All posts by tritterman

A great conversation with Ted Prater, retired colonel of the First Missouri Battalion (From the Archives, Published 3/8/13)

Hi folks!  I have to share a little something pertaining to a conversation I had a few days ago with one of my dearest friends from reenacting.

I called up Ted Prater, who was formerly colonel of the First Missouri Battalion.  He’s one of the most honorable men I’ve ever known, and I’m truly grateful and honored to be his friend.  I had called him to discuss my upcoming book on reenacting, and wanted to ask his permission to use his full name in the book, which of course he agreed to graciously. Then we got to talking about all kinds of memories from our field experiences.

Amongst all the stories, we got to talking about the late General Beck.  Beck was ornery, a bit hard to wrangle, and full of spitfire.  There are lots of Beck stories circulating around.

Ted got to laughing about how Beck just could not stay on a horse.  He wasn’t much of a horse guy, and most likely whatever horse he was on knew it.

He said one time they were at an event, all the commanders were on horseback, and Beck called everyone over to talk.  So all the horses were bunched up together, with his horse in the middle.  He said the way Beck was sitting cockeyed in the saddle, he had dug his spurs into the horse’s side pretty hard.  But surrounded like he was, the horse just stood there and took it.

Anyway, once the conference was overwith, everyone began to back up.  Apparently as soon as Beck’s horse got freed from the surrounding horses, he decided he’d had enough of Beck and sent him airborne.

Naturally I was laughing, thinking about Beck being thrown off this horse.

Then Ted said, “You know, Beck spent more time as a lawn dart than he ever did actually in the saddle.”  I laughed so hard I cried, thinking about Beck as a lawn dart, sailing through the air, because he’d gotten thrown off a horse again.

It did my ole heart good to talk with Ted.  You’ll read more about him and General Beck in Cooter Up.  Just wanted to share the “Beck as a lawn dart” image!

Remembering Cassie (From the Archives, Published 4/9/13)

Sorry for the lack of blogs recently, but I’ve been terribly sick.  But it’s time to purge some thoughts…

Those of you that have read Soul Sketches have a firm grip on the fact that I am very sentimental and soft hearted.  I’m also an animal lover, and tonight my heart is very heavy since we had to say goodbye to our cat Cassie.  She was 17 years old and an absolute joy, truly a one-of-a-kind cat.

We got Cassie 8 years ago, rescuing her from the local humane society where she was a mere 3 days away from being euthanized to make room for more cats.  She was 9 years old, much older than all the other cats, and was fairly anti-social, laying in her box with her back to the room, pretty much ignoring everyone.  She caught our attention because she was so much older.

Once we got her out of her cage, we noticed that she was polydactyl, which made her that much more special to us.

When we got her home and got to know her, we discovered evidence that she had been abused in her earlier years.  She had, of all things, tattoos on her.  She had a date in one ear, which we eventually assumed to be her birth month and year, and had some symbol tattooed in her other ear.  Then we found some other symbol tattooed on her belly.  This horrified us, thinking how awful it must have been to be a kitten and have some loud tattoo gun painfully putting marks in each ear and on her belly.  And also to think of how she must have been painfully restrained for this to happen.

We also noticed her right front leg moved and looked differently from her left.  It appeared at some point her leg had been broken or dislocated, but she had found a way to make it work for her, and she had an interesting swinging action she did with that leg to walk.

So we had a special cat on our hands with special needs.  She was a bush dweller, so she never jumped up on counters or tables.  She usually never jumped on a couch or chair first, you typically had to invite her up.  She didn’t like to be picked up at all, and would rather sit by you than climb on you.  She was very vocal and had a lot of calls that she would issue at various times of the day.

One of the wildest things that developed with her was her water drinking habits.  One day I had left a cup of water on the floor by me, and she came over and sniffed at it.  Watching her size it up, I told Lori that I thought she was going to take a drink out of it.  Sure enough, she stuck her head in it and drank for quite some time.  From that point on, we made sure that we always had a cup like that of water in that same spot, and it was her treat.  She usually sang one of her calls when she was getting ready to drink from that cup.  I decided that call was her “water song”.

As she aged we went through several health issues with her, but she always came back in fine shape.  However such was not the case most recently, beginning a couple of weeks ago.  She was having a few issues that sounded like she had a pretty solid cold.  So we took her in to be checked and got some meds for her.  Soon after that, we noticed that her tail had gone completely limp, and that she appeared to have no control over it.  That concerned us, so we took her back in to be checked.  The vets couldn’t find any evidence of injury but were quite concerned as well.  They also kept her over a couple of nights, noting that she had several issues including being dehydrated, which seemed weird considering all the fresh water she drinks from the cup I mentioned.

We got her back home, and were continuing to pump medicine into her.  Then suddenly one morning, while I was feeling so sick, Lori noticed that Cassie had lost the use of her back legs.  Her muscle mass had disintegrated almost overnight, and she also had no control over her bodily functions.  She ran Cassie over to the vet, and he said it appeared to be a degenerative neurological thing.  That was a serious blow.  We knew time was limited, although we didn’t speak much of it.

Finally, today, while I was still home sick from work, the whole situation became worse, as she tried to move around and would get stuck.  Plus she was holed up in one room, as we feared that she would fall down the stairs if she got out of that room.  Her calls became more like cries, and we knew that this may be it.

