A Trip to Cuba

Today is a wintry, gloomy day here in the Philadelphia, PA suburbs. It snow flurried briefly this morning - leaving some powdery slippery spots here and there - we've about an inch on the ground (and piles in the parking lots) that is rock solid - it rained briefly and then the temperature plummeted into the teens. I'll be glad to see spring (I almost always am!). I hate the gloom more than the muddy snow mess.

I've not posted anything lately - I've been very busy with moving things from our office of 15 years to my house - I've thrown away tons of dated paper (and paperwork) - and emptied, in order to move them, twenty 4-drawer file cabinets. I've about 3 more cabinets to go. It's sort of like seeing my past life go by ... years of "work efforts" being tossed or shredded - computer-related "stuff" gets obsolete so very quickly - some days I feel obsolete too!

Recently, I logged into Ancestry.com and saw a "shaking leaf" attached to my paternal g-grand-father. Curious, I went to see what it was all about and was surprised to find a record of him and his wife traveling on the SS Northland from Havana, Cuba to Key West, Florida, arriving back in the USA on February 24, 1928.

Harry Davis Mousley was born on July 3, 1883 in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and died at the age of 47 on November 9, 1930. He (hopefully) enjoyed his trip to Cuba that he took about two years before he died.

My dad has no direct recollections of his grandparents - or their journeys - as they were both dead before he was born.

The Peninsular and Occidental steamship line was a part of Henry Flagler's Florida East Coast Railroad. It leased the SS Northland from the Eastern Steamship Company for the winter travel/tourist season. The ship on the far right is the Northland.

In a strange coincidence, the same day I found this record in Ancestry, my parents called and informed me they were going to the Florida Keys for three weeks this month, and will be in Key West on February 24!

Maybe my dad will sense the ghost of his paternal grandparents there? I have stood at the cruise ship dock in Key West - and seen the remains of the Florida East Coast Railroad in the Florida Keys - many of the railroad bridges are now fishing piers and/or part of a 132 mile long walking trail, of which I have walked about half. Did my g-grandparents ride the the long-gone train (it died in 1934 when wiped out by a hurricane)? I can only wonder.

Wordless Wednesday (A Day Late)

From the old box in the attic

My Dad was recently rummaging through some old boxes he had in his attic and came across this old wooden case. It belonged to my great-grandfather, Harry Davis Mousley. He was born on 3 Jul 1883 in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and died rather young at the age of 47 on 9 Nov 1930 in the same city. He married Emma Louise Dreby, who was born 25 Aug 1884 in Gloucester, New Jersey and who also died at the rather young age of 48 on 7 Mar 1933 in Philadelphia.

My father never knew his grandparents - he was born a few years later - and his understanding of the "family lore" was colored by his father who did not get along with his mother. "She was a good cook" is about the only thing we can recall him saying about her. Harry Davis and Emma ran a foundry on Cedar Street in Philadelphia known as the "Cedar Street Foundry". How original huh? This foundry was established when Harry Davis' father, Harry Lincoln Mousley was not included in his father's foundry business (Charles Mousley and Sons). So the family had two foundries in the city of Philadelphia around 1920 being run by cousins competing against each other.

Harry Davis and Emma owned a small summer cottage in Cape May, New Jersey, and my grandfather told tales of his summer vacations there - how they drove on sandy paths in a Model T Ford that was constantly blowing tires - and how he caught lots of fish and caddied at a golf course there. The cottage, no longer in the family, still stands - and seems to be in good condition (I've not been inside it!)

From what I understand, Harry Davis drank a little too much and got himself run over by a streetcar or wagon one day. His wife Emma suddenly inherited the family business and ran it with an "outsider," and eventually sold some (or all of it) to him just before she died - to the great dismay (and anger) of my grandfather - who would slowly buy the "outsider" out and forever hold a grudge against his parents.

Somehow this case survived the "purge" and "turmoil." I suspect my great-grandfather burned his name in the wooden case.

Inside, are several drawing tools, and unfortunately, not the complete set. The case is labeled "The Technical Supply Company of Scranton" - and a look on-line uncovers a 1900 company catalog which would have been about the right time period and in facts, shows a similar case on page 65.

I wonder what he drew with this set of fine tools. They still shine, even a 100 years later.

Weekend at the Beach

This past weekend, I "finally" got down to the New Jersey shore - A trip had been planned for the Thanksgiving Day weekend, but due to my Dad's illness, it was postponed - and delayed - and postponed again.

It was cold and windy down there - but the sunshine and the sight of the "winter beach" was a restorative for me. I didn't have to do anything on my folk's house - so I was free to roam, think, and read.

I started reading a huge (700 page plus) book on the ins and outs of the "forgotten war," that is, Korea.

To clear my head of all the things filling it of late - I strolled down to the beach and watched some little kids fly a kite and throw balls to dogs that were delighted to run free in the clean white sand.

In the town park, the "clam" has been painted with "Old Barnegat Lighthouse". "Super Storm Sandy" (I hate the ridiculous names "they" give to storms) was rough on the park - and the homes and businesses nearby. The park was home to a tree that memorialized a local boy - the tree was killed by the salty storm waters. I hope "they" plant another tree and soon.

Returning to the beach, I thought about that tree - and the boy it memorialized. Ensign Arthur Joseph Platt Jr. was my age. Born a few months before me, to the people that lived next door - down the shore. As such, I grew up with him during the summer months. He was a short, sturdy guy with laser like focus on his dream to fly.

He was the only son of A. J. and Marylou Platt. His two older sisters were beauty pageant winners - his younger sister was a charming little girl. His parents came from Philadelphia, and ran both a motel and a bike rental/Ice cream parlor. Mrs. Platt was one of the nicest, hardest working person I knew. She always a kind word, a happy greeting, and a smile for me each morning when she walked past our house from the ice cream store to the motel carrying clean sheets for the day's change-overs.

A.J., as the older Mr. Platt was known, worked long hours during the summer season, renting and repairing bikes along side with selling ice cream cones and sundaes. I owned several bikes that came from his store. A.J. was very proud of his son, the Naval Aviator. He beamed with delight if someone mentioned him or asked how he was doing.

