Thad McAfee

Newman's Drug Store

2010-02-18T16:06:00.000-08:00

The late 1940’s and early 1950’s were heady times in the United States, and the little village of Sherwood, Ohio bustled with activity as a commercial hub in rural America. If you were a kid, Newman’s Drug Store was one of your favorite destinations. The proprietors were an aged and gracious couple, Bill and Stella Newman.

The store was located at the corner of Vine and Harrison streets in an old brick building. Rexall signs adorned the storefront. There were no drug prescriptions filled there during that time period, that was the province of Doc DeMuth, but perhaps it was indeed a pharmacy at some point in time. The older kids would hang out in front of the store where there was a convenient bench, always borrowed for the Saturday evening free show. This was their meeting place where the topic of conversation was always, it seemed, girls and cars. The corner was also the location where many teenage escapades were hatched and it was a rite of passage to be included with the older kids at this location.

Entering the establishment, the comic books were located in a big rack to the right in the store and of course this was the first stop for many kids. The high ceiling was covered with embossed tin of a dull yellow color and the lighting was minimal. Halfway down the center aisle was a display case and the cash register, manned diligently by Mrs. Newman, usually, but sometimes aided by Evelyn Miller. Candy bars were on the left, the second kid stop, and the main aisle ended at the ice cream parlor and was a favorite small child destination.

Bill Newman would sit off to the right in an old wicker chair, a radio to his right and a spittoon to his left. He chewed tobacco and spit, sometimes hitting the receptacle, more often not. And the spittle would find its way down the corner of his chin and onto his shirt front. One always wanted Stella to do the scooping for an ice cream cone.

Bill was a Chicago White Sox fan and might have played for that team as a young man. During the baseball season he was never far from that old radio, listening intently and chewing on that wad of tobacco. Bill looked grouchy and had a gravely voice but was really a quite friendly and kindhearted man. He would carry on a conversation with even his youngest visitors, from afar, of course, lest one slipped on the floor!

Stella would most often greet her customers near the front door, wringing her hands nervously but willing to help even a youngster purchase Christmas gifts.

After the Saturday night free show, the youngsters would dart inside for an ice cream cone and Newman’s was especially grand if a youth in the tiny hamlet could go to the drugstore, as we called it, for a chocolate-marshmallow sundae with his mother after a Saturday trip to the grocery market!

Thad McAfee is a novelist and civil war buff. His latest publication is Sulfur Creek, released in August, 2009.

Permission to Reprint is Granted.

No Less Than Victory--A Review for Jeff Shaara

2010-01-25T08:34:00.000-08:00

Author Shaara has written a wonderful trilogy on World War II that includes the titles The Rising Tide, The Steel Wave and the final and best, No Less than Victory. This review comments on the last book in the trilogy.

The Battle of the Bulge, the late 1944 German attack through the Ardennes, is the centerpiece of the work. Using extensive research with those who actually lived through this horrific battle and also the air war, Shaara presents a chilling and accurate portrayal of the conditions experienced by the men there. The author describes the conditions so well that you can shiver the icy cold and endless mud and immediately wonder how so men survived not only the German onslaught but the weather conditions, too

The story of the foot soldiers and their plight is the centerpiece of the book. It is told so succinctly that one can feel the desperation of their plight and experience the pangs of hunger in their bellies as they fought to survive the German armored onslaught. Often, great battles are told from the perspective of the generals, omitting the agony of the foot soldiers. During the Battle of the Bulge there was a significant change in the Allied soldiers mood as they soon learned to match German tactics blood for blood. This writer’s uncle was one of those who survived the Battle of the Bulge, awarded a bronze star for his actions during this battle.

A vivid description of the gruesome air war opens the book. Survival meant meeting the required number of missions, which was 25 initially but increased steadily as the number of air crews diminished. The average survivability of a plane and crew was just 16 missions during the daylight bombing raids. As many as 60 planes carrying 600 men were lost in a single raid. Again it is accurate based on this writers own interviews with survivors of this carnage, including one who was shot down on his very first mission and was a prisoner of war for over a year. That individual’s recollections include the fate of Russian prisoners kept in a nearby compound who died like flies because they were not allowed Red Cross assistance.

One of the things at which Shaara excels at is the creation of believable and plausible dialog between the principal real-life characters of the era, including Eisenhower, Patton, the German generals and Adolph Hitler. He extends this unique ability to the guys on the ground, the G.I.’s. It was a bit tiresome to hear of the intrigue between Montgomery and everyone else, but even Eisenhower came to despise the man and it is factual.