We took her over to the vet, and in the midst of the discussion, it became clear that now was the time to make the hard decision.  She had lost the use of her legs, and her muscle mass would never return.  So she would never walk again.  Her loss of bodily function was so obvious.  She was wetting all over herself, and didn’t even know she was defecating at one point.  Plus I noticed that her urine was missing that strong ammonia smell, indicating that something may be wrong with her kidneys, if she could even feel them.

She had been such a good, sweet, loving cat, we knew it was not right to make her linger under such circumstances, especially since it was going to get worse as a degenerative thing.  We couldn’t do that to her.  We knew it was time to let her go.  It hurt terribly, but we knew it was time.

So our sweet loving cat Cassie is now departed, and it’s a hard thing to deal with.  We hope she knew how much we loved her, and we hope that her 8 years here at this home were better than her first 9 years.  We will miss her for a long time.

Thanks for reading…

More From the Facebook Numbers Game (From the Archives, published 11/17/13)

: If you’re on Facebook, you’ve most likely seen one of the latest games going around, involving sharing a certain number of facts about you. If you are not familiar with it, here’s a simple summary:

A person you know posts a certain number of facts about themselves. If you give that posting a “Like”, then that person will assign you a number, and that’s the number of things you are supposed to post about yourself.  Then, if one of your friends gives you a “Like” for your post, you assign them a number, and so on.

My dear sister Kathy posted such a list, and already being familiar with the game, I gave her post a “Like” and she assigned me the number 15.  I promptly posted 15 things about myself. It was fun, and others joined in so I gave away lots of numbers.

After playing the game and watching other friends enjoy posting, I got to thinking about how freeing and liberating it can be to just simply share things about yourself. As an extroverted introvert, I have a hard time initiating a conversation about myself, but then once I have shared something, it feels pretty good.  So I was thinking, I’d like to expand what I wrote on Facebook, and add a few more things about myself, so that maybe you can learn a little more about me, and perhaps we can discover something we have in common.

So, to start out, here is my original list of 15 things that appeared on Facebook:

  1. My parents were expecting a girl when I was born, so they had not picked out a boy’s name. So they had to scramble to come up with Timothy Lee.
  2. I have a birthmark on the lower park of my neck,… and from kindergarten through 12th grade, people who noticed it always thought I had a hickey.
  3. I have always been and will always be scared to death of having my head under water.
  4. I have always had an intense thing for women wearing boots, ever since I first saw a picture of Nancy Sinatra when I was 5. A woman in boots has my undivided attention.
  5. I have 7 writing projects going on at once.
  6. My office is adorned with pictures of writers that I admire, like Shelby Foote, Edgar Allan Poe, Ambrose Bierce, Dan Holohan, and Ric Burns. I also have pictures of my grandpa Earl Moore; my great-grandmother, the story teller, Eliza Jane (Lee) Ritter; Eliza’s father, Robert Nelson Lee; and my great-great grandfather Richardson Ritter.
  7. I am a huge supporter of mental health. I’ve battled depression my entire life, and have finally beaten it, not with medication, but with good counseling and hard work.
  8. In all my years of public speaking, I have always been dreadfully nervous until I speak my first word. Then all the nervousness disappears.
  9. I’ve wanted to be a published author since I was 9.
  10. I am a 1988 graduate of the University of Missouri – Rolla (now Missouri S&T) with a bachelor’s degree in mechanical engineering.
  11. I am a proud 1983 graduate of Central High School in Springfield.
  12. I would like to travel back in time to meet my ancestors.
  13. I have an autograph from John Ritter.
  14. When my parents were in local music shows when I was around 4, my brother and I used to sing “Where Oh Where Are You Tonight” and my job was to spit in the microphone, a task which I performed well.
  15. The explanations for several of my poems start out with “I was in love with this girl…”

So now, here are a few more things I’d like to share:

