An Incredible Story

The second leg of Dave’s journey through Ethiopia takes us to Axum (Aksum). Both Dave and I had been to Axum while we were stationed at Kagnew Station in Asmara.

Axum is a small town that is very rich in Ethiopian (Abyssinian) history. It is best known for its Stelae (Obelisk) Field. The Queen of Sheba purportedly ruled her empire from this small town. Many Ethiopians as well as Eritreans consider Axum to be a very sacred place.

A few days before my journey to Axum, I was speaking to a local friends’ mother about my impending trip. As a child she had been to Axum with her mother (who was the mistress of an Italian military officer, her father, stationed in Ethiopia). They had traveled on a pilgrimage from Asmara to Axum for the Feast of Saint Michael.

In vivid detail she told me of her journey; what took us about three hours took them 3 days. The best part of her story was that on the feast day, the priests carried the “Ark of the Covenant” from the Cathedral to display it to the faithful that were gathered there in the Lord’s name.

I was in awe, because basically, this unbelievable story was being told to me by a woman (in her late 40’s) that I shared breakfast and coffee with several times a week. We had previously spoken about many things, but never religion. I knew that she and her daughter were Catholics because of the Asmara church (St. Antonio) that they attended.

Personally I do not believe that the Ark exists. I’ve never seen it. I have never seen God either, but I do believe that there is a “higher power”.

Without further ado, below is Part II of my friend Dave’s story (with more excellent photographs) about his trip to Ethiopia. As before, you can click on the photos to enlarge them.

The Beach Bum

Elementary (Grammar) School Daze

This is a prelude to my last Blog concerning my High School days.

I entered the Chicago Public School system in the third grade. Prior to that time I was in the Parochial (Catholic) School system. I won’t go into the details, but the Dominican Sisters told my parents that I was an incorrigible child.

One of the greatest benefits in transferring schools was that the Public School (McCormick) was only two blocks away from our house; the nearest Catholic School was 5 blocks away. When you are a kid toting books (in the days before backpacks) to and from school, 3 less blocks made a big difference, especially during the Chicago winters.

In addition, the teachers in the Public Schools were much kinder to their students than the Sisters were. I was accustomed to being whacked on the knuckles (with a ruler) or slapped on the head for just smiling. Even worse punishment would ensue if I had made what was considered to be a “smart alec” remark. I recently told a Catholic friend that we should have sent the Dominican Sisters and Jesuit Brothers down to Gitmo.

The grading system in the Chicago Public school system was also different. Instead of ABCDF we had SEGFU (Superior, Excellent, Good, Fair and Unsatisfactory). Our report cards were graded 4 times per semester; the final period being your final grades for the semester. During my first two semesters at McCormick I had a consistent E average. My grade average would have been higher, but I consistently received F’s in deportment (I guess the Sisters were right – I was a smart alec).

Most of my friends in the neighborhood went to Parochial schools. When I boasted about my E average, they would shrug it off by saying that I was learning at a lower level. They had been told by their parents that the Chicago Public schools were substandard. That way they could readily accept the corporal punishment that they received in the Catholic school system. They were getting a better education; therefore they should endure the pain!

I can’t imagine that there were better teachers than I had during my 6 years at McCormick Elementary School. They worked with the slower students and pushed the brighter students. The bulk of them were old women that had been teaching most of their adult lives. Two (Mrs. Bowlen and Mrs. Garvey) finally retired when my class went on to High School. They were both in their 60’s and had taught some of my classmates parents at our school.

Mrs. Bowlen was my favorite teacher at McCormick. She was my seventh grade homeroom teacher and the senior science teacher. If you wanted to learn, she made learning easy by guiding you (not beating you) into the right direction. She was stern but fair. I (as well as my Mom) stayed in contact with her, until her passing in 1990.
When I was stationed in Africa, she would send me a weekly letter, detailing her life in Thermopolis, Wyoming. In return, I would write about the people that I met and the places that I had visited in Ethiopia (sans the sordid details).

In the second semester of the Eight Grade we took what were called High School Placement Tests (basically an IQ Test). I had always tested well and scored higher than I should have. Mrs. Garvey (my Eight Grade homeroom teacher) almost went into shock when she saw the test results; she realized that I had actually learned something while pulling my usual classroom shenanigans.

About 3 weeks before the school year was over we were visited by staff members of the local Public High Schools. Can you believe that you actually got to choose your High School? I had a choice of three schools; Harrison Tech, Farragut or Lane Tech (an all male school).

