My Cross Country Road Trip

My Cross-Country Road Trip

By Nate Bender

2/5/2016

Traveling the open road has long held special meaning and a resulting collage of memories for me.  Uncovering unforeseen gateways to new encounters with people, places and experiences permeate my bank of memories while creating new realms of possibilities for living my life.  Most of all, traveling alone allowed me to nurture my ever-developing spirit and its quest for peaceful coexistence in our often-troubled world. To this day, that freedom of thought and action holds important ties to my living vibrantly as an elder, and propels me to ‘hit the road’ whenever I can.  This life story seeks to capture one such journey, found in my month-long drive across America, starting in New Jersey and ending in California.

In late June of 1972 I ended my first tour of military duty in Germany, imbued with pride, satisfaction and a resolute spirit to make something meaningful of my life.  Making the most of my military conscription I used the experience to live and work in two separate parts of the world, essentially devoid of radio and television diversions over a four-year period.  The end result found me possessing clearer visions for the awaiting next phase of my life.  Moreover, I avoided the perils of combat duty in Viet Nam. 

What awaited was a final destination to California, to embark on a loosely planned journey into new territory….namely, graduate school at Pepperdine University, to which I had not even applied!  Despite the missing acceptance piece, my confidence meter was strong.  I trusted my ability to ‘find a way’ to ultimately be admitted and achieve a graduate degree in psychology.  Since Los Angeles was a place I had left four years previously, I was also confident in my employability at my pre-military service job as a Probation Officer.   

I arrived in Newark, New Jersey from Germany, with my meager worldly possessions in tow.  The first order of business was to ‘out-process’ from the Army at Fort Dix, the location in which my military service began.   What a difference four years made in now being an officer vs a lowly private – former derisive encounters now replaced with preferential respect being most evident.  Of additional note was being dispensed my final military pay settlement of around $2000, creating feelings of joyful wealth!

The second order of business involved retrieval of my government-shipped bright-orange-in-color Volkswagen square-back car from the port, only to discover the car’s radio was stolen.  The scarred condition of my road machine was unsettling, as the hassle to submit an insurance claim seemed to be somewhat of a bother.  So, with my affixed green-background USA license plates drawing notice from other drivers and a sleeping bag for lodging contingencies, I was on my way, with goals of making interim stops in eight different States.

I made stops in New Jersey, Virginia, North Carolina, Kentucky, Illinois, Iowa, South Dakota, and New Mexico, before ending my junket in California.  Linking up with fellow military mates offered instant contact and support for six of the stops. 

Apart from having addresses and phone numbers, locating the various hosts without smart phones and GPS resources seemed effortless, as I relied on maps and strangers to guide me.

My stop in the Greensboro area of North Carolina held a first-time exposure to family ‘help’ for financially well-off whites.  While the bonds seemed special and tender between servant and master, it left me feeling uneasy.  Subsequent conversations with my hosts revealed an honorable justification and accompanying defensiveness around the subject of racial inequality, so the subject was quickly tabled.

My stop in the Paducah, Kentucky coal mining region exposed me to another side of southern living.  Steve Pinkston’s family became my hosts, and quickly embraced my presence with generous offerings of food and a tour of the open-pit coal-mine in which Mr. Pinkston worked.  Touring the humongous shovel machine used to unearth the coal deposits was like being in a large house with many gadgets to manipulate the mining process.  While the scarring of the landscape was starkly visible, I was assured that reclamation efforts would restore it to a fertile condition.  My take-away from this stop was the sense of community and generosity displayed in rural, small town and impoverished America.

Returning to my roots in Westgate, Iowa, a welcome-back embrace was short on enthusiasm and long on bewilderment.  No one could relate to the life experiences I had undergone over the past four years, thus limiting the exchanges, apart from learning of the lives of friends and family.  I left with a realization that I no longer belong in the place of my origin, save for maintaining family ties.

My stop in Parker, South Dakota held a reunion of sorts with my ninety year-old maternal grandmother and two of her children, uncle Louie and aunt Martha, both of whom lived with total blindness for most of their lives.  Of special note was piling these three people into my VW car and treating them to dinner at the local country club, a venue of modest means.  This would be the last time I saw grandma and aunt Martha, but their humanity and lives, lived in humility and kindness, hold a special place in my heart.  Twenty years later I had an opportunity to visit Uncle Louie in a nursing home.  He was still infused with an indomitable spirit of curiosity and peacefulness.  I like to think I possess certain of these qualities!