Young "Artie," as he was called, joined the navy in 1978, the year he graduated from high school. He was soon flying jets in Pensacola, Florida (the home of the Blue Angels).

One day, in 1984, young Arthur Joseph Platt was involved in an accident while flying and killed. His death was so unexpected and sudden, it was as if a candle had been puffed out.

I think young Artie's death killed his father - it took several years - but the old man was never the same afterwards. He slid into a quiet kind of grieving despondency. He no longer cared about dishing up ice cream, or his appearance, and the bike place slowly dwindled - from a place with hundreds of bikes to a mere handful.

And so it was - I decided to pay my respects to the A.J.'s buried in the nearby "Holy Innocents' Garden of Memories". Artie was buried about 100 feet from the motel his mother spent so much time at - with his father buried next to him.

As a further heartbreak to a hard working, close-knit family, the youngest girl, who went to Washington College in Chestertown, died not long after her father from a freaky accident. She fell from a ladder while working on her home and hit her head. She never woke up.

As I thought about the hard times a family endures - and the unfairness of it all - I thought about the damage the storm had brought to the shore - if it were uncaring and randomly capricious; but... life goes on. Mrs. Platt - goes on - she works in Pensacola at the National Naval Air Museum there - a living testimony to her son.

One the beauty pageant winners - still runs the bike rental shop - and the business suffered from the storm as the sea water destroyed much of the "stored for the winter" bikes and other rental goods. But they too - simply cleaned up the mess and go on.

Someday, I should tell them all how much I admired them as a young boy - and how much I admire them today.

First Cousin - 3x Removed - Part Three (and last for now)

The man that found Marshall's sailor cap mailed it to me - and I am thrilled beyond words to have it in my hand.  A 95 year old family heirloom, reunited with it's family.  I found yet another mysterious address in the cap headband.  I will go bald pulling my hair out to figure out what "the story of the hat" really is...

I found this in Franklin's notes and diary, my notes in []:

Marshall Mousley   Born: June 10, 1900 Philadelphia, Pennsylvania [- Died 1991.]

Enlisted in the Navy at the outbreak of World War 1 and served at Cape May Barracks, U.S. Naval Home and on the USS Sappho. 

After the war was in the Merchant Marine on vessels trading with France, Italy, the Adriatic, Mexican Gulf, and the Pacific.  He was in Livorno, Italy with his brother [Elmer], Uncle [Harry McIlvaine], and his cousins Howard and Horace McIlvaine, Charles West, and Danny [Daniel Webster] Bennett at the time the Black Shirts, led by Benito Mussolini, were battling the Reds [Communist circa 1921.]  They were all in port at the same time but on different vessels.

Marshall was aboard the "U.S.S. George G. Henry" when that tanker burned in France. [It had been hit by a torpedo from a German U-Boat with several men killed.]  He was the Assistant Group Engineer on the Laid Up Fleet in James River, VA.  Engineer on "West Ira" bound for China but was injured in New Orleans and left the vessel.

He later entered business with his father [Thomas Charles] in charge of Howard Street Foundry [believed to be sometime just before 1930, the year Thomas Charles retired.] Sold interest in foundry in 1946 and retired [at age 46].

In 1950, organized the "Circle Realty Company."

Member of American Legion; P.O.S.A [Patriotic Order Sons of America - they maintain the cemetery near the Thomas-Neely House in Washington Crossing, PA]; 32 degree Mason [my g-grandfather, Harry Davis Mousley was also a Mason], member of Frankford Lodge No. 892; Lulu Shine, Philadelphia; Benjamin Franklin Consistory (Scottish Rite); and the Northeast Shrine Club.

He married in 1936 and had no children.


Iggy's Research Notes:


Franklin's notes and diary stop in 1951 although Franklin lived to a ripe old age and died in the early 1990s, also childless.

The Cape May Barracks was a Navy "boot camp" established for the training of newly enlisted men in an "old wooden, resort town hotel."  The facility was later handed over to the US Coast Guard.

The United States Naval Asylum opened in 1831 on the east bank of the Schuylkill just above Gray's Ferry. It functioned as a retirement home for naval officers and housed the government Naval School before the founding of the United States Naval Academy in 1845. In 1879, the Asylum became known as the U.S. Naval Home. Under the command of the Philadelphia Naval Yard Commandant, it was in operation until the 1970s.

The first USS Sappho (SP-1427) was a United States Navy ferry transport in commission from 1918 to 1919.

Sappho was built in 1886 as a wooden-hulled commercial ferry steamer SS Sappho at Bath, Maine, by New England Shipbuilding Company. The U.S. Navy acquired her from her owner, William C. Sproul of Chester, Pennsylvania, for World War I service on 6 August 1918 and commissioned her on 20 August 1918 as USS Sappho.

Sappho was assigned to the 4th Naval District for local transport duty, providing transportation between the Philadelphia Navy Yard in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and nearby ports in New York and New Jersey.


Just five days after Sappho was commissioned, SS Delaware accidentally rammed her on 25 August 1918. Repairs were complete by 20 October 1918, allowing Sappho to resume transport service.  During this time of repair, I believe Marshall went to France and back on on the "Anna C. Moore" - The "Anna C. Moore" was sunk off the coast of England by a German U-boat during WWII.

Sappho was decommissioned at Philadelphia on 18 February 1919, and returned to her owner the same day. Her Navy crew was returned to the Philadelphia Navy Yard by the tug USS Triton (YT-10).

Marshall was discharged on 19 February 1919 a day after the USS Sappho was decommissioned.

 The USS Ohio was placed in reserve in the Philadelphia Naval Yard in mid-January, 1919 and later decommissioned in 1922).  Marshall may have "picked up" the cap sometime during this period and may or may not have actually served on board.  Franklin's diary is remarkably detailed, but does not mention the USS Ohio at all.

The "West Ira" was also later sunk by a German U-Boat during WWII in the Caribbean Sea.

I wonder what Marshall thought of German torpedoes...

Mandy's Glade

With the family out of town this past weekend, I needed to keep busy in order not to feel alone.  My younger brother is at a trade show in Boston this week - so I continue to be alone.  In order to keep busy and my mind off the "not good" thoughts of just why I was alone, I went to the houseboat resolved to do a laundry list of activities.