Farragut was just two blocks away from my house, but I chose Harrison (a mile away from home) because several of my friends were planning to attend that school and my Dad was an Alumnus. Lane was out of the question; nearly an hour away by bus and no girls.

The Harrison representatives touted me for the Honors (College Prep) classes (English, Science and Math). They told me that they were accelerated classes; however a G would count as an E and an E as an S towards my GPA. They neglected to mention that the homework was basically double than that of normal classes.

Near the end of my freshman year, I met with my Faculty Advisor Mr. Dyokas. Even with the extra credit I was maintaining less that an E average. He told me if I planned to go to College, I better get my grades up a notch. He also told me that it was important that I participated in as many extracurricular activities as possible; this looks good on a college application.

After 4 years of High School I had been a member of The Science Club, The Jazz Club, The Drama Club, The Debating Team and The Newspaper Staff. I had taken Mr. Dyokas’ advice.

The Beach Bum

A Matter of Life and Death

Late last night I took an online quiz. I enjoy taking quizzes and tests online as long as they are free and they don’t ask me for a lot of personal information.

The last online IQ test that I took (about 5 years ago) gave me a score of 143. That was 9 points lower than the last real IQ test that I had taken in 1973. But the real test was at least 16 pages long and the online test was about 56 questions long. It's like trying to compare Apples to Oranges!


The test that I took last night was not an IQ Test. It was a test that determined your real age. The questions were about health factors and lifestyle habits. As they don’t really know who I am, I answered all of the questions honestly.

The results were that my biological age was 12.8 years higher than my chronological age. I wish that I had taken the test years ago. I could have submitted the results to the Social Security Administration and started to draw benefits long before I actually did.

According to actuarial table for the life expectancy of the average United States Male, I died sometime last winter. But, of course, I’ve always considered myself to be above average.

In the spring of 2004 the learned Doctors at the VA Hospital in Saint Petersburg (Bay Pines), Florida gave me 2 to 3 years tops to live if I didn’t radically change my wicked ways and lifestyle. I didn’t, and by the grace of God I am still here to write this Blog.

As I have argued the point before with my Born Again Christian friends; God must love the sinners more than saints! Either that or the Devil is keeping me alive to make me suffer here on Earth before I go to Purgatory (remember, I was raised as a Catholic).

Either way, I’m not worried because I don’t believe in the Heaven/Hell concept.

The Beach Bum

Sinner Man

A comment was recently posted to one of my Blogs (Eye in the Sky) that piqued me. First of all, as I have said before, if you don’t have the intestinal fortitude to put your name on your comment, you shouldn’t be commenting at all.

The comment of which I speak was posted by an anonymous commenter:
“It is never to late to repent your sins and comunicate with the Lord. You have a great opportunity to get connected with your friends, some of which are waiting for the outstretched hand to walk together onward towards peace.”

Here’s the part that really tighten my sphincter: “It is never to late to repent your sins”. First of all who has the right to decide what is a sin or a transgression. I have a set of morals and mores that I subscribe to in my daily life. Who is to say that what I believe to be a sin and do not belive to be a sin is incorrect. Perhaps the Moral Majority is wrong and I am right.

Let’s start with the Ten Commandments.

There are three that I feel that we should all follow. Do not murder or steal and honor your parents. If you don’t follow them you are a sinner. But then again, we must define what was meant by these Commandments.

Is murder OK if you do it in the name of the Lord? In my book murder is the premeditated act of killing another living being, regardless of the reason or the cause. I have violated this commandment by killing insects and other vermin. Therefore, I am a sinner and should repent.

On what level is stealing considered a sin? Is the person that takes a note pad and a few pens home from his workplace a thief? How about the person that takes a glass, flatware or a salt shaker from a restaurant. Are they thieves, after all it is stealing? Stealing is the act of removing of property that belongs to another without their permission. Again, I am guilty; I am a sinner and therefore should repent.

I have always honored and revered my parents. However I do recall one time, when I couldn’t get my way as a teen, which I said to my Dad “I hope that you rot in Hell”. This is not quite honoring thy parents. I guess that technically I have broken this Commandment; I am a sinner and should repent.

I wonder if these sins can be broken down into misdemeanor and felony sins. Must one have to repent for the misdemeanor sins?

There are other things that I consider to be sinful.

One is the waste of finite resources. Yet millions of people around the world do this on a daily basis. It’s a sin and they should repent. I am not guilty of this sin (unless you count beer as a finite resource – I usually leave about a half ounce of backwash in the can.