Historical novels can sometimes wander far away from fact because research can be spotty and some authors are tempted to embellish a story for dramatic effect. Shaara does not do so, listing his sources of and letting the story tell itself. This is a tribute to his care in presenting a gripping account of the last year of the war. It is a great read, as are all three of the books in the trilogy.

Thad McAfee is a novelist and civil war buff. His latest publication is Sulfur Creek, released in August, 2009.

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AMBUSHED!

2010-01-03T10:29:00.000-08:00

It started on a Sunday afternoon, a pain in my right thigh, actually sort of a band of discomfort. No big deal, I have aches and pains all the time and they go away.
The next morning, I arose, made the coffee and headed out the door for the newspaper. As I stepped down on the garage floor (two steps) a pain shot up through my leg. I walked outside; now it really hurt and I almost collapsed in the driveway. I stumbled back into the garage and used the car as a prop as I moved towards the back door. I ended up crawling into the house and laying there until the pain abated. I crawled to the rear bedroom and hailed the bride. She was amazed to see me on the floor!

“It’s my leg,” I muttered. The pain abated and I made it to the couch. I looked at my leg. My God, it was swollen to twice the size of the other limb and was as hard as a rock! “I think you need to take me to emergency!” She did.

We speculated as to the cause. A spider bite? An infection? We didn’t have a clue.
The Emergency Room people immediately recognized it as a possible blood clot and arranged for an ultrasound test to confirm the preliminary diagnosis. Yep! That’s what it was!
It was recommended that I be hospitalized for a “day or two.” Sounded good to me! They checked me in and immediately began attacking me with needles filled with a drug called Lovenox and pills of a rat poison called Coumadin or Warfarin. I would be in the hospital until my blood thinned to a therapeutic level as determined by what was called an IN/R test of a value between two and three on some obscure scale. It also meant a daily blood test where I got stuck with a needle at 5:30 in the morning or earlier. That made three punctures a day.
My doctor was a Filipino lady who struggled with both language and bedside manner. Hell, it wasn’t her leg that throbbed and ached. We did eventually reach a satisfactory level of communication.

I learned a lot during my stay. My condition was called DVT or deep vein thrombosis. It can be very serious if a clot gets to the lungs. It is caused by injury, pregnancy or stasis. Mine was caused by stasis or inactivity and had been, looking back, coming on for a while. I was counseled on diet and exercise and even by an occupational therapist because a nurse reported I was a writer. I was lucky in a way. There can be tissue damage caused by DVT and some experience intense pain. I felt discomfort but really couldn’t call it pain.

It took seven days before my blood thinned out. That was 15 shots of Lovenox and 8 blood tests! They added a pneumonia shot for good measure and then my arm was swelled up!
They said it might be months before the swelling in my leg goes down. Sometimes it never does. It’s no longer as hard as a rock, so that’s progress. It’s a protein in the body that works to dissolve the clot and that takes time. Every time I talk to my regular doctor I am reminded to keep the leg elevated. My blood is checked every ten days or so for IN/R. I’m trying to exercise on a treadmill but that results in discomfort after a few minutes so I don’t push it, even though my internist said to exercise as much as I could stand. I guess there’s not much worry about the thing ‘breaking loose’ and traveling to the lungs.

The support shown by family and friends was heartwarming both to my bride and myself. People called, people visited and that was the upside of the episode. Suffice to say it’s really good to be back home!

Thad McAfee is a novelist and civil war buff. His latest publication is Sulfur Creek, released in August, 2009.

Permission to Reprint is Granted.

Alice's Drive

2009-12-15T16:10:00.000-08:00

A wonderful, true story of courage and perserverence is Alice’s Drive, a re-write of Alice Ramsey’s book, Veil, Duster and Tire Iron from 50 years ago.

A hundred years ago, in the year 1909, Alice Ramsey, a young, 22-year-old mother decided to drive across the United States accompanied by a sixteen-year-old female “mechanic” and a pair of dowager relatives in their forties occupying the rear seat of their Maxwell touring car!

Setting out from Manhattan in early June, the four women made it to San Francisco on August 8, 1909, taking two months to cover some 3000+ miles!

The challenges they faced were incredible, comprised of severe rain and mud, no paved roads, poor accommodations and breakdowns. Yet, they met these challenges and went on to complete this historic trip. They did have escorts for some legs of this trek and the Maxwell Company expedited repair parts to them to take care of the few breakdowns they experienced.

This book is well written and exceptionally well illustrated with many pictures and several maps that show the magnitude of the endeavor and the terrible conditions these brave women faced.