  1. When I was little, I was terrified of clowns. When I was 4, a clown chased me through the music theater where my parents were singers. The manager of the theater ended up throwing the guy out. He was my hero after that.
  2. I have never, nor will I ever, do any sort of drug.
  3. I spent a short amount of time serving as a pulpit-fill preacher. When I was a member of the Disciples of Christ denomination, I was hired to fill in when preachers were out of town. After doing that for a short time, I realized that while I felt strongly about my beliefs and spirituality, I didn’t really know what I was talking about and needed to shut up and sit down in the pew and listen for a change.
  4. I had my first job when I was 9, helping my dad at his part-time night job as a janitor at a local radio station. I would scrub sinks and toilets, sweep, dust, and dump trash. I loved it, and never got paid a dime, since the job was really dad’s and I was just in 4th grade.
  5. I’ve had a recurring nightmare of being on a very high platform, like being atop a TV tower, with nothing to hold on to, and the tower starts swaying in high winds.
  6. I am a fan of the Saw movies, the Band of Brothers series, Spike Jones records and TV shows, Ernie Kovacs, and just about anything Steve Martin does.
  7. I am a fan of Tim Conway, and do a pretty good impersonation of Mr. Tudball, as well as the Old Man character from the old Carol Burnett show.
  8. My nickname in high school was Beaker (as in the Muppet Show puppet). I have a Beaker figure in my office.
  9. Did I mention I have a thing for women in boots? I said that. Ok…
  10. I currently have 91 books about the Civil War in my library.
  11. The trip I took to Iowa back around Easter this year was the first time I had taken a trip for pleasure/relaxation in 6 years.
  12. When people hear that I am a Civil War reenactor, they instantly believe that I am an expert at all the details and dates associated with the war. I’m not really.  I am an amateur historian and enjoy reading about the war and studying it, but I am no expert. My favorite subject pertaining to the conflict is the activities within Missouri, as well as the battles that the real Third Missouri Dismounted Cavalry was in. I guess that’s why I have 91 books about the war in my library.  I’m no expert, so I need resources to look things up when I write or talk about the war.
  13. When I was 5, the doctor asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I told him I wanted to be a monkey in the circus. We had been to the Shrine Circus when it was in town, and there was a guy in a big monkey suit chasing a girl around.  I thought, “Hey, that’s the job for me!”
  14. Growing up in a musical family, I was the only child out of 4 that did not learn to play an instrument.
  15. I love the holidays, especially Halloween and Christmas. I put out so many lights at Christmastime, my property almost looks like a landing strip for Santa’s sleigh. I always dedicate my Christmas decorating to the memory of my mother, who loved Christmas lights and decorations.
  16. I plan to go on a ghost hunt in the near future. I’ve had several paranormal experiences in my life and would like to explore that kind of thing further.
  17. I know I could live just about anywhere else, but I absolutely love Missouri and the Ozarks. I have no desire to leave.
  18. I enjoy cooking, and I’ve actually traded recipes with my sisters.
  19. One of the most breathtaking scenes I’ve ever beheld was the sun coming up over the Olympic Mountains in Washington state. I’d love to go back.
  20. I do a lot of thinking when I mow my yard.
  21. I love thunderstorms and winter storms.  I think there is something incredibly romantic about being safe and warm inside while a storm rages outside. I’ve always wanted to snuggle with someone special while such a storm occurs.
  22. I’m a hopeless romantic.
  23. I don’t care about approaching the age of 50. I still feel like I’m in my 30s.
  24. I used to sing bass in the choir at a church I used to belong to.  I also sang as a high baritone in a men’s quartet at that same church.
  25. I would live at Silver Dollar City in Branson if I could.
  26. I had never been camping before I started Civil War reenacting.
  27. I’ve only been hunting once.  Dad took my sister and I with him to hunt quail. We didn’t see a quail all day, but shot a lot of trees. Now I only shoot with my camera.
  28. I want to be on the Today Show, Ellen, Rachael Ray, and the late night talk shows to talk about writing and to motivate others to write if that is their true desire.
  29. Plans are underway for me to start doing podcasts in 2014.
  30. I’d like to travel to Europe, especially Great Britain and Germany.
  31. I’m scared of heights.
  32. I collect Santa Claus figures.
  33. I am an extra in the upcoming “Baldknobber” movie.
  34. I love Snickers, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, and Baby Ruth candy bars.
  35. I hate spiders.

Ok, I’ll stop there. Hey, if you and I are not friends on Facebook, why not? Send me a friend request, I’d love to know you are reading my blog.

A Birthday Remembrance for a Great Storyteller (From the Archives, published 11/2/13)

As I sit here, beginning to write this post, it’s 11:20 on Friday night.  In 40 minutes, it will be Saturday, November 2, the birthday of my great-grandmother, Eliza Jane (Lee) Ritter.  She was born in Douglas County, Missouri, in 1876, so it will be her 137th birthday.

I never had the honor of meeting her, as she died in July of 1954, 10 years before I was born. But I have learned so much about her, and about her legacy, that I wish I could have spent hours in her presence.

For many years, all I knew about her was that she was born Eliza Jane Lee, married my great grandfather Simon Ritter in January of 1894, and had four children that lived, including my grandfather, Simon Orville Ritter. I have a few pictures of her, including one which I suspect to be her wedding picture in 1894, shown above.  It’s a tintype, with her sitting there, arm in arm with Simon.  They both have a bit of a bewildered look on their faces.  Another tintype, taken a few years later, shows Eliza standing, her hand resting on Simon’s shoulder, as he is seated next to her.  Another photo is of her standing next to her brother Mose. They both appear to be in the 30s or 40s in that picture. Another photo is a big family photo, with her standing behind Simon, both of them obviously in their later years.  The last photo I have of her was taken shortly before her death, standing with my grandfather and her daughter, Dora.

My dad spoke of her once, many years ago, and he just remembered her being a bit of a chatterbox.  He said she talked all the time, following her parents around their house, talking constantly.

But just recently, I acquired a videotape of Dad’s cousin Jack, a man who I love dearly and respect, sitting in front of a videocamera telling stories of his childhood and things he remembers about the Ritter family. One subject he spends a lot of time talking about is dear old Eliza Jane.

Jack remembers her very differently compared to Dad’s memories.  It makes sense, as he spent many more hours around Eliza than my dad ever did, since she lived with Jack and his parents after her husband Simon died.  Jack’s dad, Richard, built her a little home on his property and helped care for her.

