January 29, 2009
Project on Hold
I have decided to suspend this family history project for the time being. When I started typing up the Etchings I was pretty gung-ho about the project. But Grandma's death really knocked the wind out of my sails. Yes, I expected to grieve, but no, I did not anticipate feeling so sad every time I picked up the red binder and tried to type up an essay. Sorry to disappoint. Hopefully I will come back to this with the passage of time. --Barb
January 10, 2009
July/August 1970
Mike is only four. You might say he is typical with a baseball cap and closely cropped hair. Sometimes he comes on too strong for the establishment. Kids have a way of saying it like it is...no camouflage or veneer.
This young man is one of the sizable entourage of youngsters who are in the niece and nephew category for Uncle Dave. Some call him Uncle Brigham since he is the oldest of the circle of the older generation curiosities. Daddy is a federal employee and mighty important. Mother is alright also. She does a little work on the side and cooks a pretty good meal.
But Daddy is the one. He may be a number on the government payroll or just one of 400,000 folks in the Washington arena. Then again, he is something special and Mike will tell you so if you ask him...or if you don't.
A recent copy of the Recreation Register came into the family circle. This was natural since the head of the house, in addition to running the agency to which he reports each morning, also belongs to a "recreation sumpin." I know because Mike told me.
So, the paper was passed around and scanned. There was talk of what the League is all about. Not very many seem to have the full picture and it was natural to turn to Uncle Dave as one who had lived with the situation for a couple of years. Of course he didn't know as much as Daddy but he might be able to tell us something. Four years old and bugging the dickens out of me! Oh boy!
In unity there is strength. I seemed to remember that from somewhere. This was a good place to begin and it could confuse and quiet a four-year old.
Wouldn't it be fine if all public servants were like Daddy and belonged to their own agency Recreation and Welfare Association, and these in turn all joined the League of Federal Recreation Associations? Now we would have 400,000 all working for the same thing and doing something about the many benefits which are waiting in the wings for such a group. Look at the purchasing power, the influence, the ability to bargain and the meaning such a unified voice could express. There is no limit if someone can just strike the right chord.
As if this were not enough to overwhelm bright-eyed Mike, there came urging to get down to cases, sort of a "what can this thing do for Daddy right now" type of explanation. As this one turned around to avoid being charred by the heat of the child's frankness, the nuts and bolts seemed to be dropping all around.
Yes, this has been a bad year for travel and the many who were expected to take advantage of good opportunities and discounts through the League have not been knocking down the doors. Money is tight and budgets are pinched. If the trip is over $300, it is just too much and there is not that kind of money running around loose.
The Buyer's Guides are out and there is another good reason to have Daddy in this thing called R&W. This is what we meant about the buying power of large numbers. And there were some tulip bulbs from Holland that Daddy could buy for a good price because he had his membership card.
There is no way to tell a four-year old about ways in which groups of Uncle Sam's people work with and find advantages in making or saving money through parking lots, cleaning facilities, barber shops, stationary and book stores, snack bars and cafeterias. He painting a guy into the corner with more questions about the time it takes to be a member of something. He thought he knew why some interest and dedicated service by a few hardy workers had breathed life into organizations that struggled to succeed and at time survive.
This matter of wanting to do for others and of feeling a responsibility caught the fancy of a young man. You don't have to be more than four to relate to that. So, the League does have responsibility and potential and we are going to hear more about it from Daddy. Right?...Right. came the answer.
Now it was time for a parent to respond and there was a picture at the top of the page for Mike to see. It should be obvious after this long talk about mice and men and recreation and things. The question came from a Mother who related well to the guy who has something to do with this League.
"Alright Mike, these are Executive Etchings and there is a man in the picture at the top of the page. Who is that man in the picture?" Mike loves Uncle Dave!
The answer was just what we all expected... "Don't worry, Mother, I know who that is alright... He's got problems! That's President Nixon."
David L. Brigham
Executive Director
This young man is one of the sizable entourage of youngsters who are in the niece and nephew category for Uncle Dave. Some call him Uncle Brigham since he is the oldest of the circle of the older generation curiosities. Daddy is a federal employee and mighty important. Mother is alright also. She does a little work on the side and cooks a pretty good meal.
But Daddy is the one. He may be a number on the government payroll or just one of 400,000 folks in the Washington arena. Then again, he is something special and Mike will tell you so if you ask him...or if you don't.
A recent copy of the Recreation Register came into the family circle. This was natural since the head of the house, in addition to running the agency to which he reports each morning, also belongs to a "recreation sumpin." I know because Mike told me.
So, the paper was passed around and scanned. There was talk of what the League is all about. Not very many seem to have the full picture and it was natural to turn to Uncle Dave as one who had lived with the situation for a couple of years. Of course he didn't know as much as Daddy but he might be able to tell us something. Four years old and bugging the dickens out of me! Oh boy!
