Fishing is a wonderful sport. I’ve always enjoyed going fishing regardless of the results and I’ve been lucky enough to pass that fun to our sons. We’ve had the opportunity to go fresh and saltwater fishing in many states and coastal areas. I’ve witnessed their fishing skills improve over the years, so much so that I can stand next to either of them or between them and never get a nibble while they catch the limit. Many, many times they’ve caught ten or twelve keepers each while, if lucky, I’ll catch one or two. Most times I’ve been skunked. The fish we bring home are what they’ve caught. There have been occasions when my wife, Joni, has joined us. I’m always amazed how fish seem to crawl up her line!
Several years ago, about the third week in August, I took Ted (9) and Matt (7) on a party boat out of Captree. We went blue fishing but the boat wasn’t having much luck. About two hours into the day, Matt, managed to catch an eleven-pound blue. His small arms tired but he pulled it in by himself. Afterwards, he sat on the bench. I asked, “Matt, aren’t you going to catch another?” Matt’s reply, I’m exhausted!” And he was but he eventually got back up and tossed his line in again. The hours went by and I only hoped his older brother, Ted, would catch one and indeed he did. They both caught eleven-pound blues that day and I said, “yes, there is a God ”!
The boys have grown to be men. Our fishing excursions are few and far between. Now it seems that the only time I catch fish is when I go with Joni who really isn’t into fishing. Her real purpose in going fishing is to needle me about all the fish she catches compared to all I don’t. If you bet who is going to catch dinner, bet on Joni. She’s caught tuna, maui-maui, and grouper off both coasts of Florida where there are many fine restaurants that will cook your catch any way you like them.
One of our vacations to Sanabel Island off the west coast of Florida found us fishing out of Captiva. It is a beautiful island with lush green foliage, serene charm and a funky spirit. We decided to catch a couple of grouper for dinner and had a delightful adventure. We hooked up with Jim, a son of a fishing family we know. He took us out to a spot over an old ship wreck where he knew we’d catch grouper and did we! It wasn’t long before we had a couple of good size fish. Using 14 or 15 lb line, we were just going to catch one or two more and then anything after that, we’d just catch and release - or so we thought.
Joni caught a couple of grouper and then on the third one, her line snapped. I thought I caught a grouper and started reeling up but I couldn’t. I thought I caught bottom or maybe part of the wreck. Jim said, “you got a big one on, bring him to the surface.” While I worked this fish, Joni caught a couple of more grouper and we had enough for dinner. After getting the fish on my line to start to rise from the depths, he’d go straight back down. It wasn’t long before my arms tired and I remembered how Matt, as a seven year old, felt landing his first blue. Getting this fish to the surface took at least 45 minutes. Jim said it was a Jewfish. The Jewfish is the largest member of the grouper family and one of the largest fish in the ocean. Some have weighed upwards of 750 lbs. The length of the fish depends on who is telling the story. This one was about five feet long and 250 pounds.
Jim said we had to bring the fish into the boat. He thought it was a record for 14 lb line. It was one oily fish to try and grab and bring onboard. With great effort, we accomplished this task and took pictures. Who would believe this fish story without a photo? After Joni finished taking pictures, Jim said we had to release it. Huh? The Jewfish is an endangered species having been fished almost to extinction. Again with great effort, back he went. Jim revived him by forcing water through his massive gills and he shot back down to the depths.
This fish wasn’t a record. We checked the line and it turned out to be 15lb test. If I had the other reel with 14 lb test line, it might have been a record but I might not have reeled the fish in.
It was a successful day. Joni caught some nice size grouper. They were wonderfully prepared at one of the local restaurants. Later we emailed the photos Joni took to Jim. And I had a fish story with photos to tell our sons about the one that didn’t get away!
Saturday, July 14, 2007
The Barber Shop
Usually it is a Saturday morning when I’ll mention to Joni that I’ve got to get a haircut. With reference to male pattern baldness or the Friar Tuck look, my wife laughs at the thought of me getting a hair cut. Sometimes she’ll ask, “Which strand might that be?”