Jack tells of Eliza being a great storyteller. He said he could sit in front of her for hours and listen to her tell stories. He said she had a certain way of telling her stories, to draw you in, make you become part of it. And if you’ve ever heard a true great storyteller spin a tale, you know what Jack is talking about.  The way they use inflection in their voice, use great gestures with their arms, create great expressions on their faces, they can drag the listener into the story and take them along for the ride. Eliza was just such a storyteller.

There is one particular story, Jack said, that he never grew tired of. It was the story about when Eliza’s mother, along with a young Eliza and her siblings, were all chased by a mountain lion, or panther, as they called them back in those days. He said he knew the story by heart, but always asked her to tell it, just so that he could hear her and enjoy the way she told it.

So, in honor of my dear Eliza’s birthday, I’m going to attempt to tell The Panther Story, as I believe she would have told it:

“It was a hot and sticky August evening. You know the kind, where you sweat and you stay wet because the humidity is so high, and the dust sticks to you. It was that kind of evening, and all of us kids were outside, running around with Mama as she picked some vegetables for dinner. There were carrots and green beans, tomatoes and turnips.  She held all those delicious things in her apron as she held it out in front of her.

Us kids were running around, pestering each other. Mose kept tossing rocks at me, and I’d throw them back. I was a better shot, and I hit him good a couple of times.

Suddenly, in the midst of all that ruckus, we heard a panther scream.  Have you ever heard the scream of a panther? You may not have. They don’t roam the area like they used to.  When I was a little girl, you could hear them scream in the middle of the night and it would send shivers up your spine and make you hide under the covers.

Mama called us all to her, and we ran and clung to her skirt, looking around to see where the cat was.  Mama told us to hush, so that she could listen. The panther screamed again, and we could tell it was close, too close to the house for us to get there.

Mama said, “Kids, let’s try to get to Uncle David’s”. So off we ran. Uncle David, Mama’s brother, lived just across the holler, and we took out like lightning, trying to stay quiet as we ran.  We knew Uncle David would take care of us.  He wasn’t afraid of anything! He’d kill any animal with his bare hands if he had to.  And he had enormous hands!

So we took off running, with Mama trailing behind.  She dropped her vegetables for the cat, a few at a time, to make the cat stop and smell the food, to buy us time to run.

Well sir, soon she ran out of vegetables to leave behind.  So thinking fast, Mama started tearing little scraps of her apron off and leaving them for the cat, hoping her scent would make the big cat stop.  Sure enough, that ole cat would stop, sniff the scrap, then start running after us again.

Mama kept shouting at us, telling us to hurry up and run faster, and kept tearing scraps of her apron off.

We got to the gate at Uncle David’s house and started screaming for him as we opened the gate and ran into his yard.  Uncle David was on the porch, and stood up as soon as he saw us coming. When he heard we were being chased by a panther, he turned and looked for his gun. It wasn’t on the porch, and he wasn’t of a mind to go looking for it, so he just reached over to the woodpile and grabbed his hatchet and ran toward the gate, just as Mama reached it.

She was exhausted, and was down to her last scrap of cloth from that old apron.  She fell into David’s arms, and told him where the cat was. David told her to grab the kids and go inside, and he would take care of it.  So with nothing but an old hatchet, David ran toward the direction of the big cat.

Later he came back, his hatchet all bloodied, and his arms all scratched up and bleeding. But he got the panther. And he praised Mama for her quick thinking.

If my Mama hadn’t started tearing those scraps of cloth from her apron, that old cat would have caught her for sure, and then would have come after us.”

And that is The Panther Story, as I imagine she would have told it. It’s a true story, and David Lee, Eliza’s uncle, really did kill the panther with just a hatchet.  Jack said according to Eliza, David Lee was a mountain of a man, and wasn’t scared of anything. And Eliza’s mother, Nancy Ann (Marler) Lee, really did delay the panther with strips torn off her apron, and the apron really was almost gone by the time they reached David’s place.

So thanks, dear Eliza Jane (Lee) Ritter, for the stories you told, as I believe the storytelling to be your legacy. And thanks for somehow passing your storytelling along to me, as it is certainly my passion.

Happy Birthday, dear lady. And thank you.

Hello Readers… I Want to Play a Game… My Theories on the Upcoming Saw 8 Movie (From the Archives, published 10/20/13)

Hello friends.  With it being close to Halloween, I thought I’d make a slight departure from my “typical” posts and delve into something spooky, something of which I am a huge fan, the series of Saw movies.

I know many people who have not seen the Saw movies consider them to be a gruesome series and that’s about it.  And while it is true that several of the traps that are in the various Saw movies are quite gruesome (I have to turn away sometimes myself), it is the roller coaster of a subplot to which I am most attracted, as is the case with many fans of the series.  If you have not seen every movie in the series, or perhaps have just watched the first Saw movie and have seen no others, you are missing out on one of the most intricate and fascinating subplots that I have ever experienced. I sooooo want to write that well!

There have been 7 Saw movies, and the last one, The Final Chapter, was indeed supposed to be just that, the final chapter in this great series of movies.  However there was yet another twist in the plot at the end of the movie, and it left quite the cliffhanger, so apparently there is a Saw 8 in the works, and it is supposed to be truly the end of the saga, with the answers to many questions wrapped up in it.

