There is a history of homeless people sneaking into and sleeping in common areas of the Hanover Square apartment building at 1 W. Conway St. in Baltimore. When I was a resident there, I came home one evening and before I entered the building I saw that down the hall in the elevator lobby there were two homeless men trying to sleep there. One was on a small wooden bench and the other on the floor. A female resident was walking past and getting on the elevator. I called 911 on the homeless guys.
A cop came, I unlocked the front door, we walked in and I walked against the wall so that the homeless could not see me. I was concerned about them seeing me on the street on a later day and causing me trouble, so I left the police officer's side and walked upstairs to the third floor, where there is a small outside patio over looking the area out in front of the building. The cop checked them for wants and warrants, then let them leave. The officer and homeless guys were calm and polite with each other, and the outcome was fair.
It is easy for anyone to slip in behind residents who unlock the front door and come in, due to many residents being very old and frail. I was not the first to see the homeless in our lobby, others had passed by and not called police, and if I had not called 911 there probably would have been other residents who saw but said nothing. That's the way it is there.
On another day, there was a young homeless man overdosed and dead on steps - to a public area that is sort of a little cement and brick city park attached to the Hanover Square property - on one evening as I walked up to the Hanover Square apartment building I lived in at 1 W. Conway St. in Baltimore. It is the main entrance and exit for pedestrians from Hanover Square and the neighborhood there. I called 911, then administered a shot of naloxone narcotic reversal agent that I carried just for such an event. It had no effect. I then attempted to get the OD'd guy into a position where I could begin chest compressions, but he was too heavy for my old & disabled body to move.
EMS was there within a few minutes of the 911 call, and they took over. They pointed out to me that the OD'd man's skin was already turning blue, which is a bad sign. They tried hard to revive the OD's guy for ten to fifteen minutes, but could not.
I had seen several residents pass by before and during the incident before EMS got there, but no one else helped.
Friday, April 5, 2019
Thursday, April 4, 2019
Water On The Apartment House Hallway Floor I Call In The Emergency The Maintenance Man Shows Only Hostility Towards Me
The first time I experienced hostility from Keith the maintenance man for the apartment building I lived in had to do with when I came in the front door late one evening and saw that the first floor hallway ladies room had water pouring out from under its door. This was at Hanover Square Apartments, 1 W. Conway St. in Baltimore, Md.. I had immediately been concerned that a woman had fallen onto a toilet flusher or something or maybe one had slipped on the water and was in there on the floor, so I knocked on the door then opened it and shouted in then looked in. No one was there. So I called the emergency maintenance number.
I suspect that I was not the first to see the water damages in action, because of the water being so far out in the hallways and because of the way many people who live there are.
The water was coming down from the ceiling, not from a toilet or sink as I had excepted to find. After notifying the emergency maintenance number, my immediate concern became whether the water was coming from the apartment above, where my good neighbor Donald lived. I was afraid he was stuck in his overflowing tub or something like that, so I went upstairs and checked for water in that hallway then listened at Donald's door for the sound of water moving. Nothing there indicated he was in trouble with water overflowing.
So I hustled on back downstairs to make sure none of our visually impaired residents walked onto the watery floor, and to let anyone else around know I had called the emergency in.
The live in maintenance man Keith came walking fast from his apartment past me to go to his first floor maintenance shop for tools. As he approached and passed I informed him that I had checked upstairs on Donald and found that the water was not likely coming from his place. Keith abruptly said, "I can't talk now, I've got to fix this."
I never expected him to stop and talk, as if no emergency was happening and I wanted to get his opinion on the latest ballgame or something. I just wanted to say I checked the second floor and it's OK.
He came back and I went upstairs - leaving him to deal with any visually impaired residents who may slip on the wet floor.
Keith never thanked me for calling it in and saving the building from further water damage and saving him from more difficult repair work.
Previously, I had had several brief, nice, verbal interactions with Keith, but this was the first of his later hostilities towards me. Later, he acted as if he had viewed video from the security cameras and saw that I had walked past and never called the emergency in.
I suspect that I was not the first to see the water damages in action, because of the water being so far out in the hallways and because of the way many people who live there are.
The water was coming down from the ceiling, not from a toilet or sink as I had excepted to find. After notifying the emergency maintenance number, my immediate concern became whether the water was coming from the apartment above, where my good neighbor Donald lived. I was afraid he was stuck in his overflowing tub or something like that, so I went upstairs and checked for water in that hallway then listened at Donald's door for the sound of water moving. Nothing there indicated he was in trouble with water overflowing.
So I hustled on back downstairs to make sure none of our visually impaired residents walked onto the watery floor, and to let anyone else around know I had called the emergency in.
The live in maintenance man Keith came walking fast from his apartment past me to go to his first floor maintenance shop for tools. As he approached and passed I informed him that I had checked upstairs on Donald and found that the water was not likely coming from his place. Keith abruptly said, "I can't talk now, I've got to fix this."
I never expected him to stop and talk, as if no emergency was happening and I wanted to get his opinion on the latest ballgame or something. I just wanted to say I checked the second floor and it's OK.
He came back and I went upstairs - leaving him to deal with any visually impaired residents who may slip on the wet floor.
Keith never thanked me for calling it in and saving the building from further water damage and saving him from more difficult repair work.
Previously, I had had several brief, nice, verbal interactions with Keith, but this was the first of his later hostilities towards me. Later, he acted as if he had viewed video from the security cameras and saw that I had walked past and never called the emergency in.
I Cooperated with The Window Replacement Crew But Management & Maintenance Saw It Differently
During the time I lived at 1 W. Conway St. Hanover Square Apartments for seniors in Baltimore, the windows were replaced. Four months prior to the project beginning, all residents were given flyers stating that the project was to begin, and on the day before each residents' windows were to be removed and replaced management will notify the residents for next day's prep of their apartments. The window replacement workers required the areas near the windows to be free of residents' furnishings and other possessions for designated areas. Management never gave any residents that one day warning, and some residents had their possessions moved away from their windows for months. That was very inconvenient for those residents.
On the day prior to my windows being replaced, I knew it was about to happen so I asked the work crew boss if I needed to clear the areas for them. He said mine would be done the next day. I cleared the bedroom area that evening, because it was the most challenging with the heavy bed to be lifted up and out of the way. I have degenerative back disease and arthritis, and could not do the living room that evening, too.
The following morning, at 9:30 am, Keith the maintenance man came down my hallway banging on doors and saying, "LET'S GO, LET'S GO, OPEN UP YOUR DOORS!!"He was acting like a drill sergeant waking up trainees.
I was awake but still laying on my sofa, so I got up and opened up my door then sat down to let my old and worn body loosen up like every other morning. I was looking where I could place everything I had to move away from the window, when Keith came back by the open door. He said something about me getting the furnishings moved, and I replied that, "I AM! I have to figure out where to move the stuff. And I already have the bedroom done."
Like, in a flash, Maggie the apartment manager was at my open door, and angrily looking in at me. She said, "Mr. Crews, why you not have that done?
I relied, "I've got the bedroom done! I just need to let my body loosen up while I figure out how to make the living room stuff fit over there (while pointing to the area clear of the designated work space)."
Maggie brutally replied, "YOU HAD FOUR MONTHS TO DO IT IN!!"
It was wrong to expect us residents to have our homes disarranged for four months. It was also contrary to the flyers Maggie had created and distributed four months earlier saying that residents will be notified on the day before their windows would be replaced.
Maggie then comes out with, "You dumped a TV outside, we have you on video!"
I said,"No, I looked at the chair the TV was set on, to see if I could use it. That was all."
