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Who am I? Who am I going to be? What am I going to do?

Will I be like my dad and my brother?

Will I have an interesting life?

Who knows the answer - Who?

An Engineer’s Quest - In Search of Our Creator Part I

My Life & Selected Writings

My name is M. Dean Keller

November 2012

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To the United States Air Force:

You took a young kid, still wet behind the ears, placed him in the company of real men, drilled him, taught him, gave him responsibility and shaped the rest of his life. For this I am eternally grateful. I learned discipline, cooperation, laugh-ter, a feeling of belonging and, in combat, fear - but without quitting. I had a band of brothers who were there to drive me on and lift me up when I needed it. In the Air Force I started the long journey in my search for my Creator. I was encour-aged to go to college and given the means to do so. I did not obtain riches, which are so shallow, but did well and served my country as an engineer for over four decades and learned what it is like to love and serve my Creator and my fellow citizens of the world .

I had many brothers in the Air Force, some of whom did not come home. Gerry, my best buddy and Tom, whose crew took over our crew’s room, and many others made the supreme sacrifice. I will remember and I will never forget!!

Off we go into the wild blue yonder,Climbing high into the sun;

Here they come zooming to meet our thunder,At ‘em boys, Give ‘er the gun! (Give ‘er the gun now!)

Down we dive, spouting our flame from under,Off with one helluva roar!

We live in fame or go down in flame. Hey! Nothing’ll stop the U.S. Air Force!

Minds of men fashioned a crate of thunder,Sent it high into the blue;

Hands of men blasted the world asunder;How they lived, God only knew!

Spirits of men dreaming of skies to conquerGave us wings, ever to soar!

With scouts before and bombers galore. Hey!Nothing’ll stop the U.S. Air Force!

Here’s a toast to the hostOf those who love the vastness of the sky,

To a friend we send a message of his brother men who fly.We drink to those who gave their all of old,

Then down we roar to score the rainbow’s pot of gold.A toast to the host of men we boast, the U.S. Air Force!

Off we go into the wild sky yonder,Keep the wings level and true;

If you’d live to be a grey-haired wonderKeep the nose out of the blue!

Flying men, guarding the nation’s borders,We’ll be there, followed by more!

In echelon we carry on. Hey!Nothing will stop the U.S. Air Force!

The United States Air Force

This book is a collection of poetry, essays, a book report, and miscellaneous other items of interest to the author. Much is recently written as remembered by or obtained from documents and pictures in the possession of the author. Every possible effort has been made to assure truth and accuracy and to avoid

hurting any person mentioned.

All persons mentioned, dead or alive are actual persons with accurate names.

© by M. Dean Keller. Any part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or

transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording orotherwise, if it is being used for non-profit reasons or being used to

spread God’s love or inspire others.

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Have you ever wanted to relive your life? What if? What if?? What if?? - There are always the “what if” questions that arise. And as you think, dream, wonder and guess - you come back to reality and realize where you are now, what you have done, and if you could have changed anything, would the change have resulted in good or bad? I am happy with where I am now and content that my contri-butions, although small, to this “third rock from the sun” known as Earth have been more for good than evil; more for love than hate; and more pleasing to my Creator than displeasing. “All things work for good for those who love God,” and my love for my Creator has

improved with age. The start to a couple of poems that I have written has this preamble:

In a small way I have taken a journey back through time, and visited old friends and places with the aid of much information and pictures that I, the king of pack rats, have in my possession. Many of my old friends (and adversaries) are gone now, but they still live in my heart. The love for them that I had then still lives, and I know that they are more alive than I am, in our Creator’s dimension - which

is the really- real, ultimate reality.

Over the last eight decades, my adventures have included being a child with an innocent view of all, growing up, a student, an airman in combat, a student again, an engineer, a husband, a father, a poet, and now a senior citizen. Sunrise, sunset! My experiences during this

time have included love, hate, pain, joy, courage, fear and all of the many emotions to which man is subject.

Writing this autobiography will probably be the last major task that I undertake in this life. I have enjoyed doing so, even though writing some parts have been through tears. The memories that have come to me during this adventure and the joy that many of them

bring to me is worth the sadness that I have experienced at times.

I have placed much of my life in the open with smiles and warts showing. I have tried to avoid any episodes which would have hurt anyone, unless it was necessary to show the good that came from it.

I have fewer days ahead of me than I have behind me - an understatement - and I am at peace with most of my fellow travellers in this adventure called life. And I am at peace with my Creator.

Thanks: Special thanks go to my wife Jean for aiding me in the development of this autobiography in addition to making the last twelve + years the happiest in my life. To my son Steve, and his wife Mary, for taking me in when I was at my lowest point and helping me not only to survive but also to live joyfully. Thank you Barbara Benton for choosing Jean to be the Editor of the Eastern Star Jour-nal, thereby making me develop writing skills with an advanced journalist computer program. Some of the many who also helped were Debbie Mewbourne, my “Angel in Oncology,” who was always there for me and for the other angels at the Cancer Care Center who prove every day that they really are angels; and those wonderful people at Jean’s church, especially Barbara Swayze and Scott Wigton who encouraged me when others were silent. Also, Jessica Lanterman Nishizuka who read through this whole manuscript and corrected many errors in English, Spanish and Japanese. And most emphatically thank you Sarah Norris for reading through the whole document, giving me an honest opinion of its desirability as a source of reading enjoyment and also correcting many flaws.

And thank You my Heavenly Father for guiding me through the rough times so that I may not only experience joy in my latter days, but also be able to praise You with my most humble talents. I pray that this effort is pleasing to You.

We have one beginning, from mother’s womb,We arrive as a gift from God.

There are many forks in the road of lifeAs along this road we trod.

At each fork we must decide,The path that we must follow.

Some paths are filled with joy and love,Other paths are painful or hollow.These paths together are our life,

Will they be barren or full?What circumstance at each fork in the road,

To the left or to the right will pull.

A few months ago, about 4:00 am, I woke up and words were dancing in my head They were spoken to me, not audibly, but to my brain. After receiving the answer, I got out of bed and went to the computer to record it. They were in answer to a question that I had asked my Creator. “How long will I have to remain in this life?” I have transposed the answer that I received to the first person.

It is my duty and pleasure to remain on earth as long as I can; to enjoy my wife, fam-ily and friends and to enjoy the wonderful world which our Creator has given to us. Also, to help, love and spread God’s love to all with whom I come in contact.

It is my desire to return to my Creator to enjoy His love and the love of all those who have gone before.

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Pictorial

The greatest gift that God can give to man is the gift of life and freewill.Asking only that, in return, man will give to his Creator his gift-

a life, with two steps forward, one step back, in the pursuit of God’s will and in the service of his fellow travellers.

By M. Dean Keller, A most humble servant of God.

Dad, WW1 Dad, WW2 Chuck, WW2 Dean, Korean War Dean, Yokota AFB Dean, Yotota AFB

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Table of ContentsUS Air Force - Pictorial - Table of Contents 1-4 The Earliest Day - My Great Great Grandfather 5 The Early Days 6 - 8 A Little Bit about my Family 9- 22 First Love 23- 26

The United States Air Force 27-38

My Experience with the Japanese People 39-44

Spiritual Aspects of my Japanese Adventure 45-47

Discharge, School, Marriage, Starting Work 48-52

A New Adventure; Los Alamos National Lab 53-62

Spiritual Adventures in Los Alamos 63-68

My Three Sons 69-77

Retirement- Seismic Hazards Investigation 78-80

Across the Big Pond - the United Kingdom 81-82

Sweden and Paris 83-90

Winter in Hawaii, 1967 91-99

Jefferson H. S. Reunion 100

Winter Comes 101

Maria 102-107

Tulsa Town 108-114

Travel 2004 From Ocean to Ocean 113-114

Travel 2004 North-East United States 115-118

Travel 2004 South-West United States 119-120

The Wedding of my Granddaughter, Deana 121-123

Overview - Medical Adventures 124

As Time Goes By - My Un-Pink Toe 125

My Pink Toe 126-132

The Angels in Oncology 133

Coping With Medical Adventures 134-136

It Only Takes a Spark 137

Pictorial - Happy Birthday Jean 2008 138-139

What is a Friend, Humbug, Happy Nifty 140-141 Thrifty Fifty Birthday

Do Not Grieve the Holy Spirit - First Do No 142-143 Harm - In the Garden

Painting on the Canvas of Time 144 Fantasy - Dance of a Plastic Bag

Back Cover - Synopsis 146

Something to Think AboutOur Creator’s abode is infinite in all directions and time does not exist. Our universe was created from

energy activated by time and is in our Creator’s abode, suspended in space, possibly with many more universes similar or vastly different from ours. There is one Creator, but possibly many universes. We do not have a need to know.

Religion on this planet started long ago when man began to think, possibly 200,000 years or maybe as late as 30,000 years ago. The 30,000 year concept has been strongly suggested by burial items found in excavations at Cro-Magnon burial sites. We probably started with the worship of great mountains, volcanoes, the sun – and among those who chose to listen to the quiet voice of their Creator speaking to them – one God who loves them!

Man has a way of changing things – sometimes for the good and sometimes for the bad. A person, having different concepts did not believe what more enlightened persons did. He changed the image of God and sub-stituted his own ideas. He broke from the original group, which may have been right or wrong, and formed his own group, which may have been right or wrong. This went on for tens of thousands of years with man killing man for an idea which may be right or wrong. Because of our finite mind trying to understand our infinite spiri-tual Creator, no one was completely right or wrong. The Creator’s message was Love, Peace, Truth and Joy and anything else was superfluous. And so it is today.

We have one Creator: We have many religions: We have about 40,000 denominations in Christianity, some claiming that they have the whole Truth. We have a world with roughly 200 countries on five continents. At the last count there were over eight billion people living on this planet. Our Creator speaks to every one. Many are spoken to by the voice within, but few choose to listen. There will continue to be hundreds of thousands of reli-gions which will disagree with each other and fight each other, but those who listen to the inner voice will have Love, Peace, Joy and Truth. Persons like St. Francis of Assisi and Mohandas Gandhi are excellent examples of those who have listened to their inner voice.

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My HeartMy heart is awed within me when I think Of the great miracle that still goes on,In silence, round me- the perpetual workOf Thy creation, - finished, yet renewed.Forever, Written on thy works I readThe lesson of Thy own eternity.Lo! All grow dark and due: but see again,Now on the faltering footsteps of decay,Youth pressed- ever gay and beautiful youth.In all its beautiful forms. The lofty treesWave not less proudly, that their ancestorsMoulder beneath them. Oh! There is not lostOne of earth’s charms: upon her bosom yet,After the flight of untold centuries,The freshness of her far beginning lies,And yet shall his life mock the idle holeOf his arch enemy – Death; yea, seats himself Upon the sepulcher, and blooms and smilesAnd, of the triumph of his ghastly foe,Makes his own nourishment, for he came forthFrom thine own bosom, and shall have no end.

By Charles A. Dean

Fit NightFit night, indeed, for studying now,As I sit with stern, contracted brow.The glimmering lamp, with its flickering flame,Told of the poet’s immortal fame.

I sat and scanned the pages learned,And thought, as I carefully, over, turned,If Grecian Bards of olden timeWho wrote the thoughts of Gods in rhyme:Of their mighty power and how they swayedThe world, more than the gleaming blade.

The noble tongue of ancient Greece,Has sung the songs of war and peace.Yet! Bard. Who sang of Trojan now, I’ll snatch the laurel from thy brow;I’ll take that tongue of far report,To which the verses oft gave court;I’ll bend its sweetness to my will.Through it, all earth my praise shall fill.

By Charles A. Dean

A DreamThe Vesper song had long been sung,And heaven with dismal shadows hung.The songs of air had crossed to ring,Their notes of praise to heaven’s King.

Earth, enveloped in darkest gloomDeemed not a home, but a dreary tomb;The Forrest, topped with tempest might;As ocean turn by Aeolus right, Groaned, and raised its brawny arms,As if entranced by spirit charms.

The owl, dull harbinger of might,Pursued his prey with sharpest sight;And like the fabled bird of old,That sat enthroned, on a spire of gold.Or like the grizzly Forrest kingWhose thundering voice doth terror bring;Adds to the dismal gloom around,While terror’s bin in all abound.

By Charles A. Dean

Charles Albert Dean Jan 8, 1837- July 22, 1891 Married Emma A. E. Allen April 25, 1865Emma Adelia Elizabeth Allen- Oct 22, 1848- May 30, 1896GGM and GGF of Chuck and Dean Keller

The Earliest Day

Dr, Charles A. Dean was a Surgeon attached to United States Army, Headquarters, Department of the Gulf. He was stationed in Baton Rouge, Louisiana after the Civil War, where he met and married Emma Allen.

Going back more than 100 yearsSearching for the poet in the family

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Where do I start? I have to start soon because at my ad-vanced age, with a nickname of “The Old Goat,” one does not know how long the body or the mind will last. I have a lot of material from my life as an Engineer who lived an interesting life with pain or pleasure here and there and many tears but even more laughs. This is my Quest. I guess I’ll have to start in the beginning.

In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God- Oh! Oh! This is a little earlier than I was planning, and isn’t there a book already written that starts with those lines? Also, this is talking about infin-ity, and one divided by infinity is zero. That is the begin-ning. Are you confused yet?

New Orleans, Louisiana. Born January 7, 1932 in the middle of the big depression to Clarence E. and Hazel Dean Keller. Name – had to have my uncle’s name (mother’s brother) included and my mother’s maiden name, and of course my dad has the honor or bestowing on me my last name. So, McBurney Dean Keller. No, I did not like it. So I became Mac (the knife) to my friends and others as well. I had a normal birth and a brother who was born in 1923, Clarence Elmo Keller Jr., obviously named after our father. He really wasn’t a junior though; dad was born on August 15, 1894 and the computer must not have been backed up and they lost his birth records. We learned, later, that dad was Clarence Elmore Keller, so my brother, “Chuck” wasn’t really a junior although he carried the name for 79 years.

I do have a first memory. We lived on West End Blvd. in New Orleans for the first few years of my life. To the west of West End Blvd. there was a canal which was used to bring produce from Lake Pontchatrain south to distribu-tion points. Barges loaded with watermelons would go down this canal. Chuck was part of an unofficial “gang” known as the “West End gang.” One of the capers that the “gang” pulled was to requisition watermelons. There

The Early Dayswould be a guard on the barges who could jump from barge to barge, to keep the kids away. When the “gang” struck, a couple of kids would harass the guard on the other side of the barge while a couple more would pull a side stake out of the barge, which causes some melons to fall into the water. One day they were engaged in this endeavor not knowing that a Times Picayune reporter with a camera was watching them. I was told that Chuck and his buddies made the front page of the paper, as this skillful reporter published the epic story of watermelon snatching on the high seas. I, of course, was too young and too innocent to participate or even to understand any of these happenings.

Chuck’s ability to keep the family supplied with water-melon is not in my memory except by tales from mom and dad as an example of what not to do, or gleefully told to me by Chuck. My first memory is of running to meet my dad while he was walking home on West End Blvd. I ran to him on the sidewalk, and fell and hit my head. I had stitches and the scar was visible for many years. The scar I remem-ber.

So my adventure is started. No one will be flown in from out of state to tell part of the story, but there will be happenings and essays and poetry that have flowed from my typewriter over the many years. We’ll start with some poetry that I had written during the war (World War II), and that is obvious in the first two poems, one written while I was a paperboy and the second (Peace in War), written about 1946, reflecting my opinion of war after growing up during one (age 10 to almost age 13). “Peace in War” has been modified to reflect a more generic war rather than the one I in which I grew up. It must not have impressed me too much, as I volunteered for combat while in the Air Force during the Korean War. And guess what? They took me seriously!

The other two poems were requested by friends of mine so that they could present them in fulfilment of a class as-signment as their own during their English class.

We are the spirit of America, We bring the news to your door.We serve the public, colored or white,Whether they’re rich or poor.

We are in every section, North, East, South and West.Trying to please our customersAnd giving our country our best.

We are selling stamps and bondsTo keep our country free,And helping to build uponThe pillar of liberty.

So let us all pull togetherAnd let our foolishness cease,Lets buy more stamps and war bondsAnd bring closer the glorious peace.

Composed by M. Dean Keller,214 Harding St. Age 12N.O. States paper route 801

Published in Crescent City Carrier(Times-Picayune & New Orleans States Paper routes)September 1944Also listed in Honor Roll, for having the highestreport card average in Sub-station 800. WOW

Winning The War

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Soldiers fighting beneath the stars,Fighting for they know not what;Men fighting senseless wars,And yet,If you give a thought,You see “Peace in War,” or do you?

A soldier thinks of peace Not in the form of a dove,But in the sense of feeling safeIn the sense of having love.He goes out on the battlefield,He knows not whether he’ll return or--Still he goes out with spirit, But then, he feels a burn, a bullet,A small round thing flung from a gun,Causing a sting, and blood-Red as the sun shoots out.And as the soldier sees his life blood run away,He opens his lips and tries to say:“Oh God, let there be peace.”But there is “Peace in War,” or is there?

Look at a small island in the sea,To Japan it was a key.It looks so beautiful with its lapping waves;Great Suribachi, so majestic, palm trees that wave.Who’d think that once this beach had been red with blood?And Iwo Jima had caused the death of many men,On both sides..The cannons roared, the shells poured,The screams of dying men were drowned out,You could not hear your own self shout.

But “There is Peace,” for after, all is quiet.A new flag waves over Suribachi, And there, row on row, beautiful are the gravesOf men who died just to cause Land to be captured, to change a flag,To try and end more senseless wars.But there is “Peace in War,” or is there?

You see tired men, men you knowIn ragged clothes and dirty boots.These men rest, some see a show, but then-a sniper shoots.A man falls, blood streams from his head:Men hide, except a friend, Who goes to his buddy and says- “He is dead.”The hunt is on, they cannot rest,They must find the sniper, unlesshe kills another friend.Hark! A scream, a man come out, A bloody knife; and he smiled as he said “He is dead.”But there is “Peace in War,” or is there?

Another place, another cry; but it comes from where?A dying mother near her little girl,Their death came from the air,From the air, bombs, men can hurl.A child looks into the sky and sees death raining down,She cannot understand why they had to destroy her town.But still, “There is Peace.”

A grave in France is so beautiful and it shall stay that way throughout the years.But in that grave lies a young man, a soldier, a boyAnd at his home there is no joy, There are only tears.

Then to the killing fields, around the world-The restful breeze, now caresses the trees-Spacious plains and lofty mountains leap to the sky,But just moments, oh a short time before - you heardBoys, men, girls, mothers all victims lift their hearts and cryAs through the pain of torture, starvation and more They lifted their hearts above and gave up, to finally rest in peace, at last, to die.Now you can see their bones being bleached by the sun,For they live no longer, their pain is gone, their life is done.There is no “Peace in War”There is only HELL!

Peace In War

I do not remember exactly when “Peace in War” was written, but it was after World War II and Chuck was home again. My souvenirs were a Japanese helmet and bayo-net, some Japanese money, a few war stories, and my big brother back again. He and my sister-in-law, Pat, were married on September 4, 1943 and were now on a second honeymoon. A friend of mine knew a person who was a writer by profession, and we took this poem to him to see if he liked it. He did, and even sent it in to a publisher for us. However, the war was over, the next war had not started, and war poems were not in demand. So it was back to my paper route, going to a school dance when I could get up the courage, and trying to find out why girls were here.

Young Dean with Chuck, right behind his head, and Pat to Chucks’s right. The dog is Buttons

Meditating

With a friend

Pat & DeanPat and Chuck were married on September 4, 1943

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ThanksgivingOnce more my friends, Thanksgiving is here,And the poor turkey’s end is a drawing near.There are holidays for children,That’s all they care.But Thanksgiving came from someplace,I wonder where.

Twas in the new world many years ago,The settlers worked hard, still most of them were po’(or).Yet compared to Europe they were really living.So they all got together and started Thanksgiving.Indians came from far and wideWhite man and red man walked side by side.Friends and enemies were in a friendly moodExcept to fight over that thanksgiving food.

They thanked the Lord for their foodThey thanked the Lord for their homes.They asked the Lord to blessThe poor man that roams.They asked for blessings on the sickAnd blessings on the well.They asked to be steered towards heavenAnd away from hell.

Yet today we have more to be thankful for,For we have the greatest blessing of all.The Lord took mercy on His children,When He sent us Hadacol.

In Answer To Nancy HanksYes, we know your son.Big in stature, thought and soul.Brain of wisdom, heart of gold.His education was good, though plain,He hated to see another man in pain.

A great man among great men,A true Christian, a loyal friend.Yes, he got to town and fame,And everyone learned to love his name.

He went on all rightTo help his fellow men to fightSo that a slave, no man would be,And everyone could shout “I’m Free!”

Where is he now? In the hearts of all,.Although his mortal shell did fall,His memory lives on and on.Mostly legend now is it based upon.

Be proud, Nancy Hanks,And to your God you should give thanks,For your son is known wherever men are free,Abraham Lincoln is the symbol of democracy.

“Thanksgiving is as written in the late 1940s for Clem Sexton’s assignment in Ms. Schneckenburger’s English class. It broke up the class. Clem read it with a straight face. Note: Hadacol was a patent medicine which contained about 12% alcohol. The alcohol was listed as a preserva-tive, since it was sold in dry parishes. It was advertised to cure everything. Manufactured by Louisiana State Senator Dudley J. LaBlanc in Louisiana during the 1940s/50s.

These two poems won 1st and 2nd prizes for those who read them. I confessed to writing them to Ms. Schnecken-burger at the 50th Class Reunion in 1998 in New Orleans, La. She said that was naughty.

The end of innocence - Puberty strikes Sometime about age 12 to 14 a transition took place. I

had noticed that there were boys and girls, but knew noth-ing about anything in between, although later I learned that a very wonderful teacher and then principal of one of our schools was one of those. Larry, Harold and I would hang out, and each of us had a motor bike. I had a James 100 cc motorbike that I bought from Chuck. It was made in Eng-land and was a beauty. Larry had a Cushman scooter and Harold had a Wizard, which was a bicycle with a small mo-tor anchored to the frame. We would ride all over our sec-tion of Jefferson Parish, and over the Huey P. Long bridge which went across the Mississippi River, even though gas was costing twenty three cents per gallon.

But girls were strange. They wore different kinds of clothes, played with dolls and other silly things and looked different in bathing suits. With the war going on, we boys knew that we had to defend our country, so we sold war stamps, collected scrap and had mock battles with 22 rifles. We made “gas” grenades from burned out light bulbs, filled with ammonia, and other improvised military hardware to sharpen our combat skills. I wrote to Chuck with a “child’s” typewriter which you had to turn a wheel to change let-ters. He was in the Philippines with the Navy working on aircraft and engaging in close combat. He loved the letters.

I had an afternoon paper route, the New Orleans States, and every day of the week, including the big paper on Sun-day, I was delivering papers, firing firecrackers, and talking to people on my route when the strangest thing happened. When I was delivering papers to certain houses, young girls happened to be on the porch waiting to get their paper. I figured that must be why girls were so much smarter than boys in school. They read a lot. These were strange girls, not like the girls in our neighborhood. They smiled instead of calling me names and always wanted to talk. Then I met Mary Harrell, who had a brother, Bob, who was in college. He taught me the poem “The Cremation of Sam McGee.” There was something different about Mary. Puppy love had struck!!!!! It was great! But the most we ever did was stand side by side with my arm around her and her head next to mine and it “don’t get no better than that!” Then, after others, came Marilyn. Starting on page 25 is a poem which gives a brief synopsis of part of the rest of my life.

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A Little Bit about my Family

Although I said that this was all about me, it isn’t. I had a regular family with much beauty and some faults. We were close, but yet far away at times, especially my brother, Chuck, and me. The nine years difference in age and dif-ferent locations that we were in, due to our ages and world events caused us to often be apart. By the time I was eight years old, he was seventeen, going to Fortier High School, graduating in 1941, and playing the trombone in the school band. I was playing with lesser toys. Also, he was play-ing with girls and I did not know why they were here. On January 30, 1942, Chuck enlisted in the Navy and distance for most of our lives became the great separator.

The house shown above-center, located at 214 Hard-ing Street, was purchased from Security Building & Loan Association on August 18, 1938 for $4,500. This was to be repaid in installments of $26.33 at 5% interest. It was paid for by November 23, 1955. It was a three bedroom, one bath residence with a side screened porch and garage. In that home mom and dad had the front bedroom, then down a hall, with the bathroom on the south side, was another bedroom for my grandmother, Nan Dean, and finally a back bedroom with bunk beds for Chuck and me. There was a reasonable large living room with the front door, a dining room also of a nice size, with a smaller breakfast room adjacent to the kitchen. The back yard was entered through a small utility room with the hot water heater and washing machine. In the back yard there was a septic tank with a tile field for many years before a sewage system was put in by the Parish. This was also the location for the ‘“Victory Garden” during World War 2. There was a garage and a nice size back yard, for those days. Beyond the back yard was an empty field where kids could play and where we raised chickens and rabbits during the war.

Chuck was sharing the back bedroom with me from 1938 thru 1941. The most enjoyable event that we shared that I remember during that time is that he would take me to the Triangular Inn on the River Road where he would

treat me to a soda, and that he picked on me as befitting a big brother. I loved him anyway.

Then came the war years. I was age 9 years plus 11 months when it started. Mom and dad were sitting in chairs in the front of the radio while I was sitting, cross legged on the rug as I usually did when I watched, uh I mean, listened to the radio. We heard the announcement of the attack, and the declaration of war by President Roosevelt. Chuck enlisted in the Navy soon afterward and dad became a member of the navel forces serving on the Mississippi river. I continued with school and then my paper route. Mom worked with volunteer services, I don’t remember which. I purchased war stamps and later cashed one in to purchase a Kodak 5x7 photo enlarger.

A hobby that I had was developing film (black and white) and making enlargements of them. I had a surprise one time in high school A class mate of mine brought me a roll of film and asked me to develop and make enlarge-ments. Since he was a football player, and a friend, I did so at no charge. It was fun doing favors for my friends. When I developed the film I found that one negative was of a group of my class mates with their pants down, forward view. Their faces were covered. Well, I made enlargements and gave them to him. No, I did not keep one for myself. They were showing it to selected persons around school with no hint as to where these pictures were developed. At one “showing” a young girl looked at the picture and said “that’s (name deleted.)” I saw him at the fiftieth reunion of the class, and he did not remember that incident. I did not mention it to the young lady who made the observation, she was then his wife of many years.

I continued through high school, then through a course in accounting and business which was given by the Times Picayune Publishing Company for persons who still deliv-ered the Times Picayune or New Orleans States newspa-pers.

-Way Down Yonder in New Orleans-

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The next big event in my life was to purchase a James lightweight motorcycle, made in the UK right after WW II, from my brother, which I rode all over the parish with myfriends Larry, Harold and “Boogalee (Roy) Leblanc.” Harold and Larry lived on the next street to mine, and we were always together. Boogalee’s last name was an old dis-tinguished French name, and he was a real Louisiana boy, with a strong French accent. We met him one day as we were riding and he started riding with us. He was a lot of fun and we were happy to have him along. I only had one accident with it when I hit a car parked on the highway in front of Schoff’s Bakery after dark with no lights on. I ran right into the back of the parked car. I wasn’t badly hurt but had to keep my knee stiff for a few days. The bike needed a new front wheel, but soon was functional again.

It was unfortunate that I had to be raised in a segregated society, but that was just how it was. One day I accidently drank from a drinking fountain and then looked up and saw that it was ‘“for colored only.” I was shocked, and did not know what to do. My mother worked at times during my youth and we had a “colored” young lady who took care of me when she was gone. I still have a letter from her that she wrote to me when I was in Korea. She told me how she would take me home with her when my mom was going to be late, and feed me. She loved me and I loved her - my other mom -Gertrude. One time I asked Gertrude why she was black, and she answered “I just drank too much coffee when I was a little girl.” That was a good enough rea-son for a little boy who was being held by his black other mother. It didn’t reduce my love for coffee as I grew older.

We had a “colored” paper boy in our sub-station, and told him that his place was in a certain location in the area. We all liked him, and he liked us. When I would get on a bus and see him, I would go toward the back of the bus and sit in front of the sign “colored only” and he would sit in the first seat behind the sign so we could talk. We didn’t like it, but thought not too much about it - that is the way it was. I was never raised to hate, nor to consider that there

M. D. Keller, U.S. Air Force Korea

C. E. Keller Jr., Navy WW2 & KoreaC. E. Keller, Sr. Navy WW1

C.E. Keller Sr.Navy Reserve WW2

was any real difference between people of different colors.

My mother was involved in politics and ran for school board on Sheriff Frank Clancy’s ticket. She won, and was assigned a district which had a large black community. The political and religious leader of this district was a gentleman called ‘the Reverent Clay.’ He and my mom became good friends and mom would literally fight for her black schools. And it was a fight at times, not like the pansies today who say they will fight for you and couldn’t fight their way out of a paper bag. She got them microscopes, books, supplies and other things that other members of the school board said these n.... would not even know how to use. And my mother was called a N.. lover by those who did not know that her love extended far past race, religion or position in society. Dad was the same, but he was less aggressive than mom - she was a firecracker!!!!! Some things don’t

change, for when an election came up, Reverent Clay would call or come by and tell mom that she had 500 votes or more from his district. She could go anywhere in that neighborhood and not fear harm. In fact we could all go there and be safe. Black on black crime was almost unknown, and the situation was horrible because of the segre-gation, but authority from both the black and white communities were firm and mostly fair. Freedom and self discipline have to go together; neither is of any value without the other.

Mom at cactus in the front of the house

Small kitchenette with kitchen on the left and dining room to the front

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My paper route in my neighborhood consisted of a group of streets off of Jefferson Highway in Jefferson Par-ish. On my route I had middle class people, both upper and lower in that category. Most were very nice. They were white and black, young and old, handicapped and fit, and law abiding and members of the Mafia. I had to collect for the papers every week, or some by the month, but had close contact with them. They were not just a porch or yard that I threw a paper to, they were people. One person who was always waiting for his paper was “Uncle Buddy.” He was in a wheel chair at the corner of Brooklyn Avenue and Jefferson Highway. He received his paper, we talked for a moment, and I went on to my other customers. He was always sitting on a cushion, and I heard that he had a gun under that cushion. Near the end of the route I delivered the paper to Carlos Marcello, the head of the Mafia in New Or-leans. He had a “gentleman” who answered the door when I was collecting my 28 cents per week. Never a tip!!!

When I was about 16 years old I was considered fit for a driver’s license. I learned to drive in our 1936 LaFay-ette automobile. I drove down Hard-ing Street, weaving from side to side, scaring my dad, until I could keep my hands steady on the steering wheel. But I soon had a driver’s license and some-times even took the car to school.

The public school system in Jefferson Parish (County to the rest of the country) consisted of an elementary school, consisting of grades 1 through 7, and high school, grades 8 through 11. I did not do spectacularly in aca-

demics and did even worse in sports but the subject that I failed miserably in was girls. I was shy, and scared to death of them, but somehow wanted to be with them. The girls were always smarter than the boys, and we only had 28 graduates in our class. I would have been in the top third of the class except that Dorothy Bergeron and I had the same academic scores. Since B comes before K, she was put in the top third and I in the middle third. Since she later mar-ried John Mendel, I should have demanded a change in the order. That wouldn’t have been any fun anyway, I would have been the only boy in the top third. I graduated from high school at the age of 16.

The war ended in 1945 a few months before my 14th birthday. Chuck came home to us and to his wife, Pat, whom he had married on September 4, 1943. A neighbor of ours also came home from the European theater. The neighbor gave me a German helmet, and Chuck gave me a Japanese helmet and bayonet. As the war surplus stores opened we had large military batteries powering bright chrome lights on our motor bikes. We were - what should I say - the cat’s meow. Oh. we were the victors and were rejoicing in the new peace and no more rationing.

I continued through high school, then through a course in accounting and business which was given by the Times Picayune Publishing Company for persons who still de-livered the Times Picayune or New Orleans States news-papers. At the end of business school I was nearing 18 years old, and by that time I learned a little about why there were girls. My experience with “love” was wonderful and painful, and played a big part of my next major decision. About five months before my 18th birthday I enlisted in the United States Air Force. For most of my life I had been separated from my brother by age, war and distance. Now I was being separated from mom and dad also, for the first time in my life. I wouldn’t be completely alone; Charles Gardner and Eddie Newchurch enlisted with me, but were out of my life before basic training ended. What a buddy system! I did make many new friends during basic and for the first time in my sheltered life I was surrounded by persons from all parts of the United States, even Yankees (I was 12 years old before I learned that “damn Yankee” was two words - but not from my home). I was also in contact with many African Americans and had one, Jim Smith, who was my squad leader He told me that he was smarter than I was, and that was why he was chosen to be squad leader. Another African American, Ambrose Thomas a former prize fighter, was the “Flight” leader. Ambrose was a most wonderful person, very gentle and caring for all. I also had a Jewish friend, Ronald Cohn, who was very devout, and was often picked on by some other members of the Flight (about 65 men) for being Jewish. One day he was being harassed, when I stepped in front of him and stated “if you want to pick on Ronald because he screws up, OK. If you want to pick on him because he is Jewish, pick on me first.” I was over six foot-two inches tall and could blow up like a blow fish, so they backed down and behaved themselves. After that, our Flight was assigned to KP (kitchen police) - somebody has to cook the food, peel the potatoes, wash the dishes, and this was real military training. Besides, as inexperienced as we were, we assured that the food was not fit to eat. On one tour, I was assigned to “pots and pans,” which was one of the worst jobs in KP. You had to scrub enormous pots and pans with hot (that’s real hot) water. When Ronald heard that I had pots and pans, he volun-teered for the same job. He did this so he could be with me. He told me that the water was many degrees cooler depend-ing on the person with whom you were working.

We continued with our training doing push-ups and numerous other exercises every day. We were up at 5 AM, or was it 4 AM, to start the day and got to bed early. We had parties in the barracks - GI parties where you get to scrub the wood floors until they shine, to clean the latrine until it glistens, and to scrub every stair until not a spot can be seen. We learned to fire the 45 caliber pistol, and were to fire a “grease gun,” a sub machine gun, but never had the opportunity. We learned how to wear a gas mask, and how tear gas felt when you take off the mask in a room full of it. And at the end we were allowed, within Air Force needs, to pick our next assignments. I chose to be a radio operator to be at Keesler Air Force base, near New Orleans.

Jefferson High School

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In July of 1946 Chuck reenlisted in the Navy and was stationed at the Naval Air Station at the Lake front in New Orleans. So at this time, except for about a year at Keesler and leaves, we were again separated by distance. Dur-ing this time he was still an aircraft mechanic with many administrative duties and supervisory assignments. I was learning; he was doing. Later on in life, during his last five years or so, he made a comment that we were close, but were separated by age, distance and education. I had a masters degree in engineering; Chuck was trained in the Navy, in some of the best schools that could be developed. I told him that it is not what goes into a person that makes him a success, but what comes out - and he was as good an engineer as I was, and most probably better. In the next few pages our two separate paths will be discussed. Much of my story is already told in the earlier part of this biogra-phy, this will be mostly about Chuck, and comparisons.

1949 though 1956 -following similar paths

During these seven years Chuck and I had much in com-mon but were still often separated by distance. The differ-ence in age had become less important, although I was still the little brother and he the big brother. And yes, I did still look up to him. I enlisted in the peace time Air Force on August 1, 1949 and my “home” during this time was Lack-land AFB, in San Antonio, Texas, Keesler AFB in Biloxi, Mississippi, MacDill AFB in Tampa, Florida, Randolph AFB in San Antonio, Travis AFB in California and Yokota AFB in Fussa, Japan., I was finally stationed at Fairchild AFB. in Spokane WA, awaiting discharge. I was in Japan, flying over Korea from May of 1951 to June of 1952. This accounts for three years, four months and fifteen days as a member of the United States Air Force

Chuck had reenlisted in the United States Navy on July 8, 1946 and was stationed at the Naval Air Station in New Orleans, Louisiana. His accomplishments during this time were magnificent and ranged from advanced Navy require-ments to Flying school to obtain a commercial pilot’s licence, to captain of the swim team, and a record breaker as well, president of the Rebel flying club and writing for the Naval station for three years, and more and more. All this with very high grades as well.

We had both completed our combat assignments, Chuck in the Philippines in WWII, which included hand-to-hand combat, and on the Oriskany during the Korean war in relative safety. I had completed my combat missions, about 40 plus, as a radio operator on a RB-29 reconnaissance aircraft; a “Spy in the Sky” with the luxury of sleeping in my own or a similar Air Force bed every night. However, it wasn’t a game. My best buddy, Gerry Johnson, was shot down on October 23, 1951, and the replacement crew which took our aircraft and the replacement crew which took our room were both shot down, the former one month after I had left, and the other, with Tom Shipp who took my bed, the radio operator, in October 1952.

From July of 1953 to December of 1954 Chuck was in the far east partici-pating in the Korean war. His assignment was on the aircraft carrier Oriskany (CVA34). The Oriskany departed San Francisco 14 September 1953 to aid the 7th Fleet watching over the uneasy truce in Korea, arriving at Yokosuka on 15 October. Thereafter she cruised the Sea of Japan, the East China Sea, and the area of the Philippines. After providing air support for Marine amphibious assault exercises at Iwo Jima, the carrier returned to San Diego 22 April 1954. Chuck left the Oriskany at that time and was assigned to Electronics school in Memphis, Tennessee. I also went back to school, to Tulane University in New Orleans, starting in February 1953 and completing the courses for my Bachelor’s degree in Civil Engineering in May 1956, a total of three years and three months.

In December of 1954, Chuck, started school in advanced electronics at the Naval Air Tech Training Center in Mem-phis, Tennessee. His schooling in electronics, advanced electronics, section leader, instructor, missile guidance schooling, and on and on went continuously through 1960, and beyond. He absorbed all information, improved on the information given him and became an outstanding elec-tronics engineer/technician. In the meantime I went on to obtain my master’s degree in civil/structural engineering from Tulane University and starting amassing experience in the practice of engineering.

1957 through 1963 - Separated but learningLocations:Dean - New Orleans, Mandeville & Slidell in Louisiana Chuck - Alameda, CA, USS Lexington (sea), Barbers Pt, HI, Pearl Harbor, HI.

During this period I went from the Corp of Engineers, to Bedell and Nelson, Engineers, to Prestressed Concrete Products Company and to the Boeing Company, all in the New Orleans area, Mandeville and Slidell, Louisiana area. Chuck went to many excellent Naval training centers and received on-the-job training at which he always received excellent ratings, to become the equivalent of any graduate electrical engineer from any school in the world.

Chuck was way ahead of me at the start of my engineer-ing career. My subconscious mind was assimilating the information and my efforts were adequate for a beginner, but logic had not yet kicked in. After a couple of years of doing, I had my peers coming to me and presenting me with engineering problems because they needed someone who could think logically. Of course, by this time, I was buying many engineering books through the McGraw Hill Engineering Book Club, and spending many hours learn-ing. Soon though, Chuck and I were close enough in age,

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relatively speaking, where age didn’t matter, and we were equal in proficiency in our chosen fields, with he being better than I in some areas and vice versa. Distance still kept us apart, but we were both making contributions to our professions and earning our keep. Some of our letters of commendations are included in this story of our lives.

I do not know the exact date of the completion of the project, nor the completion of the extensive tests, but have the above picture which places this event in early 1961, This is confirmed by the letters of commendation and the letter of recommendation written for his retirement on Oc-tober 17, 1962, with 20 years of service to his nation.

In December of 1961, at the Naval Air Station in Bar-bara Point in Hawaii, Chuck was inspecting an aircraft, and saw a tool which was left on the wing. He climbed up a scaffold to remove the tool, not knowing that the wheel locks on the scaffold were not locked. He fell and landed on his rear and was paralyzed from the waist down. He was hospitalized at Tripler Army Hospital in Oahu, Ha-waii. Through good medical treatment and stubborn determination, which Chuck was noted for, he forced his body through very painful therapy to improve his physical

Chuck had many successes in his Naval career, but one of the greatest was the application of his knowledge and dedication to the design, manufacture, and testing of the Regulus missile guidance system installed on the F8U Navy fighter. A civilian organization tried to do this and came out with a system which would not work, for too much wasted money while Chuck and his team did it suc-cessfully the first time.

condition. He refused medical discharge from the Navy at Oakland Naval Hospital. He forced himself to walk again and retired from the Navy as he intended. If he had a medi-cal discharge I do not believe he could go into the Naval Reserve back in Louisiana. Continuous problems with his back forced him to use massive pain medications, have three major back operations, two of which I assisted him before and after the operations, and chiropractic services. Although he was in pain he continued to apply his knowl-edge while in the Navy Reserve and with other employers to contribute to the defence of our country.

Chuck retired from active duty and accepted a position with the Naval Reserve in the New Orleans area, effec-tive October 17, 1962. For a short period of time, October 1962 until December 1965, we were both were living in the Slidell, Louisiana area. I was living in a rented house just west of Slidell and Chuck was living in Pearl River in a house that they inherited from Pat’s parents.

I told Chuck about Boeing hiring for quality control, at which he was an expert, and he applied for and got a job just a ten minute walk from where I was working. Since Boeing was just starting up, and all he had to do was read procedures, he left after a few days. He was a hands on person who wanted to get into the middle of a project, not sit around baby sitting pieces of paper. I don’t remember when this was, but he told me that he got a better offer from the Naval Reserve, so it was probably before the October 17th date given above.

Chuck kept year books for his trips and business en-gagements, and I was able to read them since I received his estate. It was sad to read about all the pain and the efforts he made so as not to affect those who worked with him or his customers. Many times he had to go to a medical spe-cialist to ease the pain, before seeing a client.

Chuck and Pat had an Air Stream trailer which they used to travel to various locations for his work with the Naval Electronics System Engineering Center. In late 1965, be-fore I left for my new job in Los Alamos, New Mexico, Pat, Chuck and Slo-mo, a Hawaiian dog, left for Waco, Texas to repair or upgrade electronic equipment for the government. Chuck bent over to get some equipment out of his trunk, and “snapped” his back. He was taken to an Air Force base that was closing down and placed in a bed there. There was not much that they could do for him since they did not have the facilities, so Pat called me for help. I took a plane to Dallas then went from Dallas to Waco in a DC-3. We were flying low over much farmland, and the back door was open to the best of my memory. Why? Who knows? But it brought me back to my Air Force days with the old prop driven aircraft which you fly by the seat of your pants. We landed safely and Pat picked me up at the airport. I placed a call to Joe Ladota, Chuck’s supervisor and very good friend, who did not know what had happened to Chuck. Joe said that they would send a Navy aircraft there to bring Chuck back to Oschner Foundation Hospital in New Or-

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leans, and I could bring Pat and Slo-mo and the trailer back. OK?! I never had pulled a trailer before. But Pat, Slo-mo and I got in the front, with me driving, and I took a quick course in how to hook up a trailer, and maneuver it. And we were on our way. Sometime later we drove into their driveway in Pearl River and skillfully parked the trailer. I never knew that Hawaiian dogs had gas, but I learned a lot on that trip. A week or so later we put a mattress in our new Plymouth Station Wagon and brought Chuck home to Pearl River to recuperate.

In addition to the Naval Electronics System Chuck also worked for Litton Data Systems and Computer Science Corp. I have letters of commendation from all of these organizations but do not want to have this “book” to be as long as a dumb congressional bill.

From April 1980 to April 1986 Chuck worked for Saudi Comm. in Colorado Springs on defence systems for Saudi Arabia. He was considered second in command on this project. From April to September 1986 Chuck worked for Textron Marine as a test engineer and then listed his last date of employment as September 1987, just about his 65th birthday. Considering his physical condition and the pain he endured ever since his accident, this was an heroic ef-fort.

We visited with Chuck, Pat and Sam (Slo-mo’s replace-ment) over the next few years and I was able to help him when he had to undergo serious operations and with his income taxes.

At one time, our family was in Los Alamos and Chuck and Pat were in Colorado Springs. Chuck was flying back and forth between Colorado Springs and New Orleans. He was then putting many miles on his automobile going back and forth from Pearl River to the New Orleans Airport. He was very cautious when he was locking up his car in the long term parking lot at the New Orleans Airport, and had many “tricks” to keep any potential thieves from learning what he was placing in his trunk and car.

His assignment in Colorado Springs on the Saudi Com-munications Test project was to design, build and deliver an electronic defence system for Saudi Arabia. He was the acting Technical Manager on the project and was second in command when the person in charge, Walt Leggett, had to leave the area.

We visited them in this area and spent time in the petri-fied forest and other beautiful areas around Colorado. We also went together on the narrow gage railroad between Durango and Silverton, Colorado. Doug was with us, so it was before August, 1976. A letter from Chuck’s employer was dated November 17, 1982. He worked there for many years, and retired in September 1987, so this was his last full time job. Following are some of the letters/commenda-tions that Chuck received over his professional career.

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Chuck at the New Orleans Naval Base. Captain of the swim team and award winning swimmer.

A blast from the past.Chuck and I were always hard workers. As you can see in this picture, taken about 1920, our MOM was always ready to put her shoulder to the wheel, or to take control of the plow, whichever was necessary.

An Old Aero Plane on the Ground

It’s just an old airplane On AROU-2’s line.

It never does fly,Just sits on the ground.A broken down hack

With no bombs in its rack.If it ever did fly

It would never come back.It’s done everything that

An airplane can do.It has bombed the Japs And strafed them too.

Look on its side, See the flags painted there-

An old aero plane on the ground.

After the surrender of Japan was assured, Chuck was ready to go home. Sitting on the tarmac at a naval base in the Philippines he looked at the numerous aircraft awaiting destruc-tion. He wrote the above song to the tune of Shanty Town. When he was home he taught it to me, a 14 year old. Naturally, I remember it for these many years. He was surprised that I still remembered it over 50 years later, when I sang it for him. Chuck was a poet, too!

AROU-2 is the Aviation Repair and Overhaul Unit 2 in the Philippines.

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We visited each other, with the picture above being of Chuck and me taken in our home in Los Alamos.

Pat and Chuck during the good days in Pearl River, LA. Best backyard barbecue in town.

Pat and Chuck exchanging their vows again on the 50th wedding anniversary.

Chuck and Pat aboard a ship, but not in the navy.

Dean. Chuck and Sam, in Slidell.

Pat and Chuck after Chucks last major surgery on his back.

Jean, Dean and brother Chuck - visiting him in Slidell, LA

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There was a song which was popular during World War II, Johnny Zero. It was about a young man who fell in love with flying. One verse in that song was “He couldn’t concentrate on studies, his mind was always in the sky. When he grew up he left his buddies and Johnny learned how to fly.” Chuck loved to fly! When Chuck was visiting us in Tulsa, he wanted to fly again! This was in August 2001, just a few months before his death. There was a billboard advertisement on Memorial Drive for an ultralight flying opportunity, with a pilot. So, off we went out of town to find this airfield. We found it, and Chuck suited up again, just like in the old days, and took to the air with another pilot flying the aircraft. It was a windy day, and the pilot was a bit concerned since the aircraft was an ultralight, and was thrown around the sky. But not Chuck, he was in his glory, enjoying the cold, windy - rough flight. Below is a pictorial of the flight, using World War II nomenclature.

Chuck and pilot, assigned target, preflight complete, awaiting approval for takeoff.

Taxying down runway on bombing mission.Aircraft is a much modified Navy PBY.

In Flight, heading for bombing initial point. Back from a successful bombing run, with a full crew aboard.

Walking away from aircraft for debriefing. Any landing you walk away from is a good landing!

Ground crew ready to go to service aircraft and patch any holes in the wings and fu-selage caused by enemy anti aircraft fire.

Actually taken in the Philip-pines during WW II.

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On December 6, 1995 I left Los Alamos and arrived at Chuck’s house in Pearl River, Louisiana. This was to assist Chuck as he was experiencing paralysis on his left side. Connie was driving later to Tulsa to be with Steve and family for the Christmas holidays. I found Chuck, Tracy (neighbor) and Monica (nurse) in the house. Chuck was disoriented, but was glad to see me. He thought he was still at the rehab center, but couldn’t understand how they brought all of his pictures and other things there. Pat was in the hospital. I was busy cleaning all parts of the house, throwing out trash, and setting up the kitchen so that we could figure out what bills had to be paid and write out checks for Chuck’s signature.

On December 8, a wheelchair van was sent by Home Health Service for Chuck to visit Dr. Cliford Amedui who was in charge of Rehab at the Northside Hospital in Slidell. This ‘doctor’ gave many reasons why Chuck could not be treated in Slidell, and paid no interest to the paralysis. Nothing is good enough for our disabled veterans!! I then brought Chuck home and showed him that he was home. He seemed to be more contented. The paralysis on left side increased. On December 14 we brought Pat home from the hospital. I had to carry Chuck to his bedroom because his legs would not function.

On December 15 Chuck’s legs would not function, and we called Mary Beth Burchard, RN for a second opinion. She came to the house and confirmed the fact. I called Arcadian Ambulance to bring Chuck to New Orleans VA hospital and had to guarantee payment before they would take us there. This is after a back operation and different persons wanted to shift the blame from a possible stroke to back problems to shift the cost to someone else. Damn the dollars when they take precedence over the patient. A “doctor,” if you want to call her that, checked the back, and sent Chuck home without even putting the paralysis in her notes. She said “when a veteran has a stroke we just send them home to get over it.” They just left me stranded in New Orleans but Connie and Jackie (Connie’s sister) arranged for me to be picked up and obtain a rental car. I got back to the house in Pearl River while the ambulance was still there. The next three days were spent getting food, picking Chuck up off of the floor because he wanted to get out of bed, and taking care of all kinds of things.

On December 19 an ambulance was at the house at 7:30 AM and I followed the ambulance in my car. We finally met a real doctor; he looked like he came from India, who listened and ordered a cat scan of Chuck’s head. There were a number of idiotic doctors who kept saying “not my patient,” until the cat scan was actually done and a Tulane graduate, Dr. Hirsch, reviewed it. He said he had to operate tomorrow, because in two more days it would be too late. I saw the cat scan and the brain was pushed to the left side by blood on the right side caused by bleeding in the cranium. After Chuck was admitted to the hospital for an operation in the morning, I drove back to his house.

On December 20 the operation was conducted and I brought Pat to the hospital to visit after 10:00 AM. For about three hours we visited Chuck. The left side was no longer paralyzed, there was a good grip in his left hand and there were three holes in his head. The next day I went to Slidell to have a haircut, visited Chuck again about 2:00 PM, took Pat out to eat, and visited again with Chuck. I was assured that Pat was taken care of, so I went to New Orleans and stayed with Georgia (Connie’s sister). I turned in the car the next day and flew to Tulsa to spend Christmas with Steve, Mary, Frank, Connie, Aspen and Sally (two dogs).

At the hospital one person asked why was I there. I told him to take care of my brother. He said that is wonderful. So many persons just drop their relations on the front step and take off. I had a real brother, and I don’t do that.

The above is a birthday card that Chuck sent to me during the last few years of his life.

Written on the card above:

As the inevitable approaches, I realize what a wonderful brother I’ve had in this life time. I still remember when he was a long legged brain walking around, asking questions I could not answer. With love, Chuck

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In June of 1998, after my final retirement, I received another phone call, this time from Pat. Chuck was to be operated on again for his back problem, this time to place metal braces on his spine. On June 29 I purchased an air-line ticket to go to New Orleans on July 5.

This was to be the operation of a lifetime. The opera-tion was to be in two phases, to operate from the front which required that most internal organs be moved from their location and placed on the side until preparation for the placement of the titanium rods was complete. Then, all organs were to be replaced in their proper location and the patient was allowed a week or so to recuperate before the second phase. During the examination prior to the opera-tion the surgeon was explaining the procedure to Chuck and me about what was to be done, and what results could be expected. He must have used the term “death” at least 15 times during this discussion. Chuck did not show any emo-tion during this preview of coming attractions, but stayed the course. I was a bit more concerned.

The operation on July 16 by Dr. Whitecloud was a success and Chuck was fitted with a plastic body cast and told to rest. Ha!! Chuck rest? Pat came up to visit and was oh so sweet, but she usually was. So Chuck wanted to go home for that week to recuperate and do other more intimate things also, based upon his conversation. A stupid doctor was about to give him permission - but I spoke with a knowledgeable nurse who set him straight. He stayed in the hospital, and it was a good thing. He went in and out of reality and accused all persons of trying to do him in. One good thing that I noticed is that when Chuck got out of bed and walked, he was straight instead of bent over as he had been for so many years.

During the time between operations Pat and I spent a lot of time together. We ate often at great restaurants in Slidell and used up a lot of gas going back and forth to the hospi-tal in New Orleans. I did get to eat fried oysters which I could not obtain in Los Alamos, or even in Albuquerque. Mexican food back there was great, but they could really ruin New Orleans cuisine. Often I would hear a strong desire from Pat after a meal. I would ask her if there was anything else that I could get her and she would reply, in a gentle little voice -”ICE CREAM.” The second operation on July 24 went well, but then came the most disappointing episode in medical practice that I had ever witnessed.

On July 29 I was told that Chuck was being transported from New Orleans to the “Greenery” in Slidell for recovery. I went over there as soon as I heard this news to see how he was doing. Very Badly!!! He was sent out of New Orleans “cold turkey” with no prescription or supply of pain medi-cations and was in much pain and experiencing withdrawal symptoms. When I entered the Greenery building I quickly discovered that I was not in a flower shop as the prevalent odor was that of urine. The sounds coming from the rooms were what you might expect from a medieval insane asy-

lum. I was directed to Chuck’s room and found him lying on his bed with the most terrified look that I had ever seen on his face. In the next bed was a person either recovering from some mind boggling medical situation or who had just been warehoused to await his end. He was staring at Chuck and making incoherent sounds. That is the only time that I had ever seen Chuck terrified.

I saw one of the nurses and told her I wanted a doctor to see Chuck right now. She said that a doctor would be there in the morning, and he would have to wait. I told her to get a doctor there or get Chuck to a doctor NOW or all hell is going to break out around here. She witnessed my anger and we were soon at Northshore Hospital in Slidell. There was a lovely doctor there, Dr. Jacquelin Kirby, and she was experienced with the care of persons who were on drugs. She treated him like a best friend, found out which drugs he was on, gave him medication to calm him down, and wrote a prescription for further use. We went back to the Green-ery and I demanded that he be placed in another room. He was, right across the hall, with a person who had lost both legs because of diabetics and was not always in his right mind. I was appalled, but then, delighted. This person was Navy, as was Chuck, and even in their demented states they got along great. They would be up part of the night, just babbling, sometimes using naval expressions, to each other and just to no one at all. With the military “band of brothers” there is a bond that goes beyond sickness, health, mental condition or any other adversities.

On July 31, Chuck was “back” in that he could think, talk and recognize who was in the room with him. Richard and Rosabel Gonzales took my place and visited Chuck and took care of Pat and her transportations needs. There were good days and bad days but Chuck got out of bed and walked on August 6. On August 8 I took to the air and went back to Los Alamos, very tired but successful.

Chuck & Sam outside of assisted living facility, Azalea Es-tates, in Slidell, LA.