I got a late start on Friday (messing with my Dad's computer was slow going!) but Saturday morning dawned bright and sunny and not too unpleasantly warm, so I headed over to Chestertown's "City Dock" and looked at the Schooner Sultana, the first I have seen her this year.  She's been busy, out of port, on "road trips" ("river trips?) to places like Saint Micheal's and Baltimore.  From there, I went to the local Farmers Market and looked but didn't buy.

I went to the supermarket. My shopping list was simple:

Kitty Litter - Check! Wet Cat Food - Check!  Laundry Detergent - Check! The sign on the reverse had a different list: Paper Towels - Check! Dog Food - Check! Dog Biscuits - Check!  Leaving the supermarket, I went to the Humane Society of Kent County with a trunk full of goodies where they were received with happy smiles.  Perhaps too, Ruby was smiling also.

From there, I took a quick swim and then headed to the Atkins Arboretum where I spent several hours walking through the meadows, lost in thought:

..and into the woods.

...amd before I knew it, I had walked nearly 7 miles and my lingering thought was that of the goat herd I had seen - and how cute the goat was that stood on top of the picnic table, overlooking her domain.

I returned to the houseboat and took a most refreshing swim, before settling down to read for the evening, a history book I got from the Chestertown Library about the "resettlement" of the Native Americans from Georgia to Oklahoma back in the 1830s.  A most terrible and sad moment in American History.

Sunday morning found me restless and anxious - so I hit the road and headed home.  Once there, I decided I needed to do some tree-hugging.  So I headed to Valley Forge National Historic Park and feeling like I was nearly my old-self as far as walking form, selected a combination old-new trek.  I combined the "Pawling's Farm" shown below with the "Deer hunt Walk," followed by the Schuylkill River Trail, and returning to my car on the "River Trail."

Pawling's Farm

I've not been "up" to walking on the Schuylkill River Trail of late, I think it was a combination of couple factors, my being sub-par with the health issues, and well... the walk takes me past a place with special memories.  Memories, I have been avoiding.

The Schuylkill River Trail is a walk/bike path created from the Pennsylvania Railroad's Schuylkill Branch.  It ran from Philadelphia to the coal counties beyond Pottstown, Reading, Hamburg, and Pottsville.  For a short distance, the abandoned right of way carries the walker (or biker) over the small streams and through the meadows of Valley Forge.

There is a place, where the trail goes over a small stream on an old stone arch culvert/bridge that has some powerful and lingering memories for me.

View from the trail

A while ago, I lost a dear and special friend.  Her name was Mandy, and she lived in far away Australia.  We "met" on-line and talked about everything under the sun.  Her beliefs were odd to me (she was Wiccan) and her speech and mannerisms were intriguing and different (should I say, "unique"?)  I found myself learning from her and enjoying her "company."  One of the things we talked about was, where we would go if we were to ever meet - and at this quiet little spot, I envisioned us having a picnic, while seeing the many deer wandering about.

...and so I have, perhaps unconsciously, avoided the place since she passed away at a far too young age - apparently mostly from giving up the battle against the many injuries life inflicted on her.

As a strong-minded, determined, independent, woman, she had her opinions and wasn't afraid to voice them.  Among those opinions, were her religious beliefs.

Wiccan teachings say nothing of "the afterlife."  Many of them believe that when someone dies, if they mourn at all, it is for their loss, for the loss of the person to the world, for themselves, their family, and for what the person could've done had they lived. Few Wiccans mourn the fact that a person has died.

So to honor that - I mourned what she might have done - had she lived on.  Mandy's ashes were scattered by her children at a very pretty seaside village called Port Fairy, located on Giffiths Island, Victoria, Australia.  There is a lighthouse there - near the waves and sea creatures that Mandy adored - and this is where her children celebrated her life.

I held my own celebration of her life ... here, in this quiet little glade.  As I pondered what she might have done had she lived, I came to appreciate the Wiccan ideas of "do no harm to others" and Mandy's thoughts on "pantheism" (the belief that everything composes an all-encompassing, immanent God, or that the universe (or nature) is identical with divinity. Pantheists do not believe in a personal or anthropomorphic god.)  Here I was - "held in the cusp of nature" - and alone with my thoughts - but not alone... I was connected to everyone and everything - through some deeper, unseen but powerful links.

So, having spent some quiet moments of reflection - with bitter and regretful thoughts turning to far more positive ones - I left the glade - and although I think Mandy was "not there,"  she was in some way, "connected to there."  As are each of us - interconnected - and a part of each other.

I headed back to my car along the river, past the turtles,

..and over the stream that created the glade,

 ... and past the tree that reminds me of two other dear friends (that I've neglected of late)

The walk went steadily.  I soon put seven miles on the trusty pedometer - and was happy enough to see my car waiting for me in the parking lot where I had left it.

As for the deer... I saw none of them - but I'm sure they were there... somewhere.

Boston On My Mind

Sometimes, timing is everything.

My mother called me this morning and said, "I was standing in front of the hotel where that bomb exploded, just a couple weeks ago."

My mother was born and raised in the city of Boston. Her grandfather was a streetcar conductor from the poor neighborhood of Paisley, Scotland who came to this country seeking an opportunity.

Somehow, through a turn of fate, his daughter met a sailor boy from the wild, exotic "Indian Territory" that became Oklahoma and a few years later, my mom was born.

Yesterday I got a package in the mail from a cousin in Arizona. Inside where some photos I've never seen before.

A short while later, I heard the news of the Boston Marathon bombing.

I found myself wanting to escape all the ugliness of the world, into the soft flowers of the coming spring... like I did this past weekend...  but my mind kept dragging me back... but... I can escape backwards in time. At least briefly.

A Christmas holiday in Jamaica Plains, Boston, Massachusetts, 1949.  My mom is holding a guitar on the far left, her older sister holds an unknown little girl with a doll.  My grandmother sits behind my grandfather who is playing with one of my cousin's toy.  My boy cousin looks like he has a ray gun or something aimed at the camera.  My cousin Belle (Isabella, my grandmother's sister) sits with her father and my great-grandfather Robert McPherson on the sofa. ...Pondering who the mystery girl was... another photo fell out of the package...

