LIFE IN LINWOOD

We lived in the small village of Linwood, Michigan, on a corner lot on Center Street, right next to the Linwood Recreation. My father was a barber and had his shop kiddy-cornered across the street next to the Linwood Hotel.

It was the early 1940's. My sister, Nancy, was born and WW II was in progress. The United States entered the war when the Japanese surprisingly bombed Pearl Harbor in the Hawaiian Islands where we had bases and ships in port. Many people died there. Back home, times were hard. People were enlisting and off to war. The town emptied of its young men who used to frequent The Linwood Recreation next door. When a relative decided to sell The Recreation, my father purchased it and began adding on an addition for a home. The Recreation was not the run-of-the-mill pool room, it was family oriented with a juke box, pin ball machines, ice cream, a popcorn machine ... pop and lots of fun and laughter. The older kids hung out there and many adults came, both men and women. Business slowed down some now that many of the boys left to join the military and fight our war.

Before the addition was completed, we moved into our new home. It was a humble home as building materials were not readily available while the war was on. We had an outdoor privy while we waited for our toilet and sink to be installed. Wood was at a premium and we had only light lavender paper stretched across the walls dividing the 6 small rooms ... a kitchen, living room, 2 bedrooms, laundry room, bathroom. [Later, the rooms were plastered by a good friend, Johnny Pelky, but that was a long time coming.] By the time the men came to plaster, the paper walls were torn and uglier than before from poking our fingers through it and making the holes larger and larger. I was eager to be rid of all the torn paper.

We did have a room attached to our house that separated our home from The Recreation. We called it the Middle Room. It is where my father stored the supplies for the store. It did have a public restroom. Our upright piano was in this room, my mother's push treadle sewing machine, a coal stove, an antlered deer head hung over the piano, later my mother had a dryer tucked behind the door going into the kitchen ... but that, too, was years and years later. The Middle Room gave us a little extra room and we used it a lot to play. The only telephone for the house and store was located here. The room was furnished with a few comfortable chairs and a few wicker pieces my mother loved ... and atop the wicker table stood a colorful Tiffany's style Victorian lamp with tassels hanging from the light switch. In an alcove off the main room was a section used for stacking soda pop bottles for the store. We also kept our dog blanket and Trixie's dog dish next to the stove. The room was filled with memorabilia and interesting bric-a-brac artifacts that Mom collected and had no place in our small home to store them. Everything we had no room for seemed to end up stashed in the Middle Room.

The Middle Room was painted a light pea green ... not too cheerful, but Mom said it was a relaxing color. She loved the colors green and yellow. Our kitchen was bright yellow with dark green counter tops, the living room pale green, the bathroom was tinted pink, the folks bedroom a restful pale green and all us kids, three of us at the time, my brother, Rich, who had a daybed and my sister, Nancy and I slept together in a double brown iron bed in the blue bedroom. There wasn't enough room to install a bedroom door so for years we slept in a bedroom with no door, which was fine as we could get more heat from our oil burner in the living room with the door open. [Years later, when my little sister, Joey, was born, she took my place when I went off to nursing school ... until then, it was necessary for her to sleep on a cot in my parents bedroom ... not an ideal situation, but it was the best my folks could afford. Also, while I was away at school, my folks built an addition to their living quarters, adding on a good size living room with a fireplace, another bedroom, and a lovely screened-in porch.] Many mornings I woke up so cold I would run into the living room and Dad would help us dress with the clothes he placed across our stove to warm them. One of the nicest memories I have is my father sitting me on his lap and rubbing my feet to warm them before he put on my socks.

Mom would be in the kitchen cooking breakfast, either oatmeal, cream of wheat, scrambled eggs and toast or pancakes, if she had time. Ovaltine, a chocolate crystals we stirred into our milk was a regular, as was hot cocoa when it was cold outside. We all had the daily dose of cod liver oil and a multiple vitamin. On the radio we heard Squeaky and Sputters, Eddie Arnold singing, news reports, or Happy Hank singing his birthday song, "I know a girl who has a birthday today, I know a boy who has one, too ...". Mom would braid my hair in pigtails, always neatly pulled tight ... shiny clean. Mom rinsed our hair with vinegar to get all the soap out and make it shine. We got teased by the other kids that our pigtails were pulled so tight, we looked Chinese ... and that we smelled of vinegar ... at least until we had our hair washed again. We didn't care what they said, we knew we looked fresh and clean. Mom would always tie colorful ribbons on the end of our braids. She kept us all neat and clean ... taught us table manners, insisted we respect all adults, and reminded us that The Blessed Virgin was watching over us which encouraged us to always behave ... and of course we all knew our Guardian Angels were right with us to protect us at all times.

We were a proud family, well behaved, and deeply loved. We put on our winter coats and galoshes, mittens and scarves and we walked to school along the sidewalks that followed Center Street. It seemed a long way then but in reality it was only about 1/4 of a mile. We only got driven to school if it was raining.

