The Cracker Lady's House

Shannon's Story: Shannon's Obituary

2010-01-08T23:40:00.000-08:00

Shannon Ivy Brown

September 14, 1968 – December 19, 2009

Shannon Ivy Brown died December 19, 2009 after thirty years of serious health conditions starting with a brain tumor at age 11. She died in Richmond, California due to a septic blood infection. She was 41 years old.

Shannon Ivy Brown was born September 14, 1968 to Daryl Thomas Brown and Chere Lynn Brown (Barnett) in Seattle, Washington. Shannon has lived with her mother in Washington, California, Nevada, Tennessee and Vermont. She has been a resident of Richmond for 11 years. She had a wonderful sense of humor. Shannon’s greatest attritubues were her simple faith, her loving heart, her patience and her endurance. She became know to her family as the “Comeback Queen” because, despite many near death experiences over the years, she always pulled through.

Shannon is survived by her mother, Chere L. Brown of Richmond, CA; her father, Daryl T. Brown of Tucson, AZ, her grandmother, Beverely Brown of Yerington, NV, her uncle Daniel C. Barnett of Incline Village, NV. Many cousins around the country also survive her.

A memorial service will be held for Shannon at 2PM on Saturday, January 16, 2010 at Central City Christian Fellowship, 1230 Bissell Avenue, Richmond, CA. There will be a reception in community room of the church following the service. For additional information call 510-407-1525.

Shannon’s urn will be buried next to her grandmother, Clara M. Barnett in Yerington, NV.

Driving Directions

From Vallejo

Merge onto I-80 W toward SAN FRANCISCO.

Take the SAN PABLO AVE exit toward BARRETT AVE.

Turn RIGHT onto BARRETT AVE.

Turn LEFT onto MARINA WAY.

Turn RIGHT onto BISSELL AVE.

End at 1230 Bissell Ave Richmond, CA 94801-3137

From Oakland

Merge onto I-80 W toward Richmond

Merge onto I-580 W toward Richmond

Take the HARBOUR WAY NORTH exit, EXIT 9B.

Turn SLIGHT RIGHT onto HARBOUR WAY S.

Turn RIGHT onto BISSELL AVE.

End at 1230 Bissell Ave Richmond, CA 94801-3137

History As Lived By The Cracker Lady: Auld Lang Syne (Millennium/Freedom Mix)-Kenny G

2010-01-01T00:05:00.000-08:00

Wordless Wednesday: Snowman Flu

2009-12-30T00:05:00.000-08:00

Christ Centered Christmas Songs:Immanuel

2009-12-28T00:05:00.000-08:00

Christ Centered Christmas Songs: It Came Upon A Midnight Clear

2009-12-27T00:05:00.000-08:00

Christ Centered Christmas Songs: The First Noel

2009-12-26T00:05:00.000-08:00

Christmas In Heaven

2009-12-25T00:05:00.001-08:00

My daughter, Shannon, will be spending her first Christmas with Jesus this year. I was so blessed to spend 40 Christmases with her. Christmas was our absolute favorite time of the year. I feel this poem is so appropriate for her.

Shannon died Saturday, December 19^th at 10:10 pm of a septic infection in her blood stream. Shannon had been ill for 30 years. Her body was never very kind to her, but she loved and trusted the Lord deeply. She never let her pain or disability rob her of her joy or her faith. She fought a good fight; she ran and finished the race. She has crossed the finish line and is now in heaven celebrating her victory in Christ with Jesus.

I'm Spending Christmas with Jesus Christ this Year

I see the countless Christmas trees,  Around the world below. With tiny lights, like heaven's stars, Reflecting on the snow.

The sight is so spectacular, Please wipe away that tear. For I'm spending Christmas, With Jesus Christ this year.

I hear the many Christmas songs, That people hold so dear. But the sounds of music can't compare, With the Christmas choir up here.

For I have no words to tell you, The joy their voices bring. For it is beyond description, To hear the angels sing.

I can't tell you of the splendor, Or the peace here in this place. Can you just imagine Christmas, With our Savior, face to face?

I'll ask Him to light your spirit, As I tell Him of your love. So then pray one for another, As I lift you eyes above.

Please let your hearts be joyful, And let your spirit sing. For I'm Spending Christmas in Heaven, And I'm walking with the King.

Please love and keep each other, as my Father said to do.

For I can't count the blessing or love he has for each of you.

So have a Merry Christmas and wipe away that tear.

Remember, I am spending Christmas with Jesus Christ this year.

~© Wanda Bencke ~

Christ Centered Christmas Songs: Hark! The Herald Angels Sing

2009-12-25T00:05:00.000-08:00

Christ Centered Christmas Songs: Oh Holy Night

2009-12-24T00:05:00.000-08:00

Wordless Wednesday-Santa Worships Jesus

2009-12-23T00:05:00.002-08:00

Christ Centered Christmas Songs: Jesus Born On This Day

2009-12-23T00:05:00.000-08:00

Christ Centered Christmas Songs: What Child Is This?

2009-12-22T00:05:00.000-08:00

Christ Centered Christmas Songs: O Little Town of Bethlehem

2009-12-21T00:05:00.000-08:00

Christ Centered Christmas Songs: O Come, O Come Emmanuel

2009-12-20T00:05:00.000-08:00

Christ Centered Christmas Songs: No Room

2009-12-19T00:05:00.000-08:00

Christ Centered Christmas Songs: Joy, Joy To The World

2009-12-18T00:05:00.000-08:00

Christ Centered Christmas Songs: Gloria In Excelsis Deo

2009-12-17T00:05:00.000-08:00

Wordless Wednesday-Squirrely Ice Cone

2009-12-16T00:05:00.001-08:00

Christ Centered Christmas Songs: Ava Maria

2009-12-16T00:05:00.000-08:00

Christ Centered Christmas Songs: Peace On Earth

2009-12-15T00:05:00.000-08:00

Christ Centered Christmas Songs: Star of Bethlehem

2009-12-14T00:05:00.000-08:00

Christ Centered Christmas Songs: When A Child Is Born

2009-12-13T00:05:00.000-08:00

Christ Centered Christmas Songs: We Three King of Orient Are

2009-12-12T00:05:00.001-08:00

Christ Centered Christmas Songs: O Come All Ye Faithful

2009-12-11T00:05:00.000-08:00

Christ Centered Christmas Songs: Mary, Did You Know?

2009-12-10T00:05:00.000-08:00

Wordless Wednesday: Bored Angels

2009-12-09T00:05:00.001-08:00

Christ Centered Christmas Songs: Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring

2009-12-09T00:05:00.000-08:00

My Richmond Ramblings: Richmond Marina Parade Of Lights

2009-12-08T00:05:00.001-08:00

Summer may be over, but there’s still plenty of boating fun to be had. The Marina Bay Yacht Harbor will hold its second Lighted Boat Parade from 6 to 8 p.m. Dec. 12. Boaters decorate their vessels for a boat parade marking the festive holiday season. Spectators viewing locations for the decorated craft will include Jay and Barbara Vincent Park at the Marina Bay peninsula and Lucretia Edwards Park at the foot of Marina Way South.

Awards will be given for best-decorated sailboat and powerboat and best overall. Participants are asked to bring nonperishable food items to donate to the Food Bank of Contra Costa and Solano. The parade is sponsored by the yacht harbor and Tradewinds Sailing School and Club.

2580 Spinnaker Way,  Richmond, CA 94804   Phone: (510) 232-7999 or (800) 321-TWSC Email: staff@tradewindssailing.com

Christ Centered Christmas Songs: Glory To The King

2009-12-08T00:05:00.000-08:00

Christ Centered Christmas Songs: For Unto Us A Child Is Born

2009-12-07T00:05:00.000-08:00

Christ Centered Christmas Songs: Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus

2009-12-06T00:05:00.000-08:00

Christ Centered Christmas Songs: Beautiful Star of Bethlehem

2009-12-05T00:05:00.000-08:00

Christ Centered Christmas Songs: Angels from the Realms of Glory

2009-12-04T00:05:00.000-08:00

Christ Centered Christmas Songs: Christ Is Born

2009-12-03T00:05:00.000-08:00

Wordless Wednesday-Have Yourself A Merry Little 'Second Childhood' Christmas

2009-12-02T00:05:00.001-08:00

Christ Centered Christmas Songs: Bethlehem Morning

2009-12-02T00:05:00.000-08:00

Christ Centered Christmas Songs: Hallelujah Chorus

2009-12-01T00:05:00.000-08:00

Fellowship Of The Authors: Merlin R. Carothers

2009-11-28T00:05:00.000-08:00

One of the earliest authors I read as a young Christian was Merlin R. Carothers. I have had his books on praise in my library for 37 years. Whenever I get down in the face, I have returned to his books to remind me how to praise.

