From Whitemarsh, Md. ---- My world is a little sadder today with the passing of Farrah Fawcett.
She was a generational icon for many of us in the 1970s and her life was like the soap opera that hopefully would one day lead to happiness for her and all of us.
I unabashedly admit I was a Farrah fan and her hair style, well it went on to be just one of the many things that made the 70s so memorable to me.
Goodnight Mrs. Calabash, wherever you are.
Dr. D
Vivian is the “mother” to “Sister,” one of Max and Little Bit’s buddies at the dog park. Her previous best buddies, Jackson and Max, transitioned a couple of years ago. We got to meet them. I even got to photograph them and many of you have seen their photos on my personal web site www.ldarrylarmstrong.com
Dog lovers know other dog lovers --- and that maybe part of the fascination that develops close friendships but not always.
I have come to believe that we bring people into our lives that we need and that need us. People that share common values, histories, happiness and heartbreak. Although we may not share common politics, religions or food tastes – then again we may. However, there is no doubt in my mind that Vivian is one of those dear souls that I have reconnected with from sometime in the past. I am grateful for that.
More so I am grateful to know such a talented artist --- she is a dancer. Not just any dancer, rather a committed, talented and dedicated dancer.
Now for those of you that know me I don’t dance well at all. Perhaps, I at one time fantasized about being John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever but that was truly a fantasy. My wife can attest to the reality of my inability to lead probably because I have always been following ;-)
When Vivian told me of her love of dance I had no idea until I had the privilege of seeing for myself on the two following You Tubes.
I told Vivian that I truly wanted her to dance at my Memorial service to set the stage for the celebration of a life and the understanding that we go through this one only once.
Graceful, exciting, sensual and joyful --- that would describe our friend Vivian as she expresses herself through her marvelous talent. Enjoy.
Love, peace and grace, Dr. D
"Dancing Queen"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qc5m9BVEv9k&feature=related
From the Broadway Hit - "Chicago"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JZ7cG0u0yyE
Tranquilla II on the Back of Eddy Creek on Lake Barkley --- When I was in the 7th grade at Caldwell County Junior High School in Princeton, Ken., now some 45 years ago a short, squat extremely Italian-looking fellow and his lovely wife showed up to begin what was to be a love affair with Princeton and high school athletics.
This is my friend, and an outstanding and remarkable lady, Carlana Stone, author of "Never Give In, Never Give Up" - her life story about being paralyzed when she was 17-years old and not letting that stop her from skydiving, riding her specially outfitted Harley, learning to fly and scuba diving among just a few of her talents. I highly recommend her book. 
We Will Miss You Billy Boy
Yesterday I attended the funeral of my first cousin William Chalmers Dorn Jr. Billy to almost
everyone.
Billy was thirty-seven-years-old and hadn't lost an ounce of baby fat since he was born. What he
had lost, nine months ago, was 85% of his skin in a freakish flash fire that happened when he was outside
burning some leaves. For the same amount of time it takes a human life to be born, the ghost that Billy had
become crept quietly toward the light.
First, for the longest time, in a coma in a burn unit in Paducah, Kentucky; then, for a much shorter
time, in the ironically named Bryan Dorn VA Hospital in Louisville. Finally, after coming out of his coma long
enough to say he hoped he hadn't caused his mother too much worry, The Captain told this former Coast
Guard sailor to "Stand down..." Last Sunday Billy died.
Billy is the oldest child and the only son of Chalmers and Jeanne Dorn. Chalmers is my mother's
brother. Chalmers has always intimidated me, at least until the last several years. Chalmers was an MP in
the military before joining the City Police Force. Chalmers is a big burly man who maintains the
steeliest eye contact I have ever seen and tends to twitch in an imperceptible way even when he is at "rest";
in short, he gives the impression of restrained violence.
In the late 60's, three things happened to Chalmers: Jeanne gave birth to twins that both died within
a day, his father, my grandfather, died, and he was thrown off a third story fire escape during a race riot and
landed on his back on a nail. After that, Chalmers was never the same man.
Jeanne is a part Indian school teacher who is the best cook I have ever known. She is, if there ever
was one, an earth mother. When she smiles, you see the sun coming up over the fields. When she
welcomes you into her home, you know she means it. When she moves her largish frame around the
kitchen, getting this or that dish of beans laced with fatback or plate of coconut cake ready for the table, you
know she is really thinking about you the whole time. When she breathes, Chalmers is glad to be alive.
The last time I saw Chalmers and Jeanne, which was years ago, they took me to a local stock car
race. Chalmers loves cars. He buys a new one every year. Because he used to be a cop, Chalmers enjoys
the largesse of his fellow police officers.