When school was out for summer, Mom would always have a hired girl to help out with the housework so she could work in the store while Dad barbered in the shop that he had built in connection with The Recreation. My parents worked long hours. Later, after selling the pool tables, juke box and pin ball machines ... they converted The Recreation into a dairy bar/lunch counter ... sold greeting cards, newspapers and magazines, ice cream and some clothing ... and carried a line of Feather's baked goods brought in from Bay City. It was more like a General Store. Later, my folks bought out the local drug store from Jenny Yakel and moved it into our building ... now selling patent medicines, all sorts of drug store fare except prescriptions. We had no pharmacist. My brother, Richard, began his college studying pharmacy, intending to return to our store when he graduated but he ended up teaching elementary school when he received a full scholarship from the Ford Foundation with the understanding that he would have to study teaching. So our Drug Store never did have a pharmacist ... but we had everything else ... and still ran the dairy/lunch counter. We had many coffee guzzlers daily, sometimes coming in twice a day, morning and afternoons sort of their social life. During the big smelt runs, hundreds of smelt fishermen descended on the whereabouts of Linwood and my folks would keep the lunch counter open all night ... and I worked all night. [One night I was so exhausted I dropped a bowl of hot chili in the lap of one of the sportmen. It was embarrassing but he was a gentleman about it and of course my folks did not charge him for his late night snack ... and my father helped clean him up, heard the smelt were running good and sent him back on his way fishing with a smile on his face.]

Linwood Beach was the place to go at one time. Many lovely cottages lined the shore. Years ago well-to-do families would come, by train, for the summers and return to the city for the school and winter season. The Beach had a pavilion with big bands playing where dances were held and people came in by boat and train from Bay City, Saginaw, and Midland. It still is a lovely beach and many of the original cottages remain with their original families. Many have remodeled them, restored to their original condition and some are just the same as they were in the beginning ... well tended and loved, and Linwood Beach still remains a lovely place to own a second home ... although more and more people are making Linwood Beach their permanent residence.

One Christmas in the 40's when we still owned The Linwood Recreation

I was about eight years old when we had a December with no snow. It was nearly Christmas. Every kid in town was worried how Santa would get to us. The village streets were bare ... the grass bare ... not a snowflake fell the whole month of December. I was not only worried, but I was sad. Here it was Christmastime and it didn't feel a bit like Christmas. Dad and Mom were late picking out our Christmas tree. When it came, it seemed ages before it was fit to decorate. Dad, a Christmas tree perfectionist, was busy cutting holes in the trunk and redistributing branches to cover the bare spots. The Christmas tree was a big deal at our house. Mom loved the tree, as did we all. After Dad was satisfied he'd covered all the bare spots, he covered one or our pool tables with a tarp, set the tree in a stand ... put it atop the pool table and lifted each of us kids up on the table to help trim the tree.

My father was fussy about the decorations and we all liked the icicles, taking great pains to hang them one by one so they hung gracefully from the branches. Dad was bigger on stretching cotton over the branches to make it look like snow. The ornaments were special and each had a story. My favorite was the soft little brown teddy bear that was one of the first ornaments they bought for the tree when my brother was a baby. There were beautiful hand blown glass violet and aquamarine bells that had been on every tree that I remembered. I wanted to put some of them on ... and when I picked one up, it fell and broke and I was devestated and cried forever it seemed. Initially, Dad gave me a sour look, but later, hugged me and said that maybe I had better stick with the ornaments that weren't so fragile. I never forgot that incident. Every time I decorate a tree I think of that broken bell.

Anyway, there was still no snow on Christmas Eve. As usual, a bunch of us went Christmas caroling in the neighborhood and returned home for hot chocolate and Christmas cookies. It was time to prepare for midnight mass. Our house was unusually quiet. Mom and Dad had closed the store and were resting up before going to church. It had been a busy week and up until I left for caroling, Mom was still wrapping gifts.

