Storm Beagles

Baird’s Beagles is offering a temporary Hurricane Haven for storm displaced Beagles and Bassets. “You get ’em here, we keep ’em for a while.”
Text Jimbob at 2707792311

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The Green River Gang

The Green River Gang

Jimbw

 

The man from the magazine arrived at his destination with a sense of trepidation on that fated day of May 13, he had just left his small home  office and now was near the Green River , located in one of the cave counties of Kentucky on an assignment as a writer to cover a story about an alleged ragtag band of assorted gunslingers, supposed lawmen, villains, and gamblers, all of them armed with at least two six shooters, a rifle, and packing a scattergun or two. He had just finished a three-year stint doing stories for different county newspapers and now was working on jobs for one of the new glossy magazines that had become popular recently in the Counties. His new Publishers down had heard about these git-togethers and wanted some new stories for the eager readers over to the East.
      James was the real name of the writer but in print, he went by the byline of Jimbob, and right now he was sore, and a little more than creaky from traveling a trail of what consisted of seemingly endless switchbacks, gully ruts, and fallen timber. He was wearing a pair of sensible sodbuster type round toed boots, his denim jeans, and a long sleeve light weight shirt. Stuck within his traveling bag were his camera, compass, notebooks, Black Warrior pencils, a fountain pen, pocket knife, i-Pad, and a silver dollar that had belonged to his grandaddy Elmer who himself was a former Newspaper man.IMG_0579
      The silver dollar was for good luck, and he had found it in the cardboard box of the leftovers of Elmer’s life that he had inherited after the old man’s demise. In that box, he had found the silver dollar, a Kodak Baby Brownie camera, some notebooks and papers, a few photographs, some telegrams, a telegraph key, pocketknife, and a timepiece. When Jimbob stood up without his boots on he measured five feet and six inches tall, he would never ride tall in a saddle but, he figured as long as he kept one foot on the gas pedal and the other on the brake he’d be all right. He had come out here to cover a story about a group of supposed gunslingers ,and he had no illusions about being a gunslinger, the closest he would probably ever get to that would be to sling some ink.
      Looking over to the flash of purple by the tree line that had caught his eye, he noticed that the purple he had seen was a cloth shirt, hung over the frame of a tall, lanky hombre hitching up his gun belts. The man appeared to be friendly enough, but with his hat shading part of his features, and with that white beard, it was hard to be certain.Purple shirt mail

To be continued….Compass

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Hurricane Safety Help Sheet

Good advice for covering all Weather events
NPPA-Hurricane-Safety
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The Blue Rose Stories

 

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Possibly The Blue Rose

Possibly The Blue Rose

 

 

It’s difficult to catch the wind or to harness a butterfly, it is even more difficult to explain the Blue Rose. One thing that it is, is a collection of stories with pictures and mostly true. Other than that, the what or the possibly the who, I will leave up to you. I wish I could say the Blue Rose was the result of one of my three a.m. wakings, grabbing a notebook and pen, but it was not that dramatic. Flipping through my photographs one day I ran across the blue passionflower and rose, put two and two together and here is the outcome. Having done some non fiction writing, I wondered what sort of story I could come up by mixing the truth with some ideas where the truth was not that important. While doing some research, I discovered that there are several books out there with the title of The Blue Rose but a true Blue Rose flower remains a Gardener’s dream.

The word “dream” seems fitting as this series of stories will be a journey of a Photojournalist as he seeks the perfect “Blue Rose” Story. Come along on this trip but just remember, as Ringo Starr said”You know it don’t come easy.”

The search begins

The search begins

 

 

 

 

 

 

Evelyn

RFC

Evelyn and Elmer

Evelyn was a tall willowy woman who could look at home either back at the farm which currently was in the hands of Elizabeth her oldest daughter or selling perfume at the downtown Macy’s department store.It was 1945, and the War  sounded like it was going to be over soon, but right now she was on a mission of sorts per the War Department in Washington. Evelyn also was one of those people that liked to parcel nicknames, several times she had  thought of this train as “The Spy Special”.  Evelyn’s  husband Elmer was a soldier stationed at Fort Knox as part of the the Signal Corps, whatever that was. One thing was for certain, she had to deliver these documents to Elmer.

The Station’s overnight rooms seemed like a handy place to bed down and she was just downright weary of sitting and looking out of a dusty train window. As Evelyn crossed the tile floor of the Station proper she noticed something shiny on the floor and couldn’t resist bending over and picking it up. The object was a new 1944 dime. With some hesitation she tucked the dime into her pocketbook, “Well” she thought, which almost turned into a “Well, Hell”, “With all these people walking around, if I don’t pick it up, somebody else will”. Evelyn thought that she might feel guilty by picking up somebody else s money and keeping it, but to the contrary the dime felt warm and almost tingly. When she held it up and looked at it closer against the window light she noticed a man dressed in a sharply tailored blue suit standing out front.holding a Speed Graphic camera. The photographer seemed to be on a photo shoot involving one of the new Chevrolet cars that had just been produced.The thought that he must be a Picture Man instantly crossed her mind….

