Family

Santa’s Workshop

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I took my bride to the North Pole to check on progress at Santa’s Workshop. You see, we submit voluminous and detailed lists of what we want for Christmas, so we have to provide oversight.

I’m proud to say that Santa and the elves were kickin’ it … some kind of ball I think. But they were also working hard on toys. I could tell because Santa’s cheeks and nose were red.

So rest peacefully, little children. Santa will be ready to come to your house and make your Christmas Merry once again this year. After all, Christmas is 12 days away, so we start expecting presents any minute.

Merry Christmas!

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Yeah, Yeah, I’m In Mensa

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My birthday is coming up in about 6 weeks No big deal at my age. However, it is the billing cycle for my Mensa membership, also.

I joined Mensa in 1978, and my acceptance is one of the memories of that year that are most vivid. Although I qualified through previous testing (in Jr. High School), I could not get the test results to send in. So I took the proctored test — driving 2.5 hours from small town Kansas to the big city of Wichita.

When the results came in the mail, I was surprised. Not that I thought I did bad on the tests, but the usual self-doubts we all feel at various points in our lives.

My father, not the most supportive person in the world, was there when I opened the letter. I didn’t exactly do handstands, but I exclaimed something like, “Wow, I made it.”

Dad looked over at me and said, “Did they send you a membrership card?”

Puzzled, I answered in the affirmative.

“Let me see it,” he said, as if wanting proof I wasn’t lying. And yes, that is how he treated me, even at age 22.

After he glanced at the card, he said, “Well – that and a dime will get you a cup of coffee.” and handed it back to me.

And yes — a cup of coffee was only a dime at many places in 1978 rural Kansas.

Back then, membership was $20 per year. They also offered a package — $200 for a Lifetime Membership! Had I the financial resources then, I would have taken it. But that was a week’s salary for me and I lived paycheck-to-paycheck.

Today I bought a 5 year package that cost half again as much as that Lifetime Membership, but I don’t regret the money I’ve spent on Mensa Membership over my 42 years of participation.

Mensa was my entire social life for many years, and I gave back by serving in various capacities — LocSec, newsletter editor, program chairman … and helped in other activities. I met a lot of great people that played a great role in my life. I dated some of them, even, and have fond memories still.

But I am sure I will remain a lifetime member even if I have to pay for it year-by-year. Mensa has been an important part of my life — it has given me purpose and cemented a part of my identity.

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Craig’s Memorial

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On this day in 2002, I got the phone call.

Everybody remembers where they were when President Kennedy was assassinated. Or if you are younger, maybe when men first landed on the moon. Or even where you were when the Twin Towers fell on 9/11.

I don’t remember exactly where I was when I got the call. My wife and I were in a motel just outside Los Angeles, but I forget which town. It doesn’t matter.

My niece Ali Kinsman called and broke the news. Craig died.

I thanked her — numb, in shock.

As soon as I hung up, I convulsed in tears, howling with rage. It was so unfair. Why did it have to happen?

Estelle grabbed me in a tight hug, but I could feel no comfort.

“We all knew this day was coming, though we hoped it never would.
But it finally came and now he’s gone for good.”

The Recreation Group Gives Craig A 21-Gun Salute

I phone his wife, Joy, a couple of days before. It was Craig’s 49th birthday and he had just been released from the hospital. He was sent home for the last time. I asked how Craig was doing, and she told me he was in a coma. But — always clinging to hope — I reassured myself that people come out of comas.

Not this time.

As the disease progressed, Craig needed more and more medical procedures. I think one of the last ones was removal of his gall bladder. The creeping evil was taking over his body and all we could do was hope for a miracle.

I kept crying, the anger and grief spilling out of me. After all, there was nothing I could do. But I did have Estelle to comfort me.

There was no funeral in the traditional church sense. Joy arranged a memorial service in Wichita — their home.

Craig and Joy had enjoyed camping out and cultivated a circle of friends who were historical recreators. Craig assumed the identity of a mountain man, and they would go camping, roughing it in a modern way. He told me they sang and told stories around the campfire, and arranged knife and hatchet throwing exhibitions. Craig was also a gun afficionado and there was a lot of recreational shooting.

