A veteran for peace

Walter S. Nicholes slid into the school bus seat next to me, nodded and asked me where I was from.

Walter is from Shaker Heights. He is a World War II veteran. He served in the Merchant Marines; entered the academy in July 1942. He saw the world but not much of the war. When the D-Day landing was going on, Walter was in the Mediterranean.

View a slide show of the D-Day Conneaut, Aug. 19, 2016, morning events.

That’s one of the reasons he and his son came to Conneaut on Friday morning, Aug. 19, 2016. Walter wanted to experience the war he had “missed” as a Merchant Marine. The re-enactors, the machinery of war, the uniforms, the invasion – they would all serve to give him a taste of the fighting to which he and other Merchant Marines had been party by supplying and transporting the troops.

Walter also wanted to bring a message to this event.

“To reveal to the public the full costs of war, and to end the use of wars as U.S. foreign policy,” Walter tells me.

He gives me his business card with contact information and the website and mission of the group to which he belongs, Veterans for Peace.

Five minutes later, the bus arrives at Conneaut Township Park, and Walter and his son are soon lost in the interpretive signs, the encampments, the souvenir stands and the events. I don’t see him again.

Some might say Walter is an anomaly in this place, just as much as the World War II equipment and soldiers are anomalies and anachronisms in a place where people come to relax and have fun.

There is tension in this park when D-Day Ohio brings its D-Day Conneaut Invasion to Conneaut every summer. There is the tension of facing down the enemy, of seeing the Germans as humans just like you and me. Of looking at the bayonets, and tanks, and guns that claimed the lives of Americans and made mothers weep rivers of tears and fathers grieve alone in the barns and pubs of our nation for decades to come.

There is tension in making the transition from talking to re-enactors who are bankers, teachers, machinists and engineers when they are not in uniform, to the real soldiers, the World War II veterans who come on canes and in wheelchairs, with wives and sons by their sides, to be honored, remember, let their stories mingle with the other billions of words that have been spoken about this war.

Walter hopes war will never happen again, at least not for money or power. He is not a pacifist, but he is no lover of war, either. And as a veteran, he has every right to speak his mind on the subject. After all, Walter S. Nicholes put his life on the line to defend that right.

He did his duty back in 1942; and 75 years later, is still doing it.

Thank you, Walter S. Nicholes. Thank you for serving; thank you for sitting next to me on that bus. I am honored to meet you.

July 4, 2016

antenna 2The fireworks in the neighborhood didn’t keep me awake, much.

I was tired. I am tired. Working on a 100-page book about the county where I live and work is a wearisome, worrisome task. It has consumed me for three months now, and it will continue to consume me for the next six weeks, when finally I turn over to the printer the data that will become a book.

My summer will begin when that project is done.

Researching, writing and photographing “Ashtabula County: A Field Guide to Where Great Things Happen” has forced me to revisit the places I thought I knew and rediscover them again, to update my mind and points of reference even as I update a book.

Kelloggsville house

In Kelloggsville, there is a fine field of wheat. And the old tire swing in the yellow house at the crossroads.

Hearing protection suggested.

I had not been to Raceway 7 in Monroe Township in 30-some years. Not much has changed. It’s still dirty. Noisy. People eat unhealthy food there. Drink beer from cans. Make their little ones wear big ear muffs, the kind I should have worn when those hoodlums tossed the firecracker into the concrete porch and destroyed much of my hearing.

Camping with mobile gear.

The campground at Pymatuning State Park is beautiful. For a brief moment, very brief, I thought I’d like to try camping again. Then I remembered that thunderstorm at 4 a.m. and sleeping in the car … besides, most folks there my age had their faces in an LCD screen with their black Lab by their side. I can do that home.

DrawbridgeRichard Gillespie has a good sense of humor. Put up a sign on the road at Penn View on Pymatuning Lake: Drawbridge Ahead.

pumpThere is a hand water pump in the town square at Andover.

video shelf

The old bank building is home to a video rental store.

Yes, you can still rent DVDs and Blu Ray discs in Andover.

And they were quite busy.

Andover website (1 of 1)

And there also is a real movie theater on the square. A single-screen, digital theater. 138 seats, and most are filled on Thursday nights when admission is just $3.

chop sueyAnd a Chinese restaurant that serves chop suey as late as 9 p.m. on a Saturday evening. A young Chinese boy of about 12 or 14 takes your order. He is very polite. I dare say he is the most polite and courteous young person I have met in years. His sister was very sweet and polite, as well. I assume the petite lady who served my meal is their mother. And she was very polite.

And the food, it was good. Steaming hot. Perhaps too many onions for my taste, but at 9 p.m. in Andover, Ohio, on July 2, a vegetarian cannot be choosy about his meal.

I do regret eating when I did, for while consuming chop suey and reading one of those free magazines that are stuffed with pictures of used cars, trucks and industrial equipment from the tri-state area, the sky pulled a fast one on me.

What a sunset. I should have positioned myself across the lake, in Pennsylvania. It would have been a gorgeous shot.

silosRed reflections on grain silos and the Congregational church’s steeple were my lot. Sometimes, even after working all day, all life gives us are the reflection of a sunset and a plate of chop suey.

And I am grateful for both, and the freedom to enjoy them.