A simple scene.  But so powerful to me.  My mom's mother stands in the snow, having shoveled out to the clothesline behind the farmhouse in Milton Mills, New Hampshire.  My best memories of her are from this very place.  The field behind the farmhouse, heading out to the trees (and a stone wall) were not farmed, but held wild clover and strawberries that smelled so good in the basking heat of the summer sun.

My grandmother had a twinkling eye and a low chuckle she would use to express her obvious glee and delight she took when me or my brothers did something "cute."

Her last 10 years spent with failing memories as her numerous strokes to away her personality and in fact, her very being, were very hard - especially on my mom - who visited the nursing care facility she was in, faithfully week after week.  My seeing her with such life in her eyes was a special moment and a treat indeed.  I can't thank my cousin enough for this...

What my great-grandfather would have thought of the bombing of a race on Patriot's Day, I do not know.  I scarcely know what to make of it myself.  I hear that many of the citizens of Boston have opened their homes and wallets to those that are far from home and stunned and shocked by this ugly event.  I saw in the videos shown all over, over and over again, a large number people running towards those that were hurt and maimed to offer help and aid...  Knowing Boston as a "removed Bostonian," I'm not at all surprised.  The people there are "Yankees" in the best and most admirable sense of the word.

Umm... Huh?

Usually, junk mail never enters my house, it goes into the trash can, but this morning I was late, so I took it to work with me. My brother saw my forehead wrinkle when I saw this ad in one of the ad circulars.


He looked at me and asked, "Why the funny face? Oh! I know, it's because the coupon (he made air quotes) expires, right?"

I replied, "No. Its the thought that I should buy my loved ones..."


"...one of these for Christmas."

He looked at the ad and then laughed.

Later on that day, when he was leaving, I asked him, "What sort of stone do you want?"

"Rose-colored Granite," he replied. And then added, "And Iggy, don't ask any of your lady-friends that question, Ok?"

I looked confused and he helped me out, saying "What sort of stone do you want? Like in engagement ring?"

It has been a slow day in land of odd...

Why? Oh Why??!?

British company Captive Media thinks it has developed a product that fills a gap in the market - a urinal mounted, urine-controlled games console for men.

It calls it the first "hands-free" video gaming console of its kind.

The sturdy device sits above the normal oval ceramic urinal bowl, opening up a whole new world of entertainment.

The user is presented with three generous targets to aim for in the urinal: stickers in the unit that read "Start", "Left" and "Right".

The console is able to detect where the urine is falling by means of an infra-red device.

And thus, a rudimentary "joystick" is set up.

Games offered include a skiing challenge, and a multiple choice pub quiz.

Once they have finished their business, customers can use their mobile phones to post their scores to Twitter and a live leader board.

The console unit has a 12 inch LCD screen, and sits behind toughened glass. So it can withstand collateral damage and be easily cleaned.

See for yourself...



Now I know why I need a Twitter account!

Good news for women is that Captive Media also wants to roll out units for the ladies' toilets.

"There are 'good anatomical reasons' that women can't use the original device," Mr MacSween says.

Source

Keys to the Past

I am still going through the various bits and pieces of flotsam my grandfather left behind and today, I opened a small box that held, amongst other items, a bunch of keys on several key rings.

My grandfather owned the family business, the non-ferrous foundry, and because of that, he had a separate key ring with just "foundry-related" keys. I've not been to the foundry building in several years - it's been that long since my dad sold it and I helped him empty the building of eighty-four years of accumulated "stuff."

The keys in the very full key ring are worn and tightly bunched. I thumbed through them, thinking of each lock the key fitted, the front door, deadbolt, alarm box, fire-proof safe, supply closets, the men's lockers (which were never locked anyway, since the cleaning lady would take the dirty towels from them and wash them each week), the third floor roof access door, the side shipping door, the back door, the roll-up door, the lock on the oil tank cap, and so it went... I recognized most of them by their place in the ring.

...and then I hit two keys that put me in the way-back machine along with the bright flash and some magician smoke...

The foundry had a several "company cars and trucks". My grandfather had a copy of each vehicle's keys, and he had a hard time keeping straight which key fit which vehicle. So one day, he came into the office where my Dad and I were discussing rebuilding a furnace, as pleased as punch and he tossed this very key ring onto the big three person "army issue" steel desk and said, "There! I fixed that problem!"

My dad looked up, his feet up on the desk, and said, "What problem was that?"

My grandfather replied, "You know how the key for the Oldsmobile Toronado looks a lot like the one for the orange-brown pick-up truck? Well, I took out the metal letter stamps and stamped a letter on each of those keys so I could tell them apart! After three months of fooling with them...I got a 5 minute fix that will save me hours of time!"

My dad reached over to the keys and thumbed them - much like I was doing in the here and now, and grunted loudly and rolled his eyes when he came to these two keys...

He tossed me the key ring and said, "Well, what do you think?"

I looked at the two keys and saw that my grandfather had stamped one key with a "T" and the other one with an "O" and without thinking about the ramifications of what I was saying, blurted out, "How the heck do I know which is which??!? O for Oldsmobile and T for Truck?"

And my grandfather looked at me with a baleful glare and said, "No! of course not!! its O for orange-brown pick up and T for Toronado! Jeepers! I'm I the only one that can think in this place!??"

He then turned around and stormed out of the office into the backroom.

My dad looked over to me and said, "Betcha he gets them mixed up the very first time he uses them."

To which I said, "No deal," and broke out laughing.

Sure enough, that evening when it was time to head home, my grandfather spent a few extra moments fiddling with his keys at the door to the Oldsmobile Toronado... probably thinking, O? or T???

And I looked at those two keys and thought, "I wonder why he kept them? The Oldsmobile and the orange-brown pickup truck have been long, long gone...."

...but my memories of the keys are still with me.

Went Away...

...for the weekend - just to get away. I didn't care if it rained, or if it was cold, I justed wanted to be somewhere else. So I went down to the houseboat even though it wasn't nice enough for swim or go boating.

