Archive

GROWING UP

BY: JAMES F. O’NEIL

Clear and Present Danger

In the film Clear and Present Danger, hero (Dr.) Jack Ryan is accused of being a “boy scout” because he learns of a misguided military operation–and intends to commit “transparency.”

Is the truth to be told? Is telling the truth–facts–a bad thing, to be associated with being a “boy scout”? Seems so, by the standards of the antagonist’s comment to Jack Ryan. It’s complicated. “It’s grey” (not always just black and white).

Whistle-blowers are conflicted, are complicated. Are they “boy scouts” by not speaking up, by not speaking out, by not telling it as it is: the truth?

“[Jack]…You are such a Boy Scout!”

I was a real Boy Scout. Troop 661. St. Mary of Mount Carmel, Chicago. Here I am pictured in my most official uniform, smiling, giving-receiving the Scout handshake. There I am, published in the Southtown Economist, a local Chicago newspaper. My fellow Scouts and I are with the regional Scout director. We must have done something special to get our picture taken and distributed. I cannot remember what it was.

Jimmy as Boy Scout with Scout Leader 1950sWhat I remember about Scouting could fill pages, memories from years of service, from Cub Scout to Boy Scout, ending in 1955. It was a sad time for me when I “resigned,” but we also were moving away from the neighborhood. Once there, my high school studies became a priority. No time for Scouting.

life scout patch pre-1972

LIFE SCOUT BADGE

So there I sit, smiling and handshaking. One can see the sash  I have over my right shoulder, with a few merit badges, with my pins from my previous ranks: Tenderfoot, Second-Class, First Class. At the time,  I was a Star Scout.

Then I progressed to complete the requirements for a Life Scout. (I never became an Eagle Scout.) An honor, Life Scout was, to wear the heart over my heart, and become a card-carrying member of an elite group.

Scouts, as many know, complete time-in-rank requirements (as military Service members do) and requirements for merit badges before advancing. I earned mine mostly the hard way: work and study. Some stand out more than others, are memorable memories of a time past.

FIRST AID MERIT BADGE

FIRST AID: Though no badge is pictured on my sash, I did complete all required tasks. I later received the badge symbolized by a green cross on a red background.

I wondered about that color until I learned about copyright rules and using the Red Cross logo. I always had to explain that badge. I was pretty good at first aid, one of my better subjects. I knew A-B-C (Airway, Breathing and Circulation, the protocol for cardiopulmonary resuscitation–CPR. “The color, don’t forget the color: When the face is red, raise the head; when it’s pale, raise the tail; when it’s blue, it’s up to you.”) And other good tidbits of life-saving activities.

I remembered much from first aid that helped me in my job while in college as a hospital orderly, even the chest compressions I gave on a patient (who died), and at another time for a neighbor lady who had a heart attack in her yard (who died). Not a really good record, but as a Scout I helped our troop win some first aid competitions.

Later, many years later, I was training for a local volunteer EMS service in our small town. In First Aid Competition, I did well with GSW [gunshot wound] and delivering a baby. Neither of these was I taught in Scouts. My demonstration of the Heimlich maneuver was so good that the “victim” blew out his false teeth… I would have saved his life, but probably bruised his diaphragm.

sleeping bag

ARMY SLEEPING COCOON

A most important badge for Scouts is CAMPING. Mine is seen there in the picture, along with HIKING–to get to the campgrounds, usually. Most of my experiences in camp, summer or weekend or camporees, were disasters. Most of the time I was constipated…

I had a WWII-Korea-era, US Army–style sleeping bag passed down from my older cousin. It zipped up my body into a cocoon, leaving only my face exposed to the mosquitoes.

I had a good voice for singing around the campfire, could roast marshmallows burned the right way, could even put up a tent or two; but my land navigation was “crap.”

messkit_fks

ARMY MESS KIT

My Army surplus metal eating-cooking pan and plateware oxidized, rusted, and were awful to clean with cold camp water. These were real “mess” kits.

SWIMMING: I hated summer camp swimming: cold, cold water. Always cold–and over my head. My merit badge for this activity was earned later, really earned. It took a long time for me to get in over my head, literally. But I did it–and was even able to dive from the barrel raft once I overcame my fear of deep water. Scouting enabled me to do this.

public_speaking_lg

PUBLIC SPEAKING BADGE

PUBLIC SPEAKING: “Prepare a talk on a topic…” And so forth, to collect and organize information…leading a meeting…rules of order…

I received this badge, never dreaming that I would stand in a classroom in front of students, teaching for nearly fifty years.

On my left arm is the patch for Senior Patrol Leader: I became drill instructor, teaching marching, calling meetings to order, and tried to teach knot tying. (I was awful with the Bowline on a Bight, and some others. But I did master the square knot.) I planned outings with our Scout Master (who drove a beautiful four-door Hudson–and told us he was a G-man. Then we learned he worked for the Chicago Sanitation Department: a “Garbage man.”) And, I did “other duties as assigned.”