In 2009, this same trip was made by Emily Anderson in a restored Maxwell Model DA and followed the basic route of the Ramsey party. This lady made the trip in a mere 20 days, thanks to greatly improved roads.

This re-write is publishedby The Patrice Press of Tucson, Arizona, and is annotated by Gregory Franzwa.

You can purchase this book from The National Automobile Museum in Reno, Nevada. Contact them at (775) 333-9300 or on the web at www.automuseum.org

Visit this museum when in Reno and tell them Thad sent you!

Thad McAfee is a novelist and civil war buff. His latest publication is Sulfur Creek, released in August, 2009.

Permission to Reprint is Granted.

Review of Jeff Shaara's Civil War Battlefields

2009-12-01T08:43:00.000-08:00

Jeff Shaara complements his own and his fathers historical novels with the publication of his book, Jeff Shaara’s Civil War Battlefields, Discovering America’s Hallowed Ground.

In this work, the author selects significant battles of the conflict and provides the reader with a recap of the battle itself and then conducts a personalized tour of the very ground where the battle was fought.

Shaara starts with vivid descriptions of the horrible carnage at Shiloh and Antietam and works his way through chronologically to the end of the war at Petersburg and Appomattox. For the most part, he presents the generally accepted views of the battles. For a different perspective, read U.S. Grant’s "Personal Memoirs."

Of course the bad decisions by the various commanders are exposed and a series of ‘what ifs’ is offered had a different decision been made. For example, Grant delayed his frontal assault at Cold Harbor by a single day allowing the Confederates an opportunity to fortify their position to an impregnable fortress. The result? 4000 union soldiers died the next day in a near massacre.

Issues of speed, communication, clarity of orders and lost opportunities abound throughout the telling of the battles. It is mostly the North’s lack of leadership on the battlefield that allows the war to drag on for four terrible years. Shaara does make the mistake that many historians make concerning this war, citing the Shenandoah Valley at the ‘breadbasket’ of the Confederacy. Except for the siege at Vicksburg, there was never a food shortage because of the vast size of the Confederate States. There was, however, a serious transportation problem that was increasingly exploited by the Federals.

One can argue the importance of a couple of the battles ( New Market is an example) and can also ask why the clash at Franklin, Tennessee was omitted. I would have liked to have seen more on the breakthrough on April 2, 1865 at Petersburg probably because one of my ancestors played a role there at Jones’ farm with the 110th OVI..

The number of unidentified dead from these battles is chilling, especially from the Rebel side. A generation of young men are wiped out, fallen somewhere, yet their kin knows only that they did not return and are gone forever.

A word of caution; the maps provided do not show well on my Kindle. The fonts used were unreadable. I ended up buying the hard copy to add to my collection.

As a Civil War buff, it is hard to be disappointed in this book. There are a few of the battlefields that Shaara cites that I have not visited and rest assured that this book will accompany me when I do tour them.

Thad McAfee is a novelist and civil war buff. His latest publication is Sulfur Creek, released in August, 2009.

Permission to Reprint is Granted.

H1N1Swine Flu:Today vs.1918-1819

2009-11-11T13:23:00.001-08:00

The Swine Flu epidemic now sweeping across the United States mirrors in many respects the terrible plague of the 1918-1919 Spanish Influenza that killed as many as 50 million people around the world.

In his detailed and well researched book, The Great Influenza: The Epic Story of the Deadliest Plague in History, author John M. Barry has done a masterful job of recounting the sequence of events that characterized that terrible event and the futile efforts to curtail its drastic effects.

Barry starts with the very genesis of the disease from central Kansas, it is believed, to a nearby army base and then onto overcrowded ships ferrying Allied troops to the war effort in Europe. The influenza is tracked to its very end when it mutates to a far less virulent strain and simply fades away. The medical and scientific terminology used throughout this book is generally understandable by the layman.

The Spanish flu spread like wildfire across national borders and millions of deaths occurred within a very short time so deadly was this particular strain. Two-thirds of all deaths occurred within a period of just 24 weeks. Much like today’s epidemic, it was the young that were most affected. Virtually overnight, hospitals were filled to capacity and an immediate shortage of doctors and nurses was experienced as even the medical professionals faced the grim reality of the flu turning into a deadly pneumonia.

The U.S. was ill-prepared for fighting this horrific onslaught even though vaccines and anti-toxins were understood at the time. Early efforts were for naught as those charged with a solution to the disease went down the wrong path, convinced that the outbreak was bacterial when it was actually a virus that could lead to pneumonia. It would be 15 years before the virus was successfully isolated.

