Re: [Texascavers] It all started with Geary -- REVISED!
Yay! My article got published in the NSS News. It’s been revised since it first appeared in the Texas Caver—specifically the Church/Mortuary section featuring Tom Rogers. Even if you read the first version, the rewrite is even more entertaining than ever before. And like Geary said, it’s all factual! Yes, some topics have been emphasized for artistic license (like the horror-movie chainsaws in the Church) while boring events were downplayed or omitted entirely, but it is all completely factual. --Bennett From: Texascavers [mailto:texascavers-boun...@texascavers.com] On Behalf Of Geary Schindel via Texascavers Sent: Friday, May 01, 2015 12:01 PM To: texascavers@texascavers.com Subject: Re: [Texascavers] It all started with Geary Folks, Just to be clear, I believe Mr. Bennett Lee used a certain amount of artistic license when he wrote his article. I’m not saying that anything he wrote was factually wrong, but maybe there was some emphasis on certain aspects that might not have been warranted but that’s what makes a good story. And to address any rumors, No, I was not wearing an apron at the Dairy Queen. However, they did make me wear a hair net – see, someone thinks I have hair. Geary From: Texascavers [mailto:texascavers-boun...@texascavers.com] On Behalf Of via Texascavers Sent: Friday, May 01, 2015 10:58 AM To: texascavers@texascavers.commailto:texascavers@texascavers.com Cc: texascavers@texascavers.commailto:texascavers@texascavers.com Subject: Re: [Texascavers] It all started with Geary I like your story better. Jerry. Sent from my iPhone On May 1, 2015, at 8:38 AM, via Texascavers texascavers@texascavers.commailto:texascavers@texascavers.com wrote: The latest NSS news features a well written article about a deteriorating trip. Therein it is written that our own Geary S is a worrywort who is scared of bugs and lightning and therefore took refuge in a church. I would strongly counsel my fellow cavers not to tempt fate in such a manner. Once upon a time, and a long ago time it was, I set out hitchhiking with Lema my beautiful but deranged wife to be and a large shaggy white dog. Out plan was to circumnavigate North America in a counterclockwise route including both Canada and Mexico, all of which came to pass over the following year. We had barely begun and had already been arrested by a cop in Pennsylvania who would not believe that we really wanted to see America because we weren't riding a Greyhound bus. At the border my beloved cooterfied our stash and thus prevented a second arrest. A few days later we found ourselves stranded on the prairie somewhere north of Bumfluck Canada. As a tropical traveler I believe I can speak with some authority in regard to mosquitos. I have experienced the bugs of Belize, have made the mistake of being out after dark in the Everglades, and am presently suffering swarms of gallinippers right here in Weazelworld. The gallinipper is large enough to stand flat footed and fornicate with a turkey. These were as nothing compared to the mosquitos of the potholed Canadian prairie. We were hysterical and even resorted to standing in the road stopping traffic in an unsuccessful attempt to get a ride. All the while the gloom gathered. At long last a kindly old farmer stopped to give us a lift in his pickup. Directly ahead we beheld the most terrifying sky I have ever seen, a solid wall of greenish black. The farmer was certain a tornado was coming so he turned on his radio. The announcement was dire, Attention, attention! All persons in the listening area must immediately take shelter. Place your head between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye. He asked where we planned to sleep, a question for which we had no answer. In fact we didn't even have a tent. He was very concerned for our safety and would have given us shelter were it not for the fact that his wife would never allow hippies into their home. Then he remembered an abandoned church not too far away and dropped us off hoping that we would at least be dry until we were swept away by the tornado. The scene closely resembled the famous painting Christina's world by Andrew Wyeth in which a forlorn woman in gingham sprawls on the ground gazing at a desolate unpainted ramshackled house surrounded by an endless sea of grass cut off from both civilization and all hope. The old wooden church was tall and narrow with a steeply sloped roof to shed snow. It was raised above the ground on rudely constructed piers of rock (an important detail). It is hard to imagine where they found the rocks. The building was uninsulated but contained a huge old potbellied stove, the metal chimney of which protruded from the roof. We made it inside just as the storm broke then laid our sleeping bags on the floor to snuggle up while the wind howled and rain and hail pelted the metal roof. Lema had her feet up on the stove and I had my head on her stomach when the lightning
Re: [Texascavers] It all started with Geary -- REVISED!