We all went to Midnight Mass together, leaving early about 11:00 as Midnight Mass was always well attended at St. Anne's and although our church was large for a small town, it would be crowded ... by the time mass started, there would be standing room only. As we approached the church steps, Mother saw how sad I looked and asked me what was wrong. "It's Christmas, Carole. You should be happy."
"I know, Mom. I am happy, but I am disappointed that it is not snowing. All the little kids are worried about Santa arriving."
"Not only the little kids," Richard said. "You look a bit concerned yourself."
"I am concerned as to how he'll get here but, like always, I'm more concerned about how he will get into our house. We don't have a big enough chimney for him to crawl down. How does he get in?"
"We don't really have a chimney at all, just pipes from the oil burner," Richard said.
"Santa has all kinds of transportation, kids ... airplanes ... trucks ... not only reindeer and a sled," Dad reminded them "Remember, just the other night Santa was checking and left his big red truck on our lawn."
"Yah, right, Dad," Richard said.
"That was Gene Sauve's Gasoline Truck, Dad. He was filling our oil tank. We knew that even though he tried to scare us by tapping on our windows and pretending he was Santa Claus." Claus."
Dad smiled. "Just pray for snow then, kids."
"I'm praying hard," I said. "I've been praying for snow all week."
Christmas Mass, as always was beautiful. The Adult Choir sang and the Children's Choir, which Nancy and I belonged to. It was hot in church with our winter coats on and by the time the long line of communicants finished, they were hot, tired and ready to go home.
All I could think about was seeing our Christmas tree, and sitting curled up on the couch in front of it and just watching it. When we opened the doors to leave church, I gasped! Looking up, I cried, "Look Everybody! It's snowing! It's a miracle!"
"See, kids. Your prayers were answered," Mom said, smiling. "Now Santa will get here for sure."
Happily they headed for home where Dad and Rich would eat oyster stew and the rest of us would have a piece of Mom's famous meat pie with cranberry sauce. They laid out a snack for Santa ... Christmas cookies and milk with a little bowl of sugar for the reindeer. Then it was time for bed and sweet dreams of Santa flying through the air while the snow fell paving his way to deliver his toys to all the boys and girls. It would be hard to sleep tonight as we listened for the reindeer to land on our roof and hoping Santa would find his way in.

MY PERSONAL THOUGHTS

You may wonder why I have so many pieces about soldiers and the war in my blog. It probably stems from my childhood, growing up during WW II and listening to all my family's daily discussions of the war. It was prime news at our dinner table. Several relatives of my family were involved in that war. Many in our town were serving. Some came home; some did not. Some came home ill or injured. It took its toll on everyone in my hometown. And I will never forget it.

Many windows in the homes proudly displayed stars depicting they had a member of their family in service, dead, missing or wounded. Every day, we kids made our trip to check the Honor Roll next to our Post Office to see if there were any new stars by the names of our boys, meaning they were dead, missing or wounded. People laid flowers under the Honor Roll. The church bell tolled when bad news was reported. We children took our turns at school scouting the sky for suspicious aircraft ... usually a younger child [K-5] paired with one of the upperclassmen [6-8]. My father served as a blackout warden. My mother worked with the Red Cross.

A favorite teacher, Mrs. Blue, with her perfectly groomed upsweep hairdo with a faint blue tint, sat proudly pumping out patriotic songs on the old oak organ every school morning and again when the kids paraded through our room on the way to the lunchroom. Mrs. Blue didn't believe in wasting a minute ... having to teach four grades in one room, she had not a minute to waste. We had our music class while singing to the students as they passed back and forth for hot lunches. We all sang at the top of our voices, showing off, thinking it was great fun.

We had a small country school ... only three rooms for K-8 but we had everything we needed, including a great hot lunch program with great cooks who catered to the students ... even bringing in mid afternoon snacks such as peanut butter and honey balls rolled in cornflakes or apples ... sometimes milk or orange juice. Not all schools as small as ours had a hot lunch program. If we had all our work done, we were allowed to go to the kitchen for an hour and help the cooks prepare for the following day, by peeling potatoes, buttering bread, etc. Our parents took good care of us to see that we were well fed. Our town was not wealthy financially. For some of the children, this was the only hot meal they received all day.

The hot lunch program was a wonderful addition to the school but the addition I remember the most was when I came to school and found we had inside bathrooms with flush toilets and running water in sinks and drinking fountains in each room. The year before, when in Kindergarden, we had to use an out house, which was a scary place to me, as when using it one day, a mouse ran across the floor.

The boys favored wearing leather air helmets with chin straps, high top boots with a pocket for a jackknife, knickers, camouflaged shirts and pants, the metal hats worn by the infantry marching in combat; everyone pledged the Allegiance with respect. The boys played war, the girls played Army nurses.

We went to the store with our coupons and tokens and bought what we could during the rationing. Chocolate and bubble gum were at a premium, as was coffee, sugar and butter. Victory gardens were everywhere, some sharing gardens with neighbors. We were allowed only two pairs of shoes a year ... and for growing children, that is tough. When our shoes got too small, my father would cut out the toes ... when they got holes in the soles, he cut out cardboard innersoles and lined them to try and keep out the dampness. No one complained about the shortages ... they shared what they had and were thankful for what they did have knowing many throughout Europe and Asia and other countries were without. We saved our paper and tied it in bundles and my brother wheeled it to school in our red wagon. We saved our tin cans, squashing them flat ... any iron or rubber ... it all went to storage. I still have my certificate for all the paper I saved during the war in my scrapbook.

