Indiana – John Wise

Covered Bridges and Canoeing

October 12, 2008 JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Wilkins Mill Covered Bridge in Bloomingdale, Indiana

Well, here we are, checking out a few of the 98 remaining covered bridges that still exist in Indiana. Only Pennsylvania and Vermont have more of them, while over in Arizona, we are one of the 19 states that have none.

Bowsher Ford Bridge in Kingman, Indiana

Maybe it’s because the architecture of such bridges is no longer in favor that these appear to be so attractive. While I have no idea how often they have to be rebuilt, they do seem to have some durability with the oldest one over in New York dating to 1825.

Mill Creek Covered Bridge in Kingman, Indiana

Hmmm, it would be quite the epic journey to try documenting the more than 850 covered bridges across the country, but then again, that would probably take years to accomplish while neglecting everything else. I guess I can be grateful to see the seven we’ll be visiting or paddling under today.

Rush Creek Covered Bridge in Kingman, Indiana

We are a country where the number of buildings older than 200 years is likely under a few dozen compared to Europe, where there are buildings that have been in continuous use for more than 1,500 years. These random wooden anomalies represent a relatively ancient age here in the United States, though there are people still alive who are older than more than a few of these covered bridges.

Jackson Covered Bridge in Bloomingdale, Indiana

In just a few hours, we’ll be seeing this from a different perspective, as in underneath it when we paddle down Sugar Creek.

Sugar Creek in Bloomingdale, Indiana

With no ceremony, training, or others nearby to learn from, we pushed off in our rented canoe from Turkey Run State Park into Sugar Creek.

Narrows Covered Bridge over Sugar Creek in Bloomingdale, Indiana

Two kayakers quickly followed but were soon well in front of us dawdlers. Nervous caution gave way to an exhilarating wow factor as the slow-moving, shallow creek allowed us to float downstream at our own pace, lingering as we came upon sights such as this.

Caroline Wise on Sugar Creek in Bloomingdale, Indiana

It wasn’t long before shallow became so shallow that our little canoe would get stuck in the sand and gravel creek bed not once or twice but more than a few times. With paddles pushing and our desire not to step out of our canoe for fear of not being able to get back in without tipping it over, we shoved, bounced, and prodded the canoe free and once again were afloat. Until we ran up sideways against some tree limbs.

Sugar Creek in Bloomingdale, Indiana

Funny how slow-moving water picks up speed near rocks and trees. Just before the current promised to roll our canoe, I pushed against a tree and somehow backed us away from the wedge long enough for us to paddle like mad and move around the fallen tree.

Cox Ford Covered Bridge over Sugar Creek in Bloomingdale, Indiana

Of course, it wasn’t long before the next gotcha moment was bound to happen. We were fairly certain that we could go right over the minor blockage of thin tree branches; who knew that as we entered the wishbone, we would be hoisted aloft as though on a car jack stuck dead in the water.

Sugar Creek in Bloomingdale, Indiana

PUSH, Caroline, no push that way; I said, no, the other way, not that right, the other right, see I told you I’d take care of it.

John Wise on Sugar Creek in Bloomingdale, Indiana

Fine, I don’t care if next time you canoe on your own. No, I’m not angry, and I’m not yelling; I was just a bit nervous. Well, we made it without further incident.

Sugar Creek in Bloomingdale, Indiana

Maybe you are looking at this creek and are thinking, John, that looks mighty calm, but what you aren’t seeing are those parts where panic wasn’t going to allow me to photograph my own close encounter with death as I laser-focused on yelling at Caroline to get us out the pickle I couldn’t handle.

Jackson Covered Bridge over Sugar Creek in Bloomingdale, Indiana

Our first canoe trip on Sugar Creek under covered bridges on a beautiful warm fall day – a day to remember. By the way, you might notice that this was one of the bridges we’d seen earlier; it’s the Jackson Covered Bridge, built back in 1861.

Caroline Wise on Sugar Creek in Bloomingdale, Indiana

Phew…she’s still smiling.

Gobbler's Knob in Bloomingdale, Indiana

Of course, we stopped at Gobbler’s Knob for no other reason than the appealing name.

Gobbler's Knob in Bloomingdale, Indiana

Gifts from Gobbler’s Knob. Yep, I just love writing out Gobbler’s Knob.

