Poland Revisited

Wawel Castle, Krakow, Poland. The city's main attraction and Poland's most important venue for national events.

May 2013:

    I'm particularly blessed being married to a wonderful spouse of Polish descent. I may have never gotten the inclination or the opportunity to visit that great country - not just once, but a number of times. We just completed our third visit and spent ten days living with Connie's cousin in a little village named Siedlec, near the larger town of Krzeszowice ("Chair-sha-veetza"). Forgive me while I mangle pronunciations. I only wish I had about six solid months to stay in Poland and learn the language. I'm fascinated by language - the more difficult the more fascinating for this inveterate student of all things interesting. I'll set the stage by mentioning that Krzeszowice is located about 20-some kilometers west of Krakow in a beautiful section of Poland known as Malopolska, or 'Little Poland.' Poland can be divided into several different geographical sections and after this journey, Connie and I have two more to explore before we can claim any expertise in knowing the country. Being outside Krakow, in a country village, afforded us the opportunity to see Krakow and much, much more. Malopolska has it all, as it says in the travel guides but it isn't all of Poland. Traveling is my profession. I am not your average jaded or rose-colored-glasses vacationer. Staying cooped up in a 5-star hotel or with 5,000 other people on a cruise ship is not my idea of having fun or relaxing. All I need is a good compass and a passport and a few Zloty in my pocket. If I get lost it's my own fault. I'd rather do all my exploring and sightseeing on-foot and that upsets a lot of people. I don't really ever take a vacation. Because of my profession every trip for me is just setting the stage and doing some groundwork for the endless possibilities of helping to promote the travel business. I always carry with me an attitude of total objectivity. That way, you learn more. You experience more. Loving history and a country's culture helps, too. And people are always more appreciative that you're making a concerted effort to learn a few words of the language. I've found this to be true in every part of the world. The attitude of complete objectivity assures that you'll never be disappointed when situations seem to be going south. I've traveled a lot - but this particular trip into Poland was one of my best adventures. One of our best adventures - It never would have happened if I hadn't married Connie!
     Years ago, Adam Konieczny and his wife Irena visited us here in Vienna, Virginia.  Poland was still under communist control so their trip outside of Poland was something we Americans could hardly imagine. We had a great time together, even though every situation (due to the language barrier) had to be handled through sign language. The Church and Connie's family relationship were the common bond. After that visit we stayed in close touch and promised to return the visit to Poland. We made the trip and then had an opportunity to make another one, an unusual one, in which we got a river cruise down 600 kilometers of the Oder River into Silesia, on the western border of Poland and Germany. My Asian travel experiences came in handy. Just as Viet Nam is a continuing, emerging, country, so is Poland after the Fall of the Iron Curtain. It helps to remember this while traveling through the former Soviet Bloc countries. It's been a while and Poland is doing well. Every five years we've witnessed massive changes in the peoples' lives and their economic status. Each trip has been very different because of this. The old Soviet drabness is fast disappearing, and as in every other country around the world, the internet is changing whole societies. Sometimes everything works out just right. European airfares which have been high lately, came down suitably just at the right time. Watching the weather daily, it looked like we were in for the best spring weather ever. Looking at our schedules, we were under no duress to make any drastic changes in our planning. We would just go and have a relaxing time.
     Adam and Irena had different plans when we got there. They had mapped out nine solid days of different places to go and things to do. I was a little mystified, but the master-plan couldn't have been handled better by a professional travel agency. We settled in at Siedlec and then took day-trips to nearly every portion of Malopolska, from the mountains to the beautiful fields and limestone valleys of the area north of Krakow. One particular highlight was Auschwitz-Birkenau. I had wanted to visit these sites before, but it never seemed to work out. There is even this human hesitancy you have to deal with in making the decision to visit. What happened there and at all the other camps dedicated to Nazi death machinery remains incomprehensible to the normal, moral-thinking, human being. But it did happen. It was a fact of our human failure. Pitted against the back-drop of Poland's total history, it's just another part of the sad story of conquest, abuse, and Poland's role as European Whipping-Boy. The great open space between Germany and Russia. Prussians, Tartars, Nazi's, Russians, Swedes, whatever the horde, they all wanted a piece of Poland and now in post-Soviet terms, Poland is beginning to gain self-governance and national pride. It's a process I find fascinating considering the sad history. We've already made our plans to go back again in two years. I can't wait.    
     

