3-11-2023 Hawthorne, NV

The time spent visiting the Hawthorne Military and Ordnance Museum was happy and gratifying.  Volunteers greeted us: 

Harold and Rob

Bob and Lindy wearing Dad's 
dress blues hat

Harold, Bob and Bob, three retired USAF Lt. Colonels in their 90s.  They were impressed with our creation and Dad’s hats and duds, especially his field jacket, one of which they did not have yet.  It was a little emotional for us to say, “Good bye,” to Dad’s memorabilia, but we are both grateful to know that it is all in good hands and safe keeping now and for as long as we can hope.  It will take some time for the folks to create the display because of a shoestring budget and lack of space and facility.  They display all uniforms in cases behind glass because, if you can fathom this, visitors actually steal medals and pins from the uniforms. 

Marine's uniform with a 
chest full of medals.

We hope Dad's case will look like this one.
We didn't give up his flag, though.

The case will have to be built by hand and all of this labor is strictly volunteer.  In locked cases, you can view many Purple Hearts, Medals of Honor, Medals of Freedom and other beautiful citations donated by folks from all over the land.  There are tanks, old jeeps, bombs, nukes, mines, bullets as tall as me (all deactivated), an experimental drone from the 60s that is as big as a helo and cannons.  One was the rifled section of a cannon barrel from a battleship that fired 16” shells.  It was just a section, of course, because this little 3-foot tall section weighs 6,000 lb.  The whole barrel weighs 187,000 lb.  Imagine a ship with 20 of these monsters on it!  Our friends spent a great deal of time with us, teaching and explaining.  What a wonderful experience. 

Hawthorne Military & Ordnance Museum

 

When we left, we stopped and did a little shopping and stopped for a pizza and beer, since we were a bit hungry and it’s cold enough to freeze the nuts off a plow up here.  We learned from the locals that US95 heading north from Hawthorne is closed due to snowmelt and a massive mudslide.  The 95 is the only way out of Hawthorne heading north and rows of semis, presumably loaded with precious cargo, sit stranded.  The 95 south is also the only way out of town (unless you are a bird).  It has been raining steadily in Hawthorne (el. 4,800’) and the mountains nearby are socked in and continue to turn blindingly white.  The locals say that this kind of rain in Hawthorne usually means snow and possible road closures in Tonopah (el. 6200’), our homeward-bound path. 

Nobody's going this way!

 

This morning, weather notwithstanding, we are packed up and headed south.  At this point, the roads are clear 15 miles north of Tonopah.  God willing and the Creek don’t rise, we may escape the Weather Gods’ wrath and make it back to the homestead this afternoon.  That’s all the story I have in my fingers for this time, t-loggers.  Love to all.

3-9-2023 Hawthorne, NV

This story may be worth telling.  In 2021, I went to a shoulder surgeon.  “Advanced, end-stage, bone-on-bone osteoarthritis,” he said.  My family is the poster group for osteoarthritis.  You are only allowed so many steroid shots and so over time, it became obvious that, if I wanted to continue living a fairly active life, I would need a shoulder replacement.  That surgery happened on January 31, 2023.  All went well until I got home from the hospital.  Still affected by anesthesia and now on a pain killer that made me loopy, I fainted, landed on my new prosthetic shoulder and broke my arm bone (“hairline fracture”) and the implant shifted.  The surgeon, concerned, put me back in my sling (“the beast”) and doomed me to 3 more weeks of home care and physical therapy with follow-up x-rays scheduled for March 17^th and possibly more time in the beast.  If the fracture creeps and the implant continues to shift, another surgery will be required.  If not and I am satisfied with my (now altered) range of motion, I’m off to the races and my only assignment will be to learn how to use the new equipment, which can take a few months.  So I live in Limbo for the moment, sitting around waiting to heal, bored, trying not to be depressed facing a possible second surgery, counting the minutes and days that pass by.  It’s like watching paint dry.  I hate to admit it but I spent a few tears over this debacle, wishing, as I have several times in my life, that I could turn the clock back for the chance to do it right.  Time wasted brooding and feeling sorry for myself.  I had to change my focus from my right arm to something else.

 

Enter Dad DeLaMare.  Dad was career military.  Like many youngsters, he quit college and enlisted in the Army after Pearl Harbor.  He served in WWII, then the Korean War and finally, Vietnam as a member of the 4^th armored and 24^th infantry divisions.  He was a hero and in my eyes, he stood much taller than his 6’4” frame.  Since his death 27 years ago, we have struggled with finding a proper place and way to display Dad’s uniforms and memorabilia.  We’ve been to a dozen different museums across the country but nothing struck us.  This dove-tailed right into my current need for a change of focus and to get out of Dodge.  Rob began digging through boxes of papers and files to assemble a chronology of Dad’s service records, dates, promotions and location of the many posts where the DeLaMare family was stationed.   He also got busy contacting the Hawthorne Military Museum 270 miles north of our home to see if they would be interested in our display donation.  They were enthusiastically positive and grateful.

 

Meanwhile, I tackled my portion of the project:  creating a collage of pictures of Dad in his various uniforms, from his enlistment as Private in 1943 to his retirement as Lt. Colonel in 1968.  With Rob’s list, I made up a Service Record.  Next, we headed to the dry cleaners with Dad’s military duds, then shopped for frames and easels.

 

And here we are in the present, packed and loaded with all our treasures.  Dad’s uniforms are hanging across the back area of the BFT.  We’re on our way to a long weekend in Hawthorne, NV to complete a job that was delayed for far too long.  A final tribute and salute.  Thanks for a life of selfless service, Dad.  We love you.