The group came to Craig’s memorial in costume and offered salutes to him that were very touching. But even more touching were the stories they told me about my brother — these people I’d never known.

When Craig got sick, many of them became solicitous. But Craig turned the tables on them. When they wanted to check on his well-being, Craig would inquire about their various problem, offer sympathy and help. One ran into him in the waiting are of the emergency room. Craig expressed concern why she was there. After all, it was no secret why Craig might be there, but he was concerned that something had happened to one of his friends.

He was always — if not chipper — positive and thoughtful. The only time I heard him grumble — even a little bit — was when he told me over the phone, “How come nobody offers Make-A-Wish to me?” He expressed a desire to attend the National Finals Rodeo in Las Vegas, but he didn’t survive long enough even if he would have been well enough to attend.

I was in Las Vegas when Craig told me he had Cancer. Estelle and I lived there around 2000-2001. This was just after 9/11 and Craig told me that there was something on his x-ray. He wasn’t one to complain, and the way he handled it discouraged any direct discussion of morbid subjects.

On one of our talks, I broke down — and I didn’t want to do that. He was the one with a deadly illness, so what did I have to cry about. I was 45 years old, for cryin’ out loud.

I told him, “I don’t think I’m a good American. I’d rather have a big brother than Twin Towers.”

I felt ashamed because so many people died, and I was just selfish wanting my brother to survive.

He didn’t make me feel ashamed. He always said the right things to make me feel better.

“How could any box contain a heart as big as what he had,
And all the love he gave to all he knew?
How could any of us say goodbye? How could we let him know,
What he meant to us, and how we loved him so?”

The pain of loss subsides, but it never goes away. Everyone leaves a mark in this world, and the physical remains turn to memories. But memories are an important building block of life. Memories are something we should preserve and cherish — and that is why I continue to publicly revive these memories. Selfish? I consider them my contribution to improving life in general.

(Lyric Excerpts from the unpublished song “Outside The Box/Larger Than Life.” Lyrics by Laura Principato, music by Wade B Ward copyright 2009.

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Traditional Thanksgiving Memories

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I was reared (animals are “raised”) in a small town in a rural area of the nation. Believe it or not — our Midwest lifestyle was very like the New England lifestyle nearly a century earlier that was recorded by Norman Rockwell in his marvelous paintings.
My father’s side of the family got the pleasure of our company on Thanksgiving and mother’s side got the honor of our presence on Christmas — alternating each year. The two families were in adjacent towns only a dozen miles apart, so we did a lot of family visits throughout the year, of course.
But holidays were special. The Ward family met (usually) at the home of my grandparents and (at minimum) included a core group of their son and daughter — my father Don and my Aunt Bee

Rockwell Thanksgiving Painting
Remembering our loved-ones who are no longer with us at holiday dinners

— and their children.
That generation was represented by me and my two brothers (Craig and Bart Ward) and Bee and her husband Bill’s kids Todd and Tara (who were about ten years younger than me).
The Bartley family (my mom’s side of the family) had a few more options and we gathered in Almena, KS. Grandma Bartley had three kids — my mom was the baby, and she had an older brother Tom Bartley and much older sister, Maryse.
Tom and his wife Inge Graf Bartley hosted sometimes and Maryse and her husband Burnal hosted other times — but my dad didn’t like to spend holidays in Almena because TV reception was poor (this was before cable TV) and he couldn’t enjoy the ball games.
As always, though — food was plentiful and we pigged out major league.
I have so many wonderful memories of our extended family gatherings and as a child, I thought they would continue forever.
But of course, nothing is forever. Time marches on, and we lose loved-ones along the way.
I wanted to commemorate happy childhood memories by referencing the famous Rockwell painting “Freedom From Want” — one of his series of Four Freedom paintings.
In this one I have remembered those on my paternal side of the family who are no longer with us — empty chairs at the dinner table.
My maternal side of the family will have to forgive me — there are a lot more people involved and I don’t know how to represent all of them and all the memories they contributed — at least not this year. But I will never forget any of the people who have made me what I am today — and mainly that is “rich in memories.”
And certainly THANKFUL.
Happy Thanksgiving to all.

