Author: John Turley Page 24 of 28

1975: Adventures in Tokyo and Hong Kong

On May 2, 2023

**In our Changing world, one of the best parts of being a Grumpy Old Doc is wonderful memories!**

Will We Find Each Other?
Margie and I hadn’t been together since February when I left for a 13-month unaccompanied tour with the Marine Corps in Okinawa. I took leave at Christmas time 1975 and Margie flew from Charleston, WV to Tokyo to meet me for the holidays. I went to the airport to meet her only to discover that her flight had been cancelled. Remember, there were no cell phones, e-mail, or texts. The airline didn’t know if she had been rescheduled or not or when she might arrive. After waiting through the last flight of the day, I decided to come back for the first morning flight.

I arrived at the airport the next morning to wait for the San Francisco flight. The Tokyo airport, like everything else in Japan, was very crowded. I was wondering how I would find Margie in that crowd, but it turned out not to be a problem. She was six feet tall and was literally head and shoulders above everyone else in the arrival area. I could see her from across the terminal.

Transportation In Japan
Fortunately, I had the hotel’s name written in Japanese on a piece of paper. I’m not sure we would have made it to the hotel had I not been able to show that paper to the cab driver. It was difficult to find a driver who spoke English. The cab ride to the hotel was fascinating; as we were absorbing the sights, the driver pointed to a McDonalds, then newly arrived in Japan, smiled, and said, “Big Mac-San.”

When we arrived at the hotel, we were greeted by the doorman who was wearing a top hat, white gloves, and a morning coat. He opened the door and smiled and said “Hi ya Joe”. That was the only thing he ever said to us in English the whole time we were there. He was about the right age to have been a young boy during the American occupation right after World War II. I suspect that’s where he learned that phrase and it was probably the only English he knew. But I don’t even know that much Japanese.

Japanese public transportation was also quite an experience. There’s no lining up to get on or off buses or trains. As soon as the doors open everyone rushes in or out. Margie is always trying to be polite and to let other people go ahead. I tried to tell her we would never get on if she kept deferring to everyone else. When the doors of the train opened, I got behind her and just pushed her on board.

I found this behavior by the Japanese to be strange given what I thought was excessive politeness about everything else and every other encounter we had in Japan. We even had a salesclerk apologize to us because we thought the price was too high on something we were considering. The only thing that I can think of is that public transportation was not a one-to-one personal encounter but was more of a group event and didn’t require the same degree of civility.

An Unusual Photo Op
There was one interesting thing about being so tall in Japan. We were walking together when a Japanese man came up to us with his camera, pointed to it, and said something. I thought he was asking us to take his picture. But he quickly turned around handed his camera to a friend and then, stood between us to have his picture taken with the big, tall Americans; his friend followed suite. It’s nice to think that our pictures are somewhere in a Japanese family’s photo album.

Christmas, Japanese Style
Christmas is a big deal in Japan, but it has no religious connotations. It is strictly a commercial holiday. Neon snowflakes and candy canes and Santa Clauses were everywhere. Needless to say, we did a little Christmas shopping while we were there.

This was the most unique Christmas Eve we have ever spent. We had dinner in a French restaurant in a Japanese hotel. After that we went to a movie in a Japanese theater. We saw the Steven Spielberg film “Jaws”. It was in English with Japanese subtitles. They don’t have popcorn in Japanese movie theaters (at least they didn’t then). We had Tangerines and sushi rolls.

On To Hong Kong!
From Tokyo we flew to Hong Kong. We stayed in a little more upscale hotel than I had on my first trip; on my second trip I stayed on board ship. I was determined that our reunion trip was going to be first class and we stayed at the Hong Kong Hilton. It was a beautiful place and had a Rolls Royce fleet parked in front. Of course, they weren’t there for our use. Apparently, a lot of very wealthy people stay there.

Shop ‘Till You Drop
Hong Kong was literally a shopper’s paradise. You could go bankrupt saving money! The exchange rate was about six Hong Kong dollars to one U.S. dollar. It seemed to us that things were really cheap; we just divided the price by six. You bargained for everything, even a pack of gum. We bought a lot of gifts and souvenirs and thoroughly enjoyed this new (to us) style of shopping.

Finally, a potential major purchase caught our fancy. While window shopping at a carpet store, we noticed one of the most beautiful rugs we had ever seen and maybe the most beautiful we will ever see. It was a deep crimson hand-woven rug known as the five-dragon rug. There was a large dragon in the center and a smaller dragon in each corner. We stood there looking at it and trying to figure how we could fit it into our living room. The price on it said $5000. Thinking it was Hong Kong dollars, we decided if shipping wasn’t too much, we should just go for it. We went in and asked the clerk exactly how much the price was in U.S. dollars to start the bargaining. He looked back at me and said “$5000 US, firm”. (Just to put it in perspective, my annual salary at the time was $9500.) So, of course you know there is no five-dragon rug in our living room, although I still regret not having figured out some way to make it work.

Eating Out And A Lesson Not Learned!
Despite my experience with bitter melon and pigeon, we decided to try for a real Chinese dinner. (I can be a slow learner.) We were advised to look for a restaurant where there were few or no westerners in the dining room and where the women were playing mahjong.

We found our restaurant and it looked good. Most of the restaurants where we had eaten served ala carte where we ordered dishes individually and they were served in small bowls that we shared. The menu had very little English and none of the typical Chinese restaurant dish names that we recognized. We found out much later that such staples of western Chinese restaurants as Chop Suey and General Tso’s Chicken were not actually of Chinese origin. Our most popular “Chinese” dishes would be a mystery in China.

