Observed Memorial Day, 2008, was the day on which there were bugles, flags, fly-overs, and poems. I told a bit of Brian Tierney’s story, representative of many others who have served and died. Today is the traditional date of Memorial Day.
On May 30, 1868, Gen. John Logan, Commander in Chief of the Grand Army of the Republic (the GAR was the post-Civil War American Legion) designated a special day "for the purpose of strewing flowers or otherwise decorating the graves of comrades who died in defense of their country during the latest rebellion."
When I was a boy in a small Minnesota town, a few members of our National Guard artillery battery, some Legion and VFW veterans, and the high school band, marched out to the cemetery. There a long roster of the community’s dead in the great wars, the ones with the numerals was read – and a few names from the very recent Korean Conflict – a volley was fired, and taps were played. A poem that had been written – according to lore – in the trenches of World War I by Canadian colonel John McCrae, “In Flanders Fields,” was solemnly read to the gathering of Scandinavian and German merchants and farmers who made up most of our small town.
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
On the plains of western Minnesota there was no fly-over, and most of the marchers had already acquired the paunches of middle age, but those spring days, the rifle volleys, and taps, in a small town cemetery had a powerful effect on a small boy.
That boy didn’t notice – then – that it wasn’t just the graves of veterans that got flowers, and over which those stolid citizens prayed, but those of mothers, wives, sisters, fathers, and brothers. Most having nothing to do with military valor.
He’s no small boy anymore, he’s learned so much. So, after paying tribute on the observed holiday and on this traditional Memorial Day date to those who died in the service of our country – in the service of us all – he offers his love to those others he misses so deeply.
Lost family, friends. You’re in my heart. Dad, you were tired those last years. I didn’t understand. I do now.
Jeannie, I miss you most of all. The hurt is so recent, so deep, it's so hard to express the longing. In our few years together, I came to see all of the world from the perspective of “we,” not “me.” We shared everything; favorite places, people, all the things we did together...everything. You’re with me every day. Since you’ve gone, you’d be surprised how many friends suffered a similar loss. It helps they’ve shared that with me.
Now, in 2008, Memorial Day comes to mean so much more – is about more loved ones – than that small boy ever imagined. I guess it’s good there are two of them – Memorial Days, that is.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Spam
Spam...no, not the email kind, the sort-of-meat kind. Disclaimer: I actually like Spam, the canned meat product that earned fame feeding our troops in World War II.
This isn’t a paean to Spam, though, it’s rather a commentary on silliness in shopping, or journalism, or both.
This was the headline in the Arizona Republic’s business section this morning: Sales of Spam rise as consumers try to cut food costs. The article was written by Emily Fredrix, dateline Milwaukee, distributed by the Associated Press.
“Love it, hate it or laugh at it – at least it’s inexpensive,” is the lead. Later, “The price of Spam is up, too, with the average 12-ounce can costing about $2.62.” Later still, this “expert” summary statement, “Consumers are quick to realize that meats like Span and other processed foods can be substituted for costlier cuts as a way of controlling costs, said Marcia Mogelonsky, senior research analyst with Mintel International in Chicago.” (“Senior research analysts” are becoming as ubiquitous as “democratic strategists.”)
Whew! Where to start? Inexpensive? Only for the math challenged – or perhaps the very, very lazy. Hey, shoppers, $2.62 for 12 ounces is $3.49 a pound!
There are five full-service groceries within a mile and a half of me. (Don’t get me started on the cretins who frequent “convenience stores” for staples like milk. By using my freezer for something other than Pop Tarts, I’ve lately become accustomed to paying $1 for a half gallon.) Here are the meat, poultry, and seafood items I can buy this week for less than the price of Spam: chuck roast, center cut loin pork chops, ground beef (up to 90% lean), chicken (various, including boneless, skinless breasts), lamb chops, Hillshire Farms smoked sausage, spare ribs, boneless pork top loin chops, eye of round roast, Johnsonville brats, country style ribs, beef brisket, cod and catfish fillets.
It’s good I like Spam, otherwise I’d never buy it – too expensive.
So is it good reporting to find a consumer who thinks she’s saving by buying Spam? “Kimberly Quan, a stay-at-home mom of three...has been feeding her family more Spam in the past six months as she tries to make her food budget go further.” At least Ms. Quan has something of a rationale for the apparent contradiction, “Pulling Spam from the shelf prevents last-minute grocery trips and overspending, said Quan.” Ok, I get it. We can’t be bothered to plan ahead far enough to keep from running out of center cut loin port chops, can we?
What’s the rationale for the AP story, though? It’s got no basis in fact, except for the fact that Spam sales have been on the rise lately. But isn’t the real story that – whatever consumers who continue to buy big pick em up trucks and gripe about fuel costs think – there really is no cost-saving reason to put Spam in your meat budget. Perhaps there’s a clue in the story, though. It’s full of sales data provided by Hormel, Spam’s maker. I suspect this is another press release masquerading as news. Much of what we read and see on television these days is exactly that. Most of it makes more sense than this one, of course.
