Leavin’ Outa’ Town

Havre, Montana

Leavin’ outa’ town, don’t know where I’m bound,

  ain’t no sense to frown, it’s been good to be around.

Don’t call me on the phone, I just need to be alone,

  my cover has been blown, ain’t the first time that I’ve flown.

Don’t go gittin’ down, don’t you make a frown,

  or in your eyes of brown, I will surely drown.

If the goin’ gets too hard, I might be sendin’ you a card,

  shoulda showed more regard, for the people I discard.

I gotta hit the trail, before the North winds wail,

  my life is such a fail, at least I’m not in jail.

There’s somethin’ up ahead, and unknown trails to tread,

  got some wings to spread, and I gotta’ clear my head.

With My worn-out cowboy boots, I don’t give two hoots,

  I don’t wear no fancy suits, and I never had no roots.

Didn’t mean to lead you on, I’m not that kind of con,

  as the night turns into dawn, it’s best that I am gone.

Don’t you make a fuss, that I’m in such a rush.

  the cactus and the brush, has spelled the end of us.

I might come back someday, but I prob’ly will not stay,

  all that I will say, is only that I may.

Do not wait for me, or what will never be,

  my leavin’ is the key, that’s gonna set you free.

LDT May 10, ‘23

Somewhere, somehow, a gray-haired woman will read this poem and say, “Damn! I dodged a bullet!”

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Montana’s North Plains

The Wilson Ranch lies along the Milk River
about 20 miles north of Malta, Montana.

Montana’s North Plains – Nicholas C. Winter © 2003

In the Milk River Valley, Montana’s North Plains

Not far from the border there lie the remains,

Of log walls and sod roof my mother called home

Where antelope played and buffalo roamed.

In 1911 my grandparents came.

They brought all they had and they settled their claim.

The railroad men promised the land would provide,

And they came with high hopes to horizons so wide.

Oh, Charley and Eva, from Iowa soil,

Raised up on farms into lives of hard toil.

With two wagons, nine children, and a few head of stock,

They came with the tide of that immigrant lot.

The first years were hard but the land gave its best.

With crops and with cattle their efforts were blessed.

With a new baby born, and their trust in the Lord,

They bought an old piano and a Model-T Ford.

Then in 1918 on Montana’s North Plains,

They planted their crops and waited for rain.

The rain never came, and the crops all just died.

And all they had left was their hope and their pride.

So, Charley and Eva, from Iowa soil,

Gritted their teeth and they doubled their toil.

With their sons and their daughters, their backs, and their hands,

They somehow survived on that desolate land.

When I was a child my mother would tell,

Stories of that place I remember so well,

About the wind from Alberta blowing forty below,

And of searching for strays that were lost in the snow.

And how in the spring when the thaw had begun,

She and her brothers and sisters would run,

To watch ice on the river break up and flow down,

And to stand on the first open patches of ground.

And on warm summer evenings, when the stars shone bright,

She’d ride on her old horse, out into the night.

The sound of his hoof-steps, and the smell of the sage,

Helped her find peace at so tender an age.

Oh, the soft summer breeze that blows from the west,

Whispers that someday when you leave the nest,

You will find your own way to a land that is mild,

And a much different life than you had as a child.

But on warm summer evenings, when the stars shine bright,

You recall how you rode on the prairie at night.

And remember the pleasures a hard land provides.

On the plains of Montana you ride.

And remember the pleasures a hard land provides.

On the plains… of Montana… you ride.

Nick Winter is my mother’s cousin. His grandparents, Eva and Charles Wilson, homesteaded the ranch where his mother, Olive Wilson and subsequently my mother, Marian Wilson, grew up. Lyrics used by permission of the author.

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Acrostic Poem

An Acrostic Poem

            -Anonymous

Born for a curse to virtue and Mankind,
Earth’s broadest realms can’t show so black a mind.
Night’s sable veil your crimes can never hide,
Each one’s so great—they glut   the historic tide.
Defunct   —your memory will live.
In all the glares that infamy   can give.
Curses of ages will attend your name.
Traitors alone will glory in your shame.


Almighty justice sternly waits to roll
Rivers of sulfur on your traitorous soul.
Nature looks back, with conscious error sad,
On such a tainted blot that she has made,
Let Hell receive you rivetted   in chains,
Damn’d to the hottest of its flames.

An acrostic poem reveals its subject in the first letters of each line.

If you guessed that this was about Trump, you only missed by 240 years.