It was while reading his book Prison to Praise that I was given to opportunity to put his advice to work. In 1972, my VW van blew its engine on my way to work in Sacramento. I managed to get it towed off the highway to a gas station and call my cousin, Jack, to come pick me up. I was devastated. It was quite serious, as I lived in Marysville, but worked in Sacramento-an hours commute. I was a single mother and financially struggling. I could not afford to lose my job and I did not have the money to repair or replace the car. As I waited for my cousin to come pick me up, I sat on the curb with my head in my hands, crying. It was then that the things Mr. Carothers had written came to my mind. I sat contemplating how I could praise God in this situation. Finally by sure faith, I decided I was going to praise God right then and there not matter how bad the situation seemed. By the time my cousin came, I was at peace. I did not know how, but I knew I was going to be OK.

Miracles started happening almost immediately. My cousin had my van towed to a shop and had the engine replaced at his expense as a gift. When I got to work, a co-worker, who was an Afro-American Christian, Patsy, invited me to stay with her for a few days, while the van was being repaired. I called the babysitter; she volunteered to take my daughter, Shannon, for as long as I needed at no charge!

During my stay at Patsy’s, I had some wonderful spiritual experiences. Her church, Progressive Church of God in Christ, was in the midst of a prayer revival. Every morning at 5 am we would go for prayer for an hour before going to work. Now these saints prayed and worship like no others that I had encountered since I had come to the Lord. This was also my first three-day fast as they were fasting without food or water. I have to admit that this was not a pleasant experience as on the second day I developed a horrendous headache. It was several years later that I discovered that the source of my headache was not from fasting but from caffeine withdrawal.

I credit all these wondrous events as a direct result of applying the principles and examples in set forth in Merlin R. Carothers’ books. I have always enjoyed his fellowship and feel as if I know him personally.

About Merlin Carothers

Merlin Carothers is a Methodist pastor who formed the Foundation of Praise. The work of the Foundation was conducted in the garage of Merlin and Mary’s home in Escondido, California until a new church was completed in 1972. In 1976, another church was established in Escondido, and again the Foundation of Praise worked within the church.

By 1980, requests for free books for prisoners, military personnel and patients had skyrocketed. Letters asking for spiritual help and prayer flooded our mailroom. The Foundation moved to larger offices and attempted to keep up with the increasing number of letters and requests.

Books were stored in warehouses scattered throughout Escondido. This proved to be a disastrous temporary solution. Not only was it difficult to keep an accurate inventory, but also the facilities baked in the heat and leaked water when it rained! Some books were ruined.

Then in 1984, a marvelous thing happened. We were able to build a new building! It was designed so that all our work would be accomplished as quickly and economically as possible. Daily, vehicles back up to our warehouse and load books going to all parts of the United States, and throughout the world.

A primary goal of the Foundation of Praise has been to keep operating costs to an absolute minimum. Many organizations pay thousands of dollars to their presidents or leaders. Not so with the Foundation of Praise. Merlin and Mary receive no salary. They have resisted all tendencies to become a “large organization” with many employees and magnificent buildings. Since seventeen million of Merlin’s books have been distributed, they could have grown in size rather than in ministry. They have chosen to reach needy people to tell them about our Lord and Savior, Jesus.   Their small overhead costs permit them to send thousands of free books every month to the darkest corners of the world. Donations are tax deductible. www.foundationofpraise.org/

Merlin Carothers has served his country in Europe, Korea, Vietnam, and the Dominican Republic. Proudly, his life has been devoted to public service in the following areas: Lieutenant Colonel, U.S. Army, Retired; 82nd Airborne 1943, WWII, Demolition Expert; Guard for Dwight D. Eisenhower; Graduate Marion College, Marion, IN; Graduate Asbury Seminary, Wilmore, KY; Chaplain U.S. Army 1953-1971; Master Parachutist (90 jumps); Civil Air Patrol Pilot.

Merlin R. Carothers’ Books In My Library

Over 210 weeks as a national bestseller! An inspiring story of a man who found freedom while behind bars, who searched out the fullness of the power of God, met the Holy Spirit, and lived to touch m

any lives. Prison to Praise is not about a prison with bars, but about a prison of circumstances - and how to be set free! Millions of people have found answers they never expected to find and as a result they're eager to pass on the Good News.

A simple clear explanation of how and why the principles introduced in Prison to Praise work in everyday life. Power In Praise brings together some of the miracles wrought by the simple application of Biblical truth: all things work together for good. This message is a simple, clear explanation of how and why the Power of God works in our everyday lives. Learn How The Spiritual Dynamic Of Praise Revolutionizes Lives!

Millions of people have asked the questions: Does praise really work? If so, what can I do to make it work for me? People from all around the world have written clear, practical accounts of how praise helped them receive specific answers to their prayers. Some of the most amazing examples are in this book! Not every prison is made of stone. Some are prisoners of fear, anger & unbelief. Through Jesus, there is a way out.

We live by faith or by fear, and the one we choose makes all the difference in the world. Do you have faith that God works for good in all the circumstances of your life? Do you believe God wants to be intimately involved in your life and help you have victory over your problems? Merlin Carothers shows you how you can overcome your fears and live a life of vibrant faith and praise. He shows how choosing faith over fear can help overcome feelings of inferiority, conquer bitterness and anger, build strong personal relationships, and create a climate for experiencing success in life.

Other Books By Merlin Carothers

Answers to Praise

What's on Your Mind

Bringing Heaven into Hell

Walking and Leaping

More Power to You

Victory on Praise Mountain

The Bible on Praise

You Can Be Happy Now

Let Me Entertain You

Classics from Merlin Carothers

Secret Sins

Shannon's Story: Shannon's Last Minute Miracles

2009-11-25T00:05:00.002-08:00

Most family, friends and Twitter friends are aware that Shannon has been gravely ill for two months. Since early October, Shannon has been hospitalized three times. Each time she was in ICU. In October it was discovered that Shannon had suffered three small strokes. This brought her to a total of twelve strokes in her lifetime. Each hospitalization presented us with dangerous life and death situations as her chemistries flew totally out of whack and infections set in.

What most are not aware of is that during her last hospitalizations, Shannon was within hours of going home to meet the Lord not once, but twice. When she was taken to the emergency room, she had a temperature of 106.7 degrees. The doctor was visually shaken. He immediately wanted to know if I had a ‘do not resuscitate order’ for her. Her pulse was very fast, but her blood pressure was very low. She was completely dehydrated due to the fever. She had a very serious infection that was causing every chemistry to go helter kelter. To make things worst her veins were almost impossible to find. This required three attempts with an ultrasound to place a main line in her neck. The hospital staff was so certain she would not make it out of the emergency room alive; they decided not to put any other patients in the room she was in.

Kaiser Hospital, the hospital the ambulance took Shannon, was the nearest hospital to us; but Shannon is a patient of UCSF Hospital in San Francisco 15 miles away. Kaiser & UCSF felt she was not safe to transfer because of her low blood pressure, so after 15 hours in Kaiser’s emergency room, Shannon was admitted to Kaiser’s ICU unit.

In ICU the rush was on to keep the fevers down, pump fluid and medications into her to bring her blood pressure up, and drip antibiotics into her to ward off the infection. For three days it was very touch and go. At 4’oclock am on the fourth day, I received a call from the ICU nurse to come immediately. Shannon had taken a turn for the worst. She had been ‘fish’ breathing (breathing, very rapidly and hard with pursed lips) for hours. Shannon’s lungs were full of fluid due to the large amount of fluids being administered to her for her blood pressure.

