My Life Between the Dimensions

  GRANDMA'S MAILBOX I remember the trip to Grandma Wilson's mailbox as clearly as if it were yesterday instead of roughly 65 years ago. For some reason, I always remember it in the heat of summer. I guess this is because that's when we were there most often. The image I conjure is of the skinny little Keith, shirtless, often shoeless, some other cousin, or more, dressed as frugally as I was opening the rusty front gate and walking down that dusty old road, past the cabin, around the curve to the beckoning, cool waters of the creek. We watched the path the whole way intent on saving the soles of our feet from the rocky protuberances that, once met, resulted in painful yet comical one-footed jigs until the pain subsided. I looked forward to crossing the creek, enraptured by the cacophony of courting frogs and birds and the gurgling of the gentle flow of Reece's Creek over the rocks and gravel of the stream bed. I always paused to stare in hopes of seeing some fishy d...

THE WAR FOR THE SOUL OF AMERICA When I returned home from Vietnam after the TET offensive in 1968-1969, I gave up hunting.  I tried it once with a friend at work, but even killing quail bothered me.  So I gave up all guns except a 12 gauge shotgun that I needed to sleep.  In fact, I couldn’t sleep without it.  I could not abide the consequence of not having it to protect Sandy and I from men and women with evil in their hearts and demons devouring their souls before their exodus to hell.   Recently, I have found it necessary to dispatch a few squirrels on our bird feeders intent on total destruction of the enclosures that contain the tasty treats they feel is their manifest destiny and earthly privilege.  Their demons are  escorting them to hell, too. But, I sure don’t feel good about it,  Even after all these years. I’d have preferred they stuck to acorns and hickory nuts. I guess I must have liked to fight as a kid, because I sure was in en...

Credit: Shutterstock (22290003) Little Richard in Concert Viva Los Vegas Rockabilly The news of Little Richard passing caused me to immediately recall my one time chance meeting with him. Everyone knows of his music and flamboyant lifestyle, but what I witnessed and recall so fondly is another story altogether. I was having lunch in Morrison's Cafeteria in Columbia Mall, Columbia, South Carolina one fine day in the late 1990's, and had just settled into the chair and sat my tray on the table when a loud murmur filled the spacious dining room. I looked up from my plate of smothered chicken and yellow rice to find the cause for the unusual interruption to my noon meal. At this point in my career, I was the Store General Manager of the Sears store at the opposite end of the mall, and my lunch at Morrison's was generally quite uneventful. Making his way through the line accompanied by several body guards was none other than Little Richard himself. This was confirmed through...

A BUS RIDE, A TRAVELER, A LETTER For a Young man named Micky Fajima, and for the West Kentucky Men on Their Way to Induction In September of 1967 I had been picked up in front of the Arcade Theater in Paducah, KY by the bus taking the future inductees into the U.S. Army to Fort Knox for the formalities. Most of the bus was pretty subdued, deep in thought and contemplating every possible scenario that the future might deliver.  But, I admit I was ready for this new chapter in my life. The draft had ended my on and off studies at Paducah Junior College over portions of three years for good.  And I was O.K. with it.  I had been a political science major, and had had an interest with the situation in Vietnam.  I wasn't concerned as much with the merits of the war, but since we were there, instead the mounting casualties of American young men of my approximate age. I felt a calling to do my part alongside my future brothers in arms already engaged....

Kudos to Fresh Fish--Catching, Cleaning, and Cooking 24 February 2020 A good haul of blue cats for an extended family fish fry in the late 1980's.  Smithland Lock and Dam, Kentucky with my sons Scott and Matthew. I like to catch and release fish. I also like to catch, clean, and eat fish. Fishing is not cheap. People who spend $20 on fuel, another $20 on bait, and have untold thousands tied up in tackle, boats, rods and reels who fish, but never clean and cook their catch for assorted reasons---but, then go to restaurants and eat a single piece or two of fish at $15-$20 a plate--are a real oddity to me. For those that don't like fish to eat, I get it. But, if it's because you don't like the thought or exercise of cleaning fish, or cooking fish---well, you fall a couple of split-shot shy of a full bag in my book. Your hooks may have points, but they aren't real sharp. I guess I'm just a country boy. I like small fish, beheaded and gut...

The Di An Diary--Memoirs From The Vietnam War  Part Two: "I Am Dagger Zulu" Author's Preface :   I was part of the reactionary forces inserted as a response to the TET Offensive beginning  January 30, 1968.and officially ending September 23, 1968.  Almost 17,000 American lives were lost in 1968 alone (over 87,000 wounded), the highest count by far of any year in the war.  Of the total  number of Americans killed in the war over almost 20 years, officially documented as 58,479, 28,679 were killed in 1968-1969 during my time there in the TOC and field. Almost half of all lives lost in a 20 year war occurred in that one year span ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Specialist 4th Class Keith Ragan Spring of 1968 upon arrival at Di An forward base camp . I went by "cattle car" the next morning after receiving my orders to report to the “Big Red One” in Di An. My ride ...

The Di An Diary--Memoirs From The Vietnam War Part One: You Are In The Army Now   That First Haircut in Basic.  You are in the Army now! "I was drafted in 12 Sep 1967 into the U.S. Army while working to save enough money to re-enter college. I was bused from the Arcade Theater in Paducah to Ft. Knox, Kentucky where I completed basic training, and AIT (Advanced Individual Training). I also attended and completed the curriculum at the 1st United States Army NCO Academy at Ft. Knox upon the recommendation of my Platoon Sergeant, Raymond Davis. At the Academy I was selected as platoon leader by my drill instructors. First to dress, then fall out the rest.  Platoon Sergeant Keith Ragan at 1st U.S. Army NCO Academy, Fort Knox, Ky.  December 1967. My AIT was designated as Signal Corps, in the field of communications and security. I was ranked first in my class and among four that were selected from a class of approximately sixty to end AIT early based on class rank,...