WW II music was special, some of the best music of my lifetime ... romantic and wonderful ... the big bands played; the movies depicted what was going on during the war. Every movie had a newsreel, unlike today, there was no television news. We saw Hitler, Tito and Mussolini on the newsreels. I was petrified seeing Hitler raging his 'Heil Hitler' .. his looks frightened me. I had nightmares as a child picturing the Germans or the Japanese breaking into our house and taking my family away ... or worse.

One boy from our town, Donald Friedinger, died on the beaches of Normandy. When I visited there, I saw his name engraved on the American Memorial and have a video of it. My brother and I, who remember D-Day, looked over the clifts and wept, wondering how our men had the courage to climb those trecherous clifts, know when they reached the top they would be facing the German guns aiming directly at them. One man I knew when living in Pennsylvania lost his eye during the Normandy invasion. A boy from my home town was shot down over the Baltic Sea during the Korean War and was never found. One of my cousins was shot down in France early in the war and was a prisoner of the Germans throughout the war. He went in the army with dark hair and came home totally white. Two of my cousins who served in the islands occupied by the Japanese came home with malaria that surfaced on and off throughout their lives. Another was thrown overboard in a naval attack and spent several long hours in the ocean before being rescued. Yes, ... that is just a few of the soldiers, sailors, marines, coastguardsmen and national guardsmen from our hometown who were affected during the wars. Our town paid a tremendous debt for their courage in battle and we are all very proud of them.

One of the nice things that came out of that era was the patriotism of the people everywhere. We were all in this together and we all pulled together to win the war. That is why America is so great ... it is the people who love her and fight for her that made our country the greatest country in the world. I wish our people today would follow the same message the people exhibited during the big war ... WW II. I will never forget those days. They made an indelible impression on me. It instilled in me my great love and admiration for our country. Our teachers instilled in their students the feelings of patriotism. My father flew the American flag over our store every day of the week and took it down every evening. When I think of my dad, that is one way I remember him best ... raising and lowering his flag and shoveling the great amounts of snow we had as a kid ... and always working so hard. And my mother, too. She loved the kids in our home town and they loved her. When they went away and came home from school or the service, they all came to see 'Aunt Anne'. When the Mexicans came in the summer to pick the pickles and sugar beets, they traded at our store remembering the kindness and fairness my parents showed them. My mother stood for more than one little Mexican baby's baptism.

When I see a serviceman, I thank him for his service. If it weren't for men like him, I would not be here in this great country living the free life I enjoy ... and neither would you. When you see one, let him know he is appreciated. That is the least we can do for the sacrifices they have made for us. The family erected a flagpole in the Memorial Park by the bay to honor our brave men; a memorial donated in memorandum of my brother, who had great respect for our armed services and served in the National Guard and taught in the Guard for the duration of his duty.

I love my country. GOD BLESS AMERICA! GOD BLESS US ALL! GOD BRING PEACE THROUGHOUT OUR WORLD.

A TRIBUTE TO MY BROTHER

A copy of the tribute to my brother that I was asked to write for the National Pickle Festival booklet , the year they honored him for the many years he spent making the Linwood Centennial Park a reality and for initiating the organization of the National Pickle Festival and presiding as Chairman of the Pickle Festival Parade every year until he died.


RICHARD LEONARD JOSEPH LA FLAMME 1935-1999

CELEBRATING FORTY YEARS AS LINWOOD’S SCOUTMASTER

“The value of giving lies not simply in the amount given but in the sacrifice it requires and the love that prompts it.” - taken from The Moral Compass by William J. Bennett

Born and raised in Linwood, Michigan, Richard La Flamme is a loyal, patriotic 'Linwoodite' who has lived here his entire life. He proudly states, "I've been many interesting places ... but even France, Canada, Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Washington DC, California, Pennsylvania, Montana, Georgia and Florida don't compare to Linwood, my home town. I'll never leave here."

Concerning his childhood, he says, "Linwood was the best place for a child to grow up. Kids had everything we needed ... lots of good friends; Saginaw Bay to fish, swim, canoe and skate; the Tab and Rhine ditches to play 'war' and 'jungle' in; lots of great places to picnic, bike ride, play ball and 'Kick The Can.' We had a good school with great teachers, the 'Free Shows', and we could Trick-or-Treat safely at every house in town. We knew everyone and everyone knew us. We looked after and cared for each other. What more could a kid want? I wouldn't trade places with any kid ... anywhere."

Richard experienced the 'boom days,' when Linwood was a bustling village where farmers came to shop and bring crops to the Chickory Plant and Elevator. His parents, Leonard and Anne Ballard La Flamme, owned La Flammes Drug Store and Barber Shop on Center Street, across from the old Post Office. His grandfather and uncles owned Ballard's Grocery Store, the Linwood Hotel and the Linwood Lumberyard. These were busy establishments, especially during the summer season when the beach people came to reopen their cottages on Linwood Beach.