I feel the waste of food is also a sin. My parents, who lived through the Great Depression, would always tell (force) me to eat everything on my plate and not to waste God’s greatest gift. Leftovers were worked into new meals and we rarely had any food items in our trash. In today’s society too much food goes down the garbage disposal and in the trash can. This is a sin and we should all repent.

I could go on forever on what I believe to be sinful. Most of these sins are not mentioned in the Bible or in any other Holy Book.

However, I do not feel the need to repent for my sins, because like George Carlin, I do not believe in the Heaven and Hell concept. If I’m wrong, I’ll pay on Judgment Day.

The Beach Bum

The Eye in the Sky

George Carlin has spoken his last dirty word, pointed his last finger and taken his last bow. I’ll miss him and his irreverent style of humor.


Carlin was born an Irish Catholic, but gave up on religious practices and beliefs at an early age. Much of his humor was aimed at the Church and organized religion. When he was asked about his religion, he would say “Catholic — which I was until I reached the age of reason.”

Some of his funniest material about religion is on his “You Are All Diseased” CD. It is definitely X rated and available on Amazon.com (a button on the right sidebar links to Amazon) for about $12.

That being said, it brings us to the topic of today’s Blog: Religion.

I am not religious nor am I an atheist. I tend to believe in creationism more than I do evolution. I do believe that there is a force much more powerful than us; Supreme Beings so to speak. But the idea of praying to these forces is beyond my comprehension.

I’ve always like these lines from one of my favorite movies; Forrest Gump. Lieutenant Dan asks Forrest “Have you found God yet, Gump?” and Forrest answers “I didn't know I was supposed to be looking for him.”

My son-in-law, Mike, has found God and it is because of a book that I gave to him about 3 weeks ago. The book is named Alcoholics Anonymous (AKA the Big Book). He was thinking about attending an AA meeting (he was half in the bag at the time) and I told him to read the book first.

I attended meetings for three years in the early 1990’s. I was still drinking, but I wouldn’t drink on days that I attended meetings. Within the AA organization these are called half measures. I also couldn’t handle the constant references to God. However, I did enjoy the spirituality aspect of some of the meetings that I attended.

Like me, Mike was never very religious, although he was brought up in the Catholic Church. He attended a few AA meetings but continued to drink. He told me that he was getting good feelings after attending the meetings. Ten days ago he started reading the Bible and praying (in a meditative state). He did not ask to win the Lotto or anything frivolous; he ask for guidance.

According to Mike, his prayers are being answered. He suggested that I do the same. I replied that it was a little too late in the game for me. He then said that he would pray for me.

This brings us back to George Carlin. Carlin once said that he prays to Joe Pesci (he is a guy that gets things done); he gets a 50% chance of having his prayers answered. The same as when he prayed to God. But he can actually see Joe Pesci as he “is not an INVISIBLE MAN...LIVING IN THE SKY...who watches every thing you do, every minute of every day.”

The Beach Bum

The Lost Ark

More than 40 years ago, I was stationed at Kagnew Station in Asmara, Eritrea, Ethiopia. Besides sampling the local nightlife (which was my favorite pastime), I did manage to take several trips into the Eritrean and Ethiopian countryside.

Before mid June of 1968 most of my close friends (AKA “The Gross Guys”) had left Kagnew for bigger and better things. Feeling lonely, I hooked up with a local girl in early June 1968. She worked on post and lived in a beautiful house not far from my favorite downtown Asmara bar (The Bar Fiore).

Her mother was half Italian and half Ethiopian and she was ¾ Italian and ¼ Ethiopian. Her mother was the mistress of an Asmara businessman (her Father).

One morning, at breakfast, I had a conversation with her mom and told her that I was going to see the ruins at Axum in a few days. She then related the following story.

When she was young (probably in the 1920’s) she travel from Addis Ababa to Asmara with her mother to be with her father (an Italian builder). On the way to Asmara they stopped at Axum for a day. Axum is a holy site and it was a celebration day. She told me that she had seen the Ark of the Covenant (but had a different name for it) being carried by the priests. I knew what she was talking about and shook my head in disbelief.

My first reaction was that there was no such thing – it’s a biblical myth. And why, if it did exist, would it be in Ethiopia? I went to Axum in July of 1968 and never saw the Ark.

Years later, in 1981, I saw the Steven Spielberg movie “Raiders of the Lost Ark” and I laughed at the possibility that the Ark of the Covenant did really exist. If you have seen this movie, and who hasn’t, you can understand the potential power of the Ark of the Covenant. That is, if you believe that it really does exist.