SOUTHTOWN THEATER LOBBY

One of my greatest experiences was our troop’s exhibition in the lobby of the beautiful Southtown Theater.

Our troop was invited to set up a model campsite, make pretend fire, answer questions, and make displays of our own hobby work. I shall never forget pretending I was sleeping in the tents we arranged–and eating baby hot dogs.

So that is some of what “such a Boy Scout” means to me. I tried to “Do a good turn daily.” Is that such a bad thing? I know I have tried to “Be prepared.” I swore the oath to “do my best, to do my duty to God and my country, and to obey the Scout Law; to help other people at all times (not a bad idea); to keep myself physically strong (ooops!), mentally awake, and morally straight.” Quite a bit for twelve to eighteen year old boys.

I was such a Boy Scout!

I was “trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent. Then. But I remember. All this from watching a movie. Way to go, Jack Ryan! (Way to go, Author Tom Clancy!)

* * *

“Boy Scouting, one of the traditional membership divisions of the BSA, is available to boys who completed the fifth grade and are at least 10, or who are 11, but not yet 18 years old. The program achieves the BSA’s objectives of developing character, citizenship, and personal fitness.”

BOY SCOUT HANDBOOK c.1952

© JAMES F. O’NEIL 2015

BY: JAMES F. O’NEIL

I never had a BB gun. But I did have a six-shooter cap gun.

cap gun broken gene autry by junkables comBroken Gene Autry by junkables

The very first time I shot it, or tried to use it, with the caps in a circle of six, I pulled the trigger. The hammer hit the cap. A loud sound I had never experienced before, never felt. A shock to my system. I dropped the gun. It hit the concreted sidewalk in front of my grandma’s house. It broke: six or more pieces, I am sure: spring, barrel, cylinder, and “pearl” handle–all lying there. Of course, what I did next was predictable: I began crying (something often done during my young age). Looking around, I did not see any king’s horses nor all the king’s men–just the ghost of Ralphie.

ralphie shot Ralphie after Christmas

I picked up the pieces myself, and then ran into my grandma’s house, hoping for the working of a piece-by-piece miracle. There was my grandpa, The Jack of All Trades. Showing him…tears…. His verdict: “Irreparable damage.”

I do not remember my next cap gun. That memory is gone, locked away somewhere. But I know I had at least one or two more cap guns.

In my Chicago neighborhood, we did not play cops-and-robbers. We did not play cowboys-and-Indians. We played for serious: We played war. In fact, a friend of my dad’s gave me authentic-looking replicas, full size, of a Tommy gun and–yes!–a .50 caliber machine gun, complete with tripod mount, all painted in a dark grey.

I was king of the mountain. Most Popular Re-Enactor, Most Popular Shooter, on the block. I should have gotten an award for my status.  I am now remembering Tom Cruise playing Ron Kovic’s childhood during a summer in Massapequa, New York. He plays war in the woods, the child war in Born on the Fourth of July.

born on the fourth by wideangle-closeupTom Cruise as Ron Kovic.   Credit: wideangle-closeup

“No more guns,” Mom said.

And I put away the things of a child, and became involved in other activities, No more running, hiding behind bushes, setting up the gun with a buddy, getting killed– and no more skinned knees.

Until…1988, no longer a child, when the boy-toys grew “adult,” big-people toys. The toys were now weapons. I bought a .22 pistol.

ruger stainless 22 by icollectorRuger Government Model .22 Bull Barrel Stainless

I had learned not to drop guns, but had learned to shoot, for real, within an orange grove. I became a pretty good shooter, with a good history, with the .22, and then with a real 1911 Government Model .45, even entering shooting contests. Target practice, then local matches. Guns and Ammo was my new bible. I was hooked.

Until my eyes and vision got bad. Even new glasses did not allow me to see well a 50-yard target.

So that was the end of my “professional-amateur” shooting days.

Yet guns came and went: rifles, revolvers, automatic pistols. I still had fun at the gun range: shooting was a sport that I enjoyed. However, it all became very expensive. Ammunition became costly; range fees increased–or some ranges even closed. I was less and less on the range. Moreover, other challenges had presented themselves to me, not whole-man targets at 25 yards, but rather stained glass craft, and collecting diecast airplanes. There was no longer any time for guns.

The End.

Until recently, when I attended a large gun show. Once inside the large civic center, among hundreds of buyers and sellers of merchandise and shooting supplies, I had those good-old feelings coming back to me. It had been a long time since I had handled guns (handling glass cutters and soldering tools had taken over all my free time). I wanted to feel it all over. My friend Burt and I made our way from table to table, touchy-feely, triggers and barrels and handles. “Ah, this fits my hand perfectly,” I said, gripping a .45 with a price tag of $4,300! So smooth. “Smooth.”

45 auto ed brown kobra carry by gunsinternational $2400

Moving along, we came upon a dealer of air power guns, CO2, and mechanical, BB guns, and plastic-soft BB’s.

“You’ll shoot your eye out, kid!”

Really. I needed one of these. I could shoot in the house (gasp!) and in the yard.  “I choose this one.”

softy-gun .45My Softy .45

This was still my favorite model of all the many I have bought and sold.