 

The Picture Man

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                              The Green River Gang

Jimbw

 

The man from the magazine arrived at his destination with a sense of trepidation on that fated day of May 13, he had just left his small home  office and now was near the Green River , located in one of the cave counties of Kentucky on an assignment as a writer to cover a story about an alleged ragtag band of assorted gunslingers, supposed lawmen, villains, and gamblers, all of them armed with at least two six shooters, a rifle, and packing a scattergun or two. He had just finished a three-year stint doing stories for different county newspapers and now was working on jobs for one of the new glossy magazines that had become popular recently in the Counties. His new Publishers down had heard about these git-togethers and wanted some new stories for the eager readers over to the East.
      James was the real name of the writer but in print, he went by the byline of Jimbob, and right now he was sore, and a little more than creaky from traveling a trail of what consisted of seemingly endless switchbacks, gully ruts, and fallen timber. He was wearing a pair of sensible sodbuster type round toed boots, his denim jeans, and a long sleeve light weight shirt. Stuck within his traveling bag were his camera, compass, notebooks, Black Warrior pencils, a fountain pen, pocket knife, i-Pad, and a silver dollar that had belonged to his grandaddy Elmer who himself was a former Newspaper man.IMG_0579
      The silver dollar was for good luck, and he had found it in the cardboard box of the leftovers of Elmer’s life that he had inherited after the old man’s demise. In that box, he had found the silver dollar, a Kodak Baby Brownie camera, some notebooks and papers, a few photographs, some telegrams, a telegraph key, pocketknife, and a timepiece. When Jimbob stood up without his boots on he measured five feet and six inches tall, he would never ride tall in a saddle but, he figured as long as he kept one foot on the gas pedal and the other on the brake he’d be all right. He had come out here to cover a story about a group of supposed gunslingers ,and he had no illusions about being a gunslinger, the closest he would probably ever get to that would be to sling some ink.
      Looking over to the flash of purple by the tree line that had caught his eye, he noticed that the purple he had seen was a cloth shirt, hung over the frame of a tall, lanky hombre hitching up his gun belts. The man appeared to be friendly enough, but with his hat shading part of his features, and with that white beard, it was hard to be certain.Purple shirt mail
                                                         

 

 

                                              Chapter 2
                           More of the Green River Gang
Jimbob slowly but surely stepped closer to purple shirt and said, “Howdy, do you know where I can find the trail boss of this shindig at?” “Why sure,” the other man replied, “you’ll want Yak, he should be over yonder past that grove of Beech trees, probably headed for the Sheriff’s Office.” “Say,” he continued in a friendly voice, “you that writer fella from the girlie magazine we heard about?” “I am,” replied Jimbob, “but don’t believe everything you heard about me, remember that it’s my job to make you look good. I might even get a cover photo here today. The bearded man in the purple shirt adjusted his gun belts some more, put on a big smile, and came back with “Well, as long as you keep us off the wanted posters you’ll be just fine.”
Feeling a little more relaxed, Jimbob strode over a small bridge that straddled a dry creek and headed towards the sounds of some conversations being carried out. The Green River Gunslingers engaging in some conversation mailStepping through the clearing he saw what appeared to several gunslingers engaged in some friendly banter in front of the Sheriff’s office, but when he looked over to the side of the building he saw that one of the men had a ball and chain shackled to his leg. “must be one of those alleged Vigilantes I heard about’” thought Jimbob to himself. Knowing better than to get involved in someone else’s spat, he found Yak and introduced himself. Yak seemed like an amiable fella that told him to make himself at home, and if he needed anything, to just give a holler.The transgessor is forced to shoot his way out while wearing a ball and chain mail
He also told him that the Green River Gunslingers were pleased to finally be getting some recognition for keeping the county safe by bringing the man in shackles to justice.
Jimbob had his notebook and pen ready and asked Yak “What exactly did this man do to deserve the ball and chain, and what is his sentence?” Yak responded with “We brought him in for assorted Territorial infractions, and the Judge and I agree that now he will have to shoot his way out while wearing that ball and chain.” Jimbob watched as the temporary prisoner used his two six-guns to shoot at the villains by the tree line, and then use his long gun to knock off the ones up the hill, and finally finish off the up close ones with some well-directed shotgun blasts. A well directed gun blastOnce the smoke cleared and the bystanders finished cheering, Yak declared the man now freed, and cautioned him about not taking part in any more misguided deeds.
After all this commotion and frenzy of gunfire Jimbob had to sit for a spell and settle his nerves. He took out his notebook to do some writing, and his thoughts came back to the man with the ball and chain. He felt glad that the man has made good for his alleged misdeeds, and like his grandaddy always said, “Even a kick in the fanny is forward motion.”

To be continued…Compass

 

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