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Chuck and Pat moved to an assisted living facility in Slidell. They moved as much as they could into their new apartment, then had a garage sale for the contents of the house. It really hurt Pat seeing her clothing and other items being sold, but it had to be done. The property at Pearl River was up for sale, and sold. There were some under-handed dealings going on between realtors, but Chuck was not hurt, so I stayed out of it. They settled down, Chuck now had a motorized scooter which he learned to handle very well. Also at this new residence was Sam, the last of the dogs. Chuck would ride down to the dining room on his vehicle with Pat standing on the back, holding on to Chuck’s shoulders. Things went along fairly well, they had a lot of friends, and I was always on call if needed.

On December 1, 1998 I received a phone call from Chuck that Pat had died of a heart attack in Slidell, LA. I was already prepped for a minor back operation and could not leave.

Well, my wife had flown the coop, filed for divorce and my son Steve took me to Tulsa, Oklahoma to receive treatment for medical problems. In October, I flew down to Slidell to help Chuck fill out his income tax and other odds and ends. He was doing fair, but sure missed Pat. After that, the next time I saw him was when he came to be with me at my wedding to my present and wonderful wife, Jean on February 12, 2000. Chuck sure took to Jean, as he had a bad feeling for many years about Connie. He was mobile and had a great time.

He couldn’t figure out why they would call Tulsa “Green Country” when there was so little green. I had to remind him that this was February.

From September 30 to October 4 Jean and I were in Slidell to visit Chuck and Richard and Rosabel Gonzalez.

Chuck had bought a mobile home and was now living in a trailer court. It was then that Art, who owned the trailer court where Chuck was living, took me aside and told me that he heard “some people” talking about Chuck’s estate and that I just thought that I was the only heir. I thanked Art and told him that was Chuck’s business, and I did not need the money. It was also in Slidell that Jean first ate al-ligator. I passed.

Chuck and I had some telephone calls during the next few months but he was being taken care of by his best bud-dy, Evans St. Romain and Laura and Mel Leonard. Saint would call when there was a problem and I could usually help. Chuck became obsessed with “ghosts” which were stealing his things and moving them around the house. One night he called Saint and told him “I got one of them!!!!” Well, he did. With a 22 pistol he shot one and put a hole in the mobile home window which was behind the ghost. That was the end of his guns in the house.

On March 5, 2002 I received the word that Chuck had gone to join Pat in that city not built by men, and I, with Jean, Steve and Mary flew to New Orleans for the funeral. I spoke to the Pastor who said the “words” about Chuck- telling him about his combat with the Japanese and the hate that he had for them, and how this hate turned to love when he docked in Japan and met the Japanese people. The pastor made a beautiful service out of that, and more.

Then came the lack of a will. Chuck’s friends kept try-ing to have him make a will, with possible placing me in a secondary role. They would bring him to the stairs which led up to James Lamz, his attorney’s office, and Chuck would balk, and say “No, I want to think about this some more.” I was his only living relative, but never pushed it. I figured that it was his decision and he had to make up his mind about what to do with his money.

The last gathering of the Keller Family at the wedding of Jean and Dean on Febru-ary 12, 2000.

From Left to Right:All Kellers

Steve’s family: Jake, Steve, Frank (Front) and Mary;

Jean (the Bride and the newest Keller) and Dean (the Groom);

Chuck (big brother and the old-est Keller);

Lucy, Deana’s mother & Deana who is on the far right.

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Chuck and I had talked about this ultimate event, and we both agreed that the best thing to do, if one comes into a lot of money, was to give it to those who needed it more. He told me how the gift of a twenty dollar bill could be a God send to many people whom he knew. And towards the end he had made up a list of certain persons whom he wanted to receive his estate. I was listed for $50,000, Saint for the same amount with other persons receiving somewhat lesser amounts. This was shown to me in a hand scribbled note by Saint, and in a letter to the attorney by Laura, but the at-torney stated that these pieces of paper had no legal value.

A few days later I was asked to come to the attorney’s office for a meeting. There Mel handed me a listing of Chuck’s assets, totaling about a third of a million dollars, and Jim told me that I was the only heir. I was not even thinking about this, as others were, but accepted it as a duty to my brother. There was some disappointment by Saint. Money is a funny thing, and it was interesting many months later when I discovered that the “next of kin” block on the hospital records stated “none.”

I took this in, prayed a bit, and the next day or so told Jim that I was going to follow my brother’s wishes as he had stated in the letter to him. There was some relief by some persons there, but Jim just took it in stride as a rea-sonable thing that I wanted to do.

Before we left to go back to Tulsa I told Saint that he could have Chuck’s car since Chuck had indicated this before, and also gave him a check from my account for $10,000 to help him until the succession of the estate had taken place. He had told me that it was hard to live on a three figure income in these times. I had to figure out how to distribute the money in accordance with Federal Tax regulations.

We went home and then started months of paper work about the estate with faxes to and from Jim’s office, and all finally came to an end, and the estate was settled. I had opened an account “Chuck and Pat Memorial Fund” with the Bank of America and made some stationery with a picture of Chuck and Pat on the left side, and Sam, the last dog, on the right, for use in distributing the money as the spirit led me.

With the larger bequeaths it took a couple of years to distribute the “big” money in blocks of $11,000 per person (and the same for the wife) from each of us, Jean and me. I did take some of the money for myself, I bought a new laptop computer for about four thousand, and I brought Chuck’s card table and chairs home as well as a few other things to have of his. Pat had much jewelry which she was afraid to wear with the crime prevalent in the New Orleans and Slidell area. And many of Pat’s friends wanted some to “remember her by.” One day, while I was in Slidell on a previous trip, Chuck gave me a pouch filled with jewelry, telling me that too many persons were asking for “memo-

ries” and he wanted all of this to go to Mary, my daughter in law. I brought them back to Mary, and she was surprised since she had never asked for anything. Chuck really loved her, and she (and Steve) loved him - and it showed. Later, Chuck found some more jewelry and sent it to Mary by mail, no insurance, etc. He just had to “smuggle” some more out of Slidell.

Then back to Tulsa to make arrangements for what was to come. There was much correspondence with banks, insurance companies, the Veteran’s Administration, Fed-eral and Louisiana tax organizations, etc. Soon, the money started rolling in, and the checks were being sent out. The first check, # 1001, was sent on May 12, 2002 to a young lady for college expenses and the last check, #1100 was sent on January 12, 2004 to help a young man with college expenses. The account was depleted and was closed on February 21, 2004. There were cash gifts, usually less that $100, individual gifts, charity gifts, church gifts - all for distribution to the less fortunate and persons who needed money in an emergency, both within our extended family and to persons whom we had never met. There was one young lady whom we had to find. Chuck was in his motel room when he had a medical problem. The ambulance arrived and the paramedics applied their skills. Chuck re-covered but then discovered that he was missing two rings. They were returned by the motel manager in an “odd” way, but we left that motel and went to another motel, La Quinta, where Chuck was greeted by Brenda Tanner with a hearty “How you doing, good looking.” She was kind to Chuck, and was a real friend. We hunted her down, verified who she was, went to the hospital where she was having a medi-cal procedure, and gave her a check for $2000. She was in need at that time, and thankful.

Name & address

names

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Home is the sailer, home from the sea - Pat and Chuck together again.

All dogs go to heaven - so we know that Sam is there also

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We have one beginning, from mother’s womb,We arrive as a gift from God.There are many forks in the road of lifeAs along this road we trod.At each fork we must decide,The path that we must follow.Some paths are filled with joy and love,Other paths are painful or hollow.

These paths together are our life,Will they be barren or full?What circumstance at each fork in the road,To the left or to the right will pull.One of these forks which took place in his youthInvolved an angel from above.Maybe she wasn’t an angel,But he thought she was, his first love.

I will not tell to you the nameOf the girl that he did meet,Nor will I try to describeHer smile that was so sweet.They were in their middle teensYoung and full of funAnd from this simple beginningWill this tale be spun.

She was playing a game of ping pong.He watched as she took aim,She was good, and fast, and beautifulWith a smile you couldn’t tame.He hadn’t stopped to watch before,Insecurity was his name.

She invited him to play,He accepted, how do you score?You play till one has twenty-one, No ties, not one point more.Just keep the ball moving fast,And have a lot of fun.She did him in, with a mischievous grin.His life had just begun.

Something inside was stirringThat he had never felt before,What? A flutter in his heart?They sat and talked a whileShe always had a smileAnd soon was in his every thought.

So, on his motor bike,He’d often find his way Down the River Road, along St. CharlesTo the place where she did stay. They visited, sat on the stair.To laugh and plan, sit in the sun.What shall we do Saturday night,That will be a lot of fun?

I believe this was the timeThat his thoughts forever changedAnd songs of love were everywhere. He memorized these songs and thought With their words - innocent love was theirs to share.

They danced, saw movies, went double dating, Went to Pontchatrain Beach. Rode the rides, held each other, laughed, talked, ran and played, Had quiet moments without speech.

He did not think that anythingCould possibly go wrong.But soon a bit of sadnessEntered into his song.He found there was another,Not unusual at that age.Someone else for whom she cared.Someone else who shared the stage.

Things went from good, to bad, And then they went to worse,Without her in his life,Life was but a curse.School was over, no plans made,Happiness lost its source.So with his buddies Charles and EdHe joined the US Air Force.

First Love

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Before he left, they talked again,He had enlisted, soon to go,From New Orleans and the girl he lovedShe said, I’ll miss you so.He told her that he’d write and phone,His heart to her did yield.And if, God willing, his training baseWould be close, at Keesler field.

Lackland was for basic training.They wrote, and he trained.He was going to be an airmanAnd that required a bit of pain.Push-ups, tear gas, guns, marching,Up at the break of day.Not much time to think of herBut he did, anyway.

After three months of training,Came the word for which he waited;Assignment to Keesler Field,They both were elated. Each weekend they could be together;Forget the pain of the past.He held her in his arms again,Not knowing it wouldn’t last.

They went out double dating, He brought friends from the base,For a while they were elated;He didn’t know he’d lost the race. But he had.He tried dating other girls How was he to know?He had to live - words from the song“I wish I didn’t love you so.”

The song that was named aboveHad the following thought.It describes so well, what for so long, Went on in his heart.

“I might be smiling by now with some new tender friend, Smiling by now with my heart on the mend.But when I try, something in my heart says no-You’re still there, I wish I didn’t love you so.”

This song kept going through his mindWonderful girls he knew, and met, Marguerite at home, and other girls,But he just couldn’t forget.

Graduation came to take him awayFrom Keesler Air Force Base.He packed his bags and took a busKnowing someone had taken his place.His duty base was MacDillAn assignment on the ground.While Bombers flew overheadThat’s where he could be found.

He was now a radio operatorWho had a job to do.Stationed in Florida- he wondered,Is this for me, my whole life through?He walked around old Tampa townAnd looked at Tampa Bay.He met a girl named MaryWho was perfect in every way.But still the one he left at homeWas in his heart to stay.

But about this time a war startedIn a land across the sea.Korea was that land’s name andHe said, this war is for me. His father served in World War I,His brother, World War II.So duty called, he knew that he-Had to see this one through.

Into the office of the COWith a request as simple as can be.A salute, a pause, he spoke his words,“Sir- flying status for me.”

The CO looked at this kid-Tall, erect and kind of thin.Perhaps the thoughts went through his mind,Thoughts that went back to when -He was young and foolish and brave--When he first took to the air-He had to warn him of what he was doing-Cause those who love him would care.

So in a quiet tone of voiceHe said, ever so low.“If you do this - then I am sure-That into combat you will go.”He stood erect, thought just a bitAbout home, love and her-About duty, honor, country- allAnd firmly said “yes sir.”

His heart was empty, they asked for menFor combat duty, in KoreaHe volunteered, considering, maybeThat never again would he see her.

A week at home, before he left They met and talked a while. She said that she would like to write, He said, sure, with a smile.He felt that tugging at his heart,But knew it was too late,She belonged to another,And he had to face his fate.

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From MacDill to Randolph Air Force Base,For combat training with a crew.Bombing runs, practice drops,His crew was good, he knew.Survival courses just in case,You crash and need to survive,He thought of her every day,Not his reason for staying alive.

Six months from when he left MacDill,His crew was on its way, Hawaii, Midway, Wake Island, then over Tokyo bay.Stationed at Yokota, Japan His combat days did start,With flak in the air, MIGs everywhere,She was still in his heart.

After eleven months and fifteen days,and forty some-odd missions.They told his crew, you’re going homeFor this they had been wishing.

Twas sad to leave Japanese friends and buddies on the base,But real steak and whole milk would just have to take their place. ---- He did want to leave, although He left good friends behind,Gerry crashed and died in Korea,His body they couldn’t find. Our plane, with our replacements, Are in the Sea of Japan.Shot down by a single MIGThey couldn’t save a man.Back at home, his heart did ache To see her once again,He feared that she’d be marriedAnd he couldn’t take the pain.So he visited other friends he knew,Much had happened since long ago.Marguerite was wed, as was Mary,He was alone, I know.

So college occupied his timeFor three years and a quarter.Had to start all over again,And studying seemed much harder.But going through two summersHe made up the extra year.In 56, off went the hatWith the graduate’s cheer.

God did not mean for man to beAlone on this earth.Pain from the past slowly healsthat love might have new birth.He dated, and love came againto renew this gift called life.And in his junior yearhe was blessed to have a wife.

They partied and they argued,They traveled and had fun.They laughed and loved their baby boySo wonderful to have a son.They bought a house in Harahan,They were always on the go.Life was good, life was strangeHow little did they know.

They moved, had two more sons,Changed jobs as projects ended.Moved out to New MexicoWhere sky and mountains blended.

Received professional recognitionEverything looked like gain,But when teenagers were in their houseThere was a lot of pain.

They lost one son at age twelve,Their youngest, it broke his heart.Lost one son at thirty-three,his best friend - did depart.The only reason that I can give That he is alive today,Is the assurance that Jesus gaveWhen he said “I am the Way.”

A mixture of joy and painthis life that they share,Others suffered similar losses,Marriages broke in despair.Through the pain and the heartbreak,They suffered, but trusted God;And in the end, God’s love did win,They were together on this road we trod.

Gerry Johnson

Doug, our youngest

Entrance road to Los Alamos

Our crew - I am 7th from left

Connie

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So growing older, thinking backOf days way back then,He called his Captain from KoreaWho was happy to hear from him.Learned about Marguerite and her death,Must have grieved for a year.Love does not die, it’s eternal,He shed many a tear.

He had to learn what happened, I guess he learned too much.To find where she was buried, withHis first love, he got in touch.She told him, and he visited,And sat beside her grave.Tears did flow, love never dies,Thank God, that Jesus saves.

Spoke to his love of long ago,Still a flutter in his heart,God’s love was there, strong stillAlthough they were long apart.Marriage is blessed by GodThat two may live in love,It does not limit love for others,That comes from God above.

For Jesus said, while here on earth,Love God with all your heart,And love others in My name,Neighbor, enemy, be not ashamed.If in all persons that you meetYou see My glory in their eyes.Love is the only absolute,That exists under My skies.

Four decades later, they met againIt was a meeting of joy.Although she wasn’t a little girl,Nor he a little boy.He met her husband, a wonderful manThey spoke of days gone by.He was the man who took her away,He said, “A better man than I.”

Her husband treats her with love,Tenderness and care.They raised two wonderful childrenAnd a beautiful life they share.He still loves her, with God’s love,For God’s love never ends.Her husband’s name, he will not say,He’s happy to call him friend.

Well, I do like cheese, and I have never claimed to be a prophet so I was caught in a trap. Everything did not work out as foreseen in this narrative/poem, but it was a good exercise in placing my thoughts in order about the pains of being a teenager.

My marriage also did fall apart, although I was com-pletely unaware of it prior to the moment of truth - or un-truth. Before learning from others what had been planned for many months I stumbled over the facts while trying to determine what was going wrong, Strange phone calls from the bank and other sources puzzled me. Prior to this time, I had vowed to renew everything about our marriage, and did keep trying to save it, until realization of over is over finally became apparent. Then, that was it. As far as the marriage was concerned, gone is gone and death had replaced life. It was time to joyfully accept the “Life of Job” which was to come- well not always joyfully, but willingly since God was in control and He not only allowed this, but probably guiding it to prepare me for the joy which was to come in my new life.

The sicknesses and depression which came were but a “marker” between my two lives, and enabled me to break from the old and rejoice in this new life which was to change my contributions from those of my professional life as an engineer to one as a joyful follower of Christ who can make a contribution as a follower to those whom I, and soon we, came into contact.

The best laid plans of mice and men --- When I was in the deepest depths of despair, living the

life of Job, my son, Steve, my daughter in law, Mary andtheir two dogs, Aspen and Sally took me in and helped me go through an experience which was very close to death. No kidding: a desire to shoot myself, a trip to a psychiat-ric hospital in the back of a police car, three days in that psychiatric hospital, a car wreck, two operations, leukemia out of remission and idiopathic thrombocytopenic purpura (ITP for those who do not want to impress others). I also developed a greed which forced me to assume the alpha dog position in Steve and Mary’s house, and place territo-rial claims on what used to be Aspen’s (their male standard Poodle) back yard. He was very unhappy with me, but Sal-ly did not care at all. More information on this wanton act of mine is on page 112, right column, third paragraph, of the autobiography. At that time I received meaningful sup-port from many of my friends, including the one in “First Love.” With God’s help I managed to not only survive but to thrive in the new life that He had given me.

I was confused as I went through this transition, espe-cially the words which came to me prior to the start of this eventful transition in my life. (Page. 111, lower left col-umn) Although there was much wondering, worrying and stumbling as God’s plan was taking shape, His love finally prevailed.

Looking back, my life has been a symphony of music, with me supplying the notes off key, and my loving Father changing them into beauty.

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The United States Air Force OUR NATION HONORS HER SONS AND DAUGHTERS

WHO ANSWERED THE CALL TO DEFEND A COUNTRY THEY NEVER KNEW AND A PEOPLE THEY NEVER MET.

1950 - KOREA - 1953

The definition of a veteran: A veteran is a person who, at one time in his or her life, signed a blank check to the government of the United States for an amount up to and including his/her life.

On August 1, 1949, three buddies, Mac Keller, Charles Gardner and Eddie Newchurch, from New Orleans, en-listed in the United States Air Force. Basic training was at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas. This was uneventful, involving taking tests, marching, tear gas training, firing weapons, exercise and other basic training tasks. After a short while, Eddie had to leave the service on a hardship discharge because of problems in his family and Charles, after being sick for a short time, transferred to the paratroopers. So much for the buddy system.

After about three months of preparation, members of the “Flight” (64 + men) went our separate ways for specialized training. My choice was Radio Operator training at Keesler Air Force Base in Biloxi, Mississippi. The primary reason for this was to be near home and my girlfriend in New Orleans. These objectives proved to be of minor conse-quence but some skills learned at Keesler did help in the further development of my life. One, believe it or not, was learning to type, in Morse code, up to 30 words per minute. The typing skill was necessary at ground stations in the Air Force, very important in college and tremendously impor-tant in my career as an engineer. This typing skill is still with me and has allowed me to put into words - thoughts, concepts, magazine articles and other products of the mind. The other great benefit was the MOS (Military Occupation-al Specialty) of being a radio operator which allowed me to be assigned to flying status, to go to Japan and the conse-quential educational, religious and personal benefits which followed decisions made over the years. This was a life changing decision, but not for the reasons that I made it.

Following Radio Operator training at Keesler, on August 9, 1950, I was assigned to a ground radio operator post at MacDill Air Force Base in Tampa, Florida. That work was not very interesting, but the people I met and my at-tendance at a Baptist Church in Tampa were rewarding. Life was good in Tampa. I had friends at the Church, had a girl friend whom I had met there (her father had a Pack-ard which he allowed me to use for dates) and this was a chance to mature a bit more at a less hectic pace than in basic training. However, an event that took place while I was in radio operator training caused everything in my life to change. On June 25, 1950, North Korean forces invaded South Korea and the United States was participating in a “Police Action” to stop the aggression in cooperation with many other United Nations members.

In the first part of October, 1950, while I was still 18 years old, I requested a meeting with my squadron com-manding officer. I went into his office, saluted smartly, and stated, “Sir, I respectfully request a transfer to flying status.” This is just a few months after the invasion of South Korea by North Korea and the 307th Bomb Wing had already left MacDill Air Force Base for Okinawa for combat. There were bulletins on the bulletin board request-ing airmen to serve on B-29 Bombers. He looked at me and asked “Do you realize that you will be sent into combat?” I replied “Yes sir!” And a new adventure started. My dad had served during WW I, my brother in WW II and this was my turn. Back then, duty, honor and country were consid-ered precious by most.

I have records of all flights on which I was privileged to serve as a crew member during my Air Force career. We started out slowly with my first flight being on October 19, 1950. This was a training flight of 1 hour and 5 minutes just to see if I would fall apart from fear, disgust or over-whelming joy by being enclosed by aluminum at 20,000 feet above the ground. It was fun. My thirteen flights at MacDill were training flights, except for two.

On October 20, before I even knew how to operate the radio equipment on the aircraft, I was told I was the radio operator on a B-29 flying out of MacDill AFB to Biggs AFB in Texas, just ahead of a hurricane. I told the aircraft commander that the radio equipment was still a mystery to me, and there was nothing that I could do. He said that they needed a radio operator for this short flight, and I was it. So, I had nothing to do except to enjoy the ride for six hours and fifty minutes, most of it after dark. On the 21st we returned to MacDill, also late in the day and at night.

On December 15, 1950, I was a qualified radio opera-tor on a B-29 and we were ordered to fly to Ramey AFB in Puerto Rico with empty bomb bays and empty gun turrets. We came back with a complete booze load for the men on the base. Rum and other adult beverages were very cheap at Ramey and they loaded boxes in the bomb bays and bottles were stored in the cavities within the gun tur-rets. While on the base, cleaning up before going to bed, in walked Airman Maurice Olivier, a friend of mine from Brooklyn Ave, one street east of my home in Jefferson Par-ish, LA. We had a great time talking about his duty in the Air Force and where I was going.

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After my last training flight on January 15, I was trans-ferred from the 20th Air Force, 367 Bomb Squadron, Medium, to ATRC (Combat crew training) 1510 PTW at Randolph AFB in San Antonio, Texas. No, I still don’t know what a lot of these acronyms mean. I underwent 83 hours of flight training and many hours of ground school. This is where I met Stan Fluharty, Leroy Hudson and Gerry Johnson. We became the best of buddies These three went on to Okinawa with the 307th Bomb Group while our crew was transferred on April 17 to the 15th Air Force, 31st Strategic Reconnaissance Squadron (Later the 91st SRS) for more train-ing at Travis Air Force Base in Cali-fornia. We received an additional 48 hours of air time and transferred out on May 22, 1951. From Travis AFB we flew to Hickum Field in Hawaii, to Midway Island, to Wake Island and landed at Haneda AFB near Tokyo Japan on June 8. We flew our first combat mission lasting nine hours on June 13, 1951. About nine months from conception to birthing a new combat crew member.

Flying across the Pacific was interesting. We were passengers in a DC-4, a four engine propeller military aircraft. Our first stop was in Hawaii where I was met at the airbase by my uncle, William M. Dean. Note the middle initial. He also dropped the “un-mentionable” name and being a lawyer changed his name around. My namesake was my hidden namesake. We had met before when he came to New Orleans in the 1940s to visit with my mother and his other sister, my Aunt Ethel (Ethel Ashmore of Baton Rouge), and my grandmother (his mother), Nan Fenn Dean, who lived with us in Jef-ferson Parish.

After a short visit and an overnight rest stop we boarded again to travel to Midway Island. Midway was a beautiful island back in 1951. A few years before we arrived, it was the center of a clash of giants; the Japanese Navy and the United States Navy assisted by ground and air forces sta-tioned on Midway. It was the turning point of the war, with the Japanese losing many of their most qualified pilots. They also lost aircraft carriers and other ships, and their ability to mount a large offensive was greatly diminished. This battle, and the naval battle in the Philippines later in the war, were the final blows to the Japanese advances in the Pacific.

On Midway I took some pictures of “Gooney birds,” birds which were no longer capable of flying and thrived on Midway, a bird sanctuary. Their only bad habit was to be

on the runway when planes were landing or taking off. I also took a picture of a small Japanese cemetery in which were interred the only Japanese to land on the Island. I understand, from some of my Japanese friends in Japan, that the inscriptions are honorable.

Also on our aircraft were some ground soldiers from Columbia who were part of the UN contingent being sent to resist the invasion from the north. We talked and laughed and spoke in our broken Spanish and English,

and discussed things, as best we could with the language barrier. What did we discuss? The same things that teenag-ers the world around, who were going to war would think of. Girls, Señoritas, etc.

Landing on Wake Island was different. There was no smell of death, but you knew that many died on this tiny, barren island just a few years ago. At this time there was still burned-out military equipment around the island. We gassed up, ate and took off for Japan.

In JapanOn June 8, 1951 we landed at Haneda Air Force Base in

Tokyo, Japan. We were surprised that two nationalities, or many more considering the UN forces, were working side by side after the most devastating war that Japan or the US had ever experienced, with the exception of the US Civil war. Smiling faces greeted us and we soon learned how to say “thank you” in Japanese.

We arrived at Yokota Air Force base, Japan, on June 10, 1951. My military occupation speciality was to serve as a radio operator on a RB-29 reconnaissance aircraft, flying combat missions over Korea and surveillance missions over the Sea of Japan and off of the coast of the Soviet Union.

On June 13 we flew only one mission, a nine hour combat mission, and spent the rest of the time training and understanding the protocol for the area. In July we flew eight missions of which two were combat missions. Three of these, on July 5, July 11 and July 12 were planned to be an ECM (Electronic Countermeasure) flight along the Ku-rile Islands, which were held by the Russians. However, on the way north we lost an engine and had to land at Misawa Air Force Base in northern Honshu Island. The engine was replaced and on July 11 we test flew the aircraft for a little over an hour, and returned to Yokota AFB on July 12. Our second combat mission was July 27.

In August we had two combat missions and three “train-ing” missions. The word “training” could be misleading, in that flying from the south towards Vladivostok in the

Uncle Mac & me in Hawaii

Stan on bottom, Leroy above & Gerry to right at Randolph AFB

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Soviet Union would be considered a training mission and we would not receive any credit towards the 25 combat missions requirement for being replaced. We only had one Vladivostok mission during our tour with the ECM RB-29. It was equipped with specialty radar to record radar signals from the ground, take photographs of these signals and ob-tain enough information to provide the ability to jam those signals, if a situation developed making it necessary to do so. The Russians were reluctant to turn on their radar for this reason, unless they were reasonably sure that we were going to do something drastic. So, we had to fly toward the city just as if we were on a bombing run, and try to make it look real. Our ECM operators were keeping us up to date with moment by moment comments. “Have ground to air radar on, tracking.” “Ground to air radar adequate, have information required.” --- “Get the hell out of here.” Then a quick turn to the east, nose down, full throttle and away we go. Radar to Aircraft Commander on intercom. “Don, do you want to know your ground speed?” “Yes, Andy, what is it?” “600 miles per hour.” The words are probably not the same spoken on the intercom, but they are close. In an aircraft with a top speed of about 350 mph and a strong tail wind from the west (over 200 mph) we indicated to our Russian counterparts that we did not want to stay and play. Looking into the future, we completed our tour of duty and left Japan on May 16, 1952. On June 13, 1952, RB-29 # 1815 with ECM equipment, a large camera and our replacement crew was shot down by Russian fighters over international waters, while trying to accomplish that same mission. Eddie Berg was the radio operator on that aircraft. On World News Tonight, July 2, 1992, with Peter Jennings, this loss was discussed. Part of the discussion included the following: “John Berg’s brother, Eddie, was shot down over the Sea of Japan in 1952. His plane, a B-29, was on a spy-ing mission.” …Another person added: ”I didn’t realize that it was full of electronic gear and that they were actually trying to rouse the radar installations along the northern and the southern rim of the Iron Curtain.” The mission would have been classified as a training mission since flying over the Korean War zone was not involved. And on spy mis-sions the crew is on their own. The government cannot acknowledge that spying was taking place.

By this time, we had experienced enemy fire from anti-aircraft guns on the ground and I was sufficiently impressed to start thinking about improving my relationship with my God. My quest to know my Creator is discussed in another section of this discourse.

In September we had four missions, all combat. In late September or early October, a typhoon in the Pacific Ocean caused the 307th Bomb Wing, of which Gerry was a mem-ber, to leave Okinawa and his aircraft landed at Yokota. Gerry and I spent some delightful hours together that day and night, before he had to return to his base. We started out just talking about flying, our friends, girls, etc., and ended up singing many of our old favorite Christian songs, and talked about our God. My last memories of Gerry were of the two of us praising God together.

In October we had six combat missions. October was not a good month for B-29 crews. On October 23, 1951 a B-29 bomber on which the tail gunner was my buddy, Gerry, the person with whom I felt I had the strongest bond in the Air Force, was shot down over Korea. His aircraft made a crash landing in enemy territory. Friendly forces made their way to the crash site on October 29th where the remains of three crew members were recovered. All had been shot in the head. The remainder of the crew was miss-ing, presumed captured, and never heard from again. My buddy, Gerald Johnson, was one of those airmen missing. They died in captivity in a prison camp.

In the “Stars and Stripes,” the military newspaper which we had in Japan there was a listing of the fatalities in the Black October attack by about 150 MIG-15 jet fighters on bomber groups engaged in raids over North Korea. Jim Johnson, who was in our barracks, a member of the 98th Bomb Group also stationed at Yokota, bailed out over Pu-san harbor, but drowned when he was covered by his para-chute. It was shortly after this that the words formed in my mind resulting in the poem “My Lord, My God, My All.”

During my stay at Yokota, an airman ( radio operator) lost his leg when a direct shot went through the aircraft and his leg from an 88 mm radar controlled anti-aircraft gun. The shell went completely through the plane, almost dead center and he was sitting in the tunnel checking above for enemy fighters. The navigator, who sat to the left of the radio operator position, cut off the remainder of what was holding his leg on, and applied a tourniquet. The plane had completed its mission, so it flew to the nearest airport in South Korea for immediate medical treatment. This crew member did live, and we saw him working in the orderly room after that. The aircraft was saved since the shell was set for the bomber elevation and exploded a thousand feet above the plane. Our planes would fly under the bombers which were bombing the area, and our job was to take pho-tos of the bomb damage. I flew on that plane a few weeks later and saw a round piece of aluminum patching where the shell had gone through.

In November we had five combat missions, one of

which was only 1 hr and 5 minutes. I am not sure of the date but I believe that this was the day (November 20, 1951) that a very strange happening took place. The time in flight seems about correct for the event which took place. We were on our way to Korea, for a night mission. Over the Sea of Japan an explosion burst the calm prevailing and things started happening. Everyone in the front went into emergency mode, the co-pilot did quickly salvo the bomb load (flash bombs for night photography) and the aircraft commander called on the intercom for crew members to find out what happened. It was Ralph Ashton, the flight engineer who determined the cause of the explosion. He was warming some corned beef in a can in a 28 volt food warmer. The can was sealed, the heat increased and the corned beef was shot out of the heater onto the roof of the

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front section of the aircraft. We returned to base and this time it wasn’t the Japanese who cleaned out the plane after this flight. Ralph was given the privilege of doing so. Myflight record still counts this as a combat mission. Count-ing the combat missions, there were 36, including this one, more than the 25 required. If you count the missions which were even more dangerous than most of the combat mis-sions, there would be at least 40. Hey- I want some oak leafs for my Air Medal!!!

In December there were three missions, two of which were classified combat. On Christmas day, December 25, 1951, we were awakened about 4:00 AM, dressed in our flying clothing, went to early breakfast, were transported out to the flight line and picked up our parachutes, and then were transported by truck out to our waiting aircraft. We pre-flighted the aircraft, went to our stations and took off, heading for Korea. Early in the morning we were over Korea with our targets assigned. We were flying low, about two to three thousand feet, following a road that headed north. There was a GI Truck ahead of us on the road, with a group of soldiers being transported back to the front line.

While we were still south of them, we opened our bomb bay doors, and, as I remember, they stopped the truck and scattered.

Then we went to our eight targets; to our boys on the front line. After sighting in our targets we went in and dropped our bomb bay loads on para-chutes. The drop consisted of many boxes of goods for the troops on the front line. This was the yearly 91st SRS Christmas drop. The boxes and contents were built and purchased by and packed by the airmen back at Yokota. They were loaded with candy, ciga-rettes, whiskey, gum, whiskey, some clothing items, and did I mention whiskey? We were not shot at any time during this mission, not even by our own forces. Then back to Yokota and a little more sleep.

On Christmas in 1950 the first flight of this type was flown by a crew commanded by Earl E. Myers in an aircraft named “Honey Bucket Honchos.” This information was found on the internet in an article written by Earl E Myers. In their recap of their mission they were specific. They included 186 fifths of Booze on the manifest. That same day another aircraft piloted by Earle H. Ambrose flew the same type mission for another outfit along the 38th parallel, where his brother was located. Both of these drops were successful, and letters of thanks were received from sol-diers for the gifts. After they were sober.

I don’t remember when, but on a night mission flying parallel to the Yalu river, staying on the south side for ECM surveillance, we were engulfed in a massive thunderstorm. Lightning struck our aircraft caus-ing most circuit breakers to open. It took a while to close them, but finally we had all equipment operating again, espe-cially the radar, since we did not know where we were. Andy (Radar) called to Don (Aircraft

Our Aircraft Commander, Capt. Donald L. Seesenguth & wife Betty in Chattanooga, Tennessee, April 11, 1993

I am the skinny-tall kid, second from the right.

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No more early morning briefings in our plush state- of-the-art briefing room.

Commander) stating “we are about 50 miles inside Man-churia.” The aircraft was quickly turned south and we returned to unfriendly but legal territory.

Although we had a primitive aircraft by today’s stan-dards, it was sturdy. Perhaps not as sturdy as the old stand-by, the B-17, but we did have pressurized cabins. On May 31, 2009, an Air France # 447 jet with 228 people took off at 7:03 PM from Rio de Janeiro, Brazil with a destination of Paris, France. It was flying over the ocean through rough weather, with thunderstorms in the area. Unlike our normal B-29 flying altitude of about 20,000 feet they were flying at an altitude of 34,000 feet. At 11:14 PM an automatic message reporting system sent a message that there was an electrical failure and loss of cabin pressure. Their electri-cal system was state of the art for 2009 as ours was for 1951. What a difference. We still had vacuum tubes and manually operated circuit breaker, and our engine system had minimum electronic interface except for monitoring equipment. Our primitive electronic system with manual breakers allowed us to survive, but perhaps was a factor in the loss of the Air France aircraft. Some wreckage was located by the Brazilian navy about 600 miles from Brazil. The exact cause of the crash is not and possible will never be known.

January had five missions, three combat, February had six missions, three combat. I vaguely remember that we were doing some mapping photography in Japan during some of these months, and also some reconnaissance of Russian shipping in the Sea of Japan. March had five mis-sions, all combat. April had six missions with only one combat mission. Two of these flights consisted of going down to Miho Air Force Base in Southern Japan to pick up a B-29 which had been shot up over Korea and repaired at Miho. We flew down there on a two engine C-119 Fly-ing Boxcar. And a “boxcar’ it was, between two propeller - horizontal tail stabilizer units, one on each side. When we were climbing, it felt like the plane was going to vibrate apart, but the crew said that this was normal. We arrived at Miho and the B-29 was ready to go. We had a low fuel load because of the short runway and obstacles at the end of the runway. We have two flights on the record, the first for one hour and the second for two hours. The reason was that we had to take off, fly around the area to test the repaired engine, land and have the engine checked to assure that everything was still tight. We then took off again and headed for Yokota.

By this time we could smell our replacements, and in May they used up our remaining time with a combat mis-sion on the 2nd, a “non-combat (O-1 whatever that is)” mission on the 6th and a final combat mission on the 12th. Those are the scariest missions, just when you are ready to go home. But, in a few days we had the crew that was go-ing to take over our room, and had a chance to talk with our replacements. Mine was Tom Shipp. I remember sitting on the bed talking to him about the base, the missions and

the life in Japan. His plane was shot down on October 7, 1952 with all of the crew killed. The body of the navigator was recovered by Russian Sailors and later returned to the United States after the thaw in the Soviet – United States relations.

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RB-29 with the 91st Strategic Reconnaissance Squadron circle X on the tail. The insignia of the 91st Strategic Reconnais-

sance Squadron“Flak Shack “ There are two version as to her early demise. May she rest in peace. 42-93992 91SRW-91SRS Flak Shack [3992] 91SRW-91SRS: Donald Johnson, stationed at Yokota AFB, Japan from 1951 thru 1954, sent the following: “[Flak Shack] aborted takeoff from Yokota when one engine failed to develop the required power and ran off the runway. The aircraft was totaled and one crew member injured. Ted Moran, the tail gunner, shattered his ankle when he jumped off the wing. He was hospitalized at Johnson AB, not far from Yokota. Ted’s crew and I visited him several times while he was there. Ted and his wife accompanied my wife and me on a trip to Hawaii about five years ago (2003). Ted has since passed on.” Don adds, “One AC told me that the B-29 was the “best “three-engine” aircraft” the USAF ever had. Others have referred to the Wright engines as being the “Wrong” engines. (Webmaster’s crash in The Outlaw was eerily similar.) Caption on the back of the Lee Brunell photo, reads “21 Jan 1952 Total Loss. Marked Official Air Force Photograph APO 328 [Yokota].” Evidence provided by Collin Smith indicates that Flak Shack was a later version of Where Next? (Ed. Note: Eyewitness reports differ from various published accounts that claim Flak Shack was hit by flak in March 1952 while over the Yalu and crash landed.)

The Circle X on the tail of the 91st Strategic Re-connaissance Squadron; which became part of the 103rd Strategic Reconnaissance Squadron located at Fairchild AFB near Spokane, WA, It is now proudly displayed on the magnificent RB-36 -whose altitude and capacity earned it the name of the Peacemaker through 1959. One third of these aircraft were the RB-36. This extended our reconnaissance capability over the Soviet Union and China at an altitude of 40,000 feet, beyond the altitude of most anti-aircraft weapons at that time. The RB-36 cameras could produce very high reso-lution photographs: pictures of a golf course taken from 40,000 feet showing recognizable golf balls.

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My home away from home

From before we arrived

One of ours, while we were there

October, 1951 Combat losses, most after about 150 MIGs attacked our bombers from Okinawa and Yokota. After this event, air-craft bottoms were painted black and most flights were scheduled only at night.

Our crew L-R: Capt Don Seesenguth -AC Cmd; Lt Carl Grothmann - Co Pi-lot; Lt Arnold Herman - Nav; Unknown; Capt Hugh Anderson - Radar; T/Sgt Ralph Ashton - Flt Engr; S/Sgt Mc Keller - Radio; S/Sgt Will Sill - CFC: S/Sgt Oris Gassaway - T. Gun; Bill Daigle - Photo;Unknown

-- James Johnson

---Gerald Johnson

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Electronic Counter-measures

Declassified by HQ AFHRA in accordance with AF / IGSPB LTR, 13 DEC 1973

Electronic Counter Measures missions are those mis-sions in which specially equipped aircraft proceed to an area adjacent to, or within Communist controlled territory, and endeavor to locate and analyze enemy radar signals. An “ECM” crew consists of personnel plus several officers with a 7888 MOS (Military Occupational Specialty). These “7888” officers are all highly trained and superior techni-cians in this type of work.

During a normal mission, these technicians plot and analyze the enemy signals simultaneously. Using a Warick hi-speed 35mm camera, the signal pulse is photographed as it appears on the Lamont Oscilloscope. At the same time, the “tone” of the signal is recorded on an AKQ-1 receiver. All these results are then forwarded to the Air Material Command for further study.

The results obtained from these missions represent more than a physical advantage over the enemy. Missions of this type prove that the American approach to a problem is the “future” approach, and that the concept of winning a war by mere “slugging” is false. Knowledge is strength and strength breeds confidence, and the personnel of this squadron feel that their accomplishments play a major part in the ability of the United States to successfully penetrate the enemy defenses. The information furnished higher con-fidence more than justifies this opinion and the personnel of the 91st Strategic Reconnaissance Squadron will continue to accomplish their assignments diligently in an effort to sustain the superiority of the United States Air Force.

The first event took place on 8 April 1950 when a U.S. Navy (USN) PB4Y-2 reconnaissance plane was shot down by Soviet air defense fighters over the Latvian/Baltic Sea region with a loss of all ten crewmen. Although this was not the first time a Soviet fighter had intercepted or fired warning shots at a U.S. reconnaissance aircraft (several incidents took place in the Northern USSR/Alaskan areas), this marked the first downing of a Cold War reconnaissance aircraft.

The effect of this action and subsequent media coverage forced the Truman administration to seriously consider the international ramifications of flying future aerial recon-naissance around the world. It also brought politics into aerial reconnaissance operations for the first time. During a moratorium on continued reconnaissance flights, military and administration officials devised a concept under which continued flights would be flown. The JCS formalized this program on 5 May 1950 as the Special Electronic Airborne Search Project (SESP). With President Truman’s approval, the SESP was legitimized as a national intelligence asset under the JCS’s direct control.

The watershed event which did more than anything else to expand aerial reconnaissance during the Cold War was the invasion of South Korea and the subsequent war to contain Communist expansion in the Far East. When Soviet – equipped and PRC – backed Communist North Koreans invaded South Korea on 25 June 1950, U.S. leaders were convinced that this was the beginning of a systematic Com-munist approach to take over the world by force.

More than merely testing the U.S.’s resolve in the Far East, this military action pushed national leadership (and the USAF) into worldwide preparation for the anticipated conflict which was thought sure to begin between the US and the USSR. For the USAF, this meant not only greatly expanding air power in the Far East theater but also step-ping up preparations which would enable it to go to war with North Korea’s supporters – namely, the USSR and PRC. An example of this thinking comes directly from the Commander of SAC, General Curtis LeMay.

“Our analysis of available targets together with obvious considerations of possible adverse psychological reaction have led us to conclude that employment of AW [Atomic War] in the FE [Far East] would probably not be advisable at this time unless this action [is] undertaken as part of an overall atomic campaign against Red China.”

Immediate aerial reconnaissance requirements in the Far East theater were met by the 91st Strategic Reconnaissance

Squadron (SRS). When initially called to respond to the invasion, the 91 SRS was the only long–range (strategic) aerial reconnaissance unit stationed in the Far East and was equipped with a half-dozen RB-29’s. By the end of the war, it would be the largest squadron in the Far East with over 800 personnel and six different types of aircraft (sometimes totaling in the hundreds) assigned to it at any one time. (57)

Aircraft flown by the 91 SRS included the RB-29, RB-36, RB-45, RB-50, KB-29 and WB-26. The first four types were reconnaissance – configured aircraft which performed a wide variety of missions from visual and photo bomb damage assessment (BDA), through highly technical PHOTINT, ELINT and, SIGINT missions. The KB-29 was the first USAF refueling platform used in combat and the WB-26 aircraft were used for weather reconnaissance.

Historical DataFrom the internet - Declassified government information.

Cold War and Korean War history of Reconnaissance

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Gerry Johnson

This is me on the flight line on Christ-mas day armed and ready for Korea.

Gerry and I started out together on this adventure of duty, honor and country. We parted after combat crew training; he went to Okinawa and I went to Ja-pan, both as crew members on B-29s flying over Korea. I made it back home; Gerry didn’t. See you soon buddy, you are remembered as one of my favorite people. You are not forgotten. Dean

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Korean (Far East) Theater of Operations

10/07/1952: 44-61815 “Sunbonnet King” was shot down by Russian pilots north of Hokkaido a few miles from the Kuril Island near the small Japanese island of Yuri, on a Ferret Mis-sion. There was an error in navigation which caused the aircraft to stray into Soviet territory. The crew of 8 was killed during the attack. A Soviet Maritime Border Guard, Vasily Saiko, was ordered to take a small boat and gather what debris they could find. They found the body of the Navigator, John Dunham, and brought the body back to shore. Vasily noticed and removed the Naval Academy ring from the body at great risk prior to burial, with the intent of trying to return it to the dead airman’s family. After the disintegration of the Soviet Union, he managed to do this. At a meeting in Moscow, he turned the ring over to Ameri-can representatives, and led US representatives to the location of the grave so that this fallen airman could return home. This Rus-sian who showed compassion to an “enemy’s” family was invited to come to the United States to participate in the funeral services for John Dunham at Arlington National Cemetery. (See Reader’s Digest, February 1996, “Ring of Truth.”)

91SRW-91SRS ENG-LISH BUB (Beat Up Bastard) - Daijobu - Moon’s Moonbeam and last named Sunbonnet King - Captain Moon and his crew went home. Replacement Tom Shipp, who took my bunk, was the radio operator on the new crew.

RB-29 6/13/1952: “Southern Comfort,” was shot down over the Sea of Japan by Soviet pilots, Fedotov & Proskurin. It was reported that there were no survivors; but it is believed that 11 of 13 were picked up by the KGB and died in Russian prison camps. This aircraft was ECM equipped and had its tail letters changed at varying time intervals. It replaced our ECM aircraft which we flew on an identical mission - radar surveillance of Vladivostok (see page. 31). That aircraft was sent back to the USA because of rust in the wing spars. These missions and our ‘big camera’ mis-sions were considered highly classified.

Tom Shipp was a radio operator on a B-29 assigned to the 91st SRS. I met him in May, 1952 just prior to our crew’s departure from Japan after com-pleting our required combat missions. His crew was assigned to our room, and Tom got my bed. We sat on “our” bed and talked for a while about the war, the dangers, and a little about ourselves. His aircraft was “Sun-bonnet King” - shown above.

On this page I have told the fate of two replacement crews that took over our missions as the Photo Reconnaissance ECM crews for the 91 SRS. Our crew probably flew on both of these aircraft. The Mission by “Southern Comfort” was the one where we learned that a RB-29 could do 600 mph ground speed if the crew is scared enough; and we were going to accomplish the mission that “Sunbonnet King” was on when we lost an engine and had to spend a few days at Misawa Air Force Base on northern Honshu Island.

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About March 1951 this picture was taken of my three buddies at Randolph Air Force Base. On the left, we have Leroy Hudson and on the right Stan Fluharty. In back is Gerry Johnson, I know that two of these young airmen are gone now, and I am pretty sure that the third is also. I am not in the picture, since I took the picture. Besides, you see enough of me throughout these pages.

We four airmen were a sub-category of the traditional “Band of Brothers” that you hear about in the military. With the exception of some sad-sacks who do not fit in, we share a common experience, eat in the same mess halls, face the same risks, laugh at the same jokes and are willing to give our lives for our country.

Gerry was my best buddy. We thought a lot alike, but this did not diminish my feelings for Leroy and Stan. Jerry was from Pennsylvania, was shot down and crash landed in Korea on October 23, 1951. He died in a prison camp somewhere in Russia. He was officially presumed dead by the Air Force on February 28, 1954.

Leroy was a fellow Louisiana boy. He made it home and married a wonderful girl, Frankie, who inspired him to become a minister. The last I heard from Leroy was that Frankie was very sick and he was devastated. He then disappeared from the face of the earth.

I wrote a poem for Stan to send to a young lady he kissed (many times) on a bus trip on the way to Randolph. All he gave me for guidance is “bus, kiss, Jo, November and cold,” and from that I wrote the epoch poem entitled “The Kiss.” He sent it to her and they corresponded with each other. It ended “I shall return”- and he did.

Using the new computer software for national phone numbers, I contacted him in Chicago in the mid 1990s. I asked him what happened to Jo. He married her, and they had a wonderful life together. I spoke to Jo and mailed them a copy of the original poem.

The KissThere’s a cold November dayThat holds a warm spot in my heart.A spot that’s there to stayNo matter how long we’ll be apart.

For on that day I met you,I held you in my arms-I kissed your wonderful lipsAnd thrilled so to your charms.

But fate that smiled down on usDid not smile for long.And soon notes of sadness Drifted into our song.

And as you kissed me on the lips,The tears of farewell did burn.Only one thought was in my heart-My Darling, “I shall return.”

M. Dean Keller for Stan Fluharty to send to his new found love, Jo, on 20 February, 1951.Combat crew training, Randolph AFB, TX

Band of BrothersOn December 19, 2001, I received a letter from Jo after

her daughter had traced me to Tulsa through my e-mail ad-dress. Jo wanted to tell me that Stan passed away on March 13, 2000 during an operation. The first word that she heard from the doctors was that he was in intensive care and had received 40 pints of blood. The “doctors” told his daughter that a vein burst – which was a lie. Jo requested an au-topsy. The autopsy showed that the “doctors” cut the portal vein that supplies blood to the heart and liver, injuring it so badly that it was not repairable, and he bled to death. They fixed him up enough to take to Intensive Care. He was buried on March 17, our buddy Gerry Johnson’s birthday.

Migs and anti-aircraft fire could not take Stan down, but an overpaid doctor could.

Jo said, “It’s a very sad life without him.”

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My Experiences with the Japanese PeopleOn December 7, 1941, in the afternoon, our family was

listening to the radio about a devastating bombing raid by the forces of the Empire of Japan on military installations of the United States in Hawaii. I was one month short of my tenth birthday, and was caught up in the frenzy of excitement and anger about this sneak attack. My brother, Chuck, was going to be 19 years old on the next April 7. Also, my uncle Mac lived in Honolulu, so our family was concerned about his safety. For the next four years I was subjected to the news about the cruelty of the Japanese.

Chuck enlisted in the Navy in February of 1942 and was trained as an Aircraft Mechanic. He served in the Pacific. We did not know much about what he was doing until after the war when he came home. We learned then that he performed maintenance of naval aircraft in the Philippines where he was in close contact with the enemy. He also served as a crew member on naval aircraft on raids. When he came back to the states you could tell that he had experi-enced much that he would like to forget.

About eight years later, three buddies, Mac, Charles and Eddie, enlisted in the United States Air Force, a peace time air force at that time. But circumstances changed, and we were at war again, and this time it was my turn to go. Chuck was still in the Navy and served during the Korean police action also. All of this is just a background to let you know my impressions from the recent past about Japan.

In May of 1951, I was on my way to Japan to fly in B-29 Bombers in the Korean war, and to be a member of the oc-cupation forces. What are these people going to be like? I had heard so many bad things about them. I was surprised.

From the time that I landed at the airport in Tokyo to the day that I left to go back to the United States I enjoyed the Japanese people, and the friendship of Japanese who worked with us. I also found that persons we met in one way or another, even casual acquaintances with very lim-ited exposure, were a people who were gracious, kind and willing to treat you well in every way. As a western lady who was in a Japanese prison camp stated, “It was not the Japanese who made war terrible, but war which made the Japanese terrible.”

For the whole time that I was in Japan, an American GI could go anywhere in the country without a weapon and feel completely safe. There was very little evidence of the war remaining in our area, although there were no tall buildings, even in Tokyo, as the nation was in a state of rebuilding and surviving- and then flourishing. General MacArthur performed a magnificent service for both the United States and Japan in the way he performed in Japan.

When we arrived at the barracks and moved in, we had one room for the six enlisted men on our crew. We also had a day room at the end of the hall which was operated by a

The Imperial Palace and surrounding area in 1951Japanese man in his late teens, named “Charlie,” who spoke very good English. His name was Toshi Nukbriya, but he had no problem with Charlie. Charlie and I were close from the time that I arrived until I left. He helped me learn Japanese and gave me help in understanding Japanese cus-toms and where things were. He was a friend. I learned in August, on an anniversary of the first atom bomb dropped on Hiroshima, that Charlie was from Hiroshima. He told me that if it weren’t for the bomb, he would be dead. He and his family were being trained to attack enemy soldiers if an invasion took place, with sharpened bamboo spears. Leaflets were dropped by US aircraft warning the people of a bombing raid which would take place at some time in the future, and his family went to a country home and were at their country home when the bomb was dropped.

There was a movie theatre within easy walking distance from the barracks and a PX where one could get a more desirable meal if liver was being served at the mess hall. Food was generally good, but the milk was reconstituted and beef was in short supply. There was plenty of Spam and reconstituted eggs.

We had a Japanese “house boy” who was formerly in the Japanese army, named Toshia. He was nice, kept the room cleaned, smiled a lot, but was a bit reserved. He was very honest as all of the Japanese who worked at the base were, and we had a mutual respect for each other. He was married while we were there and we showered him with money.

We had orientation classes and the usual VD movies to scare us. Our flights were scheduled in advance so when there was time available we could take the train to Tokyo.

I met many Japanese over the eleven and one-half months that we were stationed there. There was a curio

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shop just outside the gate to the base which was run by two Japanese ladies, not in their teens. They spoke some English, and often I would stop in and spend a half hour or so talking to them. They were always happy to see me. We would exchange English/Japanese words, and just have very pleasant conversations and even a few laughs.

I met a young lady named Nardiko Sugano at the skating rink and spent much time with her. Unlike some of my fellow airmen, I did not have a “wife” in town - that would cost you twenty dollars a month, and would not be in keep-ing with the way I believed you should treat the Japanese ladies. My mother didn’t raise me that way. I went to Tokyo to visit her parents one day, and met her mother and father and little brother. They were a wonderful family. I taught her brother how to make a hangman’s noose with string, which he enjoyed very much. Mom and dad did not speak English so Nardiko would translate, and I could carry on a limited conversation with the Japanese I knew. When her brother came back into the room with a statue of the emperor hanging from a hangman’s noose, I immedi-ately said “Dame, Dame” which means very bad. This was picked up by others, and a good laugh was had by all.

It was possible to go to Tokyo on the trains which were very efficient, and sometimes crowded. At six foot-two inches tall I could usually see over the heads of most persons around me. Japanese school boy and girls would look at my shoes, and point. I wore a size 13 at that time. I would respond with “I have big feet, don’t I?” in Japanese and laughter would erupt.

One day I was sitting next to a well dressed Japanese man on the train going into Tokyo when I noticed that my watch had stopped. (Remember winding the watch?) I asked the gentleman siting next to me “ could you please tell me what time it is?” He replied “No speak English.” I then asked him “daijobu, nan ji desu ka?” which translates “that’s ok, what time is it?” He replied with the correct time. I said “arigato” which is thank you. He then said something like “You speak Japanese?” and I answerer “hai, sukoshi nihongo dekimasu.” which translates to “ Yes, I speak a little Japanese.” He then started speaking to me in English. He spoke very good English, but did not want to speak to a kid who was a member of the occupation forces until he learned that I cared enough to try to learn about his country and language. While I was in Japan I met very few Japanese who could be classified as unfriendly, but I did meet some ugly Americans - and they made me ashamed of being from the same country that they were.

One day in Tokyo, on the Ginza, I was bargaining with a Japanese man who was selling items from a push cart. He spoke very little English. I would ask him “ikura desu ka?” (How much is it?) He would reply with “ku ju yen” (90 yen). I would then say “itai” (that hurts). “Watashi wa bimbo desu, anata wa takusan okane o mote imasu” (I am poor and you have a lot of money). He would laugh, and

start bargaining over the price. We would agree, I would give him a little bow, and say thank you, he the same with you’re welcome. And our transaction was over. He was still wearing his Japanese army hat, and I was in my US Air Force uniform. We were laughing together when six or eight years ago we would have been trying to kill each other. There are no enemies, just friends that you have not had a chance to know yet. Pardon my Japanese, as it has been over 60 years since I have really used the language.

One traumatic event took place on the base that was close to us. The barracks next to us burned down. The Japanese fire fighters rapidly started to confine the fire as the dry wood was an inferno. They placed a “barrier” consisting of posts between that barracks and ours, and that meant - that fire will not cross this line! It did not, no lives were lost, but many possessions were lost including some vehicles outside of the barracks.

