoid the topic. He’s a nice friendly guy that is doing something he thinks must be important.

I reflect on a year ago , to this exact day. A day that I remember my hog farming friend leaving on his motorcycle to go south……to a resort community, forty three miles distant. Its a sunny day, the crops are doing just fine, the hogs have been tended and there is a feeling of early summer prosperity in the air. Perfect temperatures, light breezes, a sunny day with few clouds. Each week, he seldom takes more than an afternoon..for himself. His motorcycle allows him to leave his world behind, along with a few friends he makes a trip of a lifetime. Grand adventure or just a pleasurable drive through the croplands. I suspect his ride is a well rewarded respite.

He kicks the ignition on his motorcycle and leaves town.

They enjoy the clean, cool & verdant countryside of early summer in the Midwest, though he would never describe it in such terms!

His small posse of friends motor the countryside, at long last ….taking in the summertime that is so fleeting in the upper midwest. They stop in a small town, turn off the motorcycles, take off their helmets and they hear a strange sound.

Someone says it sounded like a gun shot, though they aren’t certain. The hog farmer starts to list to one side and says…”I think I’ve been shot!” a short hesitation and he tumbles to the ground; that is the end of his life. A 375 Smith and Wesson projectile has just passed directly through his heart.

The trial starts today….it has seen a years worth of delays. The defendant didn’t know the victim. The shot was fired from an incredible distance, yet the projectile met its mark.

At the end of the festival, my neighbor confidently tells me that he has handed out over 1,400 “Bill of Rights” and its been a very good show.

September 16th, 2008 by Bill Keitel

Johann and Susie Nield-Dayton Wy.

As we sojourn across the eastern edge of Wyoming our trek is rewarded. We meet up with the Big Horn Mountains, the best kept secret in the West. Most people can’t slow down enough to appreciate this mountain range… they are intent on seeing the wonders of Yellowstone National Park.

We’ve come to appreciate the Big Horns, it is the untrammeled wilderness that most people are looking for in Yellowstone. On our first trip to Yellowstone, we regrettably left our campsite in the high elevations of the Big Horns, only to be stuck in a traffic jam at Old Faithful.

So today we are headed for the higher elevations on the northern route to the Big Horns. We pull off at an incredible scenic overlook and perchance meet up with Johann and Susie Nield of Dayton, WY. We visit at length and then I come to realize that I’ve been watching Johann and his kin for the past 20 years. Our family has grown up hiking in the Big Horns every few years.

Johann, his son’s and daughter & brother-in-law play in the wind (as I do), there is however a slight/big difference. I windsurf and sometimes when I sail fast or if it extend the envelope of my abilities……I fall into the water.

Johann has the equivalent of twice as much sail as I do. My sail tends to be utilized in the vertical/perpendicular manner as I plane across the water. His “sails” tend to be of great benefit in the horizontal position.

We are visiting at a rest stop and he seems to be attracting a crowd of on lookers. Our view is expansive, we are perched on a ledge that has a 180 degree view of the Wyoming landscape..a 50 mile vista that is about ..4,000 feet below. We are fully engaged in polite conversation and appreciating each others interest in the wind. Johann is assembling is equipment in a deliberate manner with attention to detail. I’m noticing the soaring birds that are playing off this side of the mountain and openly wonder if any knowledge can be gained by their behavior? They are catching the thermals that are building and rising off the dusty plains on the eastern side of this mountain.

My newly found friend finishes his assembling and then wriggles into a padded suit that succinctly reminds me of the caterpillar…that sits atop the mushroom in the Alice In Wonderland story. His suit has a pupae type appearance, he explains that they generally contain a manual or a rocket propelled parachute for emergency purposes. The portion of the suit that makes it so curious is the part that extends behind his legs allowing him to slip his feet and legs into this insect like appendage.

Johann has finished assembling his “horizontal sails”. They are conjoined by a center axis and steel cables, the entire workings are presumably quite aerodynamically stable when assembled properly.