In The Final Chapter, there were two masked accomplices who did not remove their headgear when they caught Detective Hoffman. The identities of these two accomplices has been driving me batty, and I have studied in detail the 7 Saw movies to try to figure out who these two people could be. Without giving away too terribly much information, I’m going to present my theories on who these two people could be.

Here we go:

My first major theory:  Adam is alive, and he is one of these two people.

Reasons: Saw and Saw 3 would lead you to believe that Adam is dead. However, throughout the series, there are photographs of all the people who are targeted for games/traps.  These photos are always just like the ones Adam took of Dr. Gordon prior to their mutual trap experience in the original Saw. So I believe Adam is still alive and is stalking these people and taking their pictures.  Also, in The Final Chapter, we are back in the original bathroom where Dr. Gordon and Adam were held.  The dead body in Adam’s location has a gunshot wound to the chest, not the shoulder where Adam was shot in the first Saw.  Detective Tapp was shot in the chest in the original Saw, and I believe his body has been moved to Adam’s location.  Also, in Saw 3, John states that he had to go and fix Amanda’s screw-ups, and one of them could be Amanda’s attempt to kill Adam to take him out of his misery. So I believe very strongly that Adam is alive and is one of the two accomplices.

Second theory: The lady in Saw 4 who was attached to her abusive husband by steel rods has joined in the activities.

Reasons: She is one who survived and would have appreciated the lesson taught by the trap. So she could have gotten involved.

Third theory: Dr. Gordon’s wife or girlfriend

Reasons: I’m not sure if after everything that happened if Dr. Gordon’s wife would have stayed with him or not. I have my doubts. But it’s possible.  Otherwise, if they split up, then he might have recruited his girlfriend to join in. It’s a bit of a longshot, but worth mentioning.

Fourth theory: Eric Matthews’ son, Daniel

Reasons: It’s an outside chance, but I’m thinking that despite his relatively young age, Daniel might have decided to get involved. I’m not certain of this, as he would have most likely been angry over what happened to his dad, so he might not be willing to get in the middle of it.  But considering how the series has gone, anything is possible! Especially since Detective Hoffman was the target in The Final Chapter.

Fifth theory: One of two officers, Fisk or Lamanna)

Reasons: These two officers showed up quite a bit in the investigations. The frequency with which they show up makes me wonder if they are involved.

Sixth theory: Almost any survivors from Saw 6

Reasons: There were several people who survived traps in Saw 6 that could have been recruited to get involved.  Especially the two girls who survived the carousel trap, or the son of the guy who was denied insurance (he and his mother were in the cage throughout the movie).

So those are my main theories.  I have noticed a few other people in the series that might be good candidates as well, but I do not consider them to be as strong a possibility as these other people mentioned.

From what information I have been able to find on the Internet, Saw 8 may be released some time in 2014. I certainly can’t wait to see it. In the past, when each of the Saw movies was originally released, I did not get to see them in the theater on the big screen, but rather had to rent the DVD to get to see them.  So my intention is to see Saw 8 at the theater, on the big screen, for a movie experience I’ll never forget.

So in closing, if you want to figure out what the heck I am talking about and you have never seen the Saw movies, go rent them, and watch them in order, so that you can discover the subplot I mentioned, and see if you don’t get hooked by all the twists and turns.

GAME OVER….

Relying Upon the Kindness of Strangers (From the Archives, published 9/18/13)

If you’ve ever read the Tennessee Williams play “A Streetcar Named Desire”, you remember the famous line spoken by Blanche Dubois as she was being lead away.  In a total state of delirium, she told the men leading her away, “I have always relied upon the kindness of strangers.”  This past weekend, while participating in a Civil War reenactment, I spent some time thinking about relying upon the kindness of strangers.

Many times since first getting into the hobby of Civil War Reenacting, I have had experiences that were very similar to those encountered by the real Civil War soldiers 150 years ago.  It is the experience of having a kind stranger offer some food or some other comfort.  This happens often at reenactments, especially at times during which the typical spectator might not be around to see such an act.

This past weekend, there was a lady with some kids, and they all were bringing around boxes of bright red delicious apples.  They were indeed delicious, and came at a perfect time, as I had not wanted to eat lunch before the battle, but was in need of some bit of food to drive away the hunger.

In the past, ladies have brought pies into camp to offer to the soldiers.  Sometimes an entire loaf of bread is offered to the camp, or a jar of preserves or jelly is provided.  Even in this time of modern conveniences, when I have a stocked cooler in my tent under the cover of a blanket, such acts of kindness and sustenance, especially when it is homegrown or homemade, warm my heart as I appreciate this person or these people taking the time and effort to come offer us something for our stomachs.

Likewise, there are times when, just like in the days of old, an individual or group of people will stop by each camp and ask if we would like to hear a song.  This too has happened many times over the last 14 years, but an occurrence that sticks out in my mind is when we were in Houston, Missouri.  After the first day of fighting, we were all resting in our camps when three children, the oldest only about 14, stopped and asked if we would like to hear a song.  One boy sat on a chair and played the dulcimer, one boy played fiddle, and the girl, who was the oldest, sang songs to us with an angelic voice that betrayed her years. And while it’s true that if I had wanted to listen to music I could have gone into my tent and listened to the iPod on my phone, there was something special, something very honest and giving, in these three children appearing in our camp and giving of themselves for our enjoyment.  Who needs the convenience of modern music playing in earbuds when you can sit around the fire and listen to someone sign songs to you right there!

