Thanks to you Portsmouth guys for giving my granddaughter info for this letter. Your PHS 55 classmate, Major Roger Quinn, was a hero indeed for all Americans!
Forgive my ineptness. I have been unable to attach Tobey's letter or the story about Major Quinn's heroic death. I will try later with my guru's help.
Sam
Honey, I didn't know Roger Quinn, but some Portsmoputh friends were in his PHS class of 1955.
I have some information I think should be helpful to you. I have sent a link to a wonderful story of the heroic Portsmouth West Point graduate, who was also an Army Ranger and a modest, but brilliant guy by all reports. He was leading his troops in the jungles of Viet Nam when he was shot and killed on April 3, 1968.
I called his sister, Colleen Quinn Sturgill who hasn't been to the Viet Nam wall in DC, but who visited the traveling VN Wall when it was in Portsmouth. Roger is also buried in Arlington Cemetery in DC and they have index to find his grave listed alphabetically. Colleen says you can go to the year 1968 and scroll alphabetically to his name. He was Major Roger Quinn. Roger's wife has remarried since his death, but they lived in Columbus when he went to Viet Nam.
I will send you more as it comes.
I think I am falling in love with you, beautiful!
Grandpa Sam,
----- Original Message -----
From: Tobey Kegley
To: Sam Kegley ; Sam Kegley
Sent: Monday, May 24, 2010 20:27
Subject: Trip to Washington D.C
Dear Grandparents,
Attached is the letter I wrote to Major Roger Allan Quinn who fought for our country in the Vietnam War. Tomorrow I leave Jones at 7:30 and start on my trip to Washington. I will have loads of fun with friends, teammates, teachers, and Charlie:). ill be home Friday just in time to go to your house and head to Parma. Thank You for the money and the opportunity to go on this trip!!!!!!
I love you so much and yes, you are falling in love and you know it Grandpa:)
Monday, May 24, 2010
The old telephone Thanks Clay Vice!
THE OLD PHONE ON THE WALL. HELLO
When I was a young boy, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood.. I remember the polished, old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it.
Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person. Her name was "Information Please" and there was nothing she did not know. Information Please could supply anyone's number and the correct time.
My personal experience with the genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer, the pain was terrible, but there seemed no point in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy.
I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing.. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear.
"Information, please" I said into the Mouthpiece just above my head.
A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.
"Information."
"I hurt my finger..." I wailed into the phone, the tears came readily enough
Now that I had an audience.
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
"Nobody's home but me," I blubbered.
Are you bleeding?" the voice asked.
"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."
"Can you open the icebox?" she asked.
I said I could.
"Then chip off a little bit of ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice..
After that, I called "Information Please" for everything.. I asked her for help with my geography, and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math
She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.
Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called,
Information Please," and told her the sad story.. She listened, and then said things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was not consoled. I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, " Wayne , always remember that there are other worlds to sing in."
Somehow I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone, "Information Please."
"Information," said in the now familiar voice. "How do I spell fix?" I asked.
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest . When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston . I missed my friend very much. "Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home and I
somehow never thought of trying the shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me..
Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle . I had about a half-hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information Please."
Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well.
"Information."
I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?"
There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now."
I laughed, "So it's really you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?"
I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your call meant to me.
I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls."
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.
"Please do", she said. "Just ask for Sally."
Three months later I was back in Seattle . A different voice answered,
"Information."
I asked for Sally.
"Are you a friend?" she said.
"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this,"She said. "Sally had been working part time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago."
Before I could hang up, she said, "Wait a minute, did you say your name was Wayne ?" "
Yes." I answered.
"Well, Sally left a message for you.
She wrote it down in case you called.
Let me read it to you."
The note said,
"Tell him there are other worlds to sing in.
He'll know what I mean."
I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.
Never underestimate the impression you may make on others..
Whose life have you touched today?
Why not pass this on? I just did....
Lifting you on eagle's wings.
May you find the joy and peace you long for.
Life is a journey... NOT a guided tour.
I loved this story and just had to pass it on. I hope you enjoy it too.
When I was a young boy, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood.. I remember the polished, old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it.
Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person. Her name was "Information Please" and there was nothing she did not know. Information Please could supply anyone's number and the correct time.
My personal experience with the genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer, the pain was terrible, but there seemed no point in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy.
I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing.. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear.
"Information, please" I said into the Mouthpiece just above my head.
A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.
"Information."
"I hurt my finger..." I wailed into the phone, the tears came readily enough
Now that I had an audience.
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
"Nobody's home but me," I blubbered.
Are you bleeding?" the voice asked.
"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."
"Can you open the icebox?" she asked.
I said I could.
"Then chip off a little bit of ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice..
After that, I called "Information Please" for everything.. I asked her for help with my geography, and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math
She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.
Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called,
Information Please," and told her the sad story.. She listened, and then said things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was not consoled. I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, " Wayne , always remember that there are other worlds to sing in."
Somehow I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone, "Information Please."
"Information," said in the now familiar voice. "How do I spell fix?" I asked.
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest . When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston . I missed my friend very much. "Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home and I
somehow never thought of trying the shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me..
Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle . I had about a half-hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information Please."
Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well.
"Information."
I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?"
There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now."
I laughed, "So it's really you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?"
I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your call meant to me.
I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls."
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.
"Please do", she said. "Just ask for Sally."
Three months later I was back in Seattle . A different voice answered,
"Information."
I asked for Sally.
"Are you a friend?" she said.
"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this,"She said. "Sally had been working part time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago."
Before I could hang up, she said, "Wait a minute, did you say your name was Wayne ?" "
Yes." I answered.
"Well, Sally left a message for you.
She wrote it down in case you called.
Let me read it to you."
The note said,
"Tell him there are other worlds to sing in.
He'll know what I mean."
I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.
Never underestimate the impression you may make on others..
Whose life have you touched today?
Why not pass this on? I just did....
Lifting you on eagle's wings.
May you find the joy and peace you long for.
Life is a journey... NOT a guided tour.
I loved this story and just had to pass it on. I hope you enjoy it too.
National media warns of extreme political activities- Ironic!
I am seeing more and more national articles taking to task extreme political activities and urging moderates to get active. We'll see much more on through to the 2010 November election. Moderation? We have let the ACLU and atheists remove much of the Christian religion from our lives as they actively move on to more and more secularism and what it stands for by being largely moderate and apathetic.. By the way. What does secularism stand for?
A Dispatch column on the editorial page from E.J. Dionne, a liberal, tells us "Christians need to act accordingly". Nothing bad about that, except that Christians know that inherently by their biblical teachings. Christians are human beings and realize they lack sainthood without being preached to by the liberal press. Another, David Brooks, New York Times, wants moderates to rise up but moderates hardly get excited about ANYTHING!
I am for the Tea Party people. Get the incumbents out! Too many liberals and moderates who show no enthusiasm for a free America as our fighting service people do.
Sam aka SamKat
A Dispatch column on the editorial page from E.J. Dionne, a liberal, tells us "Christians need to act accordingly". Nothing bad about that, except that Christians know that inherently by their biblical teachings. Christians are human beings and realize they lack sainthood without being preached to by the liberal press. Another, David Brooks, New York Times, wants moderates to rise up but moderates hardly get excited about ANYTHING!
I am for the Tea Party people. Get the incumbents out! Too many liberals and moderates who show no enthusiasm for a free America as our fighting service people do.
Sam aka SamKat
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