There was one waiter who spoke limited English. I would point to something, and he would explain it to us as best he could, and we would decide whether or not to order it. We ordered a number of dishes expecting they would all come in small bowls that we would share.

We should have been suspicious when the waiter came and set up a folding table beside us. He then proceeded to load the table up with several large serving bowls. It seems this restaurant served family style.

Each bowl held enough food for somewhere between four and six people and we had seven bowls. As if having all this food on a table beside us wasn’t enough, the staff then lined up behind the table to watch the big Americans eat. Well, we gave it our best effort, but we couldn’t get through even a small amount. We took a little sampling from each and left most of it. (We both hoped that someone would be able to use the leftovers.) We had several more days in Hong Kong but never ventured into another Chinese restaurant.

A Trip Ending Too Soon
Reluctantly, we parted in Hong Kong. Margie flew back to West Virginia and her classroom. Fortunately, her return trip was less eventful than coming over. I headed back to Okinawa for the rest of my tour. We had a wonderful two weeks and would be together again in three months. We are both thankful we never had to be apart that long again.

We hope you also have wonderful memories of bygone trips and adventures. And, there’s more yet to do!

The Classic Martini

By John Turley

On April 28, 2023

In Food and Drink

I can remember when I was younger watching old black and white movies on TV. I was impressed by the elegant ladies in evening gowns and the suave men in tuxedos. They looked so sophisticated sipping crystal clear martinis while smoking cigarettes. A few years later it was James Bond in a white dinner jacket instructing the bartender “Shaken not stirred.” Oh boy, I couldn’t wait to get my first martini, but I must confess, it is an acquired taste.

The martini is a very simple drink, only two ingredients. Yet so many bartenders make it so badly. There are as many recipes as there are martini drinkers and each is sure that his or hers is the best. Although, unless they’re using my recipe, they’re probably wrong.
So here it is:
Five parts gin. (Yes, gin)
One part vermouth.

So how can you go wrong? For one thing you can skimp on the ingredients. Go for quality not price.

For gin I use Plymouth or Tanqueray. A gin that is too smooth will give a bland drink. A gin that has too many botanicals will give a muddy drink. There are a lot of new craft gins on the market. Most of them command an elevated price. While some are quite good, others can best be described as awful. While you are learning your martini basics, stick to the classic London Dry Gins. If you have any questions, contact The Grumpy Doc. I’ve tried most of them and of course, you know I have an opinion.

For vermouth I use Noilly Prat or Dolin (harder to find). The single biggest mistake of the novice martini maker is to follow the recipe found in many bar guides that calls for a 2:1 gin to vermouth ratio. This leaves you tasting a drink that like it can’t decide what it wants to be. Some people are vermouth minimalists. They either leave it out all together or add only a few drops. Vermouth adds complexity (I know, a nerd word) and without it you have a glass of chilled gin. If that’s what you like, fine. Just don’t call it a martini.

Now for the garnish. The short answer is: “I don’t use one.” I don’t like anything distracting from the crisp flavor of a properly proportioned martini. The classic picture is always two olives on a cocktail pick. But unless you can find olives packed in vermouth, even a small amount of brine will ruin the drink. (Don’t get me started on that crime against nature, the dirty martini.) Occasionally on a hot summer day when I’m on the deck I’ll add a lemon twist, but it can overwhelm the drink.

Finally, we come to Mr. Bond’s instruction. Sorry 007, it’s not shaken. But you weren’t entirely wrong; it’s not stirred either. It’s poured. Mix your martini and pour it into a flask or a cocktail shaker (without ice) and put it in the freezer until it looks like it is starting to thicken. Don’t worry, it won’t freeze. So why poured? If either shaken or stirred for too little contact with the ice, you’ll get a warm drink, and no one wants that. Too much contact with the ice results in a diluted drink. If you like a little dilution in your martini (misguided though that may be) add a tablespoon of water to your mix. Depending on the ice for dilution leaves too much to chance.

Finally, don’t forget to put your glass in the freezer as well. The only thing that keeps your drink cold is the initial chill on the liquid and the glass. A stemmed glass will keep it cold longer; just remember to hold it by the stem.

The Grumpy Doc says “Cheers.”

The 24 Hour News Cycle: Too Much Time, Too Little News

By John Turley

On April 18, 2023

In Commentary

And That’s The Way It Is.

Growing up I can remember anxiously awaiting the news. Either a newspaper arriving twice a day on our doorstep or a well-known news anchor at 6 o’clock on the television. Either way, we trusted we would receive a detailed and thoughtful analysis of current events to give us a basis for understanding what was going on.

I would like to think that those journalists, both print and electronic, were careful about their facts, that they checked sources, that they double checked, that they confirmed wherever possible, and that they didn’t publish a story until they knew they had it right. Newspapers were known to hold back stories, sometimes for weeks, until they could verify all the sources before putting the story on the pages of the paper. They stood behind what they said and had to issue very few retractions. Editorial opinions remained on the editorial page and were seldom ever reflected in the news stories. Walter Cronkite always said when he reported a story “That’s the way it is”. It wasn’t the way it might be or the way he wanted it to be, but it was the way it was.

CNN launched the 24 hour news cycle when it went on the air in 1980. Fox News and MSNBC followed in 1996. They all seemed to present a fairly straight forward reporting of names, places and events, with the major difference being their approach to political stories. I remember during the 2000 political conventions, I enjoyed switching back and forth between CNN and Fox to get a simultaneous view from both sides of the political aisle. But they were the types of differences I expected from differing political parties.