Soon the malls invaded, drawing business to the cities. Though many stores closed, Richard's faith in his town never faltered. Through the good and bad changes, he remained faithful to his people, believing in them, forever seeking new ways to improve his beloved community.
Richard worked hard all his life, not only around the store, but he peddled three newspaper routes, mowed lawns, baby-sat, shoveled snow and did whatever he could to help earn his keep.

Following graduation from Central Michigan University, after long days of teaching in the Zilwalkee School (near Saginaw), Richard unselfishly remained home to help his folks run the family business, which had fallen on hard times. Always generous with his time, he honored and lovingly cared for both his parents until they died. After his brother-in-law died, leaving his oldest sister widowed with four young children, he served as a 'substitute father' during the summers they spent in his cabin at Hubbard Lake.

As soon as he was old enough to join the troop, Richard became a Boy Scout; he loved scouting from the very beginning. Soon after he joined, he heroically saved a friend from drowning in the Kawkawlin River while on a camping trip. Ironically, Richard's biggest disappointment during his childhood involved scouting. His troop won the highest First Aid Award in the state, affording them an opportunity to compete nationally. Sadly, the troop couldn't raise enough money to send the Linwood Boy Scouts to Chicago to compete for the championship title. This great disappointment still brings tears to Richard's eyes when he speaks of it. "I know our Linwood Troop could capture the highest First Aid honors in the country, now we will never know." But they continued to take many First Place Awards in First Aid for many years. During Richard's teen years, he helped his Scoutmaster lead his troop.

"BE PREPARED" is the Boy Scout motto and Richard practiced it well, preparing himself to take over the troop when his Scoutmaster stepped down. Year after year, he kept the Boy Scouts interested by making the meetings informative and fun to attend; he took them on canoe trips, held Klondike Derbies, went camping, taught Indian Dancing, had cookouts and campfires, and took them every summer to Bear Lake to Boy Scout Camp.

It wasn’t long before Richard earned the Silver Beaver Award, the highest honor in scouting, presented to him at a Banquet at the Bay City Consitery in his honor. Many Scouts have learned much and become better citizens under Richard's direction and dedicated service in scouting. He is proud of his troop; they bring him much joy, satisfaction and honor. Proudly, he has helped thirty-seven young men achieve their Eagle Scout awards. Several more are 'waiting in the wings'. Recently Richard celebrated forty years as Linwood’s Scout Master.

The Linwood troop canvases for countless charities by holding Bike-a-thons, Can-a-thons, Unicef and Muscular Dystrophy drives, just to name a few. It's the Boy Scouts whom the community depends on to clean-up after festivals and community functions and park activities; it's the Boy Scouts who conduct 'Litter Pick-up' days to improve the looks of their town and cemetery ... you name it, the Boy Scouts come prepared to help.

Though scouting takes much of Richard's time, he tirelessly devotes many hours to other community projects. He was among those instrumental in helping to make Linwood Centennial Park become a reality, through funding from The Linwood Pickle Festival. The park now has picnic pavilions, ball diamonds, a lighted tennis court, a refreshment stand, playground equipment and toilet facilities.

For many years Richard chaired the difficult task of raising funds and organizing the Linwood Pickle Festival Parade, [he works from the minute one parade ends to the start of the next parade] on a very limited budget. When contributions are low, he prays and perseveres; somehow he always courageously manages to put together the best parade and entertainment his meager budget can afford.

Because of Richard and those devoted to Linwood's progress, the village has sidewalks stretching clear to the bay with benches to rest upon and flowers adorning the pathway. Decorative flags fly proudly along Center Street. American flags are raised every holiday. Because Richard and devoted 'Linwoodites' work diligently to achieve their goals, a park with a paved parking lot, War Memorial and picnic tables with benches are near completion near the park by the bay. Welcome signs, north and south of Linwood, greet visitors when approaching the village.

For almost forty years, Richard taught elementary school, mostly in Zilwalkee, until his retirement five years ago. He was a teacher who 'went that extra mile' for his students, taking them on Field Trips, filling his room with fossils and science projects, making teaching exciting and interesting. At the end of the school year, he took his classes to camp for three days. Students and fellow teachers praise his efforts. One August, a mother of one of his students brought some of his students all the way from Saginaw to visit him on his birthday, along with a beautiful cake to show their appreciation.

What Richard treasures family gatherings, devoted friends, neighbors and 'helpers'. [His family adore him and call him 'The Pickle King']. He's comforted by his peaceful home filled with mementos, the birds nesting in his trees, his gazebo and hot tub. [His nephews and nieces lovingly tease him, calling him 'Uncle Rich By Tdoes Richard value most besides his beloved town and Boy Scouts? His deep faith and devotion to God, his pride in St. Anne's Catholic Church, where he served as an altar boy for many years. His love of country (he served with the National Guard) ... his freedom and the American Flag. "This is the greatest country on earth," he says, with a lump in his throat, as he watches the Flag and veterans pass during a parade, or when the band strikes up The Star Spangled Banner.

