I would like to write a book.

I would be very pleased to hold a book in my hands that showed my name as Author.  That would be a great accomplishment..  I have written more than enough for a book(s).  I write articles of many types of about fifteen hundred words average.  My mind at the moment chooses whether historic, commentary, comic, humor, a laughable twist to an old story.

I have this problem that stands in the way of my publishing my book(s).  I love to write.  I make no money from writing but that isn’t my purpose in writing.  I can’t find time to prepare my work for publishing because I can’t stop the writing.  I wish I knew some retired secretary who could do that prep work to make some cash.  I remember a secretary I had named Sandy.  She could even read my handwriting.  She was a multi talented serviceman’s wife.

I’m getting pretty close to a century old;  may run out of time.  I’ll keep on writing until then.  Maybe someone will do the book then and remember Trooper Arlie Wood.

I think there are about 85 articles n this blog. 

HOME - Where is My Home?

My parents, two sons and one daughter, lived in a two room shack one morning in 1923. I was added at about 2:30 PM that afternoon.  Not long after, my parents moved their family to another city, Lawton, OK,  where they rented on Park Avenue (No row of mansions), H Avenue, then I Avenue (Where a flood began my memories), thence to H Avenue (adventures started there).

 My parents bought some land outside of city limits in 1928.  A tornado damaged German style barn provided rough lumber for building another two room shack which grew to five rooms as I grew to maturity.   That was my first home in my mind.  Marriage and World War Two took me to several small houses before sharing a pup tent with some other soldier 8,000 miles away in the Pacific Ocean.  I was in Tokyo Bay 2 September, 1945, when Japan signed unconditional surrender on the Battleship Missouri.  We, 8th Regiment, 1st Cavalry Division, took up quarters in Azabu University for some end of war duties and to await ships to take us to some place called Home.(my Home Country).

Some found  home but some found no home.  I  remained in Army Organized Reserve while spending time and  working in Utah which was no Home.  I  returned to Oklahoma which seemed to claim me as  my Home State.  Henceforth I felt a homey feeling when I crossed Red River and rested in the Rest Stop at Marietta,  OK.  I also got to telling myself that I was reaching my Home Town of Lawton, OK, when Mt. Scott came in to view.

I decided the Army held more for me than the life I had  been  living so, with a precious new wife, I enlisted Regular Army with intent to be a driver, trucks or otherwise.  The Army saw Typing on my high school transcript; I drove a typewriter instead of a truck; quickly gaining rank of Buck Sergeant.
a circular came asking for names of Administrative NCO for the Manhattan Engineers in New Mexico.   A spotless military record and an AGCT Score (IQ) above 120 was the minimal requirement.  I was chosen from a small number of qualified applicants.  I was assigned to Headquarters, Headquarters Detachment, Sandia Base/Laboratories, Albuquerque,, New Mexico.  We lived in a one room apartment, a converted milking shed, another one room apartment next door to a city zoo with bears and lions and elephants.  None could be called Home.

I lived in Army Barracks when my wife went to Oklahoma City to await the birth of our first child.  I was being pushed toward Officer Candidate by my Commanding  General as I considered getting a discharge to better care for my wife and child.  Love won out over Army Duty and I  returned to my Home State and eventually to My Home Town of Lawton, OK, and  a new house that had been built for our Home.  A period of unrest denied fulfilment of that dream.  I became a US Border Patrol Inspector for about a year, where I lived in a tiny trailer house (no home).

My return to Oklahoma started a series of rentals in Norman, Bethany, Oklahoma City with my in-laws.  We lived for a time in an old mansion of three levels plus basement and about twenty rooms.  I was never in all of those rooms.

I finally bought an acreage outside of Midwest City, OK, with a tiny concrete block cabin that was crowded with my wife and  me and our son and his baby sister.  I built a nice bungalow on that land to be our new home  in 1961.  A second daughter was born in 1963.  A second  son was added in 1966.  About 1969, we took an eight year old foster daughter.  Our place in the country became Home for five.  We had garden, horses, good neighbors with children who knew no fences and often assembled in our yard or house.  Neighbors often were invited to share the evening meal at another Home.