Although it was “only an influenza,” some victims experienced an extraordinary and extreme array of symptoms. These included hemorrhage from all orifices, ear aches, splitting headaches and intense pain from different parts of the body. The body’s own immune response killed many people, destroying the lungs. Not all people died who contracted the flu, of course, but enough to cause stark terror in crowded city neighborhoods.

Barry’s book was published in 2004 and he correctly predicted that another deadly pandemic could occur at any time.

There are, however, significant differences between today’s flu crisis and that experienced in 1918-1919:
-Influenza strains are tracked on a world-wide basis and vaccines are
prepared annually for the worst strains allowing mass inoculations.
- The current strain of H1N1 is an order of magnitude less virulent than the
influenza of 90 years ago.
- The medical community has much better tools for analyzing flu viruses.
- Massive facilities are available for producing vaccines although the
methodology remains largely unchanged.
-The timely use of drugs like Tamiflu and Relenza once symptoms are
experienced lessen the impact of the virus.

Unfortunately, some will indeed die during the current epidemic, but it is highly unlikely that this episode will approach the number of fatalities experienced just 90 years ago.

Barry’s work is a good read and is highly recommended to provide insight and context for the current H1N1 Swine Flu crisis.

Thad McAfee is a novelist and civil war buff. His latest publication is Sulfur Creek, released in August, 2009.

Permission to Reprint is Granted.

Goldsteen the Wonder Dog!

2009-10-31T08:50:00.000-07:00

Goldie was a yellow lab, golden, actually, and a more bull headed, obstinate and cantankerous beast was never born. She had a split personality. Never mean, but a true rapscallion. Her redeeming quality was that she would happily greet us after a hard days’ work.

We took her to local training and she promptly chewed through the new $25.00 leash we had acquired. The only thing she learned was how to control us! Since my wife and I both were employed, we spent a thousand bucks sending her to a professional ‘dog school’ for six weeks at a kennel down near Lake Mathews. It was a wonderful vacation for her where she learned nothing. Her ‘personal trainer’ visited our house in Rancho Cucamonga and strongly advised that we always keep a leash on her as that would indicate she was under our control. Hah!

Goldie was a chewer. She would chew anything; carpet, chair legs and any wooden furniture. We had a contractor over to discuss some work we wanted done to our patio, she chewed through the laces on his new work boots!

This dog could open the wrought iron gate in her area by wiggling it with her paw! We moved to Nevada and built her a dog run. She promptly learned how to use her nose to open that gate! Her plan was always to escape the yard, wander around for a couple of hours then return at feeding time. We took her to farm country for a run in the hayfields near Wellington. She took off down the lane, showing us her rear end. We were hours chasing her down.

She liked to ride in my old Model T Ford, loosely tethered, of course. On one excursion she leaped at a jogger and fell out of the car. I dragged her 150 feet before I was able to stop. She jumped up, thankfully unhurt, wagged her tail vigorously and, honest to god, she grinned at me!

One cool autumn evening, I worked late into the night on that old Model T Ford. At bedtime, I left Goldie in the garage, her usual sleeping place, and retired for the night.

At midnight, she started barking. I got up and yelled at her through the door. She shut up. At 2:00 a.m., she again barked furiously and clawed at the door. I arose, got the yardstick (to tan her golden rear) and barged into the garage. I was really angry.

Gasoline fumes overwhelmed me! Turning on the light, I saw the floor flooded with a huge pool of raw gasoline! The furnace and hot water heater were located only a couple of feet from that pool of gasoline! The Model T fuel system is gravity fed and I had forgotten to close the valve at the carburetor! I quickly opened the garage door and washed away the gasoline after closing the dratted valve. Goldie had saved our lives and our home, thank God!

Sadly, Goldie passed away, five years ago today. She was one of a kind, a true wonder dog! I will always miss her.

Thad McAfee is a novelist and civil war buff. His latest publication is Sulfur Creek, released in August, 2009.

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Model T's and Me

2009-10-19T16:30:00.000-07:00

My first old car after moving to Nevada was a 1922 Model T Ford roadster. The engine was worn out, the radiator needed re-coring, there was no top and, of course, I paid too much for it. That little car could barely make it up the hill behind our residence. It’s no good for touring, a local guru told me. You need something with power, a lot more power.

Turning to the ‘For Sale’ section of the national magazine, there was advertised a 1915 touring car equipped with an overhead valve engine! That ought to do it, I thought. And, the car was advertised as “everything is like new!” Perfect!