The Future of Our Town

22 April 2013

I love the place where I live. It's more than just a place. Under the statutes of Virginia it's a real town within the borders of Fairfax County. We have a "Real Town" feel and everyone says that, if you live here or are just a casual visitor to any one of our numerous town celebrations. I like this place because a lot of people volunteer for causes and serve the community in a lot of different capacities. We have a good town government and exemplary bi-partisan leadership in the Mayor and elected Town Council members. It's election time again here in the spring of 2013 and I'm thinking about how much more exciting a community-oriented local election is, rather than some nebulous national election. The action really is on the local level - in the neighborhood where sewer problems, zoning matters, and police protection constitute an actual life-style. I'm fortunate to live in a place where we know a lot of our neighbors and we know our neighbors who are running for election -  or re-election.

I decided to go to a Town Council Meeting on the 22nd. Believe me, these are not easy to sit through - most of the time. Somebody's got to do the drudge work of running a small town with a mere $7,000.000 budget. In today's world that's chump change. But this meeting was different. The planning people were unveiling the works that have been underway to improve and 'modernize' our main Maple Avenue corridor. Nothing will happen overnight. That's the good news. Many more meetings and open-forums about a 'Future Vienna' are scheduled into this summer. The meeting was hard to sit through, but what I heard between the lines was fascinating. How were we going to deal with all the changes that are coming with the re-configuration of Tysons Corner, Metro West, the opening of the Silver Line to Dulles Airport?

For me it's nothing new. I've been thinking about it ever since the Movers and Shakers north of us up in Tysons Corner came up with the bright idea that (somehow??) this concrete jungle of a shopping mall needed a face-lift. A lot of my neighbors were feeling the same thing and we talked a lot about it. It's a feeling you get deep in your gut. Maybe I better pack up and go now, before it's too late. A lot of my more active neighbors started attending meetings up there, and within the Fairfax County bureaucracy so they could keep an eye on "The Powers to Be." As one more innovation and proposal was heaped on pile after pile of proposals and innovations it became abundantly clear that something resembling downtown Dallas, Texas was going to be erected on our northern town border. They even came up with a lame slogan: "Imagine people - and not cars and Traffic." Sure. Re-direct all the traffic through Vienna, McLean, or traffic-choked Falls Church. Let them deal with it.

I don't want to pack up and leave. I have a stake in my neighborhood. My final wall of protection from "progress" is my town government and the people elected to run it. They've done a good job up to now but can't continue to do their jobs properly unless they get constant feed-back from our neighborhoods. At last night's Candidate Forum at our local community center this point was emphasized throughout the evening. Councilwoman Laurie DiRocco made it her main point for re-election: "We're lucky to have an army of people here working on commissions and committees. We have a very-involved community of volunteers." I thought it interesting that she mentioned "Vienna's Borders" three times during the Q and A. Maybe that's what we need. A uniformed Border Patrol at each end of  Rt. 123/Maple Avenue to keep out the real estate tycoons, manipulators, and shopping mall speculators. If you live within the Town limits of Vienna (not just have a Vienna zipcode,) be sure and vote on May 7th at the Vienna Community Center. Every vote counts for an unencroached life-style here in our fair Town.

Carey Sienicki - Laurie DiRocco - Howard Silversteen - Ryan Thomas - at the Candidates' Forum in Vienna, Va.

 

It'll Eventually Spoil You

Doug Meek - Clayton Martin - Danny Paisley - Marshall Wilborn - Mark Delaney

30 March 2013 In Stewartstown, Pa.

     It'll eventually spoil you. Music won't sound the same anymore. Those forms of music you once considered unique or interesting take on a lackluster, boring sameness. I'm talking about being addicted to bluegrass, or as I prefer to call it, the 100% pure Hillbilly music I'd really rather listen to. I still like my Jazz, old rock and roll, and opera, but the more I listen to pure bluegrass and old-time hardcore Hillbilly, the more I realize I haven't listened to all of it or enough of it. I'm sitting here tonight in Stewartstown, Pa. getting a full evening of Danny Paisley and Southern Grass. Danny is belting out the lyrics of songs from his latest CD and I mean belting them out, almost howling, but there's an emotion and conviction that speaks a truth immediately recognizable by those who follow this brand of music. Paisley has a voice and style that most 'music professionals' would consider hard to take, but this is pure and about as pure as it's going to get. He's probably in the middle of his tenure and I think about how much he's risen in popularity just in the past five years, and how much further he's going to go before he becomes one of the Grand-Daddy's of Bluegrass. No secret that his recently released CD "Road Into Town" is now Number Four on National Bluegrass Charts.

