"IF IT CAN HAPPEN, IT WILL"

Once upon a time, for twenty-five years,
in my second career, I was an insurance
man.

(When you see me, you will note my gray
hair.)

I'll digress a slight bit here at the beginning
of my tale to tell you that I once had an Irish
friend---a man of the cloth---he had a Latin
expression which referred to our existence
on this terrestrial ball.  He was fond of quoting
it.

He would shake his head slightly and in a
resigned, rueful way---and as he made a
little "squick" sound with his lips, he would
say in Latin:  "IF IT CAN HAPPEN ON THIS
EARTH, IT WILL." (the emphasized and
operative word, of course, being "CAN!")

So, I was sitting at my office desk  one hot
slow ("slow"---read: "no one bugging me")
summer afternoon.

I recall, I had my three steelies that I kept
in my middle desk drawer, in my hand, and
I was jiggling them and practicing my Bogart.
"Yesh, it was my strawberries they were after….
they stole them----they got my strawberries….
it was the strawberries all the time…."

I was "getting it down" pretty good when the
phone rang.

It was a long-time dear friend, with whom I
had worked in a previous career.

I had her homeowner's policy.

She sounded upset.  "Mil, I've lost a hearing
aid, right out of my ear---they are very small
but also very expensive.  I was in the kitchen
doing a little baking.  One minute it was
in my ear, and the next it was GONE!"

"Am I covered on my homeowner's policy
for a replacement?  I hope so, because I
don't have $1500.  These were the latest
things!"

I was quite knowledgeable about homeowner
policies and even taught new agents, but  I
was not a claims adjuster and did not have
every eventuality memorized.

So as not to get her hopes up, I said: "Let
me phone my underwriter at the home office.
Sybil knows everything."  (except English,
as you will soon see.)  Sybil said "No, the
policy 'pacifically' excludes hearing aids."

It was tough, giving my long-time friend
the awful news:  "No, I'm sorry, you're not
covered."

There the matter rested….and I felt really
bad for several days, worrying about how
she would get $1500 for a single replacement
hearing aid.

Then one day, three days later, the phone
 rang!  "Mil, Mil, good news, good news!
Wait 'til you hear this!"

"For dessert today at my little lunch, I made
myself a cup of coffee, and sat down to
indulge myself and finish off the last big
piece of chocolate pie that I made the other
day…..well Mil, I bit down on something hard!"

"Mil, it was my lost HEARING AID---there in
my chocolate pie!  How did it get there?!
I licked all the chocolate off, but it wouldn't
work.  I headed out to get it fixed!"

"I just got home from my hearing aid guy's
They worked me in down there!
They soaked it in something and put a new
battery in it….all for just a service charge!"


Oh, I'm so happy,"  she said.  "I didn't have
$1500 to spare!"

All's well that ends well, I suppose.

Isn't there a saying:  "It's all in the pie?"
If not, I'm starting one.

(So long, I'm headed down to Village Inn's
Pie Shoppe, for a big slice of their chocolate
pie!  Er, hold the hearing aids.  See ya')


---30---
MIL'S PLACE
6/18/14

THE CHOCOLATE BALL BOOGIE

It's Friday...and the two women
    are practicing duets
on the piano
    as they are wont to do.

BOOM-CHICK...CLICK, CLICK
    BOOM-CHICK...CLICK, CLICK
BOOM CHICK...CLICK, CLICK

They are learning "When I Was 64,"
    but strange things--unknown sounds
are coming from the depths of the
                 piano.

What's this "CLICK, CLICK.?"
     They asked each other.
Veteran pianists, and they didn't 
    recognize this "CLICK, CLICK?"

It was weird---almost like a picayune
    player, a dwarf. hiding in the
piano and helping them!

    Stymied by the strange sounds
and unknown rhythms...
    They raised the lid, checked the 
damper pedal, the other pedals,
    hammers---everything, and all
seemed okay.