As for the shoppers, it’s probably true that there are enough of them who believe Spam is a low-cost processed alternative to fresh meat to move the sales curve upward for Hormel. After all, the busiest of those five groceries near me is the most expensive, too. It’s not because of Safeway’s wide isles, good lighting and attractive displays, either; that would be Bashas’. Habit, I think. Or inability to perform the most rudimentary mental functions.
In Safeway yesterday, (preying on the sales and specials) I watched a woman ignore the $1-a-dozen large eggs (coupons required, but provided at checkout and elsewhere in the store) in favor of a carton costing $2.19 (no, they weren’t organic). You explain it. I can’t.
This isn’t a paean to Spam, though, it’s rather a commentary on silliness in shopping, or journalism, or both.
This was the headline in the Arizona Republic’s business section this morning: Sales of Spam rise as consumers try to cut food costs. The article was written by Emily Fredrix, dateline Milwaukee, distributed by the Associated Press.
“Love it, hate it or laugh at it – at least it’s inexpensive,” is the lead. Later, “The price of Spam is up, too, with the average 12-ounce can costing about $2.62.” Later still, this “expert” summary statement, “Consumers are quick to realize that meats like Span and other processed foods can be substituted for costlier cuts as a way of controlling costs, said Marcia Mogelonsky, senior research analyst with Mintel International in Chicago.” (“Senior research analysts” are becoming as ubiquitous as “democratic strategists.”)
Whew! Where to start? Inexpensive? Only for the math challenged – or perhaps the very, very lazy. Hey, shoppers, $2.62 for 12 ounces is $3.49 a pound!
There are five full-service groceries within a mile and a half of me. (Don’t get me started on the cretins who frequent “convenience stores” for staples like milk. By using my freezer for something other than Pop Tarts, I’ve lately become accustomed to paying $1 for a half gallon.) Here are the meat, poultry, and seafood items I can buy this week for less than the price of Spam: chuck roast, center cut loin pork chops, ground beef (up to 90% lean), chicken (various, including boneless, skinless breasts), lamb chops, Hillshire Farms smoked sausage, spare ribs, boneless pork top loin chops, eye of round roast, Johnsonville brats, country style ribs, beef brisket, cod and catfish fillets.
It’s good I like Spam, otherwise I’d never buy it – too expensive.
So is it good reporting to find a consumer who thinks she’s saving by buying Spam? “Kimberly Quan, a stay-at-home mom of three...has been feeding her family more Spam in the past six months as she tries to make her food budget go further.” At least Ms. Quan has something of a rationale for the apparent contradiction, “Pulling Spam from the shelf prevents last-minute grocery trips and overspending, said Quan.” Ok, I get it. We can’t be bothered to plan ahead far enough to keep from running out of center cut loin port chops, can we?
What’s the rationale for the AP story, though? It’s got no basis in fact, except for the fact that Spam sales have been on the rise lately. But isn’t the real story that – whatever consumers who continue to buy big pick em up trucks and gripe about fuel costs think – there really is no cost-saving reason to put Spam in your meat budget. Perhaps there’s a clue in the story, though. It’s full of sales data provided by Hormel, Spam’s maker. I suspect this is another press release masquerading as news. Much of what we read and see on television these days is exactly that. Most of it makes more sense than this one, of course.
As for the shoppers, it’s probably true that there are enough of them who believe Spam is a low-cost processed alternative to fresh meat to move the sales curve upward for Hormel. After all, the busiest of those five groceries near me is the most expensive, too. It’s not because of Safeway’s wide isles, good lighting and attractive displays, either; that would be Bashas’. Habit, I think. Or inability to perform the most rudimentary mental functions.
In Safeway yesterday, (preying on the sales and specials) I watched a woman ignore the $1-a-dozen large eggs (coupons required, but provided at checkout and elsewhere in the store) in favor of a carton costing $2.19 (no, they weren’t organic). You explain it. I can’t.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
1968
The Year That Changed the World, it says on the TIME 40th Anniversary Special cover.
Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy were assassinated. Columbia University, the Chicago 7, Soviet tanks in Prague, Hair, Mrs. Robinson, and Che Guevara populate the memories of many. The Beatles visited the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. North Korea grabbed the Pueblo, astronauts orbited the moon.
None of that meant much to me, or means much today. It was all far away – as far away as Tet, Khe Sanh, and the A Shau valley were for most Americans, whether or not they understand that. Veterans rarely share experiences with non-veterans, probably because there is so little shared experience.