     A good bluegrass entertainment package is not about one person. Maybe the closest thing to bluegrass is the teamwork it takes to form a good classical string quartet. Everything in the music has to come out of the acoustical stringed  instruments involved. This is the most rampant misunderstanding of bluegrass, as opposed to the rampant electrification of popular "country" and rock and roll. Rule Two: no drums, no percussion, or else you get kicked off the stage. Hooted out of the Hall. Every element of the music has to come out of those stringed instruments. These thoughts are moving through my brain as I'm listening to three of the best players in bluegrass. Danny nods to Doug Meek to kick up his flawless fiddle. Then to Mark Delaney for a few flawless banjo runs. Normally, Eric Troutman is on bass, but was absent this evening. Standing in was one of the legends - what a surprise - Marshall Wilborn. I missed Eric Troutman's high-tenor vocals. When Eric and Danny are singing together it's the reason why I sometimes feel spoiled rotten on bluegrass. There was another change too, in Clayton Martin (mandolin) standing in for Danny's son Ryan. Normally all these changes would have lent chaos to a performance. But all these guys are professionals, extremely young by bluegrass standards, and they all played on to one of the best shows I've yet to witness up to this point in 2013. Were there hitches and imperfections? Of course. But Danny always has that smile on his face. That infectious smile that brings out the spirit hidden in the strings
.
     It's Easter week and I'm at my local parish watching the parish youth perform a version of the Passion Play. An electric piano is jacked up to max and drowning out a young lady who has a magnificent voice. There are two electrified acoustical guitars along with a regular electric guitar. The song interludes are long and tedious and drowned out by electrification. The young man singing is trying hard to do a Bob Dylan imitation and keeps referring to the audience as "You guys." You might wonder why I'm mentioning this. Yeah. It's the folly of youth and I see it at clubs, open-mikes, or the same attitude with young people who are trying to make it on the stage as "Newgrass" groups. They just don't get it. Destroy a good thing (I felt sorry for the girl with the talented voice) by thinking that talent is naturally going to come out of a control box. They need to listen to, and study the Masters more closely. And most of all, realize that climbing to the top of any kind of musical or performing ladder requires hours of rehearsal and lessons in how to present yourself in front of an audience - in a professional manner. It's an art. 

Entertainment On The Cheap - Entertainment You Never Forget

  

When Connie and I first moved to Vienna we had a favorite restaurant we liked to go to. It was a warm place, with cheap food, and always filled with families and lots of kids. In the corner was a piano and people would get up and sing whenever the mood struck them. I think it was actually called The Family Restaurant, but it's long gone. We never go to the expensive over-blown steak houses or any of those restaurants near malls which are now mostly owned by some faceless food conglomerate. They always seem so tacky and uninspired and now there's usually a micro brewery connected to them that pumps out fruit-flavored beers for the upwardly mobile set. I guess I've really gotten old and out of touch. I miss the big plates of meat loaf and mashed potatoes, the broasted chicken. I miss the green salads that actually looked like a salad. I miss seeing old people have a good time on a precious night out in a place that's cozy and welcoming, and they're being waited on by Jake, Millie, or Agnes, who live right around the corner and have been serving the same customers since the 60's.
     On a hot tip I went to Anthony's Restaurant in Falls Church, Virginia to hear some music. I had been there before, so nothing new to that. What was new was the crowd that had come out to hear Andrew Acosta in the back room. That there is a back room is a tip-off to rediscovery. It's a party room of sorts, and a spill-over area for Anthony's regular customers. Anthony's is a Falls Church institution and a throw-back to those days I'm talking about. The Anthony's-style restaurants are fast fading from the scene and being replaced by restaurants that try to change their theme every time a new owner takes control. You'll get the same menu of food at Anthony's that you ordered 20 years ago.
     In the back room I saw some friends from CABOMA (the Capitol Area Bluegrass and Old Time Music Association.) There were 'Howdies' all around and couples, oldsters, and lots of kids drifted in and out and everyone enjoyed the simple fare. When's the last time you had a real Meatball Sub smothered in grease and cheese and it didn't come out of a bag at Subway? I couldn't finish it. I didn't want the music to stop either. The crowd stayed for Andrew Acosta and his two friends who entertained the neighborhood local crowd. Old time country and western in flavor with lots of ancient bluegrass chestnuts, Acosta took his time, didn't seem to work off any kind of play list. If you wanted to hear something just shout it. We're in no hurry to go find our cars as you would in a mall parking lot or have to worry about the eternal traffic back-up on 66. It's that kind of atmosphere - almost luxurious in today's frenetic Washington, D.C. Suburbia. Acosta played the TennesseeWaltz, and yep, a couple in the back got up and started waltzing. Why not? Who cares?
     The next time you think about your entertainment dollar, think about spending it on your local Mom-and-Pop operation and local musicians like Andrew Acosta. Good entertainment like this still exists in out-of-the-way places. You have to get out of your chair and away from the TV set to go look for them.