So they sat back down and began
    playing again...
BOOM-CHICK....CLICK, CLICK!
    BOOM-CHICK...CLICK, CLICK!
and suddenly they caught a new
    feeling of rhythm--clear 
into their bones...to their toes!

YES! They had it now, going big time!
     They were "swingin' and swayin'"
as the saying goes...
    with the help of that dwarf
hiding in the piano!

"Away we go!" 
    BOOM-CHICK...CLICK, CLICK!
BOOM-CHICK...CLICK, CLICK!

About that time, a very strange thing
     happened. A long-lost and forgotten
almond chocolate ball, just bounced out
     from wherever it was lodged and rolled
out from under the piano. 

The two women dropped their hands
    into their laps...and
simply looked at each other....

And about that time, the husband of one
    of the pianists (He-- a skilled musician
"in his own right,") came in and said:
    "That was absolutely marvelous!
What's it called?"

The two women, seated at the piano, 
    looked at each other...
and without missing a beat,
    SAID IN UNISON:

"IT'S THE CHOCOLATE BALL BOOGIE!"

*******30******
BY MIL
6/16/14
(Based on a true event, with a modicum
of literary license.)

"HEAVEN----FULL OF HARDWARE STORES...."

WITH POT--BELLIED STOVES, CHECKER--
   PLAYERS...AND HELPFUL CLERKS!
****************************************

Come with me, in your memory, back to
    old Clovis, and Barry Hardware
at Fourth and Main, northeast corner---
    A splendid place, in the twenties
thirties, forties, fifties...
    Especially for little kids! (But...it was
not planned for little kids.)

There are probably worn places in the
    sidewalk where boys stood and
gawked through Barry's big windows.

I never knew who Barry was, but he had
    a counter-full of pocket knives,
which I never could afford; they were
    only $5.95 each, but who ever
had that much money?

Wylie says, when you came to town
    from Running Water Draw
to buy a part for a windmill, Barry
    always had it, tho' there were
a hundred windmill companies then.

Barry's, strangely, has historical memories
    for me, as a boy. One April day, a sixth
grade kid (me), needing a bolt and nut
    for my bicycle basket---It was 1945 and
I rode from La Casita, down Fourth, went
    into Barry's...a cluster of folks,
clerks and all, were gathered around
    an old radio...(someone was weeping)...
and someone whispered to me:
    "F.D.R. has died at Warm Springs."

Barely four months later, coming out of
    the Lyceum Theater on a mid-August
Saturday afternoon, a KICA Radio
    Station van was in the middle of
Main Street, and I stood there on
    Barry's corner, and the loudspeaker
said: "THE JAPS HAVE SURRENDERED."

I have seen many photos and paintings
    of ancient hardware stores, where old-timers
were cozily playing checkers, on barrel--tops
    by pot--bellied wood stoves.

They had low ceilings, and quaint decor---
    The clerks were friendly and helpful---
The stores were not thirty feet high, like todays…

      Covering a half acre; aisles from-home
to-first-base-long....as stores now, where if
    you get lost,
they won't find you, 'til spring...

Today, it seems to be like the old funny
    Texas Ranger joke, "ONE RIOT---ONE
RANGER!" tho' now it is;
     "ONE STORE---ONE CLERK." You're
lucky if you see---one clerk.

Sometimes one's soul just hankers
    for a good "old-timey" hardware store.
They had one in Childress where I
    once lived; it was kinda like Barry's.
One day, I bought a bone-handle
    pocket knife in there, for $6.95.
It was a CASE brand. Still have it...

In our city, in the fifty years we've lived
    here, we've lost some good ones
We loved Baldridges. And there was once
     a store down on Wyoming that specialized
in old Dutch ovens, churns, and items
    from frontier days.

Things are looking up this side of
    heaven....today BE was in Home
Depot, and tho' it is big and has a
   high ceiling...and no old timer-checker
players---still there were clerks galore
    on every-other aisle, saying "May
I help you?" A miracle!

Not only that but would you believe
    we now have a nice ordinary-size
hardware store three blocks north of
   our house! It is an ACE.