A B-29 crashed on takeoff with a load of bombs and full gas tanks. The crew all safely evacuated the aircraft. The Japanese fire department arrived, not knowing that the crew had evacuated the aircraft, prepared their equipment, yelled Banzai, and jumped on the burning aircraft to cut out the Plexiglas windows to help the crew out. The plane exploded with firemen on top. Some were killed. Injured firemen were treated in the base hospital and were visited and commended by the base commander. See page 46.

The guards on our aircraft at the base were Japanese, armed with 30 caliber carbines, the same weapon we had when we were on guard duty back in the states. The honor and loyalty of the Japanese nationals working for us was beyond reproach, as best I can determine from what I saw and what I heard and read.

YokotaAirForce

Base

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One event which took place was a bit closer to me. We had just completed our mission, had landed and I was sign-ing off on my radio log, putting things in order and pre-paring to depart from the aircraft through the front wheel exit, our usual method of entrance and egress. I picked up my parachute, a front type which was necessary to pass between the gun turret and the navigator’s position, and went down the ladder to the ground. I heard someone yell to me - “Get over here!!” My crew was on the other side of an earth embankment about forty feet from the aircraft. I looked around and saw that the plane was on fire. I ran! I had taken my headset off too early and did not hear the command from the aircraft commander to get off the air-craft, it’s on fire. I don’t remember where the fire was, but it wasn’t too bad, and the Japanese firemen quickly put it out. Keep the dumb headset on until you are ready to leave the plane!

Back to the Ginza again. One afternoon on the Ginza I was approached by a Japanese artist who was drawing portraits in pencil. Wanting to help the local economy I agreed to pose for him. Well, that portrait is yellowed by over 55 years of sitting around in storage being sketched on July 3, 1951. If you want to know the name of the person who sketched it, look on the portrait because it is signed. I do not think it will ever be of any real value since the artist and the subject are not well known, but it does catch the portrait of a very young airman (see the wings on the uniform) with blue eyes (it took me 55 years to notice that) and an even younger mustache. After the portrait was completed, the artist pre-sented it to me. I looked at it and said “chotto matte kudasai” (just a minute, please) and pointed to what was located under my nose. He grinned and quickly sketched in the mustache, the final touch to a Ginza masterpiece.

Masaya Abe was another friend whom I knew from the base. He was the assistant to the Catholic Priest who gave me instructions and arranged for my admission into the Catholic church. He would often assist at mass, and he would be there when we went to communion before going on a combat mission. He and I talked a lot, and kept up a series of yearly letters for many years afterwards. We exchanged pictures and news of our families. He had two beautiful daughters and I still have the pictures to prove it. One time, when he was in New York City for his company, he called and we spoke for a long time. This continued as we both grew older, and he stated that he was having eye trouble, and in his 1991 letter he stated that his health was

not good, and if we do not see each other again, he will meet me in Heaven. I received cards from him in 1992 and 1993 where he wrote about his granddaugh-ter. Then the letters stopped. Attempts to reach him by telephone did not succeed. See you soon, Mike.

Fujiyama could be seen from Yokota AFB, and is as much a symbol of Japan as the rising sun.

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Nardiko and I also exchanged letters for a while. I know that she wanted me to bring her to America with me, but the anti Japanese sentiment was still strong in the United States. We met for a last time in the library on the base, and just talked for a long while. She was a great doodler, and the sketch on this page shows some of her work. I was going by the name of Mac, rather than Dean then, and we, the Keller family, were able to take the letters of our last name and draw an aeroplane. So we were sketching back and forth, about the plane going down, and she drew a safety net to catch me, and the words include Daijobu, which means “It’s OK.” It was a bitter-sweet moment for both of us. And in the time that I knew her, I never even tried to kiss her, but we had a deep friendship. I still have her letters, but lost her picture. After a while the letters stopped. I don’t remember who stopped first.

In his radio address to the Japanese people prior to the Surrender to the allied forces, Emperor Hirohito stated the following:

“We are keenly aware of the inmost feelings of all of you, our subjects. However, it is according to the dictates of time and fate that we have resolved to pave the way for a grand peace for all the generations to come by enduring the [unavoidable] and suffering what is unsufferable. Hav-ing been able to save *** and maintain the structure of the Imperial State, we are always with you, our good and loyal subjects, relying upon your sincerity and integrity.

Beware most strictly of any outbursts of emotion that may engender needless complications, of any fraternal con-tention and strife that may create confusion, lead you astray and cause you to lose the confidence of the world.

Let the entire nation continue as one family from genera-tion to generation, ever firm in its faith of the imperishable-ness of its divine land, and mindful of its heavy burden of responsibilities, and the long road before it. Unite your total strength to be devoted to the construction for the fu-ture. Cultivate the ways of rectitude, nobility of spirit, and work with resolution so that you may enhance the innate glory of the Imperial State and keep pace with the progress of the world.”

With this declaration of intent by the Emperor and under the magnificent leadership of General Douglas MacArthur the Japanese people have been changed from a fierce en-emy to a sincere and dependable ally. The order given for the United States military to treat the Japanese with respect has made this transition from hated foes to friends take place in a very short period of time.

By the time that I arrived in Japan, there was a spirit of cooperation in our joint attempt to end the new and terrible war in Korea. We worked together as allies and friends. As a result of this leadership and the character of the Japanese people, Japan is now a flourishing nation, among the finest

in the family of industrial and democratic nations, in the world. I could go on for hours, but I believe that the few words here adequately express my experience with the Japanese people.

My daughter-in-law Mary has a niece, Jessica, who is close to me. Jessica is married to a fellow Japanese teacher, Ken Nishizuka, and this year, 2009, she gave birth to a little girl, Aya (Colorful). Now my extended family includes Hispanic, Navajo, Hungarian, Guamanians, Italians and Japanese as well as a “person of color” who is a step son-in-law. I love them all.

Jean, my wife, has a long time friend and hairdresser, Ikuko, who is from Okinawa. When we were courting, Ikuko insisted on meeting me and checking me out. We went to her house, she welcomed us. When I was in the house I unfurled the Japanese flag that I had with me. I then sang Kimigayo, the Japanese national anthem. She stood there with her mouth hanging open as I spoke to her in my limited Japanese, ending with “Doko ni benjo wa arimasu ka?” (Where is the toilet?) We had a great time, and whenever Ikuko and I happen to meet in the grocery or elsewhere, we go into a little routine, keeping in mind my limited Japanese, and we sound like natives. Enough of this for now!

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East is East and West is West,And now the two have met.

Ready for adventures togetherThat neither will ever forget.

For one says Love, the other says AiAnd they both mean the same.

Together yes, sayonara noYou two have to play the game.

You two, together, will meet the worldAnd the world will learn to love you

And know that you have love from usAnd from our God above you.

Jessica Lanterman, above, is the daughter of my daughter-in-law Mary’s sister, Lisa. I don’t know her relationship to me, but my wife, Jean, and I both love her. She was teaching in Japan and met Ken Nishizuka who was also a teacher, and they decided to become man and wife. At a reception in their honor in Coweta, OK, we celebrated the marriage of these two young persons. There was a storm, the lights went out, and I was asked to write a poem for these two. In the dark, by light from a flashlight, I wrote the above. They now have a little girl named Aya (Beautiful in Japanese)

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Another wedding to the right. Our room atten-dant, formerly of the Japanese army, weds a wife. About sixty years apart!

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On November 18, 1951, a B-29 with serial number 44-86247 crashed on takeoff from Yokota Air Force Base. Captain John P. Brennan was the Aircraft Commander on this mission. The crew was able to exit the aircraft with only minor injuries. The Japanese firefighters came upon the scene not knowing that the crew had abandoned the aircraft.

With a shout of Banzai these firemen climbed on the aircraft without regard for their own safety, and started cutting away at the Plexiglas scanner positions on the sides and the top of the aircraft. This aircraft was with the 98th bomb group, 344th Bomb Squadron.

Because of the probable nature of the mission, there possibly was a full bomb load on the aircraft, and the addition of a full load of 130 octane gasoline there would have been a very large explosion. This took the lives of eleven firefight-ers. These former enemies gave their lives to try to save American lives. This is a great tribute to the Japanese people who could give us a lesson in DUTY- HONOR-COUNTRY.

Chapel is the place designated for this collection

B-29 44-86247

There were also good times!

The groom, just to the the left of the beautiful bride, is Toshi, a former Japanese soldier who kept our area clean. We all contributed to his happiness by taking his wedding photograph and with money. This was a traditional Japanese wedding ceremony.

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Spiritual aspects of my Japanese AdventureIf you have remained awake this long, you have read

about the military aspects of my guided tour of the far east and of my impression and friendship with the Japa-nese people. What follows is a discourse on my search for my Creator, the most important aspect of determining the rest of my life. First I would like to digress a bit to set the stage for what follows. I was 19 years old when I first experienced the concept that someone was trying to kill me. It wasn’t much, just black puffs in the sky around us, and those with combat experience took it in stride. Lt. Grothmann, our co-pilot, was impressed too. He got on the intercom and stated “Oh boy! Oh boy! This is almost like being in a war.” Our officers flew over Europe in WW 2, and this was like play for them at this time. But when the forces below get lucky, it is no longer play. I was a bit concerned, but I did not let it interfere with my work. Then some events happened which gave increased meaning to combat.

I arrived at Yokota Air Force base, Japan, in June 1951 to serve as a radio operator on a B-29 reconnaissance air-craft, flying combat missions over Korea and surveillance missions off the coast of the Soviet Union. The spiritual aspects of my journey through life slowly took roots as I was subjected to more combat events, and forces of good and evil were working for and against me. When I arrived in Japan I had no idea of what or who God was, or what was my relationship with Him. I had memorized verses from the Bible, but they were meaningless to me. I had been baptized as a young boy, but this was because my grandmother said it would make her very happy. And I attended the Baptist Church on Carrollton Avenue in New Orleans, but my most profound memories of the church were the group of boys from a boy’s home who picked on me. My dad was out of the Catholic Church because he married my mother who had been divorced. Mom did not like the Baptist Church since there was a tendency for the preacher to shout and condemn. I went to the Christian Science Church with her, and it was very calm and nice, but there was no bond that I had with it.

So, I was sort of an empty vessel, needing to be filled with God’s love, but this was not too easy. Looking around I found that Christianity was in chaos, with sometimes open battles between various segments of the faith. So I started asking questions and reading the Bible, the King James Version, which is not an easy book to understand. Opinions ranged from one end to the other. I was looking for order and love and found mostly confusion. There were incidents of persons who disagreed completely with my seeking anything of this sort. And they could quote - or misquote the Bible. But one member of my crew took this to a much higher level.

A Test of Faith, or did the Devil make him do it?

I would like to relate an experience that took place in our room in our barracks. Before I had access to the newer

translation of the bible which was available through the Catholic Chaplain, I was sitting on my bed trying to understand the old English in the King James version of the Bible. Our tail gunner, who drank quite a lot, came over to me and asked what are you reading? I told him, and he told me to put that blankidy-blank thing away. I replied, “No, Oris, this is my bunk and that is your bunk, and I can do what I want to do here just as you can do what you want to do in your area.” That did not satisfy him, so he went back to his bunk, and then came back to my bunk with his 45 caliber pistol in his hand. He told me again to put that blankidy-blank thing away, and instead of fear, I felt a peace come over me. I repeated “This is my bunk, and that is your bunk, and I can do what is pleasing to me in my area.” The pistol was loaded; shell in the chamber? I do not know. We all carried pistols while on base with loaded clips.

Oris was getting angry, and he was quite drunk at the time. He would empty his footlocker each payday and place a fifth of whisky in the locker for each day of the month. By that time, this drama was being noticed by some of the other crew members, and Oris’s drinking buddy came over to him, placed a hand on his shoulder, and started talking to him about going into town for a few hours. Shooting me and messing up the room did not seem to be as good an alternate as going into town with a buddy, and as Ralph (I believe) talked to him, he also placed his hand on the pistol, which Oris willingly gave up, and peace returned to the room.

This is the first time that I felt the Peace of Christ, even though I was quite confused as to who Jesus or God really were. I made no mention of the incident to anyone, and the crew was pleased that I did not. This would have been a disaster for crew moral. I guess that this is the first time I learned that you have to forgive your enemies, even when they are your friends. My relationship with Oris and the rest of the enlisted crew was good or even better after that incident. I never held it against him, but thanked God that Oris gave me the opportunity to stand up for my faith, even if I didn’t understand what that faith was. God bless you, Oris.

Religious Advice of All Types is Readily Available

After much study and advice from friends, one of whom was a Catholic with Pentecostal knowledge, whatever that is, I summed the answers up like this. The Protestant Chap-lain told me that if you accepted Jesus as a personal savior, and really believe in Him, and constantly read your Bible, you have a good chance of going to heaven. The Catholic Chaplain told me that if you go to confession, go to com-munion, get killed, you go to heaven, no ifs, ands, or buts. But, by what authority and experience did this chaplain speak? This Chaplain had books on supernatural signs of God’s grace, and actual first hand experience with living

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miracles to relate to me to bolster my rather weak faith. So, after a short while, I was taking instruction in the Catholic faith from Father Schaefer who had experience with the supernatural.

He was in Europe during WW 2 and ended up near Kon-nersreuth, Bavaria where Therese Neuman lived. Therese Neumann was a mystic and stigmatist in the Catholic Church, who bore the wounds of Christ in her hands, in her side and in her feet. Her life was a living miracle, and Father Schaefer was privileged to witness many of the mi-raculous events that took place in her life every day. I have a book about Therese Newmann and another book by Rene Biot entitled “The Enigma of the Stigmata.” Both books are very interesting, detailed and pragmatic. Another stigmatist who was alive at the same time was Padre Pio who lived in Italy. I had no experience with the supernatural at that time, and the first hand account of God’s presence on earth was very encouraging to a scared 19 year old combat air-man.

He Touched Me

My first supernatural experience took place in the Blessed Sacrament Chapel of the St. Joseph’s Orphanage, in Tanashi, Japan. I was kneeling at the altar with no one else in the chapel, when a feeling of peace, love, tingling and I just can’t describe what else came over me. Some-thing like rivers of flowing water immersed me completely in God’s love. I did not want it to ever end, but it did. It happened twice again in my life, but neither as intense as this first time, once when I prayed for my wife with her arthritis pains and once when I went into New Orleans to visit with my mother in early 1970. I KNEW that God was there, and that He loved me. Love was communicated, but there were no thoughts to direct me or communicate with me about other matters.

After receiving instruction for a few months from Fr. Schaefer, I was confirmed in the Roman Catholic Church on October 22, 1951 by Maximilien de Furslenberg, Papal Nuncio to Japan.

It is play time at Yokota. Earth structure is slit trench for use in air raids. (never used) Slim, trim and armed to the teeth.

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What if He should call tonightAnd say to me?,

“Thy days on earth are done,Come my son,

The judgment is at hand.”

Would I, with quickening of heartRespond to His call

And say, “I’m ready, judge,My Lord, my God, my All.”

And when the “Book of Life”Is placed before my eager eyes,

Will I see in print so bold my name?

Or will I forgotten be,As I have oft’ forgotten Thee, and Will my heart with fear grow cold?

M. Dean Keller, 1951, Korean War91st Strategic Reconnaissance SquadronBoeing RB-29, Yokota. AFB, Japan

My Lord, My God, My All. This was written while I was in Japan serving on a B-29 Reconnaissance aircraft during the Korean ‘police action’. It was written shortly after October 23, 1951 when my best buddy, Gerald Johnson, was shot down over Korea. He died later in a prison camp. That started me thinking seriously about my own mortality although I had been shot at before, but missed. So I started writing and this is the results. I am at peace with the last part of the poem.

Oh my God,! Forget me not.Guide my days on earth;

Fill my heart with Your praise,And my labor with Your works.

So on that dayWhen at last I hear You call,

I’ll say“I’m ready Lord, my God, my All.”

My Lord, my God, my All

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Discharge, school, working, dating and marriagePreparation for the rest of my life

On June 22, 1952 I arrived at Fairchild AFB near Spo-kane, Washington for the remainder of my enlistment. I had only signed up for three years, but was extended by six months during the Korean War by President Harry Truman. Since he had an atomic bomb and all I had was my fist and a good sense of humor, I decided not to fight the extension, except to appeal for an early discharge so I could attend college. Fairchild was a good base and we flew short mis-sions just to get our flying time in for the month. We did ferry an aircraft down to Georgia on November 12, 1952, but otherwise we were not doing very much. It was inter-esting going to Georgia and the Southern accent was music to my ears. I missed, also, the “Cajun talk” in New Orleans

I had some friends in Spokane, and a nice drug store (not a bar) to hang out in near the river front. It often had young Spokane girls hanging out there also, and there was no prejudice against persons in the Air Force like there was in Biloxi, Mississippi. My own aunt who lived there (Biloxi) warned me that the sweet young lady who lived nearby was a “nice” girl, and I shouldn’t see her. Mom would have torn her apart if she knew that. It was my dad’s brother’s wife.

The snows that I experienced in Spokane were the greatest that I had ever experienced. The snow (Yuki) at Yokota was mild and in New Orleans was almost nonexis-tent. I bought an old Chevrolet for a hundred or so dollars which promptly gave me trouble. I never owned a General Motors product since. I had a girl friend in Spokane, Flavia, who was really nice, but logistics ruled out any longtime relationship since I was planning on college.

I talked to the first sergeant and commanding officer in my squadron at Fairchild AFB in Spokane, Washington about obtaining an early discharge. I was not accomplish-ing much at the base although I was NCOIC (Non-commis-sioned officer in charge) of an almost nonexistent section. My OIC was a lieutenant, a very nice gentleman, who was encouraging me to get started in college. He also gave me some instructions in how calculus worked to perk my inter-est. But other than that, our duties were to clean the B-29s until they shined, keep the coal fired furnaces which heated the barracks filled with coal (messy stuff), for which you could get a three day pass, eat, sleep and make formation each morning. I was starting to miss the combat missions.

Well, I told mom and dad about my minor problem, and mom was a good friend of Hale Boggs, the House whip in Congress. She sent him a letter, which he answered, telling me to contact my commanding officer again, and if there was not a positive answer, he would see what he could do. I did, showing them the letter, and was scolded for using political influence, and that this would put a bad mark on my records. It did, and two days later I was called out of formation for a physical for discharge. On December 15 three of us started off in the automobile of one of the other

two, taking turns driving through the night and through the mountains (scary) and arriving in St. Louis, MO. There, I took a train for New Orleans. I was in my dress blue uniform with combat ribbons, and tired from driving. The train was not filled, and I went to sleep across two seats. Passengers on the train took care of me, covering me with a blanket and watching over me, like the little boy that I still was. Home is the warrior, from across the sea.

I don’t remember if I was picked up at the train station or took a taxi home. But home I was, and I started to adapt to the requirements of my next adventure.

All of my “relationship” bridges were burned, and I did not want to try to renew them, but to concentrate on my college work. I did visit Marguerite Dutriel, with whom I went out once, but she was married and pregnant. We had a nice talk together, and she even suggested a girlfriend for me, but not before she told me that I had broken her heart. She was a wonderful devout young lady who, unfortu-nately, married an abusive person, and ended up dying early after a severe mental breakdown. I have often wondered what would have been the outcome if I had not turned my back on her for another. I believe she would have been a wonderful wife in every way. So the pains of young love work both ways, to hurt the goose and the gander.

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It was good being back with mom and dad and visit with the neighbors and old friends. I purchased a 1949 Ford which got exceptional mileage, when gas was about thirty cents a gallon. Dad fixed me up with health and auto insur-ance, since he was in the insurance business as a part time job, while working as a supervisor at the Public Service Company in the Electrical Distribution Center. Often he’d get a phone call at 2:00 AM to go to work, there was a storm in town since New Orleans had plenty of storms.

By that time dad was back in the Catholic Church and mom had become Catholic also. She was a member of the altar society and really enjoyed working with her neighbors and friends at the church. I actually went to their “wed-ding,” or at least the blessing thereof, but I was not the best man. That was dad. It was so good to be legal. The church, St. Agnes Church, was about a mile or so up the highway, and across from the church was Schoff’s bakery where I spent many hours while delivering my newspapers in the morning, and eating hot eclairs and donuts. I can still pic-ture those early morning visits to the bakery where David Schoff and his brother Steve were working in the back making those wonderful treats for the Catholics after mass.

On schedule, I went down to Tulane University, which was just a mile from the house along the river road and up St. Charles Avenue, and took the SAT tests. I did not know what these were, except that they were sort of an aptitude test. I remember that I made a 93 (or in that range) percen-tile on the mathematical test indicating that 93 percent of the persons taking the test made lower grades than I did. English and other subjects were above the middle of the range.

In February, the second semester 52-53, I started classes as an electrical engineering major at mid-term. It wasn’t easy and study was required as I had been out of high school for over four years. All of the classes this semester were basic classes in English, literature, math and elemen-tary general engineering, with the classes in the major to start in the second year. To make up some time I attended summer school for four courses, and this helped my grades. My classes were Analytic geometry, English, Calculus and descriptive geometry. “A” for the first three, “B” for the last. Was I getting better, or was summer school just easier? I don’t know, but I was pleased.

Next semester, at the start of the semester, I took my first electrical courses, along with calculus, physics, surveying, mechanics and literature. Either God did not want me to go into electrical engineering, which would limit the places that I could work, or I just wasn’t smart enough. But Elec-tric Measurements took me down with a “D,” the only one in college. Toward the end of the first semester I spoke to Professor Walter E. Blessey about transferring to Civil En-gineering. He was happy to have me, and we got along very well. He and I had a good relationship starting in school and through my professional career. He gave me a great letter of recommendation and we had many exchanges over the years. He ultimately became national president of the American Society of Civil Engineers, a very high honor,

while I became president of the New Mexico Section. I must say that he had one fault; whenever he talked to me he would always start my calling me by my unmentionable first name. I would counter by calling him Emmanuel, his middle name.

I went to Professor Dan Vliet in the Electrical Engineer-ing school and told him that I was changing to civil engi-neering. He asked me why. I told him that I was failing the course with 30s and 40s on the tests. I was already committed to the change when he told me I was in the top third of the class. I am happy that I made the change. My employment opportunities were much improved, and the professional recognition that I received in civil engineer-ing far outweighed any that I could have had in electrical engineering. Next semester was summer session, 1954, chemistry - with two “As” for a real lift.

The next year I was back on schedule for early gradua-tion, May 1956, and did reasonably well with Civil Engi-neering courses. Just “Bs” and “Cs” - not an “A” in the batch. Then came summer camp where we were out in the woods in Gurley, Louisiana, and I learned what it was to take a cold shower and sleep in tents. It wasn’t that bad in the Air Force. You should hear the yells when the outdoor shower was turned on and the young bucks yelled for joy as the cold water hit their bodies. Some foolishness also, like pulling out the stakes on tents and have other victims of this civil engineering torture awakened in the middle of the night to crawl out from under their tents. No! I didn’t do it. I was too mature to take part in the foolishness of these “younger” students.

From June 1955 to August 1955 I had managed to slip in a real job during a summer working with the Louisi-ana State Department of Highways on an overpass being constructed near Carrollton and Tulane Avenues. We were driving piles, casting concrete and working with union craftsmen. I leaned at that time that some union members tend to think that they are better than “college kids.” It was interesting and a chance to get my hands dirty. I did reasonable well, but it took me a few years to learn that I could learn more from the field construction personnel than I could from any other source. With the summer classes and starting mid-term I managed to complete the work for a degree in civil engineering in three years and three months.

For all of this time, I was living with mom and dad on the GI Bill. I did supplement my income by other means from delivering newspapers, my summer job, working in the Registrar’s officer at Tulane, baby-sitting a pile test across the river for Raymond Prestressed Concrete Com-pany (Guy LeMieux in my class had an older brother who was head of the company in New Orleans), teaching draft-ing at Jesuit High School, and other odd jobs. I applied at the Jefferson Downs for a job as a cashier or seller in the ticket part of the business. They said that they did not have any openings. I was a bit discouraged, and discussed this with mom and dad. Mom, being part of the Democratic party in Jefferson Parish, was a friend of Sheriff Frank

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Clancy. She told the sheriff about the problem, and he gave her a phone number to call if I applied again - for the person interviewing me.

Frank Clancy was a dictator, but a benevolent one. During the depression he would pay for prescriptions for persons who couldn’t pay for their own, and helped many with money earned by the gambling interest in the Parish. When my dad came down with TB in 1948 he had to go to a VA hospital for treatment. Sheriff Clancy came over to the house one day to visit mom and ask how dad was doing. Upon leaving he gave mom five one-hundred dollar bills to help cover expenses. At that time, that was a lot of money.

I did apply again and when I heard the same story, even about the weekends, I handed the person the phone num-ber. He called and said my name, then, yes sir, yes sir, yes sir. He then asked me if I could start work this weekend. I worked there in 1953 through 1955. It was interesting work, and I also worked, same years, at the track in New Orleans.

After a short courtship, I married Connie Tusa on Feb-ruary 20, 1955 and my grades immediately got better. No more late night hours. On the negative side, as I became more involved in life, I lost my thoughts about death and became a Sunday go-to-church Catholic. Things took their course and my oldest son, David, was born on May 13, 1956 (Mother’s day), a couple of weeks before graduation. My wife, Connie, was up and around and able to attend my graduation ceremony on May 28, 1956 with a degree of Bachelor of Science in Civil Engineering, even though I was no longer a bachelor. She received a PHT certificate. That stands for “Putting hubby through.” She did work dur-ing the first months of our marriage.

The Corps of Engineers in New Orleans offered me a job, and since it was the only one that I received because of a down-turn in work at that time, I took it. I can honestly say that after three and one quarter years of college, I really didn’t know “squat,” and it took time for my brain and my subconscious functions to learn and sort things out.

During the time that I spent with the Corps I was on a training program, and did learn a bit, even co-authoring a paper on the flow of the Mississippi river, but did not really further my professional education very much. I also started graduate school at Tulane, being admitted on September 21, 1956. Married life must have agreed with me since I had a 3.5 average in graduate school and received my Master of Science in Engineering on August 26, 1961. While I was studying in graduate school a few things happened: I left the Corps after about eleven months, about April 1957, and went to work with Bedell and Nelson, Engineers. They had a major project with the Grand Isle Offshore Sulphur mine in the Gulf of Mexico off of the coast of Louisiana for Freeport Sulphur Company.

We rented a “shotgun” house for a few months, then purchased a house on Carolyn Drive in Harahan under the GI Bill. The cost was $15,353, with three dollars down and

the remainder at four percent interest. While we were liv-ing in Harahan, Steve was born on February 28, 1958, just missing having a March birthday. It was David’s fault be-cause he had locked himself in the bathroom and wouldn’t come out, causing his frustrated mother to go into earlier labor than she should have.

The work at Bedell and Nelson was fabulous. The proj-ect consisted of a power plant, two drilling platforms for a start, a heliport, and a housing unit. All units were prefab-ricated in Houston and shipped by barge to the site for erec-tion. The stripped sections (half of the unit) of the power plant were constructed of structural steel and weighed 642 tons each. All sections of the facility were connected by 200 feet long steel truss bridges.

There were three structural engineers on this project. Jim Simmons, the lead engineer who had much experience, George Guiterras (from Greece) a classmate of mine and me- one leader and two learners. And learn we did, we had no choice since we were expected to do so. It was dur-ing this assignment that my subconscious mind began to assimilate my engineering information, and after a while I was approached as “one who could think analytically.”

A new world’s record for the largest single overwater lift was set when the 642 ton power plant deck sections were set in November, 1958. The decks must bear the tremendous weight of boilers, compressors, turbines, pumps, etc.

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The structures were supported on steel piles driven through a steel template into the Gulf bottom to competent soil material. The water was about 45 feet deep at that lo-cation, and the structure was about 70 feet above the water. It was designed to function after being subjected to the highest hurricane winds and hurricane force wave recorded in this section of the Gulf of Mexico. There was a profes-sional paper with graphs and charts entitled “Generalized solutions for laterally loaded piles” written to determine forces for hurricane waves written by Dr. Lyman Reese and Dr. Hudson Matlock of Austin, Texas.

I wrote Lyman and he was kind enough to send me a copy, which we used for the project. About 25 years later I hired his company to help with engineering problems at Los Alamos. He was partially retired, but still working to share his expertise with others. The engineering field becomes very close at times.

This was a first for me, and for all others in the office and we did well. I led the design on this part of the project and using the charts and calculations in these papers we were able to calculate the loading on the piling which is added to the hurricane forces on the structures above. In the late 1990s the structure was transferred to Louisiana Ar-tificial Reef Program and is now the worlds largest artificial reef, and rests on the bottom of the Gulf.

Another innovation that took place was the design of the power plant. The trusses in the power plant were vierndeel trusses, in both directions. There were no diagonal struc-tural members between the truss column lines. Most engi-neers would design it as a truss with a non yielding support at each column, which corresponded to each pile. That did not seem correct to me. I guess my subconscious mind was starting to work, or my Heavenly Father, whom I had neglected for so long, was helping me in spite of my indif-ference. But I knew that the piles would deflect under the heavy loading, and the spring constant could be calculated.

Jim and I calculated the spring constant. I belonged to the McGraw-Hill Civil Engineering book club and bought many engineering books. In one of these books, Advanced Engineering Mechanics, there was a section on “beams on elastic foundations.” We did not have computers at that time, and we had to manually make a spread sheet and cal-culate each load effect in both directions, and add them up. This resulted in a much heavier structure than the solution considering unyielding supports. However, when much more experienced structural engineers were asked to review the concept, they all said that it was sound. Talk about big columns!! The columns were constructed of two W36x300 beams, designed as Maltese crosses using two beams with one beam cut into two Ts and welded to the center of the web of the other. In addition they had cover plates.

That work ran out, but a new opportunity became avail-able at Prestressed Concrete Products in Mandeville, LA.There I worked on the Causeway across Lake Pontchar-

train, the bridge between Slidell and New Orleans East, and offshore structures. This was interesting work in that we were actually at the concrete fabrication yard working directly with the yard personnel on prestressed concrete piling and 250 ton prestressed concrete bridge segments. These were cast in Mandeville and transported by barge to take their place in the 22 mile bridge across the lake. I was still working on structures over water, but the water was only 16 feet deep and the piling were concrete instead of steel.

I had to design construction forms, equipment for field personnel and even extend and reinforce our barge, LB-1, for greater loads then those for which it had been designed. During Hurricane Katrina this easterly bridge lost many slabs while the main 22 mile bridge came out almost un-disturbed. This was very interesting working with the field crews, and sometimes having disagreements with them. As my supervisor, David Milhan, said in letter of recom-mendation to Los Alamos, “Dean sometimes would get into arguments with the field personnel - but he was usually right.” During this time I also became involved with Civil Defense and was appointed the Radiological Officer for Civil Defense for St. Tammany Parish.

Fun wise, Connie and I joined a square dance club which had employees of our plant and others dancing every week. It was great fun and we went from beginners to very good in the matter of about six months. That pleasure stayed with us through our stay in Madisonville, Slidell and much of our time in Los Alamos.

One item which carried over to my work at Los Alamos was the attempt to make an “air bearing” from a steel plate with holes in it. We experimented with it but had mini-mal success with actually using it to move heavy weights. However the theory was sound and the bearings were being developed at other locations, so the concept stuck with me as a viable means of moving large and/or heavy objects. This remained in my subconscious and during a pre-design conference in Los Alamos for a shield door, I asked “why don’t we float it on air?” This triggered a response from a colleague who remembered that an air cushion had been used at another site to transport and position heavy lead glass shield windows. From there the concept exploded until hundreds of thousands of dollars were saved and the impossible was made possible, all based upon the memory of an experiment that failed.

That work slowly ran out as the bridge just kept growing day by day with minimum input from the Engineering staff. However, the Boeing Company was hiring for construction of the facilities at the Michoud Assembly Facility in New Orleans to build the main booster for the Apollo Saturn V-S1C to send a man to the moon. I worked on that, enjoy-ing the pleasure and pain of accelerated schedules, and complex work, and we did help to put a man on the moon. With my Masters degree and knowledge of the soils in the New Orleans area, my resume went to the head of the line.

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This started a mixture of pleasure, pain, achievements and mistakes as my now comfortable profession as an engi-neer was suddenly thrust into management.

I started working at a desk in a big “bull pen” with hun-dreds of others. After a short while my desk was moved and I found myself in charge of the structural section. This was my first engineering experience in supervision, but I must have done something right because before long I found myself in charge of the structural, electrical, mechan-ical and architectural sections. This was a time of changes, short deadlines, furious work and the Cuban missile crisis. Army trucks loaded with soldiers were going east on the highway. It was also the time for good pay raises and a lot of overtime at time + $1.85/hour. While there, we bought a 1965 Plymouth Station wagon - for cash.

I did well, and I made mistakes. I went from having a section of 80+ persons to working with another person on chemical ventilation problems. This was not due to the objectives of the section not being fulfilled, but because my impatience with low performers was showing.

My more interesting work came when I was assigned to a small group who were problem solvers. This is where I did shine, and enjoyed the work thoroughly. My solutions to problems were well received, but the work got slower and slower as the facilities were being built. I turned in a request for a transfer to a busier section of Boeing, but my supervisor, Henry Foster, wrote across the top -”Hell no!!”

It appears that this was the start of the concept by man-agement that “if it is impossible and can’t be done and ev-eryone else has given up, give it to Keller.” My impatience with my own shortcomings became primary, and my efforts to help low performers became more gentle although firm. Looking back, I had many more opportunities to guide the work of many engineers, draftsmen, technicians and crafts-men, and in general we made a good team and they and I profited professionally and spiritually in many aspects. And it was very seldom dull!

So I went to another function, which became the guide for the rest of my professional life. Whenever I did poorly,

because of extenuating circumstances, I would change functions, increase my knowledge about another aspect of engineering and come out better than I was before. It ap-pears that I was on a massive training program which was to continue the rest of my life, ultimately leading to my relationship with my Creator, which is the most important goal in life. And if I did well, as I did many times, I would work myself out of a job, move on to another adventure and increase my knowledge. The facilities were being built, the work was slowing down and we all saw the fruit of our labor when the Saturn S1C placed a man on the moon.

With a wife and three sons, Douglas having been born on April 7, 1964, I now had to consider changing jobs, and most probably moving again, but this time out of the state. Leaving moms, dads and other family was difficult but most understood that the career must be considered as necessary (unless they wanted us to move in with them and live the life of “boomerang children”). We also promised that we would return often to visit.

While work with engineering at the Boeing Company was fast coming to an end, and our days at the office were now filled with boredom, others were hiring. A friend of mine called and told me that there was a person in New Or-leans who was interviewing for engineers for the Los Ala-mos Scientific Laboratory in New Mexico. He described the area and said that the opportunities to do interesting engineering work were fabulous. So I called and made an appointment for an interview.

At the hotel in which the interviews were being held I met Phil Reinig, who was the new Department head of the Engineering Department. He was looking for engi-neers to fill positions to meet the demand of future work. I discussed my education and experience, giving him both my achievements and where I had fallen short. I also gave him references of persons who thought that I was great, and some who did not share that feeling.

In November 1965 I received a call asking when I can come to Los Alamos for an on-site interview. We agreed on a date and in a couple of weeks I was on an aircraft for the first time in many years, but my target this time was a position at the Los Alamos Scientific Laboratory. I landed at the Albuquerque Airport and immediately enjoyed the flavor of New Mexico. There were native Americans at the airport, and a definite Mexican lure to the surrounding buildings and people. I then boarded a small two engine aircraft which flew directly to the airstrip in Los Alamos. Government transportation was there to take me to the Lodge where I spent the night in an upstairs room.

I was escorted into the Engineering office building, met many people, one who knew Prof. Blessey, and seemed to make a good impression on all. I had to fill out security forms there and at home. All of the above were success-fully accomplished, and in a few days I was back in Slidell, waiting. It wasn’t long, and I was told to report for work in a non-classified area until my security clearance came through.

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It was the middle of December, 1965, when my new adventure started. The day after I arrived in Los Alamos, I received a temporary security pass and was escorted into the Engineering Department offices for various interviews and to a medical building for a cursory medical examina-tion.

There was an offer by Russ Clough of the Boeing company that a position could be given to me in his sec-tion with the Boeing helicopter plant in Wichita, Kansas. However, none was offered until after I had accepted an offer for the Los Alamos Scientific Laboratory. Even then, they said that they could not match the salary offered by Los Alamos.

We packed all of our things which were not sent by the moving van in the 1965 Plymouth station wagon and the 1957 Ford. The Plymouth made it easily, even at higher altitudes, but the Ford was getting tired from old age (I know what that is like) and we had to shift the load on the roof of the Ford to the Plymouth. The trip was otherwise uneventful.

We made it in two days to Los Alamos and really re-ceived a treat when we came over the hill towards Espanola and saw the beautiful stretch of mountains, mesas and val-leys. We stayed at a hotel in Santa Fe for a couple of days, Connie, Dave, Steve, Doug Fritzie and me. Fritzie was placed in a kennel at the motel, but he didn’t like that at all. We came back from supper that night and found him sitting on our door step, so he spent the night in the bathroom at the motel. Monday, we headed back up the hill to Los Ala-mos, which was at 7500 ft. elevation, to the house that was assigned to us. Our furniture came and we moved in. Then came the snows, which the boys loved and Fritzie endured, as he plowed through snow up to his shoulders. We settled in and I started going to work.

We met a number of friendly persons in the first few days, and learned where the square dance clubs were and became active. Dave and Steve were started in school, and Doug and Fritzie stayed home to help their mother straighten things up. There was a lot to do and Connie did well at getting things in order and making new friends. The houses were government owned at this time and prepara-tions were being made to sell them to occupants. Our new friends were eager to help us become acclimated to the town and customs of this “quaint” community. There was a lot to learn, and I did many brilliant and some stupid things, but my work kept getting more interesting and I became involved in community activities. Again, there was family, fun, work and going to church on Sunday, but no advance in my spiritual life.

As Phil Reinig used to say, “we’re on a steep learning curve!” And it was a very steep learning curve. It took a lot of time just to take my previous experience and apply it to new methods, procedures, and regulations. I sure felt dumb at times. But, everything slowly came together and within a few months I was earning my keep, and more. My first assignment was as an engineer on the Los Alamos Me-son Physics Facility, a 55 million dollar linear accelerator.

Thanks be to God, I was able to make major contribu-tions at work, and received acknowledgement of such from my superiors. I was doing well in Los Alamos and we purchased a house in White Rock for about $25K, I became president of the White Rock Homeowners Association, and some political types placed me on the Charter Commission to draft a new charter for Los Alamos County. I even had one newspaper person, deluded of course, who said that I was a new Jack Kennedy. Wow! Who needs God now that no one is shooting at me and everything is turning up roses. Well, the Holy Spirit thought that my attitude was not too good, and I needed an attitude adjustment. And at that time the Charismatic renewal (this Pentecostal thing that I had heard about in Japan) was erupting all around the world.

First assignment

My first assignment was as a structural engineer on the Meson Physics Facility which was to be constructed on Mesita de Los Alamos. My supervisor, Wes Trask, and I started work by looking over the general criteria for this project which was initially estimated with a construction cost of 55 million dollars. With all equipment it finally ended with an actual cost of about one billion dollars.

But to start, we had to have a road going to the site of the construction from East Jamez road, which connected the “hill” (as Los Alamos proper was called) to State Road 4 at the eastern end of the mesa. So Wes and I walked the “road to be” from East Jamez to the construction “site to be.” No construction money was available, but there was A/E (Architecture & Engineering) money available and it sure smelled about the same. And besides, wasn’t a road to the site a necessary part of the A/E determination of how to build the facility? So, a contract was let to design and build a road going to the site. It worked out well, and my contri-butions were small, as I was an apprentice at this time.

The architect selected for this project was Giffels and Rosetti, later changed to Giffels and Associates, of Detroit, Michigan. We had to make many trips to Detroit over the next few years.

The Los Alamos National Laboratory, the Adventure of a Lifetime

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Preparation for the construction of the facility had be-gun. Soil borings were made and I had a marvelous time studying the new foundation material, volcanic tuff. It was completely different from the New Orleans fat clay. When the volcano, the Jemez or Valles Caldera, erupted about a million years ago, it spewed out forty cubic miles of volca-nic material, known as the El Cajete Pumice or tuff. Some of this tuff was ash flow and some was ash fall. The mate-rial at the top of the ground in and around the Valle Grande was primarily ash fall. Structurally speaking it varied from “rock” that you can crumble in your hands (Unit 3 tuff - ash fall) to competent material (Unit 2 or 1 tuff - hot ash fall or possible some ash flow) which could support loads over 10 tons per square foot. It varied from one location to another, usually with the weaker material being farther from the volcano, and with depth. The various material strengths also varied with the Units which were ash flows/falls with the deeper material sometimes stronger. Borings had been made all over the laboratory area, but a comprehensive report of the static and dynamic properties of the tuff on Mesita de Los Alamos was needed. I was assigned to do this report.

This was really a fun but extensive project. First I had to obtain all information that was available on the volcanic tuff in Los Alamos, and in other sites. One thing that was missing was load tests on the undisturbed tuff to correlate the empirical to the theoretical. Using the Newmark curves as a guide and soil borings, the correlation was established. I also found that a large water tank that was in the last stage of construction would have to be filled with water to test for leaks. The laboratory quickly set up an agreement so that

the water tank could be filled with water in stages so that deformation readings at distances from the tank could be read by our survey teams. There was a boring nearby so we were able to obtain that information at no additional cost. Calculations of expected deformations were compared to actual deformations.

Various amounts of C4 explosives were detonated at the east end of Mesita de Los Alamos and readings were taken at varying distances from the explosive with seismic type equipment to determine attenuation of signals and resonant frequencies of the tuff material. Sorry to go into so much detail, but this was a hell of a lot of fun. It ended with a seminar about the geological characteristics of Mesita de Los Alamos before members of MP (Meson Physics) Divi-sion and other personnel involved with the LAMPF (Los Alamos Meson Physics Facility) Project. Important inter-ested AEC (Atomic Energy Commission) personnel came to Los Alamos to hear the presentation. I gave the presen-tation, and it was a success. But most enjoyable of all, I had found a project and employer which challenged me more than I had ever had been challenged before and gave me resources to do the job.

The family settles in - three houses We started our lives in Los Alamos in half of a duplex

government constructed house on 36th street. When we learned that persons occupying a house would be able to purchase it, we checked with personnel and found that the purchase of the house was allowed on a formula based upon years of service and salary. I had “very few years” of seniority, but found that my salary was high enough to make us eligible for the next vacancy. I learned later that a special dispensation had to be obtained to offer me that sal-ary. Thank you, Boeing, for your generous pay raises.

So inquires were made and the Keller family moved to a house on 48th street, at the top of the town, one of the streets which was at the highest elevation of houses in the town. We bought the house when it was offered for some amount under $6000 and sold it a year or so later to build our own house in White Rock, a bedroom community at a lower elevation, about 6300 feet. When I was in Los Alamos for the interview I picked out an empty lot in White Rock and reserved it in case I got the job. Everything worked out well, and the house was constructed for about $25,000, almost double the cost of the house in Harahan.

When the house was completed we all moved down to White Rock and became involved in the community. My commute to work was now about ten miles instead of about forty miles in New Orleans, with an increase of 1200 feet in elevation between our house and place of employment.

Some of the people whom I met took a liking to me, and before I knew what was happening I was president of the White Rock Home Owners Association. I now had to get rid of my “fear of giving a talk to many,” or making

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proposals to “important people.” I was now in the limelight at times and had to learn to speak in public and to persons in management. The boys changed school, and Fritzie had a big yard to run around in, with snakes and all. Fritzie stood between the boys and a snake in Slidell and did so in White Rock also. At this time I had a 38 revolver with catridges loaded with #9 shot which was excellent for handling the rattlesnake problems in White Rock. When we moved in, there were very few houses constructed in the area and wildlife was abundant, especially raccoons which I didn’t really get to know about their presence until the 1990s. We were now moved in and committed to working in Los Alamos for the long haul.

Big Scare

We traveled to New Orleans as often as we could to visit our parents, taking the boys along. We had a station wagon equipped with a small TV in the back so the boys could watch TV when we were in range. The TV was purchased separately, not built in as they did later.

After one trip we were tired and angry when we returned home and it seems that no one wanted to get along with any one else. Being Catholic, I knew that I was in a state of “mortal sin” and had to go to confession and receive absolution, or go straight to Hell- do not pass go, do not collect $100! One evening I felt a pain on my right side in my abdomen, and we called a doctor. It was late, but he said that he would stop by on his way home. He did. After some probing and induced pain in the area he told me to go to the hospital.

There I was met by Dr. Greer, a wonderful Christian as well as a good doctor. He called in Dr. Dodson, a surgeon, and they did their doctor things, and said it was probably the appendix. No one was sure, but Dr. Dodson bet Dr. Greer $10 that it was. Dr. Greer accepted that bet. So on a bet I was going into surgery, and was I scared. I had responsibilities now. I called the Church to see if Father Borgman could come hear my confession. We couldn’t reach any priest, and I said my pitiful act of contrition and went into the operating room scared, more so than during any of my time in combat. Now I had a wife and three children as my responsibility.

The betting doctors were correct, the appendix was re-moved, and I survived, as obvious by my writing this now. At that time I questioned having to go through any church, person or organization, because they may not be available. I had to establish a direct communication with my God.

I had my spleen removed some time after this, and Con-nie was down in the hospital lunch room, and heard some of the nurses and attendants talking about my operation less than an hour after it was completed. One said “Did you see how Dean was when he was wheeled into the operating room, smiling, waving to friends, joking with the nurses.” Another said “Yes, and when we were about to start, he

made the sign of the cross, and peacefully went under the anaesthesia.”

This event was an eye opener for me. When we were flying combat, we would go to confession and communion before each flight. And for me, remaining in a state of grace was easy because I did not allow my carnal desires to rule my life. In addition, I was not married and the almost impossible requirements of the Catholic church for married persons were not a problem. However, with marriage and three children, no birth control and other regulations by the church made it difficult to stay in what was considered a “state of grace” and not live a lie. This was also hindered by the sometimes arguments which were very painful.

It was then that I became determined to having a rela-tionship with my Creator which did not need the interces-sion of any person or any church. This was contrary to Catholic doctrine, and I did love the church. So, I just kept quiet about my beliefs and tried to walk this different path and still remain a contributing member of the church.

Father Borgman, who was a young priest, was very comfortable to be around, even during confession. He later left the priesthood and became a hospital administrator. Some members of the church quietly went to speak with persons who were having problems with Vatican decrees, and explained that these rather harsh statements should not be taken as law.

There was still a battle within me about truth. I could not accept the church as having the complete truth, remem-bering history and Copernicus, Galileo, the crusades and the inquisition which the church had in its background. So I just did the best I could, keeping in step with the church as much as possible, but keeping an open mind in my search for a better relation with my God. My walk with my Cre-ator had begun.

Professional development and lots of workThere was a lot of work to do and I was in the middle of

it. Regular trips to Detroit were taken as we developed the criteria for the facility. There were wonderful successes and some embarrassing “happenings.” We kept working on our geotechnical knowledge, and the volcanic tuff was not always easy to understand. It had the characteristics of rock and sand and all points in between. More tests were conducted, one with “Project Gasbuggy” in Colorado. This was the explosion of a nuclear device at a depth in a gas field to develop a holding chamber for natural gas. We had the USGS on contract, with Wendell V. Mickey in charge, to lay out seismic detectors and recorded the signals after that detonations. We obtained good data.

Thinking that I knew something about the tuff, I pro-posed using high explosions to knock off loose tuff at the top of the LAMPF beam excavation. It was a magnificent sight as the explosives all went off, and the tuff adsorbed the explosion without dropping. I was embarrassed, but shrugged my shoulders as the construction workers got on

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Baptism of the Holy SpiritTwas Grace that taught my heart to fear, and Grace that

fear relieved. In 1968, I went to the medical building at the Los Alamos Scientific Laboratory for my three year physi-cal. It was discovered that there was a problem with my blood, and there started a long journey of my discovering God’s love through fear and pain. An initial examination in Denver, Colorado, incorrectly diagnosed, was that I had a serious blood disease and had about five months to live. At age 37, with a wife and three children to support, this was quite a shock. Dr. Rembe in Albuquerque corrected the diagnosis to Hairy Cell Leukemia which, although not a rapidly advancing leukemia, was very rare and the only known treatment was to remove the spleen. This was ac-complished with some interesting side adventures which developed in me, as I had in combat, a desire to be closer to my Creator.

I met some persons who came to the hospital to pray for me, especially Ben Dirks who had a healing ministry in the Catholic Church in Los Alamos to which we belonged, and which was then deeply involved in the Charismatic Renewal of the 1970s. But after the spleen was removed I improved in health and added something else to work and play, the Charismatic Renewal.

Ben Dirks came to the hospital room to pray for me. Connie was desperate and called Ben when she heard of his close ties with our Father. She brought him to the hospital and Connie told me about him and asked if he could pray for me. I have often placed the needs of others before mine, and the first thoughts that came to my mind were of Bethy Britt, one of Doug’s friends, who lived two houses east of us. She was afflicted with children’s leukemia. I told Ben, no, pray for Bethy, she needs it more than I do. I believe he assured me that he would, and did pray for me, and I vaguely remember some of his prayer being some-thing that I couldn’t understand. Bethy did not make it, but I did. Why, I do not know. Ben and his wife Emmaline introduced Connie and me to Chester Kazak who led the renewal within the Catholic Church as the leader of the Catholic prayer group which met in White Rock. Connie

and I started attending these prayer meetings, and found them to be what we both had been seeking, without even knowing it, for so long.

After an initial time for study, prayer, and trying to un-derstand this new experience in God’s love, we were both prayed for with the laying on of hands, and were informed that we had just received the baptism of the Holy Spirit. The “praying for” took place with my feeling nothing, except a little tired, and perhaps a little depressed. All the laying on of hands and praying for the baptism did at this time was to allow the Holy Spirit to get out the broom and start cleaning out a very dirty “Temple.” The Holy Spirit is a perfect, gentle person, and will not force you to do any-thing against your free will. Naturally, I was disappointed as was my wife, in that “nothing” happened.

In December, 1970, just before Christmas, I was asked to go to the architect-engineer in Detroit to reduce the cost of a construction package for the LAMPF facility. This was during the Carter presidency and runaway inflation and long gas lines were the hallmarks of the period. The contractors couldn’t get bids for work from some sub-con-tractors because prices were increasing between the time an order was placed and when the material was received. I was usually sent to Detroit with some senior engineering or Meson Physics personnel, but this time I was sent alone, much to the displeasure of some of my senior colleagues, with full authority to change the facility design to reduce costs, as long as the facility could still be used without compromising its capabilities.

While on travel something of a spiritual nature hap-pened. During my prayer time at night, using my “laundry list” of special requests, I “heard” a voice in my mind say-ing, “Now you will pray in tongues.” And I did. As an en-gineer I am very pragmatic, and my immediate impression and looking back on this event was that something super-natural happened. My observations were that I was speak-ing in a logical sequence of words, such as is in a language, pronouncing words that I could not ordinarily pronounce, at a speed which was beyond the capability of this southern boy from Louisiana, with the capability of starting or stop-ping the flow of words as I desired. But I had no control over which words were to be spoken. It was overwhelm-ingly profound. I could not understand any words being spoken, and was sort of abstractly on the side listening to what my tongue and mouth were doing. I could think about other things at the same time my mouth was going a mile-a-minute. Finally, my mouth and tongue ceased to pray in this heavenly language. I hesitated for a few seconds and then thought or said “Well, I guess He’s through.” Some time after all of this happened, I fell asleep.

The next morning I awoke wondering if all of this had

been a dream. I did not feel any different, nor look any different. What to do next? I still had a little time before I had to go to the A/E’s office which I spent in reflection on the events last night.

their bulldozers and front end loaders and proceeded to take care of the problem. A little bit of knowledge gained about something that won’t work, with a lot of distinguished members of management looking on. Fortunately, I had been right many times, so I was allowed to goof once.

For the first three years at the laboratory my dedication to work and capability in solving difficult problems was ap-preciated and everything was going well, family wise and work wise. David was just starting his teens, and was do-ing well. Steve at about 10 years was doing well in school, and Doug was still very young, and a joy to have around. My physical examination takes place every three years, and being hired in 1965, one was due in 1968. This resulted in a complete change in focus in my life, although after an initial shock, I was able to resume my professional work with no reduction in capability.

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After completing a long and difficult day of making de-cisions, I was exhausted. It was cold and windy in Detroit. I went back to the motel trying to put this new phenomenon into perspective. Tongues would not just start. I finally thought that I should leap out in faith, like Peter stepping out of the boat to meet Jesus. So, I started making noises with my mouth and tongue, nothing intelligent or that made sense, just noises, or strange sounds- and something clicked. In a moment this coherent flow of words and phrases started flowing from my mouth, with no help from my intellect, brain, or whatever you would like to call it. I was once again speaking in tongues, not understanding anything being said, but rejoicing in this moment of close communion with my Creator.

I know that there are some who will claim that it was a demon speaking through me, and I would not even try to argue with them. That is their free will being exercised, and I will not argue with the free will of another person. However, the love of God and Jesus that I felt, and the changes that this remarkable phenomenon has made in my life, I cannot contribute to anyone other than my Lord and my God.

The baptism in the Holy Spirit, as sometimes verified by the gift of tongues, is not an end. As Winston Churchill said, after a victory in Af-rica during World War 2, it is not the end, nor is it the beginning of the end, but it can be considered the end of the beginning. It is a start available to all who earnestly seek this gift.

No, I was not set free from the committing of sin, unfortunately, since the definition of sin, given to me by John Stanton, a Catholic Lay Theologian, is that when you stop loving, you start sinning. It is so sim-ple. And many times over the years I did sin greatly, in thought, word and deed, Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa, Mea Maxima Culpa. (Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault). I am not proud of this, but this is part of life. The flip-flop change from sinner to saint does not happen often as it did with Saint Paul. For most of us it is two steps forward, one step back - a journey with many adventures and mis-ad-ventures along the way, with some happiness, and sometimes even more pain. But with an ever growing joy in the love of God, all I can say at this time is, that through this very difficult

journey that I have undertaken with my Lord and my God, I am at peace.

We did manage to trim enough cost out of the project so that the bidding was successful when it was sent out for bid again. The facility worked as required with the changes that we made to reduce cost incorporated.

Recognition receivedAs the performance appraisal of December 7, 1972

indicates, my performance was acknowledged and my work load was increased by many projects in order to keep me occupied. One compliment, if earned, is worth more than a supervisor looking for problems where there are so few.

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Air bearings come to Engineering At the Los Alamos Scientific Laboratory- this was the

latter part of the 1960s and the name had not been changed to the Los Alamos National Laboratory, we had a pre-de-sign conference about the design of a small (22000 pounds) shield door. We were talking about how to support it, on wheels or rails. I remembered that back at Prestressed Concrete we looked at a steel plate with holes drilled in it through which air was passed under pressure. The purpose of this experiment was to float loads on this “air bearing.” This was being developed at different locations around the country. But our attempt at PC just “sort of worked.”

I asked “can we float it on air?” Rodger remembered that at one of the sites “air bearings” were used to place heavy shield doors in place. He contacted Airfloat Corp. and obtained some of their literature. This was new technology at that time with the bearings being limited in size and air pres-sure.

This same type of bearing was used in our house, in Tulsa, OK in 2004, to move a refrigerator during the kitchen renovation. So now air bearings are used, even around the house.