Andrew Acosta and Friends play most Thursday evenings at Anthony's Restaurant in Falls Church, Va. Check with the management for available nights.

Danny Paisley and Southern Grass - 24 February 2013

 Danny Paisley and Southern Grass on 24 February. They'll be back at Jumbo Jimmy's on Sunday, 3 March, 2013.

     Simple, direct, and always fabulously entertaining in a story-telling kind of way. These are my thoughts on this chilly February afternoon as I'm watching Danny Paisley and Southern Grass work their magic on the nearly full-house at Jumbo Jimmy's Crab House in Port Deposit, Maryland. Danny Paisley is fast becoming one of Maryland's State Treasures. If he's not now, he should be recognized as such. Every State recognizes those artists and musicians who epitomize what is best about the place they grew up in and right here in Virginia we have such a great program that recognizes our own home-grown musicians. I didn't do any fact-checking for Maryland, but I'm sure such a State recognition exists. This style of music, Danny's style of music, is right up there with the best in bluegrass and mountain music. I like to take it one step further and proclaim it for what it is - real, honest-to-God, Maryland-style music about the tough life, trying to make it in an unkind world, smoky beer joints, and jilted lovers. Not everybody likes this stuff, but good lord does it sell records, so there must be a huge audience out there that thinks like I do.
      Today's country/western music attempts to do what Danny and so many of his Maryland and Virginia compatriots in the bluegrass arena do,  but very quickly a wall goes up between the two styles of music. Anybody worth their worn out collection of Jimmy Martin CD's will tell you that modern-day country/western music owes its existence to the old-time mountain music. The original purity of the music has been lost to the almighty dollar and advanced recording technology. Anybody can fudge a recording, tweek it, twist it enough to twist out a few more dollars. The fascination remains for me to search out the purists, the practitioners who are still plunking their Martins for a pittance at the local beer joints, and are little known except to most of the local patrons, being written up in prestigious music tabloids and being studied by people who study this stuff. After years of paying his dues and following in the famous Paisley footsteps, Danny is finally making a name and a reputation for himself in the bluegrass industry. An industry that by the way has yet to find an economic foothold up against Pop, Rock, and Country/Western music.
     People like Danny do it for the love of the music, the entertainment value delivered to the listeners, and on this chilly afternoon in Maryland, to keep all the dancers happy and keep them hootin' and hollerin.' You can tell by the smile on his face he's having fun doing what he does, and once again he's the bar-keep's dream package. The Oscars are on tonight and there's no mention of it - not a word - the neighbors have come to listen to some of the best traditional bluegrass music in the region, drink a beer and eat some fish, trade bluegrass gossip. It's all a trial balloon for the coming spring and summer bluegrass festivals and to sell a few more of the latest CD, "Road Into Town" (which is excellent, by the way.) He couldn't do what he does without a solid team behind him and Danny's collected a top-notch ensemble: Mark Delaney on Banjo, Doug Meek on Fiddle, Eric Troutman on Bass and tenor vocals, and son Ryan Paisley on Mandolin. It's a bunch of young guys, but very polished and demanding in their perfected pieces of the action. Watch Eric Troutman. He's an an accomplished vocalist and his duet singing with Danny looks so easy. That's the trick; it's not.

Danny Paisley and Southern Grass will be back at Jumbo Jimmy's on March 3rd, 4:00 pm to 8:00. Jumbo Jimmy's is located in Port Deposit, Maryland within easy reach of Baltimore and Washington, D.C. Jumbo Jimmy's specializes in promoting good, local bluegrass music.

High Octane is On a Roll

 Doug Ross, Marv Ashby, Beardie Bassman, and Robby Benzing at Barns of Rose Hill, Berryville.