All my life, at least that which I can remember, it seems I have been going to John’s Barber Shop to get a hair cut. It never mattered where I lived. The barbershop was always named “John’s”.
As a boy living in Farmingdale when there were farms, it was great adventure to ride my bike from our cape cod house, venture across railroad tracks and on toward Main Street. I would peer into the distance, looking for the barber’s pole. I’d park my two-wheeler in front, and if my younger brother Dave came along, we’d go to the library afterwards and borrow a couple of books before heading home. Yes, where a restaurant is located today, there once was a library.
My first visits had me wondering what the strap hanging from the side of the barber’s chair was used for until I saw John sharpen his razor and clean a customer’s nape. I was fascinated with the whole process, asking how did a razor get sharper by sliding it along the leather throng. On another visit, I eagerly watched with a little boy’s curiosity, John’s skilled hands shave a man’s beard. Later, when it was my turn, I’d climb up into that chair and John would take out his long thin scissors and make me more or less presentable.
Our family moved to West Islip in 1955. There was a farm and a wooded area behind our house – great place for my brothers and I to run around and play. There were flowers grown in rows, rabbits in the woods and birds a plenty in the trees. We’d climb those trees and looked into birds’ nests to see the different colored eggs of robins or blue jays. In fact, there were so many blue jays someone named the local grocery store Blue Jay Market. Near the market was a candy store that sold baseball cards and ice cream sodas. And next door was John’s barbershop! I frequented this barbershop until I was drafted into the Army and all hair was lost. Style wasn’t a major concern when you had no hair. Or as Joni phrased it, “You should have taken that as an omen for the future.”
Unfortunately, I never saw anything resembling John’s barbershop neither during basic or advanced infantry training nor in Viet Nam. Getting a hair cut in VN was an amusing situation wherein whenever our top sergeant got up on the wrong side of his cot, he’d yell at all of us and then tell me to get a haircut. The only place we were allowed to get a hair cut was at papa sans because having GIs get haircuts by the locals was supposed to help the Vietnamese economy. While wondering which whiz kid thought that one up, one of my buddies told me to take some bandages with me.
Papa san had a pair of scissors and a propensity to take a long break from cutting your hair. He took out what looked like a round white ceramic bowl decorated with blue trim, lit it up and smoked some weed not generally found on the open market before returning and snipping away. If your ear got clipped, well war is hell. After that first visit, I’d get lost when Top screamed about haircuts, as I wasn’t “into” getting a Purple Heart for losing an ear.
Some years later, I went to a barbershop located on the west side of Higbie Lane and Udall’s Road in West Islip. The proprietor’s name just happens to be John. This is an experience like a glimpse at a moment in time. There is a certain aura of nostalgia in his emporium. You’ll see scores of Frank Sinatra pictures – many are autographed! You’ll hear songs sung by Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and Sammy Davis. If that isn’t enough, John has a collection of baseball memorabilia that includes pictures of Mickey Mantle, Phil Rizzuto and many New York Yankee stars, autographed baseballs and at least three baseball bats! It is more than a collection – it is life, as we once knew, lived and still exists.
I have always been a baseball fan. The Dodger’s were my favorite team. 1955 the Dodgers won the World Series but it seemed like the Yankees won all the rest. And in fact, they won the previous seven times the two teams met. For years I searched for a picture of the four Dodger sluggers – Roy Campanella, Carl Furillo, Gil Hodges and Duke Snider. When I finally got one, I thought about John, made a copy, framed it, and gave it to him to squeeze onto his hallowed walls of fame. The diehard Yankee fan had a puzzled look on his face when I handed it to him. I explained that those great Yankee teams had to beat somebody to win all those World Series rings and these are the guys they beat! John could accept that and he hung it. Another time, I gave him a picture of the four New York centerfielders – number 4, the Duke of Brooklyn, Duke Snider, number 5, joltin’ Joe DiMaggio, number 24, the Say Hey Kid Willie Mays, and number 7, Mickey Mantle. I think John took that one home for his private collection.