The air bearings worked beauti-fully, and we even had a write up in a few publications. I referred to this door as “a little fellow,” considering the size of a much larger door which was being planned for the Meson Physics Facility

The 100 ton shield door shown on the right was the next piece of equipment floated on air. It could not be called a “little fellow” but it is small compared to what was yet to come. It also worked beautifully and has worked beautifully for over 25 years.

At that time the Scyllac project was underway, and a new building was being planned to house a large number of energy stor-age capacitor racks. These racks had to be positioned as shown on the right, and then moved to a full torus configuration. Consider-ing the success of the small shield door, the planning of a larger (100 T) shield door at the Meson Physics Facility, and a lot of enthusiasm, I made a presentation to manage-ment at Scyllac that we use the air bearing concept to move the racks from one configuration to another. Saying it was too new a concept, wasn’t really proven engineering at that time, etc., management said that they would use a proven concept to move the racks, like wheels. What that meant; they didn’t want to think about it yet. So I just tucked that information in the back of my head, and went on with my work.

A few months later, Jack Harbor, who was project engineer for the Scyllac Facilities Project asked me what flatness and smoothness specification should be used for the floor of the new Scyllac facility. Remembering the problem of moving the racks, and thinking ahead, I gave Jack the specifications which would allow the use of air bearings on the floor. It was a good spec, and not much more costly than a regular industrial floor, so what did we have to lose?

Time passed, and as one of my side projects was be-ing a structural design engineer for the laboratory, I was assigned the design of the racks. With one designer/drafts-man to do the drawings and a few phone calls to Airfloat Corp. for some design literature and information, the design proceeded. The racks were 37 feet high, 7 feet wide and 30 feet long. The height to side aspect ratio was high, which made them prone to overturn. The capacitors and the racks weighed about 130,000 pounds and were top heavy. Taking all of this into consideration, I designed the racks to accom-modate Airfloat Corp. air bearings. The additional cost was nil, as only dimensions were critical, and the structure had to be reinforced at the bottom. Early in 1973 an engineer, James J. Banta, from ENG-6, the prestige group which had

many PhDs in it, stopped by my office and asked me what was the coefficient of friction of steel on concrete. I told him that he didn’t want to know. Then I asked, what do you need to do? Well, the people at Scyllac needed to move their racks from one configuration to another and assigned

Rodger with me on an air bearing

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the job to ENG-6, and he had it. It was difficult not to snicker, but without even a smile I asked him, “Why don’t you float them on air?” The reply was something like “are you kidding?” Well, my name was on the rack drawing, which is probably why he came to me in the first place, so we got a copy of the drawings to study. We looked it over, and I gave Jim a short course in air bearing design since we now had the little door and the big door floating on air.

We ordered the latest literature from Airfloat Corp., and found that one of their standard designs just fit in the space below the rack, and there was plenty of load capacity to carry the weight of the capacitors at very low pressure. This was necessary to keep the air bearings from oscillat-ing with the large height to width ratio. And the floor specs were just right for air bearing use. Jim took the informa-tion back to ENG-6, and did computer analysis of the rack (only slide rule analysis before) which proved that the rack was capable of transferring the load from the capacitors to the air bearings with some additional stiffeners at the base. There was even adequate room for these needed stiffeners. Well, the design went beautifully, and the implementation of the design during the actual move of the racks by the contractor was amazing. After getting the racks elevated on air, a crew of about five men could push them to their new location with mostly hand power. Come-a-longs were used as necessary, and the racks were relocated, placed in their new location, precisely, and then lowered into place. It was a beautiful operation, saved an estimated $400,000 and

was accomplished in 17 working days.Jim wrote a professional paper explaining the design

and operation, and had it published. I went to Scyllac and observed the operation, and was very pleased. My name was not mentioned in the professional paper. It just shows you what can be accomplished when you are not concerned about who gets the credit but it would have been nice.

Around 1970 I was assigned to be the project engineer for the Mass Spectrometer in Beam Area C, a circular dome building on the East side of Mesita de Los Alamos. This involved a complex computer analysis of the Mass Spec-trometer frame subjected to seismic loading and overview of the design of the frame by an engineering group at Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory (LLNL) near Berkeley, California. The computer analysis used Nastran, a computer analysis program which was developed by NASA for analysis of space vehicles. It was run on the main frame computers at the Los Alamos National Laboratory.

The mass spectrometer, shown above, had a pivot point around which the spectrometer had to rotate, and a travel-ing means of support at the other end, which had to support about 500,000 lbs. This weight came from the frame, and the magnets which bent the beam from the 800 MeV Meson Physics Facility. As part of my assignment I was to spend a week at the LLNL during the preliminary stages of design. Not missing an opportunity to take the family on travel, we loaded up our 1965 Plymouth Station Wagon and traveled to California. We arrived there at a motel, and set up house keeping, and I went to work on a Monday morning.

Then followed an introduction to the people, the facili-ties, and the capabilities of the LLNL. The final product of this function was the drawings necessary to build the frame for the Mass Spectrometer. On the second day, or so, the lead engineer came to me with a problem. For the traveling means of support, he envisioned a set of railroad wheels running on curved rails cast into the floor. The vertical sup-port for the 500,000 pound load wasn’t a problem, but

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when the load was moving along the rails, the coefficient of friction of steel on steel was about 0.5 and a very large tan-gential force was developed perpendicular to the rail. This force would be a tensile force in the concrete. This force would have to be transmitted as compression through the bottom frame of the spectrometer and the balance of force will require the concrete in the slab to be in tension. But the concrete could not take the tension and large amounts of reinforcing would have to be placed in this concrete. He stated that he could not put enough steel in the concrete to take this force, especially considering that you had to consider tensile deformation as well. Also the pivot point would have to transfer the resulting horizontal load from the frame to the reinforcing in the slab.

Looking at the force that we had to support, I thought back to the “Little Fellow,” and said “why don’t we float it on air?” Then came the “are you crazy” looks, which were followed by a simple explanation, followed by some quick calculations. We figured that we could place five pads at 2000 sq. in. each under that end of the spectrometer. This would give us 10,000 sq. in., requiring that air pads be de-signed for 50 psi. Everything that we had done before was designed for about 15 psi.

Jerry Stemple, sales manager for Airfloat Corp. in De-catur, Illinois was contacted. Asked if he could design an air bearing to support 50 psi, he stated he would sure like to, and they had thought about it, but didn’t have develop-ment money. I asked “how much?” He stated that he would need about $5000 to $10,000. “I’ll call back,” I told him, and made a phone call to the project leader for the Mass Spectrometer, and to Supply and Property, who issued a Purchase Order to Airfloat Corp. By the end of the week we were designing the Mass Spectrometer supported by 50 psi air bearings. By contract time all tests were complete and we had a GO.

The Mass Spectrometer has functioned very well over the last thirty years, and the spectrometer has performed much physics. I believe that God allowed me to be present when the “air bearing” events took place from Prestressed Concrete Products in Mandeville, LA, to the “Little Fel-low” event in Los Alamos, NM, to the design of the Mass Spectrometer Frame at Lawrence Livermore Laboratory in California, so that I could help bring all of the pieces of this puzzle together.

Back to our vacation in San Francisco. Although I was with the family each night, I planned to spend the weekend in San Francisco with them before returning to Los Ala-mos. However, we received a phone call on Friday that I was needed in Detroit, Michigan on Monday morning. We packed our bags on Friday, drove a reasonable distance that night, and arrived in Los Alamos late Saturday night. We caught a plane Sunday morning, and I made it to the meet-ing on Monday morning.

An MP engineer also contributed to this flood of uses for air bearings. The Klystron tubes in the MP facility had to be transported horizontally, and the height of the cranes to transport them resulted in high ceilings for the entire facility. He developed a means of moving them using air bearings, allowing the ceiling to be reduced in many loca-tions by 15 feet.

In the meantime, my spiritual life was becoming more active. I was going to prayer meetings every week, going to mass during the week, teaching catechism at the Catholic church - and loving it. Connie had also received the gift of tongues, and spiritually our lives were doing well. How-ever, our boys were in or approaching the teen age problem age, and many problems were yet to come.

Los Alamos Canyon BridgeCorrosion takes its toll on reinforced concrete, and the

bridge across Los Alamos Canyon was no exception. The concrete walkway on the west side of the bridge had cracks and was considered unsafe. The Zia Company, the inhouse construction contractor for the laboratory was selected to do this job, and I was selected to be in charge of construc-tion inspection and direction for the laboratory. This was a complex situation with the Atomic Energy Commission (AEC) being in charge of the overall contract and the Army Corps of Engineers selected to be the reviewer of drawings and approval for all construction changes in the field. Ed Sitzberger was the division leader for the laboratory at this time, and I was to report directly to him on this project. There was a weekly progress meeting with the AEC, the engineering division leader and the Corps of Engineers at-tending. Maybe there were others attending, but these were the main players.

Each week, before the meeting, I would meet with Ed and give him a fifteen minute briefing on P&P, progress and problems, for the last week. It was a rapid fire meeting, with a large amount of information being exchanged in a short period of time. Ed would then take the information to the AEC and the Corps, and speak for the Laboratory. It was necessary to make decisions in the field to keep the project moving, as one lane of the bridge was blocked off by construction equipment and traffic was slowed. Most of the decisions were small, but important, and usually had to do with field corrections because of errors on the original drawings or conflicts with existing conditions.

The bridge was constructed in the 1940s and the con-nections used were rivets. We had to place a support beam perpendicular from the bridge about twelve feet out to sup-port new precast concrete sidewalk sections. These beams, W12X27 - 12 inches deep with a flange width of 6-1/2 inches, were connected to the bridge by removing the rivets at their location and attaching them to the bridge using high strength bolts. From the bridge deck to the ground below was about 160 feet and the AEC engineers always managed to keep at least six feet from the edge of the bridge.

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One day I needed to see how the attach-ments were being fastened, so I walked out on the twelve inch wide flange beam about ten feet, turned around and checked the connections. Strange, some persons were concerned, but I was used to heights (from the Air Force?), and as long as no one was shooting at me, I was at ease.

Often I would receive a call from the field, and have to make an instant decision. This usually wasn’t serious enough to send to the Corps so I would just put it in my field log, and let Ed know what mischief I was up to. One day, or perhaps on many days, Don Gallegos of the AEC would tell Ed “Dean is making decisions in the field again and not letting the Corps see them before the construction is done.” Ed would tell them “I’ll talk to Dean about that!” Ed would, and it was usually to say - “Good job, keep it up!” The project was completed on schedule and within budget and I received the letter to the right from the Zia Company.

The Russians are coming!!!

As a result of the Nuclear Arms Agreements the Unit-ed States and the Soviet Union (Russia, after the change) were having to store the nuclear materials removed from nuclear devices in safe storage. The Russians were planning to construct a nuclear storage facility for both plutonium and uranium in Tomsk, Russia, which is NE of Kazakhstan and NW of Mongolia. The design criteria was for an F111 with a full conventional bomb load div-ing at Mach 2 into the site. The facility was underground with blast protection concrete over the actual facility. Much of the design was being accomplished by the US Corps of Engineers.

The Russians were planning to design the facility for a Richter 5 earthquake, and there was a seismic fault which ran through Tomsk. As you can see from the memo to the right we had a large team to assist the Rus-sians with their design. I was assigned to be the consul-tant for the United States to Russia for seismic design of the nuclear facility.

To have a friendly “joke” at the start of my talk, I said, through the interpreter, “I wanted to start the talk with the only Russian that I know -идет снег” which means “it is snowing,” but the weather wouldn’t cooper-ate. Not a smile in the house. So I went into a discus-sion of paleoseismology (see page 78) with a description of a trench type investigation and how it can be con-ducted to provide information about the recurrence in-tervals of seismic events and their magnitude. All were listening intently. I suggested that for a nuclear facility the seismic event for design should be at a minimum a Richter 7 to 7.5.

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I then went into a discussion of seismic design, and that with the dynamic load of the F111 at Mach 2, the only item which would have to receive careful consideration would be the joints. That is where “the devil is in the details.” The additional cost would be less that one percent of the total construction cost. There was much discussion with me, and then among themselves. After the discussion was over, the person who was in charge of environmental safety for Tomsk came over to me, grabbed my two hands in his two hands, and pumped them up and down saying “thank you, thank you, thank you.”

The next day it was snowing, and as I was walking into the building for the remainder of the session, the Russians, as they saw me, came over to me, slapped me on the back, rather hard, and said “идет снег.” They did remember, and I like to think that the slaps on the back were just friendly Russian slaps, and they weren’t trying to knock me down.

As the internal Los Alamos Laboratory memo stated, it was a good meeting for all of us. And a feeling of mutual respect prevailed. The appreciation by our Russian coun-terparts was appreciated by us all.

In the 1970s when the relations between our two nations was not as good, I had a warm spot in my heart for the Rus-sian people. If it weren’t for the Russian people and their valiant fight against Nazi Germany we would have prob-ably lost Great Britain and had to fight many years at great sacrifice to be victorious over Germany and Japan together, if we could win without suing for an uneasy cease fire. In the charismatic prayer group which we attended in White Rock, NM, I used to ask for prayers for “Holy Mother Russia.” This was often followed by statements like “no! Lets pray for the people they are persecuting, not for them.” The Russian people have suffered over centuries, under many kinds of rulers, and underground have kept their faith in God. If we want to follow the teachings of Jesus our love and prayers for our worst enemies are the hallmark of our Christian faith. Wasn’t it said “You have heard that it was said, “Love your neighbor and hate your enemy. But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who perse-cute you . “If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? Even “sinners” love those who love them.”

God works in mysterious ways

While having the oil changed on our Lincoln TownCar I went over to McDonald’s for some coffee. While there I met two young ladies who were Mormon Missionar-ies. One of the young ladies, Sister Donahue, was from Mandeville, Louisiana, a town in which I worked for about three years. A few days later these two were working our street in White Rock, and rang the door. So we got to talk a bit more, and I gave them a tape of Christian songs that I had made from 30 years of 33 rpm records. I selected my favorite songs from each record. So we said goodbye again.

On May 27, 1998, Connie and I went to New Orleans to help my brother and her mother, spend time with her fam-ily, and attend the 50th year anniversary of my high school class. While talking to Camille Richardson Bubert, one of my class mates and her daughter, Connie mentioned that we were from Los Alamos. Camille’s daughter stated that her daughter was on mission work in Los Alamos. Connie then told them that her daughter was in our living room last week. When I got back to Los Alamos I made up a package consisting of a picture of our graduating class of 50 years ago, a blow up of Camille from that picture, a picture of the graduating class taken at the reunion (with persons in about the same location that they were in, in the original picture) and a picture of me with Mrs Donahue (her mother - can’t remember her first name) me, and Camille, her grandmoth-er.

Unfortunately Sister Donahue was reassigned to Albu-querque, but the other young lady, Sister Haroldsen from Oregon, was going to see her that weekend. So the package went to Sister Donahue who now knows that the person who gave her poetry and music in Los Alamos graduated from high school with her grandmother. The only message that I can see in this unusual situation was that Sister Do-nahue was homesick, and God wanted her to know that she was never alone, no matter where she was.

My next trip to New Orleans, by myself, started about July 6 and extend through August. Nothing like New Orleans in the middle of July. My brother, Chuck, had two back operations for a service connected injury and my func-tion was to take care of his business while he was in the hospital, take care of my sister-in-law, work with a realtor who is going to sell some of his property, take my sister-in-law to visit him in the hospital, clean up his room, finish his income tax for last year, etc., etc., etc.. He was 75 years old then. It’s a good thing that I was the younger brother.

Home Office

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I asked God to guide me, but received no word. I was standing at a bus stop where the next bus was going to Canada. So, I told my Father that if he wanted me to go to the meeting in Detroit, He would have to cause me to miss that bus. The bus came up to where I was standing, on the curb, the door opened, the driver looked at me, and I looked at him, and I could not move. The driver looked at me again, closed the door and off went that bus to Canada.

The next bus was the one which would take me to the meeting in Detroit. This time the bus door opened, I stepped in, and was transported to the prayer meeting. I had given testimony before at the meeting about the mi-raculous things that were happening in Los Alamos. They were thirsting to hear about how God was working in the Church. These answers to prayer were not very big things, but too many and unusual to be by chance. So I felt led to give a testimony again. I believe I started the testimony about one person, two busses, and three birthdays. This was after April 7, 1970, when my mother was born into eternal life. I started by stating that I was the person, and then told what happened at the bus stop. I told the story of my brother being born on April 7th, my little boy Doug be-ing born on April 7th and my Mother being born to eternal life on April 7th, and we were going to celebrate all three birthdays, so Praise the Lord. Three generations within the same family with the same birthday. It was well received by the five hundred or so persons at the prayer meeting.

Another communication took place in Detroit, I do not remember which year. I was walking down one of the larger streets when I saw a group of Hari Krishna followers accepting alms and making “music” with their tambourines. I talked with one of these persons, who was very happy and had a great smile. I gave him a small donation and a copy of the gospel according to John, and he gave me some of his literature. Continuing my walk down the street, I spoke to my God, “God, he seems so happy, but he does not know Jesus. I don’t understand.” Before another two steps were taken, an answer came to me, in my mind, “Do not be con-cerned, my son, he walks a different path than you, but that path too leads to me.” At that time I was very fundamental in my beliefs, and I did not share this with others, because I knew there would be strong disagreement.

Working With Youth In the early 1970s I was teaching Catechism at the Im-

maculate Heart of Mary Catholic Church. Some of the stu-dents were being tempted to look into the supernatural by fellow students at school, but on the dark side. I told them that there was God’s side also, and this made the dark side appear like a scrawny worm. That started a young person’s Charismatic prayer group, with the approval of the priest. There was already an adult group, of which I was a mem-ber, and I caught hell for not bringing the youngsters over to our adult group so that they could be bored. These high school students were so full of the spirit and love for each other that they made the rest of us appear to be comatose.

Starting CommunicationsThe first time that I can remember having the impres-

sion that my Father wanted to communicate with me was in the early 1970s when I asked Him a question. I had been in the Charismatic renewal for a short period of time, and being an engineer was already trying to figure God out. After all, E=MC2 and all matter, the “M” in the equation, is derived from energy, the “E” in the equation. So I spoke to my Creator, I don’t remember if it were out loud or just as a thought, and told Him, “I believe I have you figured out, You are an intelligent form of energy. Isn’t that correct?” Then I waited for an answer. After a few seconds I thought, “Well I guess I must be correct.” Just a few seconds later, however, clear, firm, but gentle words started forming in my mind. There was no audible voice speaking to me, just a thought in my mind. It was “You could not be further from the truth. Do not try to understand Me, I am com-pletely beyond your comprehension. Just love Me, that is enough.” End of statement. I placed this statement in my heart and that started my consideration that God does not want to be understood, but to be loved. And, over the years with the help of others much wiser than I will ever be in this life, I have yearned to, tried to, endeavored to, cried to and pleaded to love Him.

First, I tried to love the unseen, far away God who lives way up there, and as I matured and learned that, as a start-ing point, I had to love the unseen, nearby God who lives, sometimes deeply hidden, within that mess which is the least of my brethren. Especially those for whom I had no use, and were distasteful to me. Oh God, you gave me a mountain!

First Communication Confirmation

During a prayer meeting in Los Alamos, New Mexico, after a little more maturity, I had thoughts come to me during a lull in the singing and praise. So, slowly and deliberately I spoke these thoughts out loud. Then, I was a bit scared. Was I presuming that God would want to speak through me, myself being one of the least of the brethren. Surely this was the “human” part of the equation, not the “heavenly.” After the meeting, one of the other members of the prayer group came over to me and said “Dean, I just wanted you to know that before each sentence you spoke, the same words came to me.” I believe this was the first time that I had confirmation of God speaking through me, although I am sure that there could be many more logical explanations. On faith, I accepted that He will even speak through me, since He did speak through Balin’s jackass.

Please God, Tell Me What To DoIn Detroit, while on travel, I had a choice. Go to a prayer

meeting in Canada, or one that I had attended before in Detroit. Both were Catholic charismatic prayer meetings.

Spiritual Adventures while Living in Los Alamos

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A Memorable ExperienceA very beautiful young lady who was in my catechism

class, named Ann, was in the Blessed Sacrament Chapel along with Ken, a few others and me. After all but Ken and I had left, Ann asked me to pray for her for the baptism in the Holy Spirit. I told her that I did not have to pray for her, that she already had the Holy Spirit and just had to ask for the release of the gifts. I thought that I should not, since I was just a lay person, and this was supposed to be the function of a bishop. She asked me again, please pray for me. So I agreed, and placed my hand on her head. Imme-diately she felt the full impact of God’s love throughout her body and started speaking beautifully in tongues. I don’t know if this was for her edification or for the edification of Ken and me. Afterwards she, Ken and I went into the main church where she looked up at Jesus on the Cross at the front of the church with so much love that it lit up the church. What a overwhelming experience it was for me.

Giving A LittleNow back to communications, and a little bit on giving.

Carol had taken in another child for a while, and they were not wealthy persons. A voice, I believe it was “the voice,” told me to give Carol fifty dollars. I said what? The same message. Well, being of little faith I decided to have a scrip-dip, where you go to the Bible, open it at random, and read where you place your finger with your eyes closed. The reading I had finger selected was “Sit down and write fifty.” So I brought a check to Carol, and she accepted it gladly saying that this was really needed. Paul says test the spirit, and confirm everything that you can. This is espe-cially true now that some religious organizations look upon others as “fat cows” rather than brothers and sisters.

Along the same line, I was at home, I believe in the

1980s, when a thought came to me “You are going to write a check for Kate.” The only Kate that I could think of was Kate Salazar, who was the secretary of an engineering group. We attended her wedding as “honored guests” and experienced our first Spanish language service. Later her brother worked for me in my engineering section. Kate was a devout Christian who had left the Catholic Church to join the “El Bien Pastor Church,” a Pentecostal Church in Espanola. I saw Kate later that day, and asked her how her church was doing. She said, great, and we are going to build a church building and we will have it paid for before we enter it. This was to be a reasonable sized metal build-ing, not an ornate monument. I sat down and wrote a check for fifty dollars. Each month for twelve months, I wrote a check for fifty dollars, and after the twelfth check I heard the words in my mind, “that is enough.” I gave the check to Kate and asked her about the progress of the building fund. She told me that the church was now paid for in full.

Sometimes It Really Hurts, And I Fall ShortWhen I was at Randolph Air Force Base for Combat

Crew Training, I purchased a 1942 German Luger from an

officer at the base. It was very accurate. After hearing that having a pistol other than government issue would prompt the enemy to just shoot you on the spot if you were cap-tured, I left the Luger home while I was in combat. Over the years that Luger became my most prized possession. It sometimes directed me on making decisions. I carried it in the car for years. After carrying a pistol in combat, I became a little paranoid, and felt unsafe without it. It was becoming a god.

One morning, in the early 1970s a voice in my mind stated “I want you to sell your Luger.” No. This is stupid. I had better get some confirmation. I won’t do it!!!! Later, I was going into the Department of Energy Head-quarters Building when I passed Jerry Koelling, a friend who had two PHDs, two Masters Degrees, and a Bachelors degree. His advisors in high school told him to study auto mechanics, he could never get through college. Out of the blue, Jerry asked me “When are you going to sell me your Luger?” Jerry and I probably met at the firing range a few times, but it did not register on me that he even knew I had a Luger. I was stunned. I said that I would have to think about it. I did not need the money, why should I sell my most prized possession? I went home and asked Connie “What is it that God wants me to sell?” She said, “You don’t want to know.” I told her that I did, and she an-swered “Your Luger.” One, two three strikes you’re out at the old ball game.

I packed up the Luger, the holster, extra clips, ammo, and called Jerry. I told him what happened, and he under-stood. After all, he was an educated man and a Christian. I told him to determine how much it was worth and write me a check. He did, I believe for about $350. I paid $40 for it in 1951. The money and Luger exchanged hands.

I thought that was over, but that voice in my mind wasn’t through yet. “I want you to give that money to Jim” was the next statement. Now Jim was a very powerful Christian, light years advanced from where I was, and I was jealous of him. When he walked into a room, there was the presence of Christ which came with him. I might as well get it out. I said no! I thought I had better get confirma-tion, so I asked my wife if I should give the money to Jim. She became more earthly inspired than heavenly at that time, and agreed with me- no! Well I thought that was the end of that.

In August 1976 my youngest son Doug died in an au-tomobile accident. Jim and Lorna, his wife, came over to my house. Connie had left me and was living in an apart-ment; my oldest son was in college in Albuquerque and my middle son had joined the Army. I was alone with my dog, Chaunte. Jim and Lorna came to pray for me since I was in the deepest depression that I had ever known. I told them what had happened years ago, and they recalled the time, and said that yes, the money was really needed, but

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someone else gave it to them. We are given opportunities to serve God, and when we refuse, He calls on another. I asked Jim for his forgiveness, which he freely gave to me. Then I took out a large pan, and told him that I wanted to wash his feet. He knew what I needed, and allowed me to do so. His feet were scared and covered with a rash or something, and Lorna told me that he always had problems with them. He also walked with a limp due to a leg injury. Here, a powerful man of God, was by the standards of the world, a cripple. After they left, I really felt nothing, except that I had done what I had to do.

Working Outside Of The Catholic ChurchThrough this group that was meeting at our church I met

Carol Waldschmidt and her husband, Leo, who were more advanced in the Spirit than I was. I was still not house-broken. Carol and Leo had many children of their own, and had prayer meetings at their house, some of which were outside the jurisdiction of the Catholic Church.

Changes within the Catholic Church were happening fast and furious, and a new priest who replaced Father Borgman was strange compared to other priests I knew. He was a good individual, and I worked with him, even taking a “camper on the back of my truck” load of young persons to Albuquerque to see Jesus Christ, Superstar. But some-thing was missing. He did not believe in miracles, and while in Detroit I purchased a book entitled “The Gospel without Myths” for him. It discounted all miracles in the Bible as being false, and just examples of people sharing with each other. With all the confusion I no longer felt at home in the church, and on December 17, 1972, I was confirmed in the Episcopal Church in Los Alamos. It was a good move at that time.

Healing

Healing was a major part of the ministry of Jesus during His three years of ministry. These acts of love ranged from minor events to the more spectacular event when Lazarus was brought back to life after being entombed for numer-ous days, and “started to smell.” These acts of healing are documented in multiple cases in different gospels, and in the “Acts of the Apostles.” Acts of healing have taken place over the years at Fatima, Oral Roberts ministries, Benny Hinn crusades, and around the world. I have not witnessed any great acts of healing, but have heard of them from multiple-reliable sources. These acts of healing are not accomplished in any set way, but vary as greatly as the persons who receive them. All I am going to do is relate, to the best of my memory, some unusual events that I have experienced.

Arthritis can be very painful: Early 1970s

At the time of this event, the early 1970s, we had both been prayed for and received the baptism in the Holy Spirit

at a Catholic prayer group in Los Alamos, New Mexico.

Many unusual events had taken place in our lives since our baptism in the Holy Spirit, and even prior to this baptism. This is the recounting of an event that started one night while Connie was trying to fight off pain from arthritis. This was a very painful experience for her. She was taking up to eight Ascriptin (buffered aspirin) every day with little relief, and had an appointment scheduled for the next day with Dr. Greer, our family physician.

The pain was so bad that I decided that prayer was the only possible help. So I placed my hand on her head and started praying in tongues. I learned the next morning that she was thinking at the moment that I did that, “How can I tell him that the pain is still there, it will destroy his faith?” A quiet voice came to me in my mind, nothing audible, just a thought, but more than a thought. “Will you accept this pain for her?” I hesitated for a moment, and then said “Yes, I will.” Then another thought came, “You won’t have to, I just wanted to know if you would.” That was the last thing that I remembered that night. I fell asleep.

The next morning when we both awoke, I asked Con-nie if the pain was still there. She stated that it was gone, and asked me if I had prayed for her. I had been accused of many things before, but this was a first. She then remem-bered and told me of her thought about hurting my faith the night before. And immediately after that she went to sleep. She took no Ascriptin that day and went to see Dr. Greer. Dr. Greer was a devout Christian who forfeited an impor-tant tennis match because he would not play on Sunday. They talked for over an hour, about his understanding and agreement with the power of prayer. After that the real miracle took place. His bill for that visit was about $20. To the best of my memory Connie did not have to take Ascription again for arthritis, although this does not imply that she was always free from pain. She suffered greatly from allergies later in life, due to the harsh allergy condi-tions which prevailed in Los Alamos. She often required Imitrex injections to stop the pain. Each healing is unique, and separate from any other. Each pain or sickness can be caused by physical, mental or spiritual reasons unique and separate from other afflictions.

New Orleans, late 1970s

Connie was in New Orleans, helping with her father’s

(Jake) care during an operation for lung cancer. The doc-tors opened him up, checked carefully, and then closed him up again with little or no possibility for a cure. When I arrived at the house, Jake was in his bed in the bedroom. I went into the bedroom, greeted him, and placed my hand on his shoulder, and prayed. He was happy to see me. He was suffering pain throughout his body. I was there for quite a while praying. He appeared to appreciate my concern and prayers. Afterwards, I left to go to be with the other family members, leaving Jake to join us.

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Jake came out of the bedroom and joined us. He said, “I don’t understand it, the pain is the same all over my body, except for the arm where Dean had his hand praying for me.” Perhaps, it was just a touch from God saying, “It is time for you to come home, but here is a small sign from Me, just to let you know that I am with you.” Healing can be from pain, from fear, or just the knowledge that your Creator is with you and loves you.

Don Mc has a problem, early 1970sDon was always a cheerful person, he ran for office with

a singing endorsement, which he composed and sang on the radio, and was well liked by all. When I started hav-ing dreams and pictured him dying, it was very troubling. I spoke to no one about this for a few days, then asked Connie “Who in our congregation (Episcopal) is in dan-ger?” Without hesitation, she said “Don Mc.” “How do you know?” I asked. She replied that she just felt it. So we started praying for Don, and called the members of the prayer group to pray for “a member of our congregation who is in danger,” not stating who it was. I also called our priest, Father Rohane, and told him that we were praying for a member of our congregation. He asked who it was, and I told him that I had not told anyone else, but I felt that I should tell him. He acknowledged the name, said he would say nothing to anyone except to have them pray for a member of our congregation who was in danger.

About a week later, Don suddenly went blind, and was rushed to the hospital. It was determined that his blood pressure had gone so high that blood vessels in his eyes had been damaged. He received the necessary medication to reduce his blood pressure, but there was still concern for his life. Time passed, his eye sight returned, and he was declared out of danger. Father Rohane visited him at the hospital many times, and finally on one occasion told him “Don, do you know that members of the congregation have been praying for you for over a week before this hap-pened?” It was mentioned that I had spoken to Father Ro-hane about my concerns. After this event the bond between Don and me, which was already very good, increased.

At a prayer meeting which Don attended some time after the hospital visit, he mentioned that the tension was so high that it was starting to be painful. We prayed, and it was suggested that we share this tension for him. Many of us agreed. That next week I had the worst tension headaches in the back of my neck that I had ever had, as did many other members of the prayer group. Don, when asked how he did that week, said he felt great.

Early 1970 a phone call from Dad I was at work in the administration building at the Los

Alamos National Laboratory when I received word from my dad that mom was failing fast, and that I should come to New Orleans. Walking across the grounds at the back of the building, I started talking to God. By this time I had

witnessed supernatural events and asked God to please heal my mother. She had emphysema and a tracheotomy so that a suction tube could be run down her lungs to suction fluids. Before I left the interior parking area, a quiet voice spoke to my heart, “Do you want her to go through all of this all over again?”

I flew to New Orleans where I was met at the airport and was brought to our house on Harding Street. When I went into the house, mother was lying in a hospital bed in the dining room with the suction equipment and other medical necessities nearby. Dad was taking care of her along with a lady who spent the days with her. She was happy to see me, and I, her. While lying there she would raise her right hand up, and seem to point to the sky. I asked her if she needed anything. She placed her finger over the tracheoto-my so she could speak, and said “That’s where I am going.” We spent a lot of time together with dad, and I sang some of the songs that I had learned at prayer meetings.

I had heard that there was a Charismatic Prayer group at Loyola University on St. Charles Ave. Through a few phone calls I found out the days and times of the prayer meetings. With the blessing of mom and dad, I went to a prayer meeting at Loyola University. It was not held in the church, but in a meeting room. There was a nice group of persons there, both Catholic and non-Catholic. The priest who was leading the prayer meeting was Fr. Cohen. At one meeting, a classical Pentecostal man stood up and spoke for a very long time, using prayer terms and expressions not usually used by Catholics, and he went on and on. When he finished, Fr. Cohen thanked him for his contribution to the meeting. I met some Catholic Charismatic members of the group who said they would be happy to come to our house to pray for my mother, just set a date and time. We did, and about six to eight came to the house and prayed for mom. Mom and dad were both very touched.

I learned that Lloyd Salathe who lived on the “lake” side of our house was also very sick. In New Orleans you have New Orleans East and West, but north is the lake side and south is usually the river side. We asked if we could come over to pray for him, also. Myrna, his wife, said that would be welcomed. So after spending some time with mom, we all went over to their house and the group prayed for Lloyd. He was so touched that he was crying before the prayers were over. After a few days, mom’s condition did not change very much, and I had much to do at work, so I left New Orleans to go back to Los Alamos.

Now for the rest of the story. Mom went home to God on April 7, 1970, which is my brother’s birthday, and my youngest son’s birthday as well. Three birthdays in the family, in three generations, two to life in this world and one to eternal life in God’s Dimension. My Dad picked me up at the airport, and took me to the house. When we were in the house, he took me to the kitchen and opened a cabi-net door. He pointed to bottles of prescription medicine

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that were lined up on a shelf. He said “those were your mother’s pain medications. After your friends prayed for her she never wanted or needed any. The pain was gone.” Peace is flowing like a river from the Body of Christ.

I asked about Mr. Salathe, and was told that he had to lose a leg due to the illness that he had. I was crushed, as this was the first time a prayer had not been answered by a message from God or a cure since I had received the baptism in the Holy Spirit. Then I learned that there was a cure involved. Mr. Salathe was Catholic, but had not gone to mass or communion in many years. After being prayed for, the priest at St. Agnes Church was contacted, and Mr. Salathe was joyfully brought back into the Catholic Church, and he and his wife received much comfort. When he did go home to God’s Dimension, he was at peace with God, and with himself.

God Works In Mysterious WaysSometimes, when I feel the presence of God, I hear a

buzzing, such as being near a power transformer. I have tried to describe this to others, including Charismatic Chris-tian friends, and have been made fun of and laughed at, in Tulsa, not Los Alamos. One night, in late 1976 after we lost Doug in an automobile accident, my dog, Chaunte and I were alone in the house. I started hearing this buzzing. I asked, “Is that you, Jesus?” No answer. Chaunte was at my feet, while I was sitting in my big brown lounging chair. He had his head between his paws, and did occa-sionally make a noise, such as a snort or snore. I thought that I needed some assurance, and the buzzing kept getting louder. Place a fleece before the Lord, I thought. Jesus, if that is you, I want- Chaunte to jump up on all four legs and bark before I count to sixty. I started counting. At about the count of thirty, Chaunte jumped up on all fours, barked loudly, then shook his head as if he were thinking, “Why did I do that?” Then he re-assumed his original posi-tion. And the buzzing sound slowly faded away, but I knew that I was not alone.

Give the very best -

Three “hippy” type young men were at the corner with a truck full of pinon firewood. Since we did burn wood, we agreed to buy the load. They came to the house and unloaded the wood, and before they left we offered to give them something to eat. I noticed that one of the men had very ragged pants on, and he was my size. I went to the closet and looked at my two pair of corduroy pants, which I loved, and picked out the best pair to give to him. He accepted, and the pants left with them in the truck. The next morning I was looking in the closet and saw my two pairs of corduroy pants. I asked Connie how many pairs did I have, and she said two. She came over and looked, and we were both confused, as we saw a pair leave in their truck. Did angels return my pair of pants since I did give the better pair? I think so. Were these three hippies angels? Maybe!

Mrs. B- The Holy Spirit brings God’s loveIt has been said that the “dash” between the date of birth

and date of death shown on our tomb stone represents our life. Our life is what occurred between those two dates. My family moved to 214 Harding Street in 1938, when I was six years old. Mrs. Edith Broadhurst was our next door neighbor, and therefore a part of my life from that early age. Her first husband, Mr. Broadhurst died, and I can’t remember him. I remember Mrs. B as the lovely lady who lived next door, who was not married. In 1942 Chuck went to war. Mrs. B shared our life, our worries, and was always welcome in our home, as we were in hers. After the war, Chuck returned and in 1951, I went to war. Mrs. B was there with her dog, Rags. In 1952, I returned from combat. In 1953 I started college at Tulane University, was married in 1955 and had a son in 1956, the same year I graduated. I started work that year. Mrs. B became Mrs. C. when Mr. Chachere, who was associated with an engineering firm that I worked for, became her husband. Unfortunately, he also passed away, and Mrs. B was again a widow. In 1965, when I applied for work and a security clearance at the Los Alamos Scientific Laboratory, Mrs. B was one of my refer-ences. She told the FBI that no one could say anything bad about me, she knew me all of my life. Time passed, and in 1970 Mom died: in 1972 Dad died, and the house that we had lived in for 44 years was sold. I then saw Mrs. B only when we happened to be in the neighborhood.

Some time around 1972, after my family was involved in the Charismatic Renewal in Los Alamos, I learned from some friends in the neighborhood that Mrs. B had termi-nal cancer and was bed ridden. Her sister came down to live with her and be her caregiver. We went to visit, and she happily welcomed us. We sat and talked and sang the Christian songs that were so popular then, and prayed for her. We came back to New Orleans often with always a visit with my old friend. She confided in us that she was scared, and that death was, for her, a dark event. A per-son, a friend of a friend, who also was in the Charismatic Renewal in New Orleans, lived just down the street, but I can’t remember his name. We talked to him, and he agreed to look in on Mrs. B often and pray with her. We intro-duced him to Mrs. B and her sister, and he faithfully visited and prayed. Time passed, we visited whenever in town.

About 1974 or 75 we visited again and were brought into Mrs. B’s room. There, lying in the bed, instead of a scared person fearing death, was a radiant, joyful person in a room that seemed to glow. She explained that she asked our mutual friend to pray for her for the Baptism of the Holy Spirit, and here she was, a good Baptist. He did, and she received. Did she receive the gift of tongues? I don’t know, but she surely received all of the fruits of the spirit. She became a prayer warrior in concert with us and our mu-tual friend, praying for others who needed to know the love of God. And fear no longer lived in that home. Mrs. B said that she felt so helpless, not being able to do anything. I responded that from that bed she had the power of the

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Army of God, and from what I understood about prayers for persons for whom she prayed being answered, she was a most important member of the Christian community. In September, 1975 she departed this world to meet face to face, Love Personified. Her sister sent us a note thanking us and our friend for coming over the years to be at her side. And yet, we did so little.

My Brother’s heart attackAt the time of Chuck’s heart attack, in mid 1970, I was

living in Los Alamos and Chuck was living in Pearl River, LA. What I am going to relate is what I heard from my sis-ter-in-law, Pat, and Chuck during and after this heart attack. I have no written records and am going by memory, but the story is true, and my memory of what happened is good. I can especially remember his “tears of joy” as he related his experience to us at a home prayer meeting in 1976.

This episode started with a telephone call from Pat telling me that Chuck had a heart attack during dinner in Gulfport, Mississippi, and that he was awaiting transporta-tion to Oschner Foundation Hospital in Jefferson Parish, Louisiana. She asked for prayers for Chuck. We contacted the members of our prayer group in Los Alamos and Ben and Emmaline Dirks who were at a Charismatic Renewal meeting at the Grand Canyon. There were about 10,000 persons in attendance. That evening we had about ten thou-sand spirit filled Christians praying for Chuck.

In the meantime Chuck had been transported to Osch-ner Foundation Hospital. The next morning a doctor came into his room and starting looking at the EKG recording and seemed to be surprised. He went over to Chuck and asked “How do you feel?” Chuck sat up in bed and said “I don’t know what you did, Doc, but I feel great!” The doctor stated that he had done nothing, but it appears that something went through Chuck’s heart about midnight and healed the damage.

Pat called that day, the day after the heart attack, and told me the good news. She gave me the phone number at the hospital, and I called Chuck and talked to him. He told me what transpired with the doctor and that another doctor told him that he was glad that it was not his shift, because then he would have to explain what happened. As I under-stand the situation, on the EKG record there was damage before midnight, but none after. Chuck stated that he had an “out-of-body experience” in Gulfport at the restaurant.

Chuck tried to tell about this experience to other per-sons, including preachers, but most just thought he was hal-lucinating. Chuck had a problem talking about this, since he would become all choked up when he did. Chuck and Pat came to our house in Los Alamos in 1976 and attended a prayer meeting at our house. This was after we lost Doug. He told about his experience to our group, which considered this a normal, run-of-the-mill but beautiful, miracle. Chuck did get all choked up, as did many there in hearing this story of God’s love.

A Friend Drops by: Late 1970s or early 1980s

Barb and Ray were very good friends of ours and lived just a few minutes away from us. In the late 1970s or early 1980s my wife and I both had strong feelings that Barb should come over to our house. Ray was out of town on business, but due back later that night. We called her, and she really didn’t believe that she should come over. She had to talk to her sister in Colorado on the phone, and she was expecting Ray back soon. To our surprise, just a half hour or so later, Barb rang our doorbell. We talked for a lit-tle while about an unpleasant phone call with Barb’s sister, then we went to our bedroom and sat on or around the bed to pray for Barb. We had known this couple for a few years at this time, and they were involved in our lives, and we in theirs, and we were very involved in our prayer group, all of us being in the Episcopal Church at that time.

I will first tell you what happened as I remember it, and then tell you the rest of the story. What came first? I am not sure. I believe that Barb stated that she had great pain from bursitis or a similar ailment, and could not raise her arms over her head. I had recently had a small vial of oil blessed by the Episcopal bishop of New Mexico, with the permission of our local priest, and had it in the room. It was just sort of natural to take the oil, place some of it on my fingers, and make the sign of the cross on her left shoul-der. That was uneventful, or so it appeared to me. Then, since her sister was so vicious on the telephone with Barb, I commanded in the name of Jesus that any demonic forces influencing her immediately leave. Then I did something really foolish. I looked Barb in the eyes and asked “What is your name?” In a voice, not her own, but much deeper, she replied “Dolorosa.” My Latin not being very good I though that this was the word Delorosa, which means flow-ers, instead of Dolorosa which means sorrows. Whatever, I then commanded Dolorosa, in the name of Jesus to leave this body; this body is not your home, and to go straight to Jesus to be told where to go. I did not see, feel or know anything different.

About that time Ray called from home to tell Barb that her sister just called and wanted to apologize about her be-havior. She did not know what got into her. And she was so sorry. Ray was home, and time for Barb to leave after what we considered an uneventful visit.

Now the rest of the story. When the sign of the cross with the blessed oil was made on her shoulder, Barb felt the “tingling” go through her body and the pain disappeared. It wasn’t until a day or two later that we learned that she could raise both arms above her head without pain. At the command for Dolorosa to leave, Barb stated that a great heaviness and depression was lifted from her body and she was filled with joy. She told us a few days later that she drove home, singing at the top of her voice, a new person. We knew nothing of what was happening.

Time passed, some bitterness returned to Barb, and pain and depression returned. The gifts of the spirit need to be reinforced constantly, or back into the pit we go.

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My Three SonsThis part of my story starts with my birth, youth, poetry,

shyness, work (paper routes), grade school, puberty, “The Teen Age years,” dating (painful), Air Force (meaningful), Combat (life changing), college, marriage - but then came the fulfillment of all of the work up to that time - my first son, to be one of three - my three sons. Up to that time ev-erything was almost meaningless - this was the culmination of every thing before. This was the meaning of life. This is the reason for education and working hard at a good job, to support and nurture these children.

Unlike an automobile or television, these gifts from God did not come with a manual or book of instructions, but only with age old instincts for the mother and the father (usually married back in the days I grew up), enhanced by or diminished by nationality, ancestry, environment, mental attributes or deficits, and a host of equally influential others.

David was born on Mother’s day, May 13, 1956, just two weeks before my graduation from college. He was a loving child who was very sensitive to the moods of his mother and father. He did not go to my graduation, although I am sure that he wanted to, but his mother did in his place. He told me, when he was much older, that the most beautiful sound that he knew when he was very young, was his daddy’s whistle which announced that I was home from work. He was a loving child, but could show an ornery streak every once in a while. Like the time he locked himself in the bathroom, and wouldn’t let his mother in. She was very upset and called me at work. I told her to tell him that she would count to three, and that door had better be opened. She started counting and the door opened. But Steve got an earlier birthday because of that naughtiness. Mom was stressed and went into early labor, and Steve was brought into the world a little bit early, announcing his birth with a reasonable amount of noise. So now there were two sons, with no intention of having another.

They were the pride and joy of not only their mother and father, but also of two sets of grandparents and numerous other relations.

With schooling taking place in Mandeville, Slidell, and Los Alamos, there were some changes that had to be absorbed. However, when David was about ten years old and Steve eight years old and Doug - Hey, when did Doug join the family? Well, I remember now. It was on April 7th, the same birthday as my brother Chuck. The year was 1964 and we were living in Slidell, Louisiana with daddy working for the Boeing Company on the facilities for the construction of the first space ship to go to the moon. All three were born in Oschner Foundation Hospital in Jeffer-son Parish, Louisiana. Doug was not planned, but what a joy he was.

David and Steve used to play together and dad would go with them on adventures. In Slidell we would go down and walk along the railroad tracks back “into the woods.” Another “child” was there with us, Frederick von Heinford,

a pure breed Dachshund, a small dog with a long body who immediately claimed all of the boys as his. “Fritzie” would go with us along the tracks, and although his legs were lon-ger than they should be, he seemed to be working hard to keep up with us. When a snake threatened Dave and Steve at our house in Slidell, Fritzie was there between the snake and the boys. He knew his duties.

Steve told me just a short while ago that his most pleas-ant moments were when David would play with him. We three, Dave, Steve and dad, loved to be together. Doug was given ample attention from mom and dad, although he was too young to participate in “grown-up” activities.

In December 1965 came the big move. A moving van at the house and two cars with necessary items to start with, on the road to Los Alamos, New Mexico - The Land of Enchantment. With a few minor problems, like shift-ing some car top load from the 1957 Ford to the younger and stronger 1965 Plymouth station wagon and potty stops along the way, we arrived in Santa Fe. We checked into a motel, checked Fritzie into the escape proof wire mesh surrounded Kennel reserved for canine guests, and went out to eat. Fritzie was not happy about that. When we had finished eating and had looked around the town a little, we went back to the motel and found Fritzie sitting at the door of our room. So, contrary to motel policy, Fritzie spent the night in the bathroom of the motel.

The next day we went up to Los Alamos to find just where our house was, and at least learn where the build-ing was that I had to report to on Monday morning. The view was spectacular going over the hill just north of Santa Fe, with the mountains, some snow capped, and the val-ley spread out before us. Then there was the road up to the “hill.” I drove in mountains before, going through the Rocky mountains on the way from Seattle to St. Louis, but this winding road was a bit scary. Sunday traffic was slow, and we did not hold up any traffic, but the trip up to the hill on Monday put us in the lead of a long line of cars with Connie saying “I’ll never be able to leave the hill.”

Monday came and we finally got to our house on 36th street, and found our way around the town, then cautiously snaked our way down the front road before rush time.

David started school and Steve, Doug and Fritzie stayed home and helped Connie get the house in order. We spent our first winter in Los Alamos on 48th street where the snow falls first. I had to shovel snow while the boys, Steve with Doug inside, looked on. But the time finally arrived when the house on 48th street was bought and sold and we all moved down to White Rock where it snows a bit less since we were 1200 ft lower in altitude.

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The view to the East from Los Alamos

We moved into our new home in White Rock in No-vember of 1966. Above is the view from our back yard and below is the canyon for the boys, including me, to explore. The canyon is 800 feet deep at this point with the Rio Grande River running south down below. In places it is shallow enough to wade across, but after a rain it can wash a car off of the road.

The canyon was a great playground for the boys, espe-cially David and Steve. We would go down together all the way to the river and then climb back up, sometimes up walls of basalt which are almost vertical.

There was a lot to do when we arrived. Being from Louisiana, we thought that the ground should be green, but what we had when we moved in was some pitiful soil and basalt out cropping in the southeast corner of the lot. In the rest of the lot it was just below a couple of inches of dirt. So in came some backfill, and plowing to open up the hard clay surface. I had a rake with a stone on top of it that I pulled around the yard. It didn’t do too much for my back.

But after paying a few of the water bills, we settled on having some grass, and the rest rock over black visqueen. What does this have to do with my three sons? For whom do you think we were doing this? We needed a place to practice pitching in the back and a basketball hoop in the front of the house.

Time passed and through grade school everything was well, and all of the boys grew up and fit into the young society. The Meyer and the Jalbert families down the street had children David and Steve’s age, and the Britt family up (east) the street had a little girl Doug’s age. There were other children around as well whom the boys met in school, and this was a young community in White Rock, and a well educated community as well. I only had a Masters degree in Engineering but my neighbors across the street and next door had PhDs. There were over 1000 PhDs in Los Alamos out of a population of about seventeen thousand.

On September 19, 1969, I had my spleen removed as this was the only remedy to the Hairy Cell Leukemia that had my blood count down below a satisfactory level. After that, my blood count rose to normal readings and I felt much better. As an added benefit, my doctor gave me “Dean’s Spleen” in a glass jar filled with preservative. It stayed on a shelf for many years. One day Steve asked me if he could borrow my spleen for a “show-and-tell” session at school. I told him he could. He was apprehensive as he carried his dad’s spleen to class for fear he would break the bottle, and Dean’s spleen would be no more. He was care-ful, and Dean’s spleen was placed on display during “show-and-tell.” This was the first time that a human spleen was shown during “show-in-tell,” but not the last. In a few years Doug also brought Dean’s spleen to class, and it was

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still a sensation. It was discarded sometime later, but we did set a first on interesting exhibits at the school.

In spite of the interesting work and the high level of edu-cation in Los Alamos, we were not exempt from the prob-lems of the county. In the 1970s drugs were coming into fashion and David first, and then Steve took to indulging. Even Doug experimented with some of the neighborhood boys, but Steve found out and let me know. I told Doug in no uncertain terms that any drugs are unacceptable, and that we had too much pain already. He did stop.

In high school both Dave and Steve did poorly, not from lack of intelligence, but because of the don’t care attitude which was rampart throughout the country. Dave was given some encouragement by one of his teachers, and he went on to earn a degree in Electrical Engineering. Steve was in the bottom ten percent of his class, but joined the army and went on to receive three college degrees later.

But life in Los Alamos wasn’t all work and no play. We had a fabulous canyon behind our house, just 200 feet from our property line. Magnificent scenery, mountains and valleys and even local skiing at Pajarito Hill. Connie and I learned to ski, after a fashion, and David and Steve became experts while we were still going slowly down the “bunny” slope. We had friends with whom we went skiing, one time with disastrous results. On one ski trip we went up in our Plymouth station wagon as a transporter, but the husband of the other couple broke a leg, and the station wagon became an ambulance to bring him to the hospital for medical treat-ment. We had parties, with plenty of “adult” beverages available. And we had two square dance clubs to choose from. There was a problem with this: with one club you had to go every week just to keep up with the new steps that the club was learning, and with the other it was very difficult to complete a dance without someone messing things up, and laughing.

The canyon became a big challenge for me and for David and Steve. Within a few years we were travelling down the steep slopes of basalt to the plateau about 600 feet below, and then down to the Rio Grande river. When the boys came of age, like twelve years old or a little older, each was taught how to use a firearm. When we went down into the canyon we carried pistols for snakes. When David was in his teens, he was challenged by a rattle snake, which he promptly killed, and having a teen age appetite, he ate. One day we were a little late in leaving the lower parts of the canyon, and it was starting to get dark. We finally made it to the final plateau going home just as darkness was becoming a problem. We couldn’t find the easy path up the slopes, so we went up the almost vertical sides of the canyon. At that time I remembered how to pray again. All three of us made it without incident, but it was a scare.

We had a basketball hoop on the garage in the front (north side) of the house, and it got a lot of use. Then, at the appropriate age to obtain a driver’s license, we all ob-tained motor bikes. I had a Honda 305cc motorcycle which is big enough to really get up and go, David had a Honda 100 cc lightweight motorcycle and Steve had a Yamaha lightweight motorcycle. It was fun using the motorcycle to go to work, and parking was easy. On cold winter days I would come in with my arms still in the same position that they were when I was steering the Honda, with a motor-cycle smile frozen on my face.

David and Steve never took too much interest in sports, but Douglas did. From the time he was of age, he was in Little League Baseball, and guess who got to be the coach? Another person who had never had much interest in sports, me! It was a lot of fun, and Doug was a great sport. Whether he won (We won! He shouted from the truck as we went to the store with the team for some ice cream), but things were different when his team lost. Still the truck with the team in the back, still the ice cream, but now they shouted “We almost won!”

Deana & Grandpa

Back of house after wind storm Office with guns, bookcase and Flag

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July 9, 1967 Steve’s first communion with Keller family Dean & Doug; Dora Tusa & Jake Tusa- grandparents

Doug’s baseball teamOur house from the air- just above here! Much green! Canyon is dark area above - over 800 feet deep.

But it is necessary to fill in the blanks. Those young and middle aged persons shown above grew older with time. I know that it is said “time passes fast when you’re having fun,” but it also passes fast when your life is a maze of joy and sadness; when you are successful at much but still woe-fully inadequate at other tasks or things, and when those you love slowly, or rapidly, leave this life for the next.

On April 7, 1970, Hazel Dean Keller, my mother, left this life to eternal life in the presence of our Creator. This “birthday” was the same as for my brother Clarence E. Keller Jr. (Chuck) and my son Douglas Dean Keller. In June of 1972 my dad, Clarence E. Keller Sr., left to join mom. These two grandparents on my side were followed within a couple of years by Connie’s father, Jacob J. Tusa. This was the normal passing from this life to the next ex-cept for the causes for the premature death of my mother of emphysema, caused by many years of smoking. The prema-ture death of my father-in-law by lung cancer was probably caused by working many years in a kitchen in his restaurant business, possibly aggravated by second hand smoke. Con-sider this an anti-smoking commercial. It has caused more early deaths than all of the wars in our history. The next in this long line of creation of new angels was not expected, although further on in this biography it is shown how God let us know that this was in His plans. That is comforting,

but it does not take away the pain.David completed his studies and received an associate

degree as an electrical technician. He went to work with Texas Instrument in Dallas Texas and was doing well. Con-nie, Doug and I went to Dallas to visit with David and also visit with two of our favorite people, Warren and Nellda Vivirito, Connie’s uncle and aunt. We stayed at their house in Richardson, Texas. Doug went to stay with David at his apartment, with plans to go to Six Flags over Texas the next morning.

The next morning Connie and I went garage sailing, and found a sale of designer type clothes which Connie pur-chased. Since this was right after a short but painful sepa-ration, where she took Doug with her and got an apartment in Albuquerque, it was good to see her happy.

When we got back to the house with our new supply of clothing and having had a good time buying them, we re-ceived a startling phone call. The person on the phone told us that there had been an automobile accident in Arlington and that the little boy had been badly hurt. The driver, Da-vid, was not hurt, but badly shaken up. He said we should get there as fast as possible, but don’t speed; be careful. The following, again, is the rest of the story.