 

En route to Santa Fe, New Mexico and a visit with my aunt Ruth’s family, I spent one night in a Colorado park sleeping on the ground in my sleeping bag.  Encountering Aunt Ruth exposed me to a kind and gentle person, whose spirit was contagious and pure.  Here was another relative whose very existence has held a positive reference for me to carry forth.  She was and is part of me!

The last leg of my sojourn became a none-stop trip to Los Angeles, and the environment in which I had launched my adult-hood.  It ended my free-spirited travel, and presented a new beginning into unchartered territory.

My 'Criminal' History

My ‘Criminal’ History

by Nate Bender

5/1/2015

At the risk of losing whatever credibility I might have accrued, I have a need to clear the air regarding my historical encounters with unlawful behavior.  Rest assured, save for an occasional speeding ticket, I have pretty much lived a lawful life for the past fifty years!

My two brothers and I had inordinate freedom to come and go wherever we pleased in our small-town enclave in Iowa.  Adult supervision was rarely needed.  Our little village had three small grocery stores and a gas station, all of which sold tobacco products.  Two of the facilities became targets for my thievery, initially of cigarettes, and occasionally of candy and gum. 

My first memory of violating the rules of a lawful civil society centered around my pre-teen years.  I became enamored with smoking cigarettes and an occasional cigar, something most real men modeled, thus seeming to legitimize the behavior.  This affliction carried with me until my fortieth year of life, when I removed all tobacco products from my life.

Since success often breeds confidence, I stretched the limits of prudent thievery behavior and was unknowingly caught in the act when accompanying my father to one of the stores.  I assumed the merchant would be preoccupied dealing with my father, which further heightened the prospect of seizing a big haul of candy, gum and cigarettes.  I felt a sense of exhilaration upon completing my theft mission!  On the way home, nothing was said by my father even though the merchant had obviously informed him of my doings.  Upon reaching home, my only memory was being grabbed by my father and beat about my posterior with his very large hand.  If something was said during the whipping, it escapes my recall.

The residuals from this whipping created deep feelings of humiliation and resentment, resulting in my avoiding my father for a considerable period of time, including not eating at the dinner table with him being present.  And, my two brothers were relentless in their teasing, repeatedly referring to me as a thief.  In retrospect, all I needed was a firm, but compassionate conversation around the error of my ways, and maybe an order to repay the merchant for the cost of my thefts. 

Another residual involved my making a private, viscerally-felt resolution that nobody would ever be allowed to touch my body in anger, including my father, without my defending myself with a vengeance.

Later, when in my early 20’s while in college at Pepperdine, I collected two parking tickets in the South Central Los Angeles area.  Having ignored the fines it was about a year later when I was nearing graduation that the iron fist of the law made its presence.  I was arrested!  Arrested on an early Sunday morning in the school cafeteria by two uniformed police officers, in front of my fellow students.  Without being handcuffed, I was driven to the police precinct, finger-printed and secured in a jail cell.  In order to be released, I needed to pay $25 for bail, an amount I did not have.  I was given two phone calls to procure assistance, and was able to contact a Kuwaiti student who willingly came to bail me out and return me to campus.  My return to campus resulted in being the subject of many inquiries!

Another anecdote I need to report:  One summer in Los Angeles while living on my own I found myself without any money, and very hungry.  What did I do?  I went to the local grocery store and stole some food, including a steak!  For years I lived with guilt for having ‘sinned’ yet again, and found the courage to return to the store and pay for my wrong-doing, and included an additional amount as part of my penance.  My life has since been free of ‘criminal’ acts, as I’ve sought saint-hood along the way!

My final confession involves a form of forgery, the exact details of which remain a bit obscured by the passing of time.  Anyway, while still in college I found myself ‘conned’ into being part of a scam around travelers checks.  My so-called cohort contributed $1000 to the purchase of the checks.  A subsequent claim for stolen checks resulted in receipt of another $1000 while the originals were cashed.  My take in the whole scenario was a mere $25!   The whole experience left an unsettling after effect, regretful that I had actually participated in such an act. 

The final message I’d like to convey, apart from ‘crime doesn’t pay,’ living a life of absolute integrity is a worthy endeavor. 

I've Been Working on the Railroad

I’ve Been Working on the Railroad

by Nate Bender

4/10/2015

Railroads, ranging from laying tracks to operating the locomotives, have long held a special presence in my life.  Within one hundred yards of our rural Iowa house, the Chicago Great Western made an indelible daily mark on my life experiences. The sights and sounds of passing trains created fascinations around traveling to new and different locales.  For unknown reasons, counting the number of rail cars, often numbering well over one hundred, was an important activity. 