I requested the doctors to stop the fluids and one of her medications as she was now visually swollen with fluid. Shannon has a very rare diagnosis called Diabetes Inspetisus. It is so rare that most doctors have never cared for a patient with this disease. This condition has nothing to do with sugar diabetes. It was caused by her brain tumor and has to do with sodium control. When our sodium get too high or too low it can be fatal. She takes a medication that does the opposite of a diuretic. It makes her hold fluid. Without it she would urinate nonstop and little fluid would get to her cells, causing her to become very dehydrated even when drinking gallons of water. One way low blood pressure is treated is to flood the patient with fluid. In Shannon’s case, flooding her with fluid while on this medication was causing her to hold too much fluid. Her blood pressure began to improve, but her body was filling up with too much fluid including her lungs.

When the doctor came in later in the morning, I was once again asked if I had a ‘do not resuscitate order’. I anxiously asked her if she was not expecting Shannon to make it. Her response was, “Well, she has been breathing like this for 30 hours now. Most patients stop breathing within about 24 hours. They just get tired and stop.” Hearing this I begged her to stop the medication and IV fluid. I was willing to take the risk that her blood pressure might drop. I just knew if she had any chance at all something different had to happen. She reluctantly consented. She did not believe Shannon would make it more than a few more hours.

With that I left the hospital and sat in my car in the parking lot. I needed to think. I needed to pray. I needed to maybe plan a funeral. I decided to call my brother, Dan, to let him know that Shannon might not make it. He has always been very supportive and spoke of all the wonderful times Shannon has had. He is also a realist. He pointed out that I did not want her to suffer endlessly and how quality of life was more important that quantity of life. He was right; Shannon’s quality of life has suffered greatly in the last few years. She was now blind and without speech. Her diabetes insepitusis was getting harder to control. She had had five strokes in the last two years. She had experienced so many losses and sufferings. I wished she could tell me how she felt about all this, but she could not speak.

After hanging up, I sat in my car trying to plan her funeral and transporting her back to Nevada to be buried in our family’s grave plot. I tried to plan, but the planning made me feel like I was giving up on her. Worst yet, I felt like I was not trusting God to determine the number of her days. At this point I had a flashback to 1981, when I had a similar call from UCSF ICU. Shannon had had a double stroke and had been seizing for three days. Once again at 4 o’clock in the morning, I received a call to come quickly to the hospital. When I arrived, the doctors wanted to know if I wanted to put Shannon on a respirator. She had spent several hours where she would stop breathing and then start again. I could tell they did not expect her to pull through. I asked her doctors, “What do you hope will happen by putting her on a respirator?” One doctor honestly replied, “We would be hoping for a miracle.” At that point, I made the hardest decision of my life, and replied, “If what Shannon needs is a miracle, then she can have a miracle without a ventilator.” I knew that miracles were only performed by God. I left the hospital almost immediately. I had to get home and pray.

At home, I cried my heart out to God and totally released my daughter to his care and providence. After several hours of agonizing prayer, I concluded with, “Lord, I know you love my daughter more than I could ever love her. I do not feel worthy that You would answer my prayer, but I trust You to do the highest and best for my daughter. Whether You heal her or whether You take her, I know You are doing it in Your love for her. I completely release her into Your care.” With that I washed my face and returned to the hospital. Shannon continued to start and stop breathing for two more days. She remained in a coma for 28 days. She had broken her left hip, when she fell from the stroke, which could not be operated on until she came out of the coma. Each day she very slowly improved. This was an early lesson for both of us in God’s ability and wiliness to bring us through.

This flashback renewed my confidence in God. I once again committed Shannon’s highest and best, which I had made 28 years ago, into his loving hands. I then returned to Shannon’s room to find her breathing a little better. Over the next week, she slowly improved. After, 10 days in ICU, Kaiser decided it was now safe to transfer Shannon to UCSF, where they were more familiar with her history. After 5 days at UCSF, Shannon was released to come home.

Shannon in 2001 when she could still see, speak, and sign.

Since Shannon has been home, she has had a few incidences where I feared she might have to return to the hospital. Due to the high fevers, Shannon has eight bedsores. Because of this we have to turn her every two hours. The good news is they are healing and she is once again improving day by day. Day by day I thank God for even the smallest of blessings. It might be as little as not as much redness on a sore or a smile when I rub Shannon’s cheek.

“O satisfy us early with thy mercy; that we may rejoice and be glad all our days” Psalm 90:14.  God shows for his mercy daily toward Shannon and myself, and I praise him daily. I thank him for small advances; I thank him for friends, family and all their prayers. I thank him that He loves my daughter more than I ever could and that only He knows the number of her days. I therefore I will thank Him daily for each moment we have together this side of heaven. I thank Him for His miracles, both big and small. His greatest miracle is His love for all of us. He is awesome and worth to be praised.

The Cracker Lady’s Fancy: Overflowing With Thanksgiving

2009-11-25T00:05:00.001-08:00

Cracker Lady’s Thanksgiving Note: My sincere hope is that each one of you will have a wonderful Thanksgiving and a year filled with overflowing thankfulness! Happy Thanksgiving.

I hate organ recitals. Not pipe organs, especially, but this kind:

"How are you today, Gladys?"

"Terrible, just terrible? Did I tell you about my gall bladder acting up?"

"Yes, Gladys."

She doesn't seem to acknowledge my, "Yes," but launches into a full-scale report on gall bladders around the world, and hers in particular. When she sees my eyes beginning to glaze over, Gladys falters for a moment. She knows she has to switch gears quickly to keep me from nodding off.

"And I have this terrible skin rash that drives me so crazy that I can't sleep at night."

I am trying hard to be polite. "Oh, I'm sorry."

I attempt to stop myself, but it is too late. The ill-fated word has crossed my lips -- "sorry" -- and now I have fed Gladys her first morsel of real food for the day. She seems to take new energy, and as she describes her itching, I begin to sense little crawling things in my scalp. I unconsciously reach up to scratch my head, but nothing gets by Gladys. Oh, that's the first sign." she begins.

You've met Gladys, haven't you? It might be a different name. Gladys goes under a number of aliases and dons many disguises. But it's the same complaining, self-centered woman.

Too often, however, I meet Gladys in me. I want people to sympathize with me, so when something is going wrong, -- and when doesn't it? -- I begin to complain. The 49ers are having a bad season. The morals of our nation are terrible. The election was depressing. My spouse is in a bad mood. It doesn't have to dwell on the interior plumbing of a sick Gladys. Normal complaining comes all too easily to my lips.

So when I read Colossians 2:6-7 it hits home. The phrase, "overflowing with thankfulness," begins to repeat itself over and over in my mind.

"Overflowing" -- "abounding," some translations say -- brings the mental picture of the Thanksgiving cornucopia spilling out an abundant harvest blessing. Jesus said, "Out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks." What is in my heart? Complaining? Selfishness? Pride? -- or Thanksgiving?

Thanksgiving is the mark of a Christian, because thanksgiving points out and up while my complaining points only back to me and feeds my pride and dissatisfaction. Thanksgiving towards God and man fits the Great Commandment like a glove, to love God with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength, and to love my neighbor as myself. What better vehicle than thankfulness to express love?

The Pillsbury Doughboy® has that endearing quality that when you poke him he doesn't flare up but automatically responds with a friendly, perky, "Oh!" I want to be like him. Not so plump, mind you, but that full of friendliness. When someone pokes me I want my first instinct to be thankfulness rather than anger. I want people to find thankfulness oozing out of me. I want thanksgiving to mark my conversation and manner. I want to abound with it, be full of it. I want to overflow with thankfulness.

How about you?

Colossians 2:6-7 reads: "So then, just as you received Christ Jesus as Lord, continue to live in him, rooted and built up in him, strengthened in the faith as you were taught, and overflowing with thankfulness" (NIV)

By Dr. Ralph F. Wilson, Overflowing with Thankfulness, Joyful Hearts Ministries

The Dawn of Bounty

2009-11-25T00:05:00.000-08:00

My Richmond Ramblings: S.S. Red Oak Victory

2009-11-24T00:05:00.000-08:00

A Richmond Treasure

SS Red Oak Victory is a World War II Victory ship preserved as a museum ship in Richmond, California. It was one of 534 Victories built during World War II, but one of only a few of these ships to be transferred from the Merchant Marine to the United States Navy. It was named after Red Oak, Iowa, which suffered a disproportionate number of casualties in early World War II battles. Red Oak is a community firmly rooted with rich traditions of growing industry, embracing worthwhile projects, celebrating history and caring for fellow citizens. Organized in 1869 and named for the numerous oak trees that lined the banks of a small stream known as Red Oak Creek, the Red Oak of today boasts 6,000 residents and is nestled along the Nishnabotna River. The ship was active during World War II, the Korean War, and the Vietnam War.