9 February 2013: Barns of Rose Hill, Berryville, Virginia

     It's billed as a CD Release Party for High Octane's latest effort Morgan County, and it really has turned into a party. There's barbeque from the Berryville Grill being served up in the Art Gallery and a drink stand in another gallery serving up moonshine concoctions. I passed on that since I'm a teetotaler, but the reports coming in say the moonshine was pretty good. Marvin Ashby is making a lot of jokes about it onstage. A nice crowd is showing up on a really cold evening and Marv and Beardie are making everybody feel at home in this beautiful playing space out in the middle of the Shenandoah Valley. Robby Benzing (Banjo) is being his usual reserved self. Just once I'd like to get a smile from him as I work the room and take a lot of pictures. Well, he's awfully young, and after all, he's one of the hottest young banjo-pickers in this neck of Appalachia. There's a lot of great talent in this valley extending up into the West Virginia Panhandle. Robby may not smile a lot because he's all business when you put a five-string in his hands. I've been told he's just as slick on a guitar, too.
     They don't call themselves "High Octane" for nothing. Marvin Ashby is making a name for himself with his hard-driving guitar style, while "Beardie Bassman" (Doug Moats) pushes both Marv and Robby with a driving, flogging, style of rhythm on stand-up bass. Vocals are supplied by Ashby and Moats. "Beardie" is particularly gifted with a wide assortment of old Jimmy Martin favorites (OK, you just made me a fan, Beardie,). I love to hear these guys play together. If there is anything not quite up to snuff, it's the vocals. It's sometimes very difficult to understand the words and phrasing, even when I know the songs they're playing. Maybe it's just me and my being crippled with an English Degree. I can be a snob about such matters as diction. But the playing? Well, these guys are full-throttle dynamite. And it wouldn't be fair if I didn't mention that High Octane is straight-on, real, By-God mountain music played in the right style to placate any egg-head musicologist or folklorist who might be reading this or making a study of such matters. You don't need to study these guys, just watch the audience reaction. This is potent stuff right out of the mountains and lost a long time ago on the radio waves.
     On this evening they were joined by an old friend, Douglas Ross on mandolin. Doug Ross plays regularly with Dry Mill Road (Winchester, Va.) and both groups have shared stages together throughout the Panhandle, Maryland, and Virginia. Doug Ross was having a lot of fun trying to keep up with High Octane, and often, this music is about pushing the limits. Beardie ceded one of his favorite numbers to Doug, ("Freeborn Man") and that's a class-act sign of professionalism. It's about fun and showmanship. High Octane and the crowd got into the celebration. Instead of "Morgan County West Virginia" they should have named the CD "Morgan County West Virginia - Authentic"

