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Posts Tagged life

The clock of life

Posted by Darrell in Christian on May 24, 2010

These 2 short stories must be read together to get the point….

SOMETHING TO MAKE YOU THINK

STORY NUMBER ONE

Many years ago, Al Capone virtually owned Chicago. Capone wasn’t famous for anything heroic. He was notorious for enmeshing the windy city in everything from bootlegged booze and prostitution to murder.

Capone had a lawyer nicknamed “Easy Eddie.” He was Capone’s lawyer for a good reason. Eddie was very good! In fact, Eddie’s skill at legal maneuvering kept Big Al out of jail for a long time.

To show his appreciation, Capone paid him very well. Not only was the money big, but Eddie got special dividends, as well. For instance, he and his family occupied a fenced-in mansion with live-in help and all of the conveniences of the day. The estate was so large that it filled an entire Chicago city block.

Eddie lived the high life of the Chicago mob and gave little consideration to the atrocity that went on around him.

Eddie did have one soft spot, however. He had a son that he loved dearly. Eddie saw to it that his young son had clothes, cars, and a good education. Nothing was withheld. Price was no object.

And, despite his involvement with organized crime, Eddie even tried to teach him right from wrong. Eddie wanted his son to be a better man than he was.

Yet, with all his wealth and influence, there were two things he couldn’t give his son; he couldn’t pass on a good name or a good example.

One day, Easy Eddie reached a difficult decision. Easy Eddie wanted to rectify wrongs he had done. He decided he would go to the authorities and tell the truth about Al “Scarface” Capone, clean up his tarnished name, and offer his son some semblance of integrity. To do this, he would have to testify against The Mob, and he knew that the cost would be great.

So, he testified.

Within the year, Easy Eddie’s life ended in a blaze of gunfire on a lonely Chicago street. But in his eyes, he had given his son the greatest gift he had to offer, at the greatest price he could ever pay. Police removed from his pockets a rosary, a crucifix, a religious medallion, and a poem clipped from a magazine.

The poem read:

The clock of life is wound but once, and no man has the power to tell just when the hands will stop, at late or early hour. Now is the only time you own. Live, love, toil with a will. Place no faith in time. For the clock may soon be still.

STORY NUMBER TWO

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World War II produced many heroes. One such man was Lieutenant Commander Butch O’Hare. He was a fighter pilot assigned to the aircraft carrier Lexington in the South Pacific.

One day his entire squadron was sent on a mission. After he was airborne, he looked at his fuel gauge and realized that someone had forgotten to top off his fuel tank.

He would not have enough fuel to complete his mission and get back to his ship.

His flight leader told him to return to the carrier. Reluctantly, he dropped out of formation and headed back to the fleet.

As he was returning to the mother ship, he saw something that turned his blood cold; a squadron of Japanese aircraft was speeding its way toward the American fleet.

The American fighters were gone on a sortie, and the fleet was all but defenseless. He couldn’t reach his squadron and bring them back in time to save the fleet. Nor could he warn the fleet of the approaching danger. There was only one thing to do. He must somehow divert them from the fleet.

Laying aside all thoughts of personal safety, he dove into the formation of Japanese planes. Wing-mounted 50 caliber’s blazed as he charged in, attacking one surprised enemy plane and then another. Butch wove in and out of the now broken formation and fired at as many planes as possible until all his ammunition was finally spent.

Undaunted, he continued the assault. He dove at the planes, trying to clip a wing or tail in hopes of damaging as many enemy planes as possible, rendering them unfit to fly.

Finally, the exasperated Japanese squadron took off in another direction.

Deeply relieved, Butch O’Hare and his tattered fighter limped back to the carrier.

Upon arrival, he reported in and related the event surrounding his return. The film from the gun-camera mounted on his plane told the tale. It showed the extent of Butch’s daring attempt to protect his fleet. He had, in fact, destroyed five enemy aircraft. This took place on February 20, 1942, and for that action Butch became the Navy’s first Ace of W.W.II, and the first Naval Aviator to win the Congressional Medal of Honor.

