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I usually climbed down from the edges. Seldom from the top
by the street, or up from the bottom. I’d drop down 15 feet to
a shelf, then slide the rest of the way on the loose dirt.
Every time I climbed around I’d get covered with dirt, or mud.
When I got home I always got it from Mom. Unlike other
places, climbing upon buildings like the Powerhouse,
rummaging around in the basements, or running around in the
woods. I seldom came home with more than a scrape and
dusty pants. Here, in the ravine, she always knew when I’d
been there.
I used to dig in the ditch. We had an Army-Navy Surplus
spade which we used for camping. It was olive green and
about 2 feet long when folded. It was part of soldier’s gear
carried on their backpack. We used it to dig a trench around
our tent. When it rained the water wouldn’t puddle, but run
off the tent into the trench and away from the tent.
I would barrow it and dig holes in the side of the gully for
steps in the steepest side. As much fun as the ravine was it
would be filled when construction of the highway began.
Construction in the past 20 years had taken great strides.
Mostly, tall building like the Empire State Building, but also
the Pentagon. Now because of the need for speed and more
efficiency, and the size of the effort highway construction
developed their own multi-pronged approach.
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The Shirley Highway effort was one. While clearing the future
roadway, they would also build access roads and bridges. Each
would be a separate project and hopefully be completed in a
timely coordinated manner. We had all these projects going
on simultaneously.
This process of developing many different parts of a large
project was streamlined by Admiral Rickover when he built the
first atomic submarine, Nautilus. I, much later would work on
‘Critical Path’ computer software to coordinate huge systems
and construction projects.
My interest in these developments would change as they
moved along. The highway held less interest, because it would
be finished last. Until it was built and vehicles drove on it, I
would continue to cross the valley going back and forth to
school.
One project was a new bridge across King Street. The old one
was our main access to Alexandria and Washington. This was
a big bridge, made of reinforced concrete spanning each side.
Below it lay all the dirt that they removed to sink the
abutment. I had an interest in it, and not just because of the
dirt.
It came about from the movies. The Saturday matinees were
not just Westerns. We were getting more than a double dose
of them, but also the latest news. All the news we could stand.
Among the recurring items it seems the country was going
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bonkers over time capsules. Every other week we’d hear
about another place that one had been buried.
Playing around the bridge, was only on the weekends because
we’d get chased off if the workers were around. I’d found
holes along the bottom of the cement. Where it had not
settled completely into the dirt.
Those holes and the news items struck home with me. I’d
make up my own Time Capsule. Collecting some of my own
precious belongings to bury under the bridge.
I had a couple of fine Texas six shooters. They were silver,
with fancy carvings and white plastic handles. They held and
shot rolls of caps, 50 or more. There were more expensive
guns, that held 6 cap discs, but I never had one. Actually the
rolls were best because like the cowboys in the movies I never
ran out of ammunition.
I chose one, an older one, and because it would rust over the
years I wrapped it in oil cloth. An old rag from Mom and
soaked it with Pop’s motor oil.
In a mason jar I put several rolls of caps. That would be my
Time Capsule. I wasn’t about to add my only holster. I did
have a few coins, maybe 35 cents, nickels, dimes and pennies
that I threw into the jar. There was no note greeting the
future, nor date, nor why my treasure was buried. This was
top secret. Maybe left to Archeologist to discover their
meaning in the far distant future.
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I waited until all was clear, during the weekend. Off I went
down the hill past the playground, past the great ditch across
the valley and up the other side to the bottom of the bridge.
I’d chosen the best place. The corner on the far north toward
Shirlington, on the South Fairlington abutment. The concrete
edge wasn’t totally covered with dirt. I used the spade to dig a
larger opening, sliding my capsule under the abutment and
covering it. Proud of my accomplishment, and great secret; I
mounted up and rode my imaginary trusted steed down the hill
back home.
Years later I was driving north from Florida through
Richmond into Washington when I thought about that
treasure. I reasoned I’d be able to recognize the bridge while
driving between the two Fairlingtons.
To my total surprise it wasn’t possible. Everything had
changed so much that I couldn’t recognize anything. For all I
knew I might not have been on the right highway.
Had I been able to recognize it I doubt if I’d have stopped or
been able to retrieve it. I thought later of two things. First
the memory of the scent of the cap smoke made when it
exploded. I’ve heard that the olfaction memory lingers for
years. Maybe that’s true as I could still smell it. The other
thought was that the treasure had probably been crushed by
the settling of the abutment into the earth.
The final adventure that came from the Valley construction
was deep into the sewers. I’m not claustrophobic. Just really
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suspicious and anxious when underground. I’ve been in caves
all over the country; from Virginia, to Texas, South Dakota,
New Mexico, and Nevada. Mostly all were supervised,
withgroup leaders who never lost anyone. Not one cave ever
collapsed.
And although I’ve done a little unsupervised spelunking along
the palisades of the Potomac the thought of them causes
shivers to run up and down my spine.
Of course I didn’t know any of that back then. But, out back
the highway construction was moving along and they had built
sewers connecting all the run off from our apartments and the
hillsides.
These sewers were walk in high. Five foot Squares opened
from time to time to empty into a small stream or river. I
assumed they were drainage sewers, not waste water. They
smelled, but it wasn’t bad, just damp. Down below our
backyard was one of those opening. This would be my third
experience and adventure with the new super highway.
There was a small trickle coming out of the entrance. It
flowed into the stream that eventually went into the Four Mile
Run, about a mile further along the hilly wood side.
I walked in. It was cool and too dark to see. By using the side
of the tunnel wall as a guide I slowly made my way,
occasionally looking back to check my way. My eyes never
really got accustomed to the darkness. From time to time
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water would splash on my pants. Nothing really serious it
wasn’t deep. After about 100 yards the sewer made a turn. I’d
passed a couple of smaller pipes which dripped.