This jewel was located in Southern California, near Poway. It would be simple. Fly down via San Diego, look at the car, drive it and buy it. Then, since I had all of about 150 miles of Model T driving experience behind me, drive the ‘new’ car 525 miles back up to Minden. No trailer queens for me!

Lengthy conversations with the owner assured me it was a really good car and a successful participant in something he called the Baja 500. “It was really hot down there,” he said, “but she kept running like a dream.” Hey, this was better than a CARFAX.

I flew down and drove the car. It was indeed powerful, had a two-speed rear end and a beautiful paint job. The brass had been polished and sparkled in the sunlight. The tires weren’t too good but there was a spare so I bought it and headed for home via I-15 north at 40 mph.

Now, going 40 mph on an Interstate highway is not so easy when you are passed by cars doing 80 and the occasional driver who would come up from behind, stomp on the brakes, lay on the horn, then give me a single finger salute as they snarled past. I moved to the far edge of the road on the apron. It wasn’t too bad except for the debris, rakes, shovels and boards mostly, and the recessed storm drain collectors that rearranged the fillings in my teeth.

In Riverside, CA, the 15 and 60 freeways jumble together and I was caught in the center lanes between two honking semis as I tried to change lanes. So much for that pair of shorts. A tire went flat just north of San Bernardino. I pulled off the Interstate and made it to a fast food restaurant parking lot where the tire was changed using a balky jack and a couple of old 2x4’s. Cresting the Cajon Pass, the Ruckstell jumped out of gear. In the truck lane already, I slowed down enough to get it back in gear and proceeded on.

Turning on to 395 North, the road is only two lanes for some distance. That was a relief. I stopped at Kramer Junction and got the tire fixed by a well inebriated magician who had it done in about two minutes. He wouldn’t take any money but did let me buy him a couple of six packs of Budweiser.

Pearsonville, California was gas-up time and an opportunity for checking all the fluid levels, including the oil sight gage mounted on the hogshead. Proceeding on north was like a walk in the park, not much traffic, the foothills of the Sierras were on the left. It was a really fun time as I motored along past Coso Junction and neared the village of Olancha. I had decided to stay the night in Lone Pine as it would be dark in a couple of hours.

It happened without warning, sudden loud metal clanging noises. The car lurched to the right. I gave it the clutch, jabbed at the brake and steered to the shoulder, barely missing a road marker. The engine had died and all at once it was incredibly quiet with not a car or house in sight. I tried to start the engine. It grunted for a second and refused any further input. I was cooked. My cell phone service had been activated just prior to setting out on this adventure. Miraculously, I was able to contact AAA (should have contacted the AA) and report my breakdown. They would send a tow truck. Four hours later, the tow truck, Millers from Lone Pine, arrived, with two guys inside. They dragged the Model T up the ramp and opined that the transmission was locked up. Then they told me I would have to ride inside the ‘T’ as there was no room in the cab of the tow truck! It was total humiliation as I rode all the way to Lone Pine up in that car on the back of that darned truck.

I stayed at the old Dow Villa Hotel where all the movie stars had once stayed. I was beaten, bruised and exhausted, and reconsidered the wisdom of the whole escapade. The next day, a bus transported me to Bishop and a U-Haul truck and trailer rental establishment. Back at Lone Pine, I tipped the boys at the tow service twenty bucks to help me load up the car and drove wearily to Minden and home.

A dismal disassembly inspection several days later showed that a drum in the transmission had come apart, freezing the transmission. The car was not as advertised, except it really was good-looking. I had bought a lemon. The Ruckstell was bad, the engine was hopelessly butchered. (it had a Model A crank badly installed) and the OHV setup was a mechanical nightmare. It was worth about half what was paid for it, maybe.

I ended up cannibalizing the car for parts and installing them in the old roadster after rebuilding them. A stock engine was installed in the touring car and it was sold. The OHV set-up went to a guy in Washington. All in all, I came out about even on the deal, depending upon the monetary value placed on the blow to my pride! I was surprised at what I didn’t know about those old, simplistic Model T Fords. Ah, the lessons in life.

Thad McAfee is a novelist and civil war buff. His latest publication is Sulfur Creek, released in August, 2009.

Permission to Reprint is Granted.

Vintage Cars and That First Tour

2009-10-04T09:39:00.000-07:00

It’s always exciting to acquire a premium vintage car, fix it to reliable running order and go on a tour with other old car aficionados. So it was for Thad McAfee and his beautiful 1939 Cadillac 60 Special. A Fleetwood body, no less! The car was purchased in January and preparations were made (new tires, tune-up, electric fuel pump, carburetor rebuild) to participate in a 1700 mile tour through California, Oregon and Washington.