The Red Oak Victory was built by the Permanente Metals Corporation's Richmond Number 1 Yard in Richmond, California and launched on November 9, 1944. Many Rosies recounted how important their jobs were in welding these ships and how careful they were in doing it. They realized the lives of their husbands; brothers and sons depended on the cargoes delivered by these ships. Victory ships were not supposed to last long--but the welds of the Red Oak Victory are still intact after 60 years. The ship is 455 feet (138 m) in length, and armed with one five-inch/38 caliber gun; one three-inch/50 caliber gun, and eight 20 mm guns.

The ship was acquired by the United States Navy on December 5, 1944 and commissioned the same day as USS Red Oak Victory (AK-235). Following a fitting out period, the Red Oak Victory was loaded with cargo and departed San Francisco for Pearl Harbor on January 10, 1945. Red Oak Victory departed Hawaii on February 10 loaded with munitions needed in the Marshall and Caroline islands. Sent onward from Enewetak, she arrived in Ulithi on February 28, 1945, and then began operating under Commander Service Squadron Ten. Operating out of the Philippines, the vessel issued cargo and ammunition to various ships in the fleet through the end of the war in August 1945. During a hazardous tour of duty in the Pacific, the USS Red Oak Victory handled many tons of ammunition, supplying the fleet without a single casualty.

The vessel was decommissioned in 1946 and returned to the U.S. Maritime Commission. Red Oak Victory was used by the Luckenbach Steamship Company from 1947 through the 1950s, during which time the vessel went to Japan, Korea, Cuba, Pakistan, India, Singapore and Japan again. Red Oak Victory was operated by American Mail Lines for the Military Sea Transport Service from 1966 to 1968, making a dozen voyages to Vietnam, Japan and the Philippines carrying military supplies loaded at West Coast ports. From 1968 until 1998, the vessel was laid up in the National Defense Reserve Fleet in Suisun Bay.

Captain’s Cabin Cartographer's room

Richmond Museum Association

Doomed to be scrapped, the Red Oak Victory came to the attention of the Richmond Museum Association in 1993. In 1996 Congress passed legislation authorizing the conveyance of the ship to the Museum Association. Red Oak Victory was turned over to the Richmond Museum of History and returned to a new home in Richmond on September 20, 1998. It is being restored and operated by the Richmond Museum of History, and is part of the Rosie the Riveter/World War II Home Front National Historical Park.

The Richmond Museum Association has as its mission the preservation and restoration of the SS Red Oak Victory as an operational vessel. The SS Red Oak Victory, a National Memorial
Ship, will be developed into a maritime museum focused on the wartime contributions of the residents and workers of the City of Richmond and the shipbuilding ingenuity of Henry J. Kaiser.

As an operational museum the SS Red Oak Victory will provide a unique perspective on the history-making achievements of the City of Richmond and the Richmond Shipyard workers. As a community resource, the vessel will be a site for local events, service to the children and youth of the community and an intriguing family recreation and entertainment destination. Finally, the SS Red Oak Victory will be a ceremonial ship to recognize and honor those who served with valor in the armed forces, the merchant marine and home-front facilities such as the Kaiser Richmond Shipyards.

The SS Red Oak Victory is the site of many community events such as World War II film festivals; benefits and fundraisers for cultural groups and humanitarian causes; national and veteran ceremonial events; civic, professional and private organization meetings, parties, symposiums, and dinners; weddings and other events

The SS Red Oak Victory also provides services to children of the

community such as Grade school through high school camp and

educational programs (e.g., naval history, mechanical science,

marine engineering, navigation and leadership training); programs

involving sea cadets, boy and girl scout groups, church and other

youth groups; and teacher education, seminars and symposiums

SS Red Oak Victory as a Ceremonial Ship: Supports the activities of the Navy’s Fleet Week and Merchant Marine activities, and conducts special events on National and Patriotic Holidays including the 4th of July, Memorial Day and Veterans Day.

Pancake Breakfast

SS Red Oak Victory www.ssredoakvictory.com

1337 Canal Blvd, Richmond, CA 94804 (510) 237-2933

The SS Red Oak Victory, part of the National Park Service's Rosie the Riveter--World War II Home Front National Historical Park, is located at 1500 Dornan Dr., Terminal One, Point of Richmond, in Richmond. The ship is owned by the non-profit Richmond Museum Association, which is restoring the ship with volunteer help. The ship is open from 11:00am to 4:00pm, Tuesday-Sunday; there is a suggested donation. To schedule a guided tour, please call 510-237-2933.

Monday, February 27, 2006

Radio Club Transmits History

Steve Hawkes, center, listens to Morse code, above, as Charles Jackson, left, Sharon Primbsch and Larry Fitzsimons talk Sunday in Richmond. About 30 members of the Red Oak Victory Amateur Radio Club demonstrated code transmission.

Vintage radio equipment from World War II crackled back to life Sunday as the Red Oak Victory Amateur Radio Club hosted a demonstration of the ship's original radio equipment, which included a Morse code transmission to historical maritime radio station KPH, west of the small Marin County town of Bolinas.

The demonstration was held in addition to regular guided tours of the Victory ship, which was built nearby at Kaiser shipyard number one.

History As Lived By The Cracker Lady: The Day JFK Died

2009-11-23T14:47:00.000-08:00

November 22, 1963, Yerington, Nevada

As a sophomore in high school I sat looking at the clock in my English class, when the principle’s voice came over the loud speaker. “We regret to inform you that President Kennedy has been assassinated. School is dismissed. Go home and be with your family.” My mouth dropped; I could not take my eyes off the speaker box that hung over the door. I numbly heard the gasps and cries of my classmates, but I sat stunned. My mind could not grasp it. Only the voice of Mrs. Crawford, my English teacher, roused me out of my stupor. “Chere, go home. Your brothers and sister will need you right now.”

“Oh, my God,” I thought, “She’s right! My brothers and sister were being sent home to an empty house. They might be scared and upset.” My mother would be at work. She was a hospital administrator and did not get home until around 8 pm. I immediately shot out of the classroom looking for my siblings. I picked my sister, Lexie, up from school and headed home. My brothers had beaten me home. All of us were in shock. My mom called to reassure us and to make sure we were OK.

We immediately turned the TV on to find out what really happened. In our town, we only had three TV stations. Still I found myself channel surfing, hungry for the latest news. I sat glued to the set as Walter Cronkite and Dan Rather gave minute-by-minute updates. Things were happening so fast. Within hours the president had been shot and died. The gunman had been arrested. And then to our horror, the assassin himself was assassinated in front of our eyes on TV. Vice President Johnson was sworn in as President in the President’s plane. President Johnson, Jackie Kennedy and JFK’s body were back in Washington DC within hours and funeral arrangements were underway. This rapidness of the events kept me in constant shock and amazement. This was a speedy reality show, which this small town, slow moving girl had never experienced.

As the afternoon and evening faded into night, I cooked dinner and put my siblings to bed, while listening to the TV. I did not want to miss a minute. Mom did not get home until 10pm that night because the hospital was so busy. When she got home we sat watching the news together until the TV tuned out with the Star Spangle Banner. All TV stations in those days stopped broadcasting at 12 midnight.

My Plan To Attend JFK’s Funeral

Unbeknown to my mother, I had made a determined plan to attend JFK’s funeral. I can’t tell you when the plan began to form, but as I watched the day’s events; I began to have a very strong desire to see what was happening first hand. I had ambitions of being a newspaper reporter someday. Early in the year I had watched the civil rights movements activities and the Freedom Riders woes. I had the same desire then. I wanted to be there; I wanted to make a difference; I wanted to know first hand.