Beyond the turn I couldn’t see anything. It was pitch black. I
had a pretty good sense of where I was. It was a gift; I knew
the woods like the back of my hand, every path, hill and valley.
The apartments, and basements were second nature to me.
Just like I was able to ‘see’ the Monopoly board, or draw a
picture of the court where I lived. But, in the complete
darkness I couldn’t get my bearing. It was impossible to go
further.
At that point I turned back. The entrance shown with light as
I made the turn back. There was a dim reflection along the
sides and up from the water that helped me return. I had
some idea where I was and recognized the pipes as I passed
them.
On the way home I decided I needed a flash light to go
exploring further. I needed a flashlight and Mom kept one in
the kitchen. It would work fine. My next excursion would be
several weeks later.
I’d not told anyone about the sewer and never asked anyone to
go with me. That wasn’t the smartest, but, it also kept me out
of trouble.
With the flash light in hand, I was ready to go the distance. I
reentered the sewer. The trickle from several weeks before
had gotten larger. But, still not a big deal. I supposed there
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had been more pipes connected, as there hadn’t been any
rains.
The walls now that I could see them were rough concrete, but
if they used rebar, which they had to, there wasn’t any sticking
out. I moved quickly around the turn into total darkness.
The flash light was a good idea. Another couple 100 yards or
so, and I was pretty deep into the sewer I came across a split in
the tunnel. Besides my pathway there were two others, all
similar 5 foot squares.
I didn’t stop, I chose first the one I thought headed toward
home. Maybe up the hill to Abbington Street. It went only a
short distance before stopping, downsizing to a large 2 foot
round pipe. I crawled into it. It wasn’t to uncomfortable but
after a distance I realized I couldn’t turn around. It took a
while, but, I didn’t panic, I backed out feet first, inch by inch.
The opposite tunnel turned in the direction that I guessed was
across the highway. I followed it for a long while before my
flashlight began getting dimmer. I gave up and started back.
Someone had forgotten to put new batteries in it since our last
camping trip. It was time to get out of there while there was
still some light. It was a good thing because before I reached
the final turn I was hugging the walls to keep from tripping.
I would go several more times into the sewer, but after finding
a couple more cross tunnels I thought it best before I got lost
to stop. And, of course, if lost I’d have been in big trouble as
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no one knew where I was. Afterward, I kept to the woods for
my adventures.
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SNOW
In my mind once winter started there was always lots of snow.
We would often get 6 inches or more. Mom and Pop would
say how badly everyone drove in it. A few inches would
paralyze traffic. I suppose it was because of how few people
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in Washington spent much time in the snow. We were south
of the Mason-Dixon, by 70 miles.
We kids played a lot in the snow. There’s nothing better than
the first flakes each winter. It was so white, so soft and flaky.
Being humid in the winter has it’s advantages. Everyone
loved it, parents and kids would get out to build snowmen,
play in it, and have snowball fights.
Everyone would also go sledding. Even, the parents during
the weekends if they were home. Kids would sled day and
night. Parents would call us in only when it got dark or we
were so wet and frozen we quit on our own.
My snow suit was wool and it would shed the wet melted snow
but, I never knew when to come home and get dried off, or
put on new warm clothes. When I did finally return from
sledding I was frozen to the bone and soaked. I’d try
unsnapping my galoshes. The snow would get in between the
snaps. My frozen fingers were like wooden sticks trying to pry
the snaps loose. Once warmed up I never regretted it, and was
ready for more.
Sleds were very important and they came in many different
sizes, small, medium, and large. The large ones stretched over
6 feet. They were usually slower even though they held three
or more kids, usually sitting up. When we lay on it I would
run along side the longer sled and jump on top of the pile.
Maybe, three, some times four of us. It was pretty unstable
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and a quick turn would flip me off and anyone I was clinging
to.
That may have been a drawback. But, they also had a runner
that ended abruptly. Sleds with runners that came to an abrupt
stop were not that good for either speed and surely couldn’t go
backwards.
Some were so short that they would only hold a single person.
Unless they were really short themselves they would have to
ride it sitting up or their legs would hang out the back. They
were pretty fast.
When I rode one of them, I’d lie flat on my stomach with my
feet hanging out the back. There was no obstacle course I
couldn’t slide down. Trees, in a line meant nothing to me,
because I could turn on a dime. It was easy. I’d steer with my
hands and feet, digging in with my foot which ever direction I
wanted to go.
We were out so long that everyone had a chance to ride the
different sleds
The mid size sleds were the most common. That’s the size we
had. Our’s was a ‘Flexible Flyer’. Having one of them was
like the gold standard. They were the best sled, they turned
easily and were fast.
Although they made short and long ones their middle size was
designed differently. They were lower to the ground, about 5
inches. At the back the runners curled up becoming an
integral part of the sleds wooden bed. They didn’t get stuck in
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the snow going backward like the ones that ended sharply.
The design made the sled, yet they got their name for their
flexible steering. The wooden bar across the front would turn
enough to redirect the runners. The more flexible the better.
Our sled was not only a ‘Flexible Flyer’ known to be the best,
but ours was better. It was 4-5 feet long, low to the ground,
with continuous runners that curled up. The key to our best
sled was the steering. It was more flexible than any other
sleds.
We could turn on a dime. Few sleds were able to turn like
that.
There were lots of hills to slide down, a few with trees, which I
could turn around without any trouble, and of course the long
hill in our back yard, down into the Shirley Valley. Our sled
only had one drawback. If I was halfway up the longest hill
and lost hold of the rope tied to the sled it would, because of
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it’s neat design, slide backwards. Sometimes to the bottom of
the hill.
We would always make snowmen. Because of the damp
climate our snow was usually good for packing. That was fun
and Joe and I would make large ones on our front yard.