The apartment has a large closet with double doors right inside from the apartment door. Maggie steps up to where I had some small items temporarily moved from the bedroom and bulging out of the closet's nearly closed doors. She took out her cellphone and photographed that, with an expression on her face of, "I got you on this one." It was very rude and ignorant of her to do so.
We living at Hanover Square are all older and not as able as we used to be. And when my sciatica is flared up and painfully crippling, I cannot move my stuff out of the way for the workers. Maggie should have come up and first asked if I was alright, can I move the stuff. But she is too cold hearted to care.
The workers were not on my apartment's outside corridor yet, and I had the living room area cleared in time for them.
The thing is, with Maggie and Keith, they would continue to treat me and probably talk about me among management like I had at first refused to move my stuff for the workers. They maintained a negative attitude about me. The same as with the other residents.
On the day prior to my windows being replaced, I knew it was about to happen so I asked the work crew boss if I needed to clear the areas for them. He said mine would be done the next day. I cleared the bedroom area that evening, because it was the most challenging with the heavy bed to be lifted up and out of the way. I have degenerative back disease and arthritis, and could not do the living room that evening, too.
The following morning, at 9:30 am, Keith the maintenance man came down my hallway banging on doors and saying, "LET'S GO, LET'S GO, OPEN UP YOUR DOORS!!"He was acting like a drill sergeant waking up trainees.
I was awake but still laying on my sofa, so I got up and opened up my door then sat down to let my old and worn body loosen up like every other morning. I was looking where I could place everything I had to move away from the window, when Keith came back by the open door. He said something about me getting the furnishings moved, and I replied that, "I AM! I have to figure out where to move the stuff. And I already have the bedroom done."
Like, in a flash, Maggie the apartment manager was at my open door, and angrily looking in at me. She said, "Mr. Crews, why you not have that done?
I relied, "I've got the bedroom done! I just need to let my body loosen up while I figure out how to make the living room stuff fit over there (while pointing to the area clear of the designated work space)."
Maggie brutally replied, "YOU HAD FOUR MONTHS TO DO IT IN!!"
It was wrong to expect us residents to have our homes disarranged for four months. It was also contrary to the flyers Maggie had created and distributed four months earlier saying that residents will be notified on the day before their windows would be replaced.
Maggie then comes out with, "You dumped a TV outside, we have you on video!"
I said,"No, I looked at the chair the TV was set on, to see if I could use it. That was all."
The apartment has a large closet with double doors right inside from the apartment door. Maggie steps up to where I had some small items temporarily moved from the bedroom and bulging out of the closet's nearly closed doors. She took out her cellphone and photographed that, with an expression on her face of, "I got you on this one." It was very rude and ignorant of her to do so.
We living at Hanover Square are all older and not as able as we used to be. And when my sciatica is flared up and painfully crippling, I cannot move my stuff out of the way for the workers. Maggie should have come up and first asked if I was alright, can I move the stuff. But she is too cold hearted to care.
The workers were not on my apartment's outside corridor yet, and I had the living room area cleared in time for them.
The thing is, with Maggie and Keith, they would continue to treat me and probably talk about me among management like I had at first refused to move my stuff for the workers. They maintained a negative attitude about me. The same as with the other residents.
Wednesday, April 3, 2019
1 W. Conway St. Apartment Manager Refused To Provide Requested Tax Form
When I moved into the seniors apartment building Hanover Square, at 1 W. Conway St. in Baltimore, it was with the help of Alliance Inc's Veterans Housing Assistance Program. Although they never did, Alliance was supposed to pay my security deposit and first months rent. They could not, because the apartment manager - Maggie - refused to give Alliance or me a requested W-9 Tax Number form. That is Hanover Square's tax number, which is required for Alliance to prove the deposit & rent money was going to a legitimate landlord. The money originally came as a grant from the Department of Veterans Affairs to Alliance.
My excellent case worker from Alliance found the available apartment, took me there and handled the interview with Maggie and the application process with me. Maggie was fully aware that Alliance was to pay my security deposit and first months rent. My case worker requested the W-9 at that time. It did not come, and I had to get out of an unlivable situation, so I had to pay the security deposit and first months rent or loose the apartment. Hanover Square is a good base for me to do my ongoing years of photography of Baltimore from. I really needed that help from Alliance to get ahead financially enough to be able to pay rent on time for the remainder of my time at Hanover Square, which I expected to be 1 to 10 years - depending on how it was living there. At one year of paying rent on time, I could have gone for a VA Home Loan.
After moving in, I had hoped to get the W-9 so that Alliance could pay some rent money for me to Hanover Square. I waited some weeks, then requested the W-9 from Maggie. After more weeks of her not supplying that paper to me, I went on the Internet and found a phone number for the building's owner then called the number. The man who answered heard what I just wrote about, thanked me for my service as a veteran, then promised to send Maggie the W-9.
Some days later, I asked Maggie for the W-9. She replied, "I sent it back. I did not want the responsibility." That is absolutely ridiculous.
About 8 months after the first request for the W-9, Maggie gave me one. She asked if I still needed it, and I said no but I'll take it and that was so I could prove it was a reasonable request to ask for the W-9. Alliance is limited to 90 days helping a vet, so they could not use the W-9 to help me with the rent. I never got far enough ahead to pay all rent on time, and paid a lot in fees and eviction court costs.
Maggie knew full well I had moved in expecting that help from Alliance. Her not providing the W-9 caused me a lot of stress worrying about eviction. Me not having anyplace to go, at my age I can't survive long homeless.
My excellent case worker from Alliance found the available apartment, took me there and handled the interview with Maggie and the application process with me. Maggie was fully aware that Alliance was to pay my security deposit and first months rent. My case worker requested the W-9 at that time. It did not come, and I had to get out of an unlivable situation, so I had to pay the security deposit and first months rent or loose the apartment. Hanover Square is a good base for me to do my ongoing years of photography of Baltimore from. I really needed that help from Alliance to get ahead financially enough to be able to pay rent on time for the remainder of my time at Hanover Square, which I expected to be 1 to 10 years - depending on how it was living there. At one year of paying rent on time, I could have gone for a VA Home Loan.
After moving in, I had hoped to get the W-9 so that Alliance could pay some rent money for me to Hanover Square. I waited some weeks, then requested the W-9 from Maggie. After more weeks of her not supplying that paper to me, I went on the Internet and found a phone number for the building's owner then called the number. The man who answered heard what I just wrote about, thanked me for my service as a veteran, then promised to send Maggie the W-9.
Some days later, I asked Maggie for the W-9. She replied, "I sent it back. I did not want the responsibility." That is absolutely ridiculous.
About 8 months after the first request for the W-9, Maggie gave me one. She asked if I still needed it, and I said no but I'll take it and that was so I could prove it was a reasonable request to ask for the W-9. Alliance is limited to 90 days helping a vet, so they could not use the W-9 to help me with the rent. I never got far enough ahead to pay all rent on time, and paid a lot in fees and eviction court costs.
Maggie knew full well I had moved in expecting that help from Alliance. Her not providing the W-9 caused me a lot of stress worrying about eviction. Me not having anyplace to go, at my age I can't survive long homeless.
Mail Carrier Claimed Mail Room Had Been Messed Up and Defecated In
The senior housing facility at 1 W. Conway St. - Hanover Square - in Baltimore has a mail room on the first floor, behind a wall of mailboxes for the residents. On one Monday, the regular mail delivery person came in and said he had found a nasty mess in the mail room. He said that the door to the room had been inadvertently left unlocked all weekend, and someone had entered it and pulled mail out from the backs of mailboxes, then had defecated on the floor and then smeared some of their fecal matter on the wall. He later told me personally that it had happened that way.