On my way home, I saw this huge chicken in Galena, Maryland. It stands out front of an antique shop and is for sale. I thought about a friend who had chickens that I've not heard from in a while, Marmite Toasty. I pulled over and went inside the store to check out "Super Chicken".

The price? Well, you know that old saying, "If you have to ask...?"


When I downloaded the picture to share with you - I noticed another picture in the small lot that I had taken - and I instantly put the two pictures together and wondered...


...just how big those chicken necks* were!

*Chicken necks are used by the local blue claw crabbers to bait their traps.

Guantánamo Bay

Judge Randolph: Consider yourself in Contempt!
Kaffee: Colonel Jessep, did you order the Code Red?
Judge Randolph: You don't have to answer that question!
Col. Jessep: I'll answer the question! ... You want answers?
Kaffee: I think I'm entitled.
Col. Jessep: You want answers?!
Kaffee: I want the truth!
Col. Jessep: You can't handle the truth!

Ever wonder how it is the United States has a Navy base in Cuba?


Guantánamo Bay (Spanish: Bahía de Guantánamo) is a bay located at the southeastern end of Cuba. It is the largest harbor on the south side of the island and is surrounded by steep hills creating an enclave cut off from the immediate hinterland.

The bay was called Guantánamo by its original inhabitants, native americans called the Taínos. Christopher Columbus landed on Cuba there in 1494, naming it Puerto Grande. When Spanish settlers took control of Cuba in 1511, the bay became a vital harbor on the south side of the island.

The bay was briefly known as Cumberland Bay when the British seized it in 1741, during the War of Jenkins' Ear (You do remember this war?). British Admiral Edward Vernon arrived with a force of eight warships and 4,000 soldiers with plans to march on Santiago de Cuba. However, resistance by local forces forced him to withdraw.

During the Spanish-American War (April 25, 1898 - August 12, 1898), the U.S. Navy fleet attacking Santiago needed shelter from the summer hurricane season. They chose Guantánamo because of its excellent harbor. U.S. Marines landed with naval support in the invasion of Guantánamo Bay. As they moved inland, however, Spanish resistance increased and the Marines required support from Cuban scouts.

The Guantanamo Bay Naval Base which surrounds the southern portion of the bay, nicknamed "Gitmo", covers about 45 square miles. It is the oldest overseas U.S. Navy Base, established in 1898, when the United States took control of Cuba from Spain following the Spanish-American War.

A perpetual lease for the area around Guantánamo Bay was offered February 23, 1903, from Tomás Estrada Palma, the first President of Cuba. The Cuban-American Treaty held, among other things, that the United States, for the purposes of operating coaling and naval stations, has "complete jurisdiction and control" of the Guantánamo Bay, while the Republic of Cuba is recognized to retain ultimate sovereignty.

In 1934, a treaty reaffirming the lease, modified the lease payment from $2,000 in U.S. gold coins per year to the 1934 equivalent value of $4,085 in U.S. dollars, and made the lease permanent unless both governments agreed to break it or until the U.S. abandoned the base property.

After the Cuban Revolution, then-President Dwight Eisenhower insisted the status of the base remained unchanged, despite Fidel Castro's objections. Since then, the Cuban government has cashed only one of the rent checks from the U.S. government, and even then only because of "confusion" in the early days of the revolution, according to Castro. The remaining uncashed checks made out to "Treasurer General of the Republic" (a title that ceased to exist after the revolution) are supposedly kept in Castro's office stuffed into a desk drawer.

The "United States" argues that the cashing of the single check signifies Havana's ratification of the lease — and that ratification by the new government renders moot any questions about violations of sovereignty and illegal military occupation.

Col. Jessep: Have you ever spent time in an infantry unit, son?
Kaffee: No sir.
Col. Jessep: Ever served in a forward area?
Kaffee: No sir.
Col. Jessep: Ever put your life in another man's hands, ask him to put his life in yours?
Kaffee: No sir.
Col. Jessep: We follow orders, son. We follow orders or people die. It's that simple. Are we clear?
Kaffee: Yes sir.
Col. Jessep: Are we clear?
Kaffee: Crystal.

Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road?

That age old question...

...might have an answer, and that answer may be:

To stand on top of the mailbox.

I found this chicken standing on a mailbox on a back country road on the way to wharf Friday. I pulled out my camera thinking. "Hey! I could blog that!" I was a little disgusted when I discovered my camera battery was dead.

So, I went on to the houseboat, charged my camera battery, and then spent two hours driving around in a maze of Eastern Shore cornfields trying to remember where I had seen "the chicken on the box". Finally, coming around a curve lined with towering corn and blossoming, purple Crape Myrtles, I spotted it.


I suppose one would call this a clever use of old scrap iron and steel pieces. Or perhaps one might think, the chicken that crossed the road got caught in a sudden summer downpour and rusted solid, immobilized for all eternity - forever stuck on the other side.


I wonder what the mail person thinks of this "artwork"?

And now another age old question and it's answer... Why did Iggy walk all the way across a hot, humid parking lot at high noon risking heat stroke?

To take a picture of this awesome, totally rust-free, blemish-free, VW Beatle.

Orange you glad you know that?

:)

Tick Tock - Tick Tock

This morning I sit in a quiet office as it sprinkles lightly outside on a gloomy Monday morning. About the only sounds I hear are the tick-tocking of the big clock near the "punch in" station, the soft, but mildly irritating, fan noise from my computer, and the occasional car passing on the wet street. I find myself mentally in another place, however.


Last night, I saw more bad weather was sweeping through the country - centered in the areas already hard hit with flooding and tornadoes. The weather radar image appeared as a nasty red tear, going from Minnesota, south clear to Texas. On the news I heard the names of familiar towns, such as those in Oklahoma where Parsley, Barb and Joan who live and the others in North Dakota, Minnesota, Kansas and perhaps most alarming, Deanna and Julie in Missouri.

People I've never met, and yet, I look forward to hearing from them daily and seeing what they have been up to - and realize the Internet has brought into my world, a special (to me) group of people from all over.

And today, I sit here, a thousand miles away - full of hope they are all unharmed and that they and their families and friends are safe - I scan the news in the many small towns across the heartland of this big, but weather weary country - dreading, in this case, to actually find anything. And I check their blogs for new entries - and wait for the chime that announces "You have new mail" that might bring news from them saying "all is well here".