Invariably, when such offers of singing take place, we all quietly take up a collection for the musicians, to thank them for their gift.  This too would have taken place in the real war, as such children may have been orphans, and this would have been their means of income.

To top it all off, at that same event, after the children had left, the adjacent regiment had a bagpipe player amongst them, and this gentlemen gave an impromptu bagpipe concert for about 30 minutes.  I believe the entire site grew still to listen.

Such musical contributions lighten the spirit and gladden the soul, and perhaps at times remind one of the songs his mother or grandmother used to sing, or simply make one forget he is far from home, if only for a few days.

I guess all this tends to say something about the human spirit, and the joys of giving, as well as the appreciation of receiving.  We reenactors may have stocked coolers in our tents, but a person offering an apple is an angel.  And we may have only driven 2 or 4 hours away from our homes, but someone coming by and singing to us lifts our spirit and makes home seem not quite so far away.

So I guess it begs the question, what can each of us do, what comfort can we provide, which even in the smallest way can make someone happy, can satiate a need, can lift their spirit?

That person may truly be relying upon the kindness of strangers…

Sitting Here Thinking About How Poetry is Presented (From the Archives, published 9/9/13)

Well, it’s been one of those nights during which I’ve spent a lot of time sitting here thinking…

One of my favorite singers is James Taylor.  He’s been a favorite of mine since I first started paying attention to his stuff in the late 1970s. And I must say, getting to see him live in concert is a real treat.  I saw him the first time he came to my hometown of Springfield, MO, back in the 1990s, and then also got to see him a second time when he was back in Springfield just last year.

He’s spending time telling stories prior to singing some songs, and he not only did that when he was here in 2012, but also in one of his latest projects, the show entitled One Man Band which was broadcast on PBS and also is available on DVD/CD.  One of the things he mentioned, before starting to sing the great romantic song “Something In The Way She Moves” is that sometimes when you write a song, you write it for someone or something in particular, and then you find out years later that you were really writing it for someone or something else.  In this case, he wrote that song for a lady he loved a long time ago, then found out years later it was really for the lady to whom he is now married.

I find I can say the same thing about one of the poems I wrote back in college, a poem that appears in my book Soul Sketches.  The poem is called “I Quit”, and it is a fictional account of what a man feels when he comes home and discovers his roommate has committed suicide. It is one of the poems that I refer to as a “frantic poem”, because it was written with the intent of portraying someone who is frantic, pacing about the room as he rattles on this endless stream of thoughts as he copes with his friend’s suicide. It has very little punctuation, and that’s intentional to portray the frantic emotion.

After the suicide of my friend James Shipman last month, I have to say that “I Quit” has completely changed for me. While I was not his roommate, we were good friends and I loved and respected him dearly, and his suicide was like a brick hitting my head and heart. The poem has now become about him, and there’s nothing fictional about how it feels. I’ve only read “I Quit” to a group one other time previously, but now it has completely changed in me. My approach to it will be different from now on. I plan to include it in my readings at the reading and booksigning I am doing next month, and I just hope I can get through it.  But I must read it, and it must now be for him.

The ShoeBox Hat Story (From the Archives, originally published 9/5/13)

Ok, since so many of you on Facebook gave me a Like on putting out the Shoe Box Hat story, here it is…

I started kindergarten in the Fall of 1970 at Westport Elementary, with Mrs. Hashagen as my teacher.  Back then, kindergarten classes were only 1/2 day, and I had an afternoon class.  Several people who were in that class are still my dearest friends, and we stay in contact quite regularly.

Two boys who were buddies of mine, Greg and Ross, have unfortunately been lost to time, as I do not recall their last names.  I still have a picture of Greg from kindergarten or first grade, but not of Ross.  But there is one minor event that took place with Greg and Ross that stands out in my memory.

At some point in the Spring of that school year, Greg, Ross and I decided we were going to have a car club at recess.  We were to bring our toy cars (Hot Wheels or Matchbox) and we were going to play with them near a small drainage ditch in the playground around. A small drainpipe daylighted in an area of the playground, and the erosion around it made a great path for running Hot Wheels or Matchbox cars around the area.

So the next day, I collected up a bunch of my Matchbox cars (I had several) and put them in a little green shoe box to keep them safe till time for recess. One of the rules of the car club was that you had to wear a hat to play.  I forgot that detail as I packed everything up.

When I got to school, we three boys huddled together, looking at each other’s cars, comparing them, etc.  We were all excited to have our first car club time at recess.  Finally recess time came and we grabbed our boxes of cars and ran to the drain pipe.

We got to the drain pipe and dumped out our cars.  Ross and Greg put on their hats and I started running my cars around the eroded dirt areas around the pipe.  I noticed Greg and Ross weren’t playing yet, so I looked up and they were staring at me.

“Where’s your hat, Timmy?” Ross asked me.

Mortified, I said, “I forgot.”