 Our children didn't just attend school but were involved in deeper school activities such as choir, basketball, football, cheerleader, and flag corps.  All received piano lessons and with fair to exceptional success.  Rheumatic Fever and Breast Cancer invaded our paradise by attacking my precious wife over a period of several years.  It never diminished our love which was the glue that held our household together and formed it to be our HOME.

My wife, our children's Mother, endured progressive cancer for years while never ceasing in her outreach to dozens of others needs.  As our youngest neared high school graduation, Wanda Jean Wood succumbed to cancer and, on 2 July, 1981, moved up to await me in a heavenly HOME.

My independent life was nearly ended in 2005 but God had some different plan.  I was blest with a new and different life which included many people of which many became dear friends.  My children were always supportive.  A tragedy ended my youngest son Michael David Wood's life in April 2015.

Congestive Heart Failure necessitated my hospitalization in January, 2019,  and my youngest daughter Cheri Benfield and Kevin Benfield welcomed me to their Home.  I broke my back on about 12 August and surgery with about six weeks hospitalization and a near miraculous recovery.

We celebrated my ninety seventh birthday as a strange new virus called Coronavirus swept from China to nations across the world.  My daughter would be exposed to this highly contagious and often deadly disease as Case Management Registered Nurse and I was quickly whisked to the safer environment of Gary's and Carmalita's Home where I now reside.  All three of my living children have assured that I lacked for nothing and received all needed medical care; Janis Wood has taken me to all medical appointments.

I was loved, cared for, and content in each household with joyful familial relations; all was freely given.  My heart was where my precious wife and I saw our children grow and mature in our family with unquestioning and unlimited love.  Our foster daughter grew with us from eight to eighteen years of age.  Today, my love is spread to every place our children might be.

Born in one city, matured in another, dwelt in many, my life encompassed in a circle of 10,000 miles; where is my Home?  My mind and my heart are in agreement.  Home is that place where my heart's sweetest memories were engraved for all the years that I might live.  Though no longer 'country', that spot is what fills my mind and defines the full meaning of HOME.

A Penny's Worth of Thoughts

How long since you stopped and bent over to pick one filthy penny from that germ laden dirt?  In today's economy, that seems almost a silly question but I want to take you back to another time in a place that I have written much about in the "Okie Magazine" of Lawton, OK.  My features were titled Memories of Yesteryear.  I wrote through the rose colored glasses of old memories.

Let's return to that penny in the dirt and go back to that different time when even the prosperous would not hesitate to gather that penny.

For a little child, that penny would buy some delicious candy; many varieties from which to choose.  Most cigarettes were hand rolled by the smoker and four of those pennies bought a package of Bull Durham or Duke's Mixture tobacco with a pack of cigarette paper thrown in.

Many times people were cold and hungry.  Five of those pennies bought a large cup of steaming hot coffee that was refilled without charge and you could have a doughnut (donuts hadn't been invented yet) or a cinnamon roll with your coffee (Better  than Starbuck ever brewed).  Out on the street corner was a man selling shiny red apples; five pennies each.

When you were lucky enough to have fifteen pennies, you had a delicious hot bowl of stew or chili with unlimited catsup and crackers.  A few places just gave you that cup of coffee free of charge.  Of course a huge hamburger was also fifteen pennies.

When you were both wealthy and hungry, the cafe with the nice table cloths would serve that large platter of chicken fried steak for twenty five pennies; milk or coffee was five pennies more. 

These prices sound very reasonable unless you are the man who worked twelve long hours at hard labor for one silver dollar; 100 pennies.

Make Hay While the Sun Shines

     MAKE HAY WHILE THE SUN SHINES                                `                Trooper Arlie D. Wood  10Feb2017

       Make Hay While The Sun Shines.                                                          `        Make stores of the golden grain.                                                        `      Make huge round bales dot many fields                      ` `                `                   Across the wide great plains.