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Observing Martin Luther King, Jr. Day

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We attended a stirring and enjoyable  Sunday afternoon at a tribute to honor Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. by the South Coast Interfaith Council. The program was hosted by the Gospel Memorial Church of God in Christ (COGIC), Long Beach, CA.

SCIC I South Coast Interfaith Council Logo

Around 150 attended and to say the crowd was diverse would be an understatement. The program featured leaders of local Christian, Muslim, Jewish, Baha’i, Buddhist, Hindu and Zoroastrian congregations contributing to the afternoon festivities.

“We must learn to live together as brothers or perish together as fools.” Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. from a speech in St Louis, 1964

Pastor Leon Wood Jr., served as MC. This gentleman is not only possessed of the most beautiful speaking voice I’ve heard in quite some time, but his background includes long-term activism in the homeless movement. He is retired from being Dean of the School of Business and Technology at Long Beach City College.

“Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.” From Dr. King’s famous “I Have a Dream” speech, 1963

Religious Leaders Speaking at MLK Day

Among the religious leaders present, I was most surprised to find out that Zoroastrianism has not died out. I learned about this religion from an historical novel set in the 4th century BCE, and its belief system influenced both Christianity and Islam. My wife, Estelle Toby Goldstein, spoke with him at length after the service and will probably write about that in her own space (if you are not her friend, this might be the time to hook-up).

“A nation that continues year after year to spend more money on military defence than on programs of social uplift is approaching spiritual doom.” From Dr. King’s book “Where Do We Go From Here: Chaos or Community?” 1967

From my interest in music, I was already aware of the COGIC reputation for soulful, funky, grooving, gospel music and I was not disappointed. Gospel singer Erma Varnado did two numbers favored by Dr. King, “His Eyes Are On The Sparrow,” and “I Won’t Complain.” Her voice has power to rattle the windows and fixtures, and you can tell a lot of that power comes from her faith as well as her vocal muscles. She also sang two numbers at the closing of the ceremony. Her accompaniment was provided by music minister Paul Parker on the organ — and that gentleman matched the singer for fervor.

Gospel singer Erma Varnado

Another kind of gospel was provided by Nicholas Miller who sang and played guitar. He immediately got audience participation and moved the people to stand, clap, stomp their feet and sing along.

If you haven’t been in this type of environment before, it is happy, loud, spirited and joyful.

Nicholas Miller

This isn’t the hushed worship service often associated with churches.

The keynote speaker was Michele Antoinette Dobson, a local attorney and civic activist. She’s a prominent Rotarian and specializes in defending non-profit organizations. She spoke not only of her own racial struggles, but what she has faced as a woman working to enter a traditionally male field, as a woman, and with being judged for her weight and economic background.

“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” From a letter Dr. King wrote while in the Birmingham City Jail, 1963

Other speakers on the program were Maneck Bhujwala of the Zoroastrian Community of Southern California.

Milia Islam-Majeed, Executive Director of the South Coast Interfaith Council.

Spencer R. Butler, Jr. — a senior at Cal State Long Beach and a member of the student branch of NAACP.

Gretchen Krutz of the Long Beach Baha’i Community,

Naomi Rainey-Pierson, President of the Long Beach chapter of NAACP.

Sandi Zander, representing Temple Menorah of Torrance, CA.

Imam Tarek Mohamed of Long Beach Islamic Center.

Patti Heckman of the South Bay SGI Buddhist Community

Dr. Rini Ghosh of the Hindu Vedanta Society

Each of these spiritual leaders led the gathering in a call and response litany,

Ernest McBride, Sr and his children also offered reflections.

“Freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed.” From a letter Dr. King wrote while in the Birmingham City Jail, 1963

The ceremony ended with everyone joining hands and singing “We Shall Overcome,” the anthem of the civil rights movement in the days of Dr. King — again accompanied by Rev Parker on organ.