We were invited on this adventure by some friends from Auburn, CA. The couples from that area owned similar cars and the men were Cadillac experts so we felt real good about that. It started well. We drove comfortably and smoothly to Auburn in our classy car and stayed the night with one couple. The tour would start early the next day with a breakfast for all 30 participants.

And the trouble started early the next day. The car, we had named her Mae Capone, refused to start. I had left the courtesy light on all night and run the battery down. Rats! A quick jump start and we were in motion to the nearest gas station to fuel up. She wouldn’t start there, either, and another voltage infusion was required. We got half way up a hill leading into town and she quit, blocking traffic on Route 49. We pushed the car off to the side of the road for another jump. A very severe CHP officer stopped and asked what was going on. “We’re starting out on a 1700 mile tour.” I announced proudly. She looked at me like I was nuts.

That set the tone for the drive across California. Our route was U.S. 65 to Marysville where we would pick up Highway 20 to Fort Bragg, out first official overnight stop. That darned car would run for a few minutes and quit and my friends would work furiously on her and pronounce the problem found and solved. It was to no avail. We replaced the coil, wired the choke open and by-passed the mechanical fuel pump. She continued to run a while and quit. I told my friends to leave us in a small town, Meridian I think, and go on. They gallantly refused although I sensed there was a rebellion brewing with wife of one of our supporting cast.

In the foothills 20 miles west of Williams CA, she quit again and I coasted to a stop alongside the road. It was the middle of nowhere. My friends promptly announced they had indeed decided to go on without us and they drove off. One of the cars suddenly turned around a couple of minutes later. Second thoughts? Guilt? No, to tell us that Oh, by the way, there was no cell phone service in the area! We were alone with a balky car and no help. I cursed my friends, Mae Capone and Henry Leland. My wife was ready to leave me or kill me, I didn’t know which.

Then I started to think, trying to recall all the things that had been done or undone by myself or by the so-called expert mechanics. After looking at the engine, I turned on the ignition key. Total silence. The electric fuel pump should be buzzing. It wasn’t! I jiggled the wires on the toggle switch that controlled the new electric fuel pump. Aha! They were loose! I wired around the switch, turned the key and heard the pump come on! I hit the starter switch and it immediately started, purring like a bedraggled but breathing kitten. We drove on to Fort Bragg, our official overnight stop. My ‘friends’ mouths dropped open as they saw us pull in to the motel.

The entire tour group went to dinner that evening and I luckily got to sit next to the wife of one of my ‘friends’. She was quite icy and I now knew who had called the shots on abandoning us out in the wilderness. I designated her Cruela, and her husband wouldn’t look me in the eye. (And still can’t) The first rule of group touring is that you never, ever leave somebody stranded.

We decided to go back home the following morning, suddenly tired of touring with this group. It was a difficult decision because I wanted to prove to all parties how good my car could perform. We picked up 101 at Cloverdale, took it to I-80 towards home. We drove 335 miles with nary a single problem. We were safe at home!

One week later, I drove old Mae Capone to the local gas station, a mile from home. She was rarin’ to go! As I drove up the street to home, there was a loud squeal. The left front wheel bearing had gone out! I limped the half block to my garage, thankful that we had not continued on that tour!

Thad McAfee is a novelist and civil war buff. His latest publication is Sulfur Creek, released in August, 2009.

Permission to Reprint is Granted.

The Family Civil War Saga

2009-09-18T14:32:00.000-07:00

William Luther Wiles was born in 1836 in Northwestern Ohio, the son of a long line of farmers. He was always a wild, unsettled youth, full of hell and raising it, too. The great American Civil War was just the thing for ‘Luke’ as he was called. He enlisted in the 2nd Ohio and was soon part of the Army of the Cumberland.

The 2nd Ohio gave rise to the participants of The Great Train Robbery, William Andrews and others, a good idea that ended badly, especially for Andrews and some of his men. Rest assured that Luke Wiles did not volunteer for this suicide mission!

Wiles enlisted as a private and stayed a private for four years in the Union Army. Most notably, he was shot through both cheeks of his rear end during the Union rout at the Battle of Chickamauga. He marched with Sherman through the south and then north through the Carolinas at the end of the war.

After the war, he became a homeless drifter, wandering across the far west, living off the land, meeting the native peoples and ‘finding himself.’ Some would say it was because of the horrors he had experienced during the war, others would say he did it just for the hell of it, being who he was.