Sunset in southern Illinois

We are heading back to Chicago, Illinois, as this road trip into the colors of fall is about to end. Tomorrow morning we’ll catch a flight back to Arizona and can say without reservation that this has been an incredible journey every minute we’ve been out here.

Traditions

October 11, 2008 JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Can you see the dichotomy between tradition and punk rock? Can you sense the metal nature of where we have landed? This is one of the hearts of Amish country, and I can feel the rebellion against conformity in much the same way I did when thrashing on the dance floor of a punk gig where, while slamming, we were tossing off the chains of expectation. Yeah, that’s what’s going on here; it’s in the air. When everyone else is cut from the same fabric of banality, those who are different become the leading edge of revolution.

When I was younger, I thought history was for a boring class of traditionalists stuck in a past in which stagnation was the signature of their intellectual malignancy, tilting into obedient stupidity. It turns out that moving with the times in America means following a pop culture where dictatorial programming pushes the chattel of humanity into consumption at the expense of self-discovery. Negating the toxic move away from traditional things like love, independence, and community, there are still pockets of Americans who understand the value of a lifestyle that doesn’t have to be a reflexive exercise in blind capitalism. So, does this place of tranquility and tradition now represent an ethos that better aligns with my lingering teenage idea of escaping society’s grotesque stupidity? Possibly.

Who knew that mid-70s angry John would slide into flower-loving, leaf-peeping, soft, and fuzzy John who finds greater value in nature and people who maintain traditions against the machine of disposable intelligence?

Elkhart, Indiana, and its surrounding communities are home to many an Amish family. Traditions are alive and well amongst these rural farmers and woodworkers who appear to have little in common with their modern neighbors. The Amish have no automobiles, do not use electricity in their homes, and apparently have no need for cell phones. What they do have is an independence few Americans can understand. Amish grow their own food on land they own, clear of a mortgage that has been plowed by hand with the help of what animals they own. They sell food and handmade furniture in nearby communities, which gives them the cash to purchase particular basics and the fabrics used to make their own clothes if they don’t weave them themselves.

There are no electricity, cable, gas, or credit card bills cluttering their mailboxes. Their vehicles are simple but distinctive black wooden affairs drawn by horses, or they ride a bicycle. Life for the Amish is much the way life has been during the previous centuries since America’s inception, except for the tourists driving through in their cars, gawking, and taking photos as though the Amish were a curiosity in the zoo. Throughout this burgeoning cultural hegemon trying to engulf them, they’ve never capitulated, and to me, that’s a toughness of resolve I can admire.

Now, back up, John, this isn’t a trip of socio-political observations; you are here to admire the beauty of the countryside, so get back to that. Quilts and family-style binge dining must be part of this day, and dropping in on an Amish gift shop would have been a wish by the wife; food will be my wish.

I should point out that I’m fully incompatible with the lifestyle experienced here and at other Amish locations across this area of America as I do not possess the requisite religious beliefs that would allow my integration within this community, but that doesn’t mean I can’t respect the efforts it must take to buttress the encroachment of modernity. Idealistically, I look upon this scene and wish to find my way in, but the die that’s been cast, which paints me as a cynical hedonist, is far too long-established to break out of my trajectory.

I suppose this husband and wife then are quite similar to me and my wife: we go about our routine that’s been normalized for our circumstances. They may be in a good or a bad relationship, just like any other number of couples, but I don’t think that a situation that requires them to dress to community conformity and saddle up their horses is really any different than us meeting the clothing expectations of a corporate entity and our stopping at the gas station to fuel up to ensure we arrive at work on time.

One might argue that these religious communities are indoctrinating each successive generation, but then I’d ask, how is this different than my upbringing in Los Angeles watching the Munsters, eating Lucky Charms because the ad was exciting, and wanting to be the next Joe Namath because others around me were elevating this American football hero onto a pedestal? When it comes right down to it, does anyone in our society live outside the norm of their narrow socio-economic order? We can ask ourselves, does this man love his son and want what’s best for him, or has he relegated that role to electronic devices that influence his child more than a paternal relationship ever will?

The Amish don’t require state-sanctioned approval to operate these buggies. There are no federal mandates regarding safety features, fuel economy, or even how old you have to be to operate one. Children as young as eight years old are allowed to drive a buggy, which sure does offer them an interesting level of autonomy to visit friends on adjacent farms or run an errand. I don’t mean to imply that somehow life is ideal out here or that the Amish have found a kind of super-enlightenment; I think I’m trying to reconcile my own bias as to what it means to be free.