Yes, I know we kids who grew up in
    Clovis were spoiled with all the
best: Barry's, Woolworth's, Busy Bee,
    Snazzy Pig, El Monterrey, Lyceum,
and Coney Island...

And I have heard people say: "There
    just has to be fishing in heaven..."
"There just has to be golf in heaven...."
    I've even (yes) heard "beer in
heaven..."

Me, I'll just settle for some old-fashioned
     hardware stores, with pot-bellied
stoves, and old-timers playing checkers...
     Might even join them for a game...

And a good POCKET KNIFE counter
     would be nice!

********30******
BY MIL
6/07/14

A CONVERSATION WITH A POND

"I'VE KNOWN A THOUSAND PONDS...
       MORE OR LESS..."
*************************************

Yes, I speak "pond."
    More precisely, I speak "Pondese."
I learned it from duck-hunting and
    catfishing in ponds
from Childress to Abilene to Artesia
    to Bernardo....

It is not an oft-heard-of language...
    Nonetheless, it's there to be learned
in its thousand dialects, 
    because you see---
Every pond speaks a different one.

"Pondese" does not depend upon
    high and low inflections and
other quirky devices, to be 
    understood--
It is a WAVELENGTH language.
    To understand it, you have to 
be on...the same wavelength.

And you have to believe that nature
    does after all, 
speak to us.

One day, I stopped by to see Joe
    and his garden--- and
his famous pond. He was away
    lecturing somewhere...
So I quietly slipped over in his
   pasture, dragged an old hidden
lawn chair, out of the bushes.

Meditating there, by Joe's pond,
    I got a bit drowsy and slipped
into a kind of reverie. (It was nice.
    Ponds can be...friendly places.)

"Mil," the pond seemed to say, 
    "It's good to have someone 
drop by who speaks Pondese!"
    "For you see, I sometimes
think I need a pond shrink---
    I worry a lot---I am becoming
a hypochondriac pond...
    Sometimes, at night, when I
ought to be placid and still, I'm
    SLOSHING around!"

"I fear I'm getting criptosporidium
    down at my shallow lower end;
Do you realize what the implications 
    are, if that's true? Well, 'cripto'
is a genus of apicomplaxen protozoans,
    that's what!"

"There's more: I fear getting a nest
    of those awful, hateful, aggressive
cottonmouths, like killed that kid, in
    'Lonesome Dove.'

I dread being invaded by carp

I think the turtles are nipping my bass.

And where are my two beautiful 
    Mergansers (really my beauty
marks)---they didn't show last winter!
    That hurt.

Another thing, it's getting harder for
    me to breathe. I need oxygen!
There are a lot of organisms and
    critters depending on me
for oxygen!"

"But, Mil, You haven't heard my
    worst phobia!
I fear the government will run out
    of stuff to do, and some 
bureaucrat will say: 'Hey we should
    drain those pesky ponds---' "
(You know how the government is!)

"Hey, could do do me a big
    favor? When you get home, 
Slip off down to the Rio Grande---
    Take your Coleman ice chest
and get a passel of those 
    SILVERY MINNOWS, bring them
down, and dump them in me!

Then I will be safe evermore, and even
    be protected, by the government!"

"Oh, and you can't help with this one,
    but anyway, I've had this fantasy
of being cold enough, to someday
    have some rainbow trout---
jumping...and aerating me?"

"Thanks for stopping by."

*******30******
BY MIL
6/04/14

FRED IS GONE...FOR SURE

FRED, my pet earthworm from  Decenber
    (Remember him?)
is gone, for sure.
    He first went missing in February.

Fred was a good pet...he didn't ask
    for much.
He was happy with left-overs from
    the kitchen....
Stuff past its prime; a pet should
    be able to eat leftovers;
People do.

(I sure hope he liked old bologna--
    We gave him plenty!
Seems like there is an old saw---
    "Worms love baloney.")
Have you ever heard that?

Another thing about earthworm pets---
    You don't have to walk them.
Let's face it, they don't have
    an energetic bone in their bodies!
Just "laissez-faire"...leave us alone.