Across the road from us was a small 20 foot hill. Sometimes
the wind would blow and a snow drift would pile up against
the hill. This turned out to be pretty neat. I’d run along the
top of the hill and jump into the snow drift, sliding down the
hill under a tunnel of snow. It was hard to get back up the hill
without walking further up the court to the stairs. It was a
long way around, but well worth the slide.
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We also had lots of visitors, in the winter, Grandma and
Grandpa Zimmerman, Grandpa Williams, Aunts and Uncles.
In 1941 both Mom’s and Pop’s parents visited.
Here is a picture of Grandma and Grandpa Zimmerman, and
Grandpa Williams in the White House. Their coats were very
warm, and heavy, hers is a natural fur, beaver, his wool.
Maybe because of his size Grandpa Williams didn’t need one.
I was taken everywhere. If it was to the Zoo, I’d go. Parades
were a specialty of Mom’s. Whenever a celebrity came to
Washington and there was a parade; she would go and I would
get to go with her. Rain or Snow, we went.
The winter had lots of parades. Each time a President was
inaugurated, Roosevelt, Truman, Eisenhower, it was January.
General MacArthur when he was called home by Truman, or
President Haili Salassi, from Ethiopia. I’d be on Pennsylvania
avenue with a flag to wave and cheer them on.
Parades had a lot in common. During my parade career they
always had brass marching bands, many were from the
services, few from schools. Always Army and Navy groups
with rifles marching in unison. Heavy armed vehicles, tanks,
and semi’s pulling cannons. Overhead, in formation were the
bombers, B-24’s and B-29’s. Usually only one dignitary, a new
President, or a visiting head of a country was necessary for a
parade.
In my early years until I was four years old or so, Mom had a
harness for me. That worked pretty well. It had a couple of
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adjustable leather straps that fit around my chest, and a leash
on the back. It kept me within range, and I never wandered
off or got lost.
That day in the White House with Grandpa and Grandma I
got sick and up-chucked all over the Green Room floor. That
didn’t put off my parade driven Mother and it wasn’t the only
trip to the White House for me. We, I mean me and Mom,
never missed the Easter Day egg hunt on the White House
lawn. That was lots of fun, hunting for real colored eggs. And
the weather was a lot warmer in April.
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SCHOOL
This was Fairlington Elementary School. I started in first
grade and left at the end of the fifth, when we moved to the
other side of Arlington.
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SCHOOL
During the school year meals were pretty important. They
kept you awake in class and gave you plenty of energy outside
on the playground. So to start the day I sometimes had hot
Oatmeal or Cream of Wheat, but usually it was a simple bowl
of cereal. It could be Kix, Wheaties, Cherrios, Rice Krispies or
Puffed Rice. The latter was so-so. They say it was shot out of
cannons to puff it up, but as soon as it hit the milk it shrunk to
nothing.
General Mills and Kellogg were battling for my attention, and
they offered the neatest stuff, as surprises inside the cereal
box. Tops for surprises were adjustable rings that fit any
finger and after a while turned your finger green. My favorite
was when I’d mail off for a decoder ring and it arrived. In a
small box with my name on it. Once I got it I was sure no
one else could decode my secret messages.
Lunch was always the same. I’d carried a brown bag. I loved
peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I could eat them every
day; day after day. They were that good. The bread was always
white, sponge, Wonder Bread. I’m sure no other bread was
sold. Although Grandma Willams always made her own.
Mom always made lunch, but it was never just a single
sandwich. I’d have carrot sticks or an apple, and sometimes
potato chips or chocolate chip cookies. The cookies were
always home made. At Christmas time they would be sugar
cookies in all the cool shapes, stars, bells, Santa with sprinkles.
Occasionally, she would buy Olive Loaf. Then I would have it
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day after day. I always liked my lunches and although many
kids traded things, I never traded mine.
I did buy my milk at school. I could drink chocolate milk by
the pint, but if it wasn’t available I’d go for plain old white. I
liked milk.
School was okay, I liked recess best, because of the running
around. My classes were large, and most everyone got along.
This is a picture of my second grade class. Miss Leadbetter
kept all of us in what was a classical classroom. Desk lined in
rows. Thirty five of us, pretty evenly matched between boys
and girls. I’m on the first row, with my hands in my lap with
the striped polo shirt.
I would later have her sister as a teacher in the sixth grade.
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I can’t say school was fun, but It was okay. We studied;
learned to write cursive, not printing, did arithmetic, reading,
history and geography all in a classical form. That is the
teacher speaks and directs; students follow. Few children knew
how to read when they entered first grade. Later, after
television was introduced many children could read before
they entered school. I was never a fast reader.
Grading was simple A through E, good to bad. I had the
interest of a solid ‘C’ student. Teaching methods didn’t pick
up steam and change until after the decade was over.
At one point we all got a small six inch ruler. That was pretty
neat. Some of the nerdy kids had gotten into Morris Code.
That was great fun. Sitting in back of the class we could send
code messages to each other, right in the middle of class.
Dash, full length of the ruler. Dot, short end.
(. _ _ , . . . . , . _ , _ , . _, _ , . . , _ _ , . ) It read like this:
(Dot Dash Dash, Dot Dot Dot Dot, Dot Dash, Dash, Dot
Dash, Dash, Dot Dot, Dash Dash, Dot)
I suspect teachers knew pretty much what was going on in
their classes, and they must have been pleased with the
creativity. It didn’t even disrupt the class.
Sometimes student ingenuity was more of a problem and a bit
more difficult to deal with. We had a patrol system, where
kids got a chance to help control street crossing. They would
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have assignments for different stations before school, after and
at lunch. One had to qualify for patrol duty. It wasn’t so hard
as passing grades and volunteering usually got you a White
Belt.