               No more mules will trod                                                                 `           Across the stubble and sod                                                    `        But the tractor’s smelly belch                                                         `     Will visions of yesteryear squelch.                                                                       No haystack, there to lie                                                `            `                    Gazing into the sky                                                                 `               Watching clouds form their scheme                                                         `          In the heavens wide scene.

       Soon new seeds will fall like rain                                              `                 Upon the disc tilled dormant plain.                                                         `           New life will soon grow                                                     `                `        ‘Neath a blanket of snow. 

       As the hay bales sustain cattle                                                        `                  The cowboy gets some rest.   

             In the time that’s ahead                                                                                They will not be so blest.

         Whether moonlight, rain, or sleet;

             The calves just don’t care.

   `     In arroyo, mesquite, or hilltop,

              Perhaps in prickly pair;

               It makes no difference,

                The calf is just there.

               Soon the cattle will eat                                                       `                           From cotton cake, corn 

                 Or merging wheat.                                                              `                     Rainfall, hail, prairie fire;                                          `                                  Can it survive nature’s ire                                                           `        Or its most violent of wrath                                                                        The tornado’s unpredictable path.

                 If all is unscathed and

                    The gamble is won,                                                      `                          ‘Twil be time once again;                                                         `                   To make Hay 'neath The Sun.

STUFF

                                                    STUFF                                                                                                    .                   Trooper Wood 13 October 2015

Mankind was created in a garden without clothes or stuff.  All they needed was there; furnished for their enjoyment.  Then they were told “Don’t” and history has been mankind battling against that word, and their Creator, ever since.  “Eat whatever you want but DON’T EAT from this one tree.  The fruit is pretty but it is poison and will cause death.

Satan also had access to the garden and its bounty.  He had rebelled a long time before when he looked in the mirror and thought himself to lovely to be just a lieutenant .  That’s why God kicked him out of heaven.    Now Satan thought to get even by getting these new creations to mess up and disobey their Creator, God.  That is when they ate the fruit.

First thing they noted was they didn’t have clothes; nothing like that flashy apparel of Satan.  They gathered lovely leaves from the garden and fashioned their clothing: the first STUFF.  They had to leave the garden now; the place of plenty with every need already met.  In the world outside, they had to grow their grow food or kill living creatures for meat.  Tools were required to till the soil and weapons to kill for food or defend against some creatures; more STUFF. 

Anger and jealousy became a part of their life as the hunted and labored and their children found another use for their weapons: to kill anyone they disliked.  As this pattern grew, better weapons were needed; more STUFF.  The weather outside the garden was frightful and shelters were built and STUFF to make them comfortable inside.

The more STUFF we got, the more STUFF was needed.  It got to the point where we lived in our pursuit of STUFF.  It reached the point where our pursuit of STUFF stuffed our lives until we could not enjoy the STUFF we had for free when we were created and started this rebellion against “DON’T” and the gathering of STUFF.

This morning, at this moment, I sit here alone.  I’m surrounded by STUFF, but alone.

“DON’T” get so involved in pursuing and possessing STUFF that you forget how to live in the garden.  God prepared it for you ‘In The Beginning’.

Some Still Believe

The honor flight on 16 September, 2015 gave me reason to see that ` <SOME STILL BELIEVE>