Benedict Arnold

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Unclimbed Mountains

My view of the Huachuca Mountains

Unclimbed mountains beckon me,

  to a place I once roamed free.

Miller Peak and the Carr Falls,

  the echo off the canyon walls.

Trapsing through an Aspen grove,

  such a place for me to rove.

Red-tailed Hawk on lifted wings,

  listen as the wild bird sings.

Pure spring water from a spout,

  such a pleasure on my route.

Clear blue sky and mountain air,

  gorgeous vistas everywhere.

The Coati Mundi in a tree,

  a fallen log for his pantry.

The distant thunder of a storm,

  enough to make the soul transform.

Unclimbed mountains beckon me,

  yonder where I long to be.

LDT Apr 29, ‘23

Aspen grove on Carr Peak
Carr Falls
Tub spring between Miller
and Carr Peaks in the Huachuca Mountains
Me on Carr Peak Trail about 2000

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Thoughts and Prayers

He had a sweet smile,

  you could see for a mile.

Her ponytail just danced,

  like pixies that pranced.

Not a cross word,

  was ever heard.

Their sanctum serene,

  away from the mean.

Now cards and letters and prayers,

  tell us that somewhere someone cares.

Flower bouquets so fragrant and nice,

  evoking memories of sugar and spice.

A baseball cap from a favorite team,

  tells us about a little boy’s dream.

The tennis shoes she wore on that day,

  perfect for the games that she’d play.

The brave teacher who shielded them all,

  she probably was the first one to fall.

Sleeping softly in the arms of the Lord,

  protected by his righteous sword.

Missed by the playmates who don’t understand,

  mourned by hypocrites all over the land.

So, tell me how your rights are foreclosed,

  by bodies so broken their caskets are closed?  

LDT April 21, ‘23

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Banned in Florida

Our library shelves are bare, with no books to share,

  don’t you say it’s not fair, ‘cuz we don’t even care.

We won’t admit that our state waited so long to integrate.

  it’s not so bad that we hate, those who got here late.

Rosa Parks wasn’t Black, she shoulda’ stayed in back,

  and don’t be taken aback, by all the guns that we pack.

No guilt should we endure, when Ruby Bridges caused a stir,

  it was just some racial slur, that Grandma yelled at her.

Disneyland is so woke, we’ll see that it goes broke,

  their charter we’ll revoke, under our righteous cloak.

That Rebel flag is ours, though we have hidden the stars,

  we still have the bars, denoting slavery’s scars.

Global Warming’s a joke, we hate it ‘cuz it is “woke”,

  we don’t care if we croak, or the Glades go up in smoke.

Let no one take a knee, as we sink into the sea,

  if you act differently, we’ll tell you where to pee.

And if you should say “Gay”, there’ll be hell to pay,

  and oh, by the way, we will compel you to pray.

And it is our sacred right, to shoot up your Bud Light.

  and if you give us a fright, we’ll shoot at you on sight.

You can also count on us, to control your uterus,

  if you should make a fuss, we’ll throw you under the bus.

We’ve got our Mango Man, with his top-secret plan,

  everything he’ll ban, except for the Ku Klux Klan.

Pudding Fingers is our Gov, he don’t like who you love,

  he hears voices from above, but it’s not a heavenly dove.

At the only Circus in town, there’s our carnival barking clown,

  our Condos are falling down, Gators and snakes abound.

We anxiously await each new ban, as more stuff hits the fan,

  here comes Hurricane Stan, she might be some kinda’ Tran.

The Sunshine State will be fine, stuck where the Sun don’t shine,

  as we slowly sink in the brine of our receding shoreline.

LDT April 18, ‘22

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Crypto

(Or Why I Hate John Walker)

A handcuffed John Walker being led into court.

     Keeping your plans an operations secret from the enemy is an essential part of military security. If your enemy knows your plan or your operational problems, he can devise his own plan to counter them and exploit your weaknesses. Ciphers have been used for millennia to keep military foes in the dark. Washington used letter-substitution cipher keys to communicate with his spies. By the Civil war both sides were using ciphers to encrypt telegraphic messages.