The patrols usually chose a leader every month. Someone they
thought deserved the honor. That person wore a Blue Belt for
that month. One month there was a problem with the voting
and our teacher choose a fellow for the Blue Belt.
It caused such an up roar that the patrols went on strike.
Teacher won, but not without a fight. Soon all the patrols
were back at their stations.
Some subjects were more interesting than others.
I enjoyed math, like cutting an apple into three parts and
adding them together, 1/3 plus 1/3 plus1/3 making 1 whole
apple. Geography was interesting. For instance the wind
sweeping across the country hitting the mountains dropping
it’s rain, but leaving the other side dry. Who would have
guessed the mountains made such a difference. Science was
okay, but there was so little of it. What happened to jumping
into a bath tub and discovering your weight being splashed
out, like Archimedes? My mother never guessed it was
scientific. Science was fun.
I liked history, but because our city was so full of it. I
preferred Washington’s real life offerings. Much later, I would
enjoy reading the books, but that was during college.
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School probably should have been more important to me. I
would be working in my late 20’s before I realized how
important the classroom was to education, and what an
opportunity it offered to me, in addition to a rich and diverse
environment.
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FAMILY OUTINGS
After World War II Pop took regular vacations, and we always
went to Allentown Pa., or to Potterville Pa. to see my
grandparents. We also went camping. But, before the War
ended the whole family would go on weekend sightseeing
excursions, and picnics.
Washington was filled with places to go and things to see. We
would go to the museums, art galleries, the zoo, botanical
gardens, or to the grand old homes of George Washington and
a little further away James Monroe, and Thomas Jefferson’s.
We also went to Williamsburg. We had picnics at Great Falls,
and Haines Point. There were the Civil War battle fields,
Manassas Va., Antietam Md., and Gettysburg Pa.
Pop liked the air shows. They were always at the Service Air
Fields, like the Navy’s Boiling Field or Andrews Air Force
Base . We’d get to see the fighters; the dual fuselage Lightning
P-38 and Black Widow, the Mustangs and Aircraft Carrier
fighters and light bombers like the Corsair and Wildcat.
We could climb around the planes. Up the ladder into the
fuselage of a B-24 and crawl, hands and knees, down the
narrow tunnel to the tail gunner’s turret. Or forward to the
cockpit. Planes would fly overhead all day long in formation.
If we wanted to see war ships occasionally the Navy would
open the David Taylor Model Basin to the public. The basins
were full of water. In some they could create ocean size
waves. There was a deep water basin, where in the early
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1950’s Submarine testing under Admiral Hyman Rickover’s
leadership created the famous fish shape. We’d get to see
different ship’s hull models being tested in rough seas like our
World War II Battleship and Curser hulls. They would run the
length of the model basins.
Once in a while the Navy would bring a war ship up the
Potomac and we could tour it. What I remember from those
tours is how stark and gray everything was, ladders,
gangplanks, inside and outside of the ships, wheelhouses with
cannons as wide as my body, for powder and bombs.
Occasionally we’d go to Glen Eco Park, an amusement park in
Maryland near Great Falls. I learned early that roller coasters
were not for me. I didn’t like the feeling of weightlessness
from a quick drop, or the tug of gravity on a sharp curve. It
did have a swimming pool, so when we went it was for the
day.
Mom ran excursions during the summer, piling many
neighborhood kids into the car and going all over Washington,
to Museums, and art galleries.
A special place was Haines Point along the Potomac. It was a
large park filled with several fields, baseball and soccer, Tennis
courts a golf course, playgrounds, and picnic areas. I knew it
as Haines Point but it’s now called East Potomac Park.
It had quite a history. From the beginning of time the area
along Pennsylvania Avenue and the Potomac River was mostly
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swamp. It was difficult to get from the White House to the
Capital without slogging through mud and soggy ground.
Every great storm would cause the Potomac to overflow and
flood making things even worst. But during the early part of
th
the 20 century there was a lot of building. The Potomac was
dredged and the East and West Potomac Park was created.
In 1891 the Corp of Engineers took it upon themselves to dig
a deep channel in the Potomac and dump most of the dirt into
this area. They created what’s mostly represented by our
National Mall and the land from Capital Hill to Memorial
Bridge. East Potomac Park, Haines Point was part of the
island creation.
I remember Haines Point because we would walk out to the
end of the point where the Potomac waters would lap the
sidewalk. It was designated as sea level. The Potomac has
tides beyond Haines Point and Georgetown all the way to the
first falls, Great Falls.
The Memorial Bridge was built, along with the Lincoln
Memorial and the Washington Moment. The Tidal Basin was
improved around 1948 but the Cherry Trees, a gift from Japan
in 1912, were already there.
What was so wonderful about Haines Point was the huge
swimming pool. Maybe, the only public place in Washington,
and all of Arlington where we could go swimming. Everyone
who could went there to swim. It was always filled with us
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kids. Mom would take sandwiches, raw vegetables, chips and
lemonade for all of us to picnic. We’d spend the day.
Outside of Washington on the Virginia side of the Potomac
was the Great Falls Park. It was a forested area with a dry
channel, and picnic area. As I grew older I liked going there
more and more. By the time I was 8 and 9 I could climb out
onto the rocks and cliffs that over looked the falls. Before that
I’d walk the paths and channels play catch and have a picnic
with my folks.
As I got older I was able to see the river split into two paths at
the top of the falls. Each path took one side around a large
crested rocky island. I called them the Maryland path and the
Virginia path, because the Potomac separates the two states.
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The falls doesn’t drop in one long stream from the top to the
bottom like the Yellowstone Falls. The water tumbles
dropping 20- 25 feet, swirling around in a pool, and falling
another 20 feet in a white foaming bath onto more jagged
rocks.
The Virginia path drops further and is more rugged than the
Maryland. The Maryland path drops once, and then with all its
power runs across some large boulders looking like a
monstrous rapid.
