It was a quiet Sunday afternoon and there weren’t any officers in camp. Corporal Stafford, Regular Army, came out of his tent and blew his whistle and we all kind of straggled into formation. He told us we needed to get our asses in gear and that he was going to have us do guerrilla exercises and we all groaned. He got loud and said he really didn’t care if it was Sunday, that there weren’t any officers in camp and he could do anything he liked with us.
Posts tagged as “essays”
Farinelli was perhaps the biggest and brightest star of his or any other time, and so it’s only right that at the ripe old age of 312 he has finally made it to Broadway. He’s…
For much of my life, I have been a square though I am sure that many people, including myself, have been fooled by the company I kept and by the gestures I made. They might…
My female companion at the water mentioned it first. The closeness. But I had also seen the girl and a man, almost certainly her father, as they waded in the stream 25 feet away. She…
WHAT A DIFFERENCE a year makes. Last year, heavy rains pounded down on an already saturated Mendo most of January and February, flooding areas of Hopland, filling Lake Mendocino past its maximum capacity. A year…
The Mendocino County Sheriff’s Investigative Services Office reports that, save for one final ongoing review by two county homicide detectives, the final cause-of-death report for pot grower Leo Hartz, owner and manager of Shine On…
If you were going to try to pin me down politically, and I wouldn't advise it, it might be necessary to compile something like one of those monstrous Teutonic train-car constructions they use to describe…