I figured I could get there by jumping a freight train out of Wabasha. I thought I could get to Washington, DC, go to the funeral, and be back home within a week. I would leave a note for Mom, explaining my plans so she wouldn’t worry. As I sat watching TV with my mother, I had already packed a small suitcase with a few days clothes, some apples, a few sandwiches and about $3 in tip money from my after school job as a waitress at John’s Cafe. The note was already written. I was waiting patiently for TV to go off and Mom to go to bed, so I could sneak out my window and start my exciting journey to the Capitol.

Everything went exactly as planned. Within 30 minutes of lights out, I was up and dressed. I carefully laid out my note so Mom could easily find it. I quietly opened my window so as not to wake my sister, who shared the room with me, and gently lowered my suitcase to the partly snow covered ground. With racing heart in anticipation of the adventure and fear of getting caught, I crawled out the window one foot at a time. Once, my last foot touched the ground, I knew I was at the point of no return. I could not go back now.

On My Way To Washington D.C.

The crisp November air nipped the tips of my ears and tingled my face. In all my planning, I forgot about the weather. I had no gloves, no hat and only tennis shoes on. I did have a coat and at first, I was not uncomfortably cold. I quietly tipped away form the house and started my walk to Wabuska. Now in our town, there was a curfew law that said children under 18 had to be in by 10 pm. Being a small town, it did not take long for our one cop car to make its rounds about town. I walked down back streets, constantly watching for the police and any other car that might recognize me. Fortunately, very few cars are out at 1 am. If I saw one, I just ducked down behind a parked car.

As I approached the outskirts of Yerington city limits, I saw the police car coming up Goldfield

Avenue. I was near the bridge over the Walker River, which ran through our town, so I slid down its bank and lay flat, hoping the officer could not see me. As I lay on the bank, the muddy, icy bank caused my body to slide several feet. My right foot entered the rivers freezing cold waters. As the officer passed, I scrambled off the bank with one wet foot and one dry foot. I was hoping as I walked the wet tennis shoe would dry. To my discomfort, instead of drying, it began to freeze.

Once outside the city limits, the landscape is a combination of desert and dirt farms. There were no streetlights on the highway. The moon occasionally would shine through a break in the overcast clouds. In the desert sound travels a long distance. A mile outside of town, I began to hear the blood curdling howls of the coyotes or wolves (I wasn’t sure). I kept saying to myself, “I sure hope those are a long ways away.” For the next mile, I started making plans on how to defend myself from the wolves, if they attacked me. An owl in a large cottonwood tree let out a “woo,” which caused me to jump into the middle of the highway. My heart froze in my throat; the owl repeated his wooing as if laughing at me.

I had no time to feel too humiliated, as I saw the headlights of a car approaching some distance down the road. Suitcase flapping in the air, I raced to the highway bank and laid down flat to avoid being spotted.

Wabasha is 12 miles from Yerington. I figured I had walked about 4 or 5 miles by now. My goal was to be at the railroad station by 5 or 6 o’clock to catch a train. By now my foot was so cold, I could hardly move it. I walked for several more miles hoping it would get better. As I passed farm after farm, the coyotes howling seemed to let up. I relaxed, as the likelihood of my being the coyote’s supper seemed to diminish. I walked close to the fence lines so any passing cars could not see me. In my relaxed state, I became more aware of the intense cold and pain in my foot. It was getting almost unbearable. As I walked past a large cotton wood
tree, I came face-to-face, nose-to-nose, and eye-to-eye with a large horse that had his face hanging over the fence. The horse reared up and I jumped back. I am not sure which of us was nearest cardiac arrest.

Within moments of my horse encounter, I determined that I would not make it to Wabasha with my frozen foot. I decided that if a car came by, I would try to hitchhike the rest of the way to the train station. As I could barely walk, I stood on the side of the road hoping and looking for a car going my way. For close to an hour no car passed going in either direction. Fear of death began to creep in. I could not go forward, and I could not go backwards. I pictured myself freezing to death on the side of the road and the coyotes eating my carcass.

My Only Hope of Survival-God

It was at this point; I decided there was only one hope for me-God. I ditched my suitcase on the side of the road, walked to the middle of the highway, and knelt down on the freezing asphalt and began to pray. I knew the ‘Our Fathers’ and ‘Hail Marys’ I learned in Catholic catechism, but for some reason I just knew that would not do. As the asphalt dug into my boney and frozen knees, I begged God to spare my life and send me a ride. While still on my knees, I saw headlights coming a great distance away.

Before I could even thank the Lord, I jumped to my feet and remained standing in the middle road. I was determined that that vehicle was going to stop or kill me. As the headlights got closer, I saw it was a tractor-trailer truck with a load of alfalfa. I held my ground. The truck began to slow and eventually stopped about six feet from me. I ran to the passenger door and jumped in. “What the blazes are you doing out here,” the truck driver exclaimed. “I’m trying to get to Wabuska, can you take me there?” I asked. “Are you running away?” the truck driver asked, his voice softened. “No, I have friends in Wabaska.” I said. I don’t think he believed me, but he drove me the rest of the way into Wabuska and dropped me at the train station.

It was now 5 o’clock in the morning. It had taken me over four hours to make it half way there, and 10 minutes to get me the rest of the way. As the truck headed out towards Silver Springs, I sat on the wooden walkway at the train station waiting for my train to JFK’s funeral. Every thing within me still wanted to go to the funeral, but the agonizing pain and cold, began to speak reason into me.

My Journey Home

Now Wabuska at that time has a population of about 12 people. Despite it’s small population, it still had a sheriff, who was not very well liked, because his main duty was to give tickets to people who sped through the towns 25 mile-an-hour speed limit over the railroad tracks. My mom had received several speeding tickets at his hand. I attended high school with his daughter, but I was always afraid of her father. It just so happened that Sheriff Bails’ house was the only house within walking distance of the train station. I had a choice of freezing to death or reaching his house for help. As I approached his house, my fear doubled. I was not only afraid of what the sheriff would do, but I was also afraid of what my mom would do.

Knocking gently on the door, his dogs raised the roof, lights flew on, and I heard footsteps approach the door. Sheriff Bails flung open the door in his bathrobe and said, “Yes, how can I help you?”

“Can you call my mom and ask her to come pick me up?” I shivered. He let me in and asked, “What are you doing out here this time of the morning?” Fumbling for an answer that I hoped would make sense to him and my mom, I blurted out, “Oh, I just felt like going for a walk.”

As he reached for the phone, I thought I detected an amused smile on his face. “Mrs. Barnett, your daughter is out in Wabuska and wants you to come and pick her up. (Pause) She says she was just taking a walk. (Pause) OK. Goodbye.” Hanging up the phone, he slowly walked to the kitchen stove and put on some boiling water. “You look quite cold, would you like some hot chocolate while you wait for your mother to come pick you up?” All I could do was give him a grateful nod.

As I began to defrost in his home, my foot began to hurt even more. I could not move it at all. It was like the tendon in my heel was frozen solid. Sheriff Bails was not much of a conversationalist, which I was glad, as it was taking all my energy to keep from crying. We both just sat in his kitchen sipping hot chocolate and waiting for my mom. Finally, my mother arrived and after a polite thank you, we left for home. The ride home was strange. Mom, who could be quite an interrogator, was being very cautious about what she said to me. I stood by my, “I couldn’t sleep so I went for a walk” alibi. I think Mom was certain that I was running away and was trying to figure out why and how she had failed at being a mother.

I figured she had not found my note, so I was hoping I could get in the house before her and dispose of it. If I couldn’t convince her that I was not running away, I knew I would never be able to persuade her that I was only going to JFK’s funeral for a week. If she did believe me, she would feel I was mentally ill and might send me to a psychologist. As I jumped out of the car to beat her in, my sister Lexie, came running out waving my note in her hand. Visions of Sparks, the Nevada State Insane Asylum, sprung into my head. Mom sat in the car reading the note as I went to my bedroom. When she came into by bedroom she nursed my foot and said we would discuss it after I had rested.

