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