In unity there is strength. I seemed to remember that from somewhere. This was a good place to begin and it could confuse and quiet a four-year old.
Wouldn't it be fine if all public servants were like Daddy and belonged to their own agency Recreation and Welfare Association, and these in turn all joined the League of Federal Recreation Associations? Now we would have 400,000 all working for the same thing and doing something about the many benefits which are waiting in the wings for such a group. Look at the purchasing power, the influence, the ability to bargain and the meaning such a unified voice could express. There is no limit if someone can just strike the right chord.
As if this were not enough to overwhelm bright-eyed Mike, there came urging to get down to cases, sort of a "what can this thing do for Daddy right now" type of explanation. As this one turned around to avoid being charred by the heat of the child's frankness, the nuts and bolts seemed to be dropping all around.
Yes, this has been a bad year for travel and the many who were expected to take advantage of good opportunities and discounts through the League have not been knocking down the doors. Money is tight and budgets are pinched. If the trip is over $300, it is just too much and there is not that kind of money running around loose.
The Buyer's Guides are out and there is another good reason to have Daddy in this thing called R&W. This is what we meant about the buying power of large numbers. And there were some tulip bulbs from Holland that Daddy could buy for a good price because he had his membership card.
There is no way to tell a four-year old about ways in which groups of Uncle Sam's people work with and find advantages in making or saving money through parking lots, cleaning facilities, barber shops, stationary and book stores, snack bars and cafeterias. He painting a guy into the corner with more questions about the time it takes to be a member of something. He thought he knew why some interest and dedicated service by a few hardy workers had breathed life into organizations that struggled to succeed and at time survive.
This matter of wanting to do for others and of feeling a responsibility caught the fancy of a young man. You don't have to be more than four to relate to that. So, the League does have responsibility and potential and we are going to hear more about it from Daddy. Right?...Right. came the answer.
Now it was time for a parent to respond and there was a picture at the top of the page for Mike to see. It should be obvious after this long talk about mice and men and recreation and things. The question came from a Mother who related well to the guy who has something to do with this League.
"Alright Mike, these are Executive Etchings and there is a man in the picture at the top of the page. Who is that man in the picture?" Mike loves Uncle Dave!
The answer was just what we all expected... "Don't worry, Mother, I know who that is alright... He's got problems! That's President Nixon."
David L. Brigham
Executive Director
January 6, 2009
June 1970
Crisfield is about as far as you can go without running out of land on Maryland's Eastern Shore. The purpose of the trip was to address some of the finest young Americans from the local high school classes who were being honored by Rotary Clubs. The riding partner wanted to talk about the League of Federal Recreation Associations in terms of both investment and insurance opportunities. He knew many had worked for the betterment of LFRA and had become somewhat discouraged and to a degree disillusioned.
My friend stopped at an antique shed to pick up some"depression glass." I saw a Martin House and thought it might look well and serve a purpose in my country vegetable garden. These birds live and work together in goodly numbers and close interdependence. They are not destructive and consume great quantities of insects, mosquitoes and bugs.
So, the Martin House found its new home at 2:00 A.M. and rested quietly in the yard. It had no inhabitants, no mobility and no reason for thinking it might in any remote way relate to this League business the two men had been talking about.
Then there came a fifteen foot hickory pole, a two by four and plywood platform, much lifting and a few nails. Now the house was up, overlooking the countryside and ready for tenants. It was early afternoon and there were two very much unresolved questions: Would the house stay on the pole if the wind blew? Would the Martins come?
By 4:00 P.M. there were two Martin scouts checking each of the 20 entrances and compartments. They heard the Bob White call in the pines below. The Robin sat peacefully on her nest with confidence each of the four blue eggs would be productive. A Cardinal sang from his bush where his mate was busy with her brood.
The Wren had hauled thousands of twigs into the winter feeder and could flutter wings and whistler like a flute with the pride of the mission accomplished.
The test was not to be long in coming. As the inspection of the Martin house continued and old sticks from another flock and generation were hauled away, there were flashes of lightening and the unmistakable rumble of the thunderstorm which had been predicted.
The duel of the jagged flashed was not an unfamiliar sight. Nor were the dark clouds. The Martins left the house and one wondered if they felt the insecurity and the uncertainty of quarters perched upon a pole.
The wind whispered through the pines. It spoke louder. Then came the rain, more wind and pellets of hail. The white pine grove rocked, the hail stones increased to the size of marbles and continued to beat down for twenty-five minutes. A large pine was twisted off some fifteen feet up. Another was broken in two and took a spruce with it.