Tick tock. Tick tock. The wait seems to stretch on...

The End of the World

Recently, I took a train ride from Lansdale, Pennsylvania to Cumberland, Maryland by way of Washington DC.


And while riding on the train into hills of West Virginia, I was thinking... What is the allure of the "End of the World" scenarios? ...and why all the predictions for it?

I mean, most people go through their day-to-day lives assuming that tomorrow will be a lot like today. No shooting flames of fire will come up from cracks in the Earth, the sky won't fall, and the world, most likely, won't end.

But for others, doom and predicting it must have some appeal, or why else would they do it?


The most (in)famous example these days is Harold Camping, a California-based "Christian" radio broadcaster who believes that May 21, 2011, will mark Judgment Day, ushering in five months of torment for the unsaved until the universe finally ends on Oct. 21, 2011.

"It's going to be a wonderful, wonderful day," according to Camping.

Camping has made this prediction before, in 1994 (and was obviously wrong) but the tens of thousands of failed doomsday predictions throughout history are a symptom of some irritation deep under the skin of humankind.

Apparently, the "apocalyptic worldview" is a way of understanding the world. Or at least it is to Lorenzo DiTommaso, a professor of religion at Concordia University in Montreal.


Roundhouse in Martinsburg, West Virginia
According to DiTommaso, the apocalyptic worldview isn't uncommon. People like Camping or Aum Shinrikyo, the Japanese doomsday cult responsible for the sarin gas attacks on a Tokyo subway in 1995, might seem like nutcases. But believe it or not, doomsday appeals to the secular and well-adjusted as well.


What ties these disparate groups together is a sense that the world's problems are too big to solve.

Problems that have become so large they have no solution and people (in general) feel humankind will be unable to solve these problems. For many, using a biblical point of view, God is going to solve them. From other points of view, there has to be some sort of catastrophe.

The apocalyptic worldview springs from a desire to reconcile two conflicting beliefs.

The first is that there is something dreadfully wrong with human existence and on the other hand, there is a sense that there is a higher good or some purpose for existence, a hope for a better future.

According to DiTommaso, viewing the world as a flawed place headed toward some sort of divine "correction" reconciles these two beliefs.


Because believers are certain that their sacred text(s) can never be wrong, failed doomsday predictions only convince them that their own interpretations were in error, opening the door to new predictions. For example, Jehovah Witnesses have predicted and waited for the end in 1914, 1915, 1918, 1920, 1925, 1941, 1975 and 1994.

Historically, those who have predicted doomsday, including the early Christians, have been persecuted and oppressed, so the prospect of a final judgment is, in fact, reassuring and comforting.


The train home arrives in Cumberland, Maryland
To be reassured, however, the end-of-the-worlder has to expect doomsday to come within their limited lifetime — and they have to expect to somehow "survive".

Religious believers usually expect that they'll be among those saved from the torments of an ending world. Secular doomsday-fearers, on the other hand, expect to they will need to fight for their survival as social order and infrastructure are destroyed.


Unlike Camping, these sort of people aren't preparing for the end of the world; they're preparing for TEOTWAWKI, which stands for "the end of the world as we know it." The end might come in the form of an asteroid strike, a giant solar flare, a nuclear attack or economic collapse, but their goal is the same: to be ready for anything.

I guess for them, there will be smug satisfaction in being able to say, "Oh yeah! I'm ready when the bombs go off or the environment collapses or the magnetic poles reverse."


The Potomac River and rocky cliffs at Harper's Ferry, West Virginia
Is the world really so bad that people want to "get off" of it?

Unfortunately, for many, yes it is.

I've seen a bit of the world - and in a lot of places, crushing poverty and no real sense of promise in the future remotely exists - For example, those people packing themselves 200-300 deep into trucks in Guatemala in order to come to the USA had no "hope" in their current existence.

The same conditions prevail in many places - Africa, Indonesia, the Middle East, Afghanistan and the once Fertile Crescent, Haiti, and even in the slums and ghettos of this country.

As a young boy, I saw poor people in Thailand that drank, bathed and brushed their teeth in muddy canals filled with motor boats leaking oil and floating human feces. Their hollow faces looked blankly (but somehow enviously) at the group of people I was with - this scene has forever embedded in my mind - not only how well off the people in the USA are - but how poorly off so many others are...


I'm going to make a prediction here - I don't think the world is coming to an end on May 21, 2011.

The world could become a much better place - if humankind would set aside their petty differences and hatreds - and start working together to re-light the extinguished, or never-lit, dreams of the many people desperate to have a meaning in their lives and place in the world free from violence and fear.

What and where is the dream of mankind? If there is anything that seems "gone from the world" on May 21, 2011, it is this dream of a shiny future for each and everyone of us.

This morning's drive

While driving to work this morning - it occurred to me that I've been something of a hypocrite. Let me explain. It all started back in about 1979 when my grandfather started looking around for a new car. He had a nearly new (1975) satellite white Plymouth Custom Fury, the kind they destroyed by what seemed to be the millions in the movies of the day - the police cruisers.

My Grandfather had his eye on a grey Mercedes Benz and longed for one - but he kept saying, "I don't need such an expensive car! Heck, I won't even be alive long enough to wear it out!" He eventually went on to reluctantly buy a blue Oldsmobile sedan with a diesel engine in it and sold me the "sports car" (my first ever car). As the years went on, he managed to wear out six more cars before giving up his driver's licence after driving for nearly 85 years in 2005.

In all those intervening years, I've silently laughed at my Grandfather for saying what he did. In fact, there have been a number of times when this statement has been brought up by members of the family when we want to illustrate someone being shortsighted. Good old Granddad is still alive and we expect to celebrate his 102th birthday in a few months time.

About four years ago, my Dad asked me to get him a new laptop - he wanted to be able to work while away from his home office for extended amounts of time. I bought him the latest and greatest available at the time - and told him, "This will be the last laptop you will ever need for work!" Little did I know... About a month ago, he called me and asked if he ought to get a new one, one with that new "Windows 7 thing" on it.