Certain trains delivered mail that was ‘caught’ by an over-head ‘catcher’ gizmo, thus removing the need for coming to a complete stop.  Grain cars were sectioned off for filling at the adjoining grain elevator.  Ordered freight would be off-loaded at the Depot, including a set of weights I had ordered to increase my body strength and girth – yes, I was once a skinny weakling!

Fast forward to the Spring of 1964 -- I had completed my first trimester at Pepperdine University and registered my best academic performance ever.  I was formally removed from academic probation, thus qualified to receive a full athletic scholarship.  The core expenses would be taken care of---room, board, books and tuition.  I experienced a profound upswing in my spirit and momentum, emitting new confidence in my ability to complete the requirements for an under graduate degree, in an unknown major at this point.

I chose to skip the following Spring trimester, as the accrued Winter trimester debt of almost $1000 called for my acquiring a better paying job than my philatelist concession stand clerk job in Robinson’s Department Store.  As with much of my life, an unexpected opportunity presented itself: notification that the Southern Pacific Railroad was soliciting temporary hires for the soon to be extinct position of firemen.  Firemen were originally the stokers of the coal-burning locomotives.  Diesel engines replaced the coal-burners, which powered electric generators from which to move mighty loads.  Management, in concert with union agreement, decided to replace firemen with switchmen, the person who formerly occupied the caboose.

I promptly went to the railroad’s downtown Los Angeles personnel office and filled out the required paper work.  Without an interview, I was hired!  Within a day or two, I was employed full-time, as a fireman, with a pay rate beyond anything I had ever received.

Indoctrination and training was simple.  The engineer, who drives the locomotive and is the senior man of the crew gave me instructions on mounting and un-mounting moving locomotives and cars, along with hooking and unhooking cars.  Save for one long haul to Yuma, Arizona, and back, all of my work revolved around the main rail yard in Los Angeles where positioning or repositioning different rail cars for departure to other destinations were conducted. 

My four-month employment as a fireman became quite a contrast to the labor-intense work I did as a farm hand.  I was actually having fun while earning a full time salary in addition to overtime stints, that paid time and a half.  For several months I earned nearly $2000 a month!

Three notations around ‘working on the railroad’ stand out in my memory bank.  First, was paying off my student loan with one two-week pay check.  When cashing the check at my bank, I asked to receive its total in cash.  I then commenced to walk to the Pepperdine College registrar’s office in possession of more money than I had ever laid hands on.  I left the office filled with a skip in my get-a-long, possessing renewed pride, joy and confidence in my ability to be self sufficient, all on the eve of my 21^st birthday. 

Secondly, was the high desert trip to Yuma, in the smoldering mid-summer heat.  After a brief stop in Colton to drop off and pick up new freight cars, the remainder of the trip was full-throttle to Yuma, spending most of the time viewing the wonders of nature.  Of particular note was my having to make engine checks of the six locomotive units while speeding along at 60 miles per hour.  This required my transiting on the outside walk-ways of each unit, and stepping over open spaces onto the next engine unit, checking the oil and water levels.  At one point I discovered one unit over-heating, requiring me to shut the unit down.  I felt like I was on an adventure few people my age could have experienced.

My third noteworthy memory involved my exchanges with career-oriented personnel, many of whom were originally from Oklahoma.  Being an extrovert, with a curious nature, it took little time for people to share their personal lives!  Having no previous encounters with racist talk, I found myself shocked by their frequent derisive references to people of color.  My innocent, idealistic perspectives had to make an adjustment to be compassionate toward those holding such prejudices.

An aside memory involved my means of transportation to and from work.  Somewhere, involving another chance encounter I purchased a 1953 Chevy car for $50.  It had been reconfigured with an Oldsmobile V-8 engine and a floor-placed ‘stick-shift’ resulting in a gapping hole in the surrounding floor-board.  For some reason, this car had an inconsistent pattern in starting, frequently requiring my pushing it out into the street and flagging down a car to give me a push-start.  I’m pretty sure I didn’t have an official license tag, and for sure I had no insurance on it.  Upon completion of my railroad job, I simply let it sit on a side street, expecting it to be hauled away for junk….Its mission had been completed!  As soon as school started in late August, I was able to buy a replacement car, that being a 1951 Ford, for which I also paid $50.

Back to my job…..After receiving my last pay check, I ventured down town to purchase a new clothing ensemble, namely, my first blazer and matching shirt, tie and trousers, along with a pair of Florsheim wing-tip shoes.  These acts created feelings of success and prosperity!  And, I also purchased an airplane ticket to Newark, New Jersey to meet up with a former college roommate and attend the New York worlds fair.  