Nevertheless, on the way to the races, Jeanne said, "Chalmers, you're going too slow," and took
the wheel. After that, we spent more time in the median than we did in the road and passed several
patrolmen who simply waved at us before we slid into the dirt area behind the pits at the race track. I never
saw the race. I passed out from exhaustion at the race getting to the race. I dunno who won.
Jeanne and Chalmers' two other children, Beth and Jeannie Marie, are indescribably beautiful. Beth is
married to an almost stereotypical big hunk of a man who never seems to be unhappy from Georgia;
together, they have four children, one of whom, Lisa, at age thirteen, has her black belt and wants to be an
astrophysicist. Jeannie Marie, who is short like my grandmother, married a man who is roughly her height
and has one child. Jeannie Marie looks like Pocahontas.
Billy never married. He liked girls, he told my aunt, but he was too shy. After he left the Coast Guard, he
came back home to live with his parents and got a job as a security guard. His real job was to look after his
parents and his sisters.
Sometimes he and Chalmers farmed. Chalmers was once a big farmer, two thousand acres. Soy
beans mostly. Billy did most of the work. But mostly he lived with Chalmers and Jeanne.
Once, in the middle of winter, Jeannie Marie needed a typewriter ribbon to finish a paper she was
doing for a graphics design class she was taking at a local technical college. Billy drove her downtown in
his truck and along the way hit a sheet of ice that caused him to skid down a street and hit several cars in
the process. When the truck came to a stop at the bottom of the hill, Billy immediately got out of the truck
and called the police.
When the policeman arrived, he asked Billy, "Why didn't you just keep going?" Billy, irate, replied,
"They're someones' cars!"
The most moving part of the funeral for me was when they folded the American flag on Billy's
mahogany coffin and handed it to his mother. The man who folded it, who must have been burying people
before I was born, folded the flag with such great care I got goose bumps.
It must have taken him five minutes. Religiously he smoothed out every crease and made every
turn and then very very patiently waited for his young assistant to make the final tuck perfect before he
handed the field of stars to my aunt and whispered something to her that I couldn't hear. While he did this, I
had flashes of Americans landing against impossible odds at Normandy and Confederate soldiers going
over the top at Cemetery Ridge and Billy in the Coast Guard rescuing an eight-year-old on a catamaran that
his mother shouldn't have rented for him.
Billy was a big boy, although not as big as his father. He had a great smile and to the best of my
knowledge he never hurt anyone. In particular, he loved animals and children.
I never pushed Billy around when we were children because he giggled too much. Billy never got
married. He was too shy.
Rest in Peace, Billy Boy.
Rest in Peace.
10-7
The Chinese merchant ships escorted by a China's fleet sailed on the Gulf of Aden when they met some suspected pirate ships. Thousands of dolphins suddenly leaped out of water between pirates and merchants when the pirate ships headed for the China's.
The suspected pirates ships stopped and then turned away. The pirates could only lament their littleness befor the vast number of dolphins. The spectacular scene continued for a while.
China initiated its three-ship escort task force on Dec. 26 last year after the United Nations Security Council called on countries to patrol gulf and waters off Somalia, one of the world's busiest marine routes, where surging piracy endangered intercontinental shipping.
China's first fleet has escorted 206 vessels, including 29 foreign merchant vessels, and successfully rescued three foreign merchant ships from pirate attacks.
About 20 percent of Chinese merchant ships passing through the waters off Somalia were attacked by pirates from January to November in 2008, before the task force was deployed.
A total of seven ships, either owned by China or carrying Chinese cargo and crew, were hijacked.
Tianyu No. 8, a Chinese fishing vessel with 16 Chinese and eight foreign sailors aboard, was captured by Somali pirates on Nov. 14 and released in early February.
The second fleet of Chinese escort ships arrived at the Gulf of Aden on Monday to replace the first fleet.
Brother Bert Ballard, Brother Jim Suitor, and Me
February 8, 2002
My dear Brother Bert,
To simply tell you I am grateful for the shotgun would be an understatement. However, I really don’t like the conditions under which I am having to accept it.
It seems just like yesterday that we met at the Holiday Inn during one of the travel show planning meetings. I recall afterwards we escaped and had a beer with Dawn Ford and some other folks. That was 30-years ago.
The time has flown by. I knew from that day that we would be good friends. I never had any idea that you would end up being my very best friend, confidante, and most dependable hunting buddy.
Ah, the times we have shared. And I guess that is what saddens me. To think that we won’t get to create any more of those memories. But what wonderful memories they are. I will always cherish them. And as long as my mind stays in tact, I will always be able to take them out and recall them with as much fondness as the days and nights we created them.
Some of my earliest memories are of you and Hank Lindsey and me. Working the Cincy travel show, meeting Miss Mississippi, and you guys trying to drop me off with some old broad that was strolling the sidewalk in the wee hours of the morning!