With few exceptions, these were the networks I turned to for the latest update on breaking news like hurricanes, earthquakes, and airplane crashes. It didn’t matter which network I watched because there didn’t seem to be any editorializing of the stories. I usually watched the one that wasn’t showing a commercial when I turned it on.

It seems to me that this changed after 9-11. I had started to notice an increase in partisanship with the coverage of the controversy of the 2000 election, but I expected that would pass after the court cases were settled. However, post 9-11 coverage of the debates over weapons of mass destruction and the Iraq war seemed to increase the polarization, something that has continued to worsen.

With TV 24-hour news channels in constant competition, can reporters take time to check their sources and to verify their stories or must they rush to get on the air? Is it more important to be first than to be correct? Or, are the ratings, and more importantly, the advertising dollars just following the desires of the viewers? Have people come to care less about being informed than about having their preexisting opinions reinforced? Or, do they simply want to be entertained?

It seems to me the news networks now present stories the way they believe the viewers want the story to be, not what is actually true. The founder of a major news network recently admitted in court that his reporters selectively edited stories to create misleading conclusions and at times they reported stories they knew to be false.

Fortunately, there are still print journalists and local broadcast journalists who value integrity over notoriety. Unfortunately, judging by the diminishing number and size of daily newspapers, this option, limited though it is, may not be around much longer. To paraphrase Gresham’s Monetary Law that “Bad money drives out good”, we now have The Grumpy Doc’s Broadcast News Law, “Sensational news drives out accurate news.”

I don’t want to be entertained by the news; I want to be informed. I don’t want to be indoctrinated; I want to get the facts. I don’t want a news reporter to tell me what to think; I want them to give me information so I can make my own decisions.

I’m concerned about the future of news. Will the 24 hour news networks become little more than the province of those who yell first and yell the loudest without regard to the truth of their stories? If they do, where will we go to find out the way it is?

Walter Cronkite would be ashamed.

Ramps Redux

By John Turley

On April 12, 2023

In Appalachia, Commentary, Food and Drink

The advent of spring in Appalachia brings about another ramp season and with it all things ramp. I’ve decided to get lazy today and repost my blog from May 2021.

What Is It About Ramps?

Continuing my reminiscences about growing up in West Virginia I’m going to visit the subject of ramps. For those of you who haven’t been blessed to live in Appalachia, ramps are a type of wild leek in the onion family. They have a very pungent flavor that is like a highly garlicky, sulfureous onion. They have a short season in the spring and are highly prized by those who enjoy them.

If you think politics can be contentious, you haven’t seen anything until you’ve seen the disagreements about ramps. You either hate ramps or you love ramps. There is no middle ground and almost no one is neutral on the subject.

Those unfamiliar with ramps might think, “If you don’t like them, just don’t eat them.” Well, it’s just not that simple. If you think garlic or onions can give you bad breath, just standby.

Ramps may give you the harshest breath that you’ve ever experienced. But that’s not the worst part. The odor of ramps will radiate from your body for several days. Despite much folklore about the best ways to rid your body of the odor, the only thing that works is the passage of time.

I can remember many years ago when I was in school, kids who would eat too many ramps sometimes would be sent home because the odor was just too much to bear in a closed classroom. There were times when I thought eating ramps might be worth it if I got a day off school. Ultimately, I decided maybe school wasn’t so bad.

The spring of my senior year in high school a buddy and I decided to go to Richwood for the annual ramp festival. Richwood sits in a river valley and as we started down the hill, we could see a haze hanging over the town. As we got closer to the festival site I was almost driven back. I grew up in a town with several chemical plants so I thought I was used to bad odors in the air, but was I ever wrong. The only thing that kept us going was free beer. We had both just turned 18 and could legally drink.

Even the federal government has declared ramps to be a public nuisance. The editor of the Richwood weekly newspaper once mixed ramp juice with the ink for a special edition. The smell was so bad the post office refused to deliver the paper and destroyed all the copies in its possession.

People who love ramps talk about the many ways to cook them. In the spring in West Virginia restaurants seem to continuously look for new ways to present ramps during the few weeks that they are available. They have ramp burgers, ramp pimento cheese, ramp jelly and ramp omelets. There has even been the misguided ramp infused wine. It seems to me that most recipes involve ways to disguise the flavor of ramps.

It’s not just when they’re cooked that they put off this objectionable odor. Even raw they can be hard to deal with. I was out in the country with my brother and his wife when she decided to pick some ramps (leaves only, the bulb is left to grow next year’s crop). Let me say I was glad we drove out separately. He said it was at least three days before the smell of ramps was cleared from the car. He joked that while ramps may not be grounds for divorce, they certainly could be grounds for temporary separation.

If you love ramps, I hope you enjoy them. Just make sure everyone else has enough warning to avoid you during ramp season. And that is The Grumpy Doc’s opinion about ramps. Be sure and leave a comment with yours.

By Any Other Name: An Obsession with Titles

By John Turley

On March 31, 2023

In Commentary

Titles are everywhere and they likely have existed since humans began forming groups larger than the individual family. Almost all societies in every part of the world have evolved titles of one form or another. The Europeans, however, have raised titles to a whole new level. Kings, queens, princes, dukes, duchesses, lords, ladies, barons, viscounts, the list is endless. It seems almost everyone in Europe has a title of one type or another.