The entire program was a bonding of different faiths and races, and it makes me wonder (in the words of Rodney King) — “Why can’t we all just get along,”

“Nothing in the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity.” From “Love In Action from Strength to Love,” 1963 by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

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Bunk House Boys — A New Chapter 2017

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It is “Craig Week” again and we are almost finished.  I’ve been posting daily on my Facebook page with pictures and anecdotes about Craig and the Bunkhouse Boys.

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Today I posted an introduction to the various people who were a part of that scene all those years ago.  And there are plenty of pictures.

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Tomorrow will be the Grand Finale for this year and it should be a doozy.  I’ll tell about our annual Fourth Of July Picnics and show some incriminating, ummm I mean … “Intriguing” pictures.

Here is the latest chapter — I hope you enjoy!

BHB Core Membership

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Truck Driving Craig

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I think my brother fell in love with trucks during the CB radio craze of the mid-1970s.

Craig often had a wild affinity for some subject or another, and when he did he went all out.

And when Craig was crazy about something, everybody in the family would be roped in by his enthusiasm.

So then we all got into CB radios, every one of our vehicles had to have one. Everybody had to have a CB handle. Craig even went so far as to install a separate CB band aerial on top of the house. The breakfast nook in our kitchen was turned into the base station for the CBs. And of course we had to have a lot of equipment.

Craig Ward with his parents

Craig was the “Happy Hippy”. I was “Camelback”. Brother Bart went by “Cool Breeze,” and Dad was the “Roadhog” which he could never remember. He would get on the radio and say, “This is the Road Agent” or something similar but totally unlike “Roadhog”.

During this time it wasn’t just the radios that were hot — It was trucking in general. There were hit songs about truck driving and the newer ones were CB radio-oriented. There were movies about Over-The-Road-Truckers and their CB radios doing various things. There was even a hit TV show at the time called “Moving On” and it featured a theme song by Merle Haggard, no less.

Although I can’t lay my hands on it at this time, I remember well a photograph we took of Craig on his 22nd birthday. The cake was shaped like a CB radio and the legend in frosting said “Break

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All Choked Up At Easter

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My brother Bart is three years younger than me. One of my earliest Easter memories is the time I nearly killed him.

I remember Bart was so little he wasn’t walking yet, so probably less than one year old. He was in one of those little seats where his legs could stick out and touch the floor so he could scoot around.

We were in the kitchen — I can picture this vividly. I was enjoying a chocolate Easter bunny so I wanted to share with my new little brother. Is that so wrong?

He started choking. Fortunately my parents heard him and came rushing in from another room. Mom was asking what happened and I just said I gave him some chocolate.

My father opened his mouth, fished around and withdrew a wad of tin foil.

I was lectured that the wrapping must be removed before feeding anything to the baby.

Who knew? I guess I though he could do it himself.’

Maybe this will help future generations.

Happy Easter Bart. I hope I didn’t ruin chocolate bunnies for you.

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To Mother On Her Birthday

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Carolyn Rae Bartley was born at the height of the Great Depression, April 17, 1932. Today would have been her 85th birthday.

She grew up in Almena, KS, a small town, even by Kansas standards. The town was founded 1872 and had little to offer except being a shipping point located at the junction of two

Carolyn Bartley — approx. 4 years old. Thanks to Fran Post and Inge Bartley for the photo.

railroads. The population in the 1890 census was 366 and that’s about where it stands today. At its peak in the 1930 census, it was credited with about 700 citizens.

Mom was the youngest of three children born to Thomas R. Bartley, editor and publisher of a one-man newspaper, the Almena Plaindealer and Leona Bartley, known by her middle name, Ferryl.

My grandfather (born in Nebraska in 1894) was reportedly a brilliant man, but tragically alcoholic. I never knew him and the family never talked about him. Grandma divorced him when my mother was young, and this was quite scandalous in the 1930s — especially in small town rural areas of the Bible Belt. He died when my mom was 13, probably due to his alcoholism. My parents told me and my brothers that he died in a car wreck. When pressed for details, they said that a bee got into the car and he was trying to kill it or shoo it away while driving, lost control and had a wreck.

This story was supposedly better than acknowledging the shame of his “sinful” condition.

That’s really all I know about him, except that I have seen some of the newspaper columns he

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