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Monthly Archives: March 2014

A FICTIONAL LETTER FROM A DOUGHBOY (printed as a newspaper column)

17 Monday Mar 2014

Posted by johnseekamp in Writings

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Creative Writing, Fiction, Letters Home

________________________________________________

 __________THE MIDVILLE JUNCTION_GAZETTE___________

                              September      29th,      1918                               

Letter from

        “One of Our Boys”

               _________

Tommy Carlisle Relays His

     Tale from The Front

In a letter sent to our esteemed

postmaster Bill Carmoody, and ad-

dressing all members of this town,

Tommy Carlisle writes: “Greetings

to all of you unfortunate devils back

home in the states. I don’t mean to

rub it in but boy do we fellas over

here have it made. The accom-

modations everywhere here along

the western front are top notch.

Why, everyday we get to stroll along

the narrow streets and boardwalks,

through the mounded dunes of sand

just bustling with activity. Yes sir,

this part of France is sure plenty

exciting since we’ve been here. Of

course the German tourists do get

a little rowdy now and again, some

of ’em I guess you could say get

completely out of hand though.

But the rest of the boys and I, we

help out the Frenchys when it comes

time to putting those rowdies back in

their place. And of course the Brits

and Canadians are sure there to

lend a hand. Why they were takin’

care of business over yonder here

long before we doughboys showed up

with our ugly mugs. But you know,

maybe these Jerrys aren’t all bad—-

why they just keep sending us

presents. Sure, why they practically

drop ’em right in our laps, so

naturally we sorta feel obligated to

return the favor by droppin’ nice

little gifts as close to their laps

as we can!

I do have just a few complaints

though——MUD! MUD! MUD! You

see, when it rains over here, just

like back home, all the roads be-

come muddy. And the fields too.

It seems to be just about everyplace

we have to walk, sit, and sleep!

You can get tired of it real quick.

Why even the mud is tired of itself!

But I will say that once we made it

to the front, at least there’s the wood

planks and wood encased rooms to

keep some of us at least, somewhat

dry. But boy that trek from Calais to

here was brutal. It was 90% walkin’,

85% of which was walkin’ in the mud,

and 10% fightin’, 75% of which was

fightin’ laying on our bellies in the Mud!

Mud, mud, and more MUD! Oh—and

of course there’s always the blisters

on our feet. BIG BLISTERS! Blisters

the size of the circle you make when

you flash someone the O.K. sign with

your hand. And brother I won’t ever

wish blisters like these on anybody.

Well——except maybe the rowdiest

of the Jerrys. And speakin’ of the

Jerrys, here comes a whiz bang.

DUCK! Whew—that was a close

one. It landed about 150 feet from

where I’m sittin’. Knocked our cap-

tain right off his feet. He’s all right

thank heavens, and so are the rest

of us. Ah—–life on the FRONT! And

so getting back to my description of

the front, and life here, of course I

was making light of the harsh reali-

ties of this conflict. The fact is it’s

pretty tough and also pretty darn

(putting it politely) gruesome at

times as well. Those little gifts we

get from time to time are of course

artillery shells and boy I wasn’t kid-

ding when I said they practically

drop them in our laps. That whiz

bang we just got was one of ’em!

And the narrow streets and board-

walks through the dunes are of

course the trenches where we are

now in this no man’s land of dirt and

wire and wooden planks—-and MUD!

Mud, blisters, shellings, and

more mud. We all try to make the

best of this nasty, nasty business.

All of us do. We do a lot of praying,

believe you me. And God willing

everyone of us fightin’ boys will

make it back to our homes, safe

and sound.

In the meantime, for all of you

back there at home may the best

of luck be your fortune!