I quickly dozed off and when I woke, I heard my mom discussing with a visiting friend the whole event. They explored every possible reason why I would run away, I was such a responsible young lady. I must be going through a stage; perhaps I had too much responsibility throw on me too young; perhaps my friends were a bad influence on me. Finally after her friend left she came in my bedroom to ask me why I had run away. At this point, I decided to tell the truth. I was not running away, I was going to JFK’s funeral. Try as she may, she could get no other story out of me. She never believed it, but I was not sent to the crazy house. It was dropped and I seldom spoke of my adventure, because I did not want appear insane. God had performed a miracle for me, but I never spoke of it, because if they were not going to believe the JFK story, I knew they certainly were not going to believe my miracle story. Our family watched the funeral on TV like millions of other stunned and heartbroken Americans. When I graduated from high school, I left for the SF Bay Area to study Photojournalism at the height of the hippy movement. I was freed to explore the world first hand now, and explore I did! Nine years later I would come into a personal relationship with the God of my miracle-Jesus Christ.

The below video shows the events surrounding John F. Kennedy’s assassination & funeral.

Walter Cronkite Announces Death of JFK

Wordless Wednesday-Fall Reflections

2009-10-28T00:05:00.000-07:00

Wordless Wednesday-Praying Polar Bear

2009-10-21T00:05:00.000-07:00

Wordless Wednesday-The Thinker's Stare Down

2009-10-14T00:05:00.000-07:00

Wordless Wednesday-Protective Hands

2009-10-07T00:05:00.000-07:00

Richmond Ramblings: Japanese Flower Industry Remembered

2009-10-01T00:05:00.000-07:00

Photo by Ken Osborn, Misterken Photography

Beginning in the early 20th century, flower-growing operations founded by Japanese immigrants were common El Cerrito and Richmond as well as in other Bay Area cities. The community in El Cerrito-Richmond grew over time to include 17 nurseries, as well as a Japanese school and church. A second group of nurseries flourished in what is now North Richmond and San Pablo, led by the arrival of the Nabeta family, who began growing roses near Brookside Drive in 1900.

A sizable Japanese American community grew up around the Bay Area as Japanese laborers who had found work with the Domoto brothers’ nursery in Oakland or laying railroad tracks in Richmond moved to the outskirts of established towns to start businesses. They bought or leased land and often used family labor to grow the carnations, chrysanthemums, and roses they would sell in San Francisco.

By Bernadette Talbot, Photographer

with the Berkeley Camera Club

Because a large number of local nursery owners had purchased their land before the passage of the 1913 Alien Land Law, which forbade property ownership to most Japanese as “aliens ineligible for citizenship,” Richmond’s Japanese community was a remarkably stable and long-lived ethnic enclave. Despite forced removal from homes and businesses during

Photo by Ken Osborn,

Misterken Photography

WWII, many of Richmond’s Japanese American nursery owners returned to their neighborhood and revived their businesses. Re-establishing the nurseries took remarkable effort and grinding labor; some families had to literally pick up the pieces as shattered panes of greenhouse glass littered every square foot of their property. A sizable number of Richmond’s nurseries were revived in the years just after the war – the Adachis, Fukushimas, Fujiis, Hondas, Maidas, Mayedas, Nabetas, Ninomiyas, Oishis, Oshimas, Sakais and Sugiharas all returned from camp to reclaim their livelihoods and community in Richmond. They were aided in great part by the tradition of cooperation established at the community’s outset.

Adachi, Sakai, & Oishi Nurseries

Photo courtesy of the Sakai and Oishi families

made available through the Richmond Museum of History

The oldest locally may have been the Adachi nursery, established in 1905 where the Home Depot store in El Cerrito is today.

The Sakai nursery started in 1906 with an initial 2.5 acres in Richmond and a single greenhouse salvaged from Berkeley.

The Oishi nursery started shortly after. Both grew as more land was acquired and more buildings were added, both shut down in 1942 during the World War II relocation of Japanese, and both resumed operations when the families returned after the war. Operations continued until fairly recently.

Ironically, some of the nurseries were displaced in just a few short years as the development of the I-80 freeway cut through the properties in 1948. By the mid-1960s, records indicate that of the original group of nurseries centered on Wall Avenue only the Adachi, Maida, Oishi, Oshima and Sakai families still survived. Of these, only the Oishi and Sakai nurseries operated into the 21st century.

World War II’s Effect on Japanese Nurseries

Aerial view of Sakai nursery, ca. 1945, post-war photo courtesy of the Sakai and Oishi families

made available through the Richmond Museum of History.

The flower trade prospered and even weathered well the Great Depression, but the businesses were closed or taken over by others when Japanese families on the west coast were interned during World War II. Most but not all of the families resumed their nursery trade after the war.

The impact of WWII on Richmond’s Japanese Americans after the attack on Pearl Harbor changed their fortunes through a wartime program of forced removal from their homes, businesses and tightly knit communities. Although not large enough to support the range of local services and organizations that developed in Nihonmachis (Japantowns), Richmond’s cluster of Japanese American nurseries is historically significant as a Nikkei community centered around an industry that was important to this ethnic group and that survived all the way from the initial wave of immigration until the turn of the 21st century.

Despite forced removal from homes and businesses during WWII, many of Richmond’s Japanese American nursery owners returned to their neighborhood and revived their businesses. Re-establishing the nurseries took remarkable effort and grinding labor; some families had to literally pick up the pieces as shattered panes of greenhouse glass littered every square foot of their property. A sizable number of Richmond’s nurseries were revived in the years just after the war – the Adachis, Fukushimas, Fujiis, Hondas, Maidas, Mayedas, Nabetas, Ninomiyas, Oishis, Oshimas, Sakais and Sugiharas all returned from camp to reclaim their livelihoods and community in Richmond. They were aided in great part by the tradition of cooperation established at the community’s outset.

Photo by Ken Osborn,

Misterken Photography

In 1941, some members of these same Japanese-American families were actually part of what became the Home Front, working in the Richmond shipyards, building Liberty Ships to support the allies. After Pearl Harbor, they were shipped off to internment camps, but many volunteered for military service and eventually served with distinction. One of the most poignant stories is how some of their neighbors and former competitors cared for and operated a few of the nurseries in their absence and returned them in good shape after the war.

But other nurseries were abandoned and vandalized. In an ironic twist of fate, wartime leaseholders of many of the nurseries found they could reap greater profits by renting the structures out as temporary housing to shipyard workers.

Photo by Ken Osborn,

Misterken Photography

After the war, the returning internees, some who had become war heroes, struggled to successfully rebuild their businesses. Eventually, competition from low-cost flowers imported from Mexico and parts south made locally grown roses, carnations and other cut flowers uneconomical. One after another, the nurseries shut down and became big box stores and houses. The last of these were the Oishi and Sakai nurseries located near Wall Avenue and South 47^th Streets.

Carnations Photo by Ken Osborn, Misterken Photography

Preservation of Nurseries History

Photo by Ken Osborn, Misterken Photography

The Richmond Japanese-American nurseries are historically significant as Nikkei (Japanese immigrant and their American-born descendants) community centered around an industry important to this ethnic group surviving from the initial wave of immigration of the 19^th Century into the late 20^th Century. The Sakai and Oishi properties are the only extant cut-flower nurseries begun by Japanese-Americans before WW II in the entire Bay Area and are also the last remaining of Richmond’s community of Japanese American flower growers. The properties are rare surviving Bay Area nurseries, a once prominent industry in the core Bay Area counties that has been almost entirely displaced by development pressures during the last thirty years.

Richmond bought the nearly 14-acre site for $7.6 million in June 2006 from the Sakai, Oishi, and Endo families, The former Sakai, Oishi and Maida-Endo nursery properties are now owned by the Richmond Community Redevelopment Agency and slated for residential development in a project the Agency call “Miraflores.” Unfortunately, the evocative name that recalls the property’s historical use has been the Agency’s only recognition of its

Photo by Ken Osborn,

Misterken Photography

history. The Agency would like to simply tear everything down. The Historic Architecture Evaluation, however, makes a modest recommendation of saving one of the homes, the (water) tank house and at least one greenhouse and providing a permanent interpretive exhibit to communicate the history. The historic ensemble could be easily and economically integrated into the new development, giving it more than just a name to recall the site’s historically significant past.