Mail was not delivered to residents' mailboxes for the following week-and-a-half, but management did not notify residents of the situation until Friday afternoon. Management finally posted flyers about this on every apartment door the last thing on their Friday at work. It said something about "as you already know," but many residents did not know mail was not being delivered. Most rarely come out of their apartments, and many do not check their mailboxes for days or weeks at a time.
No police investigation occurred. No flyers were posted asking residents if we know anything, or had we seen anything that could help solve the nasty crime. None of us residents were questioned about it. So we were concerned that the person who committed the crime is a mentally unbalanced, hostile individual who may do something else even worse.
We residents often have medications come by mail. I had medications come in the mail that week, but they were held at the post office. Some medications are all there is keeping certain residents alive. Also, some men were angry because it was Fathers' Day weekend, and they expected cards and possible gifts by mail from their children for Fathers' Day. Then they expected to talk by phone or Internet and thank their children.
That flyer on Friday had informed us residents that we had to go to the post office to get our mail, but that is not easy for many of us who are old and have no transportation to the post office.
Mail delivery was not restored until the following Wednesday, after a bio hazard team came in and cleaned up a meager brown stain from the floor and possibly wall. It only took them a few minutes, but if it had been as the mail carrier said, it would have taken longer than that to be safely cleaned.
Many months later, I learned that it was an alleged hoax by the regular mailman. Allegedly, he had gotten angry when a mail delivery woman working the building on the regular carrier's day off had not done the job correctly. When she had finished her mail duties there on a previous day, she had not repositioned a cardboard box that is set under a mail slot in the door where residents can drop off outgoing mail and that mail was laying on the floor when the regular carrier came in on the following Monday. The brown stain on the floor was most likely from the cardboard box being slid over it every mail day for a long time. What was on the wall was not fecal matter and was a small stain.
At least one resident had to pay a late fee on a bill he had sent a check in on by mailing it through the mail room door slot.
It was all a 'hissy fit' by the regular mail delivery man.
Mail was not delivered to residents' mailboxes for the following week-and-a-half, but management did not notify residents of the situation until Friday afternoon. Management finally posted flyers about this on every apartment door the last thing on their Friday at work. It said something about "as you already know," but many residents did not know mail was not being delivered. Most rarely come out of their apartments, and many do not check their mailboxes for days or weeks at a time.
No police investigation occurred. No flyers were posted asking residents if we know anything, or had we seen anything that could help solve the nasty crime. None of us residents were questioned about it. So we were concerned that the person who committed the crime is a mentally unbalanced, hostile individual who may do something else even worse.
We residents often have medications come by mail. I had medications come in the mail that week, but they were held at the post office. Some medications are all there is keeping certain residents alive. Also, some men were angry because it was Fathers' Day weekend, and they expected cards and possible gifts by mail from their children for Fathers' Day. Then they expected to talk by phone or Internet and thank their children.
That flyer on Friday had informed us residents that we had to go to the post office to get our mail, but that is not easy for many of us who are old and have no transportation to the post office.
Mail delivery was not restored until the following Wednesday, after a bio hazard team came in and cleaned up a meager brown stain from the floor and possibly wall. It only took them a few minutes, but if it had been as the mail carrier said, it would have taken longer than that to be safely cleaned.
Many months later, I learned that it was an alleged hoax by the regular mailman. Allegedly, he had gotten angry when a mail delivery woman working the building on the regular carrier's day off had not done the job correctly. When she had finished her mail duties there on a previous day, she had not repositioned a cardboard box that is set under a mail slot in the door where residents can drop off outgoing mail and that mail was laying on the floor when the regular carrier came in on the following Monday. The brown stain on the floor was most likely from the cardboard box being slid over it every mail day for a long time. What was on the wall was not fecal matter and was a small stain.
At least one resident had to pay a late fee on a bill he had sent a check in on by mailing it through the mail room door slot.
It was all a 'hissy fit' by the regular mail delivery man.
Info About TV Theft From Senior Apartments' Community Room Not Shared by Management with Residents
The senior housing facility at 1 W. Conway St. - Hanover Square - in Baltimore has a community room on the first floor, where a wall mounted, community TV was stolen from. To us residents, the TV just disappeared. Management never notified us in any way. But when they want to inform the residents about anything, management normally places flyers at every apartment door and sometimes in common areas. Residents have a right to know about such a theft on the premises, and should have been fully informed. Residents remain hurt, angered, confused, and belittled by that disrespect from management. The TV had been donated by a resident, and was not a loss to the management or building owners. Many months later, another TV appeared where the first one was stolen from.
Monday, April 1, 2019
I Am A Victim of A Serious Civil Rights Violation and An Apartment Lease Violation
Some months ago, at approximately 9:50 PM, I went to the front entrance of my apartment building - Hanover Square at 1 W. Conway St. in Baltimore - to accept a food delivery. That entrance is supposed to be locked 24/7. I was seriously dismayed to see that the door's push bar lock release was held open by plastic ties. Another resident of the building came home, and he also was shocked to see our front door unlocked. The other resident and I didn't know if we should cut the ties and lock the door or not. Other residents came in and out, and they too were upset to see our building being accessible to anyone. I called the emergency maintenance phone number and left a message saying I did not know if I should remove the ties or not.
After waiting awhile and having intense discussion about it with the other resident, I cut the ties. That one other resident and I pushed the bar open and stepped outside of the door. We wanted to check it to make sure our electronic sensor key fobs would let us in. The sensor responded correctly to the key fobs, then a large button on the wall is depressed to electronically unlock the door. The lock responded to the push button opener by making a clicking try, but the door lock was jammed. It was out of alignment somehow, and that requires the door vendor's workers to make the adjustments.
I called the emergency maintenance phone number and told them the door can't be unlocked from the outside.
We waited for maintenance or for someone to come out of the building and let us in. Someone did, then I had that other resident stay at the door while I went to my apartment and got some tape then used it to replace the plastic ties. That other resident went to his place, and I stayed to wait for maintenance to come and to let residents coming by know that maintenance is on the way. I worked several security jobs in my past, and I wasn't accepting the anxiety of leaving that door unsecured.
There should be video of this, because at least one video surveillance security camera was pointed at the inside door area where all this occurred.
Keith, the maintenance man who lives on the first floor, comes stomping down the hall past me and then he stopped at the taped door. He was huffin' his chest all up tight and psychologically steaming and glaring at me with raging anger and calls me a "MOTHER FUCKER." Then he says, "no, you know what your are? YOU'RE A MONKEY BUTT MOTHER FUCKER."
I told him to,"Never speak to me that way again."
He, self righteously, replied back at me with, "Don't you ever speak to me like that again."
Next insult came when he viciously told me to, "Get on back upstairs where you belong."
I had instantly realized that Keith was pissed off & scared because my phone calls to emergency maintenance had accidentally notified his superiors that he - and possibly some management persons - that 1 W Conway employees had left the entrance door unsecured. I say that Keith should have stayed up all night guarding the door entrance or a temporary security guard service hired.
I use a cane to walk. Keith has seen me walking in the building and outside walking by many times and is fully aware that I have painful, life limiting, physical disabilities. I suffer arthritic knees, but more often crippling to me is my degenerative back disease. I normally walk with my back straight up, but, on one occasion, when my back was painfully-involuntarily bent over, he and I spoke about it being worse than most days, because the day before I had stood too long & walked too much at the Baltimore Book Festival. He is fully aware that the only way I'd be able to fend off a physical attack by him - or to attack him and prevail - is to use a weapon.