     Intercepting and decoding the enemy’s most secret messages is an essential component of counter-intelligence. It has never been easy, but the strategic benefits can be enormous. In 1917, the Allies were on the verge of losing World War I. Fortunately, the British had access to the underwater cables being used by the Germans to transmit messages to non-aligned countries. The Germans were so confident of their cryptography, that they routinely sent such messages through neutral American lines to communicate with their embassy in Mexico. Unbeknownst to the Huns, the British were intercepting and decoding their messages. Then the German Foreign Office sent the infamous Zimmerman Note proposing that Mexico join the Central Powers in the war and gain the return of Texas, Arizona and New Mexico as their reward. Not wanting the Germans to know that their code had been compromised, the British broke into the German Embassy in Mexico City and stole a copy of the message. This, they shared with President Wilson. The decoded message along with the resumption of unrestricted submarine warfare led directly to America’s entrance in the war. The rest was history. Thanks to America’s help, the Allies won.

     By the time World War II had begun, cryptography had become more sophisticated. The Germans had a machine called Enigma that encoded and decoded messages as they were sent. The Nazis blithely assumed the machine and its code was unbreakable. They were wrong. Thanks to some help from the vanquished Poles and French, the Brits had a good idea of how the Enigma machine worked. They established a team at Bletchley Park under the leadership of mathematician Alan Turing. The team developed a massive early computer to break the code. They called their decrypts “Ultra”. Countless British and Allied war operations and countermeasures resulted from these decrypts. In the Battle of the Atlantic, intercepts from German U-Boats made convoys safer and nearly extinguished the threat by sending hundreds of subs to the bottom of the ocean.

     America had its own decryption successes in the Pacific during World War II. We decoded the diplomatic message telling the Japanese Embassy in Washington to break off relations on December 7, 1941. The U.S. Navy broke the Japanese Naval Code, leading to our victory at Midway. Our own cryptographic efforts remained relatively secure during the war. The Marine Corps used Navajo Code Talkers to devise an unbreakable code used in the Pacific Theater.

     In a way, I was a newer version of a Code Talker when I served in the Marine Corps in the 1960’s. Part of my job was repairing the KW-7 Crypto device. The “Seven” was cutting-edge for its time. Using transistorized circuitry, it far exceeded the ability of earlier encryption devices to encode teletype messages. Its main components were solid state flip flop switches that scrambled and unscrambled the inputs and outputs of traditional teletype machines. It was compact, quiet and had no moving parts. The circuitry inside was classified as Confidential. Each day it was programmed with a key list using patch cords to re-rout the signals to the internal components. The key-lists were normally classified as Secret. Messages requiring a higher level of classification were double encrypted. This means they were encrypted in five letter code groups before being sent over my machine. They were coded and decoded by a mechanical device somewhat similar to a German Enigma machine. (I can tell you this without fear of getting a knock on my door tomorrow from the FBI. The Kw-7 has long-since been de-classified.) The KW-7 turned out to be an incredibly reliable device. I spent most of my Marine Corps career drinking coffee and delivering messages to staff offices and various subordinate units. I got out of the Corps in 1966. I soon forgot about my electronics training and the machines I worked on.

     In the mid-1980’s I was working in Frankfurt Germany. Walking out of the rear of the Abrams Building, where the U.S. Army’s Fifth Corps was headquartered, I happened to notice two G.I.s loading some grey box-like items in the back of an enclosed truck. I had to get a better look. Yes, they were KW-7’s. “How could the U.S. military still be using this antiquated device in the age of computers?” I asked myself. Enter John Walker.

     John Anthony Walker Jr. was a U.S. Navy Warrant Officer. Like me, he worked in Communications. Like me, he had access to cryptographic devices and other classified materials. We went to the same Cryptographic Equipment Repair Course at Mare Island Naval Shipyard one year apart. To most, he seemed like a good sailor, working his way up the ranks. To supplement his income, Walker opened a bar in Charleston, South Carolina. His wife helped him run it. She drank too much. The bar was losing money.

     In 1967, at the height of the Vietnam War, Walker approached the Russian Embassy in Washington, D.C. He had information. He brought a photocopy of a secret document to establish his credentials. Were they interested? The Russian Security Officer was elated. He gave Walker a spy camera and a crash course in secret drops. Then Walker was snuck out of the embassy in a car. Walker would supply the Russians with the Tech Manual for the KW-7 and the daily key lists for the next twenty years as well as many other classified documents. Almost immediately, North Korean forces attacked and captured the USS Pueblo, an American electronic spy ship operating in international waters. Their haul of sensitive materials included two KW-7’s. From that point on, the Russians knew damn near everything about our military. Troop deployments, ship locations, operational plans, intelligence assessments, the list went on forever. American military operations throughout the globe were deeply compromised. We may never know how many missions in Vietnam went awry because of Walker’s treason.