After ten years he returned to Ohio and eventually married a gal by the name of Sarah Kaiser. The randy old warrior fathered a dozen children during the next 20 years, including triplets that died soon after birth. One daughter named Bessie, was born in 1885. She overcame polio as a youth and later married Thaddeus R. McMillen in 1905. Bessie and Thaddeus had two sons, Virgil and Charles, born in 1907 and 1911 respectively.

Charles married Esther McFeeters in 1930 and for a brief time they lived with his parents and the aging grandpa Luke on the 40-acre family farm out on Rosebrock Road.

Unable to take care of him in his advancing age, he was moved to the Soldiers Home in Jackson, Michigan. He died there in 1933 and is buried in Pulaski Township of Williams County, Ohio, a soldier at rest

Thad McAfee is a novelist and civil war buff. His latest publication is Sulfur Creek, released in August, 2009.

Permission to Reprint is Granted.

The Saga of Francis M. McMillen

2009-09-03T09:50:00.000-07:00

LIFE AFTER THE CIVIL WAR
By Thad McAfee

The great American Civil War ended in April, 1865. Sergeant Major Francis M. McMillen marched in the Grand Review for President Johnson proudly wearing his Medal of Honor. He then returned to Ohio where his company was mustered out in June of that year. He returned to the grain milling business that was run by his family in Madison County.

Francis married his widowed sister-in-law’s younger sister, Elizabeth Truitt in 1870 and went to work on the Truitt family farm. Those Truitt women always did have the hots for those McMillen boys!

Life was good. Francis participated in Army reunions and he and Elizabeth had a daughter they named May. Elizabeth died suddenly in 1879 at the young age of 38.
Francis moved to Jeffersonville, Ohio, in Fayette County soon thereafter. He remarries, in 1884, to Mary Carr McMillen, the widow of another long dead brother, Thaddeus C.S. McMillen! Talk about close knit family ties!

Daughter May passes away at the age of 13 in 1885. Francis and Mary live together happily for almost 25 years. She passes away in 1908 and he is shown as an ‘inmate’ at the Soldiers Home in Dayton, Ohio in the 1910 federal Census. Perhaps he has seen and experienced too much during his lifetime. This hero, this Ohio farm boy, dies there alone and mostly forgotten in 1913.

His Medal of Honor has never been found. Perhaps it was buried with him in the old graveyard in Washington Courthouse, Ohio. No living person knows. There is a special marker at his gravesite that notes the extraordinary heroism of this Ohio farmboy..

Thad McAfee is a novelist and civil war buff. His latest publication is Sulfur Creek, released in August, 2009.

Permission to Reprint is Granted.

Battle Field Healthcare

2009-08-18T20:44:00.000-07:00

There is much verbiage on the cable channels today concerning healthcare and medical benefits for all U.S. citizens. What about the medical care of our soldiers during the great American Civil War? Perhaps we should be thankful for what we now have and the vast improvements in medical care, civilian and military, over the last century. The following is a true story of one such man and his medical care.

The 110th Ohio Volunteer Infantry experienced a brutal spring and summer in 1864. Fighting as a part of Grant’s Army of the Potomac, the 110th OVI took part in brutal battles at The Wilderness, Spotsylvania Courthouse and Cold Harbor before grinding to a stop at Petersburg, Virginia. There would be no rest for these men. They were soon pulled from the siege lines and reassigned to Sheridan’s Army of the Shenandoah.

Sent to Monocacy, Maryland, they engaged in a battle on July 9, 1864, for the vital railroad junction located there. A leader of Company C protecting the right flank of the Union forces was Sergeant George O. McMillen.

During the battle, George McMillen was shot in the foot and captured by the Rebels. He was rescued the very next day but the foot was beyond repair and was immediately amputated. The younger brother of McMillen’s wife, George P. Truitt, also received wounds that eventually proved fatal in this same confrontation.

Unfortunately, gangrene set in and, thank the Lord for chloroform, the leg was removed at the knee by army surgeons. While his leg rotted away, George was promoted to 1st lieutenant on July 22, 1864. Mary McMillen was summoned from Clark County, Ohio, to be with her husband while he convalesced at an army hospital in Frederick, Maryland. It was to no avail. Infection again set in and the leg was now amputated near the hip in a vain attempt to save his life.

The third amputation proved futile; he died in Mary’s arms on August 22, 1864. She returned to Ohio, escorting his remains to the family burial plot where he was interred. Mary McMillen never got over her husband’s death, remaining a widow, living alone on the family farm, dwelling in her grief. She outlived her husband by 59 years, passing away in 1923.