April 5 and June 5 are not dates seared in my memory as they are for many Americans. May 21 is. Brian Tierney was killed in action near Quang Tri, South Vietnam. Brian arrived “in country” on December 8, two weeks after I did. We were assigned to Company D, 1st Battalion, 12th Cavalry. Fifty-three in our battalion died during the following year. In that same year decorations for soldiers of Company D included a Medal of Honor and two Distinguished Service Crosses. There would be 14,590 US, 979 allied, and – belying one of many cherished myths of that war – 70,695 soldiers of the Republic of South Vietnam who died in combat in 1968. It was a year in which we won on the ground and were sold out at home.
I was a Platoon Leader. Brian, who was 19, (I was just 21) became my RTO (he carried my radio). We were in the An Lao valley in for Christmas. In Quang Tri for Tet, I dragged Brian where he quite rightly didn’t want to go. When 122 mm rockets were screaming in on Route 9 southwest of Khe Sanh, we got as deep as possible in our foxhole. We were bombed by a “friendly” F-100 in the A Shau. On a starry night the ground shook while we watched an arc light strike down the valley. We pitched a tent of two ponchos together nearly every night. When I became the company executive officer in May, Brian remained in the third platoon.
On May 21, the battalion’s commander, flying overhead, thought he saw an enemy soldier. Inexplicably, he decided it would be a good idea to drop a couple of infantrymen in to investigate, and so stopped by the nearby Company D for volunteers – one of whom was Brian.
The official citation for Brian E. Tierney’s Distinguished Service Cross reads:
For extraordinary heroism in connection with military operations involving conflict with an armed hostile force in the Republic of Vietnam: Specialist Four Tierney distinguished himself by exceptionally valorous actions on 21 May 1968 while serving as a radio telephone operator near Quang Tri City. Specialist Tierney and two other soldiers entered a small village to capture a Viet Cong whose position had been spotted from a helicopter. When the point man saw the enemy crouching in a thicket and ordered him to surrender, the communist started to stand up as if to give himself up, but suddenly threw a grenade that he had been concealing. Seeing the deadly missile land a few feet from himself and his companions, Specialist Tierney shouted a warning and lunged towards the grenade to shield the others from the blast. Specialist Tierney was mortally wounded when the grenade exploded, but by his selfless act he saved his companions from injury. Specialist Four Tierney’s extraordinary heroism and devotion to duty, at the cost of his life, were in keeping with the highest traditions of the military service and reflect great credit upon himself, his unit, and the United States Army.
Brian’s father wrote me in June: “Brian arrived home and was buried in our little cemetery here in Roxbury on June 5. He had many friends, and there are a great many people in the area who appreciate what he has done for his country...We are greatly consoled by your words about Brian as a person and as a soldier. We have tried to instill good ideals in our children, and a sense of responsibility and conscientiousness to duty. Above all, especially while over there I wanted him to be a good soldier, and according to your letter and that of Capt. Kent and SP4 Dyer, he was just that. Thank you for the copy of the proposed citation. It seems he has gone beyond my highest expectations by his gallant deed.
Thank you for being a friend of Brian...We wish you all safety and well-being, and pray for the end to this and all conflicts as soon as possible.
May God bless you."
Brian E Tierney is memorialized on Line 2 of Panel 65E on the Vietnam Memorial and in the hearts of his friends and comrades forever.
Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy were assassinated. Columbia University, the Chicago 7, Soviet tanks in Prague, Hair, Mrs. Robinson, and Che Guevara populate the memories of many. The Beatles visited the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. North Korea grabbed the Pueblo, astronauts orbited the moon.
None of that meant much to me, or means much today. It was all far away – as far away as Tet, Khe Sanh, and the A Shau valley were for most Americans, whether or not they understand that. Veterans rarely share experiences with non-veterans, probably because there is so little shared experience.
April 5 and June 5 are not dates seared in my memory as they are for many Americans. May 21 is. Brian Tierney was killed in action near Quang Tri, South Vietnam. Brian arrived “in country” on December 8, two weeks after I did. We were assigned to Company D, 1st Battalion, 12th Cavalry. Fifty-three in our battalion died during the following year. In that same year decorations for soldiers of Company D included a Medal of Honor and two Distinguished Service Crosses. There would be 14,590 US, 979 allied, and – belying one of many cherished myths of that war – 70,695 soldiers of the Republic of South Vietnam who died in combat in 1968. It was a year in which we won on the ground and were sold out at home.
I was a Platoon Leader. Brian, who was 19, (I was just 21) became my RTO (he carried my radio). We were in the An Lao valley in for Christmas. In Quang Tri for Tet, I dragged Brian where he quite rightly didn’t want to go. When 122 mm rockets were screaming in on Route 9 southwest of Khe Sanh, we got as deep as possible in our foxhole. We were bombed by a “friendly” F-100 in the A Shau. On a starry night the ground shook while we watched an arc light strike down the valley. We pitched a tent of two ponchos together nearly every night. When I became the company executive officer in May, Brian remained in the third platoon.