Then there was the days of the go-go girls and the old soul singer in the cabaret that we went to that was a hospital theme. Remember that one? They used bed pans to pass around pretzels. But you may remember she had a voice and moves like a 30-year old.
Hell, she had to be 90 if she was a day.
There was the days of the peanut bar in the old Hilton. The time we got snowed in in Cincy and Cleveland and probably other places that I forget.
There was the Milwaukee trip where we ate raw hamburger, red onion slices, on a piece of bread and drank cold Pabst beer. There were the St. Patty Day parades and the two of us cold as could be bundled up and leaning back to back to hold each other up after a night of drinking.
Then there was the year of being on the wagon. Remember when we carried our root beer wherever we went? Most people didn’t think we could do it. But we did. I recall having to do it to prove to myself that I didn’t have to wake up in a city and not know which city I was in. I got tired of looking for phone books to remind me of the town I had slept in the night before.
There were the musical rooms on nights when snow and ice was so deep no one could travel, or at least shouldn’t have. Then there was the infamous Indy night when Dawn Ford played room arranger and none of us except you ended up in the proper room!
There were the antics with Brother Jim in Indy and East St. Louis. And yet, we all got out alive, God surely protects children and fools!
There were all the opening nights and your hospitality to all of us all those years. Of course, after the first two times of watching “The Story” I looked forward to just sitting in the office with my Bro. And having a drink and laughing and clowning around as we often did.
There were the AAA tours and the bartending, baggage carrying and always the promoting of our properties and the dances and meals and busses. Through it all you maintained your good humor.
Remember our writers’ tours and you guiding for me? I never told them you weren’t from Lake Barkley. I just told them all they had one of the best damn guides and he happened to be my best friend.
They all seemed okay with that. And you even caught some fish!
Remember those scary houseboat rides at night on Lake Cumberland and Lake Barkley?
And then there were all our hunting trips. I will miss them the most. Alabama and then Georgia and finally Kentucky. All those years of Daddy Paul and Mrs. Reed and Mrs. Nixon. Then Brother Jim had to screw it up killing the largest deer ever taken off their property and not telling them before someone else did!
The years we got deer and the years we didn’t. It never really mattered to me. It was about having time with my best friend that mattered.
I am so grateful you could hunt this year although I know it had to be tiring on you. I will forever be grateful for that though and for Elmer’s stand building abilities.
Some of my friends have never understood that it wasn’t about hunting. It was about being together as friends. Spending timing catching up and laughing and talking and drinking and playing cards and cooking meals and sitting in deer stands watching squirrels.
You have been more than just a friend of mine Bert. You have truly been my best friend.
You hung in there with me through all of it. The good and the bad. You stayed beside me when I went through the Rebecca and Judy thing. You were still there after I screwed them up and had foolishly broken my heart more than once.
You were there when Kay came into the scene and you were there when David and Dad died.
You have been here for the July 4th celebrations and the fireworks. And to think you won’t be here for those is really very difficult for me.
You were more than just a friend to me Bert. You taught me a great deal about marketing and tourism. I thank you for that. You and Bill Knight and Ray Scott took me under your wings and helped me learn from some real professionals. I am appreciative.
You are the big brother I never had. The Father that paid me more attention than my own Dad. You are my running buddy, my hunting buddy, my mentor, my touchstone.
If there was anything I could do other than pray I would. Yet, I must confess that I prayed lots in 1991 and those prayers were answered for eleven more years. God was good to us. I think he understood from my prayers that I just couldn’t stand to loose you then. He comforted me as he comforts you now. Through his grace I shared eleven more years of your friendship. I am so grateful for that.
I pray that there will be a miracle. That something will happen and reverse all this yet I am realistic and I understand the reality. I just don’t want you to suffer and I do want you to know how much I love you.
I will never forget you. Your shotgun will always hang in a special place in my cabin. Every time I look at it will recall our fun times together.
I have told a few people about this but not many. The evening after we buried Weldon Petty I was en route to Chattanooga. I had Weldon and Sue Weller on my mind. I don’t know if I said it out loud or not but I said something to the effect of “Sue if you and Weldon are okay give me a sign that I can’t miss.”
Just about that time I topped Monteagle and was heading down when the biggest, brightest explosion I have ever seen in the sky happened. I thought a plane had blown up. I rushed into Chattanooga and stopped at the Tennessee Patrol station just outside of town to report what I had seen. They had heard about it already. They said no planes had gone down. No explanation.
The news later that night said NASA nor NORAD had an explanation but thought it was probably space junk.
Then it dawned on me that Sue and Weldon probably sat back in Heaven and chuckled to themselves. I am convinced that was a sign from them.
If you can let me know you are okay when you pass over. Don’t scare me. Just comfort me. You don’t have to do explosions. Just an overwhelming feeling of you hugging me will be okay.
Love, peace and grace your younger more handsome Brother,