See all of you soon,

Yours truly,

Pvt. Tommy Carlisle.

p.s.  And the rest of the boys

pass on their regards as well!”

        by John Patrick Seekamp,

2014

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THE PERSISTENT INVENTOR

14 Friday Mar 2014

Posted by johnseekamp in Humor, Writings

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Creative Writing, Fiction, Humor, Nonsense

The Scientific Log Of Phillibert P. Phiffleflute the third

 

  Entry for Monday, July 7th, 1884———Day 1:

Prepared laboratory for experiment.

Mixed 7 granules of magnesium dioxide with 4 granules of potassium sulfate———-Nothing.

Disposed of chemicals, cleaned equipment, returned home.

 

  Entry for Tuesday, July 8th, 1884———Day 2:

Prepared laboratory for experiment.

Mixed 9 granules of manganese chloride with 6 granules of sodium nitrate———-Nothing.

Disposed of chemicals, cleaned equipment, returned home.

 

  Entry for Wednesday, July 9th, 1884———Day 3:

Prepared laboratory for experiment.

Mixed 5 granules of carbon silicate with 2 granules of sulfur chlorite———Nothing.

Disposed of chemicals, cleaned equipment, returned home.

 

  Entry for Thursday, July 10th, 1884———Day 4:

Prepared laboratory for experiment.

Mixed 1 granule of ammonium hydrate with 9 granules of hydrogen ammoniate———–Nothing.

Disposed of chemicals, cleaned equipment, returned home.

 

  Entry for Friday, July 11th, 1884———Day 5:

Prepared laboratory for experiment.

Mixed 3 granules of aluminum silicate with 10 granules of silver hydroselenide———-Nothing.

Disposed of chemicals, cleaned equipment, returned home.

 

  Entry for Saturday, July 12th, 1884———Day 6:

Felt frustrated. needed to relax. Mixed 1 teaspoon chamomile tea (in ball) with 1 cup hydrogen monoxide heated to 100 degrees Celsius , left it to steep———Ah, felt better.

Prepared laboratory for experiment.

Mixed 3 granules of ferric acetate with 2 granules of titanium dioxide———Nothing!

Became frustrated again, needed to relax, thought of better idea——–mixed 1 oz. of French brandy with  1 cup of hydrogen monoxide heated to 100 degrees Celsius———felt even better!

Mixed 12 granules of  sodium nitrate with 11 granules of sodium nitrate——–Nothing. Ahgggg!

Frustration!

Mixed 2 parts French brandy with 2 cubes hydrogen monoxide cooled to 0 degrees Celsius, felt okay——-then continued.

Mixed 25 different granules of some sort with 32 granules of ammonium whatever—–uhhhh! A puff!

All this work is  making me thirsty——-mixed 3 parts French brandy in a glass with a teaspoon of hydrogen monoxide, not heated at all——-back to work.

Mixed 56 parts ammonium something with—-ah—–whatever that fluffy stuff was—–ah, let’s see, oh yes—-43 parts of it anyway———Bang! Whoa! That was certainly loud! Must celebrate!

Mixed 3 parts Frenchy with—–with—-3 parts Frenchy and drank it all up. There! Now where was I? Oh–oh, I remember now. I was trying to make something. Okay. Okay.

I mixed up several—several handfuls of some sort with several handfuls of some sort and then——-where am I——why is everything so dreadfully white———-And say—-why do all the folks around here look like they’re floating——say—–now I remember. I DID IT!——-I ACTUALLY MADE SOMETHING THAT WORKED. JUMPING JOHOSAPHATS! Like my good ol’ grandpappy used to say, ‘Be persistent. Never give up. If you quit you’re finished!’ There—–I persisted. I didn’t give up. BUT BOY AM I FINISHED!!!!