Hank Hessing
All my life, at least that which I can remember, it seems I have been going to John’s Barber Shop to get a hair cut. It never mattered where I lived. The barbershop was always named “John’s”.
As a boy living in Farmingdale when there were farms, it was great adventure to ride my bike from our cape cod house, venture across railroad tracks and on toward Main Street. I would peer into the distance, looking for the barber’s pole. I’d park my two-wheeler in front, and if my younger brother Dave came along, we’d go to the library afterwards and borrow a couple of books before heading home. Yes, where a restaurant is located today, there once was a library.
My first visits had me wondering what the strap hanging from the side of the barber’s chair was used for until I saw John sharpen his razor and clean a customer’s nape. I was fascinated with the whole process, asking how did a razor get sharper by sliding it along the leather throng. On another visit, I eagerly watched with a little boy’s curiosity, John’s skilled hands shave a man’s beard. Later, when it was my turn, I’d climb up into that chair and John would take out his long thin scissors and make me more or less presentable.
Our family moved to West Islip in 1955. There was a farm and a wooded area behind our house – great place for my brothers and I to run around and play. There were flowers grown in rows, rabbits in the woods and birds a plenty in the trees. We’d climb those trees and looked into birds’ nests to see the different colored eggs of robins or blue jays. In fact, there were so many blue jays someone named the local grocery store Blue Jay Market. Near the market was a candy store that sold baseball cards and ice cream sodas. And next door was John’s barbershop! I frequented this barbershop until I was drafted into the Army and all hair was lost. Style wasn’t a major concern when you had no hair. Or as Joni phrased it, “You should have taken that as an omen for the future.”
Unfortunately, I never saw anything resembling John’s barbershop neither during basic or advanced infantry training nor in Viet Nam. Getting a hair cut in VN was an amusing situation wherein whenever our top sergeant got up on the wrong side of his cot, he’d yell at all of us and then tell me to get a haircut. The only place we were allowed to get a hair cut was at papa sans because having GIs get haircuts by the locals was supposed to help the Vietnamese economy. While wondering which whiz kid thought that one up, one of my buddies told me to take some bandages with me.
Papa san had a pair of scissors and a propensity to take a long break from cutting your hair. He took out what looked like a round white ceramic bowl decorated with blue trim, lit it up and smoked some weed not generally found on the open market before returning and snipping away. If your ear got clipped, well war is hell. After that first visit, I’d get lost when Top screamed about haircuts, as I wasn’t “into” getting a Purple Heart for losing an ear.
Some years later, I went to a barbershop located on the west side of Higbie Lane and Udall’s Road in West Islip. The proprietor’s name just happens to be John. This is an experience like a glimpse at a moment in time. There is a certain aura of nostalgia in his emporium. You’ll see scores of Frank Sinatra pictures – many are autographed! You’ll hear songs sung by Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and Sammy Davis. If that isn’t enough, John has a collection of baseball memorabilia that includes pictures of Mickey Mantle, Phil Rizzuto and many New York Yankee stars, autographed baseballs and at least three baseball bats! It is more than a collection – it is life, as we once knew, lived and still exists.
I have always been a baseball fan. The Dodger’s were my favorite team. 1955 the Dodgers won the World Series but it seemed like the Yankees won all the rest. And in fact, they won the previous seven times the two teams met. For years I searched for a picture of the four Dodger sluggers – Roy Campanella, Carl Furillo, Gil Hodges and Duke Snider. When I finally got one, I thought about John, made a copy, framed it, and gave it to him to squeeze onto his hallowed walls of fame. The diehard Yankee fan had a puzzled look on his face when I handed it to him. I explained that those great Yankee teams had to beat somebody to win all those World Series rings and these are the guys they beat! John could accept that and he hung it. Another time, I gave him a picture of the four New York centerfielders – number 4, the Duke of Brooklyn, Duke Snider, number 5, joltin’ Joe DiMaggio, number 24, the Say Hey Kid Willie Mays, and number 7, Mickey Mantle. I think John took that one home for his private collection.