“You’ve got to wear a hat for the car club!” Ross reminded me.

Looking around, I grabbed my shoe box and put it on my head.  It fit perfectly on the sides and did a rather nice job of keeping the sun out of my eyes.  Greg and Ross chuckled and started playing with their cars.

I spent the entire recess with my shoe box on my head, proud of such an innovative hat idea.

We never had a car club again at recess.  I don’t think Ross and Greg were impressed…

Copyright 2013, Tim Ritter

Coming Full Circle… On a RollerCoaster (A Post from the Archive, posted 9/3/13)

Sometimes it takes 42 years to come full circle…

In June of 1971, a new theme park called Six Flags Over Mid-America opened in the small town of Pacific, Missouri, near St. Louis. It had old-fashioned car rides, a gondola ride, a log flume ride, river adventure ride, petting zoos, a train that went around the entire park, a roller coaster, and other attractions. A new theme park in 1971 was an incredibly exciting thing!

In July of 1971, my parents planned one of our rare summer vacations, and it was to be a trip to St. Louis.  It was to include staying at a Howard Johnson’s motel, which was terribly exciting, and trips to Grant’s Farm, The Gateway Arch, The St. Louis Zoo, a St. Louis Cardinals game, and a day at Six Flags were all on the agenda.  I was 6 years old, 5 months from turning 7, and couldn’t wait to see this new place called Six Flags.  I still remember a lot of details from that vacation.  Watching the workers at the St. Louis Zoo switch out train engines, going to the top of the Gateway Arch, seeing Grant’s Farm, Dad burning my arm with his cigar at the Cardinals game… and Six Flags.  The day at Six Flags was great fun, and I still have the park map from that day, as well as the hat I got there, with my name “Timmy” embroidered on the rim.

It was July 19th, 1971, and I was wound up tighter than an 8-day clock. I couldn’t wait to ride all the rides at Six Flags.  The place looked enormous to me, set off the highway against a ridge of tall hills, with a big water tower shaped like a barrel that said “Six Flags” that overlooked that whole place.  I’m not sure of the order in which we rode the rides.  On that old original map from that day, the rides we rode have an “X” on them, presumably noted by my mother, as she wrote the date on the map as well.  There is one ride that has a big X on it, The River King Mine Train, that is the subject of today’s story. It was the park’s one and only roller coaster at the time.

In my memory, I do not recall if I watched the people on the ride before getting on, but I know I begged my dad to let me ride it, to which he agreed.  In looking back on the event, I have to believe that by it’s name, I must have thought it was a train ride, and I must not have known it was a roller coaster, nor was I aware of how such a ride felt.

I recall that once we got on the ride, lap bar in place, and got out on the tracks, it did not take long for me to start telling Dad that I changed my mind, and I no longer wanted to ride this ride.  Of course at this point there was nothing anyone could do, and Dad just chuckled and said, “I can’t stop the ride.  You wanted to ride, so we just have to ride it out.”  I remember my pleadings turning into a full-blown screaming and crying fit, and I was horrified that I was stuck riding what seemed at the time to be a terrible ride. I wailed and screamed and cried through the whole thing, yelling “Daddy make it stop”. The last drop on the ride was the steepest, and I recall wailing through the whole thing and all the way into the station when it was done.

Mortified, Dad was through putting up with me and didn’t care to ride anything else with just me. I think he pawned me off on Mom at that point, and rode more adventurous rides with my older brother and sister.

Unfortunately from that point on, I found myself scared of riding roller coasters. I had convinced myself that they were terrible things and refused to ride anything that even seemed like a roller coaster. Even at Silver Dollar City near Branson, where in 1972 an indoor coaster called Fire in the Hole was opened, it took a long time for me to agree to ride it, and even then I didn’t enjoy it, but closed my eyes and got through it.

In 1973, another amusement park opened up, this time near Kansas City, called Worlds of Fun.  It had a few roller coasters when it opened, and when we went there around 1974 or ’75, I refused to ride the coasters, contenting myself to ride the kiddie rides with my younger sister, who was around 5 or 6 by that time, and I was about 10 years old.

I stayed safely away from roller coasters (except the occasional ride on Fire in the Hole) until at age 15 in 1980, when my brother decided to take the situation into his own hands.  We were planning to go to Kansas City that summer, and the trip included a day at Worlds of Fun, which was boasting a new coaster called the Orient Express, and it had 4 loops in it.  Doug said, “I’m going to break you of your fear of roller coasters. I want to ride the Orient Express, and YOU are going to ride it with me.”

To put it mildly, the whole idea scared the shit out of me. I woke up that morning, scared but a bit excited, because I didn’t really know how Doug was going to get me to enjoy coasters, and whether or not it was really going to work. When we got to the park, Mom and Dad took my younger sister to go ride some kiddie rides, and Doug and I were on our own for our coaster adventure.

We started out on a small carnival-type roller coaster, the kind that had small individual cars with two rows of seats in it.  After one ride, I enjoyed it a little, but not much.  Doug said, “I know what your problem is.  You are fighting it.  You’re pulling back on the lap bar, trying to not go down the hill.  Just ride it down and try to enjoy it.  Quit fighting it.”