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It is difficult to express joy through tears, but joy is there. My wife and I brought a son into the world and he brought

much love and joy into our lives. But he was always a child of God, even more than he was a child of ours. He was

loaned to us for twelve years, and for this we are eternally grateful to our Father, God, and to His Son, Jesus. We now thank our Father for being with us since Doug has had to go home. But most of all we thank our Father for having sent his son, Jesus to die and rise from the dead to assure us that this parting is temporary. We will be with our son

again in the presence of Jesus.To our Father, God, to our Savior, Jesus and to the Holy

Spirit we pledge our eternal love, praise and thanks.These few short sentences were written by Doug’s dad

on a typewriter at 533 Rover Blvd. on the morning that we had the funeral service for Douglas Dean Keller. The ser-vice was held at the Trinity on the Hill Episcopal Church in Los Alamos, New Mexico. These few short sentences were read by Jim Caldwell, a Charismatic Christian friend of the Keller family, during the service. They express joy in the midst of tears.

The premonitions to follow have to do with communica-tions between Doug, Dave, Dad, Steve, Deana and Lucy prior to and after August 21, 1976 when Doug went home. This story is based upon memory of events which have been confirmed with persons associated with those events. This story will not stand up in court, nor will it convince the doubter, but it brings comfort to an old man now typing his heart out before he has to go to a joyful reunion with those who have gone before.Before

Information was written on the back of a picture of Jesus by Connie about messages received from Christian friends before the accident.

Ros Meyer, during July 1976 - It came to her that Doug wasn’t long for this world, after seeing him outside playing.

Emmaline, during July 1976 - Doug gave Mrs. Dirks (Emmaline) a book that my wife had been reading and wanted returned to her. Doug read the title “The Kingdom Within.” and when he did Mrs Dirks said she knew, for the words went through her.

Ros, August 20, 1976 - During a prayer meeting Jesus

told her that as a result of an auto accident there would be another angel in heaven. (This is the evening before Doug went home.)

Georgia, Connie’s sister, on Friday morning, August 20, 1976 heard Jake Tusa, Doug’s Grandpa, already deceased, speak with great joy in his voice, that he was happy over his little one who was now with him.

On that dayWe received a phone call from a person at the scene of

the accident that Doug was badly hurt, and that we should

go to the hospital in Arlington, Texas. While driving to the hospital, about half way there, the words came to me in my mind, “Doug is dead.”

Pam, Nellda’s daughter, was due to have a baby, but decided to go to the dance studio where she worked. There, she saw a lady sitting in a chair, crying. She asked her what was wrong. The lady said that she was at the scene of an accident, where a little boy was badly hurt, and she had just called the hospital and was told that he died. She said that she was holding his head, as he was lying on the pave-ment, and he was looking ahead and smiling. That little boy was Doug. When you get close to Love Personified, you can see the host of witnesses who are surrounding us at all times.After: David’s Dreams

After the accident, David came home to Los Alamos and enrolled in the University of New Mexico in Albuquerque. While at school, he had a dream. In it he was walking to class and saw Doug sitting on a bench. David went over to him and sat down. After talking to Doug for a little while, David said, “I can’t be talking to you, you’re dead.” Doug then said in a very firm voice, “I am more alive than you are.”

Doug came in a dream to Dave again and said, “Hey Dave, this is cool. I am with you now, and I am with you when you are coming over to be with me, and they are both at the same time, but they are not.” A priest at the Benedic-tine monastery in Pecos said that this is good theology.

This may be part of the first dream, but I do not remem-ber if it is. Doug and Dave were together. Doug appeared to be older then he was when he went home, and very wise. Doug went over to a door which was infinitely thick- this would be representative of a door between dimensions, such as the tunnel persons go through when they have an out of body experience. He had a key, and opened the door. Looking through the door, he saw a flat earth below. This is also representative of looking from one dimension to another. Doug then said “ I can see the good that man does, and I can see the evil that man does, and it is all going to end, very soon.”

What is the meaning of these dreams? I do not know, except that the communion of saints is very real, and we are surrounded by a host of witnesses of those who have gone before. And although we are not allowed to contact those who have gone before, God allows them to contact us in mostly quiet, very subtle ways.

A lot more could be said. I only want to say that Doug brought so much joy into our lives, and so much sadness when he left us to be with God, that any addition to that statement would be counterproductive. David was in a deep depression after the accident, but continued in school at the University of New Mexico. What happens between 1976 and 1989 with David will be given on the next few pages.

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Life Goes OnWhat more can you say when the funeral is over, the

loss is accepted and you stand there, numb, wondering why? I had a consulting job as an inspector on a house, and immediately went back to work checking items that should be done that weren’t, by a contractor who was not as good as he had professed to be. David went back to Texas Instrument but stated that he couldn’t do his job well because of the tears which were always in his eyes. I went back to work at the laboratory but was not up to my usual standard. I started seeing Frances Menlove again. She was the laboratory psychologist who helped me with my grief and depression. Everyone was kind to me, realizing the loss in our lives.

Connie applied for a job at the laboratory since there was no reason for her to just stay at home, and she would rather be busy. There were over 200 applicants for that one job, many of them qualified. I knew the person hiring and went to see him, not asking for any particular favors, but for him to just consider her as I knew she was a hard work-er, and would do a good job. He did interview her, talked about her recent loss, and made her a job offer. She got off to a rough start because of some personality problems, but soon was making a contribution to the department.

David left Texas Instrument and started college at the University of New Mexico in electrical engineering. During this time frame he met Pepper Padilla and due to the usual circumstances for young people in the 1970s, they were married in the summer of 1978 in a clearing on the top of a mountain just outside of Los Alamos. They moved to Albuquerque where they lived while David was in school. On March 23, 1979, Adam Douglas Keller was born, our first grandson. Things went well for a while but a clash of personalities developed between David and Pepper and they divorced.

David continued in school with support from us and a little business that he and I developed. Typewriters were being sold at the surplus yard by the Zia Company very cheaply. Other items would also catch my attention. I would buy these items at very low cost and David would sell them at school to make a profit.

Depression for David was still a problem, but there was help when David met Lucy Jones, a young lady who was Navajo, very gentle and sweet, and who lived in the same apartment complex that he did. As I understand the situation, one night David went over to Lucy’s apartment, knocked on the door, picked her up and carried her back to his apartment. After they were living together for a while I asked Lucy why didn’t they get married. She replied that in the Navajo culture when a woman or a man finds the person they want to live with, they move in and are married in the eyes of the Navajo nation.

David did well in school and soon graduated and was of-fered a position with the Navy at China Lake in California. Before leaving for China Lake, David, Lucy, Connie and I went to see a Justice of the Peace and David and Lucy were married, on my birthday.

Well, David was now self supporting and on a great job. The group had to go to Hawaii on a project just when David reported for work. They gave him a reasonably difficult electrical engineering project to work on while they were away for a couple of weeks. They said that they would help him complete it when they got back. When they came back, David had completed the project perfectly, had it written up by China Lake standards and presented it to his supervisor upon his return. He was very surprised, and pleased. Things went well there and we visited many times.

On August 13, 1982 Deana Nazhonnii Keller was born with the proud grandmother, Connie, there to help. Deana was and is a joy to be around, and we really enjoyed David, Lucy and Deana when they came to visit us in Los Alamos, NM.

David excelled at his work at China Lake, even being granted a patent for a computer system which would devel-op the “Wave Surface Characterization.” It was published on August 2, 1988. He was attending graduate school for a Masters Degree in Electronics Engineering and, I believe, had a straight A report card. He had bought a prefabri-cated house and placed it on a lot in Inyokern, California. I witnessed him placing posts in the ground so that a fence could be built around the house.

But the effects of the accident with his little brother never left him. He would go riding in his car for hours at a time. He would sometimes start drinking and then stop.

I don’t remember when, but I believe it was in 1989 he was having trouble with his drinking, so he loaded Lucy and Deana in the car and left his house and drove to Los Alamos for help. They stayed at our house and David went to Pecos Benedictine Monastery, a Roman Catholic Benedictine Charismatic Monastery. He had been baptized Catholic, but was not practicing the Catholic faith at that time. He met with a priest, went to confession and had a long counselling session. He was trying his best to rid the demons which were destroying him. He was somewhat improved by that intercession. He then visited many times with a lady friend of his mother, a charismatic Christian, and they prayed for many days together. At the end of his stay in Los Alamos he felt cleansed. He could sleep well at night and did not feel the guilt that he had before.

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And after all of this effort he went back to this work to try and find support at China Lake. He was seeing a psychologist in town which helped a little. But the Chris-tian community there was not effective in reaching out to a person with a problem. Things got so bad that he asked Lucy to take Deana and go to Monument Valley until he could straighten up his life. He was alone at home, and no angels or helpful Christians came to visit or help. Maybe they just didn’t know. But those on the dark side knew and were there to invite him to a bar or to try and make him have a good time, no matter how evil it was.

In July of 1989 David called a Vinyard church about 100 miles to the south and west of Inyokern, and spoke to the pastor. I do not remember precisely where this church was, but it was supposed to have a powerful ministry. Dave told him of his problem and the pastor said he did not know if they could help him, but come down and let’s talk about it. So on a Sunday morning Dave drove about 100 miles and went to the church. Inside he described the setting as a “church in the round” with tables and chairs around the central point - as best I can remember. He went there and listened, but no one greeted him, asked if they could help, or even bothered to talk to him. After the service was over he tried to see the pastor with whom he had spoken. The pastor, who was told that David would be there looking for him, was surrounded by persons telling him how wonder-ful he was, and Dave did not even get close to him. So he went home. He called me and told me what happened. Such is Christian love. A few days later he was dead.

I tried to reach David on the phone on July 4th and had no answer. I called the Inyokern police department and told them of the situation and they said they would investigate. I received a call from them that the dog was outside, tied to a stake with water running nearby and no one was answer-ing the door. I told them to break in and find out what was going on. They did, and saw a note on the wall as they came in telling them to be careful of electrical wires as they might be hot. They found David in the bathtub, because he didn’t want to mess up the house. I received a call from the police telling me all of these details. Steve, Mary, Lucy and Deana were at our house visiting. Strange thing. I was a bad boy so I slept on the couch the night my son died.

Steve, Connie, Lucy, Deana and I left the next morning for Bakersfield and Inyokern. We left Deana with a relative on the way to Bakersfield. When we arrived at Bakersfield we found that David had made all arrangements for crema-tion and disposal of the body. We were not allowed to see the body because of the condition. I paid the necessary fees and we went to Inyokern. We went to the house and found that David had packed everything up in boxes so that it could be transported easily. Steve volunteered to clean the bathtub, since death does leave a foul odor. We rented a trailer and prepared to move the contents of the house back to Los Alamos, but not before having a memorial service for Dave.

At the memorial service we met David’s supervisor who told us what a wonderful employee he was. We also met his “drinking buddy” whom I believe is guilty of willful homicide. But what’s a few drinks among friends? He also made a few statements during our conversation which I believed should have rated a knife in his stomach, but when one is faced with the devil’s assistant, one has to remember his own Christianity.

I was asked to say a few words, so I went up the stairs to a little platform, praying the prayer of St. Francis of As-sisi. as I did. I don’t remember what I said, but it was well received, even by his “drinking buddy.”

Back to Los Alamos to sort out with Lucy what was in the boxes. We found that David had a large life insurance policy and social security. We went down to the Los Ala-mos National Bank where the Insurance check was placed in a CD account which would yield sufficient money for Lucy to support herself and Deana - along with the Social Security. David prepared very well for this. All he wanted to do was to keep from hurting anyone by his failure - or was it our failure? David’s ashes came to us by UPS.

Mary Keller stated just a few weeks ago that they had a questionnaire about the greatest problems of the church. The leading factor was that people are not greeted when they are in the church, do not really feel wanted, or loved, are not included unless they are in that “special group” of persons who really have value. Like one person who was an alcoholic said on a tape about his religious life, “I feel more love from the fellow alcoholics that I meet in the meetings or on the street than I do in the churches.”

I have noted that in the Presbyterian Church that Jean belongs to, and that I attend with her, whenever she sees someone new, especially if they are standing alone, she al-ways approaches them and cheerfully greets them and starts a conversation with them. That should be the norm!

I went into a deep depression but Prozac prescribed to me by my doctor snapped me out of it in a miraculously short time. I believe that it was God, not the medication that made the difference. I had much to do over the next few months.

It was not God’s plan for David to leave the world the way he did, but the forces of darkness were much stronger than the forces of light, and David, still suffering from the loss of his little brother, did not want to hurt anyone else.

On the next few pages there is more information about what happened during and after David’s death. Only the body dies, the spirit is alive and well and waiting for us, the ones who are left behind, to come join them in that land where there is only love and caring and the things of the earth are left behind. The spirit is part of reality, all the rest is just a stage on which we act out parts in this life.

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A Close Encounter in a ChurchSome time after that, I can’t remember when, Lucy

called us. She said that she had been in a Seventh Day Ad-ventist Church in Farmington, NM for a noon day service. I believe she said that they were singing the song “Because He lives, I can face tomorrow” when she looked over the song book and saw David in the row in front of her, facing her. He was wearing his favorite T-shirt, “You meet the nicest people in the mountains.” There was another figurein biblical gown over to the side, but you couldn’t distin-guish anything about this person.

David looked very sad, and had tears coming down his cheeks, as he said “I’m very sorry, will you please forgive me?” Lucy felt some anger rise within her, and she thought “You left me to raise our daughter, alone!” Then the anger melted, and Lucy extended her hand towards David and said “I forgive you.” After that moment he disappeared.

DreamsThe first dream that I had was unlike any dream that I

had ever had in that it was more real than an actual encoun-ter with a person face to face. David came to me, looking very sad, and stated “I’m sorry for all the grief that I have caused.” I forgave him.

The next day I called Steve and told him that David came to me in a dream last night. He replied that Dave had come to him in a dream, also. Steve then remarked that he looked very sad. Steve told me that David had said to him in his dream “Let’s play.” I did not understand this until Steve told me that as a little boy he received much joy when his big brother asked him to play with him.

I spoke to Deana a little while after Dave had come to me and to Steve in a dream and asked her if her dad had come to her also. She said that he did, and that he told her “I am going to miss you, Deana.”

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What happens after death?“I know there is no way to bring Dave back

to this short life, but only hope I will meet him again: do some shooting, share some laughs and tell some tall tales.” Yes George, so do I.

I have met tens of thousands in my long life, and each has meant something to me; many have meant a lot to me, and some were very pre-cious. What is “Heaven” like? An excerpt from one semi-scientific explanation follows:

“The characteristics of the new creation tell us that it will be vastly different from what we are use to on earth. Probably the most notice-able difference will be the lack of gravity. The New Jerusalem is described as a 1,500 mile cube. Structures of this size would automatically become a sphere in this universe, because of gravity. Therefore gravity will either be absent or significantly reduced in the new creation.”

I would not want to belittle the writer of this description, because it is just part of the numer-ous proverbial descriptions of heaven. In Islam there is a sensual heaven with granted desires; Hinduism speaks of other planets; the Masons call it a “city not built by hands;” Jehovah Wit-nesses state that only 144,000 persons will enter - and on and on to describe the abode of our Creator. I will try to describe, without proclaim-ing infallibility, my views.

First of all there is the concept of time. At the con-ception of the universe, matter did not exist. Then time “grabbed hold” and matter was created. This was pro-posed by Nachmanides (Spain, Jewish Torah commentator -1300AD) and confirmed by Albert Einstein in the early 1900 s with the formula E=MC2. Therefore there is no time in God’s dimension. (Peter: A day with the Lord is like a thousand years and a thousand years is like a day) And without time there can be no matter, so the abode of the Creator has to be outside of our space-time continuum. Another dimension, infinite in all directions, yet completely filled with the essence of our Creator.

Without matter there can not be a body, but it is possible for the complete essence of our being is contained within a spiritual entity with cognizance supplanting sight, hearing, feeling and taste. This is reasonable since the entity which is our total being is seldom seen at the moment of transition from this life to the next, but there are numerous examples of persons long dead visiting the living with specific mes-sages.

But back to the original question. Will we recognize others? You cannot say you do not have enough time, for there is eternity. You don’t have to go by plane, train or automobile because location in infinity is immaterial. Then there is the statement by Jesus: John 17:20 “My Prayer is not for them along ...that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us.” We are one with the Father, Jesus, the Holy Spirit and each other! God is in me and in you. I must welcome and love the spirit of God in you.

When we arrive in God’s dimension we may be among billions of spiritual entities, each of whom has all of the good characteristics that they had in their previous life. And there will be complete order. If you want to be with your mom, you will instantly be; and love, thoughts, etc. will flow between you and complete love will be ex-changed. Want to visit with all whom you have known in this life? Instantly you will one on one and one on many - whichever is desired. Am I wrong? I do not know, but I do know that with our Creator, all things are possible. Amen

1 Corn 2:9 However, as it is written: “No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him” I believe this says it all!

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Racing for the Barn - Retirement - and a Few Years for ConsultingFrom 1969 on, I had to live with the shadow of Hairy

Cell leukemia looming over me. It was present when I had my physical for employment at the Los Alamos Scien-tific Laboratory, as my blood counts were abnormal. But fortunately it was not considered serious, and I did not even know it was there. But in 1969 it became a dangerous foe as I was given five months to live, and I had to live with it. This was not a correct diagnosis. For a while it was scary, but every time my blood started dropping badly, a new chemotherapy became available and I kept on trucking. In January of 1989, my bone marrow was clear and the leuke-mia had changed from a scary villain to a nuisance which I could work around. Except for hospital visits, I never let it interfere with my work, and my performance improved over my years at the Laboratory.

In February 1992, testing revealed that my bone marrow was infiltrated with hairy cells again, but I was on Alpha Interferon and my blood counts were doing well. A new Chemotherapy became available, Cladribine (also known as 2CdA) and treatment over a week period chased most of the hairy cells away. That year the Laboratory had an excellent incentive plan to allow many of us older employ-

ees a chance to retire with very good extra benefits. I was only 61 years old and willing to leave, but thought I should talk to my Division Leader, Roy Haarman, first. We talked, and he said that he could not encourage or discourage me, but he would be pleased if I were to stay. I was involved in many large projects at that time. I stayed. My actual retire-ment date was November 3, 1993, and by that time I was ready to turn my projects over to another person.

Other major projects prior to retirement were:

Tiger Team Consultant for Seismic analysis 1990-91

Seismic-Hazards Investigations in Los Alamos 1991-95 Project leader for Paleoseismic Investigation by Woodward-Clyde Inc

Projects after retirement:

TA-3 CMR Seismic upgrade, Merrick & Co 1993-95

TA-55 Fire Protection Main Replacement 1997-98 Consultant to Molzen & Corbin Plus many other consulting engagements.

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Seismic -Hazards Investigation in Los AlamosAll of my previous engineering work had been in New

Orleans, and hurricanes and dynamic loading from hur-ricane driven waves for structures in the Gulf of Mexico were the only dynamic design for structures that I had to accomplish. At Los Alamos, however, two parameters required me to become an “expert” in earthquake design. One was the site of the laboratory on the flank of a dormant volcano with the resulting seismic characteristics, and the second was the nature of some of the structures being de-signed. Some of the structures that I had to design, study or review contained nuclear material and had to resist seismic forces much greater than required of industrial structures. I was first introduced to seismic forces when I was assigned as a structural reviewer and project manager on the Los Alamos Meson Physics Facility. One of my projects was to write a report on “Ground Vibration Characteristics of Mesita de Los Alamos,” along with two other engineers/ge-ologists. This was a steep learning curve and it was really an enjoyable assignment. I did well.

The seismic characteristics of Los Alamos were studied previously, but the latest requirements for nuclear struc-tures required a much more comprehensive study of the magnitude and frequency of possible seismic events. I was selected to head this program with the assistance of two geologists in the laboratory: Jamie Gardner and Lee House. They were my closest contacts and were world class in their field.

The location of most faults was known. However, there could be others not yet found. Also, the magnitude of past faults and how long ago was the last activity was not known. This would require a Paleoseismic Investigation. There are companies which specialize in this discipline, and requests for proposals were sent to a number of firms. Of the proposals sent to the Laboratory, one was outstand-ing. This was submitted by Ivan Wong of Woodward Clyde in Oakland, California. It not only gave a proposal on how to accomplish the work, but also gave a synopsis of work to date in the Los Alamos area.

I obtained the approval of my supervisors and fellow members of our team, and issued a request for further development of the concept given, with a starting ceiling of $50,000. The contract ended over $1,000,000.

When an earthquake occurs, the ground on one side of the fault will move with respect to the ground on the other side of the fault. This displacement can be seen if a trench is dug across the fault line and the precise location of the fault is determined. Organic material at the location of the fault slide can be dated by the Carbon -14 method in the order of 50,000 years by counting techniques. That can be extended to perhaps 100,000 years by accelerator tech-niques.

This is usually adequate for determining the return pe-riod of a seismic event, but other methods are available if a longer period is needed.

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Although I was project manager for this project, I depended on my consultants for technical content. My job was to facilitate the project, run interference when the project was threatened by bureaucracy, help in the fund-ing aspects of the project and LEARN. It was fascinating learning from world class geologists and being able to retain enough to explain the concepts to others.

Los Alamos has many seis-mic faults as the diagram to the right shows. Geotechnical analysis is both a science and an art. From the numer-ous faults it is necessary to select those faults which are more probable to cause dam-age to critical facilities . After this is done, a trench is dug as shown below. Safety is a paramount con-

cern, although it is not as big a prob-lem, sometimes, as endangered species or archeological or historic structures. A silvery minnow that was considered endangered was a block for a while to digging at certain locations. Just a few years ago, it was fish bate. An old cabin was blocking the digging of a trench across a fault. It

was a log cabin, and was said to be over 50 years old by the archeological personnel and they especially wanted to examine the waste at an outhouse. I told them that I was over 50 years old, and no!

Then there were the budget problems and commitments. I built up a good relationship with the Department of En-ergy (DOE) and could often call upon them for help when someone in upper management set his own priorities and broke commitments to the University of California or DOE. These were some of the types of problems I had to counter, but the learning experience made it all worth while.

This picture shows a geologist down at the bottom of the trench. Note that the trench is twice as deep as the geolo-gist is tall. You can always tell a geologist because they carry their little picks with them.

I retired from the laboratory before this project was completed and assigned the project to Doug Volkman, whom I had hired many years ago. He did a magnificent job in assuring the completion of the project. After retire-ment, Doug hired me as a consultant to compile a compos-ite of all of the soil borings with additional information for the laboratory. He told me that his peers said I couldn’t do it in less than six or seven months - something like that- so he gave me four months. He said that he knew that I worked best under pressure. As best as I can remember, I completed it in about three months.

The Woodward Clyde project was completed in 1995 and was delivered in three large loose leaf folders. The cost had grown to be over a million dollars, which is not unusual for large studies. But the show goes on. Seismic prediction is very difficult to determine. Volcanos, earth-quakes, tornados and hurricanes seem to have a mind of their own. However, with increased knowledge and tools to assign values to these phenomena, we are able to predict with a somewhat reasonable degree of confidence, but we are sometimes surprised. And sometimes scared, especially when nuclear facilities are involved.

Between 1996 and 2004 a number of paleoseismic stud-ies have been conducted in Los Alamos to improve data. A more recent study recognized some Holocene (last 10,000 years) events not recognized in the 1995 study. This may imply slip rates (movement along fault lines) roughly six times higher than previously determined.

This was a fascinating assignment with the challenges of high tech science, the fascination of dealing with the probability of difficult to predict events happening, and the intrigue of working in a bureaucracy which sometimes works against its own interest.

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Seismic -Hazards Investigation in Los AlamosTiger Team and Preliminary Seismic Analysis of Laboratory Buildings

Because of my previous work on dynamic design, classes that I have taken and apparent knowledge of the art of seismic design, I was chosen to be the Engineering Division seismic point man. Or was it “shake and rattle” - I shake when I get one of these assignments and rattle off as much information as I can think of to keep up. Fortunately, by this time, I had met many real experts on seismic design and had been able to hire some of them and increase my knowledge on the gentle art of earthquakes.

I was given two assignments. One was to represent the laboratory on the Tiger Team for seismic matters including TA-55, a critical plutonium facility and other sites. The Tiger Team was assigned by the Department of Energy to review DOE facilities for safety matters of all kinds. This included seismic. When I first started on this “shaky” ad-venture I decided that we needed an inventory of all critical buildings based upon nuclear content or high population safety. The other was to develop a methodology for and a comprehensive determination of the safety of all of the buildings at the Los Alamos National Laboratory.

Having a good knowledge of many of the buildings in the laboratory, I started making a listing of buildings, their purpose, the dangers associated with their function and the number of personnel in the building. A lot of this infor-mation was available through laboratory records. Then I had to determine which type of building would fail during an design earthquake, and which would survive. Using a spread sheet, I listed all buildings which could be damaged by a seismic event and the consequence of failure in terms of personnel and nuclear material release, and sorted them according to the danger that would be caused by an earth-

quake. This was the beginning of a comprehensive listing of buildings and their probability of failure for the Labora-tory.

The Uniform Building Code (UBC) at this time was updated every three years. It was replaced in the year 2000 by the International Building Code which was a merger of three predecessor codes. During the “cold war” underwater monitors were placed to detect the travel of Russian submarines. These monitors also recorded seismic events and helped to develop the present concept of tec-tonic plates. This was a major geological breakthrough in the understanding of ground movement, the cause of most seismic events around the world. The Alaskan earthquake added more emphasis on the seismic design requirements of buildings. This involved many studies of failures of buildings, and why they failed. From 1950 to 1990 the knowledge about design for resistance to earthquakes made a quantum leap. Changes in design philosophy in the 1967 UBC and subsequent changes in the 1971 ACI codes required ductility in concrete frames. This determined that many buildings considered resistive to seismic forces be-fore were now designated unsafe. Types of building which were now dangerous when subjected to seismic forces were those with precast concrete frames and cast-in-place concrete frame structures. The devil is in the details. After these code changes, the design of the joints between col-umns and beams was greatly under the strength required. This study, LA-UR-93-3642, “Life Safety and Seismic Hazards - Selecting Buildings for Review and Questions Still to Answer” was presented at the DOE Natural Phe-nomena Hazards Mitigation Conference, October 19-22, 1993 in Denver, CO. This was less than two weeks before my retirement from the laboratory.

The laboratory had many struc-tures using these older design codes, including the Administration Build-ing in TA-3. This building housed the top management of the labora-tory - on the top floor (fourth). In a presentation to senior management, I told them that they should be proud to have the courage to work on the fourth floor of the most seismic susceptible building in the laboratory. One of the top managers stated “If this thing collapses, I don’t want to hear any giggling down there.” That building has now been replaced.

These seismic study accomplish-ments were part of the reason for my being awarded the Certificate of Appreciation which was given to me at my retirement ceremony by the Department of Energy.

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The Los Alamos National Laboratory was planning a new plutonium facility adjacent to the existing one, at Tech Area 53 off of East Jemez Road. An engineering company in California had been assigned the project of writing a design criteria, and spent one year and one million dollars without being able to satisfy the user’s requirements. I was called into the division leader’s office and told that I had a critical project. We had to complete design criteria for the new plutonium facility in seven weeks; I was in charge and also had to write the structural criteria, I had Gordon Albury for an architect, Ralph Marsh for a civil engineer, Ralph Yetter for a mechanical engineer, Merle Koepke for an electrical engineer and Cheryl as a part time secretary. I did my typing and Gordon’s typing myself, as I was faster than the secretary. It sounded like fun, so we were all relocated to the CMR Building and were assigned comput-ers for the project. My wife, Connie, worked in Supply and Property and helped us to get the necessary computers.

We were isolated in our offices from the rest of the laboratory, except for obtaining the help that we needed. We were to have a lawyer to oversee the conformity with standards and uniformity of the Design Criteria, but he was building a house so didn’t show up until after the project was completed. His superiors, being lawyers and always thinking about how to screw something up, told him to find something wrong with the document. He did. He said that it looked like it was written by five different people. I was guilty, it was written by five different people, and we had no time to have it rewritten by a professional editor. We didn’t even have the time to proof read and apply gram-matical corrections to the document. In private he told me that it was the best technical document he had ever seen. Naturally since we met the urgent deadline which was absolutely necessary, there was now time to take what had been done and do it over again and my friend, Art Salgado, took over for me, and I went back to other work.

A similar facility to our existing Plutonium Facility was being constructed in the United Kingdom at Aldermaston. The Los Alamos Plutonium Facility was used as a guide (almost a direct copy). Members of our team, including me, were told that we should go to Aldermaston to talk with the British Engineers on that project. We also found that those engineers wanted to do the design of our facility for which we just wrote the criteria. I was told that I was go-ing, but Gordon Albury was not. I was off of the project at that time, and thought that was not fair, so I asked them to send Gordon instead of me. Now Gordon was an architect, a bit eccentric, a liberal, a gun banner and all kinds of bad things, but he was a good architect, so I told the powers that be that I wasn’t going. This caused a stir and one of the su-pervisors came to my office and told me “you are directed to go to Aldermaston!” I answered “Nobody directs me!!!” The next day I was visited by Dick Hemphill, a group leader, and a very good friend. He told me that the Labora-tory wanted me to go, and needed me to document any in-formation that might come from the meetings. He asked me to think it over this weekend and whatever I decided, would be OK. You can’t turn down a request from a friend, even though he did smoke smelly cigars when he and I shared a trailer. So Monday I told him I would go. And besides, he asked me as a friend, not ordering me. Connie also shared this trip with me.

So on with the trip! We landed at Heathrow on October 3, 1987 and took the train to Reading, which was our base for meetings at Aldermaston. We were staying in a nice small hotel in Reading with dining downstairs and every-thing “American” except for a wash rag. We learned that it is illegal to dance on Sunday in the UK. We learned this after, inspired by the music in the dining room, we did a little dance. We were forgiven since we were Yanks, and you can’t expect Yanks to know everything.

We spent the rest of the day getting settled down in our hotel and getting over our jet lag. The next morning was a Sunday and we asked at the desk about churches in the area. We were told of a nearby church and, after breakfast, we walked over there. It was an old church, with small benches which almost made me put my knees up around my neck. The Brits were very friendly and the service was an Anglican service with most of the congregation being charismatic. For the first time I heard the song ”Shine Jesus, Shine.” Wow, could those Brits sing! We spoke to the vicar on the way out of the church and he commented on the Jim Bakker and Jimmy Swaggart scandals. I believe that I replied that kind of behavior was going on for a long time in the church, at least back to Henry VIII and further. He acknowledged that we all have the same problems. We spent the rest of the day looking around town and resting because work started tomorrow.

Adventures to the East – Across the Big Pond.

The Los Alamos Plutonium Facility - TA-55

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The next day, Monday, October 5, our group was picked up by a limousine and brought to Aldermaston. Looking at the construction underway, we saw somewhat of a twin of the facility we had in Los Alamos. We were checked in and had introductions and presentations about progress. Also, the use of automated transport systems proposed and in place was discussed. They were doing quite well at im-proving on the design we had done a few years ago. That night we had a reception and dinner with the engineers and managers of the facility. One Brit with whom I was talking decided to discuss the colonies with me. He stated that the UK took all of their prisoners, beggars, religious radicals and other unwanted persons and shipped them off to the colonies. I just grinned a little and stated that they did the same with Australia, and Australia became a great nation also. He made a mistake when he got home. He told his wife about our conversation. The next day he came in and told me that his wife did not approve of his comments and he had better make amends! He apologized for his com-ments and said that he knew that the Yanks liked old things, so he brought a copy of a very old Shakespeare book for me. In the book he had written on a separate sheet of paper “from an insular Brit to a cosmopolitan American.” I have passed that old book down to Mary and Steve so that it will stay in the family.

After a few days of this we were on our own to do our own thing. Connie found that they had shoes in the UK that she couldn’t get back in the USA. Something to do with the width – the Brits kept this width in good supply at home because more Brits had that size shoe than any other. We moved into another hotel right off of Hyde Park and walked around London, bussed around London on those two storey busses, and enjoying British products which were on sale. We also had a special treat; Les Miserables was playing in downtown London and Connie got two tick-ets for it. We put on our glad rags and went to the theatre. We ended up in a glass enclosed room at the upper level with two other Yanks – not even a Brit to talk to. I guess they wanted to isolate us from the natives so they wouldn’t be polluted. The play was magnificent.

Back in the early days the British tribes who painted their faces blue for some reason or another, were picked on by the Vikings, the Romans, the French and each other. The Romans, with the discipline, tactics and military equip-ment of their soldiers were able to subdue the Brits in most engagements. The Brits, not wanting to hold a grudge, had a very handsome statue of Julius Caesar in London. (I believe, but memory is dim on this) In order to honor this great warrior from two millennia ago, I posed next to him. Don’t we look good together, although I do not believe that he was taller than I am.

We took a side trip down to Dover on the train. While riding to Dover we noticed that there were houses along the tracks, a reasonable dis-tance back, and every back yard had a beautiful vegetable garden. My memory is very poor about this phase of the trip, but I do have three pictures that were taken in the UK; where I cannot remem-ber. But I, being the camera hog, am in all three. I

do look good in my rain coat, even if I am wearing tennis shoes. Within the UK, the rain coat is always in vogue.

We went back to Heathrow with our suitcases full of shoes and caught the plane to go back to the USA after a most enjoyable trip. This was probably on the 15th or maybe the 16th, but whichever day it was, the Great Storm of 1987 hit London later that day or that night. It tore up trees in Hyde Park, shut electricity down and had highest winds of over 130 mph. When we left Hawaii a few years later, the volcano shut down for a few days. In the UK a hurricane hits the place where we were staying. We have to be more careful where we go. No trips to Yellowstone National Park. There is a Mega-Volcano right below the surface in that area.

Julius Caesar & Dean Keller, two Great Warriors of two different ages

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Hands Across the Ocean, Happenings to the East, Across the Big Pond

Lucy and Deana Keller pictured with Katrin Weidner

My daughter-in-law, Lucy Keller, and granddaughter, Deana, had two foreign student guests over a couple of years. Ola Johansson, a young man who was from Sturefors – Linkoping in Sweden and Katrin Weidner from Munich, Ger-many. Each stayed with Lucy and Deana for a year during their high school education. This was part of a foreign studies program which enhanced the use of the “American” language and to dispel or reinforce any positive or negative concepts about the United States of America. Ola and Katrin are still in contact with the Keller family, and have made subsequent trips to the United States. Ola came with his brother Niklas and spent time with Lucy and Deana and then with the Los Alamos Keller family as well. Katrin was kind enough to come all the way from Germany to be at the wedding of Dean and Jean in Tulsa, and spent time with us and with Lucy and Deana. Below and above are pictures introducing the mem-bers of Ola’s family, whom we were privileged to visit in 1994, and Katrin, above, who came to our wedding.

Rolf, in his natural element - on the water. A delightful person to be around, and a mem-ber of the local police department.

Eva, who is a wonderful hostess. She also speaks many languages, and is an Olympic class athlete.

Ola and Niklas shown at the canyon in the back of our house. Two delightful young men.

Erik, the youngest of the Johanssons - and I don’t know why he has his horns upside down.

Another participant at this grand party was MUSIC. The Swedes were noted to break into song at any moment, and at this great gather-ing there was at least one American who believed that music is one of the great contributions of man to his fellow man. So, at the drop of a hat, or any other occasion a song would be started, in English for the benefit of the minority English speaking participants, with immediate participation by others in the group. I believe the major instigators were Eric (the red) and Dean, both of whom live with a song in their heart. “The red” is a memory trick that I used to remember the names of Eric and his wife Anna (and the King of Siam).

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During the summer of 1994, after retirement from the Los Alamos National Laboratory, but still engaged as a consultant through M. Dean Keller, Engr, Connie and I visited with the Johansson family in Sweden. We landed in Stockholm on July 9, 1994 and made our way to Sturefors by way of the Johansson’s car. This was a lovely home in a residential area, much like you would find in the United States. Eva, Ola’s mother, was a person who spoke many languages, was involved in athletics, like the Olympics, and could swim, row and was otherwise at home on the water. Rolf worked for the police department in the local jurisdic-tion. This time of the year was the time of short nights and very long days. The sun would rise about 3:45 AM and set at 10:00 PM. The weather was beautiful. We were assigned our room and found that the Johanssons had separate bedrooms. Eva appeared to be a independent person, and each wanted his and her own space. But they were a loving couple. We were assigned two camp sized beds, but we both slept in one bed to the amusement of our hosts.

There was some time for overcoming jet lag, during which we became acquainted with our hosts and their local area. We also spent sometime planning which included a trip to the local town, the church on Sunday, a side trip by boat to Helsinki, a fun trip to Gothenburg for “the games” ending with a few days on our own in Stockholm.

During the first week, Rolf took me down to the police station where he worked and introduced me as a police chief from the United States. We had some interesting dis-cussions about guns and I was shown the firing range in the building and the weapons available. I found that we both had Sig Sauer 9mm pistols, but the Swedish police only had nine shot clips while I had a 16 shot clip. They were considering converting to larger clips, as crime was becom-ing more violent in this very peaceful country.

Ola and I made a trip to the nearby town where I pur-chased a Swedish flag, some other trinkets and a Viking hat, with horns, so I could blend in with the local popula-tion. Ola carefully watched over me and made sure that I got the best price for each item.

A view of houses and cars in Sweden

Eva & Ola outside of their house

Ola in his room

Blending in with the local population

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Church services in Sweden Members of the congregation outside of the ChurchSunday came and we went to church in the city. I do not

remember very much about the service, probable because it was mostly in Swedish. But it was a very dignified service with beautiful singing and colorful dresses on the ladies. As can be seen above, the participants and the clergy wore white.

The order of what happened next is not clear my mind as this was sixteen years ago and although I have many pictures, I do not have them dated nor have notes on the back of the pictures. This was before the digital camera, and film had to do.

The next adventure I will cover is going swimming in Sweden, Where, I do not remember, but it was an area with rocky landscape and deep water. We traveled from the car on a path with boulders on each side, wearing our street clothes and carrying our bathing suites. When we arrived at the “beach” which was very rocky, I did not see any change houses. So, I was taught the Swedish method of changing to the bathing suit. I took off my shirt, under-shirt, shoes and socks and placed them in a neat pile. I then wrapped a towel around my waste, and slipped my pants off. Nobody even noticed. I then pulled up my multicol-ored bathing suit, took off the towel and placed it with my clothing.

I studied the water a little bit, and found that it wasn’t too cold, but I did not know how deep it was. Rolf was already swimming out from the shore.

I decided that it was time to get into the water, and in I dove. I couldn’t feel the bottom, so I asked Rolf how deep the water was in this area. He replied “about 30 metres or so,” and I started evaluating my swimming skills. I was not like my brother who could swim across the Mississippi near our house where it was a mile across. I was doing OK, so I swam around for a while, enjoying the water and wonder-ing where the life preservers were.

After a while we got out of the water and came back on land, happy for an exhilarating experience. Placing a towel on some rocks, I relaxed and talked with Eva. There is no doubt that Eva is a socialist. She commented that the United States was watched as it moved closer to socialism, then moved away over and over again. This was discour-aging. I did not argue with her as I have mixed emotions with capitalism and socialism. Each is only as good as the motives of the persons who are making the laws.

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Stockholm, One of the Most Beautiful Cities in the WorldMy memory is hazy as to where, when and with whom,

but it is those memories which stand out which are the most profound. The subway system in Stockholm is beautiful and efficient, and the people in Sweden are the most gra-cious, kind and loving that I have ever met.

When I was in a subway terminal before going up, I saw a booth with items to buy nearby. A young lady was behind the counter of the booth, and I approached her and asked if she could sell me a map of the Stockholm Subway System. She said that she could, but that I could obtain the same “over there” at no charge. Maybe it isn’t capitalism, but it sure is a wonderful change from the cheating, lying and greed shown by some under our capitalistic system.

I was with Ola when we visited the home of the King of Sweden. There was a large crowd from around the world watching the Royal Guard on parade at the Royal Pal-ace. We were crossing the street, and had to hurry a little because a black limousine was coming. Ola told me that we had the privilege of almost being run over by the King. What a delight!

In downtown Stockholm we saw the most beautiful blend of art and buildings that we had ever seen. In the picture to the right, I am standing next to a golden statue, and it is was not alone. There were numerous statues by the various buildings, and gold appears to be the color of choice.

The city was beauti-fully clean and the layout of the buildings and parks complemented each other. Much of this was new (after 1900) construction, but the same can be said of the older parts of the city as well. There is a continuous history of the construction over hundreds of years.

The highlight of the Stockholm visit was the Vasa Museum. It is the number one attraction in all of Sweden. In it is an almost intact 17th century warship, Vasa, which was raised from the sea after three centuries underwater. It carried 64 cannons on two decks and was designed by a Dutch ship builder, Henrik Hybertsson for King Gustavus Adolphus. It was on its way to wage war against Poland when it sank in 100 feet of water in Stockholm’s harbor. It was blown onto its side by wind, allowing water to enter its gun ports. The museum was the most complete collection of maritime artifacts in the world. These artifacts include four other floating museum ships, clothes, preserved food and beverages, silver and gold coins, and of course-a well stocked gift shop.

The picture below of the Vasa, is taken from the internet as the picture that I had taken did not do the ship justice. This museum is so spectacular that I would recommend that any visitor to Stockholm place this museum first on their list.

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Time for the “Games” in GothenburgThey came by plane, train, automobile and boat, and

combinations of these methods of transportation. They came to Gothenburg for the yearly games. To the winner went the satisfaction of being the winner. While we were there, a boat arrived at the dock near the house where we were staying and Eric (the red) and Anna (and the king of Siam) arrived. (memory trick) They lived just a few minutes away in their house on the lake, and knew how to row. Because of the two Americans present this year it was decided that the official language of the games would be English. Thanks be to God.

The first matter of business was to instruct the players on the rules of the game. Eva, being the game director and the undisputed Caesar, clearly told the participants what was expected of them.

The participants are assigned without regard to size, sex, or nation of origin. The persons shown on their skis in the pictures below include two young ladies from Sweden, one young man, with horns, from Sweden and one horny American who managed to sneak in without being noticed.

The purpose of this strange looking combination of peo-ple and skis is for all to walk as one, such as in the military, but with even more precision, and to be able to go from point “A” to point “B” and pick up an object and move it to another location without falling down or offending another member of the team.

Houses along the lake - boats are often used for travel between houses.The participants at the games are shown below, eager to match their wits and skills against each other.

This was not the only game, but was the most fun and required the greatest coordination. There were also races, (I was much younger then), stick games similar to baseball, but restricted because there was no diamond to play on, and for the talented, badminton.

Badminton being played by some of the participants at the Games. It is noted that most are younger than aver-age.

The skis used in this game are shown.

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A Little Side Trip

Sometime in this whirlwind of activities, Ola, Con-nie and I boarded a boat and headed to Helsinki, Finland. Unfortunately, Connie was sick with her allergies (corn) and remained in bed for part of the trip. The trip was an overnight trip, and we had to eat on board. We went to the restaurant and upon arrival at the door we were asked “and what language are we speaking?” I answered Nihongo (Japanese), at which he replied in Japanese “Great, come in and I will take you to your table.” He did not look the least bit surprised that we did not look Japanese.

We sat and the waiter came to the table to take our order. In the interest of health, I decided to switch to English. We ordered, and I believe that Connie wanted to try shark - which was unusual considering her normal eating habits. We ate and went to our rooms for a good nights sleep.

The next morning Ola and I went ashore, and on the dock I saw a magnificent display of mink hats. Going over there I met a lady and man who were running the store. I expressed my desires to have a mink hat, and she started showing me around. During the selection process I switched to Japanese and she countered with Japanese. Then came a few Spanish requests, which she answered correctly. We were shopping and laughing and finally found the hat that I wanted.

I don’t remember if this is correct, but I am going to tell you a tale of minks happily passing away. These minks were placed in comfortable enclosures with food and water, and enough minks were there of the proper color of coat and attributes so as to be able to manufacture a number of beautiful hats. They were then taken, in the still of the night, to a location along the Russian-Finish border. They were placed on the Russian side of the border at a location where they could not be easily found. After a week, they were brought back to the Finish side of the border, where they promptly passed away, happily, from the shear joy of being back in Finland. From that group, my hat was made.

The lady and I had agreed on a price, and I asked her if she would accept American cash. She said “No! The value is dropping down too fast.” I then asked if a Master card credit card would be OK. She agreed. She pulled out a card reader, saying “Damn clever, these Japanese.” She then looked at me and said “You are so nice that I am going to reduce the price by 50 dollars - which her partner disagreed with - You are giving away our money! But the sale went through, and she gave me a big hug, and back to the boat Ola and I went.

I wore that hat for many years, and it was magnificent, especially since it was made from contented minks. How-ever, since Deana lived in Colorado, and I don’t like to will things, I gave it to Deana to enjoy while I was still alive.

Later, Connie joined Ola and me for a bus tour of sights in Helsinki. The city was clean, had a Finish flavor to it, but the most spectacular sight was the Temppeliaukio Kirkko (Rock Church) which was a work of modern ar-chitecture completed in 1969. It was carved from a rocky outcrop rising about 40 feet above street level. The ceil-ing is made of copper wire, and the interior has some rock surfaces visible and other more modern finishing.

Another interesting adventure was to a giant flea market. The great difference that one sees is the number of items from Russia. I bought a Russian hat, some other Russian clothing items and a Swedish one öre coin formerly valued at 1/100 of a Krona. It wasn’t in circulation anymore in Sweden, but was used in conversation meaning something worthless. I gave it to Eva in payment for our stay in Swe-den.

The entrance resembles the ancient tomb at Newgrange, Ireland.

The interior is very modern with beautiful surroundings with the copper roof overhead.

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The Last Time I saw ParisThe party is over and there is one more stop in the

neighborhood before going home. Paris. Eva called our hotel in Paris and made sure that all was in order for our arrival - in French, naturally. Good-byes were said to all and thanks to Eva, Rolf, Ola and all the rest who made the trip the time of our lives. A trip to the railroad station with a yearly paid up ticket, courtesy of Rolf and Eva, with a stamped envelope for its return to them after we reached Stockholm. In her haste to have us catch our train, Eva received a 500 Krona parking ticket. I offered to pay it, but she said no. When we got to the airport, I took the tickets and put them in the envelope and to keep them company, slipped in a 500 Krona note for the family which showed us so much love.

We said our good-byes at the train station and boarded our train to Stockholm. The trip to Stockholm was very nice, although the conductor did look at us with our pre-paid ticket. Fortunately, he did not ask any questions. The countryside was beautiful and our arrival was on time. We went to the airport, checked in our bags and did a little last minute shopping. I found a carry-on bag with a long handle that I had to have, and still have. We bought it and brought it with us on the plane. Then off we went to our last city to visit in Europe, remembering the news reels and movies that showed our boys and the French army in exile entering a joyful Paris over fifty years ago.

We landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport, went through customs without a problem and boarded a train to Paris. The train was crowded and we had to stand among some of the working class of France. They were wonderful. Whenever we had a question as to where we were or how do we get to the address of our hotel, someone was able to figure out what we needed and in some way, not necessarily spoken, conveyed the information to us. We felt welcomed by these, our fellow children of God. By pointing at train signs we were told where to get off, and when we did, arms waved goodbye to the strangers in their midst.

The hotel was where it was supposed to be and we checked in without a problem, We placed our clothing in the closet and got everything arranged for a few days stay. Breakfast was in the hotel in the morning, and was very good. We were at breakfast with persons from all over Europe and from around the world.

At the Tourist Assistance table we purchased tickets for a trip to Versailles for the next morning and went out on the streets of Paris. Being hungry in France is the same as it is elsewhere, and when Connie said “It’s time to feed me,” I started to look for a restaurant. We found one with outside tables and sat down. Our waiter came over to our table and gave us our menu. I had a six language electronic transla-tor and determined what was on the menu. The menu was in French and the waiter spoke no English, and he looked

a little grumpy. I told him what our order was by point-ing at the item on the menu, and he went and after a short while brought our order. But no bread! I asked him for bread, but he didn’t understand, so I looked up bread on the translator, translated it into French, and let him see it on the screen. He said “Ah!” and brought us the bread.

We went to a nearby tall building, which advertised an observation floor at the top, and up we went. The pictures that follow were taken from this observation floor.

The Bois de Boulogne was formerly used for royal hunts, but now is the recreational playground for many Pa-risians. The fountain with its beautiful surroundings is the most magnificent sight that I had ever seen. Even today, when I have seen more computerized spectacular fountains, this one is outstanding for its size and architectural splen-dor.

The River Seine, as seen from the observation floor. The density of the population of Paris is indicated by the closeness and height of the housing units all around.

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Leaving the building, Connie and I took to the streets of Paris, enjoying the sights, sounds and people of this great city. Although we did not go into the Louvre we did admire the architecture from the outside. To me, a photograph is as valuable as an original, and the great value placed on the original painting is not impressive. People, for me, are interesting and of the most value. Things, even the Mona Lisa, come a distant second. On our walk around the city, or parts thereof, and also on our wild taxi cab rides from one place to another, we did enjoy the hustle and bustle of Paris.

We visited the Arch De Triumph and the Eiffel Tower, and even stopped to go up the elevator in the Eiffel Tower. You do get a good view from the top, and as an engineer it was very interesting to study the structural details being used in 1889.

After a day on the town we went back to the hotel to eat supper and prepare for our next trip, which was to Ver-sailles.

The next morning our tour bus came on time and we were ushered to the rear of the bus and they must have known we were Americans. In front of us was a Japanese couple. After we were on the road I started a conversa-tion with them in Japanese. Fortunately, he spoke very

The Louvre Palace and the Pyramid

The Palace of Versaillesgood English. His name was Masahiro Yoshitake and he lived in Kasima City, Chiba,.Perfecture, Japan. He seemed to be happy to have someone else on the bus who spoke some Japanese and who had been in Japan and cared for the Japanese people. We had a French tour guide who spoke French, English and Japanese. She was discussing François Louis de Bourbon and talked about how royalty would chase the girls around Versailles in the woods and have their way with them. Masahiro asked her from what affliction did he die. She answered, “syphilis.” He replied, “Justice!!!”

Masahiro and I were talking to the tour guide on the bus, giving her a few pointers on Japanese. We also undertook the task of teaching her Kimigayo, the Japanese national anthem. He and I sang it together much to the delight of the other passengers. He told me that I sang with much fervor. Well, I did put my heart into it!!

We arrived at Versailles and went from wonder to wonder, all of which would be difficult to describe. What a magnificent facility, and what a waste that this beautiful facility was in the possession of French royalty some of whom did not have the morals of alley cats nor concern for their people. The French people deserved better.

I received a Christmas card from my new Japanese friends in which he stated “We (my wife and I) have a splendid time in Paris, owing to your song of “Kimigayo.” I hope to see you again in Japan. Please give my best regards to your family.” Unfortunately we never had the opportunity to visit Japan again. There are so many tens of thousands of persons whom I have met whom I would enjoy seeing again. That is the greatest sorrow in life, but maybe it will be rectified in God’s dimension.

The next day we boarded another aircraft and flew back to Los Alamos, gaining time as we flew west. It still did not help with the jet lag.

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The names of the persons involved in this adventure are the actual names, in order to protect the innocent. The persons involved are shown above; from left to right- War-ren, Nellda, Connie and Dean. Any resemblance between these persons and persons living in Richardson, TX and Los Alamos, NM is not in keeping with the season.

January 22, 1997, Wednesday. This adventure started uneventfully the afternoon of January 22, 1997. The car, was packed, with every little space accounted for because of the efforts of one person, Connie, who packed every-thing that was in sight. The fact that Dean, who packed only necessities such as his computer, his printer, books to read, and other items, only throws more emphasis on the space occupied by Connie who really didn’t need the things she packed.

A trip to Albuquerque without a stop would be unusual, and stop we did. Wal-Mart and J. C. Penneys, where the first miracle of the trip took place. Nellda and Connie went into Penneys, bought what they planned to buy, and came right out, and the angels sang. Then on to the Comfort Inn in Albuquerque where we had supper that ranged from Belgium waffles for Dean, pancakes for Connie, soup and salad for Nellda, to pork chops for Warren. Warren has not been mentioned before since he is usually quiet, peaceful, causes no trouble and stays in the background. He insisted that he would have a real supper, a thought that we all considered very unusual since no one else was conform-ing. Then we went back to the car. Out came the ice chest by Dean who wanted to put it into the motel room, then back into the car with the ice chest when Nellda said that Connie wanted it out in the cold. However, communica-tions was not perfect and Warren brought the ice chest up to his room. This was brought to the attention of Connie, who then brought the ice chest back to the car, while Dean rested from the long drive. The saga of the ice chest had not yet ended though, because at about one in the morning Dean had to go to the car and retrieve two ice packs from it for Connie. All along Dean knew that the ice chest should have been in their room. That’s all I want to say about that.

January 23, 1997 - Thursday. The next morning we

were under martial law- up at 4:30 AM, to breakfast at 5:30 AM, complete breakfast by 5:40 AM , arrive at the airport at 6:00 AM, one hour before flight time. Dean parked the car while the others checked in much baggage. When Dean came back, he had to show his driver’s license to be sure, to them and to himself, who he was. It was early in the morning. Just before that, Nellda was asked for her driver’s license, and then remembered that it was in her purse in a drawer at the motel. Could she leave without a photo ID? No, the law was clear. So a phone call back to the motel, and then a wait for an answer. Dean went out to be with Nellda, and called the motel on the cell phone. No, they could not find the wallet. What to do? Could Nellda be placed in a suitcase and shipped to Hawaii? No, Con-nie had taken care of that, all suitcases were over-packed. Another call to the motel to tell them that Nellda and War-ren were coming back there to look- don’t leave with the wallet. A taxi was procured, miraculously, and as Warren and Nellda were going into the motel parking lot, the motel van was leaving. Warren leaped from the taxi and ran in front of the van, waving arms. STOP! Sure enough the wallet was on its way to the airport. So Nellda and her wallet were reunited, tears flowed, and two happy people went back to the airport. We went through security, where Dean had to turn on his laptop computer and his cellular phone, but caught up with the others, with no loss of time. The same could not be said of Connie’s trip to the lady’s room, supposedly to find a quiet place to pray for the return of Nellda’s wallet. We made the flight with two minutes to spare, before the doors closed. Thank God for our military scheduler, Connie.

Then on to Phoenix, and on to Los Angeles where we were confused. The airport was big, and we had to board the Wickie-Wickie bus to go to the United Terminal. Or was that in Hawaii? All I remember is that we could use the Wickie-Wickie bus, or Walkie Walkie. We’ll visit this one again. The hour was late, but getting earlier since we were going west.

The plane was one hour late taking off, after a four hour layover in LA: so much time to spare after making the plane in Albuquerque with only two minutes to spare. The luggage was easily stored in the DC-10’s overhead com-partment, and we settled down for a six hour flight over the ocean. We had the show and tell safety program which we were told we had to watch. Then the television started with commercials and we heard that we were on our way to Paradise. I immediately thought- we are going to crash! But no, this was just part of the build-up which led up to our taking the Wickie-Wickie bus to another terminal on our way to the outermost island in Paradise.

The movie for this flight was “Fly Away Home,” for which Connie and I bought headsets. If you could read lips you could see the movie for free. Dinner came; Warren did not want, Nellda ate one made from a dead chicken (road kill) and Dean ordered two, obtaining two different types so Connie could have her choice when she awoke.