I was always anxious and careful around the falls, and the
jagged sharp rocks. Many people have fallen and drown in the
raging waters. Years later, in my teens I would test this river
from above and below the falls but never over them
Of all the homesteads, or plantations, George Washington’s
Mount Vernon and Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello were my
favorite.
I liked the ride along the Potomac to get to Mt. Vernon. It
was a secluded park highway that made one think of the slow
easy going American South. It’s dual highway lazily curves
winds along the river with trees and picnic areas along the
way. By the time we reached Mt. Vernon the dream of our
founding fathers plantation above the Potomac was a reality.
It’s southern columns stand as a monument to a past world
with a grassy field of green stretching miles along the river. It
was important for me as an image of our world.
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Monticello also has it’s majestic beauty. But, where I saw
Washington as an administrator, Jefferson captured my
imagination with his inventive mind. He was the creator and
thinker of a century. His plantation was an example of
himself.
Monticello means a small mountain, and it rests on the top of
Virginia’s foothills, outside of Charlottesville. Charlottesville is
the home of the University of Virginia where he designed the
early quadrangle and invented a curved brick serpentine wall.
Known for it’s strength, yet only one brick thick.
His home was filled with interesting gadgets and inventions.
He invented a contraption that made copies of everything he
wrote. It was like a Leroy. He invented a plow to turn the soil
in the fields. He had smoke houses for ham , venison and
other meat.
The kitchen was below the main rooms which kept the house
warmer, as the heat rose, and made it easier to serve his many
guests. French doors that both opened together. Narrow stair
wells in back for servants and slaves to go up and down the
stairs. Narrow so that two couldn’t stand on them and talk or
visit. His stables were underground so that the weather would
be cooler in the summer and warmer in the winter. They were
built without nails. All fitted together by tongue and groves.
Yet he had a nail factory on his estate. His gardens were
specially prepared for year around vegetables. Once fish had
been caught he kept them alive in a small pond where they
could be scooped out fresh for dinner.
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I also loved going to the Zoo. Fortunately, our Zoo was one
of the best anywhere. There were two ways to get there, either
go through town, up Connecticut Avenue past all the grand
hotels and expensive apartments. That way you entered the
Zoo from the top of the Rock Creek valley. The Zoo was on
the hill side.
The other approach was along the parkway. Washington had
these parkways all along the Potomac River probably inspired
by the dredging of Haines Point. This one ran along a little
creek, with trees or woods on both sides of the valley. It was
Rock Creek Park, and Parkway.
Just as we arrived at the bottom of the Zoo, we came to the
place I always looked forward to. We crossed the creek. What
a spectacular way to enter the Zoo. Our ’38 Pontiac drove
through the water, slowly, because Pop always said we’d get
the breaks wet. Hanging out the window I could watch the
water swirl just below the running boards.
If our Zoo had no other attractions than that it would have
been enough for me. I loved fording the creek.
Lots of people like the monkeys. There were orangutans,
gorillas, swinging and jumping all around. I didn’t think they
were so much. I liked the Polar Bears. Two of them would
climb around their rocky cage, and dive into the bluish pool.
They were the largest, and all white. I liked watching them.
Years later I’d learn their hair wasn’t white, but clear, and the
reflection made it white.
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There were other animals that I liked, but bears and the seals
were the best. We would throw peanuts to the elephants,
watch the gangly Giraffes stalk around, their enclosure. Deer
took up lots of room. Each group had different horns or
antlers. They were probably all from Africa.
We always stopped to watch the Prairie Dog Town. They
liked to pop up from their holes look around and run to the
next hole. We’d often have lunch watching them or down at
the bottom of the Zoo beside the Seals.
We never visited the Zoo without an educational visit to the
reptile house. Like most of the enclosed animal houses it
stunk. But, we weren’t there to see the crocodiles, or lizards.
We were there for a specific reason; SNAKES, and we’d be
tested on it later. Pop’s lecture was always the same:
‘This is a Copperhead. Look at it’s body. It’s color is like autumn leaves.
It’s head is the shape of a triangle. This is a Rattlesnake. It head is also
triangular and it has rattles on it’s tail. When it’s up set it will start
shaking the rattles. Both of them are poisonous and if you come across one
in the woods get away from it. They will usually coil up before they
strike. Their bite will hurt.’
There was one other snake we’d be lectured about. It was a
Water Moccasin, a long black snake with a triangular head.
They liked water and we should keep our eyes out around the
docks, and shore line.
This lecture would repeat itself every time we went to the Zoo,
or camping, and often while camping. In all our years in the
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woods, either camping or playing out back in Fairlington I’m
happy to say I never came across a live snake.
The Seals were hyper. They would dive into the pool , spin
around head for the bottom, and swim the full length coming
up for air. They had so much energy. They would chase each
other around like playing tag. I could watch them for a long
time, but by the time we’d stopped at their pond it was later in
the day and time to head for the car and back across the ford.
Swimming at Haines Point was much more fun than going to
the Smithsonian Museum or Mellon Art Galley. Somehow
Pop was seldom around to visit those places. We’d go on the
weekdays, when there were smaller crowds. Joe wasn’t able to
make them either. Nothing was left out. If there was an open
house, whether the White House, Capital or Archives, we’d get
to go. Mom was an inspired tour guide.
Did you know that the first electric building in Washington
was the Library of Congress. Or it was designed by the Army
Corp of Engineers. It used to be open to everyone. I studied
there in college, just by walking into the Jefferson Reading
Room and ordering any book. Any book except maybe the
first copy of the Gutenberg Bible which was on display. Even
today when I visit I take the time to get a Library of Congress
library card. It’s good for a year, and even has my picture on
it.