Yes, Fred is gone...
    As I suspected way back
in February.

We thought he might have lit out
    for a better life, so I wrote
a tribute then: "ADIOS, WORM."

Then we kinda forgot about him.
That is, until tomato-planting day
    this past Wednesday.

Digging and stirring the soil
    in each Earth Box as we planted
our tomatoes, in one box
    we found Fred. No doubt,
it was Fred. I recognized him.

Our hearts went out--he looked bad.

It is unpleasant to say, but when worms
    pass, they dry up skinny-like,
as a dried-up rubber band.
    It was awful.

Shrunken....that was Fred.

We immediately ask ourselves:
    did we feed him well?
Did we over-caffeinate him with
    all those coffee grounds?

Noted biologists say: worms love
    to eat bacteria...e-coli and stuff---
The grosser---the better.
    "It is like ICE CREAM to them."

Wherever worms go
    I hope Fred is enjoying
some chocolate or rocky road
    right now!

******30*****
BY MIL
5/30/14

RABBIT HUNTING IN THE F-100

F-100'S

WYLIE’S FLIGHTS IN F-100F

by Wylie Dougherty, guest writer

From October 54 to October 64, I was a member of the NM Air National Guard.  Another Clovis boy, Ellis Jones (CHS 53) suggested that I join to prevent being drafted into the Army.  Ellis was the Maintenance Clerk and worked for the NMANG as a Technician (Full time employee).

After completing Aircraft maintenance school at Amarillo AFB, in early 1957, I became an Aircraft Mechanic and worked full time for the NMANG.  The unit was the first ANG Squadron to receive F-100 fighters.  After a year I was named Crew Chief of the F-100F, a two seat fighter which was used for pilot training and tow ship for air-to-air gunnery practice.  As a result of crewing the F model, I was allowed to fly, back seat, a few times, allowing me to become a “Mach Buster” an award from North American who built the F-100s.

TRIP TO DALLAS

In July of 62 or 63, our unit was asked to run some short field take-offs and landings at Love Field in Dallas to see if the F-100 could handle the shorter runways and lower elevations.  As Crew Chief, I was asked to crew the airplane and assist with the assessment.  Naturally I was happy to fly over to Dallas.  As we were flying VOR to Amarillo, around Tucumcari,  I mentioned to Maj. Baldwin that I could see the ranch where I grew up, North of Clovis.  He said "Let’s take a better look" and rolled over to look down at the scenery.  Quite naturally I lost my bearings but enjoyed the sight from 30,000 ft.

Maj. Baldwin then said “I’m tired of flying, you fly it”.  I said “I know how the controls work, but---" He said “feet on the rudder pedals, right hand on the stick and fly”.  After a few minutes of wobbling all over the sky, he said “I’m getting sea-sick, quit moving the stick—just think the stick”.  I guessed that meant let the plane fly itself, he was satisfied with my few minutes of stick time and took over.

When we landed at Love Field and putting the bird to bed, I was assigned to the Navy enlisted men’s barracks.  Now if you have been in Dallas at the end of July, you know that the temperature and humidity race each other to 100 degrees.  The barracks only had AC in the Recreation Room, so that’s where I stayed until time for bed.  There was a vigorous series of ping pong games going on until one of the Squids said “ Hey Sarge, you play ping pong?”.  I accepted the paddle and was able to beat all of the challengers; you have to understand that Crew Chiefs and Pilots had very serious games each month, so my skills were pretty sharp—or so I thought.  One of the young sailors turned to the Chief Petty Officer and said “ Hey Chief, you might get a game out of this fly-boy”.  A real challenge- I played the Chief 5 games and never got more than 7 points in a game, at the end the Chief just growled “that was pretty good, best I’ve had this year... I haven’t had any competition from these guys.”  A humbling experience!

On the way back to Kirtland, after clearing the outer marker,  Maj. Baldwin said “That’s enough straight and level, let’s get you through Mach and do some acro."  So for a few minutes we tore up the sky and I watched the instrument needles twitch as we passed the speed of sound.  Big deal? Yes it was..

