Scenes from Out West

Something about Change

I am such a fool thinking each day nothing has changed.

I look over photographs I had taken years ago. And this

is that mountain in Colorado I told you about. See, no-

thing different here in thousands of years.

Wait, as I recall there was a stone right here to the left.

I almost stumbled over it as I stepped aside to get a

better shot of the summit. It may have dislodged some-

time between now and then.

Could be it rolled down the slope in a rainstorm. I swear,

20-years ago, on this same day in May, it was right there.

No, I’m not crazy or mistaken. Let’s go back down and

see if we can find it.

Chris Hanch  10-30-15

Scenes from Greece...

The Only Difference

The only difference between your city and mine

Is that I know exactly where I am. The hustle-

bustle of people getting ready for work in the

Morning is pretty much the same most anywhere

In any city. The only difference between your city

And mine is that I know exactly where I am. Today

In most cities of any size, it’s pretty much the same—

Busses, cars and trucks running in the streets ma-

king pick-ups and deliveries, getting to wherever

They are going, coming from wherever they come,

Tall buildings, fast-food places and frantic paces,

All pretty much the same. Stop and go, to and fro

Little variation in the flow, all alike as I see it. You

Have coffee in your city to begin your morning, and

I have coffee in mine as well. Only difference be-

tween your city and mine would be the name. And

I know exactly where I am. There are only two cities

In my country this year and every year where the

World Series is played, and I happen to live in one

Of those. And so, the only difference between your

City and mine is that I know exactly where I am. In

My city it is raining this morning. It may be raining

In your city as well. Your city’s team may not be in

The World Series, but it could still be raining there.

Your team need not have won the Pennant in its

League for the rain to fall. The only difference then

Between your city and mine is that the World Series

Begins here in my city this evening, provided the rain

Lets up. And too, I know exactly where I am. I guess

That pretty much explains the difference between your

City and mine, the only difference I can see between

You and me. And, you gotta love the hometown team,

Provided you know exactly where you are, and perhaps

Living in that other city playing in the World Series this year.

Chris Hanch  10-27-15

Something about Sunday

It is Sunday, a day of reflection and introspection.

I am not sure why. I suppose because it is the be-

ginning of a new week. Or is it because another

week in a lifetime has passed?

It appears as if Venus and Jupiter are side by side

in pre-dawn the sky, Venus appearing the larger

of the two even though it is not, a matter of per-

ceptive deception.

I look over photographs I had taken in Greece some

twenty-eight years ago. I am sure that the Acropolis

stands pretty much the same, even though over two

thousand years have since gone by since it was built.

I consider the cells in my body which keep me alive.

They are not the same cells of which I was composed

so many years ago. Since then, regenerated cells have

replaced the older cells which have given in to time.

You would think, given that cycle in life, one would grow

younger and younger each year. But alas, that is not the

case. I now have a new set of cells which have only served

to age me to this deteriorating state I find myself today.

And some of these newbie cells now grow hair from my

nose and ears, a phenomena which I did not experience

in my earlier years. Ancient ruins such as the Acropolis

don’t have to concern themselves with such things.

And I’m sure should Jupiter consider how much smaller

than Venus it appears to me from my perspective here

on Earth, it might tell me to take another look from Sa-

turn’s vantage point next time.

And you, dear reader, may be asking what on Earth

possessed me to even consider drivel such as this in

the first place. Well, it is Sunday, a day of reflection

and introspection after all.

And something in my aging molecular, cellular makeup

gave me pause. How else to explain this crazy life thing

anyway? And why in hell on Sunday, what’s up with that?

Chris Hanch  10-25-15    

Scenes and faces from here and there

What Grandfather Didn't Say

There is a faint scene from childhood which

Visits me this morning. I see my grandfather

Coming up the stairs. My brothers and I are

Spending the day with him because, I believe,

Our mother was in the hospital and my father

Had to go to work. I’m making up reasons as

I go along, because I am not really sure why

We were with him. I do know that grandfather

Rarely spoke to us. He was a stoic and silent

Man for the most part, and he died that way

When my brothers and I were very young.

Usually when we visited him, he would give

Us each a quarter and then send us off to a

Neighborhood store to buy ourselves some

Candy. About that I am sure. As he came up

The stairs, I do remember him looking up at

Us and faintly smiling, but I can’t seem to re-

member any words. I do know that words can

Sometimes leave a lasting impression on a per-

son, especially when you’re young. But should

You have nothing with which to continue the

Story, you tend to fabricate what comes next.