Grimacing, I said, "Well, perhaps. Do you plan on ever retiring?" to which he replied that he didn't think so. We both laughed when I said, "It's not going to be like Granddad and say this is the last "car" you will ever own huh?"

My Dad's inquiry brought up a bit of a dilemma. Being in the computer business, I need to keep up with the latest and newest of all things computer for my customer's sake. As the years have passed - its become harder and harder to do so... but...

Back in the day - I owned one of the very first TRS-80 microcomputers - it had a whopping 5 megabyte hard drive! I wrote my first computer program for what was basically a programmable calculator. I admired the newest mainframes from IBM, Sperry, and Digital Equipment Company (DEC). I settled into a long career using DEC machines and when they introduced VAX/VMS to replace their PDP operating system I thought to myself - it can't get any better than this!

In the early 1990's a funny thing happened. Personal "desktop" computers exploded on the marketplace. Every technically savvy person spoke of dialing-in to Bulletin Board Systems (and later the Internet) and Apple and Microsoft brought out strange graphical interfaces that one needed a mouse to use. Windows 3.1 soon became popular but I resisted the change saying, "Why do I need graphics to do data entry?"

Eventually I had to cave in and accept Windows 3.11 was here to stay - right about the time Windows 95 came out. "Ugh," I thought, "'95' is worse than 3.11!" I slowly adapted to it and was only just getting comfortable with it - when Windows 98 arrived to much popular excitement. By the 2000, I had accepted Windows 98 as the "best" you could get.. when Millennium came out (and flopped). I felt vindicated in a way... but ... Microsoft never sleeps... Windows XP came out in 2002. I finally did away with my "98" computers in 2004.

And Vista came out - and thankfully (for me because I needed a breather!) it flopped.

Now, Windows 7 is here - and by all appearances, it seems to be a "winner." Which meant I had to get rid of some very reliable, dependable, much worn, Windows XP computers. Today, I am in the middle of an XP to 7 conversion. And even before I got that much underway, Microsoft throws me yet another learning curve, IE 9. So without hesitating, I installed IE 9 on all the Windows 7 computers and will be biting the bullet.


I am even in the middle of updating three of the companies servers in the office from Windows 2000 to Windows 2008. My days of admiring VAX/VMS mainframes are long gone - but being a techie - I know the underpinnings of "built on Windows NT" have their beginnings in VAX/VMS and were all written by Dave Cutler back in 1975 who is still writing software - and now he's writing Windows Azure, the Windows in the Cloud operating system.

But... But... this is the last Windows I'm ever going to learn...

...or is it?

:)

Forgotten Folks

Some of you may remember my quest to find some information about my great-grandfather McClurken's death at a railroad crossing that I wrote about here.

Today, I was pleasantly surprised when my lost cousin sent me this picture of my father's mother's family taken around 1912(?) or so. She and I are now trying to identify who is who (whom is whom?) and have pulled out all the stops to try to find out.


My grandmother's grandfather is the gentleman on the far left with the bushy mustache. His name was Thomas McClurken (1851-1928). Thomas was the first of his (many) brother's to come to America. He came to American about 1868 and was apprenticed to a tailor. He made several trips back and forth to Ireland.

His wife, Mary Spence McClurken (1858-1928) is the fourth person to his left. I believe my grandmother is the little girl with the big white bow sitting next to her. My great-uncle William was a twin - and I think he is the boy on the far right sitting in his father's lap (the father's name is also a William and he is the man that was killed at the railroad crossing, 1884-1924). The woman with very dark hair to the left of the both of the 'Williams' is the older William's wife, Margaret (1878-?).

Little William's twin, Margaret is the girl on the far left sitting in Thomas' lap.

G-Uncle William later married a Margaret - so you can see why it gets confusing. :)

So... who are the rest of this large lot?

Thomas and Mary had nine children -

Thomas Jr. (1880-?), Samuel (1882-1922), William Spence McClurken, Margaret (who married a Johnston) (1886-1928), James (1888-1958), George (1892-?), Edwin (1894-?), Howard (1897-?), and Raymond (1901-1958).

Going by age, I think the man seated on the floor is Thomas Jr. The man standing in the upper right is Samuel. Beyond that - I've nothing but unsupported guesses. Fortunately, today I discovered a lead on someone that might know! - so we are going to try to find out.

This is the first glimpse I have ever had of any of my grandmother's family beyond her siblings! My lost cousin promises to send me two more photos. I can hardly wait!

Eight score and nine years ago...

Eight score and nine years ago, some of my forefathers left Belgrave Gate, Leicester, England and landed in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

Others came over about the same time from County Antrim, Ireland, also to Philadelphia, where at least one of them made Steton Hats and one died in tragic train accident while those that remained entered the insurance business.

Some of the other forefathers came earlier - my mother's fathers family came over from England on the Neptune (1617) and the Gift (1619), settling in the Hampton Roads area of Virginia. From there, they slowly migrated west, going with Daniel Boone into Kentucky and later into Oklahoma.

Some came a little later, my mother's mother's father came over to Boston from Paisley, Scotland where fate would bring a young sailor from Oklahoma, enlisted during WWI, to his door asking for his daughter's hand in marriage.

Recently, I've been doing a bit of retrospective thinking, I don't know if it was because my last birthday made me feel old, or because I was alone on Thanksgiving Day with the family out of town, or because I've not been feeling my usually chipper self. Perhaps, it is because I have no children, that I am looking back into the past and not forward into the future?

At any rate, I've researched the family tree, looking for ... something.

169 years ago, my 4-greats-grandfather Joseph Mousley, entered this country. He married Sarah Elizabeth Hose on Christmas Day, 1826 in St. Margaret's Church, Leicester in a joint wedding with Sarah's brother Edward Hose and his bride Mary (Allen). Joseph and Sarah had ten children, three of which died before reaching the age of two and the last three were born in America.

I've sat and pondered what made him pull up stakes and move at the age of 38? Was his entire family enthusiastic about the move? What did nine year old Charles (my 3-greats-grandfather) think of the "great adventure"?