CHASING RABBITS IN THE F-100F

Shortly after this trip, my bird developed an afterburner affliction which required the engine guys to fix the problem.  After the bird was returned to the Flight line, one of our Senior Pilots,  Major Dale Dodd came to me and asked if the bird was ready for the test flight, necessary after engine work.  I said it was ready and he asked if I was ready for the test flight. When I appeared uncertain, he said “If you don’t trust your work and fly with me, I’m not going”.  That settled it- I went to Personal Equipment and checked out flight suit, g-suit, helmet and parachute, all ready to go.  Maj. Dodd handed me the knee clipboard and said you’re the secretary and do all the pencil work.  

After we fired up the bird and taxied out, he asked if I was ready for a max-takeoff, which he explained was yanking up the wheels and pointing the nose up to see how quickly we could get to 35,000 ft. After kicking in the A/B he rolled the nose up and within 5 minutes we leveled at 35K.  After running through all the test flight checks and a few engine tests he said “Ready to go rabbit hunting?”  My response was, “You’re the driver”.  After he flipped the bird over and started down, I noticed that we/I missed one check, so he flipped over, went back to 35 and we did a stall check to insure that the gravity operated wing slats operated correctly.  After assuring him that we had finished the test portion of the flight, he said “Okay, hang on”.

We dropped down to a few feet above the earth almost as fast as we went up.  Maj. Dodd pointed the nose at Ladrone Peak southwest of Belen and started to head there at about 350-400 knots.  As the Peak kept getting bigger and filled the windscreen, I figured he wanted to show me how close to the peak he could fly.  There is nothing that a pilot enjoys more than making the Crew Chief get sick in his own bird—no way!  We pulled up through this canyon and I swear I could see rocks off each wingtip, then he said let’s go find some sheepherders. So we flew over the Rio Puerco and scared a couple of rabbits and sheepherders.  My biggest thrill was as we were flying very low over this mesa, and I could see the shadow of the plane getting bigger and bigger, we crossed over the edge of the mesa and our shadow just dropped 500 ft.  The sensation was all in my mind.

A great few years maintaining a great Warbird and enjoying some time in the sky.  I may tell a couple of stories that happened in our air-to-air gunnery practice, with my bird as the tow-ship and target.

Mach Buster's Club

F-104

Hard Landing

---30---

For Mil's

Wylie Dougherty, Class of '53

6-10-14

THE MIRACLE OF THE BERRIES

I CAME TO PRAISE YOUR BERRY,
      NOT TO SEIZE IT!
***********************************

There's an old phrase from Shakespeare's
"Julius Caesar" which goes something like:
"I came to bury Caesar, not to praise him."

Now in the sixties, in a far-fetched, zany
little sit-com SKIT, (but nonetheless one 
which captured me), a Roman soldier in his
"kilts" and with his short sword and all, is 
rapping on the door of a "berry-seller," and 
saying: "I'VE COME TO  PRAISE YOUR 
BERRIES, NOT TO SEIZE THEM!"

In these brief paragraphs, I want to do just 
that: "PRAISE OUR BERRIES." I know, it's
not something you'd generally think about---
as is true with thousands of other everyday 
things on this Earth that the Creator has 
provided to make our lives better.

(Berries. How could we have: berry cobblers, 
berry pies, jellies, jams, preserves, pancake
syrups, trail mix, and what all, without berries?!)

Berries. We are told that there are 5000 varieties.
Blackberries, blue, boysen, straw, cran, mul,
huckle, dew, logan, lingon, near, whorlle, bil,
bar, goose, elder, goose, hack, sheep, 
wolf, cloud, olaly, tim, nanny, currant, crow,
salmon, wine, sea grape, Oregon grape, May
apple, and on and on.....

It is obvious that berries are miracles from God!
Atheists, take note. Five thousand berries with
five thousand different looks, shapes, flavors---
didn't just happen. A considerable amount of
thought went into these.