So we got right back in line at that same ride, and we rode it again, and this time I tried to not fight it and ride it down… and it worked!  I had a good time!

With that little victory in our pocket, we moved on to another roller coaster, the Zambizi Zinger.  This was a neat little coaster, in which the train was a series of two-seat cars in which the riders were positioned one in front of the other.  The train looped up a circular track to the top elevation then began its twists and hills through the woods.  Doug and I boarded the ride with me in front, him behind me.  Once we were going and winding through the trees and high speeds, I noticed how incredibly smooth the ride was.  I enjoyed it, and we rode it a couple of times.

After those rides on the Zambizi Zinger, Doug said, “Ok, you’ve enjoyed those two.  Now let’s hit the Orient Express.”

Terrified, I agreed.  We made our way across the park and got in line, picking a loading lane where we would be seated safely in the middle of the train.  With heart pounding, I took my seat and pulled the harness down over my head and locked it in place.  The train slowly pulled out of the station, and there was no turning back.

We were climbing up the highest hill that I had ever ridden.  We were going to be over 115 feet in the air and it seemed so incredibly high. Once at the top, we quickly rounded a curve and began our plummet down. I couldn’t believe how it felt to fly down that hill, then suddenly loop upside down at high speed, not just once, but four times! By the time I got off the ride, I was laughing, yelling, whooping and hollering, as I felt I had tackled not only my fear of roller coasters, but had just experienced one of the wildest coasters in existence at that time.

That day we rode the small coaster several more times, the Zambizi Zinger about 10 more times, and the Orient Express 6 or 8 more times.  That night as I tried to sleep in my sleeping bag on the hard floor of my great aunt’s apartment in Kansas City, my equilibrium was all screwed up and I felt like I was still riding dips and turns on the coasters.

Over the last 33 years since that day, there have been many roller coaster rides, all of them thoroughly enjoyed. Sadly, none of the three coasters Doug and I rode that day at Worlds of Fun still exist, but have been replaced by bigger and wilder coasters. But in the back of my mind I’ve never forgotten that fateful day in 1971, where at the tender age of 6, I got scared on my first roller coaster ride.  I’ve always thought about that ride, and thought it would be interesting to go back to Six Flags and see if that old coaster was by some chance still there. Yesterday, 42 years after that first ride, I finally had the opportunity.

I went up to Six Flags to spend the day with my sons Kevin and Corey, and Kevin’s girlfriend Cecily.  It was a miserably hot day, but we were excited to get to see what the place looked like these days, and to ride the rides.  Plus I was anxious to go tripping down memory lane with some of the rides I recalled from all those years ago.

Naturally the park has changed a lot in 42 years.  Many more roller coasters and other rides exist now, and many of the old rides I recalled were long gone.  One boat ride, formerly known as Injun Joe’s Cave, is now a Scooby Doo ride, but the old boats they used in 1971 are still in use, with a few modifications.

I looked at the park map when we got there, and noticed that they had a roller coaster with the same name as the one I recalled, the River King Mine Train, and it was in the general area that I recalled. After riding several rides, we made our way over to the old coaster.  I looked at the information sign outside the entrance to the ride, and sure enough, it was the same old original ride, with one exception.  In 1971, it had two separate tracks, and riders could pick which one they wanted to ride.  Eventually one of the tracks was dismantled and sold off to Dollywood, so only one track remained, but it was still one of the originals.  I couldn’t wait to climb on and ride the old coaster that scared me so badly 42 years ago.

We took our places in line to ride in the middle of the train, which seemed like a smart choice, and Corey rode with me while Kevin and Cecily rode in the seat behind us. Climbing into the cars, I noticed that when the lap bar was pulled down, it sure was a tight fit. Since I’m considerably more stout than Corey, the bar was not down so tight on him, and I wondered if the same thing happened to me, since at 6 years old I would not have been as sturdy as Dad was, so the bar was probably pretty loose and I had lots of room to flop around.

My heart was thumping as the train pulled out of the station, as I was anxious to experience the ride again.  We took a quick dip and a fast turn around a corner immediately upon leaving the station, and it was most likely at that point that I discovered this ride was more than I had bargained for when I was 6. I told Corey, “I bet this point is where I told Dad I wanted off the ride.”

Riding through the rest of the ride, I chuckled and laughed as we twisted through the trees and bounced up and down. The dips were no worse than good ole Fire in the Hole, which over the years has become a personal favorite. The twists were tight, tighter than you would expect for an old steel coaster.  And that last dip now takes place in total darkness as if you are down in a mine. I remembered that last dip to be the place where I screamed the loudest when I was 6.

Pulling back into the station and laughing at how fun that old coaster was, I felt a special contentment deep down inside, knowing that I got to come full circle in my lifetime experiences of riding roller coasters. After 42 years, I got to experience once again a ride that had terrified me at a tender, vulnerable age.  And even better, I got to experience it with three of my favorite people on the planet. They knew the story, and they were happy to see the old man get to experience such a thing as well.

Walking away from the ride, I couldn’t help but think about that 6-year-old version of me, and I wanted so badly to be able to grab that little guy and hold onto him and tell him it’s ok to be scared, but to give the ride another shot, and that I would ride it with him this time…

Copyright 2013, by Tim Ritter