The next month after that, verbally abusive, civil rights violation incident, I had to pay management a $25 Lock Out Fee. Management had to hide their violation of building security by handling the situation as me having called because I had lost my keys and was locked out by a door lock that works.
If I had gone into building manager Maggie's office and protested that illegal $25 fine, she would have made it into a huge argument. She doesn't care - at all - about the building's residents, doesn't like anyone here, is not known to speak pleasantly to people, usually ignores any resident she passes in the building corridors and elevators, is rarely seen in the common areas and spends most of her time sitting behind the large desk in her office. She radiates negativity at 1 W. Conway St., Baltimore, Md..
Had I engaged in serious discussion about the bogus, cover up, illegal $25 fine, Keith might have come in and backed her up extremely angrily & desperately to save his current lifestyle of a job with an apartment as a benefit. He may not have been close by, in case of which, he probably would then have come looking to start some serious trouble with me. His job and home were in jeopardy because he screwed up, and he knows he is guilty of leaving the door unsecured. Some of management know they are also guilty of that. Along with Lock Out Fees only being legal when the door lock works.
Management and maintenance have round-the-clock access to the apartment I lived in. Leaving a resident with little-to-no protection from them - should they chose to do something illegal in retaliation to anything.
Eventually, after months of deep, debilitating depression, I had to move from the residence, or continue my daily concerns of the possibilities of me being further mistreated by maintenance and management and loosing my temper then engaging in a heated argument with management and/or maintenance or even a physical altercation with Keith.
Plus, leaving the apartment building's front door unlocked is a violation of the leases with every resident. Therefore, every resident deserves something in return.
After waiting awhile and having intense discussion about it with the other resident, I cut the ties. That one other resident and I pushed the bar open and stepped outside of the door. We wanted to check it to make sure our electronic sensor key fobs would let us in. The sensor responded correctly to the key fobs, then a large button on the wall is depressed to electronically unlock the door. The lock responded to the push button opener by making a clicking try, but the door lock was jammed. It was out of alignment somehow, and that requires the door vendor's workers to make the adjustments.
I called the emergency maintenance phone number and told them the door can't be unlocked from the outside.
We waited for maintenance or for someone to come out of the building and let us in. Someone did, then I had that other resident stay at the door while I went to my apartment and got some tape then used it to replace the plastic ties. That other resident went to his place, and I stayed to wait for maintenance to come and to let residents coming by know that maintenance is on the way. I worked several security jobs in my past, and I wasn't accepting the anxiety of leaving that door unsecured.
There should be video of this, because at least one video surveillance security camera was pointed at the inside door area where all this occurred.
Keith, the maintenance man who lives on the first floor, comes stomping down the hall past me and then he stopped at the taped door. He was huffin' his chest all up tight and psychologically steaming and glaring at me with raging anger and calls me a "MOTHER FUCKER." Then he says, "no, you know what your are? YOU'RE A MONKEY BUTT MOTHER FUCKER."
I told him to,"Never speak to me that way again."
He, self righteously, replied back at me with, "Don't you ever speak to me like that again."
Next insult came when he viciously told me to, "Get on back upstairs where you belong."
I had instantly realized that Keith was pissed off & scared because my phone calls to emergency maintenance had accidentally notified his superiors that he - and possibly some management persons - that 1 W Conway employees had left the entrance door unsecured. I say that Keith should have stayed up all night guarding the door entrance or a temporary security guard service hired.
I use a cane to walk. Keith has seen me walking in the building and outside walking by many times and is fully aware that I have painful, life limiting, physical disabilities. I suffer arthritic knees, but more often crippling to me is my degenerative back disease. I normally walk with my back straight up, but, on one occasion, when my back was painfully-involuntarily bent over, he and I spoke about it being worse than most days, because the day before I had stood too long & walked too much at the Baltimore Book Festival. He is fully aware that the only way I'd be able to fend off a physical attack by him - or to attack him and prevail - is to use a weapon.
The next month after that, verbally abusive, civil rights violation incident, I had to pay management a $25 Lock Out Fee. Management had to hide their violation of building security by handling the situation as me having called because I had lost my keys and was locked out by a door lock that works.
If I had gone into building manager Maggie's office and protested that illegal $25 fine, she would have made it into a huge argument. She doesn't care - at all - about the building's residents, doesn't like anyone here, is not known to speak pleasantly to people, usually ignores any resident she passes in the building corridors and elevators, is rarely seen in the common areas and spends most of her time sitting behind the large desk in her office. She radiates negativity at 1 W. Conway St., Baltimore, Md..
Had I engaged in serious discussion about the bogus, cover up, illegal $25 fine, Keith might have come in and backed her up extremely angrily & desperately to save his current lifestyle of a job with an apartment as a benefit. He may not have been close by, in case of which, he probably would then have come looking to start some serious trouble with me. His job and home were in jeopardy because he screwed up, and he knows he is guilty of leaving the door unsecured. Some of management know they are also guilty of that. Along with Lock Out Fees only being legal when the door lock works.
Management and maintenance have round-the-clock access to the apartment I lived in. Leaving a resident with little-to-no protection from them - should they chose to do something illegal in retaliation to anything.
Eventually, after months of deep, debilitating depression, I had to move from the residence, or continue my daily concerns of the possibilities of me being further mistreated by maintenance and management and loosing my temper then engaging in a heated argument with management and/or maintenance or even a physical altercation with Keith.
Plus, leaving the apartment building's front door unlocked is a violation of the leases with every resident. Therefore, every resident deserves something in return.
Thursday, March 21, 2019
U.S. Army Basic Training Infuriatingly Incomplete
I entered Basic at Ft. Dix, N.J. on Nov. 17, 1969. The Army graduated my fellow trainees and I from Basic after we had only received a disturbingly trimmed portion of the prescribed military training. Ever since that terrible way to train troops, I have wondered if that lack of normal training ever got anyone killed in the Vietnam War. At that time, a main concern & focus of most young American men of military draft and entrance age was avoiding Vietnam. My knowledge of the ways, lengths, breadths, depths, heights and distances some of them went - in their quests to stay away from Vietnam - is like a boulder balanced on my brain. It hurts because most of us would have willingly joined the military to fight in a war that was worth it.
Due to those men's efforts, failures and successes in avoiding Vietnam, sometimes the Army went way too far in trying to make us troops happy to be in the Vietnam Era United States Army.
A month or two before I was to report for active duty, I had learned that my date of entrance into the Army meant I will be experiencing my first Christmas away from home. I was mentally & emotionally preparing myself for spending Christmas and New Years in a basic training barracks with the other guys there away from home. I had grown up having great family Christmas times - middle class blue collar style - with both pairs of grandparents along with most of my aunts & uncles & cousins, mother, father and sisters.
Enlisted American men and women had to be in the military on active duty during all Christmases, and 1969 was to be my first year to share that duty. It would be a tough one emotionally, but I am able to live in a free country partly because others had toughed it out before me. Many other GIs would be away from home during that holiday, too, and again in the future. I thought about the GIs who had done it while in war zones, some GIs would be doing it in Vietnam that year, so I was determined to 'ruck it up' and carry my share of the load.
Basic training was 8 weeks long. My fellow trainees and I had been in the Army for a little more than 3 weeks when we were told that Basic will be shut down for the Christmas and New Years holiday, and we trainees had to go home on leave for 2 weeks. That was 4 weeks in training, 2 weeks of leave time visiting family and friends, having fun/eating a lot/drinking a lot/dating girls/sleeping when you want and so forth, then 4 weeks back to training. Back to where you can only eat the 3 (near tasteless) meals a day served. Back to not being allowed TV, radio, record players, phones, magazines, newspapers, books, your personal style of dressing & hairstyle. No visiting with family and friends. No going anywhere but where the Army says you can. Those restrictions are necessary for becoming an effective soldier. I will never get over the unacceptable military craziness of Christmas time 1969. Suspending the training regimen for two weeks then going back to it was a ridiculous thing the Army did.