Funny, I don’t even recall the candy my brothers

And I may have bought that day. I do know for a

Fact, however, that in the 1950s a quarter would

Have gotten a lot. I figure, had grandfather said

Something memorable to us back then, this story

I am relaying to you today would have a far differ-

ent ending. Grandfather never raised his voice to

Us. I suppose we figured if we didn't behave, he

Wouldn't give us a quarter. Then again, we may

Have been frightened at what he really may have

Had to say.

Chris Hanch  10-20-15

The Stopping of Time

I’ve stopped the cornrows from tasseling in the field.

I gave the child playful youth way beyond her years.

The old man sits where he has been since I met him;

not even death can reach him where he is.

Flowers are in bloom not for days or weeks but for

decades. The clouds haven’t moved an inch in the

sky, and it has been daylight all year round. Nothing,

neither wind nor rain has dared disturb the ground.

And the tree has hung onto its last leaf permanently.

Lovers hold their embrace, parting in such a state is

virtually impossible. It is consistency without a break.

How was that airplane suspended in mid-flight?

Is this some sort of hocus-pocus, black magic performed?

I see you when I choose, and without the batting of an eye.

I hold these fading photographs I have taken (a frozen his-

tory of life) in these aging hands of mine.

Chris Hanch  10-16-15

Crazy Strange

Crazy strange when you think about it,

None of this, that which you see, taste,

Smell and feel, not one atom of any of

This would be possible, would be here,

There or anywhere, not even the thoughts

Which I type into words on this computer

Resting in my lap, not the dog barking next

Door, nor the child crying for mama on the

Other side of the world, not all the bran-

ches and leaves of every single tree on

The planet, not Jupiter or Venus or Mars,

Not ever star in every galaxy, not a single

Glance or sigh between you and me would

Even be a possibility without the matter

Sent to us on the cosmic waves of an explo-

ded super nova. Think of it, a nonexistent

You would not be driving a car which had not

Been made to a place of work that never open-

ed for lack of a door because there was not a

Single person who was ever born or had a com-

bination or even a key which never came to

Be. And we look up and believe that the stars

Are so very far away.

Chris Hanch  10-15-15

The 3-2 Pitch

He hopes to get you this time with his

fastball. Last pitch was a slow curve.

Caught you off guard, didn’t he, and

sent the count to 3 and 2?

You need to guard the plate knowing you

can foul off a few bad pitches, yet odds

are he will get a strike out in the end. But

the fastball.

You’ve faced this guy before; you have

watched his approach to batters on dozens

of replays. The fastball, low and away, right

where you like it.

So, halfway into his wind-up with no one on

base, you draw back and begin your swing.

98-miles per hour they said up in the booth,

and you nailed it on the sweet-spot of the bat.

And with all your power and a smooth lifting

swing you sent that ball 430-feet, a screaming

line drive over the center field wall. And

the crowd goes crazy.

This is why you make the big bucks, and I

am stuck out here in the cheap seats, hav-

ing spilled my popcorn and coke, watching

you strut your stuff as you round the bases

and head for home, as the guy next to me
raises high the ball he caught on the fly.

Chris Hanch  10-15-15

Scenes from here and there...

How on Earth?

Take a few minutes to think about this:

Before dawn you step outside to see Mercury

On the horizon lighted by the approaching sun.

Overhead, Venus and Jupiter shine brightly

Above in the heavens, all worlds millions upon

Millions of miles from Earth. Now consider

Nearly fifteen billion years earlier, the Big Bang

Of creation if you will. And later, the billions

Upon billions of super novae explosions, a uni-

verse expanding, the galactic clusters formed

From gathering accreted swirls of cosmic dust.

It took almost 10-billion years for the Earth to

Find its rightful place in a newly formed solar

System of the Milky Way, just one galaxy among

Billions and billions known swirling in the cosmos

Today. Consider the heating and the cooling, the

Bombardment of our planet by asteroids and com-

ets. Consider the collisions of planetesimals bat-

tling it out for orbital supremacy circling the sun.

(Now things are really, really getting serious.) I

Could go on and on with this, so let’s jump ahead

And get closer to the point. Once the Earth was

Capable of supporting life as we know it, millions

Upon millions of years ago, it wasn’t until some

Two-hundred thousand years past that we, mo-

dern man evolved from the primordial soup. How

Many volcanic eruptions, plant and animals decay-

ing, wind-blown dust storms, torrential rains,

Puddles of mud created and evaporated did it take,

How many millennia of seasons before just the right

mixture of all the elements ever separated and coa-

lesced, how many atoms split and rearranged through-

out this vast expanse of universal time and space

Did it take to bring your conscious being and mine

To light, to place me here and now, writing this very

Piece, and you somewhere out there in your very

Own place and time reading these very lines? It’s all

Either a grand cosmic joke or a damn bloody miracle.