And not to forget the plastic BB’s.gun BBs“Soft” BB’s

Imagine: “5,000 for $10,” the dealer said. “Of course,” I responded.

“I’m baaack!” I told my friend.

At his home, I said we had to try it out, in his yard. What fun it was.

“You’ll shoot your eye out, kid!”

Most assuredly possible: I read from the warning label: “DO NOT SHOOT AT HUMANS OR ANIMALS.” But I had to learn how much it might hurt.

My bruise was much better after three weeks…. On my right calf, where I told my son to shoot me. The plastic BB hit, and instant sting. Then instant–really instant–blood mark where the BB broke the skin, with some small bleeding. By night, the bruise was the size of a quarter, with puffiness and swelling.

“You’ll shoot your eye out, kid!”

Once again, I have a child-guy-toy. This time I will not drop it. No tears. Though maybe, after I made myself a guinea pig. From a yard away. “Pop!” Then,

“OUCH!”

© James F. O’Neil 2015

“Remember this, my child: The basics: Being able to count to 100.  Knowing LEFT from RIGHT.  Reciting AND understanding the alphabet.  All else follows from this.”  So, quadratic equations, the Pythagorean Theorem, and the Bill of Rights: learned in time.  “Know your basics.”  (“Oh, and know, also, the colors of the rainbow: R-O-Y-G-B-I-V, for that is basic to appreciating BEAUTY.”)

CB017727

BY: JAMES F. O’NEIL

Corned Beef? “In the United States and Canada, consumption of corned beef is often associated with Saint Patrick’s Day. Corned beef is not considered an Irish national dish; the connection with Saint Patrick’s Day specifically originates as part of Irish-American culture, and is often part of their celebrations in North America.

“Corned beef was used as a substitute for bacon by Irish-American immigrants in the late 19th century. Corned beef and cabbage is the Irish-American variant of the Irish dish of bacon and cabbage. A similar dish is the New England boiled dinner, consisting of corned beef, cabbage, and root vegetables such as carrots, turnips, and potatoes, which is popular in New England and parts of Atlantic Canada.” [Wikipedia]

Cornedbeef WIKIPEDIAYummy Corned Beef and Cabbage Dinner

Since I could ever remember, we had corned beef and cabbage for St. Patrick’s Day. The Irish Catholic Feast Day of St. Patrick was almost a Holy Day of Obligation: Attend church under pain of mortal sin. Well, it wasn’t really such a day; but it was a day off from school, it meant a Chicago parade, and it meant the Italians in my neighborhood had to wait two more days to get even with us by brandishing St. Joseph’s Day–and by having local processions and festivities.

[Saint Joseph’s Day, March 19, the Feast of St. Joseph is in Western Christianity the principal feast day of Saint Joseph, husband of the Blessed Virgin Mary. But the Feast of St. Joseph the Worker on 1 May was created in order to coincide with the celebration of International Labor Day (May Day) in many countries.]

St Joseph IN GLASS  st aphonsus church wexford, PASaint Joseph in Glass

Saint Alphonsus Church

Wexford, PA

He was the stepfather to Jesus; St. Patrick only drove out snakes from Ireland….

However, more people in America ate turkey at Thanksgiving time than they ate ham. And more people in American ate corned beef at St. Patrick’s Day-time than they ate Italian sausage and peppers (though I cannot “prove” this allegation by me)!

Well, corned beef, cabbage, potatoes, and carrots had been the steady diet of my O’Neil family since I became part of the O’Neil/O’Neill Clan. So my wife and I have continued to carry on our clannish traditions with our own family on that Special Day of 17 March.

170px-Irish_cloverLuck of the Irish Shamrock

Note: In October 1884, a convention held by the Federation of Organized Trades and Labor Unions unanimously set May 1, 1886, as the date by which the eight-hour workday would become standard. As the chosen date approached, U.S. labor unions prepared for a general strike in support of the eight-hour day. On Saturday, May 1, thousands of workers went on strike and rallies were held throughout the United States, with the cry, “Eight-hour day with no cut in pay.” In Chicago, the movement’s center, an estimated 30,000-to-40,000 workers had gone on strike. What then occurred is the Chicago Haymarket Affair. “No single event has influenced the history of labor in Illinois, the United States, and even the world, more than the Haymarket Affair,” with its rally and riot and trial and executions. “What began as a rally on May 4, 1886, the consequences are still being felt today. Very few American history textbooks present the event accurately or point out its significance,” according to labor studies professor William J. Adelman. [Wikipedia]

So, the Haymarket Affair is generally considered significant as the origin of international May Day observances for workers, Catholics and Communists alike.

Thus ends the history lesson relating Saint Patrick, Saint Joseph, The Haymarket Riot, May Day celebrations, the eight-hour work day, and corned beef and cabbage. Now about those Reuben sandwiches….

sandwich-corned-beef by kaufmans deli skokie ILCorned Beef on Rye by Kaufman’s Deli

Skokie, IL

© James F. O’Neil 2015