Even the horses of the Amish are nice and polite compared to many of the skittish horses we encounter in other corners of the states. Has anyone ever noticed that there don’t seem to be any dogs on Amish farms?

I wish that this had been my go-kart when I was a kid.

I really don’t have anything to add to this photo other than I liked it enough to want to include it.

Amish father and son riding a plow being dragged by work horses in the Elkhart area of northern Indiana

I thought we’d be ignored while we were touristing our way through these Amish lands as I was certain that farmers and inhabitants were stared at all the time, but time and again, people were staring back, likely curious why anyone else would want to point their cameras at people who were just going about their lives.

I’ve tried figuring out if these are Amish or Mennonite girls but have come up blank unless gangland dress in the Elkhart area has taken a turn towards wholesomeness.

From the north-central part of Indiana, we took off for the western edge of the state adjacent to Indianapolis for a night in Rockville, which appeared centrally located to a bunch of covered bridges, but somehow, we ended up arriving during Indiana’s largest annual festival that is centered right here in Rockville, and maybe you’ve guessed that it’s the Parke County Covered Bridge Festival focused on the area’s 31 historic bridges. With everything booked, we went on a frantic search for any available room, which proved pricey when we finally found a place in Crawfordsville, nearly 30 miles away.

Mother and Son Going to Buffalo, NY – Day 14

July 21, 2005 JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Illinois

Our goal today is to go far. Finding a balance between taking small roads to avoid large cities and their inherent congestion and making quick time seems mostly impossible. We get out of French Lick and head over to Montgomery, Indiana, before stopping for breakfast at a little Amish-influenced place. By setting ourselves in motion, it feels like progress is being made right away. Before we know it we are crossing into Illinois and are almost halfway across the Midwest.

Illinois

U.S. Route 50 takes us straight through farmland, allowing us to travel nearly at the speed of the freeway but without the semi-trucks and endless franchises that define America’s main arterial roads. I prefer to lose 30 miles per hour for the calm tranquility of passing fields of corn that are so close I can reach out and touch them or maybe just stop and photograph a field of it as a reminder that I’ve been here.

Illinois

There’s a lot of corn grown in this state, but by the time we reached Odin, Illinois, where we picked up some fresh tomatoes being sold next to the road, it was time to step south in order to give a wide berth to St. Louis and avoid even a hint of the suburbs. Great, now we have tomatoes, but not a grain of salt. We need a store or a fast-food restaurant.

Illinois

In Pinckneyville, Illinois, we spot a McDonald’s and score a few salt packets so we can start enjoying the tomatoes. A place across the street offering oil changes allows us to have some basic maintenance done on Mom’s van, which has already been driven more than 4,500 miles on this trip. The guy’s hopefully removed some of the ticks out of the car when they vacuumed it. We don’t know for certain that there were any ticks in the car, but Mom was worried after all my stops to take photos.

Illinois

About to leave Modoc, Illinois, across the Mississippi River by a small ferry for $8, heading into Saint Genevieve, Missouri.

Illinois

At 100 degrees on the river with what feels like an equal amount of humidity, we might as well be in the river. Except, the last place I want to be right now while riding a ferry across the mighty Mississippi River is on a capsizing boat taking us to nice dry land on the other side in a different state.

Missouri

Collecting more ticks, so my neurotic mother is more occupied with pestilence instead of food.

Missouri

The torment that must exist in my mom as she vacillates between imagined variants of the plague and the overwhelming desire for calories to regulate her serotonin would push lesser people into therapy. Again, we are at the point where it’s too hot to do anything but seeing the Charleville Vineyard here in Ste. Genevieve, she’s all of a sudden energized into buying more wine. If you’ve been keeping track, you wouldn’t be wrong in assuming we have quite a few cases of wine stowed here in the van.

While you’d never guess it from the picture I captured at a moment with no one else in sight, the Old Brick House was packed, so we went over to the Anvil Restaurant, which was the second recommendation. The Anvil has been open since 1855 and has the best onion rings mom and I have ever had. I had a chicken fried steak that was the daily special, while mom opted for a burger.

Missouri

Looking at the path our road trip took, I’m left wondering years later what exactly was the motivation for the drive south only to turn north again, but that’s what we are doing today instead of holding a steady westerly direction. Here we are on one of those northern legs about to cross the Missouri River.

Missouri

Of course, there’s more corn out here; it’s the Midwest, right?