My son Gary picked me up on schedule and we proceeded to the Sheraton Motel near the Rose State College Campus in Midwest City, OK (An excellent motel by any standard). As we approached I noticed some United States Flags being posted along the street curbs and I was mildly curious as we registered at the motel desk. Our greeting at the entrance and in the lobby was as the arrival of a long lost family member.
We went next to the Rose State/Hudiburg Chevrolet Center for Orientation, snacks, and getting acquainted. Many more flags lined the roadway and my curiosity won out. I turned to Gary and asked, “What are all the flags about; veterans day is almost a month away?” The reply shocked me; “Those flags are for you, Daddy.”
I received one blessing, honor, and surprise that is mine alone. As I sat gabbing with other veterans, soft arms slipped around my neck from behind and lips kissed behind my ear. I twisted far enough to see Kevin Benfield and just a portion of the face of my daughter Cheri Wood Benfield. I expected to see then on 19 September as they arrived to their new home in Choctaw, OK; moving from their long time home in Oregon. They had arrived on 14 September and kept it a secret from me for that special moment of honor and surprise.
Dear Friends, I have only started telling of the happenings that have bewildered, dazzled, delighted, and tore my heart in these two days. You may tire of the hearing. I shall never part from the memory. My regret is that my two brother and so many others could never receive these honors that I accept in their stead. Most never wanted a memorial and were never privileged to even see a picture.

The things I saw were much as I expected and I am grateful for having seen them. The people I met and traveled with were grand and I was happy to see that some WWII veterans were in good shape, appearing to have some mileage left in them. Our flights were smooth except for a few weather bumps in the air and the crew treated us like royalty as they served us with two excellent and very satisfying meals. Those are the everyday facts of these last two days but certainly not the headliners.
To tell “The Rest of the Story” will take many paragraphs and pages, even though I will forget to include much of it. Before we left Rose State College Campus and definitely before we boarded our plane at Will Rogers World Airport, telling what people did will doubly exhaust my available supply of superlatives.
The American Heritage Girls, uniformed, polite, and pretty, were serving cup cakes and coffee to us and just as we were hungering for something more substantial, they brought the offering from Midwest City Chick-fil-a; delicious, hot, and tasty chicken sandwiches. I noticed some of us availed ourselves of more than one. The supply was plentiful. I don’t wish to get ahead of myself but when we boarded the bus at Baltimore, it was hungry time again and another Chic-fil-a met our needs with more sandwiches and trimmings.