     No one noticed when Walker began showing signs of sudden affluence. His past money problems over, he learned to fly and bought an airplane. Walker went on to recruit his best friend, Jerry Whitworth, into his growing spy ring. His brother Arthur, a retired Lieutenant Commander with access to classified information on submarine design, joined up. Then Walker recruited his own son who had joined the Navy. Finally, his ex-wife Barbara had had enough. She got drunk and called the FBI.

     Walker was eventually arrested in 1985. He avoided the death penalty through a plea bargain that helped U.S. authorities assess the damage he had done to our security. His friend Jerry, his brother and his son all received long prison terms. His ex-wife got to keep his Navy retirement pension for her cooperation.

     After the end of the Cold war, a Russian general was asked, “What would have happened if we had gone to war with Russia during the time of Walker’s spying?”

“We would have won,” was his answer.

John Walker died in prison in 2014.

LDT July 8, ‘21

For more information: Family of Spies: Inside the John Walker Spy Ring. Peter Early. (2012)

Postscript: Since the circuitry of the KW-7 was classified, I always worked on them inside of a Crypto Vault. I was often alone. Recently, a former Navy Cryptographer told me that no one is allowed to be in the vault by themselves. There is always another person there to ensure that documents can’t be photographed or stolen. This simple rule would have prevented John Walker’s treason.

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A Cold Bud Light

Kid Rock with a cold Bud Light and a Drag Queen

As I sit here tonight with this cold Bud Light,

  I feelin’ just right, a-gittin’ half tight.

Drinkin’ this brew is the right thing to do,

  and if you feel blue, I’ll share one with you.

Rained half the day, saw a rainbow display,

  don’t let your dismay, keep your skies gray.

Let’s all do our thing, with no mud to sling,

  no puppet on a string, made you the damn king.

Don’t you take a fright, or get filled with spite,

  It may not be right, but I’ll drink my Bud Light.

LDT April 14, ‘23

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Bullhook Blues

Cowboys and Indians, Silver Dollar Bar,

  where no one cares if you ain’t a star.

Great Northern freight a-chuggin’ on through,

  our dads and our uncles were part of the crew.

Glass block sidewalks lit up the underworld,

  where the seamy side of town was openly unfurled.

The paint was flakin’ off the grain elevator,

  tourists couldn’t wait to hit the accelerator.

There’s a Buffalo jump at top of the hill.

  when they ran ‘em off it must’ been a thrill.

From a Hundred above to Fifty below,

  in the blazin’ heat or the driftin’ snow.

The people there were tough as an iron rail,

  weren’t no place for the weak or the frail.

We had a lot of fun at Kepper’s Roller Rink,

  the boy’s in their Levis, girls in pretty-pink.

Stopped in at Clyde’s for a burger and shake,

  everything you wanted they’d be glad to make.

The Super Ice Cream Parlor was the place to be,

  they said that Buddy Holley looked a lot like me.

Sittin’ in our cars across from the school,

  smokin’ Lucky Strikes, thinkin’ we were cool.

And where we got our gas nobody knows,

  a five-gallon can and a piece of garden hose,

Cruisin’ the drag to Buttrey’s parkin’ lot,

  late in the night we were hot to trot.

The Lancers and Playboys had the coolest cars,

  at Beaver Creek they raced underneath the stars.

We had a few keggers out by Saddle Butte,

  if the cops showed up, we’d all have to scoot.,

Parkin’ and sparking by the water tower,

  she had to go home at the Midnight Hour.

Cheered’ for the Ponies to go on to state,

  hoped that someday we’d get to graduate.

We raised our voices up to the sky,

  with Beer, Beer for old Havre High!

Sneakin’ in to the drive-in picture show,

  ‘tll ol’ Duncan M. said we had to go.

The college boys rode the old Goose bus,

  and sometimes they threw snowballs at us.

Oh, how I long for the good old days,

  seems like I drifted such a long ways.

Bullhook Bottoms was where I called home,

  I sorta’’ miss it, no matter where I roam.

LDT April 12, ‘23

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Ketchup

Ketchup

Ketchup on the wall.

What a way to fall!

He can’t get out of it,

He threw a hissy fit.

It’s never a good look,

When they throw the book.

A crying shame it is,

False records for his biz.

Stormy ain’t his type,

After all the hype.

If he don’t make his bail,

It’s Riker’s Island Jail.

Some say he’s innocent,

Of all the laws that he bent.

MAGA sends their dough,

For what they don’t even know.

May justice still be served,

And decency preserved.

I oughta shed a tear,

And drink another beer.

LDT March 31, ‘23

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