The Mellon Art Gallery became The National Art Gallery in
1937. Andrew Mellon, the rich banker from Pittsburg, and
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Secretary of Treasure donated his collection of art to the
United States. It concentrated on American Art, but has
pieces from all over the world, including purchases in 1921
from the Hermitage in Russia. It was years afterward that
visiting this gallery or others in town wasn’t a big snooze for
me.
The Smithsonian was different. It has an interesting history.
The first building was built in 1947. It’s still standing and is
called ‘The Castle’. If you’ve been to Washington it’s the red
brick building in the middle of the mall.
James Smithson was an English scientist that left lots of
money to an heir who left it to the United States in 1835. It’s
said to have been $500,000 dollars in gold sovereigns in over
one hundred sacks. Or as they say today, about 11 Billion
Bucks.
The money was mishandled and after years Congress was
persuaded to reinstate it with interest. Today the Smithsonian
Institution is not just a collection of 100 million plus items, but
includes 19 museums, 9 research centers, the National Zoo,
and has facilities in 5 other states, Panama and Puerto Rico
besides the District of Columbia.
I’m sure Mom believed you didn’t have to over-do a visit.
That meant we’d visit one or two exhibits and then return
another day. For instance, the Freer Gallery is dedicated to the
Chinese collection from it’s name sake. It was the first private
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donation. Or the Medical museum where I saw my first
‘Elephantitus’. I won’t forget that anytime soon.
There were lots of visits that weren’t so esoteric. The museum
of Natural History and Air museum were a lot of fun even
though I complained before we went.
The Natural History Museum has all the dinosaurs,
Tyrannosaurs Rex with it’s, huge head full of teeth, and a
towering bony body. A Pterodactyl flew over our heads, even
though there isn’t such a thing. Movies created the name. As
a group of flying dinosaurs then called Pterosaurs. They were
pretty neat and I didn’t care what they called them.
The National Air Museum was part of the Arts and Industry
building once it was set up in 1946. It had World War I
Biplanes, Lindbergh’s ‘Spirit of St Louis’ and a Ford Trimotor.
Planes didn’t hold an important place for me. I was more
interested in Flash Gordon and space travel.
As I got older, I was drawn to the models they displayed in the
Industry Building. It held a lot of small models. Oil wells,
steam engines, motor cars, and air planes for the latest in
technology. Frontier wagons like the Conestoga, and horse
drawn wagons, like milk, fire, and stagecoaches. Wilderness
cabins, and early factories. They had a display of ships that
was awesome. Many of the models had working parts.
th
There must have been 20 or more different 19 century horse
drawn wagons. The ship display included paddle wheelers, like
this river cruiser, steam engines and many sailing ships.
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This may have been my first inkling that I’d like doing as a
career. I thought being a model builder would be a good job.
Maybe I could work for a Museum.
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Family outings, particularly into Washington had a profound
effect upon me. I was so impressed by the museums that
during my early teens I’d even skip school to spend the day in
them. Too often I’d walk from our North Arlington home
through the Arlington Cemetery across the Memorial Bridge
and climb the Washington Monument, or go to the
Smithsonian Museums’, or even go so far as the Capital to
walk the corridors among the hundreds of statues and ride the
subway to the Senate office building.
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VACATIONS AND CAMPING
SHERANDO LAKE:
A summer never passed that we didn’t go camping, and we
always went into the Shenandoah Valley between the Skyline
Drive and the Blue Ridge Parkway in Virginia. A remote place
in the 1940’s. Built by the Conservation Corp, CCC’s. in the
1930’s. We first arrived at Sherando Lake in 1939 before I was
toddling.
Over the years lots of memories were made there. My earliest
was one I’ve been told about. There was a little inlet just to
the side of the main swimming beach. It was very shallow. In
it I was able to stay with my mother when she waded over her
knees. That was if I didn’t mind going under water. I liked
being with my mother, and was saved from drowning over and
over as I plunged into the depths of the knee deep water.
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The lake was huge; a single stream fed it from the mountains
with an earthen dam at the northern end. You can see the
rock slide at the end of the lake. Those rocks were used for
material to build the dam, and the park’s buildings
The campground, at the time was simple. Just widened spaces
in the woods with no water or electricity. It was tucked in the
hillside with a pump for water and pit toilets at one end. It
was only a short walk to the picnic area, the beach and bath
house.
The main building was both a bathhouse and pavilion. It had
a couple of open showers and a row of lockers. Safety, again
was never an issue in those days.
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The pavilion had two large stone colonial style fire places.
They were walk-in’s. This was where all camp meetings took
place, in the evening. Often they were social, occasions with a
lecture by a Ranger.
The CCC’s had built the pavilion with the local stone and
timber, cutting shakes for the roof. They also built chairs, love
seats, and picnic tables. The furniture made so strongly that
today, 75 years later it’s still being used. It was hard on my
bony body then and my not so bony body today.
Between the Pavilion and the lake was a wide grassy area, with
oak shade trees. During the summer we would spend hours
there. Laying out on a blanket, sometimes having a picnic of
sandwiches and drinks Mom would have prepared.
There were usually others visiting for picnics and a swim,
either from the camp or from Waynesboro, the closest town.
Once a lady camper lost her diamond wedding ring. Pop
searched for hours until he finely found it. Everyone rejoiced.
Joe especially liked the small dock beside the picnic area. It
was on the creek just before the lake, and big enough for a
couple of row boats and a canoe. What he liked were the little
Sun fish or ‘Crappies’ he could see swimming around.
Fishing for them was his number one interest. And it wasn’t
long before he would toss a hook into the water with of all
things a chunk of ‘Wonder’ bread. The little fish swarmed. I
don’t recall if he ever caught a Bass or other kind of fish.
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Today it’s only a couple of hours to travel from Fairlington to
Sherando Lake, unless your held up in the beltway traffic or
along the US 29 corridor towards Charlottesville. Back then it
was a different trip.