A year later Butch was killed in aerial combat at the age of 29. His home town would not allow the memory of this WW II hero to fade, and today, O’Hare Airport in Chicago is named in tribute to the courage of this great man.

So, the next time you find yourself at O’Hare International, give some thought to visiting Butch’s memorial displaying his statue and his Medal of Honor. It’s located between Terminals 1 and 2.

SO WHAT DO THESE TWO STORIES HAVE TO DO WITH EACH OTHER?

Butch O’Hare was “Easy Eddie’s” son.

From a newsletter – whitehorsemedia.com

Chicago, clock, life, time

2 Comments

Sometimes Life Sucks

Posted by Darrell in Misc on April 29, 2010

Do you ever think back and remember exactly where you were and what you were doing at a certain time in your life? The year was 1971, I was 10 years old, my mom called me into the kitchen, she said that she needed to tell me something important. She said, your daddy is very sick and since you’re the oldest, I need you to be strong for me and help me with your brother and sisters. My father’s name was Francis, but everyone called him Fezo. My Daddy was a man that could do just about anything he set his mind to do, and do it well. I’d always call him whenever I wasn’t sure about something. He could fix just about anything. I’m the oldest of 5 children, 2 boys and 3 girls.

Francis & Darrell

Back then, my mother was pregnant with my youngest sister. My mother let me know that my father had been diagnosed with Leukemia. I was 10 years old and had no idea what leukemia was. What she didn’t tell me was that the doctors said the type of leukemia he had was the worst possible form, and that he had been given only 2 weeks to live.

Daddy was 33 years old at that time and worked for a chemical company.

The chemical plant where my dad worked processed what is known as salt cake (Sodium sulphate produced industrially by the reaction of magnesium sulphate with sodium chloride in solution followed by crystallization, or by the reaction of concentrated

Jane

sulphuric acid with solid sodium chloride).

One day before all of this happened he came home from work covered from head to toe with some sort of powdery chemical. He had fallen from a platform into a chemical. It wasn’t very long after that he got sick. I often wondered if that accident had anything to do with his sickness. My mom packed our clothes and shipped us off to my grandparent’s house in a nearby town.

My father was in M.D. Anderson Hospital in Houston Texas, while my mom was giving birth in a southern Louisiana Hospital to their 5th child, my youngest sister.

The doctors wanted to try some new types of treatments for leukemia that wouldn’t cost my family anything. Since he didn’t have much to lose at this point, my dad agreed to these “guinea pig” test and treatments. For a long time he was kept in a germ free room (bubble), everything that went in had to be sterilized, even the food. He said it removed all of the taste.

MD Anderson Hospital

That’s twice as hard for a Cajun man to endure than just a regular Joe because Cajuns “live to eat” not “eat to live”.

The treatments for leukemia caused many side effects, one of which big blisters would break out all over his hands whenever he went out in the sun. He couldn’t do much work especially in the sun, and if he’d accidentally hit his hand a huge blister would break out (in just a few seconds). He carried a small pocket knife sharpened to a sharp point to bust the blisters as they formed. We did a lot of fishing and trawling for shrimp after he was halfway back to normal.

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As a family, we did a lot of camping. I remember one summer we traveled to Illinois to visit a cousin. On the way we didn’t make many stops, and we visited for about a week. On the way back to south Louisiana we took our time and stopped at every campground we came across. That summer we spent exactly 22 days at home, the rest were spent at campgrounds. My dad had a rough life, but nobody enjoyed life more than him.

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Camping

I remember back when the government was forcing people they decided shouldn’t be on disability to go back to work and he was one. Today I see young people that messed themselves up by taking illegal drugs such as ecstasy and crack sitting around all day waiting for their check and probably using the money to buy drugs. (Dopes on dope) Later on my dad developed severe pain in his side and back and tried different doctors and even surgery to cut a nerve to stop the pain. He may have even had another form of cancer.

Four months after his 49th birthday he took his 16 gauge shotgun, drove to a secluded area and killed himself. I was 26 at the time. Time passes quickly, it’s hard to believe that I’ll be 49 this year.

I have a big problem when I see healthy young people on welfare that could be working, but are just lazy. That’s another subject altogether.

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