Who would have thought to invent a berry to 
enhance turkey dinners at Thanksgiving...
like the cranberry?

About 1960 in the USA, an unusual innovation
appeared! It was the  "pancake house!" Before
that time, one could go into a cafe or restaurant
and order a "stack," and get three big pancakes
and an imitation maple syrup of some kind, with
little variation.

Then, with the advent of the "pancake house,"
came a miracle. Suddenly you could buy lite,
fluffy buttermilk pancakes...and the BIGGIE:
with al kinds of berry syrups---(tho' not five
thousand)---favorites were strawberry, blackberry,
boysenberry, blueberry, raspberry...and a few fruits
joined the act: peach, plum, apricot and others.

My mother made the best cobblers in the world,
literally. If she had gone national and started
cobbler restaurants, she could have been rich.
She made a number of different berry cobblers.
Her most famous one, I think, was blackberry.

Her cobblers were not dry---they were soupy.
Somehow the berry fillings were syrupy, floating 
with butter, filled with little dumpling chunks; and 
the crust --(her famous, mysterious biscuit dough 
recipe) on top, was thick dumpling-like chunks,
cooked to a golden, buttery brown!

What if there had been no berries on the earth?

And what about those old-fashioned breakfasts
that we experienced at Grandma's or saw pictures
of--or read about in a dozen magazines--where
breakfasts were being prepared with hot biscuits
(in the old wood stove) with all kinds of berry jellies, 
jams, and preserves...grown right there on the
farm. And dast we mention real home-churned 
butter!

Berries! YES! Another one of those wonderful 
gifts from the Creator that maybe we often
overlook.

In writing about this delicious subject, and noting 
that it is still not too late for a brunch, I'm going 
to leave you now to fix your own berry recipe---
I'm headed down to I-HOPS, over there on 
Menaul. I'm going to order two eggs, over easy;
lots of bacon, a big buttermilk pecan waffle, cut 
it into fourths, and have four different berry syrups:
strawberry, raspberry, boysenberry, and blackberry!

Aren't berries wonderful!

********30*******
BY MIL
6/09/14







Sent from my iPad

THE MISSING BELL AND THE HOLE IN THE ESTUFA

The Missing Bell and the Hole in the Estufa
by Richard Drake, guest writer

In college young men were always doing crazy and fun things. One of the men, in particular, comes to mind. Charles "Swede" Carlson was a friend of Robert Stebbins and mine. He was my team mate, fraternity brother, work mate, fellow Marine  and personal friend for sixty years. Swede was known for his ready mischievous smile.  When you met him he became your friend. He passed away this past January in Las Cruces, New Mexico. I wrote two mini stories after I learned of his passing and recently pulled them  out of my files. I have merged the two into this story..  

During one spring, a geology student was doing field work in the wilds of Northern New Mexico. He came back to school with a tale of a bell he had discovered in the steeple of an old decaying church.  The building had been abandoned and was nearing collapse.  After his fraternity brothers  heard the story, it was soon discussed that their frat house had a place for a bell but they had never been able to afford the purchase of one.  It would be fitting if the bell could be moved to a proper place on their house. 

An excursion was soon organized. One a Saturday morning several vehicles were filled with the young men, plenty of sandwiches and, of course, lots of iced Coors beer. Off they went on an adventure.

The church was found and the bell was retrieved, which was no easy task, considering the condition of the building.  After loading the bell in the back of a pickup and several minutes of quenching their thirsts, they noticed a cowboy on horseback approaching.  The man told them that they were trespassing and had no business being on the property.  Everyone quickly left with the bell still secure in the back of the truck.

Halfway  back to Albuquerque they ran into a State Police roadblock.  Yes, they were looking for the group. The police made everyone wait and after about an hour in the hot sun, two pickups loaded with Indians drove up.  It turned out that the church was on an Indian Reservation.  The Police knew several of the young men since they played football for the Lobos.  They were not worried about getting into trouble but did hide the beer.