Hank Hessing
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
A 380
A 380
JFK International Airport is divided between what is called landside and airside. To be allowed the privilege to drive airside, one takes training classes and one must have a security clearance. We went airside to Hangar 19 to see the new, large Group 6 aircraft, the A 380.
The plane is impressive because of its size. The wingspan is close to 300 feet. It takes 81,000 gallons of fuel that is more correctly described as taking on 100,000 tons of fuel. Can you imagine that? The front wheels of the aircraft landing gear have to be placed on a special tow vehicle so it can be towed from the ramp to the taxiway. On other aircraft, this is done with a tow bar that is simply hooked to it.
While driving airside you monitor the control tower. We knew that the plane was going to take off today, March 20, 2007 and went to see that event. The commands from the tower were to, "Lufthansa Super". The A 380 lumbered down the taxiway behind an American Airlines Boeing 767 - 300. Its wings seem very sensitive as you can see them rock a bit. The tower gave the 767 the option of taking off ahead or behind the A 380 and he chose to take off first. They taxied to runway 13 left which is the longest at JFK - 14,456 feet I think. The 767 took off as normal using about half the length of the runway. The A 380 waited its turn. I wondered how much fuel his Rolls Royce engines used while sitting at the end of the runway. The normal airside activities essentially came to an unofficial halt as many, many people watched. Operations sent two vehicles down the runway to scare off any birds and to ensure there was no debris that might get caught in the engines. The A 380 took off very easily at approximately 11:30 AM, using about 2/3 of the runway before lift.
We were drawn to this event. Ayn Rand observed the Apollo 11 launch on July 16, 1969. She described the significance as philosophical, specifically, moral-epistemological. Paraphrasing her thoughts and words to the A 380 rising:
“What we had seen was an abstraction made into reality. Engines unleashed energy that was controlled by man, ruled by his power to serve his purpose, i.e., causing a craft to rise. This was not a whim of nature, chance or luck. It was grandeur. Man’s purpose and a long sustained effort was succeeding!
We had a demonstration of man at his best. This was the cause of the attraction. No one could doubt the achievement of man, an achievement of reason, logic, mathematics, and of total dedication. The A 380 enacted a story of audacious spirit, purpose, execution, triumph and the means to achieve it. This is the story of man’s highest potential.”
JFK International Airport is divided between what is called landside and airside. To be allowed the privilege to drive airside, one takes training classes and one must have a security clearance. We went airside to Hangar 19 to see the new, large Group 6 aircraft, the A 380.
The plane is impressive because of its size. The wingspan is close to 300 feet. It takes 81,000 gallons of fuel that is more correctly described as taking on 100,000 tons of fuel. Can you imagine that? The front wheels of the aircraft landing gear have to be placed on a special tow vehicle so it can be towed from the ramp to the taxiway. On other aircraft, this is done with a tow bar that is simply hooked to it.
While driving airside you monitor the control tower. We knew that the plane was going to take off today, March 20, 2007 and went to see that event. The commands from the tower were to, "Lufthansa Super". The A 380 lumbered down the taxiway behind an American Airlines Boeing 767 - 300. Its wings seem very sensitive as you can see them rock a bit. The tower gave the 767 the option of taking off ahead or behind the A 380 and he chose to take off first. They taxied to runway 13 left which is the longest at JFK - 14,456 feet I think. The 767 took off as normal using about half the length of the runway. The A 380 waited its turn. I wondered how much fuel his Rolls Royce engines used while sitting at the end of the runway. The normal airside activities essentially came to an unofficial halt as many, many people watched. Operations sent two vehicles down the runway to scare off any birds and to ensure there was no debris that might get caught in the engines. The A 380 took off very easily at approximately 11:30 AM, using about 2/3 of the runway before lift.
We were drawn to this event. Ayn Rand observed the Apollo 11 launch on July 16, 1969. She described the significance as philosophical, specifically, moral-epistemological. Paraphrasing her thoughts and words to the A 380 rising:
“What we had seen was an abstraction made into reality. Engines unleashed energy that was controlled by man, ruled by his power to serve his purpose, i.e., causing a craft to rise. This was not a whim of nature, chance or luck. It was grandeur. Man’s purpose and a long sustained effort was succeeding!