Thad McAfee is a novelist and civil war buff. His latest publication is Sulfur Creek, released in August 2009 by Fisher King Press.

Permission to Reprint is Granted.

Happy birthday, Sergeant Mac

2009-08-08T16:31:00.000-07:00

By Thad McAfee

The date was March 31, 1865. It was not a pleasant day because Sergeant Francis M. McMillen of the 110th OVI was on picket duty in the forward trenches at Petersburg, Virginia. The rain and fog only made things slightly worse for he was already standing in mud that reached to his knees. It was a hell of a way to spend one’s birthday. The concept of rest, a sumptuous feast, a cake with candles and a day off for such an event was a century away.

He pulled his feet out of the sucking, stinking mud and moved to his left a few yards, closer to the spiked protective abatis and a little nearer the Rebel lines. He heard the crack of a rifle and instantly felt he had been punched hard in the gut. He wavered and ducked for cover, going to his knees in the mud. Grasping at his stomach he pulled his hand back for a quick look. There was no blood. Thank the Lord! A shot to the gut was always fatal in this war.

There was more pain. He had been hit in the wrist, too! The Confederate mini-ball had first contacted his belt buckle, ricocheted to his wrist and then a fragment had punctured the diary that he carried in his breast pocket. Other than bruises on his stomach and wrist, he was unhurt. Happy birthday, Sergeant Francis McMillen, you dodged a bullet, as they say.

One week later, Sergeant Mac was a part of the Union charge at Jones Farm that broke the rebel lines and ended the Siege at Petersburg. The first wave had waited in the dark with rifles uncapped for the signal to attack. They charged the Confederate breastworks, plunging their bayonets into the earth in order that the men behind could scale the obstacle and rout the Rebels. For his part, Sergeant Mac captured two cannon and 14 prisoners, a heroic act that earned him the Congressional Medal of Honor. The great American civil war would now be over in a week.

Francis M. McMillen lived another 48 years, passing away in 1913 He is buried in Washington Courthouse, Ohio. A special marker notes his heroic achievement.

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Thad McAfee is a novelist and civil war buff. His latest publication is Sulfur Creek, released in August, 2009.

Permission to Reprint is Granted.

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2009-08-05T15:24:00.000-07:00

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Advanced Press Release: SULFUR CREEK

2009-07-19T00:40:00.000-07:00

August 1st, 2009

With great pleasure il piccolo editions presents the following new publication:

SULFUR CREEK
a novel by Thad McAfee

Drawing from a depth of knowledge and feelings, Thad McAfee masterfully delivers first-rate storytelling in Sulfur Creek. Twelve year-old Anna Marie Cochran has lost her life on the railroad tracks at the Sulfur Creek crossing in a small Midwestern town. Much as the little stream meanders across the countryside, the lives of the mourners who have gathered from afar twist and turn before a heinous crime is uncovered.

For twenty years Sonny Mac has avoided his past. This successful corporate man has had no need or desire to return to his origins to face those old ghosts. But now he is called upon to support a childhood best friend and his grieving family. The local Sheriff, the Railroad Police, and the Coroner are quick to deem the case an unfortunate accident. But things just don’t add up to Sonny Mac, and he manages to drag his best buddy’s younger sister, Emmy Lou Cochran, into this amateur detective case that soon turns into a passionate love affair.

Unsettled by an incomplete accident report, Colonel Rupert Mason of the Ohio State Police decides to pay a visit to this small community and junior State Policewoman Rebecca Steen, the reporting officer who arrived on scene soon after the incident. At a small social gathering, Sonny Mac by chance meets Rupert Mason and expresses his unsettled sentiments about Anna Marie’s death to the Colonel, and from there on, things seem to unravel for the complacent Sheriff and the unsavory Railroad Police investigator, while sweet Emmy Lou helps to finally exorcise Sonny Mac’s old demons.

“Bull’s-eye! Simply amazing! Thad McAfee nails it in Sulfur Creek . . .”
—Mel Mathews, author of The Malcolm Clay Trilogy.

Sulfur Creek is the first in a series of novels by Thad McAfee. Plan to read more of this saga in the not so distant future.

SULFUR CREEK —ISBN 978-0-9810344-8-5, 310 pages, trade paperback. Published by and available for purchase directly from il piccolo editions, an imprint of Fisher King Publishing. Also available from your local bookstore and a host of on-line booksellers. Publication Date: August 1st, 2009