____________________________________by John Patrick Seekamp,      2014

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A FICTIONAL NEWS STORY FROM THE COLD WAR

09 Sunday Mar 2014

Posted by johnseekamp in East Germany, Fiction, Short Story, Writings

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Cold War Intrigue, Creative Writing, Fiction

                                                                                                                         

   EXTRA                                                                       NEW        YORK                                                   LATE CITY EDITION   

                                                                    METROPOLITAN               DISPATCH                                                                 

                                                          WEDNESDAY,           SEPTEMBER   17,          1958                                                            

                           

                            East  German  Defects  In  Holland 

                            Tunnel; Later Visits Mayor Wagner

                            State Department To Decide Fate

                                       

                                         By Hank Dulgarian

                       From the Metropolitan Dispatch Bureau

   NEW YORK, Sept. 17—–Gunthar  Rheinhardt, 33, of  Sangerhausen,

East Germany, here in the United States as part of a goodwill exchange

between  the two nations, declared his  intention  to defect  to the  West

yesterday  morning as  traffic  jammed in  the Holland Tunnel, the result

of a minor vehicular  accident. The international  incident  occurred  four

vehicals behind  the traffic accident at approximately 10:00a.m. Eastern

standard time near the halfway point between New York State and New

Jersey under the Hudson River.

Mr. Rheinhardt, a pianist, along with two unnamed East German musi-

cians, an unnamed East German security officer, and their host, Bernard

Bellinger, interim Executive Assistant to New York City mayor Robert F.

Wagner, Jr., were passengers in a private limousine traveling westward,

from Manhattan to Newark, to attend the opening of the ‘Berlin Club’, a

cultural exchange center, where Mr. Rheinhardt and his fellow musicians

were to perform; conversely, a trio of American musicians, representing

the U.S. in the program, were sent to Leipzig, East Germany to complete

the adversaries’ détente.

As the car the five men were traveling in braked for the accident, Mr.

Rheinhardt stated in English, “I want to defect. I want asylum.” Then, as

the vehicle came to a stop, Mr. Rheinhardt opened the back door nearest

him and stepped out, standing against the tunnel wall, arms folded. At that

moment the East German security officer stepped out and attempted to

wrestle Mr. Rheinhardt back into the limousine, but was intervened by Mr.

Bellinger who, with assistance from the limousine driver, reminded the East

German security officer that the situation was then a matter of international

concern, to be handled by the U.S. State Department.

As traffic resumed, Mr. Bellinger reassured Mr. Rheinhardt that he was,

“now in American hands until the matter could be addressed officially, and

according to protocol.” Then all four men returned to the limousine, where

upon it continued on to daylight on the New Jersey side, and then turned

around heading back into Manhatten, directly to City Hall. Mr. Bellinger

then escorted Mr. Rheinhardt to the mayor’s office, while the limousine de-

livered the East German security officer, and the two other East German

musicians, to the Soviet Mission to the United Nations, located on the

Upper East Side.

Mr. Rheinhardt was received by the mayor and his staff with open arms,

and was treated in accordance with international law, until the State De-

partment could take over the case. According to Mr. Bellinger, Mr. Rhein-

hardt seemed satisfied with his choice to defect, and was observed as

being relaxed, and relieved as he answered questions. Mr. Bellinger also

noted that Mr. Rheinhardt was overjoyed with the reception,  thanking

everyone there repeatedly.

It is not as of yet known by this reporter how well the East German

security officer or the two other East German musicians were received

and treated by the Soviets upon their return to communist control.

Later when asked why he defected, Mr. Rheinhardt told a senior State

Department official, “I want to play jazz music the way it was meant to

be played—the American way.”

                                                     by John Patrick Seekamp,     2012

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AS THE NIGHTINGALE SANG

06 Thursday Mar 2014

Posted by johnseekamp in Poems, Writings

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Creative Writing, Poems, Thoughts

There were cats in the kitchen of the spinsters Worrell,

       There were frogs in the bucket of Deacon Sudbury’s well,

There by the noon bell in the sun at its high,

       Was a purring, and a croaking, and the nightingale’s cry,

Where the thorn plums, and the thistle downs, and the touch-me-nots grew,

        There in the thicket did the nightingale spew.

                                                                by John Patrick Seekamp, 2014

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