Missouri

Crossing the Missouri River, we arrive in the unincorporated area known as Dutzow. It’s the Blumenhof Vineyard & Winery that drags us out of the car. Mom purchases even more wine. Further west on the river is the city of Hermann, Missouri. Why are we here? Lunch, shoes, ice cream? Nope, more wine. Back in Dutzow, the proprietor told Mom of the Hermannhof Winery. Mom goes berserk and is about to leave with two full cases. One half a case is for Caroline, but after sampling their sparkling grape juice, we left with a case of it too.

Missouri

Back across the Missouri River on a road that will keep us the closest to the river until we have to turn south again.

Missouri

Our turn south was happening in Jefferson City, Missouri, which also serves as the location to have dinner. We’re not done driving yet, as we are determined to cover more ground today before exhaustion sets in.

Missouri

Highway 54 takes us past the over-commercialized Lake of the Ozarks area, but not before we stop for a Custard at Andy’s in Osage Beach. We make it as far as Weaubleau, Missouri before I’m just too tired to continue on. The Weaubleau Motel offers small cabins for only $40, including tax and cash only. The pillows are sofa pillows, the shower has a sizable colony of spiders in residence, and the place is at least 20 degrees hotter than outside. The last temperature we saw 45 minutes before checking in was 91 degrees; this room is well over 105. The air conditioner makes a valiant attempt to cool things, but after 30 minutes, it’s still ridiculously hot. Only $40, hmmm, maybe not the best bargain, but then again, I was about to pass out on the road.

Mother and Son Going to Buffalo, NY – Day 13

July 20, 2005 JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Ohio

Millies Café – “Go a quarter-mile and turn right at the caution light, go about four miles” are the instructions we use to find breakfast. Nothing on the highway identifies the place. Good thing we arrived on Wednesday, according to the waitress, as on weekends it’s standing room only. If you were to see for yourself how sparse the local population is out here, you’d understand how popular this place is to bring people in from near and far.

Ohio

Before and after breakfast, we were dealing with somewhat heavy fog, which quickly burned off into a blistering heat combined with humidity conditions, leaving us feeling like we were in a tropical fishbowl. We sweat. The air conditioner vents in the car sweat. The air is sweating. Humidity is a nemesis and absolutely alien to someone who’s been living in that good old Arizona dry heat. Moving around causes each individual pore to sweat in a kind of torture. Seconds later, every square inch of clothing is damp, but it’s so hot that our clothes are not cooled by the breeze or fans blowing air in the car. We are so hot and humid that we start creating our own personal cloud of humidity. I think we will start raining upon ourselves.

Ohio

The Ohio River Valley in July is not only a nearly unbearable land of humidity but also laden with crops this time of year. From vineyards, corn, beans, and melons to tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, eggplant, and tobacco, we are taking inventory of a cornucopia of produce here along the river.

Ohio

Towns come and go, none really stand out. The scenery is definitely the winner here until we make Manchester, Ohio, where we stop at a small winery called Moyer on the Ohio. As they also have a cafe on the premises we use the opportunity to have lunch. Mom also picked up four bottles of Ohio wine, and we were right back on the road.

Ohio

Our waitress recommended that we cross the river into Maysville, Kentucky, about 20 minutes southwest of the winery. She emphasized that we go to Old Washington in Maysville in particular.

Ohio

I don’t believe I’ll ever be able to just drive by an abandoned gas station, as there’s something fascinating about these places. My best guess about what the attraction is would be that my imagination conjures the sights and sounds of travelers from the past who are driving somewhere new. Not going to work or school but on a migrant journey following opportunity and chasing new horizons. Without the mass media, we have today, those travelers from a previous age would be venturing into a great unknown where every corner showed them the unexpected.

Those people were fleeing their own uncertainty and inability to deal with particular situations, hoping for a new start elsewhere. When I stopped at a house in ruin, there really wasn’t anything special about the chaos of the place that appeared ransacked following its previous inhabitants abandoning it, but there was one thing that stood out. While everything appears to be turned over the potholder above the stove looks untouched. The person who put that back up on its hook after removing dinner from the oven probably never thought that they’d never use it again.

There are certainly parallels between these rural abandonments and Buffalo, which makes me wonder about what places in America are next.

Kentucky

Great recommendation from the woman at the winery to visit Old Washington. This is where Harriet Beecher Stowe found some of the inspiration to write Uncle Tom’s Cabin after watching a slave auction at the local courthouse back in 1833.