Richard treasures family gatherings, devoted friends, neighbors and 'helpers'. [His family adore him and call him The Pickle King']. He's comforted by his peaceful home filled with mementoes, the birds nesting in his trees, his gazebo and hot tub. [His nephews and nieces lovingly tease him, calling him 'Uncle Rich By the Ditch'.] He takes pleasure in small town activities and its charming characters. For a 'little bit of heaven away from home,' you'll find him at his peaceful cabin at Hubbard Lake, MI, near Alpena.

A history-geography buff, Richard is an expert on Michigan history. He 'tears up' hearing "Michigan My Michigan". Dixieland Jazz, Judy Garland singing ,Over The Rainbow, and the song from Pinochhio, When You Wish Upon A Star, the poem The Village Blacksmith, Hiawatha, travels, sports, TV, movies, concerts, fishing, parades, antique shops, flea markets and craft shows are passions of his.

Special moments are savored, like sitting in his easy chair before the fireplace reminiscing about 'old times', soaking in his hot tub and eating, especially 'Mom's baked beans, meatloaf, scalloped potatoes, spaghetti, fish and chips and a good homemade pot of soup. Occasionally, he'll sneak a dessert, favoring hot fudge sundaes, ice cream cones and a good piece of 'most any kind of' homemade pie. St. Anne's fish and chicken dinners and homemade donuts excite him and he loves cooking campfire meals such as his famous Hobo dinners and barbecue chicken.

He enjoys watching wildlife and is soothed by gazing at the stars, listening to the rain fall or a rustling brook, seeing a sunrise, a sunset or a rainbow, hearing the roar of the ocean, enjoying the peaceful solitude and smell of the woods and lakes. He's a 'crack' Trivia Pursuit player ... Jeopardy player, too, if he was a little quicker with the 'clicker'.

Richard is a happy contented man who strengthens his soul by fulfilling his needs through devoted service to others; he genuinely feels love for his fellow man, takes’ time to comfort a friend, and always finds goodness in others.

Although he lives alone, Richard decorates his house for every holiday with his collection of nutcrackers, stuffed bunnies, antique toys and appropriate holiday decorations. He smiles a lot and has a wonderful sense of humor, although his corny jokes can often drive one to 'distraction'. He enjoys singing and can carry a tune with enthusiasm; he even hits some good solid notes, providing he sticks to camp songs and refrains from singing the difficult oldies such as Old Man River or Danny Boy. He is writing his childhood memoirs, which he plans to complete when he can find the time.

Richard's family loves his goodness and admires his enjoyment in celebrating life. Many in the community respect his intelligence and dedication to duty; his Boy Scouts appreciate his devotion to them. Richard gives of himself without the slightest thought of return. He knows who he is, but like everyone, he appreciates a wave of the hand, a pat on the back or a 'thank you' for a job well done.

Many people have benefited from knowing Richard. He will leave this world a better place for having known him. He gives to his community the best he has to give. Surely, in time, the best shall come back to him and he will reap his just reward ... for Richard La Flamme is a Success ... and "God will see his goodness."

-Carole La Flamme Beighey

Afterward:

Not long after this, in 1999, he finished his book, "A Robin's Winter". He was in the midst of putting it all together when he died unexpectedly in July of 1999. My husband, Larry, and I finished assembling it and had it published. I know Richard would be very proud to see his book in print.

Sadly, he didn't see it nor did he see my Waddodle Series published, or my husband's book, "A Drop in a Bucket" or my daughter, Anne's book , Saving Lives and Saving Money, that she helped Newt Gingrich write along with a co-worker.

Richard's funeral was beautiful, one of the largest Linwood has seen, with flags lining the street in his honor because of his loyal dedication to his communit. His scouts all turned out, serving as honor guards. His neices and nephews carried his casket. The herse carried him through his beloved village, passed his home, down to the bay where the herse turned around and headed for Kawkawlin, where Richard was buried in Calvary Cemetery, alongside his parents and grandparents.

He would be proud of the flag pole erected at the Memorial site by the bay, contributed with Richard's funds to honor the many brave men and women who sacrificed so much and served our country from this area ... and also for the many new tents, cots and equipment purchased for his Scout Troop, including sizable fund to contribute to the building fund to house the boy scout trailer and scouting equipment. The large American flag flying proudly over the Memorial near the bay is a constant reminder of the man who loved Linwood with his whole heart.

Yes, my brother was a big success in life and left an indeleble mark on his community. He was loved by family and friends and exhibited a fine role model for many of the boys he led. He earned the respect of many. When going through Richard's drawers, we found letters from former scouts thanking him for the direction he gave them and crediting him for helping with their success. Surely, God will see his goodness and he will reap his just reward.