On May 21, the battalion’s commander, flying overhead, thought he saw an enemy soldier. Inexplicably, he decided it would be a good idea to drop a couple of infantrymen in to investigate, and so stopped by the nearby Company D for volunteers – one of whom was Brian.
The official citation for Brian E. Tierney’s Distinguished Service Cross reads:
For extraordinary heroism in connection with military operations involving conflict with an armed hostile force in the Republic of Vietnam: Specialist Four Tierney distinguished himself by exceptionally valorous actions on 21 May 1968 while serving as a radio telephone operator near Quang Tri City. Specialist Tierney and two other soldiers entered a small village to capture a Viet Cong whose position had been spotted from a helicopter. When the point man saw the enemy crouching in a thicket and ordered him to surrender, the communist started to stand up as if to give himself up, but suddenly threw a grenade that he had been concealing. Seeing the deadly missile land a few feet from himself and his companions, Specialist Tierney shouted a warning and lunged towards the grenade to shield the others from the blast. Specialist Tierney was mortally wounded when the grenade exploded, but by his selfless act he saved his companions from injury. Specialist Four Tierney’s extraordinary heroism and devotion to duty, at the cost of his life, were in keeping with the highest traditions of the military service and reflect great credit upon himself, his unit, and the United States Army.
Brian’s father wrote me in June: “Brian arrived home and was buried in our little cemetery here in Roxbury on June 5. He had many friends, and there are a great many people in the area who appreciate what he has done for his country...We are greatly consoled by your words about Brian as a person and as a soldier. We have tried to instill good ideals in our children, and a sense of responsibility and conscientiousness to duty. Above all, especially while over there I wanted him to be a good soldier, and according to your letter and that of Capt. Kent and SP4 Dyer, he was just that. Thank you for the copy of the proposed citation. It seems he has gone beyond my highest expectations by his gallant deed.
Thank you for being a friend of Brian...We wish you all safety and well-being, and pray for the end to this and all conflicts as soon as possible.
May God bless you."
Brian E Tierney is memorialized on Line 2 of Panel 65E on the Vietnam Memorial and in the hearts of his friends and comrades forever.
Friday, May 9, 2008
A Personal History of Computing, Part 4
The road onward from Ski-U-Mah went through Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, coincidentally my birthplace, but a stop in 1973 because it was the world headquarters of the Aluminum Company of America, aka ALCOA. My BS in Marketing was going to make me a salesman – an interesting turn of phrase.
Later in the year, after training and orientation that took me all over the country to ALCOA fastener, sheet, primary (ingot), extrusion, and forging plants, I landed in the Bettendorf, Iowa sales office. The following years weren’t really the best, but there were moments. First child Heather came along in 1974, while I was unselling aluminum. Unselling? Yup, that was a time of “commodity shortages” including aluminum, and my job was literally to make ALCOA’s customers as miserable as possible. Turns out that’s a pretty good way to make a salesman miserable, too. Raising prices? Not the half of it. Changing the product mix; dropping simple extrusions for complex ones. Winnebago wants to extrude its own parts from ingot? Forgetaboutit!
Anyway, back on topic. Not much computer stuff going on. Typewriters. Calculators. Green bar computer paper mailed out periodically with numbers printed on it. A big mainframe was spewing out nunbers showing me I wasn’t making life hard enough on my customers. They weren’t taking their low-margin business over to Reynold or Alcan fast enough. It finally got me fired.
So I went home. Ok, they say you can’t, and maybe they are right, but the next four years weren’t in rural western Minnesota weren’t so bac. Courtney’s birth interrupted a golf game in 1977, I was a Jaycee, in a bowling league, a golf league, a softball league, and Co-chair of the Republican Party in the Sixth Congressional District. I was also selling real estate and managing farms, which is where computing came in. Renting land, cash or share, sometimes managing a “custom farming” operation. Negotiation, buying, selling – and contracting to sell – grain, keeping records. Periodically reporting to owners. The limit to income was the record keeping and reporting one person could do with an electric typewriter, carbon paper, a calculator, and a pencil. I was maxed out.
That’s when I found the IMSAI 8080. S-100 buss, Intel 8080 processor. Later Mathew Broderick’s home computer in War Games (1983). I’m not sure where I saw it. Perhaps an ad in Popular Electronics? Anyway, all that led to my first report dealing with computing, productivity, and business processes – a proposal to the Klein National Bank to finance a small business computer. It didn’t fly. Though they never said so, I’m pretty sure they thought I was “round the bend.” Little computers? In small businesses? Print letters and reports? Nonsense. Certainly nothing on which to risk the bank’s money. It was a green eyeshade era.
That little roadblock eventually took me back to the big city, but not before a campaign for the State Senate.
That, as they say, is another story. But not part of these computer tales.
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