The Picture

10 January 2013 - Cai Tac Village, Hau Giang Province, Viet Nam

     Six of us drove down from Saigon today to begin our work with the WEAV organization (Women's Empowerment and Voice). It's hot and very humid for this time of the year. It looks like rain. South of Saigon the landscape changes dramatically to an aquatic world of water palms, coconut palms, and green rice paddies, and the numerous rivers that make up the Mekong River System. Most tourists see only the Mekong. The Hau River ahead of us is much, much larger, and more interesting. I had been on the Hau many times in previous years and for me it was like a homecoming to see its broad expanse again. Continually muddy with silt coming all the way out of Laos and Cambodia, as if carrying away all the hopes and dreams of the local inhabitants and dumping them into the Pacific Ocean. Having been all over the geography of Viet Nam from top to bottom and having studied each section, the Mekong Delta remains one of my favorite locales. It's just very fascinating. Everyone and everything moves by water. The water dictates their lives and feeds the world with its endless variety of tropical fruits and farm products. They say no one ever starves in this region due to the abundance of food hanging from the trees and the seafood trapped in its waterways. Add to this the thousands of canals connecting the production areas and farms to the numerous rivers. Hollywood couldn't have dreamed this place up. No modern computer-generated movie could duplicate the raw beauty of the weird landscape.
     Seven kilometers southeast of Can Tho we headed off the highway and into a village system of canals and narrow roads until the roads ended at the edge of what looked like a jungle. Not really. Every piece of land here is in reality numerous fruit plantations that butt up against each other and they are tended as carefully as anyone's garden plot is cared for. How anyone fought a war here is beyond my belief. Our Navy tried to control it, but failed miserably against the enemy and the elements. Our group of two Americans and four Vietnamese is here now to award 54 college scholarships to promising students from Hau Giang Province, and check in with local women who were awarded micro loans last year. We would be staying at the ancestral home of Ms. Thanh My, one of the board members, and a gracious host for the WEAV Team.
Loi, our van driver pulled off the road at the edge of the jungle and we began the walk to what we soon started calling "The Hacienda" situated deep within the forest of fruit trees, coconut palms, and alongside a narrow canal. It started raining as soon as we left the van. We were laughing. What a way to make an entrance.
     Rooming and bedding arrangements were sorted out after dinner. This would be interesting in the morning with all these women trying to use the one bathroom in the house. Three other women (Thanh My's relatives) already lived there and pampered all of us with constant meals, fruit, and non-stop amounts of tea and coffee. The real work was to begin in the morning at a local school and we had to be on time. I was directed toward a bedroom I would share with Mr. Thai, a quiet sort, but a good man about my age. The first order of business in this neck of the woods is to rig up your mosquito net and find space for your gear, preferably up off the floor so it's not infested with insects.  I slept like a baby amidst frog and gecko noises. The night air  was warm but not unpleasant.
     The house came alive with the first call of the local roosters. A cooking fire was started. I trundled around in the gloom of our room to find my shaving gear. Above my head I spotted some old wedding photos, somewhat faded with time, a calendar from the previous year, and next to my shaving gear on a bureau, an old photo in a silver frame of a young man dressed in a navy uniform. His eyes stared at me. I took time to look at him as my eyes adjusted to the dim light of the coming morning. I wondered who's navy he had been in. Such questions can be deeply personal and possibly none of my business in a country with which we had previously fought a war. The business at the local school went well; even better than expected, and the team returned to the "Hacienda" tired, but elated. I filled my brain all that day with a thousand questions about the sailor in the picture. I had to find out who he was and what his connection was to this gracious family who was now hosting me and five other people in their home.
     We were tired that evening, but no matter. Tuyen, the lady who seemed to be the main organizer of our stay, soon had dinner ready and let us relax afterward in hammocks and again and again, produced large servings of freshly picked fruit and pots of tea. It was a wonderful evening. I asked if there was a guitar in the house and one was quickly produced. It was a hand-made beauty from Can Tho and probably cost no more than a hundred dollars. We laughed and joked and discussed the day's business. The guitar helped me slide into the night-sounds, and continuing thoughts of the Sailor in the photo. There are a million stories in (and out) of this country that have never surfaced yet. The war was one thing. The diaspora of the Boat People was another. The Post 1975 period of peace and economic struggle is the Today portion of a continuing history. I've been a witness to it all and have worked with many who've made it a life advocacy to continue to watch it, study it, and write about it. My life has been good to me throughout it all. The military part of me would like me to forget about it, but every once in a while it jumps up to bite me at odd and curious moments, such as the one I was having right now with that photograph. We all went to bed early with the January shortness of the day - and I said a silent goodnight to the eyes staring out at me from the photo.
     I'm an inveterate collector of stories. They feed our memories of people, both good and bad. If they're never written down the truth within them is lost to the ages. Facts get confused with time and exaggeration. If I didn't ask any questions I wasn't about to get any answers about the Sailor. The next morning's breakfast of fried fish and Pho proved to be interesting.
     During a more quiet moment after the meal I broached the subject with our host Thanh My. She was curious as to why I was so interested in knowing who the man was. I told her I too, had been in the military, and had actually served here during the war. All the women seemed surprised to learn this. The open veranda, which served as gathering area and dining area became even more quiet as Thanh My started telling the story of Tran Kim Long, who's widow Hue had graciously opened her home to us for the past several days. I looked at Hue, and the wedding photos in the bedroom suddenly became clearer to me. Kim Long's photo also held a special place on the Family Altar in the center of the home. "What happened to him?" I asked. "Let me show you something," replied Thanh My. She led me reverently out to the rear of the house and down a path covered with fruit trees. Ahead was the Family burial ground, neatly kept and obviously visited often. "Here he is," said Thanh My. "He survived the war and struggled after he came home. He married, had three daughters who still live close by, and then suddenly died when he was 45." It reminded me of so many other stories I'd heard over the years since the end of the war. Kim Long had served on "the Southern Side" but it didn't seem to matter to me in the end. He had his whole life ahead of him after surviving so much, only to die at a young age in a man's life-span. I, a former Sailor paid my tributes to another Sailor. The civilian world has no understanding of the meaning behind the exchange. It's a code of sorts, ingrained in me until I meet my own passing from this piece of dirt. Although I never knew him, I'll not forget him.