My son and I always pack a couple of candy bars for emergencies. They were in our luggage. A friend who always looks after voyagers had slipped a package into my luggage; just a small one with a small loose leaf notebook and pen, flashlight, two pocket packs of Kleenex, candy and cookies. My son was in a meeting getting instructions and some supplies from “Honor Flight”. There was a hat for each plus a red T-shirt for the ‘guardians’ and a blue T-shirt for the veterans, and a ‘fanny-pack’ for each veteran that was filled with more edible goodies. When we arose (in the middle of the night) the motel offered coffee and doughnuts.
Our name tags were coded with Red, White, or Blue to match the colored stars in the front window of our three buses. The bus captains checked us as we boarded, then, called the roll after we were boarded to assure that we were present. They took no chances of losing someone in a restroom or on another bus. No mother could have shown better care.
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I forgot one of the finest details; our ride to Will Rogers World Airport was no ordinary drive. Our buses were lead off by the Patriot Guard Motorcycle Brigade shortly after 0400 hours. I don’t know their number but there were plenty and the cavalcade was such as one might expect for some high dignitary. Those gentlemen knew their routine and performed it in an exact manner. The Oklahoma Highway Patrol joined to lead us on the interstate. They cause us to feel very honored and important.
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The captain showed similar care on takeoff by holding to the runway until normal take-off speed was exceeded. A smooth accent took us to cruising altitude and we were about ready for another doughnut but the airline had a different plan. The stewardesses brought a nice tray with orange juice, some mixed fruit, butter, an individual tray with a very good egg and cheese with ham omelet; then coffee or other drink. The neck rests of our seats were covered by napkins honoring our flight.
We surrendered an hour by coming to the East Time Zone and arrived close to noon at the Baltimore, Maryland, Air Terminal. Tour busses awaited us for our excursion to Washington, DC, and Arlington National Cemetery in Virginia.
At the World War Two Memorial, Gary pushed my wheel chair and the pillar for Arkansas was the first that I noticed. My best buddy had been from Arkansas and I thought of him and the little community of Bluffton. Many with his family name live around there but Jimmy just disappeared. I wonder if he was another who returned and found no home. There were many.
People were so friendly and volunteering to take photos for strangers. We took many photos but the camera card can’t be found right now. All veterans are supposed to get a DVD with pictures a professional photographer took. He was with us all of the trip.
We arrived at ideal time to view the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Many names of people I knew are on those innumerable markers in that cemetery. Sobering to realize that the bodies of many more lie in dedicated and honored cemeteries around the world; buried near the place where they fell.
I had seen films of the Changing of the Guard. To be present at that moment is altogether different. When I arose from my wheel chair and saluted, my eyes dimmed with tears. For the first time, I realized that no commissioned officer is involved; a fact I should have known. I was pleased to see that the rifles being inspected and carried with such pride was the beautiful old M1 Garand .30-06 caliber that had served us so faithfully.
We also saw the Marine Iwo Jima monument and stopped briefly there and at the Korean War Memorial. Without dismounting, we saw the Air Force and Coast Guard Memorials. Thirty new acres has been purchased to add to the Air Force grounds.
We saw the buildings of Washington, DC, including the White House. I’m happy that I don’t have to mow that lawn. We arrived back at Baltimore as darkness fell and I think we were all tired enough to be ready to go home.
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Amid flags and decorations and friendly greetings, we boarded the airplane at Baltimore for our return trip. Bus Captains always made sure that we were all in place. I was on the Red Bus and an angel named Vickie was our bus captain. Three busses, Red White and Blue. Gary Banz was with us all the way and made himself available and indispensible to every need. Gary’s wife Ann was one of the bus captains I believe. I don’t know how well it was known but Gary happens to be my district State Representative.
One great outstanding person made this trip possible for me and I can’t fully express my gratitude or the joy I gained from his company. My son Gary Wood made sure that my every need was met and spent the day pushing me in a wheel chair. My body gladly accepts that wheelchair but my mind still refuses to succumb. Gary has never failed to be by me when I needed him.
Our plane both ways was Boeing 737 Miami Air Charter(I think that is a subdivision of Delta Air Lines). We were airborne just after dark and smoothly reached cruising altitude where we were served our dinner (I still call it supper); a tray of Lasagna, salad and dressing, assorted fruit, roll and butter. Coffee was delayed a short time. Sections of that road from Baltimore reminded me of I-40; it needs repaving.
I think we were a few minutes behind schedule on approach to OKC but were greeted at the gate by airline personnel with wheelchairs for those of us who had that need. Except for the Honor Flight group and a few debarking passengers from other aircraft, all was quiet in the secure area as some took care of personal needs. Most had declared their intent to return to Midwest City; either to the motels or to their vehicles. Some I knew intended to drive to Enid. We were all tired and I was happy to be close to home. Surely most of our world was at home in bed at this midnight hour.
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I was near the lead as we exited the secure area to get back on our bus and get home. My tired body was ready to relax. Just a few more miles; a few more minutes. Is that a band playing?? That waiting room is filled with people; some waiving little flags; everyone shouting greetings, “Welcome Home”, “God Bless You”, “Thank You For Your Service”; Hands reaching out to touch, for a handshake, a little girl thrust he tiny flag into my hand. I don’t know exactly why or how but that flag found its way to my lips. Grade school age children were in that crowd at midnight. I saw their buses later; midnight and they were still an hour’s drive from home. I was having trouble with my eyes but I’m pretty sure that I saw and shook the hand of a Marine with seven stripes but I wasn’t mistaken about that Silver Star on his chest.
A bunch of old ‘has beens’ had gathered for a flight to a cemetery where the bodies of many we had known now rested. We really didn’t know what to expect. Did anyone really care? We would have a good time for one day and add it to our memories.
Our greeting had been a great surprise and each hour built on the last. Flags on the curbs for us!! Individual recognition before a crowded auditorium of people. Motor escort down the interstate highway with priority over all other traffic, airport waiting area and the plane decorated for our honor, meals on that plane better than I had ever enjoyed in previous flights, a band playing and decorations at Baltimore and one of the airport staff was even singing our old songs, if requested, and now we are coming home, elated but tired.
We exited that secure area to that which, I don’t believe, any of us expected. A packed waiting area old young and old thought it worth their time to leave their homes and wait at midnight to greet us.
I feel sure that each of us was changed by those people for they convinced me; SOME STILL BELIEVE in what we believed, fought for, suffered, and many died for.
Thank You. (by Trooper Wood).