OUR FIGHTING MEN: AMERICA'S HEROS

OUR FIGHTING MEN

A letter sent by a friend, Teri Sweatman 4/26/2004 from her nephew, 2nd Lt. Andrew Sweatman, USMCR ... newly commissioned 2nd Lt in the Marine Corps ... all 4 of the Sweatman grandsons are in the military for the moment, something their Grandma Sweatman is VERY proud about! Andrew has just started TBS at Quantico, VA.

The Military
The average age of the military man is 19 years. He is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances is considered by society as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind the ears, not old enough to buy a beer, but old enough to die for his country. He never really cared much for work and he would rather wax his own car than wash his father's; but he has never collected unemployment either.

He's a recent High School graduate; he was probably an average student, pursued some form of sport activities, drives a ten year old jalopy, and has a steady girlfriend that either broke up with him when he left, or swears to be waiting when he returns from half a world away. He listens to rock and roll or hip-hop or rap or jazz or swing and 155mm howizzitor. He is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when he was at home because he is working or fighting from before dawn to well after dusk. He has trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain for him, but he can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less time in the dark. He can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either one effectively if he must. He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a professional. He can march until he is told to stop or stop until he is told to march.

He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation, but he is not without spirit or individual dignity. He is self-sufficient. He has two sets of fatigues: he washes one and wears the other. He keeps his canteens full and his feet dry. He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to clean his rifle. He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own hurts. If you're thirsty, he'll share his water with you; if you are hungry, his food. He'll even split his ammunition with you in the midst of battle when you run low.

He has learned to use his hands like weapons and weapons like they were his hands. He can save your life - or take it, because that is his job. He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay and still find ironic humor in it all. He has seen more suffering and death then he should have in his short lifetime.

He has stood atop mountains of dead bodies, and helped to create them. He has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in combat and is unashamed. He feels every note of the National Anthem vibrate through his body while at rigid attention, while tempering the burning desire to 'square-away' those around him who haven't bothered to stand, remove their hat, or even stop talking. In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from home, he defends their right to be disrespectful. Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and Great-grandfather, he is paying the price for our freedom.

Beardless or not, he is not a boy. He is the American Fighting Man that has kept this country free for over 200 years.He has asked nothing in return, except our friendship and understanding. Remember him, always, for he has earned our respect and admiration with his blood. And now we even have women over there in danger, doing their part in this tradition of going to War when our nation calls us to do so. As you go to bed tonight, remember this shot. A short lull, a little shade and a picture of loved ones in their helmets.

"Lord, hold our troops in your loving hands. Protect them as they protect us. Bless them and their families for the selfless acts they perform for us in our time of need. Amen." Of all the gifts you could give a US Soldier, Sailor, Coastguardsman, Marine or Airman, prayer is the very best one.

USA PATRIOTISM

A friend, Larry Murtha, sent this inspirational piece to me. I am including this in my blog as I think everyone should read this and wonder ...

DOES ANYONE UNDERSTAND THE PRICE OF "FREEDOM"?

I was sitting alone in one of those loud, casual steak houses that you find all over the country. You know the type--a bucket of peanuts on every table, shells littering the floor, and a bunch of perky college kids racing around with longneck beers and sizzling platters. Taking a sip of my iced tea, I studied the crowd over the rim of my glass. My gaze lingered on a group enjoying their meal. They wore no uniform to identify their branch of service, but they were definitely "military:" clean shaven, cropped haircut, and that "squared away" look that comes with pride.

Smiling sadly, I glanced across my table to the empty seat where my husband usually sat. It had only been a few months since we sat in this very booth, talking about his upcoming deployment to the Middle East. That was when he made me promise to get a sitter for the kids, come back to this restaurant once a month and treat myself to a nice steak. In turn he would treasure the thought of me being here, thinking about him until he returned home to me. I fingered the little flag pin I constantly wear and wondered where he was at this very moment. Was he safe and warm? Was his cold any better? Were my letters getting through to him?

As I pondered these thoughts, high-pitched female voices from the next booth broke into my thoughts. "I don't know what Bush is thinking about. Invading Iraq. You'd think that man would learn from his old man's mistakes. Good lord. What an idiot! I can't believe he is even in office. You do know, he stole the election."

I cut into my steak and tried to ignore them, as they began an endless tirade running down our president. I thought about the last night I spent with my husband, as he prepared to deploy. He had just returned from getting his smallpox and anthrax shots. The image of him standing in our kitchen packing his gas mask still gives me chills.

Once again the women's voices invaded my thoughts. "It is all about oil, you know. Our soldiers will go in and rape and steal all the oil they can in the name of 'freedom'. Hmph! I wonder how many innocent people they'll kill without giving it a thought? It's pure greed, you know."

My chest tightened as I stared at my wedding ring. I could still see how handsome my husband looked in his "mess dress" the day he slipped it on my finger. I wondered what he was wearing now ... probably his desert uniform, affectionately dubbed "coffee stains" with a heavy bulletproof vest over it.