The European fascination with titles followed the colonists to America. As an American elite arose, they too began to award themselves titles, from the political such as burgess to the religious such as deacon and to the title of master in the slavery system. Some southern planters liked to refer to themselves as “a simple farmer,” though they were far from simple and I doubt that any of them dirtied their hands in the fields. Also, they were also quite fond of the title squire.

Two of my favorite titles are from colonial New England. Elite men were referred to as Worthy, as in Worthy Jones. I wonder if common men were considered unworthy. Married women were referred as Goodwife, often shortened to Goodie.

From the beginning of the United States, we were involved in creating new titles. After the adoption of the constitution, titles, specifically a title for the new chief executive, took up a portion of the first meetings of Congress.

Vice President John Adams suggested the following titles: “His Elective Majesty”, “His Mightiness”, and even “His Highness, the President of the United States of America and the Protector of their Liberties”.

Adams, who might kindly be described as portly, was mockingly referred to as “His Rotundancy”. Fortunately for succeeding generations, Adams’s recommendations were ignored, and Mr. President became the accepted title.

The use of titles, real or imagined, seems to have become particularly widespread in the times of the Internet. We constantly receive emails that include the name of the sender followed by multiple titles, often in the form of abbreviations and strings of letters that we seldom understand. These are meant to add an air of importance to the message. Often, we are impressed without really understanding why.

Some titles are honorary such as those awarded by universities or other such honorary titles as Kentucky Colonel. Others are just for fun such as the title I recently received, Admiral of the Cherry River Navy, the world’s only navy where every member is an admiral.

Please don’t think that I am mocking or dismissing the importance of titles. It’s their misuse and overuse that concerns me. Professional titles have an important place in professional situations. They help establish the expertise and credentials of people who will be working together but may not know each other. In this professional situation they can also help to establish educational accomplishments, political or social authority, or even honorary positions.

I’ve heard the argument’ “I’ve worked hard for that title and I’m going to use it.” I have some sympathy for that position, particularly for someone newly graduated with an advanced degree. But in general, use of professional titles in a nonprofessional setting strikes me as bragging.

Like everyone else, I have a title. However, unless you are seeing me in a professional situation or we are in a situation where all people are expected to use their professional titles, you won’t see an MD after my name. Occasionally when I’m having my name listed in a program or on a group roster, I tell them not to add the title, and I’ll be asked why. My standard response is that it isn’t relevant to the group.

Occasionally I’ll be working on a committee or other group with another professional and invariably they will list all their credentials in all our correspondence. For example, recently I was working with a group completely unrelated to medicine that also included another physician. We are well known to each other and know each other’s credentials. I signed all my emails with a simple John. In his emails, his full name was always followed by MD, MPH, FAAP. I know all about the automatic signature block and use it in professional correspondence, but there is a time and a place for everything. Perhaps he thinks I forgotten who he is since we talked last week.

The Grumpy Doc, HSE, AKMU

For those who don’t recognize my newly self-awarded titles, they are His Serene Excellency, All Knowing Master of the Universe. I will expect appropriate deference from now on.

The Contradictory Life of Thomas Jefferson

By John Turley

On March 18, 2023

In Commentary, History

Part I, Liberty and Slavery

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

These stirring words that Thomas Jefferson used in the Declaration of Independence put forth a clear statement of his political philosophy. Unfortunately, the man behind the words is not nearly so self-evident. To borrow a phrase from Winston Churchill, he is a riddle wrapped in a mystery, wrapped in an enigma. Biographer Joseph Ellis referred to him as The American Sphinx.

He was a man of the enlightenment, but he was also a man clearly bound to the brutal slave economy. He dreamed of a bucolic America peopled by hardworking yeoman farmers while he lived the life of a wealthy British aristocrat. He abhorred the thought of banks and bankers but spent his entire life mired in debt. He wrote and spoke often of the need to avoid factionalism in politics but was a skillful practitioner of political intrigue. He constantly argued against expansion of governmental power but as President, without having the authority, he undertook to expand the United States to more than double its size.

So, how do we reconcile the words with the man? Perhaps we don’t. Perhaps the best we can do is try to understand the world in which he lived and the circumstances that led him to take such contradictory positions in his political and personal life. Tens of thousands of pages have been written trying to understand and explain Thomas Jefferson. Now, I’m only going to look briefly at his relationship to slavery. In a later post I’ll be looking at Thomas Jefferson as the master of political manipulation.

Of the many contradictions in Thomas Jefferson’s life, his relationship to slavery is the most difficult to reconcile. One of his first cases after becoming a lawyer was to represent a slave seeking his freedom on the grounds that his grandmother was a mulatto which would require him to be in bondage only until age 31. In an argument to the Virginia court Jefferson said, “Everyone comes into this world with the right to his own person, this is what is called personal liberty and is given them by the author of nature, under the law we are all born free.”

Both the judge and the jury were outraged that Jefferson would propose freeing a slave. The judge refused to hear any further such talk and ruled against Jefferson’s client. According to historian Winston Groom the fact that Jefferson had such a position at that time (1770) is considered significant and was a milestone in the evolution of his thought.

About that same time Jefferson was elected to the House of Burgesses and he introduced an act that would allow masters to govern emancipation of their slaves rather than having to seek the permission of the courts and the royal officers. This was met with strong opposition and did not pass. It is significant that Jefferson did not pursue either the court case or the legislation.