Water Tank Photo by Ken Osborn, Misterken Photography

Wordless Wednesday-Streets of Gold

2009-09-30T00:01:00.000-07:00

The Cracker Lady’s Fancy: No Charge

2009-09-28T19:56:00.000-07:00

Since we’re on the subject of children and their concepts of love, this song, one of my favorites by Shirley Caesar, has brought me in remembrance of God’s free, unmerited blessings. My own daughter has been sick this week. And although I have been caring for her for 41 years now, I could never think of charging her for what I do for her. I am so grateful and awestruck when I remember what Jesus has done for me these last 61 years at NO CHARGE!

I want to thank all who are praying for Shannon. You cannot imagine how precious your prayers are to us. I hope you will be blessed by this song.

With love to you all, Chere & Shannon

The Cracker Lady’s Fancy: What Love Means To 4-8 Year Olds

2009-09-17T11:35:00.000-07:00

My friend Peggy sent me these touching words from the mouths of babes this morning. I just had to share them with my readers.  A group of professional people posed this question to a group of 4 to 8 year-olds, 'What does love mean?' The answers they got were broader and deeper than anyone could have imagined. See what you think.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

'When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn't bend over and paint her toenails anymore.  So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when his hands got arthritis too. That's love.'  Rebecca- age 8

'When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different.  You just know that your name is safe in their mouth.'   Billy - age 4

'Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other.'   Karl - age 5

'Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French fries without making them give you any of theirs.'   Chrissy - age 6

'Love is what makes you smile when you're tired.'   

Terri - age 4

'Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK.'   Danny - age 7

'Love is when you kiss all the time. Then when you get tired of kissing, you still want to be together and you talk more.  My Mommy and Daddy are like that. They look gross when they kiss'   Emily - age 8

'If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend who you hate,'   Nikka - age 6  (we need a few million more Nikka's on this planet)

'Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it everyday.'   Noelle - age 7

 'Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other so well.'   Tommy - age 6

'During my piano recital, I was on a stage and I was scared. I looked at all the people watching me, and saw my daddy waving and smiling. He was the only one doing that. I wasn't scared anymore.'   Cindy - age 8

'Love is when Mommy gives Daddy the best piece of chicken.'   Elaine-age 5

'Love is when Mommy sees Daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is handsomer than Robert Redford.' Chris - age 7

'Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day.'   Mary Ann - age 4

'I know my older sister loves me because she gives me all her old clothes and has to go out and buy new ones.'   Lauren - age 4

'When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you.' (What an image!) Karen - age 7

'You really shouldn't say 'I love you' unless you mean it. But if you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget.'   Jessica - age 8

And the final one and winner was a four-year-old child
whose next-door neighbor was an elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife.   Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman's yard, climbed onto his lap, and just sat there.   When his Mother asked what he had said to the neighbor, the little boy said,   'Nothing, I just helped him cry'

Wordless Wednesday-Holding On To The Word

2009-09-16T00:05:00.000-07:00

The Fellowship of the Authors

2009-09-13T13:21:00.000-07:00

“Not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as the manner of some is; but exhorting one another: and so much the more, as ye see the day approaching.” Hebrews 10:25 

Following my daughter’s brain tumor, for years she was so ill it was impossible for us to attend church, except on very rare occasions. In order to keep a roof over our heads, I took a job managing eleven guesthouses in San Francisco close to the University of California Medical Center. The job required being on site 24-7, which made it even more impossible to make it to church. This scripture in Hebrews often convicted me of not assembling with my brothers and sisters in Christ. I was starving for fellowship and the collective presence of God. Having been a pastor up to the time of Shannon’s illness, I was in shock at my inability to attend church.

I often whined to the Lord about it, but every time Shannon seemed to improve a new crisis would hit her. Within three years after her brain tumor, she had four strokes, a broken hip, and multiple pneumonia's. Through it all, I managed to keep my job, which I shall forever be grateful.

Now, when one is going through like we were, one really needs the support of their brothers and sisters in Christ. At least that is what I had been taught and preached. The more I hungered for fellowship; the more impossible it became to obtain it. I cried bitterly to Jesus about this matter. I was confused by my circumstances. I was thirsty and hungry for the preached Word of God and the fellowship of the saints. The devil used my circumstances to blame me of being unworthy of being in the presence of God’s people. There was not a saved person around me-not an employee, medical staff member, or resident. This went on for over a year.

By the second year, I was so hungry, I started reading every Christian book I could afford and studying the Bible even more. As I read, I began to feel like I was back in fellowship with the saints. I felt like each author was a friend, a brother, a sister. After I had acquired and read over a hundred books, as I looked at the books on my bookshelves, I had a sense of collective presence. They had shared their experiences and insights with me at my time of need. That day I declared them to be “The Fellowship of the Authors”.

I just recently got my library out of storage (which is much larger now). I thought as part of the Cracker Lady’s House, I would write about some of the authors and their books that helped me during those very rough years. It is my intent that they will be as much a blessing to my readers as they were to me.

Wordless Wednesday-Richmond, Home of Rosie The Riveter

2009-09-02T21:04:00.000-07:00

My Richmond Ramblings: An Army Jeep in a Crate for $50! Is it true?

2009-08-27T14:17:00.000-07:00

A Tale of the Ford Motor Company Assembly Plant, Richmond, CA

One of the longest-running myths about Army jeeps is the idea that you can buy a jeep in a crate for $50. This idea has been around now at least since WW II. I heard the story and saw ads off and on throughout the 1950’s and 1960’s. The story was consistently the same: you could get Army jeeps in crates for $50; they only need a battery and tires; but you have to get your friends together and buy 10 (or 50) at a time. A more recent take on low priced jeeps is, that there was a government-owned cave full of factory-new M-151s ("somewhere out west")-- you could buy them for $1500 each, but of course you had to buy 10 at a time.

Army Jeep Ads Reinforcing the Myth

The "cheap surplus jeep" story was reinforced by ads that ran for decades in the back of Popular Mechanics and other magazines. They promised to tell you -- for a fee -- how to buy government surplus. The ads usually featured a headline reading: "Jeeps $50" over a stock drawing of an Army jeep. The text said the publication would open the door on fabulous surplus bargains, including jeeps, trucks, power tools and other desirable goods.

If you actually sent in your money and bought their publication, it was just a copy of a pamphlet -- available free from the U.S. Government -- that explained how to bid on surplus property. Basically a scam that preyed on people's lack of knowledge.

A Military Jeep in a Crate: Was it ever true?

Yes, jeeps were packed in crates. Jeeps were produced and packed this way for shipment to U.S. forces and countries like England and the Soviet Union who the U.S. supplied during WW II. At the Ford Motor Company assembly plant in Richmond, CA, about 70% of production was boxed due to their close proximity to the San Francisco port.

Boxing up a jeep was expensive and time consuming so it was only done when absolutely necessary. Jeeps that were crated were complete vehicles, not a box of parts -- windshields were folded, wheels taken off and a few other things done to minimize the cubage. Very few, if any, of these crated jeeps remained in the United States, even during the war. After more than sixty years, there are probably none left. Several organizations and dealers have had a substantial reward offer for years for anyone who can produce one and no one has claimed the money.

WW II factory photos show jeeps being packed into coffin-like fully sheathed crates. A Ford Truck publication (Form 3679-T) from early in World War II is titled "Instructions for Unpacking & Assembly of Boxed Vehicle" referring to the 1/4 Ton 4x4 Ford GPW, the Ford-manufactured jeep. That eight-page document shows the crated jeep and tells how to remove it and prep it for service (photos from the document, right). A WW II poster titled We Need Lumber shows a factory photo of a jeep being enclosed in the same type of wooden box.

Very few, if any, of these crated jeeps remained in the United States. At the Ford Motor Company assembly plant in Richmond, CA, about 70% of production was boxed due to their close proximity to the San Francisco port.

It is also noted in wartime production records that some jeeps were boxed after assembly, to protect them until final disposition was determined. These were different from the factory-crated jeeps in that these were fully operational, not partially disassembled.

Fate of World War II Jeeps

Although the jeep was loved and respected by the GIs during the war, most ended up like this:

 Vehicle bone yard at end of World War II.

After World War II there was a period of time when returning veterans, farmers and a few other favored categories of people could buy jeeps directly from the government for $50 or other very low prices. It is not known if any of these were in crates but if there were any it was very few. Most surplus Army jeeps in the U.S. were used vehicles from stateside bases.