WINTER IN HAWAII, 1997 Narrated by M. Dean Keller

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However, when questioned, Connie did not want to eat, so Dean ate both. So much for weight control. The movie was very good, and Connie woke up about half way through. From her normal sitting position she could see the top six inches of the screen. But by straining and looking around seats, she could see most of the movie.

At last we were told that we were about to land in Para-dise. Those persons on the left side of the plane could see a beautiful island as we flew past (looked like a big rock in the ocean) and those persons on the right side of the plane could see thousands of miles of Pacific Ocean. We were on the left side of the plane so we could see the rock. The landing was uneventful and we finally met the Wickie-Wickie (which means “very fast”) bus. Walkie-Walkie would have been as fast, but too far for our tired little legs. At the Aloha terminal we got off of the bus and went to check in on the inter-island plane. Since our plane was late from the mainland we missed the 6:00 PM plane and had to wait for the next one. It came. Beautiful men in grass skirts served us a strange drink on the plane and we landed on the island of Kauai. (Perhaps, I was a little tired at this time.)

Praise be to God, our luggage had all arrived, and it was all covered with “inspected” stickers. I hope they ironed my underwear while they were inspecting. Then came the battle of the rental cars. I know we promised that, but this is all you are going to get, was the battle cry of the car barons. Much planning had gone into this trip by Warren. He had gone to the Oldsmobile dealer in Dallas, measured the trunk, and measured the suitcases, and determined that if the suitcases were trim (not stuffed), that six suitcases could theoretically be placed in the trunk. The battle went on and on- with no give on either side. They finally prom-ised a smaller but newer Chevrolet (rather than an Oldsmo-bile)- much better for us, even though our luggage would not fit. Someone could always ride on the roof of the car. Finally the car arrived at the gate where Nellda and Dean were patiently waiting after gathering all of the luggage and placing it neatly on two carts, with two bags following behind on their leashes, like puppy dogs.

Warren and Dean loaded the luggage with much direc-tion, instruction and criticism from the other members of the party, except Nellda, who just sat close by and giggled. Suit cases were placed in the trunk until the car moaned, the excess was placed on the front seat with care. Dean, Connie and Nellda sat in the back- where Dean held the suitcases in place with both arms while Warren drove.

The trip to the condominium was uneventful, though scary. It does get dark in Paradise, and the roads were unknown. We went from road to road, not knowing where we were. We were not lost, because we knew on which island we had landed, maybe. Directions to the resort were good, and finally we waddled into the lobby and found out that they were booked 100%, but that our reservations were good. At this time came the ritual of emptying the suitcases and placing clothing in closets. All went well, no wallets

were lost, and every-thing found a place to rest, including us.

January 24, 1997 - Friday. Warren woke up at about 4:00 AM, then went back to sleep. One must remember that it was 8:00 AM in Dal-las. Also know that this island is the only one which still has wild chickens and roosters. Mongooses were brought in to the other islands to rid the islands of rats, but they rid the island of fowl instead. Those roosters, not knowing day from night, crowed throughout the night causing us jet lag visitors much confusion. Warren awoke again about 6:00 AM and went to the bathroom. The door to Connie and Dean’s room was open, and there was a light on in the bath-room, so Warren thought that Connie was in the bathroom. Connie was still sound asleep, not in the bathroom but in her bed. Warren waited and then went down stairs into the surrounding jungle. A little bit of Paradise will never be the same. Soon everyone was awake and laughing about the morning incident, except for that little bit of Paradise.

That day we had our orientation meeting and mooched some coffee and Danish, and declined to buy a local con-dominium. On to the local village to purchase some items and find the local Salvation Army shop for local color. We could not find how to get to the building, which we could see, without going over a house or through a fence. So we shopped. At a store where we made a few purchases, Nellda lost her glasses but didn’t notice until later. Blind as a bat, she went with us and pretended she could see. A trip to the information center gave us an opportunity to obtain more information, some wrong, but all gracefully given. Then to Wal-Mart where Connie rejuvenates herself by shopping, spending over $100 (she was having shopping withdrawal pains). And much to her surprise and delight she had a Lei placed over her head, one made of beautiful tuba roses with a lovely fragrance.

Next we visited by boat the Fern Grotto. We traveled on the river Wailua, where parts of the movie “Raiders of the Lost Ark” were filmed, while little girls did hula-hula dances on our boat.

After that trip was over we went back to Wal-Mart. Yes, Connie said, this is Paradise. We went to the Coco-nut Coast Shop and Mall to eat a hamburger and plan our harbor trip. At the hamburger shop, owned by Japanese who did not speak Japanese, we learned that even the lowly hamburger is more expensive in Paradise. Our waitress and cook left to enjoy a little sun, leaving an older person there,

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of Japanese ancestry. I called to her in Japanese, which she un-derstood, and asked her for another cola. She said “hai,” which means yes, and went into the kitchen and brought me a mop. We exchanged words and phrases, and I finally ended up with another cola.

While Connie was away, shopping no doubt, I told this person in flawless Japanese that my wife has all of my money and that I am broke. Much laughter erupted. What I said and what she heard could have been different.

After this battle of the languages, we took our leave of this expensive part of Paradise and went back to our condo-minium, which we could easily find in the daylight. By this time, Nellda had discovered that she had lost her glasses, probably when she could not see the hamburger in front of her.

January 25, 1997 - Saturday. Off to the Spouting Horns which was close by, but which was not spouting very much. The picture on the side came from a postcard which was obviously faked, since who would expect a spouting horn to spout so high. How-ever, Connie was still in a shopping mood.

At a local stand, she purchased a black coral ring, and didn’t care if the horn spouted or not. She paid for the ring with a check to avoid the 3% VISA charge to the vendor, since the price was so cheap, and asked if he had some earrings to match. Then, on the way to our destination we passed by Wal-Mart where Connie had to make some re-turns. She was greeted like an old friend. The destination was Kilohana Plantation where we had dinner, shopping, a carriage ride and history lessons about old Hawaii. A little sight-seeing and back to the condo where Warren and Con-nie decided to make their first visit to the ocean, at least up to their ankles.

January 26, 1997 - Sunday. Before the revi-sions, this was marked on our schedule as an easy day. We turned left and

went on Highway 50 (sometimes in the right direction, sometimes not) to 55 to Kokee State Park at 4000 feet elevation. The clouds were low that day and we couldn’t see much. I did call Steve on the cell phone and got right through.

At the park there was food, rest rooms, and numerous chick-ens, the type that wake you up in the morning. I obtained some chick-en food from inside the lodge and starting feeding them. They all came over, close enough to reach out and grab them, but I didn’t. They were pretty birds, just too loud. Besides they were protected.

On the way down we passed numerous places where the clouds had broken and pictures could be taken of the 3000 foot canyons. They were beauti-ful. It was time to meet the boat, to be there by 2:30 PM. Not sure of the location of the office, we used our superb navi-gational skills to determine which road to take to the shore. (Nellda helped.) We left the mountain road and drove right into the boat office yard, where no one was present. So down the road where we ate our lunch, (War-ren had no gravy on his meatloaf sandwich) then back to the boat office where persons materialized. Arrangements were taken care of and we found that there would be ten persons on a boat that usually holds twenty-five or more. On the boat and into the Pacific- like a fighter plane. 280 horsepower twin engines were doing their job. On the boat were us four, three Brits, three young girls, a Hawai-ian captain and a helper. We headed towards Forbidden Island, where only the original natives are allowed to live or visit. We had to stay off shore from that area.

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First we saw dolphins, and the captain stated that this trip was guar-anteed to produce dolphins. Whales? He would read the charter and find out later. Then we saw whales, and found out from the captain that “Yes, he would guarantee whales.” He could not approach the whales, so he would head in the direction that they were going, cut his engine, and wait. The whales were allowed to approach us. We saw some whale heads and some whale tails, and quite a few playful dolphins.

I had a nice conversation with the Brits, who really loved the Queen, and Di, but were happy that Fergie was spending so much time in the Colonies. I said it wasn’t fair for us to take her from them, that we should give something in return. Fair, they said. I asked if Madonna would be ac-ceptable, and they agreed. Then I offered Michael Jackson, with no takers. Nellda had used an expression, “Get a Rock.” meaning that I should have some help with under-water exploration. After one of my jokes, one of the Brits said “get a rock.” They were leaning over the side of the boat, on the starboard side, when a dolphin came up, face to face, to have a chat with them. Jolly good, don’t you think?We had a nice snack on board, went past Barking Sands Beach, which we had intended to visit, then proceeded back to Waimea port, after a most enjoyable trip. Hot wet towels were furnished to refresh our faces and hands.

January 27, 1997 - Monday. This was the day for find-ing. In the village near our Condo (Poipu), we found out how to make our way into the Salvation Army Shop, where we found nothing that we wanted to purchase. Back to the store that we went to a few days before, and sure enough, Connie found Nell-da’s glasses, and she could see again. She asked “Who are you people?” (Only kid-ding).” As the next part of our ritual, we had to go to Wal-Mart to obtain batteries for the camera.

We went to visit the waterfalls which were beautiful. Near there was a recon-structed Hawaiian village, and what else did we find there but the Brits, and a parrot. Naturally we could not let this opportuni-

ty pass, so we had a good time laughing with the Brits. (Get a rock.) We all posed for a photo together, with a parrot on top of the Brit’s head. Seemed sort of natural. Then off we went in our separate ways, them back to home and us to explore more of the island.

On the way to our destina-tion (Princeville and Hanalei Bay), we stopped at the Kilauea Light-house, which was built in 1913. It is now a US Fishing and Wildlife Refuge. Some spectacular views were seen from here. A long ride along the beach finally brought us to Lumahai Beach where we went into the water with our shorts, not our swimming trunks on. It was delightful. This area was made famous for the film-ing of South Pacific and Jurassic Park. We stopped to shop in Princeville, where the smoothie did not meet Connie’s allergy requirements, but a hot fudge sundae did meet my needs. After a drive around the Princeville Hotel, we head-ed on the long trip home.

January 28, 1997 - Tuesday. Shopping at Hilo Hatti for Connie, Nellda and Warren, while Dean goofed off at the Condo, and tried to type some about the previous days. A seal was lying on the beach, and we looked at and took pictures of the little fellow (about a ton), but could not touch as it was protected. The surf was high, and winds were blowing, so we went back to Spouting Horns, where the horns were spouting. The sales persons were also sell-ing, and Connie went back to inquire about her black coral earrings. Don, who sold Connie her black coral ring, was there with the earrings. Connie loved them, and they were hers. But Don refused any money, but kissed Connie on the cheek instead. We hadn’t eaten that morning so we went to Brennecke’s for brunch. Brunch was good, and we ex-plored the local neighborhood, which included many luxu-rious beach houses. We stopped at the beach and watched the swimmers and surfers who were having a ball. Back to the condo where we packed most of our bags for the airline flight in the morning. Connie wanted a Taco Bell, so we rode and rode and rode, 22 miles, to go to a Taco Bell for a late snack. Connie thought it was just around the corner. After this, with the wind still blowing, we went back to the condo where the wind and spray was washing the inside of the rooms, even blowing in the screen. But it was cool, and we slept well.

January 29, 1997 - Wednesday. The sun rose early this morning, but not as early as we did. We had to catch a plane to go to the big island. Actually, if the sun did rise, we didn’t know for we were experiencing 60 mph winds

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and rain as a cold front from Alaska hit the western most islands. Little did we know that we would meet this front again when we were on the eastern most island. The trip to the airport was uneventful, the baggage check-in was uneventful, the plane ride was uneventful, the landing was uneventful; little did I know that this was going to be “the longest day.” I did speak to some Koreans, whom I thought were Japanese, so they gently corrected me. When I told them that I was in the Korean war back in 1951/52- in com-bat, they all gave me a thumbs up! I do not believe that this was the oriental version of the one finger salute that some persons, heaven forbid, use.

Finally an event happened. Warren went to obtain a car by himself, Connie being shocked that he thought that he could accomplish this feat without her assistance. Warren was waiting in one line when a lady, Miss Congeniality of 1845, beckoned to him to come to her Alamo Express Line. We had reservations in both our names so that we could choose which would have the best discount. War-ren went into the express line, noting that there were no other persons waiting. He obtained the information on his reservation, and then asked some questions. She stated, emphatically, that she did not have time to answer all of these questions, this was the express line! He then asked her about the Keller reservation, but in compliance with the privacy act stated that a Keller would have to obtain infor-mation on this, and he was not authorized to obtain same.

This lovely lady then offered him upgrades, one for twelve dollars a day for an equivalent auto or thirty dollars a day increase for a mini-van. Warren gracefully refused, stating that we would suffer through with the car provided.

All of our luggage arrived and the packing of the car was unevent-ful. As usual the car was packed! Next came the trip to the “County Goose,” which was uneventful. At the County Goose we met Mother Goose, who was Earley. Actually she was Joan Earley (on the right). She gave us very good instructions to go to our residence for the next two days, a lovely home off of Golf Course Road. It should be noted that this was on the fault side of the sign which said “Fault Zone, Watch for Cracks in Highway.” It was well equipped with three

bathrooms, two bedrooms, a Jacuzzi, a garage door opener and an alarm system. It was also equipped with faucets which turned in for out and out for in, and hot for cold, and cold for hot. Naturally this home had a name. The name of this beautiful home

in the fault zone was Ahuanani Lodge. We parked in the garage and opened the door for Connie, leaving Nellda and

Warren locked in the garage. As I walked past the garage door, I heard a slight knock (Warren is so quiet), and opened the door and allowed them to come into our house. A little rest was needed before we ventured out into this vol-canic world, and rest we did.

Finally the hour arrived and we bravely went to the car to go face the volcano, remembering “Joe and the Volcano” and how sometimes the natives would sacrifice a tourist to make it rain, or to make it stop raining, one of the two. We went to the Hawaii Volcano National Park where a friendly and funny Park Ranger told us about the volcano and had two movies for our entertainment and edification. There were gift shops in the area, and as I was looking thru some postcards. Connie said that she was going to the gift shop next door. After buying some post cards I went looking, and looking, and looking. She was not in the art exhibit/gift shop nearby, so I walked over to the Volcano House which also had a gift shop.

There I finally found the rest of our party and a beautiful overview of the volcano caldera, about five miles in diam-eter. Although I knew that the Valle Grande at home (New Mexico) was twenty-two miles in diameter, I did not bring this to the attention of these poor people there who thought that this caldera was big. It was a lot hotter than the one at home, but somewhat the same as far as steam, basalt, etc.

The time came to hit the road again, and on we went to find the location where the lava hit the water, thereby adding to the size of Hawaii. Natu-rally the state claimed all of this new land, although they did nothing to make it happen. We went through an old lava tube, called Thurston’s lava tube, to see what kind of channel the volcano liked to make. When we got out of the tube, we found that the rain we had left at Kauai had caught up with us. We made the twenty minute tour in nine minutes flat. Now to the thrill of the day, where the lava hit the water. Twenty miles we went, down from 4000 feet elevation to sea level, through clouds and rain, past lava flows and craters, Warren carefully following the direction signs, 1 mile, 2 miles, 3 miles, etc., until we came to 20

miles and a long string of cars. We let the ladies out and parked our car 40 cars back up the road. Then we walked on the blacktop to the lava, over the lava to the rope which said “Abandon all hope ye who pass this barrier,” and stopped.

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The lava reminded me of my back yard, except we do not have the Pacific Ocean there, only the Rio Grande River, 800 feet down. Two kilometers away there was a large steam plume where the lava hit the water. Some-times it would look like a mushroom and I would think fondly of Los Alamos and the atomic bomb. As night came, the red lava which was being ejected from Pu’u ‘O’o, could be seen as it went from land to water to form more land for the state of Hawaii. It was impressive, and the Oooos and Aaaahs resounded from the population gathered there. Naturally we forgot our 7-12 power binoculars, so I went back to the car and brought them back so that we could see the lava a little closer. They did enhance the view of the lava as it spurted into the ocean. Little did we know that we were watching the last of this crater’s eruption.

Some information obtained from the Ranger was that these were not explosive volcanos, but rather gentle in their nature, that they could have been caused by a meteor hit-ting the ocean many years ago, causing a hot spot like Yel-lowstone National Park, and that this volcano did not, like most volcanos, have a mother lode of gold, silver, etc. It was composed of mundane material such as less than 50% silica, iron, bauxite, etc. It didn’t matter, since the state of Hawaii would have claimed the mineral rights anyway.

Then came the rains, slowly at first like a mist, then like a drizzle, then like a torrent with only three ponchos for the four of us. Naturally, having wash and wear skin, I let Connie have my poncho.

Connie and I went back to the car first with Connie hanging on to my arm. I had no problem with the basalt since it was like walking in my back yard. We got to the car where I removed my shirt and undershirt, both of which were soaked, turned the car around and went back to pick up Warren and Nellda. We saw them back about thirty cars, and offered them a ride. They accepted. I started the car again, then stopped when I found that Nellda was only half in the car. At the turn around, I turned over the driv-ing to Warren, and sat back to dry out. Twenty miles back we went, looking for a place to eat. Warren had seen a nice restaurant a while back, and had not lost his Hiawatha feather. He found the restaurant, and we went in- me in a tee shirt that Connie had bought for Steve. They were booked, so we had to leave, although I believe we would have added a little class to the place. We then went to a little sandwich shop, appropriately named the Steam Vent, which Connie had noted, and filled our intestinal tanks. Any food would have been good at that time. Then back to the house, and the end of the longest day.

January 30, 1997 - Thursday. The trip continues. Back to Hawaii Volcanos National Park to pick up some videos, a CD ROM, more postcards, and miscellaneous items. The area was tense. Pu’u ‘O’o had closed down and collapsed within itself and the lava flow to the ocean was no longer taking place. Hawaii was not getting bigger, and future land had already been sold for occupancy 10000 years from now. We had seen the last of an event that had been going on for many years, and perhaps it was our thoughts that had stopped it. After all, in October 1987, didn’t a hurricane go through London, the worst in a century, after we had left that morning? The Chain of Craters road was closed. Another crater, Napau, opened accompanied by swarms of earthquakes, and vented a series of fountains of flame and molten rock into the air. Two campers had to be rescued by helicopter, and we were still living in the live fault area. We made our purchases and went to a gift shop/museum where we saw videos of volcanos past, and the research of geologist at this USGS Station. We listened as updates to the condition of the volcano were broadcast.

After making our purchases and viewing the informa-tion at the station, we went to see Mother Goose. There we heard that there would be green chile in the breakfast and three breakfast reservations were made, Nellda was not eating breakfast, even for chile. We also learned from Joan that a new Wal-Mart had opened in Hilo, and plans for the day were forever changed. Connie was now in Heaven as well as in Paradise. Wherever we go we can find McDon-alds and Wal-Mart.

From there we went to see the Lava Tree Monument. There the lava had enveloped the trees, with the moisture in the trees cooling the lava to allow a void to be where the tree used to be. So we didn’t have the trees, but had plenty of voids where trees could be placed with lava all around them.

Then a trip to the old lighthouse by the sea, where the lava had gone around the lighthouse, leaving the lighthouse standing. We traveled along an unpaved road for many miles, looking for this old lighthouse. When we got to the end of the road, which had basalt about six feet high on both sides of the road, we looked, but could not see an old lighthouse. We did find a couple of freezers on the basalt. Instead there was a new lighthouse built on a concrete foundation. Checking the map again and again, we were assured of the location and decided that the map was out of date.

Back to the paved roads and to the Ocean where we located a black sand beach with swim-mers, surfers, and boat-ers. There we stopped to consume some of the produce that we had bought at a road side stand. We then went to Hilo, a historic old town

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with a large shopping mall, and the new Wal-Mart, which just opened yesterday. In a store in a mall nearby, Connie used my age to increase an already nice discount of 30% to 40% on a Hawaiian dress, she being too young to get the big discount. Then to more shops and finally to Wal-Mart where the price and quantity of merchandise brought more oooos and ahaas than the lava hitting the sea. The local population had never seen such prices. After Wal-Mart we bravely ventured into the fault zone to Ahuanani Lodge for a New Orleans red beans style dinner prepared by Nellda, and then to sleep.

January 31, 1997 - Friday. We started the morning by going early to have breakfast prepared by Joan Earley. This was instituted by Connie who had the brilliant idea of dropping in before our appointed time, since we were all dressed. Connie went in stating that she would absorb the fury in case we were not welcome.

We were welcome, so one big good mark for Connie. The breakfast was excellent, and we shared company with persons from Alaska, Michigan, and Florida ( I asked what are you doing here?) A family came in from California, obviously to escape the floods by going to the volcano. The volcano, by the way, was not putting on much of a show and Hawaii was no longer growing. Back to Ahua-nani Lodge where we packed and went to the airport. The car was stuffed, as usual, and another uneventful flight, this time to Honolulu. The car was obtained, the luggage packed and off we went to Turtle Bay, on the north end of Oahu. Along the way, about half way, we stopped in at Dole’s place, the pineapple, not the politician. So Bob and Elizabeth were not there to meet us, but there was a greeter and all kinds of food made from pineapple. We partook of the food and then went on to our new home for the next three days. The condo was found after a little search, and we moved in. Dinner at Waimea Falls Park, Peacock ap-propriately named after the Peacocks and Peahens which surrounded the restaurant.

I had a seafood dinner which had funny little things in it. I put them on the side of the plate, and noted that they had many legs. I could not bring myself to eat the little crea-tures. Nellda remembered that Spencer Tracy (of long-long ago) had once said “Ugly little squid, ugly little squid, I bet your mother thinks you’re a pretty little kid.”

Back to Turtle Bay where we prepared for the next day by much planning. It was then that Warren, who loses a hat on each trip, noticed that his blue Hawaii cap was “missing in action.”

It was decided that Saturday was a good day to visit Pearl Harbor, and pay our respects at the Arizona.

February 1, 1997 - Saturday. In the newspaper was the statement that the volcano had stopped spurting and now appeared to be quiet. Perhaps the tectonic plate has moved enough to where the island of Hawaii is no longer over a hot spot. If so, there will be little volcanic activ-ity until the next island, which is still much below water, breaks through the surface.

The trip to Pearl Harbor was pleasant, and well marked. After going around the parking lot about eight times, we found a parking place, which Connie jumped out of the car and defended with her body. Inside we were issued tickets, #12, which designated the tour group that we were in. A book store was available, and Pearl Harbor survi-vors gave an accurate bomb by bomb account of the attack. One speaker’s voice broke from emotion, and others in the audience had tears in their eyes, including a Japanese man who was there. For all of us, we remembered the young lives, on both sides, which were ended by the mistake of war. A movie was presented for our group stating the rea-sons for the attack, why the fleet was in harbor, etc, based upon American and Japanese archives.

A boat then took us to the Arizona Monument which straddles the sunken ship, the tomb for over a thousand men. It is a very appropriate memorial, and causes us to remember that the mistakes of a few can cause pain for many.

We made a few stops at Waimea Falls Park to seek Warren’s lost cap. Would this trip follow the example of so many other trips where a cap had to be sacrificed for the trip? No. Later on in the day the cap was found at our condo behind a suitcase in the clothes closet.

February 2, 1997 - Sunday. A leisurely morning fol-lowed by a trip to the Pacific Ocean on the north side of Oahu. Warren and Dean went into the water. Connie put her bathing suit on and walked along the beach and Nellda watched. The water was cold. I was walking in knee deep water and stated “It’s too cold, I’m not going in.” Then an under current grabbed my feet and I found myself in the water, all the way. Since I was in, I decided to do a little swimming. It was necessary to wear rubber clogs since the coral on the bottom was sharp. I swam around for a while, enjoyed the surf and tasted the salt water.

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The water was clear, but still cold. After a while War-ren and I decided to get out, and then came the difficult chore, removing the sand from our shoes and feet. It really stuck. So back to the house to shower and prepare for the next event of the day, a trip to the Polynesian Village for an afternoon of fun. All plans were made and we traveled the short distance to the village to find that it was closed on Sundays. Gotta read the small print. What else to do? To Honolulu for some shopping and a show. We finally decided on two shows at the IMAX, one on Whales, the other on Volcanos. Since we had turned off the volcano on Hawaii we thought we should find out what we had turned off. Both were very good, and put them together you get broiled whales. After a meal at Chili’s, we went back to the house.

February 3, 1997- Monday, The last day. Packing took place early in the morning, and was accomplished within established parameters. Then off to the Polyne-sian Village which was open that day. We were early this morning but a book store and a beach allowed us to use that time usefully. Then back to the village where we checked the three bags from the front of the car. Off to the Islands of Samoa where persons in native costume told us of their home islands. These persons were all students at the nearby Brigham Young University of Hawaii.

The person speaking for Samoa was an equal opportu-nity comedian. He picked on everyone, in a very funny but beautiful way, and especially the Japanese. His na-tive words were translated into English, Japanese, Spanish and Korean, usually in a way to make the Japanese sound wimpish. He brought persons up on the stage, always la-dies, and proceeded to put on a show. He always ended by being kissed on both cheeks, then on the hand.

This was simple for the Spanish who often did this, but not for the Japanese who did not show public affection. He was great at opening a coconut, and invited ladies to partake of the juice, telling one that now she would become brown like he was. We also had a comical demonstration of how to climb a tree to eat a coconut, which was then, after sampling, thrown to the ground splashing all over the area. No one was hit.

Next to the Islands of New Zealand where a native with a soft voice spoke of history and introduced songs and dances by some very talented persons. His history indi-cated that persons in the islands came from many places, including South and Central America. Then to Fiji where we assisted the singer and dancers by providing the rhythm using hollow bamboo sticks, sealed on one end, which were pounded on the floor. We were pretty good. The Islands of Marquesas was next, where we sat along the side of a rectangular green area. Here we watched some spectacular dancing by both men and women. We four were invited to participate, but declined for fear of embarrassing them with our unique and unusual styles of dancing. (Does this mean that the girls were chicken?)

The Canoe Pageant brought out our cameras for some beautiful canoe dancing and spectacular costumes. One violent person portrayed was our comical friend from Sa-moa who threw another Islander into the water. Naturally he did it with grace. Each canoe or group of canoes told a story of Hawaii, Fiji, Samoa, New Zealand, Tonga or Tahiti which which was quite a show.

After the Canoe Pageant we went to Tonga where a soft spoken lady told of song and dance of her island. Here we also saw a blue eyed beauty that we had seen at Marquesas. She must have been from both islands, and she could really dance. She was a freshman at BYU and the young man who danced with her was studying Computer Science there.

We had to leave early to make the next showing of the Polynesian Odyssey at the IMAX Polynesia Theater. It too was impressive, and as we left the call to go the airport started ringing in our ears, but not before a boat ride. We took a boat ride with another comedian who stated that he was both a college freshman and a teenager, so he knew everything.

At the end of the boat ride, we wanted to ride back by boat so as not to walk, but the next boat was for Japanese tourists only. I told them “Daijobu, watashi wa Nihongin desu,” which means “I assure you, I am Japanese.” This brought a laugh and smiles from the Japanese, but no boat ticket. So we spoke to our Asian friends in English and Japanese and then said sayonara instead of aloha as we left on an earlier boat along with our smart teenager.

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Then to the baggage, and to the car, and on the high-way, with Connie wanting to stop here and there to take a picture. We were in search of the Flamingo Restaurant along the road, but we never found it. We took the short cut back to Honolulu, and promptly got lost. Around and around we went, with Warren receiving directions from many, all wrong. We got lost right in front of a nice look-ing restaurant, so we stopped to eat. After a very nice meal with beautiful people, we were told how to get to the airport and assured that we would not have any problems.

How wrong they were. Around and around we went again, this time in Honolulu, in army bases, in warehouse districts, up dead ends streets to finally stop at a service station to ask for help. The gentleman there gave us very good and explicit directions and told us that we could not miss it. We cringed, but went on our way. A sign- AIRPORT- and we followed from sign to sign until we were there! Nellda and I took care of baggage while Connie went with Warren to assure that he found his way to the Avis car return. We ended up at the plane with only minutes to spare.

And so to sleep, or twist and turn as Nellda kept get-ting hit by a young boy from behind, until the coast of California could be seen and we glided smoothly into the airport. A rush to America West where we found that we could leave on an earlier flight if we hurried- the flight was loading now. The young lady did a fast and masterful job of sorting, writing, communicating with us and the baggage personnel, and away we went, catching the 6:00 AM flight to Phoenix, with no assurance on the baggage. We went on to Albuquerque, with all baggage arriving on time; to din-ner at the Village Inn (not Polynesian) and then on to Los Alamos in our spacious but still very filled Lincoln Town Car.

ALOHA!

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We had one beginning from mother’s womb, We arrived as a gift from God.There were many forks in the road of lifeAs along this road we trod.At each fork we had to decide, The path that we would follow.Some paths were filled with joy and love, Other paths were painful or hollow.

These paths together are our life, Was it barren or full?What circumstance at each fork in the road, To the left or to the right did pull.These paths came together for us Half a century in the pastWhen we graduated from Jefferson With memories that would last.

Fifty years ago we partedAnd went our separate ways.Half a century has come and goneFrom graduation day.Our grandchildren are now in school,At work, and climbing the ladder of life. Living through the struggle, the love, the joyAnd the pain, of blessings and strife.

Fifty years ago, can you remember Professors Fairchild and Dutreix, Miss Hayes who taught us math,Ms Schneckenburger, who led the way, In teaching us English-I hope she doesn’t read this prose, With all the mistakes that are here, I might be beaten with a rubber hose.

We all went our separate ways,How many ways can there be?Combat in Korea with the Air Force, That was the path for me.Then off to college, as did some, Some worked in places for others, Some became self employed,Many became fathers or mothers.

We were woven into the fabric of This nation, made of United States. We did our share in our own way, to keep this nation great.There wasn’t a failure in the class, Not one person fell short.We all carried our share of the load, All were strong of heart.

We all had our share of joy,We had our share of grief.We cried our tears of regret,And laughed our laughter of relief. Not one person had a perfect life, But all did what they could doto keep heads up under strife,to keep their compass heading true.

So after fifty years we meet again to discuss the days gone by.To laugh and talk and make some jokes, (I hope no one will cry)About falling hair and gaining weight, And glasses with which to read.All those things that come with age, but there is one thing we need.

We need to remember, we are the same, Though wiser than we were before.Our bodies change, our hearts grow mellow, And finally we know the score.We are closer now to each other,And to our God who loves us all.In His embrace we’ve lived our lives,And He has never let us fall.

M. Dean Keller, Class of 1948Jefferson High School, LAJefferson High School, Class of 1948

Fifty year reunion

Dean, reciting the poem with Frank Simone, Class president, on left & Ms. Schneckenburger, English teacher on right.

Ms. Schneckenburger & me.

1948

1998

This was a big event for the class. Frank Simone, our class president, presided over the introductions. I was surprised that Con-nie and I were seated at the head table, next to Ms. Schneckenburger. I was requested to read my poem after I gave copies out to my classmates. Of course this was only after Ms. Sch-neckenburger had approved it. It went over well.With respect to the next page and the rest of my life, everything appeared to be excellent on this occasion. Was this the calm before the storm? Or just bipolar with its ups and downs. However, there were storms before, during which she left and stayed away for days, only, after, wanting to come back. How much can a loving husband take with-out a breakdown? I did!

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Geese are in the skyFlying south, they circle

Round our house, noisily, Dropping lower thence to land,

To rest, by the Rio Grande, their sanctuary.

Leaves have fallen from the treesThe ground is covered everywhere

The breeze that blows is cooler now As from the mountain’s height it fallsFour thousand feet through warmer air

To chill, and remind us allThat winters spell is everywhere.

Is summer gone?Is autumn here to pave the way

For winter to claim its throne, to shorten dayTo color earth with snow so white,To strip the trees of all their leaves

And send some creatures offTo slumber through the day and night?

What happens to life, to love, to friendshipWhen winter comes

And the fierce bear no longer growls, But lies content in his sleep?

Do we act the sameWhen our fireplace is lit

And we lie down and watch the flame?Does love change with the chilling breeze

And lie dormant till spring againAwakens emotions deep

Allowing feelings to rise from sleep?Friendship and love are the same,Different sides of a single coin.

They make our lives on earth complete,Make our souls and spirits join.

From the Creator of us allWe learn that, though the cold of winter

Will still the bear, drop the leavesAnd chill the earth with its breeze.

Faith, Hope, and Love remain!Winter can not dim their might.

This love we share with friends and God, Protects us all, makes all things right. M. Dean Keller November, 1997

Winter ComesIs this the appropriate location for this poem? Chronologically it is, emotionally it is and physically it is. This was

written after the trip to Hawaii which was very interesting, the 50th year school graduation with which she helped me and was very happy during the occasion, the appearance of a happy marriage; then came a whole new life for Dean. The title is also appropriate, for a Winter of pain, a nervous breakdown, serious sickness, and the loss of all for what he had worked for five decades, including a now dead marriage was thrust upon him. But after winter comes spring, then a sum-mer of joy and gladness. This is documented following this poem, and his life after he was able to enjoy his gifts from his Creator which abounded in Peace, Love and Joy.

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MariaOn December 7, 1998, six days after the death of my

sister-in-law, Pat, in Slidell, LA, and five days after I underwent a back operation, I had a nervous breakdown. I had taken a pistol and went into the back yard stating that I couldn’t take the pain caused by my wife - the abuse, the hate-love cycles, anymore. Although I calmed down after the cool air enveloped my body, two shots were heard by Connie in the house and the police were called. So, upon going back into the house, pistol still in hand, I found that I was the object of numerous police in their police cars just down the street trying to figure out how to get me to give up my gun and not kill myself. My grandson Jacob was in the house with me, and wasn’t the least bit concerned that I would hurt myself, and absolutely certain that I would nev-er hurt anyone else. So, when he went out of the house, and he went in and out a few times, the police locked him in the back of a police car so that he would not be hurt. Finally, a very nice policeman named Ross came into the house after I told them I had no intention of hurting anyone, and sat down with me in my study. He asked me if I would put the pistol away, and I unloaded the pistol, and put it in a drawer, and asked him if that was more comfortable. He didn’t try any strong arm tactics, but talked, trying to deter-mine why I had made such a rash decision. I agreed to go to the hospital where psychologists could determine if it were safe to leave me alone. There was great relief among the Los Alamos police, many of whom knew me from more fa-vorable circumstances. Their conduct was excellent. They felt pride in a job well done.

We went to the hospital, and they asked if there was anyone that I would like to contact who understood the situation and with whom I could talk. I named my priest, Father Colen Kelly, and a psychologist that I was see-ing about domestic problems, Dr. Santistevan. Naturally, neither of them could be contacted. Fr. Kelly did show up at the hospital, after we had left. No one was willing to assure that I would not harm myself, so I was transported to the Pinon Hills Hospital in Santa Fe, NM. On the way in, I asked the police sergeant who was driving “what should I do with the 38 snub nose that I have in my sock?” He said “Dean, I hope you are kidding!” I replied “yes” and the trip was uneventful. However, it was uncomfortable since I had just had a back operation a few days ago, and the seats had hard plastic moulding instead of soft padding. Every person with the Los Alamos police department was cau-tious, but very kind in trying to help me get over an obvi-ous nervous breakdown.

I was checked in, checked for “sharps” and assigned a room with a young man. It was very late at night. He immediately tried to impress me with his vicious nature and the bad things that he had done. I just said, “Oh that’s nice,” or something like that, and he became quite like-able. The next day after breakfast we had a group session with Bryan Stuppy, who was a counselor and a recovered alcoholic, one day at a time by the Grace of God. I partici-pated, and thanked my roommate for helping me to under-

stand what was expected of me in this facility. Between private and group sessions we had free time during which we were free to walk around and talk, but not leave this locked facility.

While walking up and down the hall, I met a young lady named Maria. “Oh,” I said, “your name is the same as my daughter-in-law, Mary.” “No!” She replied, “Maria.” Maria was a school teacher, who could be classified as Hispanic, attractive, and somewhat at odds with “gringos.” She had volunteered to come to Pinyon Hills Hospital to obtain help for an addiction to crack cocaine.

I said something like “OK Maria, lets get some exer-cise. Will you walk with me?” She agreed, and we started walking down the hall at a reasonably brisk pace, with my sometimes counting cadence, remembering my glory days in the Air Force about fifty years ago. What is going to be narrated next is what I remember, and what I had written down in emails to friends within a few days. What I learned later was happening on a different level. We walked and talked, and then she was called by a nurse to have her vital signs checked, as they love to do in all hospitals. I went with her to this location, not a room, just a place where a chair was located, and she sat down. The nurse started taking her blood pressure. Not knowing why, I placed my hand on her shoulder and softly prayed in tongues, while her vital signs were being checked. She did not object to this “gringo” placing a hand on her shoulder. After vital signs were taken, we continued our walking and talking. I don’t remember what we talked about. Nothing and every-thing. But we were having a good time just walking and talking.

During the next day, we had more group and private sessions, mine with Bryan Stuppy and a psychiatrist or psychologist, I don’t remember which, and I went from a state of anger to resentment, to depression to frustration, all of which I discussed with my counselors. They were a great help in telling me that all of that is behind me and the future can still be great. Bryan gave me his card, and I promised to send him a tape by Fr. Brennan Manning and a copy of my poem “My Lord, My God, My All,” and an essay on friends. After a few sessions, on December 9, the “powers that be” stated that it was safe for me to go home. I saw Maria again and told her that I would send her a copy of the poem mentioned above. That same morning, the RN who admitted me was completing her time on the night shift when she learned that I was going home. When she learned that I was leaving, she came over, hugged me and said “I love you, Dean.” When I first arrived she said that she was going to take my vital signs. I told her, “Well, if you do, you are going to have to give them back to me after you are through with them.” Maybe that endeared me to her. I told Dr . Santistevan that the staff did not want me to leave, and he thought it was because they believed that I still was in depression. No. The staff did not want me to leave because Christ in me was providing a light and some laughter in their facility. Jacob came by, picked me up, and brought the old man home.

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I went back to an empty house, with no guns since they had taken up temporary residence in the police department vault until I was ready to reclaim them. I saw Dr. Linnebur, my physician, on December 10, and Dr. Santistevan on the same day. That day I also fulfilled my promise to Maria and sent her a letter which included an essay “What is a Friend” and a copy of “My Lord, My God, My All.” I did not know at that time that Maria got in trouble at Pinyon Hills Hospital because of something someone else had done. She would not snitch on the guilty person, so she was discharged from the hospital, still in bad shape, but not before she received my letter and poetry. On Decem-ber 15, I wrote another letter to Maria asking if she had received my first letter, said a few words, and enclosed a poem which I had written for her entitled “When You See the Light.”

On December 15, a police officer who spoke to me on the phone during the height of the event, Cpl. Racci De-luci, dropped by and had a long discussion with me. She talked about her experience with post anesthesia patients, and had much encouragement for me. I thanked her for her participation, and before I left Los Alamos, I gave her my Colt Gold Cup 45 Caliber pistol.

On December 18, I received an unexpected phone call -

from Maria. She was bubbling over and her children insist-ed that she call me and tell me what happened. First of all, she told me that when she was having her blood pressure tested and I had my hand on her shoulder, she looked up, but didn’t see me. She saw Jesus. Also, she said that she felt something when I had prayed for her. I felt nothing, saw nothing unusual, but was just privileged to be there. She also told me that she received my first letter with the poem and essay before being discharged. She was picked up by family to go home to Las Vegas, NM, and on the way home she read the poem “My Lord, My God, My All” over and over again, with tears flowing from her eyes. She also mentioned that she liked the picture of the cute “white boy” at the top. That was me in my Air Force glory outfit. Then came the big moment - Maria stated that she was free from addiction to crack cocaine, and doesn’t hate “gringos” anymore. Two miracles for the price of one. The price? Love. I called my daughter-in-law Mary in Tulsa, and asked Maria to tell her what she had just told me. It was almost word-for-word, as she spoke to her “Tocaya,” a person who shares the same name.

On December 28, I drove to Las Vegas, NM to visit Ma-ria and her family. I was warmly received by all. I have a picture of Maria and her daughter Donna taken on that day. Maria told me that some of her crack friends were afraid of her, and when they saw her coming, they would scurry away. When the Light enters a person’s life, those living in darkness develop a fear. She asked me many questions, some of which I could answer, some I couldn’t. But God is the healer, not me. And Maria now has a direct commu-nication with Him which has to develop. I was just privi-leged to be an instrument of God’s Love, and had to move out of the picture. Before we parted, Maria gave me a book “Spanish Made Simple.” which I still have, and told me to learn! I only wish that I could learn to speak all languages so that I could communicate with all persons about the Love of God. But with my limited intellect, I guess I will have to use only English, Agape, and Tongues.

The day after I came back to Los Alamos from Las Vegas, I decided to drive to Tulsa to spend some time with Steve’s family. Just outside of Santa Fe the transmission on my Lincoln Continental shattered. About the same time I received a letter dated December 27 from Bryan Stuppy thanking me for the tape by Fr. Manning and the poems and essays. He stated “I also believe you have facilitated a message to me from Christ since my journey to Christ has taken many years and its foundation has been my journey with the 12 Steps.”

Letters, e-mails, and other information written days after the above events took place are attached. They were a great help in refreshing my memory. Praise be to God.

Donna and Maria, December 28, 1998

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M. Dean Keller533 Rover Blvd.

Los Alamos, NM 87544December 10, 1998

Dear Maria,

I hope I didn’t leave off an accent mark on your name, I wouldn’t want to mispronounce it. As you know my Span-ish is mucho limited and muy poor in pronouncement. I am at my house now waiting for the correct time to leave to have my staples removed from my back incision and want-ed to send these poems and the essay “What is a friend” for you to read and grade. Please do not be too harsh on me, as I am just a poor country boy from Louisiana who never did get much learning.

One of the highlights of this little adventure for me was meeting you and marching down the hall. Please keep up the marching- you have to have exercise to clear your mind and sleep well at night.

I wanted to tell you about a Christian song which expresses love between Christians. The words of the chorus are as follows:

I love you with the love of the Lord,Yes, I love you with the love of the Lord,I can see in youThe glory of my King,And I love you with the love of the Lord.

When we were talking, I was able to look into your eyes and see the love of Jesus shining brightly out of them. This I do not see in all eyes, but He is prominent in yours. With our Savior so strong within you, remember that “Greater is He that is in you, than he who is in the world.”The power of the evil one over you is not power, because power does good. It is only weakness. The power of God, His Son and His spirit is POWER- with no ques-tion marks. His power is also love, and His love for you is greater than all the forces in the universe. Never forget that. It was my privilege to be able to pray for you. Have others pray for you and you for them. Release this power that is available.

I will go now to my appointments. My prayers are with you and my other friends that I met over the last few days. Vaya con Dios.

In the love of God,

Dean

533 Rover Blvd.Los Alamos, NM 87544Phone [505] 672 3455

December 15, 1998Dear Maria,

Hope that this letter is not coming too quickly after the last letter. Did you receive the last letter? I wrote this poem for you- based upon the conversation that we had about the pipe and lighting it up. Light brings life when it is properly used. If this were not so, Jesus would not have said “I am the Light of the world.” If He is the Light of the world, then we must think of His Light, even when we are tempted by a darker light. But, I believe that I have expressed all of this in the poem. I believe you would call the poem a “free style” poem.

I have not read about the types of poems in over fifty years, since I was in high school. A friend at my church has been feeding me a little information from time to time about non-rhyming poems, poems with a constant meter, etc., and I have listened to some of the modern poetry. Some of it is really sick. It sounds like what would come out of a twelve year old when he was trying to show how big he was by using bad words.

I am doing well at home, but my wife left when I visited Pinon Hill instead of sticking by me. So I will write her a letter and see if things can be patched up, or whether I should follow a new path. I know that God has work for me to do for Him, and to work for Him is joy, so I will wait for His instructions.

I looked at the letter written so far and saw too many “I”s. I never knew how to correct that error in writing, unless the letter is reviewed very carefully and revised to change the subject. Couldn’t I just put in a few “Yo”s instead? Wouldn’t that break the “I” complex.

I am praying for you that God’s power will take over your life and you can do for others as Jesus will do for you. Please include me in your prayers for my family situation and for an increased closeness to our Father.

In God’s love,

Dean

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When You See the Light

Moses saw a burning bushThat was not consumed.He heard the words“Take off your shoesOn holy ground you stand”As he learned that he was withThe Great “I AM.”

When you see lightBrilliant or just a flicker,Think of that time long ago.When you see light,Remember He died for youHung on a cross, his continence aglow.

No matter what the light,A flame,The glow of a firefly,A comet in the sky,Lightning between sky and earth, Brightness of the sun you can’t describe,Light brings life, new birth.

But, sometimes light and heat are usedIn opposition to God’s way,To burn- destroy God’s creation,To light a cigarette,Or something even worse,To cause to die instead of live,To cause pain instead of joy,What would Jesus say?

“I am the Light, the Truth and the Way.Only through Me will you find joy.The light from the evil one,Seeks only to destroy.So when you see the evil lightThat wants you to do wrong.Put it out-Reach out to Me, for I am there,My Love will make you strong.”

M. Dean KellerDecember, 1998

M. Dean Keller533 Rover Blvd.

Los Alamos, NM 87544Phone [505] 672 3455

December 22, 1998Dear Maria,

At your request I am sending 50 copies of the poem “My Lord, my God, my All.” I am happy that this poem, written in the year that you were born, was of help to you. It was written after I lost one of my best friends in combat over Korea. He was only 18 years old at the time.

Yes, it is time to change friends when those friends are slaves of drugs. You are free in Christ and need to have Christian friends until you can gain the strength to confront, one on one, those you care for. Then with your Christian friends you can help change other lives for the better.

I am now alone in the house since my grandson went back to Tulsa for two weeks. This will give me time for prayer and contemplation about the situation I am in. It is lonely, but I feel the power of God often and know that he is not only walking besides be, but is sometimes carrying me.

Enjoy your new found freedom, your family, your God and look forward for the best is yet to come.In Gods love, Dean.

Bryan Stuppy27 December 19982416 Calle Loma BonitaSanta Fe, NM 87505

M. Dean Keller533 Rover BlvdLos Alamos, NM 87544

Dear Dean,

I finally got around to listening to the tape by Father Man-ning. It is great and I felt compelled to sit down and write you this thank you note. I was touched when he talked of his alcoholism and his recovery. I also believe you have facilitated a message to me from Christ since my journey to Christ has taken many years and its foundation has been my journey with the 12 Steps. Your poems and the essay on friends was very touching also.

I pray you have been relieved of your depression and re-sentments we talked about in the hospital.

Again, thank you and I hope we can continue as friends ¬

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To: “Jennifer Baca” <Jennifer_Baca@baylor.edu>Subject: Re: Living the life of JobDate: Sat, 23 Jan. 1999 18:01:11 -0700

Hi Jensan,

This last year I have been living the book of Job. God has been there, but mostly quietly in the background. I spent six weeks in New Orleans helping my brother, Chuck, to go through two operations, and taking care of my sister-in-law while my brother couldn’t. My brother did quite well- but my sister-in-law, Pat, died on December 1, a day before I had my back operation. After spending so much time with her and really getting to know her, it was quite a blow. Especially since I could not even go to the funeral because of my operation. Everything went well with my operation, and I felt no pain and took no pain pills.

I believe that I had told you that my wife had left, but she came in to take care of me after the operation. What a mis-take. The first day was good, but on Sunday, Dec. 6, I was a bad boy. My 1949 jeep was outside and it was going to snow that night. Since I felt very good, I drove the jeep into the garage. My wife, Connie, when she found out, bawled me out for about 10 minutes. Understand that when you have an operation, the anesthesia will cause depression, sensitivity, etc. , for about two weeks after. I saw this in my brother’s case. He does not remember his two operations, only waking up in a rehab center about five weeks later.

I was then on the bad boy list, and was fussed at for little things, then treated kindly, then fussed at again. On Dec 7 I had a nervous breakdown- I snapped. My impulse was to get a gun and end it all. I went out in the back yard where the cool breeze changed my mind, but 911 was already called. So I was on the line with the police. My wife stated that she heard two shots- none of which I fired. A policeman, Ross, finally came into the house after I told them I wouldn’t hurt anyone. We talked for a while, and he said I would have to go to the emergency room for a checkup. Up there they said I would have to go to Pinon Hills hospital to have a psychiatrist check me out to be sure I wouldn’t hurt myself. My wife flew the coop, and went back to south Texas where she was staying. So I got to spend two days in a mental hospital where I met a real nice group of persons. One lady, Maria, was on Crack Cocaine, so I prayed for her and told her I would send her a copy of my poems. Remember the poem “My Lord, my God, my All?” She received my letter just as she was leaving, still in poor shape. She started reading that poem on her way back to Las Vegas (she said she liked the picture of the cute “white boy” at the top), and started crying all the way home. Two or three weeks later I received a call from her, made at the insistence of her son, to tell me that she was clean-God had worked again. I pray that it sticks because crack is difficult to get off of. Did God send me there to meet Maria Gomez? If so, I wish that the next time it wouldn’t be in the back of a police car. I was out in two days, and the staff was sorry to see me go. They said I brought some laughter and love into their lives.

To have a little break, I decided to go to Tulsa to visit my son. On the way to Clines Corner my transmission went out. So I had to be towed back to Santa Fe, about 8 miles. Thank God. What if it had happened 50 miles outside of Amarillo? Two thousand dollars and a week later I had my car back. In the meantime I went to the grocery in my 1949 Jeep. To relax abit, I decided to go to the movie in Los Alamos, and started driving up there. The road was winding although I had gone up it a thousand times before. The road curved, and I did not curve enough so I side swiped another car, and my car had to go to the repair shop. Thank God!!! No one was hurt. My insurance will cover all of the cost. I believe that I have been under too much stress for too long, and could no longer think properly.

So back to the Jeep again for local transportation.Today I received my divorce papers from the lawyer for my wife. So that is enough to keep me busy for a few days. In

the meantime I am packing my things so that I can go live with my son, Steve, in Tulsa.BUT--- All things work for good for those who love God, and I do love him sincerely. Did I mention that I have been

sick for the last two weeks? So move over Job, you have company.With all of this going on, I believe that maybe God has a task for me. If so, this is pretty rough basic training. But without

pain and hardship, we become soft and cannot face the workings of the evil one. My discernment is not that good, so pray that I may know if and what God has for me to do.

I hope I haven’t saddened you- this is all just part of life, the life on this earth. What is to come is so wonderful that this will all be a faint memory, if that, when I cross over to the other side.

But keep me in your prayers that I may be a faithful servant, if that is what I am being called to be. Let me know what comes to your mind when you read this. You may be the one who lets me know what the next step is. God only gives in-structions one step at a time.

God bless you and keep you safe,In His love,Dean

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-----Original Message-----From: Jennifer Baca <Jennifer_Baca@baylor.edu>To: deanbo@sprynet.com <deanbo@sprynet.com>Date: Saturday, January 23, 1999 4:58 PMSubject: Hey there!

>Dear Mr. Deanbo,>>How in the world are you doing? Did you have a wonderful Christmas? Have you recovered from your surgery? You need to update me on all that’s gone on in the past month. I had a really nice Christmas. It was hard for my family since it was the first Christmas without my aunt here, but we got through it. I have to admit I was most disappointed about the lack of snow! I was ready for tons of sledding and skiing adventures, and they did not happen. I’ll just have to greatly anticipate next year! School is going well. I really like my classes, but they are definitely challenging. I decided not to pledge a sorority this semester. The politically correct term is “socially independent”!Two weeks ago I moved my church membership from Hoffmantown in Albuquerque to First Baptist Woodway here. I’m excited to become an active part of the church body. I’d best get to studying now! I hope you have a super day!Jen

“Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for He who promised is faithful. And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds.” Hebrews 10:23-24

Author’s note: I met Jennifer Baca on a plane going into Albuquerque. We were seated next to each other. During the flight we talked about many things, and especially our Father in heaven. I received an e-mail from her later that she was going to Albuquerque for her aunt’s funeral. Our conversation on the plane helped to renew and reinforce her faith, and to help her to say goodbye to a beloved aunt, even if it were only for just a little while.

After the Crucifixion, if There is Love - a Resurrection is Sure to FollowOn the next several pages I am going to try to relate how life came out of death, and joy replaced sorrow. There is a

cast of thousands in this epic story, and a few will be introduced on this page, pictorially, with words to blend together these wonderful persons from my past, and my new life in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

Sometime around July, 1998, I was strong enough to go out of the house and go to Wood-land Hills Mall. Unfor-tunately I do not have any early pictures but the picture to the right shows a birthday bash held in front of our Taco Bell, the provider of coffee in the early morning.

As written on the next few pages I met many wonderful per-sons, including my future wife, Jean. Here we are, at the altar - to the left. We had friends and family from coast to coast and from border to bor-der, and Katrin, who

came all the way from Germany to attend our wedding and visit with Lucy and Deana. She is shown with Jean and me on the right.

=======================================================================================

Jean and I are shown with my brother and her brother and sister in law. And down below we have the new and the old immediate families from both sides of our new family. The picture imme-diately below includes Jean

and me with her chil-dren, two of her grand-children and in-laws.

The picture be-low that includes my brother, son, daughters-in-law and three of my grandchildren.

It appears that we have doubled the size of our “immediate” family, and have also greatly expanded the size of our “extended” fam-ily which extends from coast to coast and from border to border.

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Tulsa TownUS

I was like a wounded birdWhen first we met.

Living in a distant pastThat I couldn’t forget.

I tried, but couldn’t fly,Could only walk, could easily cry,

Was sick of life, did almost die-But then,

But then we met.

You smiled, you laughed,You gave- the thought of the day.

We walked, we talked,You stole my heart away.

You listened-Sometimes to joking, sometimes to pain.We were as one as we walked and talked,

Nothing to lose, everything to gain.We dated-

With dinner and music And a drive through the rain.

We married-A church full of friends,

A beginning, again.

Five years later,We’re still in love,

And together, we worshipOur Father above.

We struggle with problems,We help those we meet.

We bring laughter and songTo make days complete.

And this once wounded birdNow soars through the sky.

Rejoicing in life,Not waiting to die.

With you at my sideWhat could ever go wrong?

You gave me new life,You brought back the song.

To Jean, with all my love,Dean, November 3, 2004

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TULSA TOWN, THE STORYLiving the Life of Job: I was like a wounded bird when

first we met. Living in a distant past that I couldn’t forget. I tried, but couldn’t fly. Could only walk, could easily cry, was sick of life, did almost die-

Calendar year 1998 was an eventful, though not a cheer-ful year. Jake was living with us in Los Alamos, and doing reasonably well in school, and at the house. In May, I was finishing my consulting work on the Plutonium Facility Fire Protection System, and was having my teeth worked on by Dr. Roberts. In May, my wife and I went to a 50 year reunion of my high school class in Jefferson Parish, Louisi-ana. This was held on May 31. (See page 102)

On July 5, 1998 I flew by SW Airlines to New Orleans to help Chuck through a very serious set of two operations. My task was to take care of Pat while Chuck was having the operations, and to provide transportation and any other assistance required for Chuck while he underwent these operations. One operation involved working on his spinal column from the back, to insert rods to straighten his shape. The other, the more serious, was to continue the operation on the spinal column from the front. This involved open-ing him up on the front, moving most of his internal organs to the side, and operating on the spinal column. After the first operation, Chuck was straight for the first time in many years. Unfortunately, he was hallucinating, and did not follow instructions, and the rods were loosened because the “cement” that held them was not allowed enough time to set. With recovery at the Greenery Rehabilitation Facility in Slidell, this was a task which lasted from the first part of July through August 8. This was over a month of very stressful care giving. When at last Chuck was cognizant of his surroundings and able to proceed with his recovery without me, I went home.