To make a long story short a "Pow Wow" was held in the middle of the state highway. Swede was appointed as the leader and he sat with crossed legs facing one of the older Indians. A bottle of bourbon was found in the one of the boys cars and the two took turns sipping from the bottle. They just sat and talked and talked. It was reminiscent  of a scene from a John Wayne movie. One of the college young men, who was observing the negotiations, had the presence of mind to offer a cold beer to each of the Indians standing in a semicircle around the two negotiators.  After the second  round of beer everyone started to become friends.  The police were having a difficult time keeping straight faces while listening to the two negotiators.

The Indians did not want the bell but did not like people coming on their land and taking things without permission.  At long last an agreement was reached. For five dollars and the rest of the bottle the fraternity had a bell for their house.

The second story began after one holiday when the bell was stolen from the fraternity house. The fraternity brothers formed an investigation team.  Everyone was asked to have their girlfriends ask their friends if they knew anything.  It was hoped that one of the culprits would brag to his girlfriend. As predicted they soon they had a good idea of who was guilty. 

The mysterious Estufa sitting on the western edge of campus was often mentioned.  Those who attended the University and long term residents of Albuquerque know the Estufa.  It is located on University Boulevard at the intersection of what was then Grand Avenue, now Martin Luther King Boulevard. It was constructed in the 1906 - 1908 period  and it was modeled after a Kiva of the Santa Domingo Pueblo Indians.  It was the first building of the Pueblo style which became UNM's signature architectural style.  Initially,  it was used by a local service fraternity, but later the Kappa Phi Alpha fraternity  took charge of the building as a meeting place. For years it was the topic of  conversations on campus. No one knew what went on in the secret meetings.  Anything secret was the subject of gossip.

It was rumored that no female has ever been allowed inside. There were always hints of some secret  items it held. One Friday night a group of students gathered at Okie Joes on Central Boulevard just off campus to cast off the tensions of another week of classes. Swede, being the leader that he was,  proposed a plan to get inside the Estufa to take a look. 

The building had a sturdy lock on the door so the group made a small hole in one end of the building in order to crawl inside. It was a chore, since the adobe walls were about 18 inches thick. What they found was just about everything that had been reported missing around campus for a couple of decades, including the lost bell. Everything was loaded into cars and taken to the Phi Delta Theta fraternity house.

After securing all of the items, the group returned to Okie Joes for a victory celebration where it was always 10 cent beer night. The group slowly broke up until only Swede was left.  He knew that he should not drive since he had exceeded his limit so he started walking back to his fraternity house.  The Estufa was on his route and, as he passed, he decided to take one last look to see if any evidence had been left behind.  

After a quick check, and as  he was making his exit he was met by a group of angry Kappa Phi's.  They would not let him out and they called the police. Soon the Campus Police arrived.  Swede  insisted that he had just been walking back to the fraternity house when he saw the hole and was curious for a look. The KPA's wanted Swede charged with larceny but they would not tell the police what was taken . No charges could be filed so a stalemate was declared.  

On Monday morning Dean Mathany took charge and questioned everyone.  Finally he threatened Swede with expulsion if he did not tell the true story. He was only a couple of months form graduation. When threatened with this drastic action, in his words, he "sang like a canary". When all of the contraband had been brought to the Dean's office, he lined the members of both fraternities along the walls of his office.  There were so many they spilled out into the hallway.  A stern lecture was delivered and discipline was handed out to both fraternities.  I don't recall what the discipline action.

The story grew as it made its way around campus and soon Swede was considered a hero.  The next year, following his graduation,  glass jars started showing up on counters all over campus and at each of the off campus watering places.  Each had a small sign was with the brief message "Bring the Swede back for Fiesta".  The jars were soon filled to capacity.  The next spring Swede was flown, first class,  back to Albuquerque for a celebration.. Even the Kappa Phi's played a big role in his return.

Those of us who were at the University at that time will always remember the man who solved the mystery of the Estufa. 

---30---
For Mil's
by Richard Drake, CHS, '53
June 10, 2014