Think of it, and what we’ve been through just to get

Here, you and I. Look up at the sky and wonder, how

On Earth…?  

Chris Hanch  10-13-15

Relinquishing Some Controls

Sure, there are dangers; we all have our fears. Many

spend their days avoiding that which is unfamiliar,

that which is perceived as harmful. Long ago, you

learned to look both ways before crossing the street.

You have dressed appropriately for the weather, mustn’t

catch a chill or freeze. The dog barks a warning; you know

from past experience that when the neighbor leaves, incon-

siderately he slams the goddam door.

You are careful not to answer the phone after midnight,

fearful that only bad news travels at such an unholy hour.

You have made it through another day without incident,

and you pray that tomorrow will hold the same.

It’s not that everything will always go your way, but you

do wish the neighbor would have the common courtesy

to close his door quietly when he leaves. Your dog barks

because instinctively she senses fear.

You are relieved, however, that she is neither trained nor

is she capable of answering the phone after midnight, or

any time before. You have had all the adventures you could

take when you were younger.

And now that you’re old, you must learn to ease up a bit

and relinquish some controls. It is the little things which

matter to you now. You consider yourself truly blessed

should your bowels remain faithful yet another day.

Chris Hanch  10-10-15   

Ah, Those Good Old K.C. Days!

1972 and it was my first day at work for the Kansas City Star. No,

I would never be another cub reporter like Ernest Hemmingway.

But as I sat in my car before making my grand entrance, Roger

Miller sang on the radio, Kansas City star that’s what I are. Surely,

that must be some kind of revelatory omen for me, I thought.

I certainly did not qualify as a journalist of any kind, but I had

apparently done well enough on my previous interview with

Dean Lanning and Dick Sees to sell display advertising. I was

reminded of a Wizard of Id cartoon I had seen in the Sunday

paper—One medieval gent asked another more shabby-looking

fellow, “What are your qualifications for a job?” (Both were

standing in front of a barn or stable.) The unkempt fellow re-

sponded: “I worked in advertising sales.” The proprietor hand-

ed him a shovel and said, “You’re hired.” Granted advertising

may be in some ways be considered on a par with poop-scoop-

ing or even shady used car sales, but I did get to wear a sport

coat and tie, and it did pay the bills.

I was assigned to the Eastern Zone advertising section of the paper

Which published weekly in the Thursday edition of the paper. My

territory covered all of Jackson County. I became very familiar with

Kansas City, Independence, Raytown, Grandview and Lee’s Summit.

And as fate would have it, my client base primarily consisted of area

car dealerships which was akin to me selling ice cubes to Eskimos.

Most auto dealerships, though, preferred radio and television adver-

tising where they could show off their more tacky, self-aggrandizing

approach to advertising.

Oh, there were the mom and pop retail stores like Zeke’s Paint

and Wallpaper, McHenry’s Appliance, Noah’s Pets, and too, a

smattering of strip malls thrown in for good measure. But on

the whole, zone advertising was a hard sell to businesses who

had very little desire or budget for extravagances such as news-

paper display ads. All the big boys like Hallmark Cards, Stuart

Hall Stationary, Russell Stover Candies, Western Auto, Macy’s

and Commerce Banks were assigned to Corporate Sales. Over

in that department, they were more pick-up and delivery mi-

nions rather than true-blue hardcore salespeople.

You may be asking yourself what is this piece I have written all

about, anyway? Do I have a point to make, or is this just another

flagrant way of dropping  famous Kansas City names?  A little of

both, I suppose. Most everyone from our fair city likes to hear

those tried and true names from the past. I can say this, my ad-

vertising sales job for the Kansas City Star lasted all of six-months

before I threw in the towel. I believe Ernest Hemmingway stuck

out his cub-reporter job for about a year. At the time, newspapers

were all the rage for information dissemination. The heyday con-

tinued to some extent through my tenure in the 1970s. Today,

however, newspaper sales and home deliveries are pretty much

a thing of the past.

Roger Miller and Ernest Hemingway are dead; and I feel compelled to

relate to you that which Mark Twain once told a reporter, “And I’m not

feeling all that well myself.”

Chris Hanch  10-9-15

A Late 1960's Reflection of Kansas City

In late 1967, I was home from two and a half years with the

Army stationed in Germany. I moved back to Kansas City with

my new family, and in early 1968 I began work at Benson Man-

ufacturing. It was a cold and snowy winter as I recall. Perhaps

it only felt that way because I had to get up in the morning be-

fore dawn and make three bus connections to arrive at Benson

before my starting time of 7:30. I was mighty happy when spring

finally arrived. At least the sun was up for my commute, and I

didn’t have to trek though ice and snow, standing out in the bit-

ter and blustery Midwestern winter cold as I waited for busses.

