Posted on 09/02/2005 9:16:42 PM PDT by neverdem
Darn. More research.
Build it like a submarine
Citation: dictionary.com
Watch out for the pop-ups
I love allegory. Trying to figure out what the author is trying to say. The details are unimportant because details can always be refuted at some level. (I am a mathematician, by the way.)
Well you didn't say what the story was from, and it had nothing to do with the topic.
Your personal page, if not also complete fiction, completely and utterly contradicts every single word you've posted to this thread. And if that weren't enough, you've run into someone who was not only, alive, well, and an ADULT in 1972, but someone who was living in Manhattan, at that time and has an excellent memory.
And when I read that wee, totally disconnected blurb, or yours, in post #3, I recalled that I had read that blurb, as part of something posted to FR, months ago and it most assuredly was NOT written by you!
To compound your spurious, fallacious writings, you sent me a FREEPmail last night, wherein you informed me that you, YOU ( LOL ) could tell me all kinds of things about the "underside" of N.Y.C. and D.C.! That has to be one of THE funniest things have ever seen an arrogant, delusional liar ever send me. LOL
Oh, so purloined work and fiction claimed as factual history is now " an extended metaphor"? Not in this universe, it isn't...unless in real life, you are Ward Churchill! Ward, is that you, you lying, wannabe Indian ?
Instead of trying to make excuses for him/your other nic, stay out of this battle.
And it was passed off as his own, in two out of the three posts, in which he CCPed other people's work. He did cop to one of the posts, as being someone else's, when pressed with a direct citation, from another poster. LOL
Actually, I live for that day.
G_D knows what you live for.
Dude, you are about 1 slide deep.
Naaaaa...never happen.
You posted things which you found on line and/or made up. You admitted to another poister, that yes, you were quoting someone else's work, but to me, you lie, lie, lie, LIE THROUGH YOUR TEETH.
You'll be "living for the day", FOREVER, when some fool CCPs your "work", that he "found on the web"; unless, of course, he isn't "some jerk", but the author of the piece and is telling you that he is suing you, for claiming his work as your own.
And GOD, millennia ago, told HIS people : THOU SHALT NOT BEAR FALSE WITNESS !"; which is to say, DON'T LIE.
What a stupid article. There's simply no comparison between 9/11 -- which affected a few blocks of a single city, and this hurricane, which flooded and otherwise destroyed several thousand square miles of houses, roads, levees, and so on.
I'm not a "dude" BTW, and anyone who uses that appellation in a post, is writing like an ill educated 13 year old in the slow track at school. You may imagine yourself a "writer", but CCPing other people's words, doesn't make you the author of them.
But I don't get it? Who else was supposed to have written that piece? It looks like patton's writing style to me.
Nevermind - he thinks I stole it from someone else, let him think it.
Patton Thomas Hudson
August 24, 1914 – April 5, 2002
Thanks, Mom, for dragging me up here. You, too, Grandma, and Aunt Barbara.
You know, for the first time in my life, I have my entire family sitting in front of me,
waiting for me to speak, and they cannot tell me to shut up.
I want to talk about politics.
Well, Grandpa would have – he would have used any opportunity to talk, to anyone,
about any subject that he held near and dear to his heart. Mom always told me that
Granddad could make friends with anyone, anytime, just to pass the time of day.
I hope that I got that from him, because otherwise, I am just a horrible gossip.
Seriously, Grandpa was born – and died – a conservative. It is my task to carry on, in
his stead.
I polled the family – our clan, and I love you all – over the last few days. A number of
things were brought up, that I should mention while I am up here.
But let me begin with some of the things that I know about Grandpa, some of the
things that made him special.
First and foremost, the man put the word "work" in "work ethic." I have never seen,
and probably never will see, a human being more driven to do well. He was
determined to finish first at anything he tried, and second-best was not even an
option.
Grandpa told me of his running in the Oklahoma State Championships in track – he
told me about setting the record in the mile, a record that stood for years, and how
he was then hit by a shot-putter in the next event. He thought that the guy had done
it on purpose.
He may have been right – One thing about Grandpa's stories is that they always got
better with age.
Grandma said once that "He tells a story once, and he likes it – He tells it twice, and
he believes it." I loved Granddad's stories, and so did he.
Some of his stories, though, were not exaggerated – He was most definitely a soldier,
a sailor, and a statesmen.
In high school, he worked to support his family. As I understand it, he worked from
seven AM until noon – he had to be at school at one PM. So he ran from work to
school, and ate an apple on the way – including the core, I assume. At least, he
always made me eat the apple core.
After high school, Grandpa was rewarded with a scholarship to the University of
Arkansas. This was pretty rare, in a day and age when graduating from high school
was not exactly the norm.
But that is the road not taken – and it is a good thing for all of us.
Instead, around 1932, he left home with ten dollars in his pocket, and made for
Chicago.
