What Would Jimmy Do?

I saw a sign recently that said, “Feel Free to Pick My Weeds.” It occurred to me that I’ve never used the term, “pick weeds.” I alway say, “pull weeds.” I use the term “pick” with flowers — I pick flowers, I don’t pull them. Well, of course that got me to wondering….. does it really matter whether you use pick or pull? Probably not, but I figured…. maybe some extensive research? You bet.

I first headed to the dictionary and both pick and pull have pretty extensive (and varied) definitions.
Pick
(1) to choose (something deliberately or carefully, former as if from a group or number; select
(2) to provoke (an argument, fight, etc.) deliberately
(3) a person, thing, etc., that is chosen first or preferred
Pull
(1) an act of taking hold of something and exerting force to draw it toward one
(2) move in a specified direction with effort
(3) cancel or withdraw (an entertainment or advertisement)

So based on just the definition(s) of the words, my use of the terms seems more correct.
When you pick flowers, you are only taking (choosing) part of the plant (the pretty part) and the remainder of the plant is left to continue to grow.
When you pull weeds, the intent is to remove the whole plant, including its roots, so it won’t grow. Obviously in your yard, you can pick or pull weeds if that’s what you want, but in my yard, weeds get pulled — and we pick flowers. End of discussion…..
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Harpers Ferry has come up in conversation a few times lately, and before the subject gets out of my mind, I thought I’d discuss a couple of my favorite Harper Ferry stories.
All the little towns around here survived the Civil War and maybe because of that bloody time, almost every town has its share of ghost stories. There’s even a TV series, “The Ghosts of Shepherdstown.” If you’re into ghosts, it’s worth watching.

But anyhow, back to Harpers Ferry…
On the night of October 16th, 1859, John Brown and twenty-one brave men attempted to strike a blow against slavery. Their objective was to capture the guns stored in the armory in Harpers Ferry. John Brown believed that the slaves in the area would join them and together they would retreat to the nearby mountains. Using the mountains as a fortress, they would train slaves to use the guns and make raids deeper into the South, to free more slaves. The raiders ultimate goal was to make it unprofitable  for slavery to exist. They hoped to create a separate state in the Shenandoah Valley for the newly freed Blacks. They intended to hold out until the government recognized the rights of all men.

As it turned out, a freed Black, Hayward Shepherd, was the first man killed in the raid. Shepherd’s death deterred other blacks that would have joined and the raid was doomed. By noon on the 17th, Brown and his raiders were pinned down in the fire engine house, along with their hostages. The standoff continued throughout the day. Five of the raiders had managed to escape earlier, ten raiders were killed in the firefight at the fire engine house and six were captured. All those captured were brought to trial in Charles Town, charged with treason against the Commonwealth of Virginia, and inciting slaves to rebel. All were found guilty and sentenced to hang.

It was during John Brown’s trial that he succeeded in making the world aware of the whole moral issue of slavery. After the trial of John Brown, almost no one could remain neutral on the slavery issue and eighteen months later, the nation was plunged into civil war.
Ok, that’s all background — here’s the interesting story…..

John Brown was willing to die for the cause he loved — maybe so much so that his ghost may live on.
A few years ago, it was noticed that a man strongly resembling John Brown was walking the streets of Harper Ferry, and because of his appearance, visitors to the park asked him to pose for pictures with them. When multiple pictures were developed, by different people, the family members were clear, but there was no sign of the John Brown look-alike.
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Some of you long-time readers may remember that nine years ago I mentioned the arrival of the what was then the newest member of our family. If you don’t remember, you can go back and read the article from 2010.

I noted that Emily weighed 7 pounds (exactly) and was 21 inches long — and — if you divide 7 into 21 you get 3 which just happens to be the date she was born and my favorite number. If you’re into numerology, or not, to continue this saga, we now have 3 granddaughters… and it’s still my favorite number.

But play with numbers all you like, she’s no ordinary nine year old and she’ll alway be NUMBER ONE in my book. Happy Birthday Emily!!!
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Last night was a very special night at our house. As some of you know, we observe OTBN every month. Last night we celebrated OTBN CL (for those of you who are not Romans or Super Bowl fans, that’s 150 times we’ve observed our special night.)

Most of you know the story, but in case one of the spammers actually reads this blog, here’s a summation: The idea came from the “Tastings” column of the Wall Street Journal. The gist of the article is that everyone has a special bottle of wine they’re saving for a special occasion, but never get around to opening it. The article declared the last Saturday night in February Open That Bottle Night (OTBN) and suggested that everyone should just open that special bottle.

We celebrated our first OTBN the last Saturday night of February, 2007, and thought it was such a great idea, we’ve celebrated it the last Saturday night of EVERY month since that Saturday night in February of 2007.