Ft. Dix was significantly cold during the winter of '69-'70, with substantial snow storms and lots of freezing air. During previous winters at Ft. Dix, some soldiers in Basic had purposely exposed their fingers and/or toes to freezing air long enough to cause themselves frostbite. Bad enough that some troops had to have frostbit parts of their bodies amputated, which then resulted in the new soldiers being medically discharged from service. It was a hell-of-a gamble, betting their fingers and/or toes against potentially worse wounds or/and death in the Nam.
Our drill sergeants told us that during certain parts of training they could not keep a watch on us trainees good enough to prevent each and every one of us new soldiers from causing ourselves frostbite. Training had to follow a prescribed schedule, so there was no switching around and rescheduling any training activities. Consequently, at Ft. Dix in 1969, the Army cancelled some of the most important training a soldier needs:
1. Obstacle Course cancelled. My only serious fear about going into Basic came from my natural born fear of heights. The obstacle course has some high climbs in it. But I had figured that having the drill sergeants along with my fellow trainees inspiring, encouraging and helping me I'd get over the high-up features of the obstacle course (known today as the confidence course).
2. Bivouac was cancelled. Bivouac in Basic Training was a 5-day campout in pup tents. This is the training loss that hurt and bothered me the most. I am an outdoorsman who was looking forward to experiencing winter camping, with my buddies, while we were learning cold weather soldiering, camping, comfort plus survival techniques and skills. We trainees knew that we'd be moving on in the Army and there may be times when our fellow soldiers would become angry at and/or disgusted with us for not knowing what we were supposed to have been trained at, and they had been trained at.
A drill sergeant said that during previous bivouac nights a few soldiers had each taken off a boot and sock then stuck that bare foot partway out of their sleeping bags and had kept it there all night till a toe or two was frostbitten enough to require amputation.
3. Twenty Mile Forced March cancelled. That was hiking whilst toting full packs, various combat gear, and carrying rifles (my beloved heavy steel and wood M14). That march is four times longer than any other we made. It was snowing heavily on the day our 20-mile forced march was scheduled for, so we were only marched out about a mile-and-a-half. Drill sergeants told us that because they could not see very far through the falling snow a trainee might simply hang a finger out of their mitten or glove and that finger will become frost bitten then have to be amputated. When they did that to their index finger, it was because they believed the Army could not send them into combat without their trigger finger.
With most of the outdoors training exercises, cooks from our company drove out with several large containers of hot coffee and one of hot chocolate for us; but that frigid day, when powdery snow was already about a foot deep, they only brought coffee. I can't stand the taste of coffee. But I needed the heat from it that day in the forest of Ft. Dix, so I drank the only cup of coffee I ever have or expect to. Fortunately (for me), the coffee was watery thin.
On the numerous days when our scheduled training was cancelled due to weather, we stayed in our barracks practicing hand to hand combat (no actual striking allowed), knife fighting techniques (rubber knives), over and over for hours. Drill sergeants often walked off and did whatever they wanted to for a few hours at a time.
To the best of my memory, I believe my platoon never ran much more than 10 miles total in Basic. Our drill sergeants' max on ordering us to do pushups was 25 at a time per day. Same for situps.
I had expected my military training to push me to the edge of - and at times further than - my personal limitations. I desired knowledge of what - militarily - knocks me down for the count. How far can I push it or be pushed? I wanted the strengths, abilities, skills, and self assurances of a well trained soldier.
I wanted to know some of what my brothers-in-arms' limits were. What can I trust them to get done?
The incomplete military basic training we received did not go anywhere near answering those extremely important questions.
I'll never be able to recall it all, and there certainly is more to this. But for most people, I doubt that I have to say more in order to explain how infuriatingly disappointing, then deeply depressing, certain aspects of my United States Army Basic Training are.
Ever since I learned to use computers, I have been trying to produce this piece. Ever since living it, I have wanted to tell of this history. The healing effects of time have lessened the deep, emotional pain of it, and my work at photography, writing and Internet publishing has given me the strength & power to deal with it publicly.
It is my country, it is the Army I was part of, that committed those idiotic acts told of above. Those historical experiences lay heavy feelings upon my shoulders. At the U.S. Army I feel some: disappointment; disgust; disrespect; anger; fear that troops today may not be trained properly. I am severely embarrassed that my government's military - the Army I was a member of - mishandled military training in those ways.
Due to those men's efforts, failures and successes in avoiding Vietnam, sometimes the Army went way too far in trying to make us troops happy to be in the Vietnam Era United States Army.
A month or two before I was to report for active duty, I had learned that my date of entrance into the Army meant I will be experiencing my first Christmas away from home. I was mentally & emotionally preparing myself for spending Christmas and New Years in a basic training barracks with the other guys there away from home. I had grown up having great family Christmas times - middle class blue collar style - with both pairs of grandparents along with most of my aunts & uncles & cousins, mother, father and sisters.
Enlisted American men and women had to be in the military on active duty during all Christmases, and 1969 was to be my first year to share that duty. It would be a tough one emotionally, but I am able to live in a free country partly because others had toughed it out before me. Many other GIs would be away from home during that holiday, too, and again in the future. I thought about the GIs who had done it while in war zones, some GIs would be doing it in Vietnam that year, so I was determined to 'ruck it up' and carry my share of the load.
Basic training was 8 weeks long. My fellow trainees and I had been in the Army for a little more than 3 weeks when we were told that Basic will be shut down for the Christmas and New Years holiday, and we trainees had to go home on leave for 2 weeks. That was 4 weeks in training, 2 weeks of leave time visiting family and friends, having fun/eating a lot/drinking a lot/dating girls/sleeping when you want and so forth, then 4 weeks back to training. Back to where you can only eat the 3 (near tasteless) meals a day served. Back to not being allowed TV, radio, record players, phones, magazines, newspapers, books, your personal style of dressing & hairstyle. No visiting with family and friends. No going anywhere but where the Army says you can. Those restrictions are necessary for becoming an effective soldier. I will never get over the unacceptable military craziness of Christmas time 1969. Suspending the training regimen for two weeks then going back to it was a ridiculous thing the Army did.
Ft. Dix was significantly cold during the winter of '69-'70, with substantial snow storms and lots of freezing air. During previous winters at Ft. Dix, some soldiers in Basic had purposely exposed their fingers and/or toes to freezing air long enough to cause themselves frostbite. Bad enough that some troops had to have frostbit parts of their bodies amputated, which then resulted in the new soldiers being medically discharged from service. It was a hell-of-a gamble, betting their fingers and/or toes against potentially worse wounds or/and death in the Nam.
Our drill sergeants told us that during certain parts of training they could not keep a watch on us trainees good enough to prevent each and every one of us new soldiers from causing ourselves frostbite. Training had to follow a prescribed schedule, so there was no switching around and rescheduling any training activities. Consequently, at Ft. Dix in 1969, the Army cancelled some of the most important training a soldier needs:
1. Obstacle Course cancelled. My only serious fear about going into Basic came from my natural born fear of heights. The obstacle course has some high climbs in it. But I had figured that having the drill sergeants along with my fellow trainees inspiring, encouraging and helping me I'd get over the high-up features of the obstacle course (known today as the confidence course).