Somehow, he became a soldier – Although a city kid, Grandpa somehow wound up
in the US Cavalry. How, I have never understood, but he has a military service
record that puts him on a US Army horse, in Texas, in the 1930's.
On a horse, leading a packhorse – the horse he was on made a jump, the packhorse
didn't. I imagine he fell off.
One of the great beauty's of Granddad's stories is that he never finished them – you
had to imagine how it turned out.
And he liked it. We loved it.
Through some mysterious process, he next became an armed guard at a gold mine in
the Philippines – In the interest of Grandma's sensibilities, I will skip the details of
this part of his life.
But suffice it to say, he liked it.
Then came a Navy career – inspired, I guess, by his army draft notice for W.W.II. He
stuck it back in the mailbox, on the advice of a navy-recruiter buddy, who had plied
him with alcohol. And on the advice of the same buddy, he joined the Navy for two
years.
Only, when he sobered up, he found out that the contract was for six years. I think
that made him mad. At least, he was still mad in 1978, when he last mentioned it.
But, he liked it.
He served on the USS Flint in W.W.II, and later on the USS Tidewater. Most of his
Navy time, though, he spent on the USS Deskchair.
Thereafter, grandpa took a civil service job, and eventually rose to the rank of GS-15.
That, in civilian parlance, is the equivalence of a full-bird colonel. One step away
from a general.
For a guy who started out as a private in the Army, this is amazing. I hope,
somehow, someday, to do as well.
And he liked it.
Eventually, he gave up military service, and sold real-estate instead. I remember,
around 1979 or so, when he was stalling a sale for all he was worth, because of the tax
implications. He was determined to game the tax system to his advantage.
And he liked it.
At the time, I was a kid in High School – Granddad spent more time, more of his
energy, on us kids than I can imagine. I used to go to his house every day, after
school, for a game of chess. I never won.
And he liked that, too.
Along the way, we delivered a few phone books. Actually, a lot of phone books. At a
nickel a book, we delivered enough to pay for my Pilots license, and help my
brothers with their education.
When I graduated from basic training, Mom tells me that they had to tie Granddad
up, to keep him from signing up. I think that he wanted to go to jump school with
me.
Personally, I am devastated to have lost my name-sake, if that is the right word; It
has always been a point of pride for me, a connection, to know that there were only
two of us on this world – Patton Thomas Hudson, and Patton Thomas Cooper.
There are no others.
I will miss the confusion at Christmas.
There is so much that I will miss.
My oldest son – Ryan Patrick – got a letter from school yesterday. It outlines the
upcoming assignments for the 8th grade.
One of them is to explore the history of the US, in W.W.II., using any resources
available.
O course, our greatest resource is gone.
My mother asked me to mention a few tidbits of Grandpa's life - like the fact that he
fell in love with Grandma, because she "had the bluest eyes he had ever seen."
She does, by the way.
They met on Bill Bailey's birthday, which was also Grandma's birthday, September
26th, 1942.
Bill, the silly twit, brought Grandma to the train station to meet someone. She met
Grandpa, and they were married two months later.
While they were courting, Grandpa would routinely stay late at Grandma's boarding
house, and miss the last trolley home to Fort Meyer. I guess his running career was
now transformed into a walking one – it has to be a five-mile walk, at least.
Mom also asked that I mention Grandpa's genealogical research, and how he had
traced our family lineage back to Noah. We all got a laugh out of that, but Noah was
probably comforted to know where his children are.
Many of us have commented on Grandpa's peculiar character – he was often
described as an "inchworm." Simply put, that means that he counted everything. He
would count the folks that he saw on the bike trail, as he counted his steps on his
morning walk, and tell Grandma how many people that he had seen. No matter that
he saw them when he walked by them forward, and then saw the same folks as he
came back – he would count them all. It was rather egalitarian of him, when you
think about it.
In 1992, I was helping Granddad out on his farm in Glade Springs, VA. He had a row
a three wild cherry trees that he wanted down.
I had cut down the first one, and sawn it into 20-foot logs, and I was busy wearing
out the chainsaw on the second. Cherry is hard wood.
Behind me, I heard chopping, and a loud crack. Granddad had taken his axe, and two
wedges, and split one of those 20-foot logs lengthwise.
I was astounded – I would not even have tried to do such a thing.
I guess that he was about 80 at the time.
One thing that stands out for me, is that Grandpa was always willing to lend a hand.
Especially, to us, to our family. He might criticize you for needing it, but he would
help.
And then came the questions – Why? Why did you need help?
He could be kind of nosy, come to think of it.
When Grandpa was dying, he asked, "Who has the keys? Where is the car? Let's go."
He was ready to go.
Grandpa was both a sinner and a saint – in no way was he perfect.
But he was ours, and we loved him.
Granddad, I love you.
Patton Thomas Cooper
Dulin United Methodist Church
Falls Church, VA
April 11, 2002
see 57.
Oh well, neither are you. ;^)
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