On September 9, 1998, Connie had a medical procedure at the Los Alamos Medical Center which would determine if a condition she had was serious or not. This was when I had a question given to me, in my mind, “Do you want me to take her home?” I recognized the “voice.” This question was asked of me three times, and three times I said “No, I know that there ere problems, but that we could work them out.” Little did I know!

Connie was very loving when I got home, and left the next day, October 20, to go to New Orleans to take care of some problems concerning her mother. While there, she said her sister, Georgia, had discovered some lumps on her breasts, and she would have to stay longer. There were some odd phone calls from the bank and other places, that caused me to check her computer word processor. I found that a couple of documents had been erased, but not fully as she did not know how. I brought them back and found one which berated me from before the marriage to the present, and another that stated that she was leaving. I contacted her in New Orleans, and she was very angry that I invaded her privacy and found the letters, which she had not completed yet. She said that when she was through

with the letter, she would send it to me. Always wanting to be in control. In order to try to bring some sanity back into the situation, I saw Dr. Santistevan, a psychologist who, according to my wife, was my only hope of having her back. He stated that she had sent him a list of problems that she had with me. I visited with him, and he said that he would not insult my intelligence by showing me these statements. I stated that I had seen her letter, and that most of the contents were not true. This is the same evaluation that I received from Mr. Raymond Moore, a counselor in Albuquerque, whom I contacted later on. He too had been sent the document which berated me from before the mar-riage to the present. The document was so demonic that I have destroyed all copies and have professionally wiped it off the computer memory. The letter that my wife sent to me was filled with psychological concepts about boundar-ies and other restrictions and requirements which would have to be accomplished to allow the marriage to continue. When read by Dr. Santistevan, he stated that it would be impossible to fulfill. So, in a series of letters I tried to de-termine what was needed to save the marriage. During this time my wife flew back to Albuquerque, took the Lincoln Towncar which she had parked at the airport, and drove it back to New Orleans. She then had transportation, and left New Orleans, not telling me where she was, fearing that I would go looking for her. This was an unfounded fear. I did not realize at this time that she had been living a lie, and planning this move for over a year, until it was revealed to me by another person.

I had a back operation which was scheduled for Decem-ber at St. Joseph’s hospital in Albuquerque. Connie said that she would come back to Los Alamos to take care of me after the operation, and perhaps we would be able to solve our problems. Unfortunately, I agreed to this.Living The Life Of Job

On December 1, 1998, while being prepared for the op-eration, I received a phone call from Chuck telling me that Pat had died of a heart attack that day. I was unable to go to the funeral. On December 2 the operation took place and all went well, and there was very little pain. On December 4, Connie had flown in from south Texas where she was “hiding” (she was so paranoid that she would not let me know where she was), and rented a Lincoln Town Car to take me to Los Alamos in comfort, considering that I was just coming out of the hospital after back surgery. We ar-rived in Los Alamos on December 5, late afternoon. Then started the hate/love swings from hour to hour, depending on what I did “wrong,” causing my nervous breakdown. This was documented in my e-mail to Jennifer Baca dated 23 Jan 1999. This is attached to the section “Maria.”

Needless to say she left again, and this is the last time I saw her, until we met again on August 8, 2008 at Deana’s wedding. She did call a few times, to have permission to use money from her IRA account, to ask how to fix a problem with the car (water from humidity in the gas tank), and one time to discuss something with me, I don’t remem-ber what or when I said something to her, she replied, in a

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laughing voice, “Oh John!” This is the name of her intend-ed. What a slip! I believe that this was punishment time.

But, back to the life of Job. First, the trip to the Pinyon Hills Hospital which is documented in the section “Maria,” up to and including the transmission failing on the Lincoln Continental. The Continental was returned on January 8, 1999. About January 9, while sitting in the brown chair in the front room I discovered that I had developed incon-tinence. A trip to Dr. Linnebur on January 13 resulted in an appointment with Dr. Milroy, a Urology specialist, for February 4. Almost socialized medicine- one month for an office visit.

In order to cheer up a little, I planned to go to the movie on the Hill (Los Alamos downtown) on January 15 to see Patch Adams starring Robin Williams. On the way up the front hill road, due to a distraction on my part, I sideswiped another car, totaling both cars. Los Alamos Police Officer, Racci Deluca, was on the scene, although it was not under the jurisdiction of Los Alamos. She gave me a ride back to White Rock and was very supportive, as she knew the prob-lems that I had experienced. A few days later, I rented a budget rental car to go to Albuquerque to see Dr. McCutch-eon for a checkup on my back operation. Then I made two visits to see Fr. Kelly, in the dead of winter, using the 1949 jeep. The starter would not work every time, so sometimes it had to be pushed to start. I learned to park at a high place in the Trinity on the Hill Episcopal Church parking lot, so I could push it down hill, jump in, throw it in gear, and start. The heater didn’t work well, but with a canvas top, who could tell. It did leak air.

During the first part of February, I received a call from Dr. Milroy’s office stating that my appointment was being slipped a month. I told them I would probably be dead by then, and was encouraged by the receptionist stating “No-body dies from incontinence.” Unfortunately, the delay had already stretched my bladder. Steve to the Rescue

On February 4, Steve came in to Los Alamos to rescue dear old dad, since all others had left me to die. Being ef-ficient, he rented a moving truck much larger than I thought was needed, and with the help of Frank Osvath, loaded most of my worldly possessions in the truck, and hooked up the Jeep, my only means of transportation, behind the truck. On Saturday night, we arrived at my new home in Tulsa, with a doctor’s appointment for Monday morning to have my incontinence diagnosed and treated. I was greeted warmly by all persons, including friends of the family and the dogs. Especially the dogs. Little did Aspen know that I was going to depose him as the Alpha dog in the house, and claim all of his territory.

On Monday, February 8, 1999, I met Dr. Confer who ran some tests and told me that I needed a Prostate opera-tion. Actually, more than one operation would be required, with rehabilitation, which included physical and medical assistance. I had to go back to Los Alamos to see Dr. Mc-

Cutcheon, and Dr. Linnebur. Then back to Tulsa for the first operation on March 8 at St. Francis Hospital. I was out of the hospital the next day.

I had a police obligation to fulfill, so I attended Driv-ers Education in Jenks that Saturday. It was a very good course, and I wish I had taken it before. When I went to obtain an Oklahoma driver’s license I found that my eyesight, which was very good before without glasses for distance, had changed very much- for the worst. I could hardly pass the eye exam, and was told that I had to see an optometrist as soon as possible. Also, my license was held up by the New Mexico courts which did not have a record of my fine being paid. Everyone was picking on poor old dad. I had to pay the fine twice to have the “bad boy” removed from my driver’s license.

On March 15 I saw Dr. Razdan who was the general practitioner that Steve had assigned to me. He sent me to St. Francis Hospital for a bone marrow test based on the blood test taken on March 5. In that test my Hemoglo-bin had dropped from 15.7 (blood test, 11/20/98) to 12.6 (3/5/99) and the platelet count had dropped from 253,000 to 188,000. . The bone marrow showed a 50% cellular Hairy Cell Leukemia content- it had returned. This was, no doubt, aided by the stress that I had been under for the last few months. It is not an understatement that I had been left to die.

During this period, I had to have a urine bag on my leg, and I didn’t have to go to the bathroom during the night. One morning I woke up and found that I had a liter of liquid in the bag. Not wanting to waste a good opportunity, I went out into the yard with Aspen and Sally following me, and spread the contents of the bag high up on the fence surrounding the yard. This was to cause Aspen to think that it must have been a very large dog who had put a claim on his territory. I was then the Alpha dog in that house, and Aspen was very upset with me. That poor dog avoided me for quite a few days. This was the most fun that I had in the last few months.

On March 25, 1999, the divorce was final, and I in-formed my former wife that we were to each consider the other dead, since marriage is for life. Also, under no circumstances are we to be at any family event at the same time. There is to be no communication between us. Pe-riod. This remained in force until May 2006 when I sent a letter to Connie asking forgiveness and giving forgiveness so that we both could walk in God’s light. She responded very positively, and, I believe, most of the negative aspects of a difficult time were eliminated when we met for the first time in many years at Deana’s wedding on August 8, 2008.

On March 31, I started the seven day series of shots of 2CdA chemotherapy. My doctor was Dr. Schnetzer, an outstanding oncologist. Even so, for Hairy Cell Leukemia, he had to call some colleagues to properly understand the course of treatment for that disease. Then came the usual weakness, almost falling down the stairs at Steve’s house, much sleep, and general chemotherapy feelings. But, all

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went well and I was feeling better after a couple of weeks.The house closing took place on April 23 thereby breaking my last tie with Los Alamos. I then became an Okie.

I was well enough for another operation with Dr Confer on April 30 and I slowly regained my strength. On May 13, Steve and I went to Slidell, in the RV that I had purchased, to help Chuck with a minor operation. I also helped with doctor visits, filling out his tax return for 1998, and then, having some much needed vacation time. Frank and Mary joined us later. After Slidell we went to Biloxi where we visited Cristy, a friend of Steve’s whose mom and dad I knew well. We also went parasailing. On the parachute were Dean, Mary and Frank, three generations hanging from the cords. We went back to Tulsa on May 28.

A bone marrow test on June 7 indicated that the Hairy Cell Leukemia was in remission. This is the same day that I purchased the Mercury Villager Minivan, thereafter known as “Old Red.”

Steve, Frank, Jason and I went to St. Louis on June 16 to go to the fair. I went on all the rough rides, showing that I was still macho. I did notice some bruising while in St. Louis. Thus begins another chapter in the Life of Job.The Battle Of The Platelet Count

On June 24, 1999, I recognized that something was wrong and had a blood test taken. It showed that my plate-let count was 7000, rather than the 254000 that it was on June 2. This resulted in an immediate platelet transfusion at 5:00 pm that evening. At church, the Church of the Holy Spirit, Episcopal, on Sunday, June 27, while waiting for the service, my eye turned black. We had contacted the emer-gency number that the doctor had given us, and were await-ing word on another platelet transfusion. It seemed that platelets were scarce in Tulsa, and some had to be driven in from Oklahoma City. So we waited, with cell phone on. Steve was there with me. After Mass, we went for prayer at a very beautiful part of the service, where prayer partners, usually spirit filled, prayed for individuals. We had a Mrs. Robinson, same name as the lady in The Graduate, and she and Steve were praying earnestly for dear old dad. The call came from the doctor’s office, and off we went for our second platelet transfusion at 7:00 pm that evening. The platelet count was 7000 that night, with no increase due to the first transfusion. Steve and I were both concerned, as was Dr. Schnetzer. On June 28th I had another platelet transfusion and Dr. Schnetzer put me on 100 MG Predni-sone per day, and this lasted until July 12 when the platelet count was at 75000, and the Prednisone (Steroids) were decreased over the next month. On June 28th, 30th, and July 4th I received platelet transfusions.

Taking Prednisone wasn’t all bad. I had brought much

stuff from Los Alamos and had it stored in my room at Steve’s house. So, into the wee hours of the morning I would be going through the stuff, throwing out much, and placing much into a pile to be sent to New Orleans for “she who will remain nameless.” Unfortunately, I threw out

some good stuff, but it really doesn’t matter. Stuff is stuff, and the less you accumulate, the better off you are. Thus ended the long adventure of the Life of Job.A Beginning AgainBut then, but then we met.You smiled, you laughed, you gave- the thought of the day.We walked, we talked, you stole my heart away.You listened- Sometimes to joking, sometimes to pain.We were as one as we walked and talked, nothing to lose, everything to gain.We dated- with dinner and music and a drive through the rain.We married- a church full of friends, a beginning, again.

As I recovered my strength, Mary had been teach-ing me the layout of Tulsa, how the streets were oriented North-South and East-West, and Yale, Sheridan, Memorial, Mingo, etc. and even one named for the family dog, Aspen. Then 71st, the main east-west street in South Tulsa, and 81st, etc. The grid consisted of one-mile between main streets in each direction. I was lost downtown one day, and just headed south and east, and got back to the house through Jenks. As I had already stated, I had purchased a Mercury Minivan, Old Red, and had an eye examination and purchased new eye glasses so I could see well enough to drive. I even had an Okie driver’s license. To encourage me to get out of the house, probably hoping to have a little privacy again, Mary told me about the walkers at Woodland Hills Mall, just a few blocks away. So off I went to the mall, still a wounded bird, looking for a balm to make my ruffled feathers whole.

I went to the mall, and in the food court there were numerous groups of people. One group was of old timers, with “Wild Bill” as a sort of senior advisor. Bill was very good with me, knowing that I was a “wounded bird,” he gave me much information about walking and the charac-teristics of the persons at the mall, and what was expected of persons. Another group on the upper level was the “war dogs,” with many persons there who served in B-17 bomb-ers in WW II. Numerous other groups varying in size from four to 16 persons were around the food court. Coffee was available from Nagel in the bakery, which had all kinds of fattening sweet things. The Taco Bell also had coffee, and there were interesting persons, all very friendly. So, I started walking. One lap around the mall was a half-mile, and my usual run was for two miles. Sometimes I timed myself with a stopwatch to see how fast I could go. About four miles per hour was the best that I ever did.

One day I was sitting with the old war dogs on the upper level, when a young lady came up and shared the thought of the day with them. She was friendly, pretty, and easy to talk to. She was funny also, which is very important when one has been on anti-depressants for a long time. I followed her down to another group, whose patriarch was a man named Paul. He was a retired engineer, confined to a wheel chair at this time. By this time I had introduced myself to the young lady, named Jean, and I sat and talked

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with them for a while. When Jean got up to leave, as usual for a southern gentleman, I kissed her hand and walked her to the door. This was the first part of August.

On August 11, Jean left for an OES trip to Canada. I asked her to send me a card, and she did. It arrived after she was back on August 21, 1999. Well, we just happened to arrive at the same place at the same time every morn-ing, right after Paul Harvey on the radio. And we walked together, and talked about much and little. Jean was very attentive when I had personal problems that I had to discuss with someone. On September 9 Steve dropped in to “check out” Jean, but this was not because I asked him to. I had talked about Jean to Steve and Mary but, and I know that some persons will not believe me, I never asked Steve to check her out. Back at the house, Steve said, “Go for it, Dad.” And on September 10 I asked Jean to go out with me for dinner at the Bravo Restaurant.

September 10th was a wet and rainy day. The sky was black, the lightning was striking, and electricity was going out all over the place. I decided to show Jean a good time on this date, since she had only been on a “half date” since her late husband, John, had died. She told her daughter, Sandy, that she did not know what to do- she had not been on a date in fifty years.

That afternoon I went to Southwood Florist and pur-chased a corsage. Then on with the suit, and over to Jean’s house in the rain in Old Red. I went to the house with an umbrella and escorted Jean to Old Red. Then off we went, with my driving scaring her as she gave me directions on how to get to the Bravo Restaurant. We made it safely, and went in. The singing waiters and waitresses were in excellent voice that night, and five and ten dollar bills were flying as we requested songs, such as “The Impos-sible Dream,” and others. She was impressed, and I wasn’t one to discourage her. We had our meal, which was fair, and enjoyed the singing, since we both thought in songs. What a night! As Jean came out of the ladies room on the way back to the car, a band was playing, and I reached out to her and we started dancing in the hallway in the hotel. Then we left this musical paradise got in the car and drove through the rain to her house. We dated-With dinner and music And a drive through the rain.

She started showing me some pictures of her family, the high school book, and other items to cover nervous-ness with this strange man in the house. In the front hall she said goodbye, and I kissed her- and said “I could get used to this.” When I returned to Steve’s house the RV was parked in front of the house with the generator on to power some lights in the house. I believed that there was a prob-lem with the flashlights at Jean’s house, so I gathered up three flashlights with corroded batteries to repair or replace and return with fresh batteries, since none of them worked.

The next day Jean called me to invite me to a party with her church choir. I believe she wanted to have me checked out too, and there is security in numbers. We had a good time, I sang the song “Father” for them, and this was the start of something grand. After this “check-out,” we started seeing each other almost every night, went out to eat, and short trips around the area to Order of the Eastern Star oc-casions. On October 13, 1999, I had to go to Slidell to help Chuck and spend some time with him. This was the second time that I visited him without Pat. The first was in May for about two weeks. Jean had to go to Guthrie for OES Grand Chapter at the same time. During that time Jean would call every night and hang up. That was my signal to call her in her hotel room, using my phone card. Didn’t want to charge anything to Chuck’s telephone bill. We both returned by October 22.

We married-A church full of friends,A beginning, again.

On November 8, Jean and I went to Moody’s Jewelry to pick out a ring. After looking at one ring, valued at $25,000 which vanquished all wrinkles and signs of age on both of our bodies, she settled for one she liked for less than one-third of that cost. This was part of the game the ring people play. After, we went over to Steve’s house where Jean asked Steve for my hand in marriage. He gladly gave his blessing so that he would have an extra bedroom and Aspen would be the Alpha dog again. Then to Sandy’s house where I asked Sandy for her mother’s hand in marriage. Sandy looked shocked, so I told her, “She doesn’t have to get married, she isn’t pregnant.” At that, she laughed and gave her blessing.

On February 12 we were married. On my side we had Chuck, the Tulsa Kellers, the Lantermans, Lucy and Deana Keller and Katrin, who came from Germany for the wed-ding, and other friends from Tulsa. On Jean’s side we had family, three sons and her daughter, and grandchildren, other relations and in-laws, the state leadership of the Order of the Eastern Star in full uniform, and hundreds of friends to fill the church.

Thus began the joyful beginning of the rest of my life.

Five years later,We’re still in love,And together, we worshipOur Father above.We struggle with problems,We help those we meet.We bring laughter and songTo make days complete.

And this once wounded birdNow soars through the sky.Rejoicing in life,Not waiting to die.With you at my side,What could ever go wrong?You gave me new life,You brought back the song.

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Travel, 2004, Part 1, From Ocean to Ocean

Preface: 2004 was a busy year. We were delivering meals-on-wheels on the last two or three Fridays of the month and visiting the usual doctors for our various medi-cal adventures. On February 12, we celebrated our fourth wedding anniversary. Everything was as normal as it can be for persons over seventy years old. On May 13, 2004, we loaded Silver (our 2001 Chrysler Minivan) and took a trip to Nashville to celebrate the graduation of Jennifer Buchanan, Jean’s granddaughter, from Belmont University. Many of the family were there and a good time was had by all. Silver turned over 50,000 miles on this trip. We stayed at the Marriot Airport hotel and we were surprised to receive a complementary breakfast because we had such a problem in finding the hotel, and my Marriot club mem-bership was still in effect. It was delicious. Then back to Tulsa, arriving on the afternoon of May 17.

On May 29 we flew down to Columbia, SC for Ginger’s (Mary Keller’s sister) wedding. There we met many mem-bers of Jim Meehan’s (Ginger’s soon to be husband) family. Jean and I were asked to and sang a couple of songs for the wedding reception. We also cut up and had a lot of fun. It was good to see Frank and Flo Osvath, Mary’s father and mother, at the wedding. We had a fun time touring the town on our own. One time we were lost, and didn’t even know which direction was which. We had our Pocket PC with us, with a map of the Columbia area and the hotel, well hidden back in a grove of trees, marked on the map. So we started out in one direction to learn which way was north, then steered the rental car in a direction which would bring us back to the hotel. It worked, and we went up many streets never seen before. On April 30 we flew back to Tulsa to prepare for the next trip, and to have a blood test to see how my health was doing. I was having a blood test every two months at this time, and on June 10 my blood counts were very good, with the platelets at 210,000.

On June 14 we flew up to Portland, Oregon, rented a car, and drove to Eugene, Oregon to visit with Pepper, Adam and Patches. On June 17 we drove up to Gig Harbor, Washington to visit Jack (Jean’s brother) and his wife, Roselyn. We also visited the fish market where the fish are thrown from worker to worker. It would have been easy to be hit by a flying fish in that place. On June 19 we boarded the Diamond Princess ship as one of the 2000+ passengers, which included Dennis and Betsy Estep, David and Julia Estep, Jim and Mary Estep, Julia’s sister and brother-in-law and Jean and Dean Keller. This ship was less than a year old and was built by Mitsubi-shi Heavy Industries, Ltd. (The same company which built the Japanese Zero) in Nagasaki Ship-yard and Machinery Works (The

second city to be destroyed by the atomic bomb). It was a beautiful ship and very smooth sailing.

On this trip I had the honor of portraying the part of Sam McGee in the “Cremation of Sam McGee” being told by Buckwheat, an Alaskan native who is prominent in the school systems and tourist industries in Alaska. If you know the poem, which is required to be memorized by students in Alaska, there is the moment “and before night-fall, a corpse was all, that was left of Sam McGee.” At that point I slipped out of the chair that I was sitting on and went down to the floor. Surprise all around, then laughter as Buckwheat, realizing what had happened, laughed then said, “I lost my place!” I countered with, “There wasn’t a breadth in that land of death.” He countered, “Shut up, Dean - you’re dead.” I managed to ham it up, and had caused many to have a good laugh.

On the Diamond Princess we visited Juneau, Skag-way, Tracy Arm, Ketchikan, (all in Alaska,) and Victoria, Canada. We arrived back at Seattle, Washington on June 26 at 7:00 AM. Jack and Roselyn were at the dock to meet us and the “kids” when we disembarked. After a couple of nights and days in Gig Harbor and visits with relatives, we flew back to Tulsa to catch up.

Jean & Dean & Ice

Jack & Roselyn

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Native American Building in Alaska Jean & Jack with boat Cruise Ship in Skagway

Resting in Gig Harbor,Washington

A formal picture of those who braved a heat wave in the land of the midnight sun - Alaska

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Travel, 2004- Part 2 North East United States

We spent about ten weeks at home, except for a few short trips to happenings around Oklahoma. On September 8, we prepared to go to an Air Force reunion of the 91st Strategic Reconnaissance Wing, which included members of the 91st Strategic Reconnaissance Squadron with which I served in combat over Korea. This reunion was held in New London, Connecticut. While in the neighborhood we planned on visiting New York City, Philadelphia and Boston. We chose New York City as the first stop on our trip. Our American Airlines aircraft landed on Long Island at MacAuthor Field on September 9. We took a train from Long Island to Pennsylvania Station in New York City, right across from Hotel Pennsylvania where we were stay-ing. On the train we sat across from two young ladies who were from South America and could speak very little Eng-lish. With my limited Spanish, we had a limited conversa-tion with a lot of laughs, ending in a Vie con Dios. The universal language of laughter and love come through. The accommodations in the hotel were not the best, since we obtained a cut rate through Travelocity. It seems that they keep their least desirable rooms for those of us who want to save a little money. It was adequate though, and the world famous Lindy’s restaurant was downstairs. We had break-fast at Lindy’s many times. It was just like Denny’s, except more expensive.

All persons that we met in NYC were friendly and fun.

We took a tour bus, which went through many sections of NYC with a stop in China Town. We got off there and vis-ited Chinatown. Unfortunately Chinatown was a crowded, not too clean place, with much junk to sell. We got on another bus and went down to the water edge where we ate at Battery Gardens. And used the rest room too! What a relief! From there we walked down to the site of the twin towers, visited and paid our respects. From there we went down one of the main streets, heading back to the hotel. We stopped at McDonalds, always a refuge anywhere in the world, and had some hot fudge sundaes. Then we walked a bit further and managed to catch a cab with a cabbie who spoke English. He was an Indian named Manjid, the same as a good friend of mine with ASTM. We had an interest-ing ride back to the hotel, as only a New York cabbie can give you. He was an enjoyable person.

The next day we took a boat tour around the Island, with a remarkable tour guide who explained aspects of the places that we were passing. It was impressive to see the grand lady, the Statue of Liberty, in the harbor. On the last trip that I made to NYC I climbed the stairs to the top of the torch or head, I don’t remember which. But this was after 9/11 and many things were restricted in NYC.

One afternoon we went to 42nd Street and enjoyed a wonderful play, “Wonderful Town.” After the play was over we went to Times Square and noticed that a street to the right (looking away from lower Manhattan) was blocked

off for maybe a mile or two, and vendors and food shacks were all along the street. We asked a policeman who was standing by what was happening, and he told us that they were throwing a block party, New York style, for us. How

nice of them. On Sunday, Sep-tember 12, 2004, we went to services at a Presbyterian Church on Park Avenue where we were warmly greeted. Afterwards we had snacks with members of the church and enjoyed their pres-ence. New Yorkers are very friendly.

But New York had to end,

and we packed up our bags and took AmTrak on September 13 to Philadelphia to see the Liberty Bell, enjoy the city, and visit with a former engineering colleague, Pradip (pronounced Pradeep which means candle in Hindi) Khan. AmTrak is a great way to travel. While in Philadelphia we visited the Liberty Bell and the associated facilities. I was surprised that the Liberty Bell looked so small compared to the last time that I saw it. When we got back home I found a picture from the last time I was in Philadelphia and it was larger. Somebody either shrunk it with Preparation H, or it was shrunk while being washed. This is a mystery that we can not solve. We had a nice visit with Pradip and family. I asked Pradip if he had arranged a marriage for his daugh-ters as was customary in India. He stated that they were too American to even try that. Both daughters, Moulona and Alisha were very nice and brilliant. It was a pleasure to be with Pradip’s wife, Mousumi.

After a pleasant visit and dinner at a local restaurant, where I ordered and enjoyed oysters, we bid our farewells and went back to Philadelphia to prepare for the AmTrak trip to New London, Connecticut for the Air Force Re-union. Arriving in New London on September 16, we walked from the AmTrak station to the hotel, being accom-panied on part of the trip by a local residence who told us much about the city. We were a funny looking couple, with our suitcases piled up on each other and our small wheels carrying that big load. But make it to the hotel we did, andeverything was ready for us at a very nice hotel.

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The Aircraft, B-29 Bomber

And the men who were the members of the crews who flew them, over fifty years ago now equipped with pot bellies

The pictures to the right of this paragraph sums up the reunion. Old goats, with long memories, looking at the chariots of fire that supported them as they flew through the sky bringing knowledge back to our headquarters. We were all in reconnaissance, from propeller driven RB-29 bomb-ers as pictured on the right, pitted against the more sophis-ticated jet fighters (MIG-15) capable of flying at the speed of sound. We shared a common benefit from our service; we never had to drop a bomb or kill a person, and a com-mon sorrow in that we all lost good friends from enemy action or accidents.

Being in the northeast, a lob-ster dinner was in order, and we had one in Mystic, Connecticut. I did not get the lobster, as I don’t really care for them, but there were alternate foods that were good. After the dinner we went on a boat ride, with a boat which had an original 1900s coal fired engine.

We had a most enjoyable boat ride past numer-ous sail boats and other boats, all with friendly persons waving to us, and us to them. Then back to the hotel for supper, meetings and a reunion dance. A good time was had by all, but I found that my old squadron, the 91st Strategic Reconnaissance Squadron from Yokota AFB, Japan, was not well represented. I was young when I was in Japan, and now was one of the old timers (goats or war-dogs) at the meeting. The younger jet-set was the best represented. After the reunion, off to AmTrak again on September 20, for a pleasant trip up to Boston and our next adventure.

The sail boat and the steam boat may not be fast, but in this very busy world they are sure a relaxing way to sight see.

Slow down once in a while and smell the roses!

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BostonBoston is a walking town, if

your legs are good enough. We were settled down in a Radisson Hotel just a few blocks from the Boston Common. We had our first meal in the Theater café, which is in the hotel, and was weird, but nice. They had a potato serving which is a creation of the chef, but not much as far as taste went. It was layered from different types of potatoes. From one end of town to the other, you can walk, much of the walk being on the Freedom trail. And so we did. Starting at the Boston Com-mon we went to the old cemetery where John Hancock was buried, along with many other great early Americans. After walking through parts of Boston we stopped at Durgan Park, one of my favorite places in the US. The waitresses

used to insult you, to give you a good Irish atmosphere, but this was no longer the custom. We still had the old wood tables with wooden benches, with great oysters, but no insults. On the way out, Jean asked the greeter why we weren’t insulted. He asked “Were you insulted that you weren’t insulted?” In the same neighborhood we had Faneuil Hall Market, founded 1827 (Durgan Park was founded before that), and the hall where the government of the United States was first discussed, debated, and formed.

And so we went, walking along the old streets, seeing

Old Iron Sides (The Constitution) looking well polished at her dock, but we couldn’t go on board since they were not opened on that day. That evening we had a wonderful meal at Bennigan’s where I serenaded the waiter with Irish songs. I also had a dark ale, which was really good. Bos-ton is a wonderful town to visit, and the people are great,

Jean in the plush dining room of Durgen Park

as I have found them everywhere. The next day we had a harbor tour which was really nice, with another view of Old Iron Sides, and a tour of a WWII destroyer which was docked as a memo-rial.

That the spirit of democracy is not dead. I will tell you of an encounter with a Boston native who was collecting money for the Kerry campaign. He looked toward me and he asked, “would you like to donate?” I replied “I may not agree with a thing that you say, but I will fight to the death for your right to say it.” So there stood two opposite ends of the political arena, and he turned to me and said “Thank you, Sir.” The bitter hate that has been displayed by some members of both parties will not overcome the bond we share as Americans.

Jean is standing adjacent to a big bear in front of a build-ing in Boston - pictured to the right. The Hancock Build-ing is below- with it’s massive glass exterior. There was a design flaw in the building which resulted in many panes of glass having to be replaced, in fact I believe it was all panes. On a previous trip I saw protective awnings over the sidewalks, with “spotters” around the building to warn when a pane was going to break. It could be known to the trained eye by a change in color as the glass became

stressed. This building has a pendulum system on the top which moves back and forth to counteract the movement caused by wind forces. We could not go up in the building because, since 9/11, security is very strict, and badges are required for entrance to the elevators.

So we spent our last day in

Boston, enjoying the city and the historic aspects as well as the ultra-mod-ern buildings and bridg-es. Then, on September 22, off to the airport, the same one which the 9/11 bad guys used to launch two of their attacks on us. A pleasant trip back

The spirit of Boston is expressed in the flag in Faneuil Hall --“DON’T TREAD ON ME”

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to Tulsa, and then a week or so to rest up before going on the next leg of our travels, to San Diego and Sacramento, California.

So long Boston. We are sad to leave, but we will return!! And we did on May 20, 2007, when the sky was not only overcast, but raining cats and dogs. (See above) We bought two umbrellas, ate at Durgan Park, took a bus tour, stayed at a high class and expensive hotel, and enjoyed every minute of it.

Boston Revisited

Jean and I had the pleasure of attending the Grand Chapter Session of the Order of the Eastern Star of Mas-sachusetts in Lowell, Massachusetts. We landed in Boston, obtained a rental car and drove to Lowell in a fifty mile traffic jam. We did arrive there, appreciative of the large number of people who live in the Northeast. It was an in-teresting session, and we met many new friends and a few old friends. After the session we drove to Boston for a final fling in that great city. There we stayed in the very fine and very expensive Radisson Hotel in downtown Boston. We only had a short time, and of course Durgan Park was again on the agenda, in the rain. It rained the whole time that we were there. We found our way there, buying a couple of umbrellas at a shopping mall. Events are a little fuzzy about the “singing in the rain” day, but we did get to Dur-gan Park, and took a tour bus trip around Boston which was delightful. One interesting part of the tour was when we went by the Hancock Building and the driver gave a brief statement about this magnificent but troubled building. As a structural engineer I knew much more about the advanced engineering properties of the building and the problems that they had with the windows and flexing of the structure than he did, and was able to enlighten him to some of the inner secrets of the structure.

As an added treat we obtained tickets for the Stewart Street Playhouse to see a very entertaining play entitled “Respect, a Musical Journey for Women.” A review of the play follows: Respect is an engaging and fun mix of music, song and theatrical shtick. Dorothy Marcic’s script is based on her book, Respect: Women and Popular Music, and wittily broaches core feminist issues - sans sledgehammer - along with issues of love, family, heartbreak and relation-ship angst.

It was magnificent!

The power of a word!One interesting event, which is still fresh in my mind

took place in the Hotel elevator. Jean and I entered the elevator and noticed that there was an Indian (from India)

family on the elevator. There were two ladies, two men and one child. I naturally placed my hands together in the prayer attitude and said “Namaste.” This brought an instant response, with the ladies lighting up like 1000 watt light bulbs and the men giving a somewhat stoic smile. Then the two ladies told the little boy “say Namaste to the the man” and they brought their hands together to return the greeting.

This is similar to the same results from greeting persons of the Hindu faith with their universal greeting. It is very profound and hard to describe the meaning in English. It is somewhat like “The spirit of God within me welcomes and loves the spirit of God within you.” Also “I respect that divinity within you that is also within me.” It had the same effect in Branson, Missouri, Houston, Texas, and Tulsa, Oklahoma. The effect is similar to saying “Salaam alaykum” to a loving Muslim person or “God Bless you” to a loving Christian. Note that the religion does not mean as much as the “LOVING” part of the last sentence.

A trip to Bennigan’s was in order again, where I put on my Irish hat and enjoyed a dark beer and sang Irish songs. Jean is so wonderful in that she puts up and sometimes even enjoys my excesses.

The next adventure was to get to the airport on time. I had purchased a Garmin car navigation system which we brought with us for travel in Boston. We couldn’t get a signal in the hotel parking garage, so we just had to get out of town to an open area. Completely lost, we pulled into a parking lot at a large shopping center and re-established our location, and we already had the airport located on the equipment. At our command, this cute little toy with a sweet lady’s voice told us, step by step, how to get to the airport, and she was right on!!!!

This Eastern Star adventure was one of many over our ten years of marriage. I was refused membership in the Masons because of my inability to memorize “stuff.” I believe that this was rather silly and painful to all involved, especially Jean and me, but we got over it and I participated as a non-member of the Eastern Star and probably did more for the “Good of the Order” than many of the members did. The persons with whom I had to work were of, I would estimate, the top ten percent (dedication and quality) of the Eastern Star members, and they were as good in all ways as the top ten percent of the general population, or perhaps better. There are no real secrets and the persons who are always looking for fault in the Masons or the Eastern Star, especially fanatical so call Christians, should get a life!!! This is much more polite than what I was thinking as I came to this point where I should express this opinion. I say this as a non-mason who has been deeply involved in Eastern Star activities enough to know the inner spirits of these wonderful persons who have no more and perhaps less “warts” than the rest of us.

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Travel 2004, Part 3, South-West United States On September 24, 2004, the start of Yom Kippur, we did

our Meals on Wheels, and on September 29 we boarded an aircraft to fly to San Diego for the 2004 Reunion of the 307th Bomb Wing being held at the Red Lion Hanalei Hotel. This is a magnificent hotel with a Hawaiian flavor throughout.

With this as our base we, the old goats of the 307th, packed ourselves into our Ducks, which are at home on the street as in the water, and headed out for a water borne sight seeing tour of San Diego Harbor and a Midway Aircraft Museum Tour on September 30. We were quite comfortable with an overhead cover to protect us from sun or rain, and much to see in the sur-rounding area. Of course there were ships galore, such as seen in the picture to the right, as well as old time San Diego residents, as shown below. These San Diego residents could let out a bellow to let you know that

they were there. Some other

residents were not as loud, but very proud, as can be seen to the right.

Besides these residents we were able to see a submarine, numerous boats of all kinds, and a harbor just teeming with life.

After touring the Harbor, we toured the Aircraft Carrier, Mid-way, which is now a floating museum. Jean is shown quite at home in the kitchen shown to the right. We went up and down ladders visiting all parts of the carrier, to see how the sailors managed with their cramped quarters. Then in contrast to the cramped quarters, we have the large expanse of the carrier deck, complete with aircraft from propeller to jet types. A carrier is a remarkable city on the

waves, much larger than the B-29 bomber which I had to travel in. However, I could go to town, and had mother earth below my feet, not water.

That night we had dinner

at the Casa Guadalajara Restaurant and were serenaded by a Mexican Mariachi band, and traditional Mexican food. After, we went off to Old Town Theater for a production of “I love you, You’re perfect, Now change.” The next day we had an Old Town Trolley Tour and Harbor Cruise com-bined. This was a larger ship, and we toured the harbor, seeing many more ships stationed in the harbor as anchored museums or combat ready ships. A hospital ship that we saw at anchor there later saw service in the far east after the Tsunami hit Indone-sia.

Back to the hotel for a “Poly-nesian Review & Luau.” As you can see, Jean was dressed in her Polynesian best, and she really got into the spirit of things.

The stars of the show were the

genuine natives, probably all from the San Diego area, who showed us how it was done in the South Seas.

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Still in San Diego, we had to visit number one son, Da-vid, and his family.

And of course, Jean had to hold her new great-grand-son, Joshua, shown here with David. David, by that time, was too big to be held in his mother’s arms, but there was a time when he was a little as the GGS was.

This was after the fire when Nadine was pictured with the Governator, Arnold, who was holding great-grandson Dylan at the scene of their burned out house. At the time of our visit, Ron, Nadine and kids were on a trip through our part of the country, and we missed them completely.

A trip to the scene of the fire, and the subsequent new house construction was in order. And to the right is a picture of the house under construction, bigger and better than before. We toured the house and then went back to David’s house where we spent time with the family. Makayla was run-ning in and out trying to tease grandpa David, and acting impish as shown in the picture to the right. David was enjoying every moment of it. The newlyweds, Guy and Gina were there, looking very comfortable with each other and with the family. Dinner was served to the whole family, including two of the guests whom were being taken care of by David and Julia.

On to Sacramento

On October 4 we left our beautiful hotel, brought our rental car back to the rental agency, boarded an aircraft and flew down to Sacramento to visit Jim, Mary and Leo. We

were met at he airport and chauffeured to their beau-tiful home. It did not take long to understand the family structure. Jim and Mary lived in the home, but Leo was the undis-puted boss and defender of the house. Leo was completely secure of his place in the family and was able to welcome visitors with-out fear. (He had not heard from Aspen about who was the

Alpha Dog) Jimmy, son of Jim and grandson of Jean, visited and a good time was had by all.

The next day Jim drove us to Nevada, CA to visit an old gold min-ing town which was very active in the California

gold rush of the 1850s. One interesting site there was the method they had of extracting materi-als from the sides of cliffs. A very powerful hose system used hydraulic pressure to dislodge the dirt and ob-tain the gold. The picture shows the results of this method.

While there we had dinner in the National Hotel, which is surrounded by tourist attractions. A good time was had by all visiting the relics of bygone days of passion and gold rush fever. We enjoyed many hours of fun with family and dawg, eh I mean Leo, and a tour of Sacramento with all of its historic sites. But this too had to come to an end, and on October 6 we boarded another aluminum bird to fly back to Tulsa. Jim, Mary and Leo stood standing outside of their home in a beautiful Norman Rockwell pose before taking us to the airport.

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There are bitter sweet moments in life and this is one. Sweet because my little girl (Granddaughter) is going to be married into a wonderful family; bitter because I will not be able to buy her a teddy bear for $15 while telling her grandmother that it only cost $5 (guesses on the cost) to assure that she would not have to return it. Sad, because my little girl is now grown up; glad because she has grown up into such a wonderful young lady. Proud, because she represents the best of the United States and of the Navajo Nation. This is a wedding I had to go to, even if it meant that I would have to travel part of the distance in a wheel-chair.

On July 29, 2008 we called Travelocity and purchased Delta airline tickets to, hotel reservations in, and a rental auto in Durango, Colorado. On October 7 we took off from Tulsa to Denver, and for the first time I had to travel from one terminal to another (they were far apart) in Tulsa and Denver in a wheel chair. Jean was frantically keeping up with us and not complaining about not getting to the Mall to walk today. We arrived in Durango and rented a small size SUV since we had to travel on some mountain roads. We followed the signs and arrived in Durango, looked around a bit, then started to search for the Hotel. I thought that I knew where it was located and after many miles of searching in unknown territory, with Jean being saintly quiet, I finally asked her if she knew where it was located. Naturally she did, and in a matter of minutes we were at the hotel, checked in and had our room organized. I still can’t tell my left from my right.

The next morning we ate breakfast, looked around town a bit, and purchased the necessary survival items for defense against the bugs in the mountains. We bought some bottled water, insect spray, large hand wipes and other items that local mountain experts suggested that we have. Then we headed in the direction of the mountain where the wedding was going to be held. We actually found the roads and soon saw signs signifying with arrows (Indian, of course) where the wedding site was located. Up narrow winding roads we drove our little SUV and arrived at the wedding site. I turned the SUV around so that we would be facing downhill. There were few cars around at this time and we parked on the side of the road.

The mountains all around were beautiful and the flat area on the top of this small mountain was very nice with chairs, tables for food, an outhouse for after food, the Pastor, Rev. Glen King, the Pastor of the Durango Faith Fellowship, who was soon to be Deana’s father-in-law, and his three sons, Grady- the groom and husband for Deana and Grady’s two younger brothers, Riley and Jordy. Deana, the Bride, being Navajo was still on Navajo time and did not show up until sometime after the scheduled time for the ceremony. Steve, Mary, Connie and Sally soon arrived and parked further down the road from our parking place.

Steve, Mary and Sally (the canine) got out of the car and started walking toward the wedding site, leaving Connie in the car. I was outside the car and a reasonable distance away to avoid scaring her, as we had not seen each other for about ten years because of our divorce, and our last meeting was most unpleasant. She opened the back right door and was talking as if Steve and Mary (and dawg) were still close by. I then said “Hello Connie” and she looked at me and started shaking, and then crying. A few years ago we had exchanged letters of mutual forgiveness and all that was distasteful for both of us was now gone, although I am sure that it was not forgotten. I do not know if she remembered the good and the bad, or just the bad. I could remember the good and the bad, and understood the anger which was often within her. I went over to her, hugged her and told her, “It’s all right and I still love you.” She answered softly, “I know you do.” She quickly regained her composure, put on a happy face, and we both headed to the wedding site and Connie met Jean. Jean was a little ap-prehensive about this meeting since she did not know what to expect, but both of them met, accepted each other with gladness, and got along very well. When they sat down, they left a seat between them for me. There I was, between my former and my present wife. A little shower came along and I held an umbrella for Connie, and Jean held her own.

Steve looked handsome in his dress uniform, al-though he did not bring his official sword. He could have walked behind Deana and Grady to assure that the wedding took place. It would have looked much better than a shotgun. No! She wasn’t!!! Mary was also beautiful and witty, and Sally was Sally.

As many of the persons at the ceremony were from Deana’s family and friends, we had a large number of

The Date; 08/08/08 - The Place: A Mountain Top ‘Chapel’ near Durango, Colorado The Event: The Marriage of Granddaughter Deana Keller to Grady King

Connie Simmonds & Jean Keller Steve Keller - below

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Navajo present. I knew many of them from visits to Monu-ment Valley and other places where I had met the family. There were more women and children than men there, the men probably had to stay home and work.

Finally Deana arrived, dressed in her wedding dress which she had purchased from China. She was preceded by three bridesmaids all dressed in blue and one little boy and one little girl; he, dressed in a black formal suit, and she in a pretty white dress. Deana’s mother, Lucy, had joined Deana and was walking with her on the way to the wedding area. I took a couple of pictures of Deana and Lucy as they approached the location where I was standing.

There I stood, with my camera, my cane and my hat when Deana asked me “Grandpa, will you walk me down the aisle?” I gave my cane to someone nearby, my camera to another, and my hat to another, and took her arm and gladly walked my little girl down the aisle. Someone took a picture of us two with my camera as we were walk-ing down the “aisle” and they didn’t even say “smile.” I believe that we were both overcome with emotion because I was certainly not feeling sad about standing in for my son, David, who was there, but not in body.

We walked down the aisle to a position near the await-ing pastor, her intended and her two future brothers-in-law. The pastor asked “Who, gives this woman to be married?” Lucy did say “I do,” and maybe I did also. I then handed Deana over to Grady. My job was done

The pastor said his words, Deana and Grady said “I will” and another marriage made in heaven was sealed on earth.

After the ceremony was over, Connie brought me over to sign the book or a document that looked official and had a place for each of our signatures as grandparents, so I signed. We were circulating and talking to people all over the place as the food was being prepared. At one time Connie was close by when I was talking to someone and happened to mention that I was an engineer, and a fairly

Patiently waiting for them at the brown mat, which symbolized the front of this great outdoor church, were the Pastor, her groom, and her two future brothers-in-law.

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good one too. Connie broke in and said “You were a world class engineer!!!!!” Another time I mentioned that I try to be generous and Connie said “You are the most generous person I have ever known!!!!” What surprises these were, compared to over ten years ago. Time wounds all heels – or is it time heals all wounds?

We walked and talked and ate and finally we were ready to leave, but not too many persons had left yet. Steve’s car was a bit down the road and almost in the clear but our car was up closer and had cars on all sides of it on a slope of the mountain. Steve, of Indianapolis 500 fame, who could get from point A to point B by sometimes flying over obstacles which were in the way, surveyed the terrain and the clearances and said “ I sure am glad you have a little SUV, and I think I can get you out.” OK, Steve usu-ally can do what he says he can do, and even do it better than I can. So Steve and Jean were in the front with Steve driving. Connie and I were in the back with me on the driver side. Mary and Sally were safely walking down to their car.

Driver – start your engine. The space in front of us, a little to one side, had about minus two inches to spare, but it was the only game in town. The engine revved and I thought “Well, we’ll only have to pay for another car or two at the worst” as we went forward at warp speed. We made it past the first space and came to a second space which looked even worse, and Steve grinned and headed for it. Wow, he made it past that obstacle and headed for the next. Connie, in order to cheer up the atmosphere, started

screaming at the top of her voice with a constant (Connie’s constant) volume and endurance which caused me to think that she must have four lungs. She was hanging on to the arm rest with a death grip. Jean, in front, also had a gentle grip on the arm rest, but not wanting to compete with Connie, was very quiet and ladylike. I was at peace since I had already gone through eleven and one half months of combat. And this wasn’t much different.

Well, Steve had a wild look and a grin on his face as he maneuvered the car between the other cars on the slope of the mountain, sometimes on two or three wheels and I do believe actually leaving the ground a few times. Thanks be to God, we landed safely on the road with not a dent or paint scratch on any car. Steve went to open the car door for his mother, but couldn’t do it. Connie had a death grip on the door and it took a little time to loosen up. So she left my life again, but this time she was shaken and stirred, not like James Bond orders his drinks. I assumed the posi-tion in the drivers seat with Jean in the passenger position - and we gently went back to Durango to prepare for our trip home. The rest of the trip was uneventful and I had my second long ride, one in Denver and the other in Tulsa, in a wheel chair. We had a nice flight home and the safety and sanity of our own bed. A good time was had by all.

It should be noted that Jean is still the champion of the beautiful voice sung loudly contest. In December 2009 our Toyota Minivan experienced “unexpected rapid accelera-tion” while parking at the mall, causing a collision with a parked Toyota. The speed at which the two cars collided was not very high because we were not more than about four feet away from the other car at the time of the start of the acceleration, so the car did not have enough distance to develop a high speed. It did push the other car about twenty-five feet into the aisle between parking spaces. We were not hurt. But Jean, in her beautiful soprano voice did emit a cascade of notes which I believe exceeded the vol-ume and fervor of those which Connie emitted. Jean was much more ladylike in her presentation, and with tender loving care she soon returned to her usual beautiful and melodious voice.

Jean and Mary Keller

Lucy and Jean with Connie in the middle

And here is Sally!!!!!

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Overview - Medical AdventuresI had the usual childhood diseases and stuck a nail in my

foot more than once, but other than that my sicknesses were speed bumps on the road of life. While in the Air Force, I did have some problems with my feet; they were too big, size 13 when I was younger, size 15 now. I once was over six foot two and one-half inches tall, but now am five foot eleven inches. So part of my legs must have gone horizon-tally. What other explanation can there be?

While in the Air Force, I completed my combat duty honorable, but was not wounded. However, my best friend, Gerry, died as well as the two crews which replaced us in Japan. So I had “survivors guilt” from not receiving a scratch while others gave their all. Perhaps that is why I volunteered for one more perilous act. In September, 1952, at Fairchild AFB in Spokane, Washington, I requested that I be circumcised. Even though this was a minor operation for me, it was not for a friend who had the same operation at the same time. Before I went under, I told the nurse, “don’t cut off too much, I don’t have any to spare.” She an-swered in her most professional tone, “Don’t worry, we’ll leave you enough for you to get in trouble.”

The operation went well, and after the anesthesia wore off, for the first time while I was in the Air Force, I felt real pain! And the most painful hurt of all, they would not award me the Purple Heart to add to my other combat rib-bons.

Some may think that the above is naughty, too much in-formation, not dignified, etc., etc., etc. Have you ever been asked, “Can’t you ever be serious?” I can’t, and at age 78 I still refuse to be serious, unless there is a very good reason. Why? Because life in this world is too short not to have humor. I have had Hairy Cell Leukemia since 1965, and maybe before, because that is the first time anemic blood was detected during a blood test. I worried, I cried, I did my best to make things better for those for whom I had responsibility, and still lived after the doctor gave me only five months. Over a period of years I have learned to trust God, well most of the time, and enjoy the gift of life that has been entrusted to me. No, I am not a saint, just a person who has been trained to think like an engineer and analyze everything, except my wife. And to accept life as it is, not as I would like it to be.

So, in this accounting of my “Medical Adventures” you will find that I will try to bring humor into the most unlikely places and accept each adventure as such, not as a tragedy. So - on with the show.

The principle player in this saga is “Hairy Cell Leuke-mia.” I was initially diagnosed with Hemolytic anemia secondary to lymphosarcoma with splenomegaly and hyper splenism. This resulted in my receiving a death sentence of about five months. This diagnosis proved to be incorrect and a Dr. Rembe in Albuquerque said it was hairy cell leu-

kemia (HCL) and I should have a few years. It was neces-sary to remove my spleen and this was done on September 19, 1969. There was much improvement in my health.

On April 26,1986 I went to M.D. Anderson to take part in testing for alpha interferon as a chemotherapy for HCL. On January 18, 1988 I benefited from my participation in that testing and started taking alpha interferon which bought me time until October 4, 1993 when cladribine (2CdA) was available and I had five and one-half years free of the Leukemia. Afterwards came three more uses of cladribine, all of them in Tulsa, and one treatment with pentostatin which provided remission for about three years and three months. During the time of these injections there were side effects and other problems such as platelet count drop and infections.

I had chickenpox as a child, shingles in April of 2001 and another case of chickenpox in December 2004. Would this be considered a “shingles sandwich?”

The last treatment tried was with pentostatin again, on November 8, 2008, and this time one infusion kicked me like a mule. The side effects were very bad and interfered with other medical problems which were needing solutions, but that we were unable to attend to because of the severity of the side effects. These side effects could last up to a year.

The biggest problem that I have is growing old, at 80 years now and counting. Then, why is the title of this part of my autobiography called “Medical Adventures?” It is a choice. Much more in Coping with Medical Adventures.

You and I have a choice. I could wallow in self-pity and feel sorry for myself, or I can grasp onto what is good, handle what is bad and thank God for the gift of life that He has given me. I can also quit judging people and start enjoying others like God wants me to. Even in the worst person, it is possible to find a spark of goodness, and it is for me to try and find that spark and enjoy it. No, it is not easy and I fall flat on my butt often, but every day it gets a bit easier. In the meantime I shall put on the full armor of God so that I can take my stand against the devil’s schemes. I choose to rejoice in all things.

I couldn’t find the armor, so I got the arms instead.

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I do not know what to do,I don’t know what to think,I sat down to write a checkAnd my toe isn’t even pink.

I thought that if I wrote a checkThat it would be so nifty,Then, a voice came to me and said-Write two hundred and fifty!!!!!!!!!!!

A command is a command,But was that just my voice? I just cannot fight the urge,I do not have a choice.

My Un-Pink ToeMy Pink Toe is going to follow. But the Good Book says “The last shall be first and the first shall be last.” So in obedi-ence to the Good Book, My Un-Pink Toe which took place after “My Pink Toe” shall proceed the earlier event. Also, this is due to my laziness and the fact that this space was available previous to the earlier event, which proceeds the later event. I hope you are sufficiently confused, now, as am I - so I will now place words upon this page, after I give you a little background. The person who has the “voice” is my Heavenly Father, or so I believe - well enough to expend money or accomplish deeds. David is the Rev. David Mewbourne, whom you will learn about in the following true story which took place a while back. Debbie, David’s wife, is an Angel in Oncology whom I have known for many years and love dearly. The little poem accompanied a donation to David’s discretionary fund to which I enjoy giving. When the money gets to David’s church there, at that time, there is usually someone in trouble who needs help; just as God implied when I received the urge to send a donation.

Maybe it’s HIM, maybe not-But to David this will go.And he knows the One above,The One who showers us with love.And I am sure that HE will show -Brother David how to spendIn such a beautiful wayThat He will bring joy to someOn a blessed Christmas Day.

In God’s Love,

M. Dean Keller, December 18, 2006

We both enjoy the Brits as they portrayThe saga of love gone wrong in their youth.Only to be born again in later lifeTo emphasize the beauty of God’s truth.

For although the stories are far from ours,A link can be seen in their strife -A young airman off to Korea- to war,A young lady who started her family, her life.

Decades passed and bothHad families, and work and play.They had their share of pleasure and painAnd made their contributions every day.

He, in his work as an engineerSet standards for others to see.She, as a mother and a leaderWould lead her peers; saying follow me!

Both would win acclaim for their work,Both were known in their states and afar.Both would persevere under hardship.Although hardship their joy would sometimes mar.

God had His special plans for these twoAfter spouses were gone, He would not let them fallDelicately He directed and guided them.And placed them both at the Woodland Hills Mall.

She was talking to the “old war dogs”Who sat on the level above-She wore a big smile and after a while,He asked himself, is this love?

She left her friends on the higher level And went to her table below.And an “old puppy dog” broken and bentSaid “This is the one, I know.”

He sat with her and her friends,Drank coffee and had a feeling of bliss.She had to leave, so he walked her to the door,And on her hand he placed a kiss.

This is the start, but not the endFor God works in mysterious ways,And He has ordained that they’ll be togetherFor all of the rest of their days.

As Time Goes By (A British TV series about a couple who wed late in life)

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The Lord Works In Mysterious Ways His Wonders To Perform.or

My Pink ToeI have had leukemia for over forty years, and extensive medical problems and chemotherapy treatments for many

months. Some of these problems have been medical emergencies, and I have been rather stoic through most of them. As an example, one weekend I noticed petechiae (little red dots) on my leg at night time, and the next morning noticed that my eyes were blood shot. So my wife and I went over to the Cancer Center where I told Dr Panicker’s nurse, Debbie, “I think I have a problem.” Then came the blood test, the results (platelets less than 10k) which means that I could start bleeding internally, and quickly off to the hospital to have a platelet transfusion and massive doses of prednisone. I was unconcerned.