OTBN is basically just about us — we have something to eat, light candles that are older than most readers of this blog, and talk and listen to each other. And last night was the 150th time we’ve carried out that ritual. It’s never gotten old, and we still look forward to it. Over the years, the subjects we’ve discussed have ranged from serious to funny — sometimes both at the same time. Sometimes OTBN lasts for hours… sometimes it’s fairly short. But it’s our time together… make that our special time together. I think I’ve said it before, but if you look forward to spending time with someone and you can share a good bottle of wine on top of it, it just doesn’t get much better.

Here’s to OTBN CL — and the next CL….
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Well, here it is September already…. On September 1, 1939, Germany invaded Poland — thus the beginning of World War II. During the years of that war, the world learned a lot. Most everyone agreed that the world should take steps to prevent history from repeating itself, and that World War II should truly be the war to end all wars.

Actually, we’ve done pretty well… we certainly haven’t ended all wars, but there have been multiple times that World War III has been prevented. Reading the news lately, a few people draw comparisons to situations and actions that are remarkably similar to those that existed in 1939.

One concern that I have is that most of the people that lived and experienced the events of the late 1930s and early 1940s are now gone, and the “newer” generations appear to possibly be headed down the same road again.

I still have faith that cooler heads will prevail and we won’t repeat the mistakes we made in the past again. Maybe there should be a “World Office” whose responsibilities are to document — like a cookbook with directions — of all major events, and what was done right and what was done wrong. That book should be mandatory reading for all world leaders every year.

Anyhow, for today, let’s all remember September 1, 1939 and keep our fingers crossed that it never happens again.
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When Kelly was in high school, she played on the Paul VI softball team. Let me preface this story by saying they had a very good team.

I attended all the games I could and one afternoon the game was moving along smoothly and I’d guess it may have been maybe the 3rd or 4th inning and Paul VI had taken the field. There were probably one or two outs, when suddenly, the right fielder came running in screaming, “Time out! Time out!” Well that startled everyone and the coach ran out to see what the problem was… maybe she had been stung by a bee or bitten by a snake or something like that. When she reached the infield, she said, “I forgot my glove.”

I have absolutely no idea why I thought of that, but it was funny at the time. Still is.
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A few weeks ago, during one of our far-ranging discussions, it somehow came up that one of my high school classmates’s son was the lone American on the Malaysia Airlines Flight 370 that disappeared on a flight from Kuala Lumpur to Beijing and has never been found.

The discussion eventually led to the black boxes used on airplanes to help determine the cause of crashes. Well, we all knew that “black boxes” and not “black.” They are painted a bright orange to be more visible. There are a lot of theories as to the origin of the term “black box.” Some believe that the mysterious contents of the device could be safely accessed only in a dark room, others think that because when they are recovered, they are usually charred. One of the people involved in our discussion said it was called a black box, not because it was black, but because it was developed by an engineer named Black.

Well, without doing any extensive research on this subject, I’m pretty sure that I know the answer. First of all, what is usually referred to as a “black box” is actually a set of two bright orange colored “flight recorders.” I worked with electronic devices for many years and the term “black box” has been around longer than I have. In the electronics industry, a collection of different circuit modules put together to do a specific job is often/usually called a “black box.” The idea is that the contents can be a complete mystery as long as you know what the output is for a given input. So my theory, at least, is that these devices, although painted orange, are called black boxes because the components were constructed and sealed into a single unit to serve a specific purpose.,
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
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A day or so ago, I mentioned buying a Corvette with my American Express card. While I’m on the subject of Corvettes, it turns out that a Corvette isn’t only the car of the Williamsons, it’s also the car of the astronauts — at least the car of the Mercury astronauts.

Alan Shepard not only was the first American in space (sub-orbital flight) but he was also the first of the astronauts to own a Corvette. He bought a used 1953 model Corvette from his father-in-law in 1954. In 1959, after he was chosen as a member of the original astronaut class, he bought another (used) Corvette… a 1957 model.

After he joined NASA, he became friends with a General Motors engineer, Zora Arkus-Duntov. After his flight that made him the first American in space, Arkus-Duntov convinced GM to give Shepard a brand new 1962 Corvette. (General Motors usually didn’t give away cars, but in this case, the company saw a once in a lifetime publicity opportunity.)

After Shepard received his Corvette, the owner of a Chevrolet/Cadillac dealership (Jim Rathmann) in Melbourne, Florida decided to take things further. Rathmann was a former Indianapolis 500 winner and savvy businessman. In coordination with GM, he offered all the Mercury astronauts a top of the line Corvette at a very affordable lease price — $1 a year. After the lease was up, the astronauts could buy the car outright if they chose — also at a very good price. If they didn’t purchase the car, the dealership had absolutely no trouble selling  a Corvette formerly owned by an astronaut.