In this month’s Smithsonian Magazine there is a story by Paul Raffaele titled “Keepers of the Lost Ark”. Paul claims (as my Eritrean girlfriend’s mother did) to have seen the Ark in Axum (Aksum). He also claims to have taken pictures of priests carrying the Ark. He explains how and why the Ark was taken to Ethiopia. This is almost believable.

Believer or non-believer, it is a good article that is worth reading.

The Beach Bum

Religion

I believe in God. Or better yet a Supreme Being(s) or Higher Power. There has to be something more powerful and more intelligent than the Human Race. I prefer to use the word God for this being or beings. God is the word that I am comfortable in using.

I consider myself to be a spiritual person. I am not a religious person. Religious people go to church. The only time that you’ll see me in a church is for a funeral or a wedding. I’m a non-believer in organized religion. I do not need another person telling me about my human failings (and I have plenty of them). I do not need anyone to tell me that I must atone for my sins (and I have plenty of them). I judge not others and prefer that they judge not me.

I was born into the Catholic Church. But, I could have been born into any other religion and I would feel the same way about religion as I do now. “Religion is the opiate of the masses” is one of the few things that Karl Marx (or was it Groucho Marx – I occasionally get the two mixed up – one had a beard and the other a painted-on mustache) wrote that I readily agree with. Marx wrote “Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions.”

I rarely pray. Why? Because, I know, if there is this all powerful being “up there” he’s too busy to listen to my petty prayers. He has billions of people on Earth praying to him daily. Not to mention the possibility of several other planets that may be inhabited in our Universe. These people must also be praying to him.

Praying to God just doesn’t work; he’s too busy with other stuff (like preventing a Super Nova).

I have a friend that prays to Saint Jude, who is the Patron Saint of lost causes and desperate situations. He’s says that he gets a 50% positive response to his prayers. So I figure that if I pray to anyone it will be Saint Jude, as my life is a "hopeless cause" Either that or I will pray to some tangible human being that I know can get the job done.

In the past it would have been John Wayne, now it is Clint Eastwood, Bruce Willis and Mel Gibson. These are guys that can the job done (at least in the movies) and I have about a 50% chance that my prayers will be answered (as long as I don’t ask for something dumb, like winning the Lotto), about the same odds as praying to Saint Jude 50/50.

Where is this all going? I have been nurtured in to my beliefs about religion. Partially from what was thrust upon me as a child (this is our beliefs – so this is what you will believe). And partly because I had an inquiring mind that wouldn’t accept the bullshit that was being preached to me.

I don’t knock anyone’s religious beliefs. You can believe anything that you desire, as long as to don’t try to push your Religious beliefs on me.

The Beach Bum

The Easter Bunny

On Friday I received an email from a good friend with the picture on the left attached to the mail. The caption was “Due to circumstances beyond our control, the Easter Egg Hunt is canceled this year”.

I laughed and thought to myself that my friend, as I do, has that Gary Larson (The Far Side cartoonist) sense of humor.

When I was a child we didn’t have Easter Egg Hunts. I had seen cartoons on television where a bunny rabbit would be running around and hiding the Easter Eggs. This action usually took place in a wooded area with high grass and shrubbery. My old Chicago neighborhood had none of this. One year I suggested to my Dad that he take my sister and me to a nearby Forest Preserve to look for the Easter Bunny’s eggs. That’s when I learned that there was no such thing as an Easter Bunny. Next, I thought, Dad would be telling me that there was no Santa Claus.

We colored our eggs on Good Friday. We used small pieces of tape to make the sign of the cross on each egg before we put them into the dye (my sister says that this is now done with wax or a white crayon). Every egg would have a white cross on it when we were finished with coloring them. My Dad would say that this symbolized our love for our Lord, Jesus Christ.

On Holy Saturday, we would fill baskets with meat, bread and the colored eggs and take them to the Church to have them blessed. After a short mass and benediction, the Monsignor would say something in Latin, which none of us really understood. He then sent the priests out with a scepter type devices, that they dipped into Holy Water, to splash on our baskets filled with food. He would then say something in English, asking us all, too, in charity, remember all those who suffer want and hunger. They then passed the basket for donations.

My Dad would fast on Holy Saturday. I never did understand the reason for fasting. I occasionally fast now, but it is for health, not religious, reasons.

The Feast of Easter was always one of my favorite days. After Church we would gather at my Grandmother’s home and the food was out of this world delicious. Almost better than the food that the neighborhood Italian families would have for the Feast of Saint Joseph on March 19th.

Very fond memories, Happy Easter.

The Beach Bum