My work on the railroad resulted in my having an enriching life experience while also granting me financial solvency.  The security generated served as an aid in managing the needs of my junior year of college, while also presenting new story telling material in my social life!  To this day, I find myself transfixed on each and every railroad encounter I have, whether it be the movement of freight or passengers.  And my two young grandsons also have a shared interest in trains, including Thomas Trains around which I can easily become immersed, knowing what the real deal was like.

It’s not my job to drive the train,

the whistle I can’t blow.

It’s not my job to say how far

the train’s allowed to go.

It’s not my job to blow the horn,

nor even clang the bell.

But let the damn thing jump the track

and see who catches hell!!!

Hijacking Experience

Hijacking Experience

5/29/2015

by Nate Bender

Airplane hijackings by disenfranchised persons and groups have been a much-repeated drama in history, dating back to at least the 1930’s.  In the 1970’s, counter-measures became more refined and even lauded after a number of successful ‘assaults’ by special operations organizations in other parts of the world.  

In America police departments of larger cities formed SWAT (Special Weapons And Tactics) teams to intervene in a wide variety of hostage-taking scenarios.  In 1977, the Army was tasked with creating a military counter-terrorism unit to meet potential demands outside the jurisdiction of State and local police.  I was assigned to this Army counter-terrorism organization, The Delta Force, in 1979 as the Unit’s staff psychologist.

Within months of my assignment with Delta, the American embassy in Tehran, Iran, was seized, calling forth mobilization of the Unit in preparation for its first real-time rescue mission attempt, and that’s a story already reported.  This story captures my exposure to another real-time hostage taking event, that of an airplane hijacking, at LAX (Los Angeles International Airport).

Some time in 1980, I was tasked to spend time with the Los Angeles police department SWAT team to learn about their approach to managing the health and well being of their personnel, matters which were under the purview of my role with Delta.  Since their SWAT team had undergone multiple deployments in hostage taking settings, complete with having to terminate lives, it was deemed a worthy learning experience in adopting such measures in Delta.

So there I was, on an expedition outside the military infrastructure reporting to the Los Angeles Police SWAT Team commander early in the morning of my first day.  Shortly after being introduced to a number of the team members an urgent call was received regarding a hostage taking hijacking of a commercial airplane at the airport.  My mission agenda made a turn toward being in the middle of action.

In quick order I accompanied the team commander and his lieutenant in an unmarked squad car to the airport command post, with the magnetically attached flashing light placed on the roof and the siren blaring.  I was feeling a growing adrenaline rush as we weaved through and around rush-hour traffic en route to the airport.  “If the folks back home could see me now!”  I became intensely focused on everything happening around me, highlighted by the calm, measured manner in which my hosts conducted coordinating efforts while driving. 

Once reaching the airport command and control center I was given freedom to sit in on coordinating and planning meetings, now under the jurisdiction of the FBI with the SWAT team serving an adjunctive role as the airport setting came under a Federal mandate. 

Most of all I was allowed to sit in on the actual negotiation communications with the hostage taker, a role that I was being groomed for within Delta.  All of this was marked by textbook exchanges in establishing a relationship with him.  Compassionate conversations ultimately led to understanding of his issues, demands, concerns and needs while forming a workable level of trust. 

The first priority of the negotiation process was to gain the release and safety of the hostages, but before that could happen the hostage taker needed to experience modest success around his basic needs being met.  Such things as food, water, and cigarettes were used as bartering tools where he would agree to release one or more of the hostages in exchange for the items, given in measured quantities.

Via debriefing of the released hostages important information about the conditions on the plane were gleaned.  Early in the negotiations it became evident the captor was looking for a safe way out of the situation, as he was not making grand demands for money and transportation.  Once he was assured that some of his larger needs would be met, involving employment and medical care, his surrender became imminent.  By late afternoon he surrendered without further incident.

Afterwards, I was invited to accompany my hosts for dinner at the Police Academy Club, a sanctuary-like setting offering freedom for candid conversations.  I felt privileged to be in this setting, acquiring important information around the emotional and psychological management of a special operations team who are often inserted into less than safe settings resulting in lethal consequences….death and injury.

An indelible impression was made on my life experience in this story:  desperate acts are usually rooted in basic survival needs going unmet, creating fertile ground for desperate acts to happen; and, as long as social and economic conditions beget inequality for some, chances are greater for repeat of desperate acts.