2. Bivouac was cancelled. Bivouac in Basic Training was a 5-day campout in pup tents. This is the training loss that hurt and bothered me the most. I am an outdoorsman who was looking forward to experiencing winter camping, with my buddies, while we were learning cold weather soldiering, camping, comfort plus survival techniques and skills. We trainees knew that we'd be moving on in the Army and there may be times when our fellow soldiers would become angry at and/or disgusted with us for not knowing what we were supposed to have been trained at, and they had been trained at.
A drill sergeant said that during previous bivouac nights a few soldiers had each taken off a boot and sock then stuck that bare foot partway out of their sleeping bags and had kept it there all night till a toe or two was frostbitten enough to require amputation.
3. Twenty Mile Forced March cancelled. That was hiking whilst toting full packs, various combat gear, and carrying rifles (my beloved heavy steel and wood M14). That march is four times longer than any other we made. It was snowing heavily on the day our 20-mile forced march was scheduled for, so we were only marched out about a mile-and-a-half. Drill sergeants told us that because they could not see very far through the falling snow a trainee might simply hang a finger out of their mitten or glove and that finger will become frost bitten then have to be amputated. When they did that to their index finger, it was because they believed the Army could not send them into combat without their trigger finger.
With most of the outdoors training exercises, cooks from our company drove out with several large containers of hot coffee and one of hot chocolate for us; but that frigid day, when powdery snow was already about a foot deep, they only brought coffee. I can't stand the taste of coffee. But I needed the heat from it that day in the forest of Ft. Dix, so I drank the only cup of coffee I ever have or expect to. Fortunately (for me), the coffee was watery thin.
On the numerous days when our scheduled training was cancelled due to weather, we stayed in our barracks practicing hand to hand combat (no actual striking allowed), knife fighting techniques (rubber knives), over and over for hours. Drill sergeants often walked off and did whatever they wanted to for a few hours at a time.
To the best of my memory, I believe my platoon never ran much more than 10 miles total in Basic. Our drill sergeants' max on ordering us to do pushups was 25 at a time per day. Same for situps.
I had expected my military training to push me to the edge of - and at times further than - my personal limitations. I desired knowledge of what - militarily - knocks me down for the count. How far can I push it or be pushed? I wanted the strengths, abilities, skills, and self assurances of a well trained soldier.
I wanted to know some of what my brothers-in-arms' limits were. What can I trust them to get done?
The incomplete military basic training we received did not go anywhere near answering those extremely important questions.
I'll never be able to recall it all, and there certainly is more to this. But for most people, I doubt that I have to say more in order to explain how infuriatingly disappointing, then deeply depressing, certain aspects of my United States Army Basic Training are.
Ever since I learned to use computers, I have been trying to produce this piece. Ever since living it, I have wanted to tell of this history. The healing effects of time have lessened the deep, emotional pain of it, and my work at photography, writing and Internet publishing has given me the strength & power to deal with it publicly.
It is my country, it is the Army I was part of, that committed those idiotic acts told of above. Those historical experiences lay heavy feelings upon my shoulders. At the U.S. Army I feel some: disappointment; disgust; disrespect; anger; fear that troops today may not be trained properly. I am severely embarrassed that my government's military - the Army I was a member of - mishandled military training in those ways.
Friday, March 1, 2019
1971 U.S. Soldiers Discover Ancient Houses and Possible Mass Grave In Okinawa's Northern Yanbaru Forest
On Okinawa, on a Saturday in 1971, some of my Army friends and I discovered what appeared to be an old mass grave - from World War Two or previous - and two Okinawan hut walls that must be hundreds of years old. We had driven to the barely populated north end of the island and camped out till Sunday afternoon. We swam in the salty, but clear, sea water right about where the East China Sea and Pacific Ocean meet. We were where a small stream of fresh water came down from the forested hills into the salt water. I wanted to see if there was a small waterfall to stand under and wash off the salt water residue. I walked up the stream bed, came to some rises in it, but none had sufficient water falling down them.
The rises became too high for me to easily climb, so I went back and got the other guys. We happily went exploring up the stream. The stream bed would rise up a rough, rocky faced drop about 10 - 15 feet and we'd stop, one of us would prod around and find a good climbing route up it. We'd all 4 of us climb it, then walk on inland. The forest was tall and tight around the stream. We saw wild boar sign - hoof prints and spots where they had laid down and slept for awhile. I had seen some wild boar tracks before I went back and got those guys, we had an ax to chop firewood for a campfire and we took that ax with us in case of wild boar trouble.
A good ways in, we found a rectangular, man made, pile of fist sized stones that were stacked about 4 ft high, 20 ft wide, and a small person's body length across. The pile was up against the 5 - 6 ft high stream bank, and the pile was flat across the top. It definitely had the look of having a stack of bodies buried under it, with heads or feet against the stream bank. That made us think it was from WW2, and the aftermath of some heavy fighting. It could have been Japanese soldiers, or Okinawan citizens buried fairly quickly. It may be hundreds of years old, but we doubted that.
I walked around the side of the rock pile and climbed up the stream bank. As I walked parallel to the rock pile, thinking maybe I'll remove some rocks off the top and work down a couple feet or so into the pile to see what is there, I look down and there was small snake's tail under some twigs under the toe of my shoe. It had its little head up, tongue darting out and in, and a stubborn look on its face. It wasn't moving away, though it could have easily disappeared from sight by slithering further under the dead twigs & leaves covering the soft, moist surface of the forest floor. One of my friends was coming towards me from the other end of the pile, and I had stopped moving my feet while I motioned for and told him to hold it, as I pointed down to the snake looking up at him and I. As I eased back off, my buddy quickly turned and went back down to the stream bed, us not having any idea whether it was a poisonous snake or what the species was, and wondering if there were more about. So we dropped the idea of exploring the rock pile deeper.
Onward, inland we went. The stream never got deeper than a foot or much wider than maybe 10 feet. The stream bed had leveled out for a good stretch.
Then we came upon another thrilling sight, the stone walled remains of two ancient huts. They had obviously had thatched roofs, of long ago rotted away organic material. The stone walls were round, about 3 ft something in height and 15 ft in diameter, constructed of castle wall style large stones, with an opening for a doorway that had a heavy flat stone laying across it. I ducked down and went into the roofless hut, and told them guys it was obvious the inhabitants had lived during sword carrying times and wanted other people entering to have the backs of their necks vulnerable to sword strikes.
The residents were most likely living more off the wild foods of the forest than grown foods from gardens and farms. They may have had small garden plots about, possibly well hidden in the woods. They would have harvested some woodland foods - like wild boar meat - for trading and definitely gathered organic materials for traditional, ancient herbal medicines plus items for ancient religious & ceremonial requirements, some traded for foods grown by farmers further south and goods made by villagers and townspeople living even further south. The Yanbaru Forest has to have unique growths of beautiful wood available, where the residents of the two huts may have known to cut sections of trees for artists to carve, for the residents to trade with artists for items, or maybe some residents created great carvings, for themselves or to trade.
I had read enough about Okinawan history to know that Japanese invaders came from the north numerous times. This was the barely populated north end of Okinawa. Evil raiders from various foreign lands plied the coastline, seeking the tiniest, weakest, vulnerable populations to exploit. I knew that the houses were strategically placed back in where it takes serious effort to travel into, and that the rises in stream bank elevations, with thick woods slopping up hills on both sides of the stream, make for exceptional upstream defense capabilities. I pondered whether the rock pile was a mass grave from Japanese invaders, or a cache of their supplies for a return trip. Or captured treasures, to be retrieved later.