Our ’38 Pontiac packed with all the camping gear my folks had
used a decade earlier. The cast iron tent poles and spider
infrastructure fit on the back seat floor, with the heavy canvas
tent, Army/Navy air mattress, and mummy bags. Our suit
cases, ‘American’ camp stove, pots and pans, utensils and
aluminum dishes, all snug, fit together as a unit, and a small gas
can for ‘white’ gas fit in the luggage compartment. Canned
food and other items were stuck here and there.
It’s about 180 – 200 miles to Sherando Lake. It would be a
days trip. Leave around 9’ish stop several times, gas, lunch
and toilet stops, arriving around 4’ish.
There were two important stops that I can remember, and one
I wish not to.
Outside of Charlottesville the two lane mountain road, US 29
climbs up the mountain to the top where the Skyline Drive
and Blue Ridge Parkway intersect. Climbing that mountain
took it’s toll on the car. It would always overheat, meaning
we’d stop and let it cool down. There was a Mountain spring
on the hillside where we stopped, with other cars to cool down
and refill the radiator. Pop had a canvas radiator bag they kept
especially for the occasion. After, cooling down Pop would fill
the radiator with water before continuing up the hill.
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We would stop at the top to view the mountains and then
proceed down the other side into the Shenandoah Valley and
Waynesboro.
Some 20 - 30 more miles to go we’d leave Waynesboro on a
paved back road toward Sherando. This wasn’t a small town,
just a gas station and maybe three houses. We would always
stop there to fill our auto, buy some home made honey and get
‘white’ gas for the camp stove. White gas is without lead. It
was sold by a few gas stations around the country, Mobil, the
sign of the flying horse, and Texaco, whose gas stations were
all over the country. Texaco also gave away pictures and
descriptions of National Park in a large booklet. We stopped
there whenever we needed gas, and collected them. It also had
the cleanness toilets anywhere.
Mom and Pop would visit for a while before moving on. One
year the owner had saved a couple of black bear cubs, whose
mother had been shot during the spring. He was feeding and
caring for them until they were old enough to go on their own.
During those years bears, any kind, were not seen as
particularly dangerous. Often people would let them gather
around their cars and feed them. Reports of what ever happen
to them were few and far between.
Joe and I seldom paid attention to the country side, much to
Pop’s annoyance. We would usually take the trip with several
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comic books, paying attention to the adventures of Plastic
Man or Capitan Marvel. Pop by this time in our travels had
had enough. On one occasion his irritation over flowed and
he reached around in back and grabbed one of the comic
book’s. That was all it took to cause the car to careen off the
road and crash along the side of a fence.
No one was hurt, but the car door handles were stripped from
their sides. Joe and I both were in big trouble. Thanks to
Mom, she intervened and we were saved.
Years later I’ve returned to Sherando Lake. It’s hasn’t changed
only my memory and imagination. The lake that was huge
back then is now a large pond, and where the island was, so far
away. How could you possibly swim that far, was only a few
hundred feet from the beach. A hike around the lake took half
an hour. It was in the fall and the leaves were beautifully
colored. What a swell place this small lake and camp was for
me.
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THE GREAT WEST
THE GREAT WEST:
By 1945 and the end of the war, many workers had accrued
hours and even days of overtime work and vacation time. My
Dad had weeks, even months. In 1946 they decided to use
most of that time and take a long vacation. We would go
across the country to Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming.
We packed the Pontiac in the usual manner. Joe and I in back,
with all the heavy camping gear and extra stuff. Mom and Pop
shared the driving trying for better distances than we did to
Sherando Lake, 200 to 250 miles a travel day. In back we had
plenty of comics to read. Our daily run would begin around 9
in the morning and end by 3 in the afternoon. There were no
four lane highways. We traveled the two lane US routes, and
occasionally lesser paved roads.
Day’s never started at 9 am . We usually rose with the sun and
hit the hay as it set. Most travel days were long because of the
chores everyone had. Pitching the tent. The Dickey Bird was
st
ten times heaver than today’s 21 century tents, and took two
or more to raise it. The more the better. It was canvas,
treated with water proofing.
We each had our jobs setting up camp. Mom would do the
kitchen, food, stove, and gear on the picnic table. It would
always be covered with a small canvas tarp. Sometimes, we
stayed for a couple of days and another tarp would be hung
over the picnic table. We were then protected from the rain
and could play games, cards, or sit without getting wet.
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Pop would haul the tent and iron posts out of the car. Joe
would lay out the ground cover. I would dig the trench
around it, in case of rain. The tent was old, but it had a single
characteristic that no other tent had. It didn’t have a center
pole holding it up. That made it a marvel of engineering for
it’s time.
Once the tent was rolled out flat, Pop would crawl inside with
the ‘Spider’. The ‘Spider’ was a marvel of engineering. Four
long iron rails meeting in the center with a twisted cradle and
swivel crank. On the far end of each rail was a socket.
There were four poles and a sleeve for them in each corner.
One pole was used for the center to temporarily prop up the
‘Spider’. That pole along with one other would be used on
the outside of the tent to prop up the awning. It was also
possible to put sides on the ‘porch’ around the awning, but we
seldom used them.
Pop would get the ‘Spider’ centered and spread out toward
each corner. Mom would slide each post into the corner
sleeves. Pop would then raise the entire tent up, lifting at least
75 pounds, propping the center pole under it to hold, while
mom slipped each post into the ‘Spider’s’ sockets. That done,
he would crank the ‘Spider’ upward until the tent was high
enough for us to stand and walk around underneath. It would
be adjusted depending on the weather. Once set, and this is
the marvelous part, he would swivel the cradle around until it
locked the four rails in place.
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He could then remove the central post, and the tent would
stand without a center pole. Brilliant!
The neatest part of crossing America were the Billboards. It
was a standard way to advertise along our countries highways.
