Story Time
December 2, 2008 History, Just Me No CommentsI’m looking for a copy of my system command restart disk 2* and Partitioning Disk floppy disk v7.01. It is the coolest partitioning software I have ever come across on a single floppy. I’ve fixed many computers with it. I know I thought about making a copy of it, “but I don’t think I did” and mine died. This just might be another great piece of software that had gotten lost in the commercialization of software because I can’t find it anywhere.
But I did find this on a floppy disk. One of my first blog entries on my first blog started in 2004 in protest of Bush’s reelection. Some people liked the story, so I thought I reprint it.
The weak need the strong and the strong need the weak.
I am one of the weak who was brave enough to join the military – during peacetime, back in 1977. When I checked aboard my first ship. Mr. Boatman, the leading Seaman at that time, led me to the Boatswains Locker to get a Boatswains Punch. I wasn’t stupid, I knew what a Boatswains Punch was, and I did not want to get one, but Mr. Boatman insisted. The person running the Boatswain Locker was a man they called Crazy George. He was half Italian and half Indian. He was in the Green Barrette serving behind the lines during Vietnam. Even the Captain feared him, for good reason, but that’s another story. He looked at me and I looked at him. I pointed to Mr. Boatman and said, “He would like a Boatswains Punch.” Crazy George pushed me out of the way mumbling, “I’ll give him a @#!##$ Boatswains Punch.” While Crazy George punched Mr. Boatman, he cried out, “no, no, not me, him.” Needless to say, Mr. Boatman never did like me after that, but George and I became good friends. Nobody would ever mess with me, if they did, Crazy George would hurt him. They nick named me Radar. I still remember the Christmas card he sent me after he was discharged and I still have one of his business cards for the Rebel Riders – his motorcycle gang. He repeatedly asked me to join. He promised that I would become the peacemaker, I wouldn’t have to carry a weapon and everyone would respect me, but several times, I would have to turn it down. After him, it was Horton and then Buba Pate. There were others like me. The Catholic Lay leader, every time we had to be inoculated for this or that, someone would be ready to catch him. He would faint at the site of a needle. The snipes would kill anyone who would even threaten to hurt him.
I guess the point of my story is. If you’re going to be a hero, first know the cause and if you’re going to be a peacemaker, care for all the victims. For the war mongers who should be your greatest enemy, might be your closest allies.