 Richard Koch and his Ford GPW, 1946. Photo courtesy of Dr. Richard Koch.

Richard Koch, a WW II Vet (today Dr. Richard Koch, an esteemed medical researcher) told me that in late 1945 or early 1946 he bought a jeep directly from a shipping facility in Martinez, CA, near San Francisco. He arrived there to find many large crates stacked three high. After paying $500, a forklift brought one down for him and the workers helped uncrate it, brand new from the factory. He says it had its wheels already mounted; all he had to do was connect the battery and drive it home. He also bought a matching Army trailer for an additional $50.

Manuals and factory photos of jeeps crated for shipping all show partial disassembly with wheels off. Therefore, Koch's Ford GPW (photo, left) was probably boxed, fully assembled, after production to protect it until the Army determined its disposition. Based on the hood number, this vehicle was most likely manufactured in June 1945 at the Richmond, CA Ford factory, not far from Martinez. Jeep production ended in August 1945 during the last days of World War II and, lucky for Koch, this jeep never went into active service.

Although there are other stories like Koch's, the jeep sales program dried up pretty quickly as civilian production resumed and Willys came out with the CJ series. Jeeps were given away to Allies and also sold outside the U.S. occasionally, but many were also dumped to prevent their return to the U.S. where it was feared they would glut the market and take factory jobs away from vets.

Richmond’s Ford Motor Company Assembly Plant Effect on the War and Richmond

An aerial view from about 1946 of Ford Motor Company's Richmond, California, Assembly Plant. The plant opened in 1931; in 1934 it produced 56,016 cars with 2,500 men on the payroll, which was capacity. From the Collections of The Henry Ford. P.833.92550.25

The Ford Motor Company Assembly Plant in Richmond, California, was the largest assembly plant to be built on the West Coast and its conversion to wartime production during World War II aided the Nation's war effort. Built in 1930 during the Great Depression, the assembly plant was measures nearly 500,000 square feet. The factory was a major stimulant to the local and regional economy and was an important development in Richmond's inner harbor and port plan. Ford became Richmond's third largest employer, behind Standard Oil and the Santa Fe Railroad. It is also an outstanding example of 20th-century industrial architecture designed by architect Albert Kahn, known for his "daylight factory" design, which employed extensive window openings that became his trademark. The main building is comprised of a two-story section, a single-story section, a craneway, a boiler house and a shed canopy structure over the railroad track.

General Stuart Light Tanks at the Ford Assembly Building, awaiting shipment to the Pacific Theater of War Photo courtesy of the Richmond Museum of History Collection

To ensure that America prepared for total war by mobilizing all the industrial might of the United States, President Franklin D. Roosevelt banned the production of civilian automobiles during WWII. The Richmond Ford Assembly Plant switched to assembling jeeps and to putting the finishing touches on tanks, half-tracked armored personnel carriers, armored cars and other military vehicles destined for the Pacific Theater. By July of 1942, military combat vehicles began flowing into the Richmond Ford plant to get final processing before being transported out the deep-water channel to the war zones. The "Richmond Tank Depot" as the Ford plant was then called, helped keep American fighting men supplied with up-to-the-minute improvements in their battle equipment. In mobilizing the wartime production effort to its full potential, Federal military authorities and private industry began to work closely together on a scale never seen before in American history. This laid the groundwork for what became known as the "Military Industrial Complex" during the Cold War years. This Assembly Plant was one cog in the mobilization of the "Arsenal of Democracy" and a historic part of what is today's industrial culture of the United States.

After the war, the devastation to the local economy as a result of the closing of the Kaiser shipyards would have been crippling had it not been for the continued production of the Ford Plant. The last Ford was assembled in February 1953, with the plant being closed in 1956 because of the inability to accommodate increased productivity demands. In 1989, the Loma Prieta earthquake severely damaged the plant.

Rejuvenation of Historic Ford Assembly Building - Home to
the Craneway

After the war, Ford resumed assembly of civilian automobiles until the plant was closed in 1956, rendered obsolete by technological changes in automobile manufacturing. The devastation to the local economy as a result of the closing of the Richmond Shipyards would have been crippling had it not been for the continued production of the Ford Plant. The last Ford was assembled in February 1953, with the plant being closed in 1956 and production transferred to the San Jose Assembly Plant because of the inability to accommodate increased productivity demands.

The building had remained vacant for almost half a century. In 1989, the Loma Prieta earthquake severely damaged the plant. After the earthquake, the City of Richmond made repairs to the building prepared the Ford Assembly building for rehabilitation. The City of Richmond repaired and prepared the Ford Assembly building for rehabilitation and selected Orton Development as the developer of the rehabilitation project. In 2008, after the building's rehabilitation was completed, tenants including SunPower Corporation and Mountain Hardware made the building their new home. The craneway of the building is also used for banquets, weddings, and corporate events. It is now used as part as the focal point of the Rosie the Riveter World War II Home Front National Historical Park.

Craneway Pavilion is a world-class and sustainably designed event, concert and production facility centrally located in one of the planet's most iconic destinations. Located on 25 waterfront acres, Craneway Pavilion delivers awe-inducing views of the San Francisco skyline and surrounding environs -matched only by the inventive programming and infrastructure options available inside.

As state-of-the-art as it is historic, Craneway Pavilion offers an expansive 45,000 square feet facility in an architecturally significant building dating back to 1932. It also features an adjoining, 10,000 square-foot open-air wharf patio, seamlessly blending indoor and outdoor environments for the best of both worlds. Craneway's unparalleled atmosphere and amenities set the stage for special occasions, meetings and cultural highlights - of every size and every stripe - that are as unforgettable as San Francisco itself.

Wordless Wednesday-Don't Rush Me, I'm Thinking!

2009-08-26T10:53:00.000-07:00

Wordless Wednesday-Safe in the Shade?

2009-08-19T07:58:00.001-07:00

The Problem With Stuff

2009-08-16T23:34:00.000-07:00

I have been somewhat absent from the blogworld for the last few weeks, because I have had to deal with stuff. Really, literally, I have had to deal with lots of STUFF! You see, although I moved last November to my house, I stored a lot of things on the property I managed for the last ten years with the permission of the owners. The problem with having stuff is that, at some point, you'll have to move said stuff. Finally, I got up the nerve to tackle moving a lifetime of accumulated stuff over to my house. I now have all my stuff in my back yard. The rest of the summer will be spent trying to sort, sell and store all this stuff, before the winter rains come in.

My backyard now looks like Sanford and Son’s Junk Yard. I honestly considered making a sign that read “Brown and Daughter’s Stuff”. Then rather than sorting all my stuff, just open my backyard to the public, and let them rummage through, until they found a treasure to buy. As they say, “One man’s junk is another man’s treasure.”

The amazing thing about most of my stuff is that I never even purchased it. Almost everything in my house and backyard was either given to me, or found in vacant units that I managed. And even more remarkable is the fact that last September, I had a “Free Flea” where I gave away about twice as much as I now have in my back yard. Living in a poor neighborhood, over 100 people came and were blessed by this Free Flea. You would think that poor folks in America would not have much stuff but in fact, the poorer people are, the more stuff they seem to have. A big problem for poor people is when they have no money they feel poor, and stuff seems valuable, so almost instinctively they accumulated it.

I think I accumulated so much just because I knew that someone would need it someday. The stuff that I have the hardest time letting go of is memories. I have boxes of letters, pictures, and files that I should get rid of, but I hold on to them to keep my memories alive. For example, I have a letter my brother, Dan, wrote me on the back of a doggie bag in 1968, when I first went to college. I have my daughter, Shannon’s Christmas lists, when she could still write; and all the little pictures she drew, when she could still see. How can I get rid of those? My great plan is to scan all these personal treasures and put them on DVD’s. The big question is, will I live long enough to accomplish this great feat; and who will care once I’m gone? Well, it will certainly keep me occupied for a while. And so the downsize continues as does life. To everything there is a season. A time to accumulate and a time to let go. It is definitely my time to let go of a lot of things.

PS: I discovered a very interesting video on Stuff you might like. It was a real eye opener to me.

http://www.storyofstuff.com/