On April 4^th  1968, my twenty-first birthday, Martin Luther King

was assassinated In Memphis. I remember watching the tragic

events unfold on TV that evening. Riots had erupted in some

thirty U.S. cities. Whole city block had been set ablaze; there

were lootings, shootings and arrests. I wondered what kind of

country I had come home to, I mean with the hippie and student

movements against the war in Vietnam, and now this—the mur-

der of our county’s leading civil rights advocate and riots in our

city streets? Our Nation was in flux, and to me it seemed as if

everything was coming apart at the seams.

Kansas City was not immediately affected by riots, but they

did eventually arrive. They ignited here on the day of Martin

Luther King’s funeral, April 9^th, when city officials refused to

close schools in respect of the fallen leader. And that’s when

all hell broke loose. Five people were killed, many more were

injured, and there were dozens of arrests. Oh, and many build-

ings and vehicles were broken into and set on fire. Lootings and

shootings were widespread especially along the Troost corridor,

the route I took by bus to get to my work.  In passing, I remem-

ber the shattered glass, the gutted and smoldering buildings, the

vacated streets and sidewalks of a war-zone.

I had just turned twenty-one years old; I had a wife and one-year

old child, and a three-year inactive status with the Army hanging

over my head. I was concerned that with all the goings-on here and

abroad, I would most certainly be recalled to active duty. For whom

or what would I be fighting? The future looked very uncertain to me.

And for many fighting on foreign and domestic shores, the times

were without a doubt uncertain and bleak. (I’m not sure if our Nation

has fully recovered yet.) There are always new issues which throw us

into perilous times. Are we up to the challenge to face them head-on?

We have to be, I suppose. After all, this is our city, our country, these

are our families, this is the place we call home.

Chris Hanch  10-8-15

Memories of Grafenwoer

I am not sure if I had previously passed this story along

before, but nonetheless, here it is again…

Many of you reading this will have had memories of your

time in the military, and for those of you, like me, who

were stationed in Germany (especially the tankers, the

artillery and support units), remembrances of time spent

at Grafenwoehr will remain fast throughout your lifetime.

As Headquarters Troop Clerk, I made the trek three times

during my tour of duty. (The Morning Report and other basic

clerical functions in accordance with military dictates still had

to be done.)

Three events I remember so well include the crash and burning

Of PFC Braswell’s deuce-and-a-half while in convoy from Bad

Hersfeld to Graf. Thank God no lives were lost in that mishap.

Next, there was the tragic death of PFC Wayne L. Terry who

was crushed between the rear duals and bed of his P.O.L tan-

ker while performing maintenance. Seems that he had the rear

end jacked up on a sloped rocky bed when it slipped. He was still

alive when they got him out, but he didn’t last for long. I myself

wasn’t there at the scene, but I’ll never forget the look of horror

and shock on the face of Bill Black, one of the medics who atten-

ded to Wayne in his last moments.

My third remembrance is much more light-hearted and favor-

able. After hours one evening, I went to the base E.M. Club to

wash away the dust, mud and grime of all my anxieties with

the other guys. (Nothing like several hefty glasses of good old

German brew to help smooth out the worries of the world.)

At the table next to ours there was a group of young Bundes-

wehr soldiers, who like us, were part of the NATO Alliance.

And too, like we Americans, they were merrily tanking up on

copious liters of beer. I really liked their unit patch, a black sil-

houetted lion on a background yellow field. I wanted that

patch something fierce, it was way too cool.

I struck up a conversation with one of the Germans and asked

him if he would trade his big, bad insignia for mine (I believe

we shouldered the 7^th Army patch at the time; I found out

that his was the 10^th German Panzer Division). I offered him

five dollars, and he cordially refused. I upped my price to ten

dollars; he smiled and said, nein. My German was advanced

enough to know that he was again declining.

After some due diligence on his part, he came back to me

with a counter offer: If I was to buy him and his buddies a

round of beer, he would consider that a sign of comradeship

between our two countries. And in an act of friendship, he

gave me his unit patch. I jumped at the opportunity which

cost me less that the five dollars I first offered. That night I

staggered back to my concrete billets a little tipsy with beer,

yet extremely delighted with my 10^th Panzer Division prize.