In the East barns were painted with tobacco chewing signs.
Our favorites were a shaving cream company. The company
Burma Shave made shaving cream in a can. Men mostly used
a brush and soap at the time. They had been around for years,
and would continue to advertise into the 1960’s.Mom always
had her eye out for them.
They were a series of small signs with different jingles on
them. Their jingle topics covered all sorts of things, shaving
cream, safe driving, saving bonds, war, morals, everything.
Here are a couple of examples.
‘Many a Wolf’, ‘is never let in’, ‘because of the hair’, ‘on his’, ‘Chinny-
Chin-Chin’, ‘Burma Shave’.
‘Let’s make Hitler and Hirohito’, ‘look as sick as’, ‘old Benito’, ‘Buy
Defense Bonds’, ‘Burma Shave’.
‘Big mistake many make’, ‘Rely on horn’, ‘instead of’, ‘Brake’, ‘Burma
Shave’.
’T’would be’, ‘more fun’, ‘to go by air’, ‘if we could put’, ‘these signs up
there’, ‘Burma Shave’.
Once we got out onto the plains there were fewer signs. We
turned back to our comic books and ‘Black Hawk’.
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There was one exception. The world famous ‘Wall Drug’ store.
It advertised all the way across this desolate land. The drug
store was in the middle of nowhere, on the plains of South
Dakota. Each Billboard advertized different products,
encouraging us to stop; cold drinks, hot dogs, and Ice. It
always advertised Ice. Nothing could be more important than
ICE. We stopped and splurged with hot dogs and sodas. We
put our ice in a canvas bag. It lasted four days.
SOUTH DAKOTA: Mount Rushmore:
We stopped in the Bad Lands National Park. Only a day or
so from Rapid City. It didn’t have any services and was
desolate, no trees, no bushes and no grass. The sun bore
down on the barren hills. I can’t remember if we saw any wild
animals or not. If so they would have been mountain sheep.
Mom and Pop were eager for us to see Mount Rushmore. We
did, and it was nice. Probably more interesting for them and
Joe than myself. After all I was 6 years old, and my list of
Presidents included those from Virginia; Washington,
Jefferson, Madison and Monroe. Whose homes we had
visited.
Here is Mount Rushmore. This perspective is about as good
as any to show several things about this famous mountain
carving. Look at how small the mountain top is and the
amount of the mountain that was used. Also look at all the
debris that was chiseled away. It has never been removed.
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Below the debris is a pine forest. Today the place has been
turned into a commercial free-for-all, with a large
amphitheater, rinky-dink souvenirs, and expensive parking.
Never-the-less, the last time we were there we saw a Mountain
goat in the amphitheater.
I did like going fishing, but not fishing. I’d rather keep the
fishermen company. Pop bought a 3 day license for Joe. It
cost him a fist full of money, $7.00. He thought it was a rip-
off. Joe should have been able to fish for free because he was
so young. But no, Joe wasn’t having any of that. He told
them he was old enough; old enough to have a license.
Well, Pop watched while Joe fished. He made suggestions, but
never touched anything. He wasn’t going to get a fine. He’d
been burnt already.
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The small mountain streams were really cold. I waded across
them and climbed the banks. Fishing is a bore, but Joe
persevered. Three days later he had caught one trout. Too
small to keep. Too bad, maybe he’d have better luck later.
There was gold in the Black Hills, and at one time, long ago it
drew some really unsavory characters; Wild Bill Hitchcock,
and Calamity Jane were best known. Hitchcock was shot
down while playing poker; holding a full house, called a dead
man’s hand, aces and eights. We drove up a steep hill to get to
the Deadwood cemetery and his grave. That was a real high
light for me.
Returning to Deadwood years later I sat on a theater show jury
that found his killer ‘not guilty’. The jury was rigged back then
and in the show I was in.
We later left Deadwood and the Black Hills heading across
Wyoming. It took a couple of days. We arrived through
Cody, and up that narrow long road to Yellowstone Lake and
the Fishing Bridge Campground.
WYOMING: Yellowstone National Park:
Yellowstone was first seen by Jim Bridger in 1805. He
traveled across the continent with the Lewis and Clark
exposition leaving them on the way back. When he returned
to St Louis his stories about geysers, hot springs and wild
animals were generally disregarded with his other tall tales. It
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would take 60 years to be recognized as true, and President
Grant made it the first national Park.
Yellowstone is huge, 3,500 square miles, 350 times the size of
Washington D.C. covering parts of 3 states, Idaho, Montana
and Wyoming. It’s the largest volcanic caldera in North
America.
Today, 2016, scientist believe it’s hot spot has migrated across
Idaho and Washington to Wyoming and is still moving. They
are reticent to penetrate the depths of the hot springs, because
it might injure the waters flow. Most of all they believe that if
it blows, it will seriously spread ash all over our country, and
world. That no one knows when it will explode has never
slowed down the visitors. After World War II tourists came to
Yellowstone in droves.
By1949 more than a million tourists visited each summer. It
was hard to believe we had gotten there before the crowds,
because our campground was full. It was at the mouth of the
Yellowstone River, where it left the lake toward the Atlantic
Ocean.
Once our camp was set up we headed toward the main
headquarters, and Old Faithful. It was 35 miles away. Every
hour on the hour this amazing geyser erupts throwing scalding
water 125 feet into the air. In between it just bubbles. We
walked up and around it to see the pool and bubbles. The
crater was an oval, 3’ x 7’. Much larger than I would have
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guessed. There were thin streams draining off the mound it
had built up over the years. That water cooled quickly and we
could splash in it. We heard that soldiers tossed their dirty
laundry into the geyser’s craters. I wondered if they used Duz
Soap. We were able to walk all around the fountain, and the
hot springs of this amazing geyser. Viewing was not restricted
by board walks. Things have changed in the last 75 years.
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