As a member of the Continental Congress, Jefferson prepared an amendment to the Ordinance of 1784 (a precursor to the Northwest Ordinance) stipulating the freedom of all children born to slaves after a certain date but requiring that they be deported to either the Caribbean or Africa. This amendment failed by a single vote in Congress. Reflecting on the decision Jefferson wrote: “Thus we see the fate of millions unborn hanging on the tongue of one man and heaven was silent in that awful moment”. But Jefferson was to remain silent as well!

To Jefferson it was unimaginable that free whites and free blacks could live together peaceably. Even years later when writing about it he said that it was “inconceivable [then] that the public mind would bear this proposition, nor will it bear at this day”. He also wrote “Yet the day is not distant when it must bear and adopt it or worse will follow, nothing is more surely written in the book of fate than that these people are to be free.” According to Jefferson’s biographer Jon Meacham, he was never able to move public opinion on slavery and his powers failed him and they failed America.

As president, Jefferson signed a law making it a crime to import slaves. But at the same time, he believed that if slaves were set free, they must be deported to Africa or the Caribbean. Most of his contemporaries agreed; they felt that American slavery was equivalent to “holding the ear of a tiger”, but they saw no way to let go.

So again, we return to the question of how to reconcile Jefferson the philosopher with Jefferson the enslaver. Jefferson was a man who enjoyed luxury and the finer things in life. Today he is viewed as a wealthy planter. However, he was what we would now consider cash poor. All his wealth was tied up in property and his slaves were a large portion of that property. His land was heavily mortgaged, and his slaves were his collateral. Jefferson’s wife was the daughter of a wealthy man and when her father died Jefferson inherited his 135 slaves and his land, which was also heavily mortgaged. He also inherited his father-in-law’s other considerable debts. He worried constantly about his financial status, yet he could not control his lavish spending. Freeing his slaves would have lost him the collateral against which his many loans were guaranteed.

Jefferson recognized the evil of slavery but also benefited greatly from it. He was unable to give up his comfortable life even while bemoaning the institution which made it possible. His relationship with Sally Hemmings has been a subject of much debate and is beyond what I can address here but if you are familiar with her story, you know that this a singular example of Jefferson’s inability to subordinate his desires to his principles.

During his lifetime he freed only two of his slaves and in his will, he freed only an additional three. This compares to some other founders who freed all their slaves in their wills. Perhaps he recognized that freeing his slaves would have resulted in an immediate foreclosure on his beloved Monticello.

It is long been axiomatic among historians that people should be judged by the time in which they lived. Jefferson was a man of his times, an exceptional man without doubt. However, his was a time that was consumed by one of the great evils of history. And that evil will always reflect on his memory. Each of us will have to make our own decision about Thomas Jefferson.

A Visit to the Vortex

By John Turley

On March 14, 2023

In Food and Drink, Travel

Nacho Tots and Other Strange Things

A few years ago, Margie and I used to love watching Diners, Drive Inns and Dives on the Food Network. The host Guy Fieri would travel around the country, supposedly in his vintage Camaro convertible, visiting local restaurants, dinners, and bar and grills, in search of unique experiences. We especially liked to watch it when we were getting ready to take a trip and we were looking for places that we might want to visit.

Our daughter and her family live just outside of Atlanta and on one show Guy visited a place there called the Vortex. After watching the show, we decided we had to go there. It looked like one of the most interesting places we’d seen in this series. Of course, that doesn’t count that West Virginia gem, Hillbilly Hot Dogs that was featured in another episode of the show. (More on it in another post.)

Even before you walk through the door you know you’re in for a unique experience. You enter the Vortex through the gaping jaws of hell, and that’s just the beginning. The interior is crammed with more unusual things than you could ever see in a single visit. There are signs, posters, and artifacts of all kinds, including full-sized motorcycles attached to the walls and suspended from the ceiling. At one point we sat under a suspended motorcycle, and I was wondering just how securely it was fastened to those roof beams.

This may be the only restaurant I have ever been to where they present you with two pages of “house rules” before you get the menu. They called it Stuff You Really Need to Know. Among the many things on their list are the topics: Read Our Menu, Idiot Free Zone, No Whining, and Tip Or Die. Each of them has a paragraph long description that goes with it. They’re written in a humorous style, but I think there is absolute seriousness that underlies them. Check it out on their website www.thevortexatl.com, because even if you never go there, it’s worth reading this list.

On our first visit (yes, we’ve been several times) we decided to sit at the bar. The first time we visit a new place we often like to sit at the bar and talk to the bartender and get an overall feel for the restaurant and its environment.

Our bartender was a young gal probably in her mid-20s. She had spiky hair, multiple tattoos, and very dramatic makeup. But most dramatic was the fact that she was wearing a tank top which showed off her sculpted biceps and her full sleeve arm tattoos. She came up to take our order, Margie ordered a salad, and I ordered a burger with fries because that’s one of the things they’re known for.

Just as the waitress was getting ready to leave with our order Margie said, “I’d like the dressing to be fat free”. The waitress stopped in her tracks. She turned around, walked up to Margie, put her hands on the bar, leaned forward, and said, “This is the Vortex, we don’t do fat free!” Margie was intimidated and told her that regular dressing would be fine. I was also intimidated and thought, just to be safe, I should order a side of grease to dip my fries in.

After we finished eating the bartender who let us know that the Vortex was too tough for fat free, came by and offered Margie a drink called The Firefly, which was a tea-based drink with grapefruit vodka and a girly flavor. The guy sitting beside us started to laugh. I couldn’t reconcile “We don’t do fat free” with the frou frou Firefly. Apparently though, my beer was a manly enough order.