I thought about his willingness to give up his unit patch for

The benefit of his comrades in arms. Had they all been in

combat together, I am sure their bond together would be

as strong.  I felt that we American G.I.s would be proud to

do the same. Time and time again we have shown our de-

dication to our buddies in World War II, in Korea and in Viet-

nam. And today, we continue to mourn the loss of our bro-

thers and sisters whether in peacetime or in war. It took

that same heroic dedication from those who helped to

pull the trapped souls from Braswell’s burning vehicle.

And too, I remember Wane L. Terry, a friend and comrade,

lost in a tragic accident while serving his country.

A unit patch is more than an embroidered piece of material

with a kick-ass design. It is an imperishable sign of brother

and sisterhood. I learned an invaluable lesson that day at

Grafenwoehr; who of us will ever forget, or can put a price

on that?

Chris Hanch  10-7-15

Scenes from Here and There...

Picture Taking

Life is odd. But perhaps it’s just me. I was thinking

About all the photos I have taken over the past

forty-years. In the old camera and film days, I

would snap the shutter like there was no tomor-

row.

I‘d take pictures of people, all varieties and sizes,

places from rural roads to jammed and fuming city

streets, things from flowers in bloom to dumpsters

overflowing. I spared no expense back in the film

and processing days.

I’ve hunted for shots of gold and was willing to pay

the price. Nowadays, in the age of megapixels, I can

take all the shots I want and it cost me no more than

the initial expense of buying a digital camera, no film

or processing involved.

Now here’s the odd part, I take far fewer photos today

than I took back in the day. Age and restricted mobility

may have something to do with my lessened production,

but maybe I just figure I’ve already taken most of the

things I set out to take in the first place.

Damn shame anyway, the cost factor, I mean. Had I

saved on film and processing earlier on, I may have

bought a more expensive camera. And when I was

ready to give up the photography, I may have passed

the camera on to someone who would enjoy it.

I could tell them, take as many pictures as you like,

and while you still can. That’s one fine and expensive

camera I’m giving you there, and it won’t cost you a

single penny to use it. Take the time, go places while

you can, and take as many pictures as you like.

I suppose one always pays in life, one way or another.

Chris Hanch  10-6-15

Simply Air

Think about this, without air, that mixed concoction

Of nitrogen, oxygen and other breathable gasses,

There would be no sound transmitted to our ears in

Vibratory shock waves, no baby cries, dog barks, no

“Timber!” yelled for falling trees, no crisp rustling

Leaves raked by the autumn breeze, not even angry

Screams or the faintest whispers of I love you, not

The slightest ping of a pin-drop, nada, nothing, more

Silence than cat paws gliding across pillows of cotton.

Just imagine the deafening sound of absolute quiet,

Not even a door slamming shut, that sudden jolt com-

ing from the apartment down the hall. Not to men-

tion, that without the gaseous mixture which we have

come to know yet rarely appreciate, it would be most

Stiflingly impossible to gasp for that one last breath.

Chris Hanch 10-3-15

The Alarm

At first it seemed such a minor thing to me,

But then I came to see that she, my younger

Pup had a genuine fear. While pan frying a

Pork chop for dinner one evening, the fire

Alarm in the apartment was set off. Its ob-

noxiously loud sound frightened my small

One before I could get a chair to stand on

And dismantle the blaring beast which was

Attached to the ceiling. By that time I found

My terrified pooch hunkered down under the

Bed. I coaxed her out of hiding after the alarm

Had been silenced. Things seemed to eventually

Return back to normal until the following week

When I had the occasion to fry another chop for

My evening meal. As soon as she heard the sizzle

Of grease, and smelled the meat searing in the

Pan, my pup ran again for the safety of cover.

No ear-slitting alarm sounded this time, but

Still a fear by sensual association—the sounds

And smells of that one-time terrifying high-

pitched episode is now permanently embla-

zoned into her little mind, I am afraid. And it

Appears as if in the future, I will be eating a

Lot more cold, raw salads for dinner.

Chris Hanch  10-3-15

Signs

The are signs everywhere.

The leaves on trees are turning.

There is a certain chill in the air.

The sun rises later and sets sooner;

Days are growing shorter.

Some, you may notice, have

Resurrected their sweaters and

And have donned long sleeved

Apparel. On TV, heating and cooling

Companies are urging folks to have

Their furnaces checked before

The bitter weather sets in.

I saw my first Halloween commercial

The other day: Trick or treat!

Kids love getting those

Chocolate-covered peanut

Butter cups we are told.

I took my dogs out to do their

Business early this morning

Before sunrise, and there

Were definite signs the seasons

Are changing. There was a man

Wearing a windbreaker,

Curled up and sound asleep

In the vestibule of the building

Where I live.

Chris Hanch  10-2-15