At last the soaring birds in front of us have found some significant thermals and are now just tiny dots in the sky and a steady breeze passes just slightly over our heads. Johann picks up his framework of sails and slowly walks toward the edge of the 2,000 ft. precipice. He stops and takes a last look around for “signs” and “telltales” of the thermal that has been generated by the heat off the floor of the flat lands far below. There are ribbons fluttering in the trees far below. I am mortified, someone has climbed up dead trees…that seem to be hanging over the cliff.  They have been placed there at someones great peril. They are clinging to the cliffs edge & they visibly show what the wind is doing. He casts a glance at the ribbons &  the birds are soaring past our vantage point. While holding the framework of sails, he takes a very deliberate step off a perfectly good piece of solid ground. He is tilted slightly forward and slides off the cliff, dropping perhaps 20 to 50 feet in elevation. The knowledge and trust that Johann has in these thermal updrafts is revealed almost immediately. His leap of faith has been met with thermal lift and he is suspended in front of me, nothing much happens at first. I’m on solid ground and he has nothing but 1,800 ft of air and rocks beneath him. I’m starting to wonder if jumping off the side of a mountain is a great idea? As he hangs suspended, we could easily have made eye contact…..as he wasn’t ascending or for that matter….descending. He tacks a bit to the right and within 10 seconds of takeoff finds an updraft that allows him to regain his initial elevation, we are once again…eye to eye. I’m still on the cliff,on solid ground and he is forty yards out over the cliffs edge. The next minute or so he finds a stronger updraft and he is taking it the next level…100, 200, 300 feet above me. Catching these drafts allow him further distance, as he has a glide ratio of about 24 to 1. His hang glider has set sail to some distant point 25 to 50 miles distant.

As I turn around….the scenic overlook is almost in need of crowd control. A tour bus and numerous cars have stopped during our earnest conversation and they too have been appreciating his “daring do”. Within minutes Johann became just a dot in the sky.

Bill Keitel

September 14th, 2008 by Bill Keitel

As I select the most scenic path to walk a favored dignitary to her fancy bed and breakfast hotel….

The pathway along our lake is as beautiful as any lake in Minnesota. The sun is setting, the wind has just died down, the geese are flying overhead, and the bluebirds might appear at any moment. Its either a Maxfield Parrish moment or rapture is nearing.

Alas, I’ve run face to face with another person that I can’t seem to avoid. She is ablaze in her fanciful Ethiopian garb…piercing eyes and  full flowing head wrap. I haven’t taken the time to explain to my dignitary friend about our community and its incredible immigrant population. Instead, she’ll understand it forthwith.

As we approach our Ethiopian friend , she is sitting on a park bench, seemingly quite distressed and she is arguing with a non-exisitant listener. Immigration on its basic level is so simple and so easy to appreciate. One never considers bringing mental illness into the picture. I try (to no avail) to divert my friends attention, as she has only been an honored guest in our community for less than 2 hours. Twenty feet away stands my other friend from Ethiopia and we are directly in her flight path and she is rambling with great, great fervor. There is no avoiding this encounter and we lose our train of thought. I try to say “hello” in two or three different African languages of that region……..to no avail, it only makes her madder….she is incensed and she takes off her shoe and shakes it at us .. five feet from my nose……..crimney….all I wanted was to impress this dignitary and go about our business.

This is also a rare encounter and glimpse into small towns and the emigrant experience that is occurring throughout the U.S. It is neither simple, clean or tidy. It takes work and effort to appreciate.

My dignitary friend winds up at her appointed bed and breakfast, it is the original homestead of the Dayton family, the Dayton’s that brought the department store & Target to the U.S.A. I breathe a sigh of relief when I bid her good night at the door way.

As I walk home I meet other friends that are from Guatemala, Laos, Mexico, and the Sudan. It might not seem like a big deal……..but I’m only 4 blocks from my house.

Many small towns in the Mid West have seen the out migration of their children to the urban centers. We are no exception. In recent years, our salvation has been the continued immigration of people from far flung corners of the earth. They have filled our vacant store fronts, they have bought our cars from the local dealerships. They have purchased homes….homes that would have perhaps gone vacant. They filled our schools with a new abundance of children. They have brought with them a penchant for their own interests. They are also interested in purchasing items that are indigenous to their own countries.

Store fronts reveal a world market.   Not a preplanned “World Market” experience in some famous shopping mall.  A world market brought to you by immigrants, immigrants from perhaps 9 to 14 different distinct regions in the world.  They are not completely sanititized to the sensibilities of old residents of this community.  They are true to their native lands and customs.  Wild alligators boots from Mexico, Marimbas from Guatemala….hacked from local tree branches and strung in a lattice/ladder effect to create and incredible folk art artifact. Fanciful clothes that are perhaps used in the Quincenero celebrations.  fifty different types of rice and as many mushrooms and fungi to complement.   This small main street is slowly becoming a world marketplace, inspite of all our efforts to understand and assist…..it is creating itself.  A small microcosm of assorted emerging nations.

These are the occurrences that spark my curiosity, these are the people that cause me to continue to return to this community……when most of my own business is done far beyond its reaches of the city limits.