On our next visit I decided to be daring and try an appetizer that I had never heard of but have since seen in a few other places. That is the nacho tots mentioned in the title of this post. Imagine your standard nacho chip order but with tater tots instead of tortilla chips. The tots are roasted first then covered with melted cheese, jalapenos, onions and ground chorizo or beef and then given a quick spin under the broiler. When they first come out and they’re still hot they’re really good but when they start to get cold, not so much. I asked our waitress if these were popular and she said, ”Oh yes, drunk people really like them.”

They are justifiably well known for their burgers, but one group of burgers needs special mention. These are the coronary bypass burgers. They begin with the single coronary bypass which can be ordered anytime and then they progress through the double, triple and quadruple which can only be ordered between 2:00 o’clock and 5:00 o’clock PM with no takeouts and no substitutions. They recommend you order in advance. I’m not going to go over the details of all four, but I will summarize the quadruple coronary bypass burger.

This may be the biggest monster of a burger I have ever seen, and it is hugely stacked up. First, I’m going to tell you about the buns and there are four buns, a top and bottom bun and two middle buns. Each “bun” is a full grilled patty melt on Texas toast. In between these buns are 32 ounces of grilled sirloin patties, 28 slices of cheese, 27 strips of bacon, four fried eggs, grilled onions, relish, and mayonnaise served with 20 ounces of French fries and tater tots topped with melted cheese and bacon bits. The total calorie count for this meal is estimated to be in excess of 9600 calories.

If this sounds like something you might want to give a try, you should investigate their Super Stack Challenge. In this challenge you eat the entire quadruple coronary bypass burger and all of its sides together with two 32 oz soft drinks. If you want to take the challenge, they request that you call ahead. Oh, and you have to do it in 30 minutes. Apparently, a number of people have tried and failed because they also give you a bucket in case you need to throw up during the challenge.

So, what do you get if you pass the challenge? Of course, you’re going to get a T-shirt, you get a T-shirt for everything, and you get the burger for free. Your name and photo will appear on their wall and on their social media pages but that seems to be about it. They don’t cover any of your subsequent visits to the cardiologist.

Apparently, only two people have ever completed the challenge. That’s two more than I would have ever thought could possibly have done it. If you decide that’s something you’re up for, let me know and I’ll do my best to try and talk you into ordering something not as insane. But, if you decide to go for it, make sure the bucket is close by.

Just Remember, they don’t do fat free.

My Journey into Genealogy

By John Turley

On March 6, 2023

In Appalachia, Commentary, History

My journey into genealogy began when I was in my early 60s, an age at which many people would already be calling me an ancestor. It’s not something I had ever been particularly interested in. I really had very little sense of my family history. At that time, I could name my grandparents and one of my great grandparents and the family name of some other great grandparents but little else. Of course, like everyone else, we all had our family lore such as the Cherokee Princess in the family but no real documentation of anything.

Margie’s first cousin Mary has been involved in the Daughters of the American Revolution for quite some time. She really encouraged Margie to become a member and in fact did her research and prepared her application. She asked me at the time if I had thought about joining the Sons of the American Revolution. I dismissed it as unlikely because another part of our family lore was that all our ancestors came over from Ireland during the potato famine of the mid-1800s. Like much family lore, this tended to have little basis in fact and the only ancestor I have been able to document as having arrived from Ireland in the mid-1800s was not a Turley but a Kanary, another name that I had never heard before I started my journey.

Margie’s other first cousin Barbie was also in the DAR and her husband Bob is in the SAR. Bob encouraged me to apply to the SAR, but I was convinced that there were no ancestors in my family who could trace back to the revolution. Bob said he would do the research for me if I wanted to join. My friend Dick also helped me start down this path.

Our mother had always said that she could have joined the DAR but never did. I always discounted this because she had several other family legends that she used to tell us. One of those legends was that we were related to Teddy Roosevelt. This was because her grandmother’s family name was Bullock and Teddy Roosevelt’s mother’s family name was Bulloch. I always felt this was highly unlikely for two reasons, first because the spelling was different but mostly because our Bullock ancestors were New Jersey Quaker farmers and Teddy’s ancestors were wealthy southern planters. However, despite the fact we weren’t related to Teddy, I was surprised to discover we had many ancestors who traced back to the revolutionary era on both sides of the family.

Bob did his research and found my ancestor with ties to the revolution. His name was Samuel Henry, yet another ancestor I had never been aware of. His support for the revolution came in the form of what is called patriotic public service. He served on a grand jury that was called into session by the revolutionary government of Virginia in defiance of the crown.

This got me interested in seeing if I had any other revolutionary ancestors. In specific, as a former Marine, I was looking for somebody with more manly service than a grand jury. I found my man, a Massachusetts farmer named Moses Nash who served in the Massachusetts militia as a Minuteman Lieutenant and my fourth great grandfather. Not one of the Lexington and Concord Minutemen, but a Minuteman, nonetheless. Well now I was on a roll. I thought if there are two, there must be more. My current count is eight ancestors whose service I have documented and another 19 who were living in the colonies during the revolution but for whom I have not yet documented service,

I had no idea that my family can be traced so far back into the United States. Specifically, I had no idea that a significant branch of my family has ties to colonial New England in Massachusetts, Vermont, and Connecticut. One branch of my family I have traced back to the 1620s in Massachusetts. It was fascinating to read the will of an ancestor who died in 1638. I’m now on the hunt for the Holy Grail of American genealogy, a Mayflower ancestor. Although it’s highly unlikely, it’s still an interesting search.