The cherry in the garden was torn up. Gullies of water rushed by the house and the basement was filled to three and a half feet. The water couldn't run into the drain or under the door as fast as it was rolling down the steps form the backyard.
There were two more heavy cloudbursts and the garden was only a stripped down sea of mud where the strong and promising young plants had been. In the desolation and discouragement of it all there walked a man who had helped get it all planted, nourished, financed and on its way.
At this low point a Bob White called form the white pines. It was then I thought of the birds. The Martin House was still riding high, but would the Martins come back?
At the front of the picture window which the hail stones had pounded, the little feeder was standing the Wrens were safe. The singing told me so.
The news was not so good with the Cardinal. There was no longer a nest in the bush. The young were lost and the female was a distance away. The redbird sat on his limb and gave his throaty message of strength and assurance.
What about the Robin's nest in the pine. It was still intact after the coaster dip experience. But the eggs were gone and so were the parents. They must have given up! Then the first big surprise... One of the Robins flew up to her nest. She took the sting from her beak and began to weave it into the nest. There will be eggs next and then the brood. She still believes.
Back to the garden and the Martin house. It looks more black and white in the distance. Funny...only the roof was painted black. The rest was white...
The house is moving...or is it? There are no longer two Martins. There are now forty Martins! The Martins came back.
Nature has something to say to those who have worked so hard, attempted to accomplish in the face of real obstacles and given of themselves in the service for all federal workers. A little twister can provide a lot of inspiration. The Martin House is up and the Martins are building.
David L. Brigham
Executive Director
My friend stopped at an antique shed to pick up some"depression glass." I saw a Martin House and thought it might look well and serve a purpose in my country vegetable garden. These birds live and work together in goodly numbers and close interdependence. They are not destructive and consume great quantities of insects, mosquitoes and bugs.
So, the Martin House found its new home at 2:00 A.M. and rested quietly in the yard. It had no inhabitants, no mobility and no reason for thinking it might in any remote way relate to this League business the two men had been talking about.
Then there came a fifteen foot hickory pole, a two by four and plywood platform, much lifting and a few nails. Now the house was up, overlooking the countryside and ready for tenants. It was early afternoon and there were two very much unresolved questions: Would the house stay on the pole if the wind blew? Would the Martins come?
By 4:00 P.M. there were two Martin scouts checking each of the 20 entrances and compartments. They heard the Bob White call in the pines below. The Robin sat peacefully on her nest with confidence each of the four blue eggs would be productive. A Cardinal sang from his bush where his mate was busy with her brood.
The Wren had hauled thousands of twigs into the winter feeder and could flutter wings and whistler like a flute with the pride of the mission accomplished.
The test was not to be long in coming. As the inspection of the Martin house continued and old sticks from another flock and generation were hauled away, there were flashes of lightening and the unmistakable rumble of the thunderstorm which had been predicted.
The duel of the jagged flashed was not an unfamiliar sight. Nor were the dark clouds. The Martins left the house and one wondered if they felt the insecurity and the uncertainty of quarters perched upon a pole.
The wind whispered through the pines. It spoke louder. Then came the rain, more wind and pellets of hail. The white pine grove rocked, the hail stones increased to the size of marbles and continued to beat down for twenty-five minutes. A large pine was twisted off some fifteen feet up. Another was broken in two and took a spruce with it.
The cherry in the garden was torn up. Gullies of water rushed by the house and the basement was filled to three and a half feet. The water couldn't run into the drain or under the door as fast as it was rolling down the steps form the backyard.
There were two more heavy cloudbursts and the garden was only a stripped down sea of mud where the strong and promising young plants had been. In the desolation and discouragement of it all there walked a man who had helped get it all planted, nourished, financed and on its way.
At this low point a Bob White called form the white pines. It was then I thought of the birds. The Martin House was still riding high, but would the Martins come back?
At the front of the picture window which the hail stones had pounded, the little feeder was standing the Wrens were safe. The singing told me so.
The news was not so good with the Cardinal. There was no longer a nest in the bush. The young were lost and the female was a distance away. The redbird sat on his limb and gave his throaty message of strength and assurance.
What about the Robin's nest in the pine. It was still intact after the coaster dip experience. But the eggs were gone and so were the parents. They must have given up! Then the first big surprise... One of the Robins flew up to her nest. She took the sting from her beak and began to weave it into the nest. There will be eggs next and then the brood. She still believes.
Back to the garden and the Martin house. It looks more black and white in the distance. Funny...only the roof was painted black. The rest was white...
The house is moving...or is it? There are no longer two Martins. There are now forty Martins! The Martins came back.
Nature has something to say to those who have worked so hard, attempted to accomplish in the face of real obstacles and given of themselves in the service for all federal workers. A little twister can provide a lot of inspiration. The Martin House is up and the Martins are building.
David L. Brigham
Executive Director
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