But one morning, December 12, 2005, I was putting on my socks when I noticed that my big toe on my left foot was pink on the bottom. I checked my eyes and saw no sign of bleeding, and checked my legs for petechiae, but none were there. I was taking a shot, Lovenox, (I told my oncologist, who is Hindu, “It would take a Hindu to “love an ox” - which he thought very clever) every evening about 5:00 pm as a blood thinner. I thought that I must be bleeding due to side ef-fects from the blood thinner, but only through my big toe? This is the closest that I have come to panic in many a year. I went over to the Cancer Center and had a blood test conducted. My platelets were at 157k, which is way above the danger zone, and I felt better. Then Debbie, took me into a room, examined my big toe, and cleaned it for me. She stated that it did not look like blood, and using peroxide, alcohol, and soap, she cleaned much of the pink off, wrapped the toe in gauze, and told me to come back if it continued to give me a problem. This was very much like Jesus washing the feet of the apostles, and I felt blessed and much relieved. During this time we had a nice conversation, and I promised to bring her a copy of one my latest essays, Forgiveness.

Later that day I reviewed my actions of the day before I had the pink toe, and came to what I considered a cause, a rather embarrassing cause. The morning before the discovery of the pink toe, I dropped a vitamin capsule while taking my medicines in the morning. It was Vitamin A, Beta Carotene, a reddish looking small capsule designed to melt and release it’s contents when subjected to body heat- even foot heat.

Realizing what had happened I prepared a package for Debbie. In it were the essay and a letter to Debbie, asking her to give an enclosed envelope to her husband, David, who was an Assembly of God minister. In that envelope was a letter which told him what a wonderful wife he had, a poem, My Pink Toe, which explained my latest adventure, and, as an afterthought, a couple of hundred dollar bills for anyone whom he would know who needed a helping hand.

Time passed and I received a letter from David. In it he told of a man who left Texas with his family after he lost his job, to fill a promised job in Oklahoma. Friday night this man called David stating that his car had broken down in South Tulsa, and he didn’t know anyone else to call. He and his family went to David’s church since arriving five months ago. David and his son and his son’s cousin went in one of the church’s vans to pick up the family and tow the car to a mechan-ic from David’s church.

Debbie gave the envelope to David the next day, Saturday evening, after he was wondering what could be done to help this person who did not have any money to fix the car. The two hundred dollars were the start of a solution.

Over that weekend I was puzzled, thinking that something was left undone. So I sent a letter to David at the church with a donation of $200 (in time to take it off of my income tax for CY 2005) and a note that I thought that the job was not finished yet.

A letter came back from David with the “rest of the story.” Two members of the church had donated another $200, and the mechanic donated his labor, and they were short, guess how much? $200. David was planning to take this out of the church funds when my check arrived.

David was blessed, I was blessed, the family with the broken car was blessed, and it all started with a vitamin pill which fell out of it’s container.

The Lord works in mysterious ways His wonders to perform.From the dropped pink pill, to the pink toe, to the panic, to the blood test, to the wonderful angel in oncology, to the

letter, to the return letter, to the feeling that the job was not done yet, to the mailed in donation, and then to the “rest of the story.”

And, He knows how to keep track of debits and credits too.

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FaxName: Tito Razdan, M. D. STATOrganization: Springer Clinic’s Main FacilityFax: (918) 497 3051From: M. Dean KellerAddress: 10608 E. 100th Place Tulsa, OK 74133 Date: December 12, 2005Subject: Pink ToePhone: (918) 250 5658 FAX and voice. If not answer call Cell 645 8955Pages: 1

Dear Dr. Razdan:

I have been on Lovenox for 28 days, 150 MG/day, by injection in belly. My platelet count has remained about 150K for the last two months. My HGB was 11.6 on 11/14/05, at the start of the Levonox injections. It was 10.9 on 12/01/05 after 18 days of Lovenox. I am scheduled for a blood test Dec 15th.

This morning I noticed that the bottom of the big toe on my right foot was pink. This evening the pink area had spread up to the end of the toenail, and halfway up the toe, leaving the top of the toe the natural color. It left a little pink discol-oration in the sock that I wore on my left foot, which I removed about 3:00 PM. This evening I noticed a pink color on the fir lining, toe area, of my slippers. This pink can be wiped with an alcohol prep pad or a gauze pad, turning these pads pink, but the toe remains pink.

It appears that blood is seeping through my skin, big toe only, left foot. I called the cancer center emergency number, and the doctor on call told me to call you Tuesday morning. Please advise me what action I should take. Cell Phone 645 8955 if I cannot be reached at 250 5658.

I am sending an information copy of this fax to Dr. Panicker.

Very truly yours,

M. Dean Keller

Hi Debbie,

I am enclosing my latest revision on “Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors” which has a few additions, mostly on the back page. I am also enclosing “God’s Love” and “Truth” as I do not know if I had given them to you before.

The pink toe is behaving itself, and I do appreciate the beautiful way you helped me with this problem. I am in your debt.

I also have a letter for Rev. David Mewbourne, I believe you know him, with a little information that I wanted to pass on to him. Please give it to him.

In God’s Love,

Dean

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M. Dean and Jean F. Keller10608 East 100th Place

Tulsa, Oklahoma 74133-5112December 15, 2005

Dear Brother David,I know that when I tell you that your Debbie is an Angel in Oncology, you will not consider it news. She has been

working with me for about six years through three chemotherapy treatments, three platelet crashes and two hospital treat-ments. On one of these visits to the hospital I wrote the Poem “Angels in Oncology,” which was well received by the “Angels” at St. Francis Hospital. Debbie has a copy, and it sure applies to her as well. I don’t know if she brings work home with her, so I am enclosing a copy for you. I am also enclosing a poem “My Pink Toe” which she did not see as yet, but she was the main participant when this old man let a little pink toe get the best of him. Usually, I am rather stoic about these items, since I have had this leukemia for over 40 years, and my faith in my Creator is good. She does not know the final outcome of the problem, so tell her the poem is for your and her eyes only; she wouldn’t want to embarrass an old man, would she?

Most of all she has had to put up with an ornery old goat, who happens to be a tongue speaking, non-fundamentalist Episcopalian, and she does it with beauty and grace. I am blessed to have her on my medical team.

Knowing that Collinsville has some people in need and that you possibly know some of these people, I am enclosing a few dollars for you to give to whomever the spirit leads you to.

In God’s Love, M. Dean Keller My Pink Toe .

The Lord works in mysterious waysMy blunders to conceal.He does His wonders in spite of me,This I must reveal.

He allowed my toe to turn bright pink,First on the bottom, then on the side.I did not know what to think,I thought, I was bleeding inside.

Oh toe! Big toe.Toe on my left side,What wonders did you hide from me,From apprehension, I could not hide.

My DVT was on the right,What was I to say. Could Lovenox jump across?Was bleeding there to stay?

I Faxed my doctor of my problem,The Fax was marked STAT,I did not know what was happeningCould it be this, could it be that?

So down to Sarah, after some delay,A blood test was procured.Everything was looking good,I felt a bit assured.

Than Debbie took me by the hand,As comforting as she could be,She examined my big pink toe,Then, she was Christ to me.

She cleaned my foot, took off the stainWith alcohol, peroxide and soap.My flesh returned to flesh color,and now I had some hope.

She said it did not look like blood,I knew that she did care.She bandaged my toe, and comforted me,I felt that Jesus was there.

Just watch it for a day or two,It should not come again,My spirits lifted, my heart was full,There was joy instead of pain.

Oh, Angel in OncologyWith Dr. Panicker looking on,I gave her a twirl, a little dance,I felt I was reborn.

I left the office on cloud nine,Still wondering what the causeOf my toe turning pink, The toe now wrapped in gauze.

But, latter on, the engineer in me,Started to analyze..What were the causes of this mystery,Were they the devil’s lies?

And deep within my mindThe engineer started to think..What happened before this eventThat turned my big toe pink.

And slowly the thoughts started to shape,A possible series of events,I can’t be sure that this is correct,But it does make some sort of sense.

I took my medicine in the morningOne pill got away,I couldn’t find it anywhere,It was Beta Carotene, Vitamin A.

I replaced it, it could have droppedInto my moccasin, it was sort of red.I wore the moccasins again that nightBefore I went to bed.

Next morning I had the big pink toeWith red at the toe of my shoe, Could that little pill have been the cause?Oh I wish I really knew.

But it sounds so logical that I do believeThat it could have happened that way.I am so sorry for the trouble I causedBut what am I to say?

I called for help, and help I foundThat came from heaven above.From all the angels at Cancer CareI found my Father’s love.

M. Dean Keller

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FaxName: Tito Razdan, M. D. STATOrganization: Springer Clinic’s Main FacilityFax: (918) 497 3051From: M. Dean KellerAddress: 10608 E. 100th Place Tulsa, OK 74133 Date: December 12, 2005Subject: Pink ToePhone: (918) 250 5658 FAX and voice. If not answer call Cell 645 8955Pages: 1

Dear Dr. Razdan:

I have been on Lovenox for 28 days, 150 MG/day, by injection in belly. My platelet count has remained about 150K for the last two months. My HGB was 11.6 on 11/14/05, at the start of the Levonox injections. It was 10.9 on 12/01/05 after 18 days of Lovenox. I am scheduled for a blood test Dec 15th.

This morning I noticed that the bottom of the big toe on my right foot was pink. This evening the pink area had spread up to the end of the toenail, and halfway up the toe, leaving the top of the toe the natural color. It left a little pink discol-oration in the sock that I wore on my left foot, which I removed about 3:00 PM. This evening I noticed a pink color on the fir lining, toe area, of my slippers. This pink can be wiped with an alcohol prep pad or a gauze pad, turning these pads pink, but the toe remains pink.

It appears that blood is seeping through my skin, big toe only, left foot. I called the cancer center emergency number, and the doctor on call told me to call you Tuesday morning. Please advise me what action I should take. Cell Phone 645 8955 if I cannot be reached at 250 5658.

I am sending an information copy of this fax to Dr. Panicker.

Very truly yours,

M. Dean Keller

Hi Debbie,

I am enclosing my latest revision on “Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors” which has a few additions, mostly on the back page. I am also enclosing “God’s Love” and “Truth” as I do not know if I had given them to you before.

The pink toe is behaving itself, and I do appreciate the beautiful way you helped me with this problem. I am in your debt.

I also have a letter for Rev. David Mewbourne, I believe you know him, with a little information that I wanted to pass on to him. Please give it to him.

In God’s Love,

Dean

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M. Dean and Jean F. Keller10608 East 100th Place

Tulsa, Oklahoma 74133-5112December 15, 2005

Dear Brother David,I know that when I tell you that your Debbie is an Angel in Oncology, you will not consider it news. She has been

working with me for about six years through three chemotherapy treatments, three platelet crashes and two hospital treat-ments. On one of these visits to the hospital I wrote the Poem “Angels in Oncology,” which was well received by the “Angels” at St. Francis Hospital. Debbie has a copy, and it sure applies to her as well. I don’t know if she brings work home with her, so I am enclosing a copy for you. I am also enclosing a poem “My Pink Toe” which she did not see as yet, but she was the main participant when this old man let a little pink toe get the best of him. Usually, I am rather stoic about these items, since I have had this leukemia for over 40 years, and my faith in my Creator is good. She does not know the final outcome of the problem, so tell her the poem is for your and her eyes only; she wouldn’t want to embarrass an old man, would she?

Most of all she has had to put up with an ornery old goat, who happens to be a tongue speaking, non-fundamentalist Episcopalian, and she does it with beauty and grace. I am blessed to have her on my medical team.

Knowing that Collinsville has some people in need and that you possibly know some of these people, I am enclosing a few dollars for you to give to whomever the spirit leads you to.

In God’s Love, M. Dean Keller My Pink Toe .

The Lord works in mysterious waysMy blunders to conceal.He does His wonders in spite of me,This I must reveal.

He allowed my toe to turn bright pink,First on the bottom, then on the side.I did not know what to think,I thought, I was bleeding inside.

Oh toe! Big toe.Toe on my left side,What wonders did you hide from me,From apprehension, I could not hide.

My DVT was on the right,What was I to say. Could Lovenox jump across?Was bleeding there to stay?

I Faxed my doctor of my problem,The Fax was marked STAT,I did not know what was happeningCould it be this, could it be that?

So down to Sarah, after some delay,A blood test was procured.Everything was looking good,I felt a bit assured.

Than Debbie took me by the hand,As comforting as she could be,She examined my big pink toe,Then, she was Christ to me.

She cleaned my foot, took off the stainWith alcohol, peroxide and soap.My flesh returned to flesh color,and now I had some hope.

She said it did not look like blood,I knew that she did care.She bandaged my toe, and comforted me,I felt that Jesus was there.

Just watch it for a day or two,It should not come again,My spirits lifted, my heart was full,There was joy instead of pain.

Oh, Angel in OncologyWith Dr. Panicker looking on,I gave her a twirl, a little dance,I felt I was reborn.

I left the office on cloud nine,Still wondering what the causeOf my toe turning pink, The toe now wrapped in gauze.

But, latter on, the engineer in me,Started to analyze..What were the causes of this mystery,Were they the devil’s lies?

And deep within my mindThe engineer started to think..What happened before this eventThat turned my big toe pink.

And slowly the thoughts started to shape,A possible series of events,I can’t be sure that this is correct,But it does make some sort of sense.

I took my medicine in the morningOne pill got away,I couldn’t find it anywhere,It was Beta Carotene, Vitamin A.

I replaced it, it could have droppedInto my moccasin, it was sort of red.I wore the moccasins again that nightBefore I went to bed.

Next morning I had the big pink toeWith red at the toe of my shoe, Could that little pill have been the cause?Oh I wish I really knew.

But it sounds so logical that I do believeThat it could have happened that way.I am so sorry for the trouble I causedBut what am I to say?

I called for help, and help I foundThat came from heaven above.From all the angels at Cancer CareI found my Father’s love.

M. Dean Keller

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THE ANGELS IN ONCOLOGY

My joy in the Lord is in you,For you have been Christ to me

You come to serveAnd do not ask who or what am I.

You serve and smile, and do your task,You smile, and sometimes cry.

For some of us will leave and live,But some of us will die.

So you must see beyond the Veil, That hides from us below,

The Love and Joy in God’s dimension,His Spirit, that makes us grow.That lets us see a body healed,

To return to do His will on earth,Or lets you see a soul released

To join the splendor of eternal worth.

For God allows us each to serveSome so little, yet, you so much.

For God uses each of usTo be His voice, to be His touch.

For God is with us in eternity,And God is with us here in time.To fill with love each hour, day,To fill with Joy each soul divine.

And when we leave your sphere of service,To serve our brothers here in time,

Or join those who have gone before-We know the bells of heaven will chime

As the Angels read the proclamationThat proclaims His Love to you below,“Well done good and faithful servants,

Your service there makes Heaven glow.” AMEN

M. Dean Keller, patient7 West OncologySaint Francis Hospital, Tulsa, OK4:00 AM 12 December 2004

On December 12, 2004, I was in a room in St. Francis Hospital with an IV in my arm. That made it a little awkward , since I had to take my “companion” with me wherever I went. And with the IV pouring antibiotic and anti viral medica-tion into my veins 24 hours per day, my companion and I made numerous trips to the rest room, but not to rest. Walking around the ward I would softly sing to my companion “Gee, but it’s great after staying out late, walking my baby back home.” Whenever I walked by, there was always a smile. There was love in the midst of suffering.

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Some of the contents of this will be difficult for a person who has not experienced these problems to understand. Just speed read past the parts which are confusing and enjoy the enjoyable parts. After a few years of traveling and having fun, it was decided by a higher power that I should have time to reflect. So, after returning from Charleston, Day-ton, Laughlin, Branson, Nashville, New York, Philadelphia, New London, Boston, San Diego, Sacramento, etc., not necessarily in that order, it was decided that I should go from emergency room, to doctor, to x-ray, to cat scan, to MRI, to pet scan, to cancer center, to hospital, to etc, etc, etc. At the start of this new adventure I was determined to enjoy my new adventure. At that time a change came into my life. This is a choice which anyone can make, and with God’s help, can put into practice. No longer was chemo-therapy a treatment, but an adventure.

This new attitude of seeing every moment in life not as a joy or sorrow, not as pleasure or pain, but as an adventure given to us by our Creator with His (there I go again Him/Her) full knowledge and blessing. This adventure is similar to a habit. When we do something over and over again, it becomes a habit, and the sum of our habits is often our character. So it is true with our relationship with life and our Creator. What our Creator allows in our life is a gift to us, what we do with that gift is our gift to Him.

Well, I had a lot to enjoy. Starting on October 9, 2004 we went to Urgent Care and found that my platelet count had dropped to 5000. Anything below 20,000 is considered unacceptable and one could start bleeding without even trying. So, we started off this adventure with five platelet transfusions. Since I had gone through this scenario in 1999, I was the only one unconcerned about the problem. At the Urgent Care center I was given a prescription for 30 mg/day prednisone. Checking my records for 1999, this was increased to 100 mg/day by Debbie, my oncology nurse, who quickly took charge, and helped by my previous experience, had this problem out of the danger zone in a couple of weeks.

A bone marrow biopsy taken on November 1 was posi-tive; my hairy cell leukemia had returned. The doctor who performed this procedure was Virginia Burdine, a beauti-ful young lady. They originally had me set up to go under a general anesthesia - but I objected. I only need a local for this type of procedure. So a local was administered. While the bone marrow was underway, a nurse came into the room with a question for Dr. Burdine. It was “What’ll I do...?” I immediately broke into song “What’ll I do when you are far away, and I am blue, what’ll I do?” Novem-ber 8 through 16 was reserved for chemotherapy using leustatin, the same medication I had used in 1993, 1999 and 2003. This time it was administered using two injec-tions in the stomach area, each day for seven days. The times between recurrences of the leukemia were 6 years, 4 years and 1 year. So, it was obvious that the leukemia was developing a resistance to this chemotherapy. Then the platelet count dropped again, but this time to 2730, the

lowest that I have ever experienced. On November 22, I had one platelet transfusion and started 100 mg per day of Prednisone. On November 23 my platelet count was up to 52,400- way out of danger. Who can explain it, who can tell you why? The song goes “Fools give you reasons, wise men never try.” Being a fool, I will give you a reason. On November 16, Dr. Kris Canfield removed a small growth from my back. This obviously caused bleeding beneath the skin, unseen by the eye, and required the remaining plate-lets to forget their diminishment in number and to bravely charge the battlefield and eliminate the foe – the bleeding. The bone marrow was not able to replenish the number of platelets who gave their all in the courageous battle, and the number of platelets in the blood was diminished. A plate-let transfusion translates to a rise in the platelet count by 70,000, thereby causing the platelet count 30 minutes after the transfusion to register at 68,000. The next day it had dropped to 52,400 – out of danger – and continued to rise steadily after that. Until the next fall! What an adventure.

On December 10, I went to the Cancer Center because

of a fever. Dr. Panicker checked me, and sent me to St. Francis Hospital, Ward 7 West, Oncology, where I was hooked up to an IV for a continuous flow of antibiotic and anti viral drugs. This was a do not pass go, do not col-lect $100 or something, but I was allowed to go home to pick up some necessary items like books, my computer, etc. Dr. Rowland, a specialist in infectious diseases, was in charge of the administering of this massive assault on my little germs. Well, I was hooked up for about 30 hours while nurses came in and changed the containers of anti-biotic and anti-viral medication; very powerful medicine. Not knowing that the IV could be disconnected, I wore the same undershirt for the full 30 hours. A group of visitors from the Trinity Presbyterian Church came by, including Brad who stood at the door and sang “I saw you standing in the sun, and you were something to see,” and I answered “I know what I like and I liked what I saw, and I said to myself, that’s for me.” Pastor Judy was sitting there, wondering, “what is going on here?” He is standing up and singing with an IV in his arm, and a bottle of antibiotics on a pole next to him. This was an important hospital visit for me because I learned where the early morning coffee was, where the ice cream was, and how to get my breakfast first- by standing in front of my room, whimpering like a puppy, with a begging attitude.

On the 12 day of December my true love said to me --no. On December 12, 2004 at about 3:00 AM, I was walk-ing my rolling stand with my medication around the ward. The nurses were busy, and calls from patients came into the nurse’s station asking for pain medication. A friend of my son Steve, whose name was Bob, came by to visit me. He was a Native American with a strong Christian faith and a wife in the same ward dying of cancer. Here I was, with no pain, surrounded by pain and a wonderful team of nurses. The Team in Oncology, I thought, but latter thought a bit more and changed it to “The Angels in Oncology.” I sat down and wrote the words to that poem.

Coping with Medical Adventures

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I submitted to the powers that be and had chemotherapy from January 18 through January 22 with 2CdA which I have had many times before. It was nice for an old goat being made over by these cute young nurses; well some of them. Then on the 28th day I am to start Retuximab every week for eight weeks, and I have never had this one before. It is a DNA engineered chemotherapy which attached itself to the CD 20 protein on the hairy cell and destroys it.

The chemotherapy went well and I kept the same infu-sion device in my arm for the whole week. This is good because upon the initial insertion some things went wrong and I SPILLED BLOOD!! We had a good laugh about it, and I enjoyed the stay with my new DVD player watching “What the Bleep do We Know” and some teaching lessons about how the body heals itself and the functions of the brain. I am now experiencing side effects from one week of chemotherapy such as fatigue and loss of appetite. Tomor-row I have a blood test to see the effects of the chemothera-py on the red and white cells and the platelet count.

The blood test showed that the neutrophil count had dropped to 0.2 and the white blood count on February 8 had dropped to 0.8. My immune system had crashed. Six shots of Neupogen later my immune system was out of the danger zone, but I started bleeding, even urinating blood. Jean and I went down to the Cancer Center where I caused a scare in the house.

So off to St. Francis Hospital, Code Blue, under the di-rection of Dr. Razdan who had already had a room reserved for me on 7 West, the oncology floor. There I was met by the Angels in Oncology - and oh how beautiful they are. But they couldn’t keep their hands off of me, and I was so weak! One angel would grab my right arm, squeeze my muscle to see how strong I was and put some sort of pro-tector around my arm which squeezed it hard!!! She would then say some medical words like “blood pressure.”

The nurse on my left side was not just standing there; she was trying to comfort me. She would hold my left hand and gently pat it with her fingers. Ah!! What bliss!! And before I knew it, there was an infusion setup ready to go. Next they wheeled in a stand and starting hanging plastic bottles of various sizes and colors on the stand. There was a 2 pack of red blood cells, a 2 pack of blood plasma, a unit of platelets and a container of Vitamin K. They turned on the valves and let the fluids flow.

There was a little problem before all of this loving care started. The bed in the room was short or I was too long. These busy angels rushed around and brought me an adequate bed, but it was not as comfortable as the one at home. But, wow, was it complete. I believe it could give you a haircut if you punched the right button.

For three days I endured the constant attention these young ladies gave to me, until I learned that they could

complete their tasks without even waking me up. The food in the hospital wasn’t very tasteful but the ice cream was available and delicious. Jean spent most of the time with me, reading and working puzzles. My greatest puzzle is “what did I do to find a wonderful woman like her?”

We were not at Buckingham Palace waiting for the changing of the guard, but in Tulsa waiting breathlessly for the changing of the color of the urine. Slowly, change took place as I gleefully called the nurse’s station to tell her I had another 1000 cc of urine for them to check. As the red of the morning sunrise yields to the clear skies of the day - so did the color of the urine. The many purple splotches on my body were to stay for quite awhile. Dr. Razdan came over and discharged me Sunday evening with some reason-able instructions. He is really a miracle worker.

I determined the probable cause of the bleeding. I made a mistake. The mistake was that I thought that I had made a mistake. At my age the brain plays tricks on one. My brain is not going to take a back seat to anyone. I place my medication in two containers by days -Sunday through Saturday, morning and evening. I made a mistake in that I thought I had left out the 3 mg per day warfarin in the week from January 31 through February 6. I looked in those containers for those pills and my brain, having been told that I had not placed them there refused to acknowl-edge their presence. This is not unusual for the brain seeing something that is not there and not seeing something that is there. I therefor added 3 mg per day warfarin. I checked this mathematically to be sure. It computes. With all of that Warfarin in my system my blood became thinner and thin-ner, until it started exiting my body. Thank you Dr Razdan for knowing just what to do and how to do it. Thus my warfarin adventure within my chemotherapy adventure was started. Since all things work for good for those who love God, I expect great results coming from these magnificent adventures.

On March 11, 2010, I started my last round of chemo-therapy. This was to remove the minimal residual disease which basically means to kill as many as you can of those little hairy cells which had survived the previous chemo-therapy of about a month ago, 2CdA. Rituxan, a DNA engineered chemotherapy, was to accomplish this feat. It consisted of two components; the first a unit which attached itself to the CD20 protein which is on each hairy cell, the other a toxin which is injected into that cell. Thus, one by one and million by million, the number of leukemia cells is reduced in number by many orders of magnitude. It was difficult to find any trace of the disease in the body after the use of rituxan. The difference between the bone marrow taken in October, 2008 and the one taken after the comple-tion of eight infusions indicated that this was accomplished. If I were 40 years old this would have meant a long remis-sion period after the completion of the chemotherapy, but being 78+, I was also suffering from very tired bone mar-row and a new adventure unfolds.

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The 2008 and the 2010 bone marrows both indicated that I had early myelodysplastic syndromes (MDS) and my blood counts did not rise after chemotherapy as they had before. I can remember the acronym “MDS” by thinking of it as “Mad Dog Syndrome.” This indicates that my life expectancy is from five minutes to five years before I can go home to my Father. This time can be extended, for a while; by blood transfusions for low hemoglobin, neupogen for a low immune system (which includes the white blood cell count and the neutrophil count) and as a last resort, a newly developed life-extender called vidaza. However the 2010 bone marrow showed that ‘blasts’ were zero. A ‘blast’ is an immature cell which is somewhere between the stem cell and the usual products of the stem cell, the white blood cell, the platelet or the red blood cell. When the blasts are zero or low in count the MDS is in an early stage and would not need to be treated with vidaza yet.

The bone marrow was on June 24, 2010 and it indicated that it was clear of Hairy Cells. My red count went up to 10+, but my immune system did come back so Neupo-gen was used to give it a kick-start. It came back, then dropped again; Neupogen in August and October to keep it in check. My platelets were doing well at over 100k. My red blood cells needed some help and I had a 2 pack on 1/06/10,2/01/10 and on 2/12/10 (2 - 2-packs) due to a mistake on my part when I accidently took too many Warfarin.) The Neuprogen worked well But in an attempt to improve my right knee function I had two shots of steroids. The knee improved for a while but my platelets dropped by 40K.

Neuprogen and blood transfusions over the next year with the red cell count going dangerous in September.

On September 22, 2010, I reported to Dr Alan M. Keller. We got off to a very good start with M.D. Keller working with Keller, M.D.

After studying past results we decided to try Interferon Alpha 2b which had studies showing good results for many patients with recurring hairy cell leukemia. In August 1982, I was part of a study conducted by Dr. Quesada at M.D. Anderson on Interferon, the great-grandpa of the present chemo. I took the Interferon from January 1988 to October 2004 when 2CdA became available. That was a giant leap forward in Chemo for HCL. Presently, we have not had an increase in the blood counts from Alpha 2b, but it takes a long time to work. So, we are planning on a Bone Marrow the first part of December, six months from the last one.

The bone marrow from one year ago, before six months treatment with Interferon Alpha 2B, was was about 44% infiltration by Hairy Cell Leukemia; The last bone marrow on December 7, 2011 indicted that it was about 66%, an in-crease of about 50%. Dr. Keller MD and MD Keller were both surprised since this was not a casual decision but was preceded by much investigation. Dr. Alan Keller, MD then

looked for some new chemo, but could not find any which could be obtained for one reason or another. So, he told me I had one choice - which I had tried before- but he proposed a few changes. This is a week of 2CdA with a mid week infusion of Rituximab. This is followed by seven more weeks, every Wednesday, of Rituximab. The 2CdA caused my immune system to crash, my platelets to crash and for me to get a 2 pk of blood and one unit of platelets. This is normal for a strong chemo. The heroic measure killed the little hairy cells, but also did in my bone marrow. So , now I am living off of other persons blood and platelets; blood about once every two weeks and platelets every week. I am also very weak when my blood (HGB) is low, so at the end of the cycle I have to strain to get out of a chair, and tire easily.. This has benefits as well. I get to see the nurses and techs at the Infusion Center and the Cancer Center on Mingo. What an extended family I have!

I saw Keller, MD on July 17, 2012, at which time I was death warmed over. He started me on 60 mg per day pred-nisone and also started Nplate for platelet increase. I have taken prednisone many times in the past to increase platelet count and it works well, with some interesting side effects. I took the large dose with little side effects except for want-ing to work all night and join the Olympics. However, it does take a little time to take effect.

On July 24, Michael East, who is a temporary assistant pastor at the Trinity Presbyterian Church, came to our house to discuss a “Celebration of Life” service for me in event of my demise. I still looked like death warmed over, and was very slow, except for a great laugh, a good sense of humor and an understanding of what we were talking about. Naturally, this will occur, and I appeared to be close to that time; but no one knows when. We had a very inter-esting discussion about theology, my life and what kind of service Jean would appreciate. It was very enjoyable, and much was accomplished including giving Michael three songs he had never heard before on a “stick.”

I kept increasing in strength, the swelling in my body went down, and my legs improved a little, but not enough for me to walk without a walker. I was sitting down a few days after that when a voice told me to turn on the radio. I did, and the first words coming out of the radio were “You are living on borrowed time.” I accepted this and started to get better with fewer blood transfusions required since the start of the year. Also I feel great, but also accept that in the long run I will die, or is it go home? I borrowed time from God to complete my assignment on earth, whatever it is, and when you borrow something from our Daddy, it is wonderful, cause God does not give inferior gifts to His children.

But, enough of this seriousness, on the last few pages before the back cover we will have some fun and fantasy to lighten our spirits.

I do not know what the future holds, but I know who holds the future - so I am joyful- no matter what!

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It Only Takes a Spark to Get a Fire GoingA True Story

At a church Christmas party in 2005, Lise told me about a young student who was wonderfully talented and wanted to go to college to study music, especially the oboe. This young girl could not go because it was considered impossible for her to raise the thousand dollars necessary to complete the application for submission for the scholarship programs. Touched, I believe by the Holy Spirit, I took five one-hundred-dollar bills out of my wallet and gave them to Lise, and asked, “Would this help?” After a few minutes of bantering she accepted the money, and the following e-mail received on August 17, 2006 tells the “rest of the story.”

Update on the young oboe player you helped.

Hi good people,

I hope you’ve had a good summer. I was gone in Des Moines playing operas (and the family came to see me for almost 2 weeks), then we all went camping, then we all went to visit family in Los Angeles, and now we’re home. (Although I’m about to take off on some more trips)

But I wanted to give you an update about how my student Mary K. has been doing since the winter. This is the high school senior who has a real talent on the oboe, but comes from a poor family whose father committed suicide.

She took all her college auditions, and ended up getting a full scholarship, including room and board for 4 years to the second college of her choice: University of Texas, Austin. They have an extensive music department and a well-known oboe teacher, so she was grateful that this teacher chose her to be one of her students.

She also applied to go to Interlochen Fine Arts Camp in Michigan where the best oboe teacher in the U.S. teaches. Be-cause he’s such a fine teacher, the most talented oboe students in the country try to get in to study with him, but there are only a dozen or so openings every summer. So, this has made the oboe the most competitive instrument for which to get into Interlochen of all the instruments in the orchestra.

Mary auditioned, and was accepted. She was assisted by a number of Tulsa Rotary Club members who learned of her financial needs and donated money for her to be able to attend. (Interlochen only awards the maximum of half scholar-ships and the cost was $5800.) Mary grew tremendously, and ended up being first chair in one of the bands at one point. She also worked so hard, she over-practiced and after playing non-stop too long, her mouth became numb and she had to see a doctor. But once she gave herself a few days off, the feeling returned and she practiced not quite so much after that!

Other folks have been generous with Mary, too, in many ways, and her needs for oboe tools for college that she hasn’t been able to buy have also been provided for her.

So your initial gift last Christmas has just snowballed into all kinds of goodwill coming her way and helping her move forward as to train to be a musician and give her joy back to the world through music. She is one grateful young lady with all the generosity she’s had come her way!

Once again, a hearty, hearty thank you for being ready to share with those who have a need. “Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.” I know that as you help meet others’ needs, your needs, too, will in turn be met, whatever they may be.

Love to both of you, Lise

After all the facts, no fiction, of my life from birth to very old, with all of the joys, pains, war experiences, the pleasure of meeting the Japanese people, marriage and three boys, of whom I lost two (this was much pain) other pleasures, professional success, bragging and crying, retirement, divorce and remarriage and finally a long drawn-out description of the battle of man against disease, it was thought that we should end this part of the book with a little light hearted prose, stories and some downright foolishness to raise the spirit a bit. I hope the following will do that.

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I was with a bunch of old war dogs, just horsing around at the Woodland Hills Mall. When you came up with a laugh, a smile

and the thought of the day.

You did not know that I had been praying for “Someone to Watch Over me.”

Because deep down, I was a wreck. But, I know what I like and I liked what I saw, and I said to myself- That’s for me!

At first you must have thought that I was hav-ing a party, as I followed you back to your table.

Someone who could be kind to the least of the brothern.

But, soon you had to leave, to go to the great land up north, and I kissed your hand and waited for you to come back. And you did..And we walked and talked- the Walkie-talkies, and at times even kept in step, for we were walking to the beat of the same drummer.

And we drank a whole lot of coffee, and finally went on a date to the tune of singing waiters- they were great.

I visited you at your house, and we talked and ate and met the choir, and finally I proposed- and you accepted- and Steve said “Thank God, I have me a ‘Mom e’ for my dad.”

And so it came to pass, that on Febru-ary 12, 2000 I mar-ried the most beauti-ful bride that I have ever seen, and she is just as beautiful today.

Jean - Happy 21st Birthday, July 16, 2009

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And here they are, the approval, the families and the newlyweds, ready to start a new life together and enjoy the wonderful world that God has given them.

We traveled & traveled & traveled.

Met a lot of interesting people.Dressed for all occasions.

We’re the best looking at the party.

Had some strange friends.

And have a Wonderful Friend.Happy Birthday, Sweetheart. And the Best is yet

to come.With all my love, Dean

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What is a Friend?A friend can be a person of any gender, any race, any

religion, and any national origin. It is possible, though difficult to rationalize, that a friend could be (in order of priority) a person, a dog (including wolves), a monkey, a horse, a cat, a bird, a raccoon, a mouse, a plant, a tree or a rock. Although cat lovers will disagree, I believe the curve drops sharply after the dog.

Does the friend have to speak and understand your language? The rock would find this impossible (though some will disagree and what do we know?); The tree will find it very difficult although trees and plants do respond to voice and thoughts; the bird, depending on the species, may even be able to talk back; the raccoon, the mouse and the cat may nod their heads, but who knows? The horse- I won’t comment about the horse for fear of being lynched by an angry rancher. And why make a monkey of myself? The dog we know will not only listen, but make sounds at just the right moment, will nuzzle us and give us great assurance that he or she understands just what we are going through and how badly they feel about it. They can also express joy with our joy. So I guess the definition of a friend is a dog. This is appropriate since dog is God spelled backwards.

I almost forgot people. Is having the same language a requisite to being a friend? I don’t know. I guess, to fur-ther define, we must have a definition of “friend.” A 1971 dictionary, used since it was not tainted by modern political thinking, defines a friend as follows:

a. A person whom one knows, likes and trustsb. Any associate or acquaintance. Often used as a form of address.c. A favored companion; boy friend or girl friend.d. One with whom one is allied in a struggle or cause; a comrade.e. One who supports, sympathizes with, or patronizes a group, cause, or movement.f. ...a Quaker.

These leave me cold, except for “a” which has the word “trust” in it, and the word “sympathizes” in definition “e” does seem appropriate. Maybe I am looking at the wrong definition. Let’s try “friendly.”

In the definition for “friendly,” the terms “favorably dis-posed, not antagonistic, warm comforting, amicable” seem to be appropriate. Amicable also yields “peaceable” which sounds good. Leaving the dictionary and going to a song written in 1947 by Rodgers and Hammerstein “A Fellow Needs a Girl,” we find verses that have significant content:

Our list of words now includes listen, believe, wise and strong, share and care, trustworthy, sympathize, favorably disposed, not antagonistic, warm, comforting, amicable and peaceable. From 1st Corinthians, Chapter 13, Paul’s chapter on love, includes the words “patient, kind, does not envy, does not boast, not proud, not rude, not self seeking, not easily angered, keeps no record of wrongs, rejoices with the truth, protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres, never fails. Faith hope and love: the greatest of these is love.”

All of the above are ideas or concepts. Using some of these ideas to describe a friend, let’s place them in order:A friend will: A friend is: A friend will leave you:Listen Kind WarmCare Available At peaceBelieve Trustworthy ProtectedNot judge Not imposing ComfortedBe patient At peace Never betrayed Sympathize Not antagonistic In the arms of GodBe a confidante Not easily angered With comments if asked

Considering the above, it is easy to understand why Jesus said “Greater love has no man, than he would give up his life for a friend.” A friend, with the qualities given above, would be worth the sacrifice. Note, the dog still qualifies.

Why have a friend? Can a friend solve problems, mend broken hearts, right wrongs? Sometimes, but not usually. A friend is there to help when the climb is too steep, the water is too deep, the pain is too great or love turns to hate. A friend is a purchaser, a friend buys time for healing to take place, and for the unfolding of God’s grace. Note, the dog still qualifies.

Leaving the dictionary and going to a song written in 1947 by Rodgers and Hammerstein “A Fellow Needs a Girl,” we find verses that have significant content:

“A fellow needs a girl to sit by his side, at the end of a weary day.To sit by his side and listen to him talk, and agree with the things he’ll say.A fellow needs a girl to hold in his arms, when the rest of his world goes wrong,To hold in his arms, and know that she believes that her fel-low is wise and strong.When things go right, and his job’s well done, he wants to share the prize he’s won. If no one shares, and no one cares, where’s the fun of a job well done? Or a prize you’ve won?A fellow needs a home, his own kind of home. But to make this dream come true,A fellow needs a girl, his own kind of girl, My kind of girl is you.”

M. Dean Keller - December, 1997

This essay was written in 1997 and has special meaning for me at this time. Please know that all events in this book are the truth as best I remember or have it documented. Sometimes I sound proud, sometimes I look intelligent and sometimes I am just dumb. In reading all of these conflicting things, PLEASE BE A FRIEND!!!

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This was written for the retirement party of a dear friend, Brooke Davis, with whom I worked for many years. She was a mechanical engineer. The other two persons who annoyed Brooke with me were Dean Miller, a civil engineer and graduate of Texas A&M and Radon Tolman, a very nice but strange fellow, and a mechanical engineer. He was much fun to be around.

HUM-BUG

How could it be, she is so young?This sweet young lady to whom I’ve sung.

Always a lady, but an engineer too.Now ready for retirement, it can’t be true.

Now there was a group, a group of three,Who used to annoy her, one of them was me.

Early in the morning they would plot and scheme,And try to think of something- so mean!!

Now they were called different things,Some of which were not so nice.

Would you believe, three musketeers,The three little piggies, or the three blind mice.

This glee-some threesome, at break of dawnWould gather in the office, early in the morn.Two Deans, one a Miller, the other a Keller

And one rare gas, Radon, a very strange fellow.

And when those three would get in tuneTo hum besides the babbling BrookeThe melody would make you swoon,

And resonate from nook to nook.

Yes, little cubicles is all we had,Our lives were such an open book,

What could we hide when all could see,Our admiration for our babbling Brooke.

And after our Hummmm, which didn’t last long,After we’ve finished our little song.

We’d have to go stick our heads in the sand,Cause Brooke would dismiss us, with a wave of her

hand.

Yes, Engineering 9 was the place, In which this foolishness we did embrace.

Yes, many things happened, as backwards we look,But none so profound as the humming of the Brooke.

M. Dean Keller May 25, 2006

HAPPY NIFTY THRIFTY FIFTY BIRTHDAY

Hey- I think it’s really niftyThat it’s true what I have heard,

You have reached the age of fifty-You can’t say that for THE bird.

You know the bird of which I speak-There, before you, with nothing on.

Quick, with your knife you did tweak,And suddenly it’s poor head was gone!!

But, you, a gentleman are -Throughout the country will be said.

Cause when the headless bird you saw-You loaned to it - Your Head!!

So there, a picture for all time- Oh- it makes my poor head swim.You, ready to stab- it is a crime!-

A turkey with the head of Jim.

James Estep is one of three step-sons whom I had the pleasure of becoming a step father to when I married their mother. He is a wonderful, cheerful person who made one mistake: He sent us a couple of pictures around thanksgiv-ing - one showing him ready to stab a turkey, and the other of him with a surprised look on his face. The rest is history.

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First, Do No HarmSometimes we are called upon to be an instrument of God when a person that we know, or have just met, looks to us

for advice, council, an ear that is willing to listen, or just a friendly voice. We may have an “exalted” position, such as a pastor or priest, or be a member of the body of Christ who has been placed at that moment in the presence of a person who needs help. The start of the conversation may just be small talk, or there can be a blurting out of a confession that boggles the mind. In Christianity, as in medicine, there is one overriding principle to observe, “first, do no harm.” The battlefield for this principle is first in the mind, with thoughts. Unfortunately, our first thoughts are to defend our principles, our beliefs, our faith, with little regard to the pain that this person whom God has placed in our presence may be experiencing. Take a deep breath, say a short prayer, and think before you speak. Remember that Christians who are strongest must not be rocks, but must be sponges, able to absorb pain and give back love.

Do Not Grieve The Holy SpiritIn the 1970s we went to a Catholic charismatic prayer meeting at Loyola University in New Orleans, LA. Father

Cohen was the priest who basically moderated the meeting. He was more in the position of a participant than of a leader, although, in the Catholic Church at that time, the priest was the undisputed leader.

Everything was going beautifully when a “classical” tongue speaking fundamental Christian stood up to speak. He spoke, and spoke, and spoke, telling God what wonderful persons his new Catholic charismatic brothers and sisters are, and on and on and on. During this whole time Father Cohen looked at him and smiled. This would have been unknown in the Catholic Church just a few years ago, and was completely foreign to this Catholic congregation. After this wonder-ful brother was finished, Father Cohen thanked him for his contribution.

Not so, also in the early 1970s, at a Catholic charismatic prayer meeting in Detroit. It was a wonderful group, com-plete with nuns and priests who participated, but did not necessarily run the prayer meeting. Over 500 persons would be there, raising their hands in praise to God and singing beautifully in English and in tongues. The singing in tongues after a worship song would keep building in volume and fervor, until it would completely envelope the building and all in it. I gave a few testimonies there, and they were warmly welcomed. I even had a nun who would pick me up and bring me to the service. She enjoyed hearing what was happening in the land adjacent to Santa Fe (The Royal Village of The Holy Faith of St. Francis of Assisi, official Spanish land grant name) and the Sangre de Christo (Blood of Christ) mountains.

One Wednesday I went to this meeting and over 500 persons were there again enjoying the love of Jesus through the Holy Spirit. Everything was going beautifully and a “classical” tongue speaking fundamental Christian stood up and started talking- praising God and thanking God for these wonderful people, and on and on and on. Well, someone thought that he was out of order, and something had to be done about it. So a number of people started singing “Praise Him” until the poor man was drowned out. Something left the meeting. I could feel it, to the best of my memory. But people kept singing and praising- and all the other things you do in a prayer meeting.

The next time I had business in Detroit, I again went to this meeting. There were about 50 people there. One person said that the meeting was too big and had broken up to form smaller groups in houses all over Detroit. I had no confirma-tion on this theory- but I do not believe that is what happened. Had “Elvis” left the building?

Also in the 1970s a group of Episcopal Charismatic Christians, of which I was now one, had a weekly prayer and praise meeting in the evening in a small room in the Episcopal Church. There were usually from 12 to 20 persons attend-ing, all of whom were spirit filled, and speaking in tongues- as best I can remember. We were very close.

One night a lady unknown to anyone there, and Los Alamos was a small town, dropped in and sat down. She sang a few songs with the rest of us. Than she began to talk, and talk, and talk and talk. Did I mention that she began to talk? We heard the story of her life in great detail, a rather uneventful life at that, and much information about persons whom we did not know. During this time we all listened attentively, and smiled. After a long while this precious lady said that she had to go, and as quietly as she came in, she left.

There was a pause, then one of our group started laughing, softly at first, than louder. Others joined in, softly, then more loudly. Before long we were all laughing. We were not laughing at this person, we were just joyfully laughing. I had heard that joy was a gift of the holy spirit, but this was the first time that I found this joy being expressed in laughter. It was wonderful.

Why did God’s joy fall upon our small group? I believe that we had a choice. We could have dismissed this person and politely directed our “worship” in another direction. But wasn’t that worship? Listening to a person, who at that time could have been considered the least of the brothren? Perhaps this was an angel sent to see if we had a worship service - or just another meeting. We had never seen her before, nor did we ever see her again. But I will never forget the joy she brought into our service.

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In the GardenThis morning, Saturday, March 29, 2008, I had a Visitor. I was sitting in the living room in my comfortable brown

chair which I have had for over twenty years. I don’t remember what I was doing, particularly, but coffee and the newspa-per were involved. The TV was turned on to see if there was any breaking news- and there was none. The TV was turned off and there was quiet.

The doorbell did not ring, nor did any door in the house open. They were all locked. And there was quiet in the room, but gently the quiet became quieter until it reached a state of peace, the peace that surpasses understanding. I knew who was in the room, with me, surrounding me, and in me. I felt His almighty presence and His abundant love, not as an over-whelming feeling which would incapacitate me and make me hopeless to resist, but as a gentle touch from a Father, on my head, to assure me that I was not forgotten. I felt love, subtle but there, and gentleness, and understanding.

I didn’t pour my heart out to my Visitor, nor did I request a new car, or boat, or IPod (which it would take a miracle for me to learn to use.) I talked, sometimes just in my mind, about the needs of others, my feeling of sorrow that I was unable to do more to help, my request for guidance through this maze of confusion in the world called religion, and promised to try to behave myself and do more. My Visitor said nothing, but was there, listening. I know.

I do not know how long this was going on. I did not look at the clock before or after. But I thought that I had better return to things of the world, but did not want to. My Visitor knew. And slowly and gently the quiet became less quiet and the peace returned to reality. My Visitor did not leave but lessened the feeling of His presence. My Visitor is in me and with me and around me at all times.

And He walks with me and He talks with me,And tells me that I am His own;And the joy we share as we tarry there,None other has ever known.

Afterwards, that afternoon, and after I had written the section above, this is what happened.

My grandson, who has many problems mentally and has been out of town for months, rang the door at our house. He prefers to live on the street. I bought him some food, washed his clothes while he took a shower, and he fell asleep on the bed upstairs. When he woke up, we had some pizza for him, which he ate. We then got in the car and went to Wal-Mart where I bought him a sleeping bag and some cigarettes. Asking where he would like to go, he finally decided on 71st and Memorial where a friend would meet him. He had called him from the house. I gave him some money and dropped him off at a place where he could meet this friend. He left knowing that he was loved.

If you are drawn into a conversation with this friend or stranger and a problem is mentioned or blurted out, first- do not act alarmed or disgusted, even though your sensitivity may have been offended. If necessary, take a deep breath, say a prayer, and then ask “How can I help?” At all times ask for guidance from the Holy Spirit.

If the problem is “sin,” remember that when you stop loving, you start sinning, and try to direct the person to love. I will recount one example that I heard many years ago, and although the names are forgotten, the example is still clear in my mind.

A young lady requested a meeting with her pastor to discuss a problem that she had. After some small talk she blurted out, “I am having an affair with a married man. We meet every Thursday afternoon, and I cannot stop.” The pastor was shocked, and his first reaction was to scold, and admonish- and ask her- “Couldn’t you taper off, and only meet every other Thursday?” How often have “sinners” been scolded, with righteous indignation by their pastor/priest, and then left the church, or left God altogether? So the pastor prayed softly to himself. Peace came over him, and he started speaking. “Next Thursday when you go to meet your friend, ask Jesus to come with you. He loves you, and is with you at all times, but He only goes with you if you want Him to do so. Don’t be concerned about Him, He has been in many situations that are painful, and it has never dimmed His love.”

She followed the advice given to her, and the Prince of Peace was her constant companion. Soon there was no blot on her Christian walk, and the sheep who had strayed was once more in the flock.

When we think of, see, talk to or otherwise greet another child of God, our first thoughts are often negative. (Romans 7:21) But we have free will, and can choose. Pause and choose love, and change that negative thought to positive, and greet the spark of God that is in that person. Maybe that spark of God is deep within that person, and no one has seen it in many a year. But it is there, waiting for the Touch of the Master’s Hand. We can be that instrument for our Creator’s use, if we choose to be.

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God Paints on the Canvas of time. This was writ-ten due to my always striving to learn more about God’s creation. It is scripturally and scientifically sound. Most scientists, including Albert Einstein and Stephen Hawkins, agree that man cannot go back or forward in time, so it is an unchangeable unit for us, except that we must account for the speed of light in designing communications systems or considering time effects when we travel at even rela-tively slow speeds of 25,000 mph. But God lives outside of time, and there is the enigma. What a magnificent chal-lenge it is to try to see the past, the present and the future through the eyes of our Creator.

PAINTING ON THE CANVAS OF TIMEGod paints on the canvas of time,Each stroke is deliberate and sure.

Each color is carefully selectedEach expression is good and pure.

Each life is shown on the canvas,All lives are painted there too.Singular, plural, each and all-Them and us, and me and you.

How can this be, I sometimes ask,For each and all to be portrayed?

The finite, the infinite, the big, the small-And sometimes, I am dismayed.

For I must think with a finite mind,Thoughts beyond its scope.But God Is, and is in infinity

And that is why we can have hope.

For we may see a problem now,And as we pray for relief

He changes an event in the past to help.Well, that is my belief.

Why should He be hindered byLimitations placed upon those

Who can only see the past as deadNot a canvas for a rose.

The future is ahead of us,The past we think is behind,

The present is all that we can see,We are limited by our mind.

But God is not so limited, By present, future or the past..

The only absolute through eternity-Reality- is His Love- it will last.

Through time, through space, to infinityTo union with this ONE we love,God is with us, is in us always,

Not in a heaven far above.

Today is October 1, 2009. A couple of days ago my wife, Jean, asked me to come to the sun room. She wanted to show me something. I looked out of the window and she pointed to a white object in the back of the yard near the hedge, very close to the fence. She asked me if it were a rabbit. I looked at it. It was white, and I decided that it wasn’t a rabbit; it was a plastic bag such as you get at the grocery store. It did look like it had ears, very big white ears. I did tell her that if I saw it move I would call her.

A little later I noticed that the plastic bag was about 10 feet away from its former location, closer to the house. The plastic bag then started going around in a circle, gyrating, and it appeared that it was doing a waltz. I called Jean to see it and we both watched as it moved back and forth with the wind. When moving, it appeared to be a ballerina at times; it would go up into the air spin and come back down again. It would lose all of its air, fill itself up with air and then come back again. It kept coming closer to the house, first going over to the east side of the yard and then mov-ing towards the house. It kept getting closer to the house and would then stop and do a loop, and turn around in a circle. It kept moving closer to the house until, when it was about ten feet from the concrete patio, I was ready to open the side door and let it in. It then turned around and started back towards the center of the yard. After dancing a little there, it turned and went to the south-east section of the yard and stopped to rest by the back fence, and just stayed there in the corner. I watched it for a while as we were do-ing other things. Later I looked out and it was gone.

Where did it go? I saw this type of dance in a movie

once where the bag was doing a dance and a person was able to take photographs of it. I just wish that I had a video of this dance so that I could have followed the gyrations of the plastic bag. It was beautiful in the way it went from place to place, went up in the air, went down to the ground, lost its air, gained it back and again went up in the air again. I began to wonder if it were just a plastic bag. Or was it something that our Heavenly Father sent to amuse us. He knew how we enjoyed the simple things, like watch-ing the birds sitting on the wire and changing position. Or having a squirrel or rabbit sighting in the back yard. We enjoy all of life, even the most simple of events, such as a plastic bag dancing in our back yard.

The next day Jean went into the garage and opened the garage door. When she came back into the house, with the garage door still opened, the wind, or should I call it the Kamikaze, which is Japanese for “divine wind,” or translat-ed in a spiritual mode, the Holy Spirit, inflated a plastic bag which was in a holder in the garage next to the door to the house, removed it from its container and it swooped into the kitchen area, fully inflated and dancing, until it came to rest on the kitchen floor. Who can explain it, who can tell you why? Fools give you reasons, wise men never try! Being a fool, I thank God for sending a messenger to amuse us, thrill us and tell us that He loves us. Amen.

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This is the story of An Engineer’s Quest, “In Search of Our Creator” by a person who has been blessed by God. It was interesting to write, and I hope it is interesting to read. All of the names and events are true to the best of my memory and copious records and awards. From being born (yes I was born) through my impending departure from the earth, my life, in the 20th and 21st centuries, has been ordinary in most aspects, and blessed by our Creator in others. I was born in the depression, grew up during World War II, was confused during pu-berty (but finally learned the purpose of girls) and graduated from high school and business school. I enlisted in the peace time United States Air Force. Then came the Korean war, and volunteering for combat duty was the honorable and patriotic choice for me. I served my country in combat for eleven and one-half months, got shot at and missed, and met the now friendly Japanese people. After discharge I obtained a Bachelor and Master’s degree in Civil Engineering. I was married and had three sons but lost two of them. Had Leukemia since 1965. I finally evolved into a meaningful (hopefully) relationship with my Creator; two steps forward, one step backward.

l lost my wife to divorce at her request. Sicknesses overwhelmed me along with a nervous breakdown at that time. My son, Steve, picked me up by the nape of my neck and took me to Tulsa for medical treatment. Remission of Leukemia allowed me to function again and I met a wonderful woman and married again. This last twelve plus years living in Tulsa with Jean have been the best years of my life.

Over this last eight decades, technology has improved from almost primitive to spectacular. We are learning so fast that we sometimes go beyond our power to control what we create. This has been an amazing century to live in, in spite of its dangers and pain. The soul of the church, which imprisoned Galileo for telling the truth about the earth not being the center of the universe, is still alive and well. It has morphed into thousands of doctrine laws, edicts, fatwas, and the infallibility of the gifted or privileged which has caused many to achieve wealth at the cost of millions of brainwashed sincere seekers who believe that their way is the only way. Fortu-nately, in our nation, we no longer burn persons at the stake or imprison them for their beliefs. There are some groups with strong dogma who would like to return to the older ways. God bless them.

My battle with leukemia has required that I spend much time in waiting rooms, infusion centers and other

medical facilities. I have been able to be in the midst of persons who need inspiration or perhaps just a laugh or a song. I have given away copies of the poetry in this book to many persons, and some did benefit from the thoughts expressed in my work. Sometimes, all Jean and I can offer is a song, a smile and laughter. That has been enough to change a problem into a joyful moment, a joyful moment for us and for the recipient. For this we live, to spread God’s love and our love to all who would receive it.

This book, Part 1, is followed by Part 2, “Dancing with Words” which contains essay, poetry and some repetition from Part 1 as is necessary to allow it to stand alone. This was written to satisfy the curiosity about this other phase of my life without having to carry the complete book around.

I woke up a few nights ago at 4:00 AM with basically the words for the following in my brain. I knew I might forget it before morning so I went to the computer and typed out the basic idea - as true as I could.

It is my duty and pleasure to remain on earth as long as I can; to enjoy my wife, family and friends and to enjoy the wonderful world which our Creator has given to us. Also, to help, love and spread God’s love to all

with whom I come in contact. It is my desire to return to my Creator to enjoy His love and the love of

all those who have gone before.

An Engineer’s Quest - In Search of Our Creator Part I

My Life & Selected Writings