Im ready to read it way to go Bennett' On May 2, 2015 10:37 PM, Bennett Lee via Texascavers texascavers@texascavers.com wrote: Yay! My article got published in the NSS News. It’s been revised since it first appeared in the Texas Caver—specifically the Church/Mortuary section featuring Tom Rogers. Even if you read the first version, the rewrite is even more entertaining than ever before. And like Geary said, it’s all factual! Yes, some topics have been emphasized for artistic license (like the horror-movie chainsaws in the Church) while boring events were downplayed or omitted entirely, but it is all completely factual. --Bennett *From:* Texascavers [mailto:texascavers-boun...@texascavers.com] *On Behalf Of *Geary Schindel via Texascavers *Sent:* Friday, May 01, 2015 12:01 PM *To:* texascavers@texascavers.com *Subject:* Re: [Texascavers] It all started with Geary Folks, Just to be clear, I believe Mr. Bennett Lee used a certain amount of artistic license when he wrote his article. I’m not saying that anything he wrote was factually wrong, but maybe there was some emphasis on certain aspects that might not have been warranted but that’s what makes a good story. And to address any rumors, No, I was not wearing an apron at the Dairy Queen. However, they did make me wear a hair net – see, someone thinks I have hair. Geary *From:* Texascavers [mailto:texascavers-boun...@texascavers.com texascavers-boun...@texascavers.com] *On Behalf Of *via Texascavers *Sent:* Friday, May 01, 2015 10:58 AM *To:* texascavers@texascavers.com *Cc:* texascavers@texascavers.com *Subject:* Re: [Texascavers] It all started with Geary I like your story better. Jerry. Sent from my iPhone On May 1, 2015, at 8:38 AM, via Texascavers texascavers@texascavers.com wrote: The latest NSS news features a well written article about a deteriorating trip. Therein it is written that our own Geary S is a worrywort who is scared of bugs and lightning and therefore took refuge in a church. I would strongly counsel my fellow cavers not to tempt fate in such a manner. Once upon a time, and a long ago time it was, I set out hitchhiking with Lema my beautiful but deranged wife to be and a large shaggy white dog. Out plan was to circumnavigate North America in a counterclockwise route including both Canada and Mexico, all of which came to pass over the following year. We had barely begun and had already been arrested by a cop in Pennsylvania who would not believe that we really wanted to see America because we weren't riding a Greyhound bus. At the border my beloved cooterfied our stash and thus prevented a second arrest. A few days later we found ourselves stranded on the prairie somewhere north of Bumfluck Canada. As a tropical traveler I believe I can speak with some authority in regard to mosquitos. I have experienced the bugs of Belize, have made the mistake of being out after dark in the Everglades, and am presently suffering swarms of gallinippers right here in Weazelworld. The gallinipper is large enough to stand flat footed and fornicate with a turkey. These were as nothing compared to the mosquitos of the potholed Canadian prairie. We were hysterical and even resorted to standing in the road stopping traffic in an unsuccessful attempt to get a ride. All the while the gloom gathered. At long last a kindly old farmer stopped to give us a lift in his pickup. Directly ahead we beheld the most terrifying sky I have ever seen, a solid wall of greenish black. The farmer was certain a tornado was coming so he turned on his radio. The announcement was dire, Attention, attention! All persons in the listening area must immediately take shelter. Place your head between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye. He asked where we planned to sleep, a question for which we had no answer. In fact we didn't even have a tent. He was very concerned for our safety and would have given us shelter were it not for the fact that his wife would never allow hippies into their home. Then he remembered an abandoned church not too far away and dropped us off hoping that we would at least be dry until we were swept away by the tornado. The scene closely resembled the famous painting Christina's world by Andrew Wyeth in which a forlorn woman in gingham sprawls on the ground gazing at a desolate unpainted ramshackled house surrounded by an endless sea of grass cut off from both civilization and all hope. The old wooden church was tall and narrow with a steeply sloped roof to shed snow. It was raised above the ground on rudely constructed piers of rock (an important detail). It is hard to imagine where they found the rocks. The building was uninsulated but contained a huge old potbellied stove, the metal chimney of which protruded from the roof. We made it inside just as the storm broke then laid our sleeping bags on the floor to