"You know, we should just leave Iraq alone. I don't think they are hiding any weapons. In fact, I bet it's all a big act just to increase the president's popularity. That's all it is, padding the military budget at the expense of our social security and education. And, you know what else? We're just asking for another 9-ll. I can't say when it happens again that we didn't deserve it."

Their words brought to mind the war protesters I had watched gathering outside our base. Did no one appreciate the sacrifice of brave men and women, who leave their homes and family to ensure our freedom? Do they even know what "freedom" is? I glanced at the table where the young men were sitting, and saw their courageous faces change. They had stopped eating and looked at each other dejectedly, listening to the women talking.

"Well, I, for one, think it's just deplorable to invade Iraq, and I am certainly sick of our tax dollars going to train professional baby killers we call a military.

"Professional baby killers? I thought about what a wonderful father my husband is, and of how long it would be before he would see our children again. That's it! Indignation rose up inside me. Normally reserved, pride in my husband gave me a brassy boldness I never realized I had. Tonight one voice will answer on behalf of our military, and let her pride in our troops be known. Sliding out of my booth, I walked around to the adjoining booth and placed my hands flat on their table.

Lowering myself to eye level with them, I smilingly said, "I couldn't help overhearing your conversation. You see, I'm sitting here trying to enjoy my dinner alone. And, do you know why? Because my husband, whom I love with all my heart, is halfway around the world defending your right to say rotten things about him."

"Yes, you have the right to your opinion, and what you think is none of my business. However, what you say in public is something else, and I will not sit by and listen to you ridicule MY country, MY president, MY husband, and all the other fine American men and women who put their lives on the line, just so you can have the "freedom" to complain. Freedom is an expensive commodity, ladies. Don't let your actions cheapen it."

I must have been louder that I meant to be, because the manager came over to inquire if everything was all right. "Yes, thank you," I replied. Then turning back to the women, I said, "Enjoy the rest of your meal."

As I returned to my booth applause broke out. I was embarrassed for making a scene, and went back to my half eaten steak. The women picked up their check and scurried away. After finishing my meal, and while waiting for my check, the manager returned with a huge apple cobbler alamode. "Compliments of those soldiers," he said. He also smiled and said the ladies tried to pay for my dinner, but that another couple had beaten them to it. When I asked who, the manager said they had already left, but that the gentleman was a veteran, and wanted to take care of the wife of "one of our boys."

With a lump in my throat, I gratefully turned to the soldiers and thanked them for the cobbler. Grinning from ear to ear, they came over and surrounded the booth. "We just wanted to thank you, ma'am. You know we can't get into confrontations with civilians, so we appreciate what you did."

As I drove home, for the first time since my husband's deployment, I didn't feel quite so alone. My heart was filled with the warmth of the other diners who stopped by my table, to relate how they, too, were proud of my husband, and would keep him in their prayers. I knew their flags would fly a little higher the next day.

Perhaps they would look for more tangible ways to show their pride in our country, and the military who protect her. And maybe, just maybe, the two women who were railing against our country, would pause for a minute to appreciate all the freedom America offers, and the price it pays to maintain it's freedom.

As for me, I have learned that one voice CAN make a difference. Maybe the next time protesters gather outside the gates of the base where I live, I will proudly stand on the opposite side with a sign of my own. It will simply say, "Thank You!"

*Lori Kimble is a 31-year-old teacher and proud military wife. A California native, Mrs. Kimble currently lives in Alabama.

To those who fought for our Nation: Freedom has a flavor the protected will never know. GOD BLESS AMERICA!

(The following was included with the above message)

At 10 am yesterday morning I received a prayer request from Cathy Mitchell. Her husband, Tony, is an Air Force Commander in Afghanistan. She received an urgent email from him this morning. It said, "We need Christians to pray, pray, pray."

Please pray for God's protection of our troops and HIS wisdom for their commanders.
"Lord, hold our troops in your loving hands. Protect them as they protect us. Bless them and their families for the selfless acts they perform for us in our time of need I ask this in the name of Jesus, our Lord and Savior." When you receive this, please stop for a moment and say a prayer for our ground, air and navy personnel in every area of the middle east. Of all the gifts you could give to anyone in the US Military, be it Air Force, Army, Navy, Marines or National Guard, Prayer is the very best one ... Amen! " Americans, indeed all free men, remember that in the final choice, a soldier's pack is not so heavy a burden as a prisoner's chains."

GOD BLESS OUR GREAT COUNTRY. GOD BLESS OUR MILITARY. GOD BLESS US ALL.

WHY MEN ARE NOT SECRETARIES

Husband's note on refrigerator for wife:
Someone from the Gyna Colleges called.
They said the Pabst beer is normal.
I didn't know you liked beer.