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The Wagon Yard

If you have ever watched the old western movies, the hitching rack and watering trough in front of the general store or saloon is very familiar; plenty of vacant space in those scenes.  That didn't work to well in the crowded city, even if it was just a small county seat.  I had a photo of Waurika, OK, the city of my birth, on a special day; wagons and buggies with teams of horses and mules, some saddled horses, pedestrians, and a very few of those new fangled contraptions called automobiles; all in a hopelessly tangled mess without direction or control.

Cities similar to the one of my youth, Lawton, OK, solved this problem with a designated vacant space called The Wagon Yard.  Just a bare dirt portion of a city block with a watering trough; no signs nor charges for its use.  It might be dry and dusty or a muddy mire; all depending on the weather.  A few wagons or horses might be there on other days but Saturday was the big day.

Local businesses spent Friday preparing for that big day by stocking heavily.  Meat markets had salt pork stacked atop of their counter and tubs of bologna sliced and ready and  some extra bread on the shelves; even some of that 'sliced bread' the bakeries had just started selling.  Kresses 5¢ and 10¢ had the candy counters full and plenty of pop corn and roasted peanuts with that aroma whetting every appetite.

As much as eight or nine miles out in the country, the farmers, ranchers, and cowboys were also readying for the big day.  The water jug was filled and stowed under the wagon seat.  Some chickens had been caught for sale and their legs tied with strips of cloth.  Cream cans were filled and loaded along with eggs and feathers or duck down.  Mom was frying a basket of chicken and biscuits for lunch while in town.  The girls readied their nicest dresses.  Some of the biscuits were sacrificed to shine those patent leather shoes.  As soon as milking and feeding allowed, the trip to town began.  Fresh hay or straw was in the wagon bed to make a softer tide.  

That drive may have taken three hours or more with at least one stop to allow the team to rest and get a drink from a stream.  Eight or nine o'clock and they pulled into the wagon yard.  Across the alley from the Wagon Yard was a very important place.  Most of these folks came to town without a dime but they brought what they had to sell.  They stopped in the alley at the rear door and dock of Clapp's Produce and sold their goods.  If you did not stop at Clapp's to sell, You must be one of those merchants selling to the people who did.

There was no marked parking places or rules to be followed.  Puddles of urine and mule droppings dotted the landscape.  Finding a clean spot, if possible, the family debarked and team was unhitched and tied to the back of the wagon.  Some of the hay was pushed to the back for them to eat.  The dog was tied to a front wheel next to a pallet laid down for the baby.  It was time to take care of business.

Mom took her grocery list to a nearby grocer who sometimes let them buy on credit until corn harvest or cotton picking time but the money from Clapp's produce usually sufficed in this transaction.  Mom just left her list and boys in the store readied her order while she went to J. C. Penney, Kress, Singer Sewing.  Depending on available dimes, maybe the children would see a show.  First, Mom broke out that basket of fried chicken and biscuits and maybe some home made jelly or preserves.

Dad might need to take the mules over to the black smith Earl Christmas at the east side of the wagon yard.   While they were being shod, He  might dare to go to that pool hall up in the next block of 3rd street.  All shopping, business, entertainment had to be completed by about 3:30 PM and back at the wagon to get hitched up, say goodbye to any neighbors you have seen in the social center, The Wagon Yard.  A stop at the grocer to pick up the prepared order from Mom's list and start that long trip home where cows are waiting to be milked, cream separated, chickens fed, eggs gathered, supper cooked and eaten, bank the fire in the stove, turn the lamp wick down, and bid each other good night.