Kentucky

Quite a few old buildings from the 1700s still stand on Old Main Street; I only wish we had more time to visit. The truth is that we had enough time, but the hot weather and humidity were too oppressive for Mom’s comfort, so she waited in the car with the a/c on while I jumped out and grabbed a few photos.

Kentucky

There’s a lot of history in this small town I hope to find again someday in the future, but for now, we are leaving.

Kentucky

Back across the river in Ohio, just before Ripley, we stop to take a photo of a houseboat that is undergoing renovation. Seeing the owner, Mom now has the wherewithal to exit the car. I see how it is; if it’s something my mom wants, she’ll go the extra mile. She asks Bob, the owner of a local upholstery shop, about his labor of love. He’s been working on this aluminum 42-footer for four years now and is almost ready to start putting it back together.

Kentucky

Ripley itself is one of the towns Mom and I swear we must come back to. Sometimes, in the most unlikely of places, the most wonderful surprises await you. Today, it happened multiple times. Driving through Ripley, Mom spots an Easy Step shoe outlet and insists on visiting. Twenty minutes later, with five pairs of shoes and a new purse, she emerges to me, napping in the running car.

Kentucky

A few more miles down the road, and we’re aiming to cross the river back into Kentucky. Our $5 ferry ride has us landing in Augusta, Kentucky, our next amazing surprise location. Not far after leaving Augusta, we are on some of the twistiest roads known to mankind. A light rain starts to fall, but only for a minute before it starts to pummel the earth. Darkness descends in midday, and lightning strikes not more than 300 feet in front of us, making Mom grab my arm so quickly and tightly that I thought I’d jerk the van off the road.

Kentucky

The rain comes and goes while the road continues to twist and turn, zig and zag and we finally return to the road we were supposed to be on. The next stop was at a gas station for the facilities. I ask about a good place for home cooking and the attendant is quick to tell us of Mr. Ed’s in Verona. About 10 miles up the highway and then about 3 miles west, we will find Verona. One wrong turn, and we took the long way down a narrow road, which proved nice for photos but added a few miles to the journey. At the intersection of Mudlick and Glencoe Roads, we see that the girl meant Mr. Herb’s in Verona; there could not be another restaurant in this tiny village.

Kentucky

The food is excellent. The starter is fried green tomatoes; we agree they are the best we have ever had. I ordered the cod, for which they are locally famous, and Mom went for the catfish. For sides, Mom has more fried green tomatoes, and for me, the green beans. Both of our dishes are great, but I would have preferred the catfish. For dessert, we nearly have coronaries before reaching the front door after gobbling down a deep-fried slice of apple pie with ice cream and caramel sauce, an “oh my god!” experience. Feeling like we’re falling behind schedule, although it’s a loose one for sure, we decide on taking the dreaded freeway to shave some time off the driving requirements.

John Wise in Indiana

The idea was to beeline it to Madison, Indiana, and then take Highway 56 across the state as we continue in our effort to bypass any major cities and minimize freeway driving. Right, enough energy to go shoe shopping and eat deep-fried apple pie, but it’s too hot, and her feet hurt, so I have to get out and snap a selfie of myself. I should have worn donuts on my shoulders to get my mom to follow me around.

Indiana

Does that look like Kentucky to you? As far as I could tell, the barge was hauling coal.

Indiana

In Old Madison, we almost ruined our plans. This place must be one of a small handful of absolutely perfect places in America. I had said Harbor Springs in Michigan would be in the top three, and Monterey, California, would probably be there too; that leaves Madison to round out the list. I’ll have to give this more thought and see just what my top 10 favorite American cities would be. I suppose I would also want to include Canandaigua, New York. While I’m at it, throw in Apalachicola, Florida, so there it is a beginning to my all-time favorite cities in the United States.

Indiana

We talk of staying the night after spotting a riverside motel that, for only $59, begs us to stay. Our loved ones back home are begging us to return, so we decide it’s better to get a few more miles down the road before calling it a day.

Indiana

Only 75 more miles were driven before we were too tired to continue. We made it to Paoli, Indiana, but didn’t quite find what we were looking for in accommodations. In French Lick, we stop at the Lane Motel grabbing a nice little room for about $57.