Also, ancient Okinawan factions had many wars with each other, and their soldiers may have gone anywhere to seek and fight or escape enemies. There were roving bandits and other mean rogues about, all looking for victims and some seeking hideouts. Those deadly peoples' actions added to why the houses were built back in up there, either for peaceful civilians' or defeated fighters' protection. The pile of rocks might be from those times. Somethings or some people were buried there.
The people who constructed and lived in the stone huts may have been banished from one of Okinawa's kingdoms. Royalty who messed with more powerful royalty, an architect who designed lousy structures, incompetent engineers, failed military men. Poor peasants who attempted to attain better lives. Jesters, musicians, artists, astrologers, soothsayers, anyone who's works offended their royal benefactors could have been banished.
It may have been seasonal residences, a place to stay for hunting & gathering, or an occasional getaway from the heavily populated southern part of the island. A place to take in the rejuvenating effects of nature at its wildest. A place of rest and meditation. Someplace where a person can think clearly without the noises and pressures of densely habitated castle life constantly entering the mind.
The shallow, meager stream water was only covering a thin path in the wider, well washed, packed down sand of the stream bed. I knew that the water flow increased - significantly - at least during Okinawa's May to Mid June Rainy Seasons. It must flood during heavy typhoons. The huts were right at the edge of the - wash cleared & flattened - water coarse, where highest level waters can enter the doorways. But, the highest levels during rainy season may have only reached right there in front of the doorways. High flooding might have only occurred rarely.
We GIs were halfway around the world from back home and right where we wanted to be - in a Far East adventure. That night, we witnessed the wonderful beauty of the Milky Way for our first times. Clear atmosphere, no electric lighting for many miles, I learned that the Milky Way is a band of bright, dense starlight that looks like a silver sparkled river of pure, white milk.
Darn me. I did not have my camera. I didn't realize photos of our little trip to a beach would be of value in the future. I wish I had gone back there to the north end with my camera later. I thought about it, I wanted to, but never have.
We never told anyone about our archaeological discoveries, and I can't believe we never asked any Okinawan university history departments if they had archaeologists who'd love to work that site. Finally, about a decade ago, I contacted Okinawan universities' history departments, I contacted some Okinawan newspapers, but never received any emails back and when I called on the phone never got a hold of anyone who could speak English well enough.
The area now has houses next to the beach and in other places not occupied in '71. Maybe someone who lives there or someone who went exploring up the stream since '71 has told the proper people about it. Someone may have torn the pile of rocks apart, but I doubt it, because Okinawans respect the dead and that pile of rocks is either a mass grave or a cache of some sort. Supplies or weapons from WW2? From centuries ago? Soldiers buried with ancient armor on. I gotta know.
I need to know what the status of that archaeological discovery is today. I love the Okinawan people, and want them to have the benefits of any historical information learnable from the area. I want anything that fits to be in their museums. For decades, I've felt bad about not telling them back then.
After several intense searches on Google Earth, during the past decade, I finally - freakin' - located the spot where the adventure happened. The images below are the most recent of the area from Google Earth.
The road is a replacement for the original dirt road we drove on, which was - years later - washed out by a storm. There were no buildings near there, in '71, and those few there today have a solid amount of peaceful solitude. The occupants probably don't want other people trekking through there to an archaeological site. A potential tourist attraction. Certain occupants may know about the historic site out in the woods from their backyards, but don't tell anyone about it.
I clearly recall the tall rock at the right and the ones out in the water. I was loving life out snorkeling around the rocks sticking up out of the water. Fantastically colored and shaped fish moving everywhere in schools. Like large, tightly choreographed groups of fancy dancers. We had my friend's car parked near the rock to the right. The car was a $50.00 1953 Oldsmobile, brush painted blue and yellow. Who cares what the goofy, cheap paint job looks like, the worn out old heap runs. The car's owner grabs a hand filling chunk of rock from the base of the giant rock and heaves the rock chunk up in an arch, and it comes down on a side of the car; the owner grinning, saying he wanted to clean the road dust off. He chucks a few more, I do too, another guy joins in, then we all were. Each time we - slightly tensely - hoped we'd miss the windows, and we were amazed that we missed every time and did not break any glass. Pure, dumb ass, fun and relaxation for low income soldiers.
You can see how the land rises into hills, and the stream flows down from them.
See those rocky places, those were elevating all along our route. I knew then, that if I ever make it back, it is best to bring an extension ladder for ease of climbing. With archaeologists, university students, possibly media persons along, maybe local government officials, will require items along for protection from wild boars. Possibly a pistol or rifle, definitely bear spray style large mace canisters.
If the area has been well worked on by archaeologists and historians, I want to know.
If I could afford it, I'd fly over there and check the area out again. I want to go back.
I need to know what the situation is there.
I crave knowledge of what may be of historical significance further inland along the stream.
I'd love to know that it is - or becomes - a significant, archaeological, historical location. It would be fantastic if schools had students studying that history and to write about who may have lived there and what their times in the great, tall, thick, Yanbaru Forest were like. Heck, have public contests for all ages to write fictional, historically based, short stories, maybe write made up letters about hut life - as if the words come from long ago people of the huts in the forest.
It can be a godsend to the right novelist, who will one day present the people of Okinawa with a - wonderfully historically accurate - book about hut dwellers hundreds of years ago in the northern forest. The huts were probably used by various peoples for centuries.
OH! Jumpin' Jiminy!! The ancient artifacts that are scattered about under and on the forest floor. All along the stream and out in the woods beside it, let the pros and student archaeologists find them, for Okinawa.
KUDASAI, SOMEBODY OVER THERE PLEASE HELP ME!!!!!!!!
(as the Japanese writing character on my first gold earring said)
愛 (love),
David Robert Crews
{a.k.a. ursusdave}
ursusdave at yahoo dot com
The rises became too high for me to easily climb, so I went back and got the other guys. We happily went exploring up the stream. The stream bed would rise up a rough, rocky faced drop about 10 - 15 feet and we'd stop, one of us would prod around and find a good climbing route up it. We'd all 4 of us climb it, then walk on inland. The forest was tall and tight around the stream. We saw wild boar sign - hoof prints and spots where they had laid down and slept for awhile. I had seen some wild boar tracks before I went back and got those guys, we had an ax to chop firewood for a campfire and we took that ax with us in case of wild boar trouble.
A good ways in, we found a rectangular, man made, pile of fist sized stones that were stacked about 4 ft high, 20 ft wide, and a small person's body length across. The pile was up against the 5 - 6 ft high stream bank, and the pile was flat across the top. It definitely had the look of having a stack of bodies buried under it, with heads or feet against the stream bank. That made us think it was from WW2, and the aftermath of some heavy fighting. It could have been Japanese soldiers, or Okinawan citizens buried fairly quickly. It may be hundreds of years old, but we doubted that.
I walked around the side of the rock pile and climbed up the stream bank. As I walked parallel to the rock pile, thinking maybe I'll remove some rocks off the top and work down a couple feet or so into the pile to see what is there, I look down and there was small snake's tail under some twigs under the toe of my shoe. It had its little head up, tongue darting out and in, and a stubborn look on its face. It wasn't moving away, though it could have easily disappeared from sight by slithering further under the dead twigs & leaves covering the soft, moist surface of the forest floor. One of my friends was coming towards me from the other end of the pile, and I had stopped moving my feet while I motioned for and told him to hold it, as I pointed down to the snake looking up at him and I. As I eased back off, my buddy quickly turned and went back down to the stream bed, us not having any idea whether it was a poisonous snake or what the species was, and wondering if there were more about. So we dropped the idea of exploring the rock pile deeper.