Only four of the seven Mercury astronauts took Rathmann up on his offer of a Corvette for a dollar a year. NASA cancelled the one dollar car program in 1971 over concerns of a backlash from the public.

I spent some amount of time in and around Melbourne, Florida and I’ve been to the Chevrolet/Cadillac dealership that provided the Corvettes to the astronauts — but, alas, I never owned a Corvette driven by an astronaut….. we do, however, have George Foreman’s grill.
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I just got an Apple Card — just what I need — another credit card. The first credit card I ever had was American Express. I got my first American Express card sometime around 1960… there wasn’t very many places that accepted it back then. I got the card because of work — it apparently helped with accounting and it proved useful when traveling — something I was doing a lot of in those days. The card wasn’t free, but my employer(s) always paid the annual fee.

In 1972, a friend had dropped his car off for service at the Dudley-Martin Chevrolet dealership in Manassas, Virginia. I picked him up in the morning as we were attending a training class in a neighboring town. When we went back to pick up his car that afternoon, I went into the showroom, while he was dealing with the service department. In the middle of the showroom floor sat a shiny gold Corvette. I was looking at the car and a salesman approached and asked if I would be interested. It turns out that in 1972, Dudley-Martin was located outside of Manassas proper, and Manassas itself was a “small town.” The salesman told me that they had had the car on the showroom floor for several months and no one had shown much interest in it. (Manassas was basically a farming community back then.) Anyhow, the salesman said he’d make me an extremely good deal, because they wanted to get rid of the Corvette. The “sticker” price was just slightly over $6,000. I offered, and he accepted $4,400. While he was filling out the paperwork, I gave him my American Express card. He looked at it, and said, “What’s this?” I told him it was my American Express card. He said he understood that, but why was I giving it to him? I told him that I had just agreed to buy a car and I was using the American Express card to purchase it. He said, “You can’t buy a Corvette with an American Express Card.” I said, “Why not? The sticker on your door says, ‘American Express Accepted Here.’” He said, “But that’s for parts or accessories — not for cars!” I said, “You sell cars, and the sticker says American Express accepted here. I don’t want the car.” Since I hadn’t signed anything, I picked up my card and started for the door. The salesman said, “Wait — I’ll talk to my manager.” The manager came over and we had the same conversation all over again and I started toward the door. The manager and salesman stopped me again and said I could put half the cost of the car on the credit card. Again — I started to leave. By this time my friend had paid for his service and was waiting on me. I told them my ride was leaving and I had to go. The manager asked that I wait for him to make a phone call… while we were waiting, they actually gave me and my friend a beer. This was 1972 in Virginia, so I figured they must be serious if they give you a beer. (I’m pretty sure that may have been illegal in Virginia in 1972.)

To make what’s already become a long story, at least a little shorter — they called American Express and they charged my credit card $4,400. When I got my statement, the charge was listed as “Corvette.”
I wonder what I can buy with my Apple Card…..
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We live in Shepherdstown, West Virginia… A lot of people have never heard of Shepherdstown and when we tell them it’s just down the road from Harpers Ferry, they almost always say, “Oh, yea.” Most people know of Harpers Ferry because of its historical significance.

Robert Harper, an architect and millwright from Philadelphia arrived at the confluence of the Potomac and Shenandoah rivers in 1747. In 1747, that location was known as “The Hole.” At the time, this point of land was under the control of a squatter — Peter Stephens. Stephens operated a ferry from the land belonging to Lord Fairfax.
Harper was so impressed by the wild beauty of the area and the potential water power its rivers promised, he purchased the ferry and Stephen’s squatter rights. He later received a one hundred and twenty-five acre plat from Fairfax.
When Harper’s wife, Rachel, arrived she apparently cried for days and begged Robert to return to civilization and abandon “The Hole.” But Harper built a mill and improved the ferry service across the rivers.

The Harper’s original cabin along the Shenandoah was lost to a flood, so the Harpers built a new and grander home high above the flood plane. The Harper House still stands today and is the oldest surviving structure in Harper Ferry. Robert Harper died before the house was completed. After his death, Rachel continued to work finishing the house but fell from a ladder and was killed.
Since the Harpers had no children, their property was inherited by a niece, Sarah Wagner. She in turn left the Harpers Ferry property to her son and it was his three children who settled in the town — and became its leading citizens.

That’s a little about how Harpers Ferry got its name… but not really where I was going when I started this. When Robert Harper’s health started to fail, he became fearful of the roaming bands of renegades and plunders that sprang up during the war, so he instructed Rachel to bury all of their gold and tell no one where it was hidden. When Mrs. Harper fell from the ladder and was killed, she apparently carried the secret of the buried gold to her grave.
As far an anyone knows, the Harper treasure has never been discovered, but local residents swear that they periodically see an old woman dressed in 18th century fashions, peering from the windows of the Harper House. Many think she is still guarding the family gold.
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