America – Day 4

November 4, 2000 JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Lincoln Boyhood National Monument in Lincoln City, Indiana

On a late fall day, this was how we saw the Lincoln Boyhood National Memorial in Indiana. During our visit, we were the only visitors milling about the cabin, strange for it being a Saturday, though it is still early in the day. There were a couple of chickens wandering about, a couple of cardinals, a blue jay, a woodpecker, and more squirrels than we could shake a stick at. Ranger Zimmermann gave a great talk about the history of the area and Lincoln’s time here.

Caroline Wise and John Wise visiting Santa Claus in Indiana

I just had to stop for this selfie in front of the Santa Claus, Indiana, sign to commemorate the day I peed in Santa Claus. Yep, that’s exactly what I did which is why Caroline has this smirk of disbelief that I would be that juvenile. In my defense, I can only say that being a man, I’m inclined to acts of stupidity that are beyond my control or better sense. Does anyone know if there’s a city in America called Batman?

Caroline Wise and John Wise in front of the Welcome to Indiana state sign

We don’t always get photos where we’d like to due to the time of day, being on a road that isn’t conducive to pulling over, or the sign is missing. So was the case last night as we passed from Missouri into Indiana and couldn’t find the sign in the dark, so here we are, leaving Indiana for Kentucky or maybe Indiana.

Roadside barn in Kentucky

We’ve been zigzagging across the Ohio River, crossing from Cannelton, Indiana, to Hawesville, Kentucky. Somehow, we got to the other side and found this old barn or farmhouse just outside Rome, Indiana. In Derby, while still in Indiana, we stopped to gaze once again upon the Ohio River and then continued to Leavenworth in Indiana as opposed to the one in Kansas. While in Leavenworth, we stopped at a roadside orchard stand and bought some apples, peanuts, and sorghum.

Horseshoe overlook in Leavenworth, Indiana

While in Leavenworth we also visited this horseshoe overlook of the Ohio River with Kentucky just across the way.

Old decrepit bridge over the Blue river in Indiana

This old decrepit bridge just barely stands over the Blue River off the Ohio River Scenic Byway.

Kentucky state sign from the freeway entering Louisville, Kentucky

Trying to avoid main roads and freeways doesn’t always work out, and this once again demonstrates the occasional difficulty in obtaining selfies in front of state signs. After our slow, meandering drive along the Ohio River, it was time to make tracks if we were going to make our destination located further north. Okay, we had no real idea of where we were going, but we weren’t ready to quit, so we just kept driving. I wanted to stop for a photo of me in front of Big Bone Lick State Park just west of the town called Beaverlick, but I wasn’t willing to make the detour; now I wish I had.

Millie's Place in Cincinnati, Ohio

I’d like to tell you that we are suckers for soul food, but the truth is we are foodies and want to try everything. A pit stop at a Starbucks brought us into conversation with a young lady who recommended Millie’s Place here in Cincinnati, Ohio. We left this joint smacking our lips, uttering yum, yum, yum. On leaving Cincinnati, we took Highway 50, which passes through the Mariemont neighborhood; we took note that this is an upscale section of town should we ever need to visit again. Down the 50, we pass through Bainbridge, which is home to the first dental school in America, and of course, the museum would be closed as we were in town. The next stop is the Chillicothe Inn over in Chillicothe, Ohio. Wow, we were booked into room 23 here on Highway 23.

U.S. Army

March 26, 1985 JWise Moments

John Wise in Basic Training Ft. Knox, Kentucky March 1985

March 26, 1985, was my first day of basic training for the U.S. Army. I was just eight days away from my 22nd birthday and was feeling old compared to the other guys around me, who were mostly 18 to 20 years old, but looking back at these photos; I feel like I looked like I was about 15 years old. Raging inside was an angry 12-year-old who believed he was in an old man’s body. I signed up for this gig because I was bored while attending DeVry Technical Institute. I thought I wanted a degree in Computer Information Systems, but I hated accounting. But more than that, I was bored.

John Wise in Basic Training at Ft. Knox, Kentucky 1985

One morning while doing homework with MTV playing in the background, an ad came on with a jingle about Being All That You Can Be with promises of jobs in Japan, Korea, and Germany. That song echoed in my head later as I sat in a classroom waiting for a professor who was habitually late, except today, we also were missing his assistants, so nothing was going on. Replaying the ad in mind, I picked up on the “Guaranteed career opportunity in Germany.” I asked a friend to watch my stuff and ran to the payphone to call the local recruiting office. By that afternoon, I’d signed up to join the U.S. Army.