Onward, inland we went. The stream never got deeper than a foot or much wider than maybe 10 feet. The stream bed had leveled out for a good stretch.
Then we came upon another thrilling sight, the stone walled remains of two ancient huts. They had obviously had thatched roofs, of long ago rotted away organic material. The stone walls were round, about 3 ft something in height and 15 ft in diameter, constructed of castle wall style large stones, with an opening for a doorway that had a heavy flat stone laying across it. I ducked down and went into the roofless hut, and told them guys it was obvious the inhabitants had lived during sword carrying times and wanted other people entering to have the backs of their necks vulnerable to sword strikes.
The residents were most likely living more off the wild foods of the forest than grown foods from gardens and farms. They may have had small garden plots about, possibly well hidden in the woods. They would have harvested some woodland foods - like wild boar meat - for trading and definitely gathered organic materials for traditional, ancient herbal medicines plus items for ancient religious & ceremonial requirements, some traded for foods grown by farmers further south and goods made by villagers and townspeople living even further south. The Yanbaru Forest has to have unique growths of beautiful wood available, where the residents of the two huts may have known to cut sections of trees for artists to carve, for the residents to trade with artists for items, or maybe some residents created great carvings, for themselves or to trade.
I had read enough about Okinawan history to know that Japanese invaders came from the north numerous times. This was the barely populated north end of Okinawa. Evil raiders from various foreign lands plied the coastline, seeking the tiniest, weakest, vulnerable populations to exploit. I knew that the houses were strategically placed back in where it takes serious effort to travel into, and that the rises in stream bank elevations, with thick woods slopping up hills on both sides of the stream, make for exceptional upstream defense capabilities. I pondered whether the rock pile was a mass grave from Japanese invaders, or a cache of their supplies for a return trip. Or captured treasures, to be retrieved later.
Also, ancient Okinawan factions had many wars with each other, and their soldiers may have gone anywhere to seek and fight or escape enemies. There were roving bandits and other mean rogues about, all looking for victims and some seeking hideouts. Those deadly peoples' actions added to why the houses were built back in up there, either for peaceful civilians' or defeated fighters' protection. The pile of rocks might be from those times. Somethings or some people were buried there.
The people who constructed and lived in the stone huts may have been banished from one of Okinawa's kingdoms. Royalty who messed with more powerful royalty, an architect who designed lousy structures, incompetent engineers, failed military men. Poor peasants who attempted to attain better lives. Jesters, musicians, artists, astrologers, soothsayers, anyone who's works offended their royal benefactors could have been banished.
It may have been seasonal residences, a place to stay for hunting & gathering, or an occasional getaway from the heavily populated southern part of the island. A place to take in the rejuvenating effects of nature at its wildest. A place of rest and meditation. Someplace where a person can think clearly without the noises and pressures of densely habitated castle life constantly entering the mind.
The shallow, meager stream water was only covering a thin path in the wider, well washed, packed down sand of the stream bed. I knew that the water flow increased - significantly - at least during Okinawa's May to Mid June Rainy Seasons. It must flood during heavy typhoons. The huts were right at the edge of the - wash cleared & flattened - water coarse, where highest level waters can enter the doorways. But, the highest levels during rainy season may have only reached right there in front of the doorways. High flooding might have only occurred rarely.
We GIs were halfway around the world from back home and right where we wanted to be - in a Far East adventure. That night, we witnessed the wonderful beauty of the Milky Way for our first times. Clear atmosphere, no electric lighting for many miles, I learned that the Milky Way is a band of bright, dense starlight that looks like a silver sparkled river of pure, white milk.
Darn me. I did not have my camera. I didn't realize photos of our little trip to a beach would be of value in the future. I wish I had gone back there to the north end with my camera later. I thought about it, I wanted to, but never have.
We never told anyone about our archaeological discoveries, and I can't believe we never asked any Okinawan university history departments if they had archaeologists who'd love to work that site. Finally, about a decade ago, I contacted Okinawan universities' history departments, I contacted some Okinawan newspapers, but never received any emails back and when I called on the phone never got a hold of anyone who could speak English well enough.
The area now has houses next to the beach and in other places not occupied in '71. Maybe someone who lives there or someone who went exploring up the stream since '71 has told the proper people about it. Someone may have torn the pile of rocks apart, but I doubt it, because Okinawans respect the dead and that pile of rocks is either a mass grave or a cache of some sort. Supplies or weapons from WW2? From centuries ago? Soldiers buried with ancient armor on. I gotta know.
I need to know what the status of that archaeological discovery is today. I love the Okinawan people, and want them to have the benefits of any historical information learnable from the area. I want anything that fits to be in their museums. For decades, I've felt bad about not telling them back then.
After several intense searches on Google Earth, during the past decade, I finally - freakin' - located the spot where the adventure happened. The images below are the most recent of the area from Google Earth.
The road is a replacement for the original dirt road we drove on, which was - years later - washed out by a storm. There were no buildings near there, in '71, and those few there today have a solid amount of peaceful solitude. The occupants probably don't want other people trekking through there to an archaeological site. A potential tourist attraction. Certain occupants may know about the historic site out in the woods from their backyards, but don't tell anyone about it.
I clearly recall the tall rock at the right and the ones out in the water. I was loving life out snorkeling around the rocks sticking up out of the water. Fantastically colored and shaped fish moving everywhere in schools. Like large, tightly choreographed groups of fancy dancers. We had my friend's car parked near the rock to the right. The car was a $50.00 1953 Oldsmobile, brush painted blue and yellow. Who cares what the goofy, cheap paint job looks like, the worn out old heap runs. The car's owner grabs a hand filling chunk of rock from the base of the giant rock and heaves the rock chunk up in an arch, and it comes down on a side of the car; the owner grinning, saying he wanted to clean the road dust off. He chucks a few more, I do too, another guy joins in, then we all were. Each time we - slightly tensely - hoped we'd miss the windows, and we were amazed that we missed every time and did not break any glass. Pure, dumb ass, fun and relaxation for low income soldiers.
You can see how the land rises into hills, and the stream flows down from them.
See those rocky places, those were elevating all along our route. I knew then, that if I ever make it back, it is best to bring an extension ladder for ease of climbing. With archaeologists, university students, possibly media persons along, maybe local government officials, will require items along for protection from wild boars. Possibly a pistol or rifle, definitely bear spray style large mace canisters.
If the area has been well worked on by archaeologists and historians, I want to know.
If I could afford it, I'd fly over there and check the area out again. I want to go back.
I need to know what the situation is there.
I crave knowledge of what may be of historical significance further inland along the stream.
I'd love to know that it is - or becomes - a significant, archaeological, historical location. It would be fantastic if schools had students studying that history and to write about who may have lived there and what their times in the great, tall, thick, Yanbaru Forest were like. Heck, have public contests for all ages to write fictional, historically based, short stories, maybe write made up letters about hut life - as if the words come from long ago people of the huts in the forest.
It can be a godsend to the right novelist, who will one day present the people of Okinawa with a - wonderfully historically accurate - book about hut dwellers hundreds of years ago in the northern forest. The huts were probably used by various peoples for centuries.
OH! Jumpin' Jiminy!! The ancient artifacts that are scattered about under and on the forest floor. All along the stream and out in the woods beside it, let the pros and student archaeologists find them, for Okinawa.
KUDASAI, SOMEBODY OVER THERE PLEASE HELP ME!!!!!!!!
(as the Japanese writing character on my first gold earring said)
愛 (love),
David Robert Crews
{a.k.a. ursusdave}
ursusdave at yahoo dot com
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