I did try to discover that Cherokee Princess. I found a handwritten family history that said my second great grandmother’s grandmother was a Cherokee. Why it was listed that way rather than naming her I’m not sure. I have done some research and I have not been able to document any Cherokees in her lineage unless they were named Adkins or Midkiff or Gillespie, none of which I believe are Indian names.

DNA testing has also failed to document any Native American heritage. Although after that many generations that is not completely exclusionary. The person in question is my fourth great grandmother and on average I have inherited only 1/64 of my DNA from her. It is possible that specific Native American markers were not included in that small segment of DNA I inherited. But when the lack of DNA evidence is added to the lack documentary evidence, I have to admit that I’m not descended from a Cherokee Princess. (By the way, I’ve always wondered why it’s never a Cherokee Prince.)

So how did those ancestors get from New England to West Virginia? Right after the revolution the new United States government was almost broke. Many revolutionary soldiers were paid with a land warrant giving them a grant on the western frontier. They moved from New England and the eastern seaboard states into Ohio, western Virginia, Kentucky, Indiana, Illinois, and Tennessee. Generally, the lower the rank of the soldier the further West and the smaller his land warrant. But for men with no opportunity to own their own farms in the crowded eastern colonies, this was an opportunity they could not resist.

I have discovered a lot of things commonly believed about genealogy that appear to largely be mythology. There’s the story that the family’s name was changed at Ellis Island. If the family’s name was changed, either they did it themselves to appear more American or it was done on board ship before they arrived. At Ellis Island, ship manifests were copied into the arrival journal and no additional individual information was taken from the immigrants beyond a health examination and identification of a sponsor who would be responsible for them. Occasionally names may have been inadvertently changed later by a census taker who misunderstood or couldn’t spell ethnic names.

There’s also the “three brothers” story. This is a story where three brothers arrived from Ireland, England, Germany, take your choice, and then went to three different areas and that’s why there is significant name distribution. In fact, almost always when family members immigrated together, they tended to stay together as they moved further into the United States. DNA studies have demonstrated that most of the widely distributed name clusters have little close relationship.

If you want to find a quick and easy source of information about your family history, go to any of the major genealogy websites and look at census records. Depending on the year of the census you can find where your ancestors were born, if they could read or write, where their parents were born and what occupations they followed. It’s also surprising how large the families were. If you look at surrounding families, you can see that there are many clusters of relatives in the rural areas. Once they’ve moved into the cities they tend to be less often grouped together.

My favorite website is ancestry.com, but any of the major websites will have fascinating information. Just don’t accept everything on those web sites as factual. I have found many of the relationships listed to actually be an unrelated person of the same name. For example, in the early 1800s there were four John Turley’s in the Kanawha County area. Middle names weren’t common then and it took some research to figure out which one was my third great grandfather.

If you’re interested in genealogy, just get in touch with The Grumpy Doc and I’ll be glad to help you on your journey. Who knows, maybe we’re cousins.

About the Beach

By John Turley

On February 26, 2023

In Commentary, Travel

I’ve never been a big beach fan. I don’t enjoy laying on the beach and I’ve never seen the fascination with sunbathing. It might have something to do with the two severe sunburns that I had as a boy. My back and chest were covered with painful blisters, and I tried to sleep sitting up on a stool so I wouldn’t touch anything. I started using SPF 50 when it first was introduced and was as thick as grease. Every particle of sand I came in contact with stuck to me until I looked like a large sand monster. It had to be scrubbed off with a washcloth and I could still feel the residue. There have been improvements in sunscreen, but not enough to make me want to lay on the beach.

Even when we were stationed in Hawaii, I never spent much time on the beach. The beach was something you crossed so that you could boogie board in the waves or swim out to scuba dive. When we had friends come to visit from the mainland who wanted to go to the beach, I made sure to find the nearest shade and make a beeline for it.

As I get older though, I have found a new appreciation for the beach. I still don’t lay on the beach, and I still don’t like the hot sun. Now we tend to take our beach vacations in the winter when it’s cooler and the sun is not nearly as intense.

I enjoy walking on the beach now, just above the run up of the waves. I watch the water run in rivulets across the sand and try to avoid getting my shoes wet. In the winter the beach is less crowded and much cleaner, an altogether more pleasant environment.

I carry binoculars to watch the birds and hopefully see some dolphins offshore. But one of my real pleasures is being able to spot large ships on the horizon. I’ve always had a great fascination with ships and just enjoy watching them through the binoculars and trying to imagine where they might be going and what they might be carrying on board.

I enjoy watching the water in constant motion. It seems to me to possess both calmness and a loosely contained power waiting to break havoc on the shore. The very restlessness of the waves brings a peaceful sensation to me. It is a feeling matched only by a cascading mountain stream.

The ocean is an enigma. It is believed to be the original source of life. But, in an instant, it can turn deadly and destructive, destroying lives and property. It can transition from tranquility to fury and back to tranquility almost instantly leaving you to wonder how such devastation could occur in a few moments time.

Walking on the beach also gives me time to think about things I might want to write about and to organize them in my head before I sit down to put them on paper (actually, on the keyboard). When I’m walking on the beach, I don’t feel the call of the many other things I think I should be doing. It’s not a place for self-imposed schedules and deadlines. The lack of distraction does wonders for my concentration.

I’m sure everyone has their own place to find their zin. For me, it’s the beach in the winter.