We had a demonstration of man at his best. This was the cause of the attraction. No one could doubt the achievement of man, an achievement of reason, logic, mathematics, and of total dedication. The A 380 enacted a story of audacious spirit, purpose, execution, triumph and the means to achieve it. This is the story of man’s highest potential.”
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Reflections on the Fourth of July
“Honor: A History” is a book written by James Bowman that describes the loss of honor from the lexicon of 21st century American society. The author states, “Honor is stark and unrelenting” and “Americans do not like stark choices”. If one accepts the premise, the question is why has honor been lost from our vocabularies?
Observing those who would be President, Mr. Bowman may be correct. Pretenders to the throne rely on polls of the ill informed as a substitute for leadership. In contrast, our Founding Fathers did not rely on polls. They relied on the writings of John Locke, their conviction that they must stand up to the great British army and navy, and the courage to do so no matter the cost. If we are to survive as a nation in the 21st century, we should start with the definition of honor.
One may define honor as a sense of what is right, just and true. It is the finest sense of justice our minds can frame. Honor is exhibited by conscious exertion of one’s self esteem exhibited throughout the course of one’s lifetime.
As with our Founding Fathers, it is axiomatic that in each man’s life, in each nation’s there comes a time to decide between good and evil, truth and falsehood, decisive leadership or poll watching. The poem, “Once to Every Man and Nation” comes to mind. Written by James R. Lowell, this most quoted thought appeared in the “Boston Courier” on December 11, 1845. “...Then it is the brave man chooses while the coward stands aside...” We expect bravery and honor of our military leaders. We should expect no less from our civilian leaders because if we expect nothing of them, that is exactly what we will get. Reflecting on the conviction and courage of our Founding Fathers, the bravery of our military, we the people of the United States must define honor, first for ourselves as individuals and secondly, for those we elect. Never expect the converse to be true.
Ayn Rand once described to West Point’s graduating class that, “...the highest integrity and sense of honor exhibited by character, resolution, the persistence to do what is right despite the cost are virtues.” To lead the most moral country in the world, one must have an individual sense of earnestness, dedication and a conscientious awareness of honor. In order to be retained in the lexicon of the 21st century, honor has to begin with each of us, individually.
Hank Hessing
Babylon, NY
Observing those who would be President, Mr. Bowman may be correct. Pretenders to the throne rely on polls of the ill informed as a substitute for leadership. In contrast, our Founding Fathers did not rely on polls. They relied on the writings of John Locke, their conviction that they must stand up to the great British army and navy, and the courage to do so no matter the cost. If we are to survive as a nation in the 21st century, we should start with the definition of honor.
One may define honor as a sense of what is right, just and true. It is the finest sense of justice our minds can frame. Honor is exhibited by conscious exertion of one’s self esteem exhibited throughout the course of one’s lifetime.
As with our Founding Fathers, it is axiomatic that in each man’s life, in each nation’s there comes a time to decide between good and evil, truth and falsehood, decisive leadership or poll watching. The poem, “Once to Every Man and Nation” comes to mind. Written by James R. Lowell, this most quoted thought appeared in the “Boston Courier” on December 11, 1845. “...Then it is the brave man chooses while the coward stands aside...” We expect bravery and honor of our military leaders. We should expect no less from our civilian leaders because if we expect nothing of them, that is exactly what we will get. Reflecting on the conviction and courage of our Founding Fathers, the bravery of our military, we the people of the United States must define honor, first for ourselves as individuals and secondly, for those we elect. Never expect the converse to be true.
Ayn Rand once described to West Point’s graduating class that, “...the highest integrity and sense of honor exhibited by character, resolution, the persistence to do what is right despite the cost are virtues.” To lead the most moral country in the world, one must have an individual sense of earnestness, dedication and a conscientious awareness of honor. In order to be retained in the lexicon of the 21st century, honor has to begin with each of us, individually.
Hank Hessing
Babylon, NY
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)