Travels of a West Virginia Boy Part I, Hong Kong

By John Turley

On February 20, 2023

In Commentary, Travel

The first time I left the United States I was 21 years old and on my way to Vietnam. In one of those little ironies of life, I would visit Hong Kong three times before I ever made it to New York City. Growing up in West Virginia, my family thought a trip to Myrtle Beach was the height of travel. It’s still the destination of choice for many West Virginians and I still love the South Carolina low country and fried sea food.

My first trip to Hong Kong was in the spring of 1970. I was serving on the USS Sanctuary in the coastal waters of Vietnam. I had my R&R (Rest & Recreation) trip planned to Australia later in the summer. However, I received orders ending my tour early because I was to report for a training school in San Diego in early June. This meant if I wanted to go on R&R it would have to be soon. The only R&R destination available in my time frame was Hong Kong. I knew next to nothing about Hong Kong. The closest I had come to Chinese culture was chop suey at the New China Restaurant in Charleston.

R&R was basically a five-day vacation that the military gave you when you were serving in the Vietnam area. It was something you looked forward to for the first part of your tour and then you would dream about it for the remainder.

Even flying into Hong Kong was an exciting experience. The old Hong Kong airport was almost in the middle of the city. The flight path carried you down between the buildings. I remember looking out the window of the plane and into the window of an apartment building. There didn’t seem to be enough room for the wings in between the buildings, but somehow the plane landed without incident. That initial look out the window may have been one of the most surprising things that I have experienced.

When we first arrived, we were given the typical military orientation lecture that included warnings about venereal disease with a large map that showed us the areas of Hong Kong we should avoid. Of course, for many of us that meant those were the areas we were going to head to first. They also gave us a list of hotels we could afford without spending all our R&R money.

Hong Kong was like nothing I had ever seen before. I spent the first day wandering around the crowded streets watching the people and trying to sort out the multitude of sights and smells. There was an odd combination of delicious, exotic and downright strange. Street food was everywhere and so were street vendors. The first day I was determined to sample as many different foods as possible. They varied from delicious to inedible. I’m sure that was just me, because the Chinese people seemed to most enjoy the food I couldn’t eat.

I also looked in a lot of shops trying to decide what I should buy. The shop people were friendly and spent a long time answering my often rambling questions. I had been advised to be very careful about negotiating prices. A Chief Petty Officer who was familiar with Hong Kong (his wife was Chinese) told us, “The Chinese people are basically honest. They won’t steal from you, but if you’re a bad negotiator, they are glad to let you pay three times what it’s worth.” In Hong Kong you even bargained over the price of a pack of gum, a skill I never really developed.

I eventually decided I would have a suit made because I had never had a tailor-made suit. I also had some shoes made. I’m sure that because of my poor negotiating skills I paid more than I needed to, but I was happy with the price and that was all that mattered to me. I thought I was pretty fashionable, but looking back I probably could have done better in my selection of material. The shiny shark skin material that looked so cool on Frank Sinatra didn’t do anything for me. The shoes were nice though. I wore a size 14 narrow, and it was nice to have a pair that actually fit.

The second night in Hong Kong as I was leaving the hotel, I ran into an Australian sailor who had been to there many times before. He said he’d show me the “real action” in Hong Kong. As we walked along, he turned down a narrow and dark side street and then into a basement level bar that had a big neon sign that said “Club Red Lips” with a big pair of neon lips underneath it. The place was dark and crowded with a lot of Australian sailors and Chinese women. It smelled of stale beer, cigarettes and sweat. After two beers my new friend turned to me and suggested getting out of there and going someplace where there would be some better action.

We started down the street and as he was ready to turn in to an even darker and narrower alley, I suddenly remembered I had someplace else to be. The “real action” was starting to seem a little too risky to me.

I begged off and headed back to a better lit part of town to have dinner and drinks with other American sailors. I suppose it was something he was accustomed to, but it was a little too much for a West Virginia boy to deal with. It turned out I was not as rowdy as I thought.

Most of the rest of my R&R was spent doing the typical tourist things and riding tourist buses. I didn’t venture down any more dark and narrow side streets. But I really did have a good time.

My next trip to Hong Kong was in May of 1975. By this time, I was in the Marine Corps and was an infantry officer. I was part of a Marine Amphibious Force that was embarked on Navy ships. We had recently completed support of the evacuations of Saigon and Phnom Penh and the recovery of the merchant ship SS Mayaguez. Our ships anchored in the harbor in Hong Kong for liberty call for the sailors and the embarked Marines.

Since I was one of the few officers in our battalion who had been to Hong Kong, I was tasked with briefing the troops on the things they could do there. I spent quite a while going through the ship’s library to find a few things about Hong Kong and then doing my best to remember some of the things that I had done during my previous visit. Of course, there was no internet to check.

I was happy that I had come up with a quite detailed list of sights to see and places to go. I gave my briefing. I told them where they could catch buses and where they could catch the ferry and where there were good places to shop and where there were good places to eat. When I finished, I ask for questions and the first question was, “Is it true that there’s a Kentucky Fried Chicken in Hong Kong?” Yes, it was true.

While I didn’t have any fried chicken in Hong Kong my friend Walt and I decided to be a little adventurous. We went to a “non-tourist” restaurant. Walt ordered pigeon, thinking it would probably be Cornish Game Hen and I ordered beef with bitter melon thinking how bitter can it really be, after all it is melon. Well, Walt’s pigeon was pigeon, and it came complete with head, beak, eyes, and feet. My melon was so bitter I couldn’t eat any of it.

Our stay in Hong Kong lasted four days and then we were back onboard ship to return to our home base in Okinawa. I knew I would be returning to Hong Kong in a few months when Margie joined me for Christmas leave.