They settled at 1547 Germantown Avenue and Joseph went into business as a cordwainer (shoemaker) and shoe salesman. In a few years, Joseph owned the entire block and the courtyard alley was known as Mousley Street. Joseph retired about 1878 and was succeeded by his youngest son Joseph William.

Joseph passed away July, 1883 and his wife followed him in January, 1888. They were buried in Odd Fellows Cemetery, Diamond and 24th Street, Philadelphia. I went to find his grave and... the cemetery no longer exists.

I discovered, via the Internet, the following:

"Monument Cemetery, the second rural cemetery in Philadelphia, was founded in 1837 on North Broad Street, across from Temple University. In the 1950s, it fell victim to the school's need for parking lots. Thousands of those interred there were transferred to a mass grave in the suburbs. Their monuments were dumped into the Delaware River, where they are still visible today.

Other vanished cemeteries include Glenwood at Ridge Avenue and 27th Street, which gave way to the Philadelphia Housing Authority's first housing project in the 1930s; The original Odd Fellows at Diamond and 24th Streets, displaced for the Raymond Rosen towers (ed. note: a failed urban public housing effort); and Franklin Cemetery in Kensington, whose 8,000 bodies disappeared in the 1940s as part of a political swindle gone bad."

Further investigation lead me to Lawnview Cemetery, in Rockledge, PA, whose website states, "There are two Philadelphia Cemeteries which were closed and relocated to Lawnview Cemetery. In 1951, the original Odd Fellows' Cemetery was closed and the 65,000 bodies interred there were re-interred at Lawnview. When Monument Cemetery was closed in 1955, all 26,000 bodies were also re-interred at Lawnview."

I found many of my Philadelphia relatives had been buried in Glenwood, Franklin, and Monument cemeteries as well as the original Odd Fellows cemetery. So, many of them were dug up in the 1950's and reburied in Lawnview without their gravestones.


The office told me my 4-great grandparents, Joseph and Sarah, were re-buried in the Norris Lawn area, Section 14, Grave number 62 and drew an "x" on a map on the rough location.


Somewhere - in the shadow of an ancient oak tree, lie the unmarked remains of my great-great-great-great grandparents, who I suppose, came to this country with high hopes, much excitement, and a dream for a brighter future... and while unmarked, are not forgotten -


Somehow, I think my forefather might of liked knowing there was a small lane lined with big ol' oak trees nearby - and this one, in particular, which shades his grave... I gave it a big hug.

As I was leaving the cemetery, something caught my eye... I'll write about that later...

Winner! Winner! Chicken Dinner!

Recently, a package arrived at my door from Parsley of Seasons of My Mind. She is the talented cross-stitching, unmatched award winning 4-H leader, multi-dog owner with a huge heart of gold. She was the one that sent me all the neat Oklahoma goodies a while back when I won her postcard giveaway (details here).

Before I go on - I want to wish Parsley a speedy recovery from a recent bit of upset and trouble. If you thoughtful readers would, please visit her blog and give her a 'I hope you feel your bestest soonest' as she continues to struggle. Go back a couple post if you need to, to find a place to comment. I would be most grateful and appreciative.


Inside the surprise package, was an 8-CD set containing Joshua Ferris' second novel, The Unnamed.

Joshua Ferris constructs his new novel, "The Unnamed," around one of Emily Dickinson's most devastating poems, "After Great Pain a Formal Feeling Comes"

AFTER great pain, a formal feeling comes--
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs--
The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,
And Yesterday, or Centuries before?

The Feet, mechanical, go round--
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought--
A Wooden way
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone--

This is the Hour of Lead--
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons recollect the Snow--
First--Chill--then Stupor--then the letting go--

Emily Dickinson (1862)
My understanding of this poem is this: Emily Dickinson was tracing the numbness experienced after some terrible blow. Numbness one way we protect ourselves against the onrush of pain and against being overwhelmed by suffering.

Novelist Ferris drops realism to ask but what if we did live without distractions? Not just the petty ones, such as e-mail, but all the carrots: a promotion, a successful resolution to that all-important lawsuit, a vacation in the British Virgin Islands?

Ferris examines this question by giving his protagonist, Tim, an undiagnosed condition that periodically returns that wrenches him out of the rat race. "A happily married father of one with a partnership at a fancy Manhattan law firm, Tim can't stop walking. He might be at his desk at Troyer, Barr and Atkins, LLP or in bed with his wife, Jane, when suddenly he's seized with an irresistible compulsion to walk.

If he's lucky, he'll have on hiking boots and a provision-filled backpack. But if he's hatless in winter, his disease is no less cruel. It forces him to slog for miles along city streets and highways or through the woods, until he collapses into a deep sleep." (quoted/paraphrased from here)

I came away thinking, "Despite all the progress human society has made, there's still something shameful about having a mental illness, some lingering, unfair impression that the 'afflicted ones' need to just try harder to be normal."

The novel is beautifully narrated, and contains some exceptional bits of music. As a compulsive walker prone to bouts of depression and OCD weirdness, I can relate to the Tim in a small way - As an admirer of good writing, I admire this novel.

Thank you Parsley! This was quite a surprise, an awesome giveaway! and a thought-provoking piece of work indeed.

The Drake Equation

This past weekend, my Dad and I took a rather exhausting, but exciting, motor coach tour from Washington DC to the wild mountains of West Virginia in order to ride a couple amazing train rides. I hope to write about the train rides soon but its been a crazy week since I got home and time is not permitting a whole lot of writing or reading (but I'm trying to catch up with you all!)

The first stop of our trip, however, was the National Radio Astronomy Observatory in Greenbank, located in the depths of Monongahela National Forest. About an hour from the observatory, no one's cellphone could get a signal - and it's by design - as the radio signal from cellphones and even digital cameras - interferes with the huge radio wave collection dishes.


The National Radio Astronomy Observatory (NRAO) operates the Robert C. Byrd Green Bank Telescope (GBT), the world's largest fully steerable single aperture antenna.

The GBT is described as a 100-meter (328 feet) telescope, but the actual dimensions of the surface are 100 by 110 meters. The overall structure of the GBT is a wheel-and-track design that allows the telescope to view the entire sky. The track, 64 m (210 feet) in diameter, is level to within a few thousandths of an inch in order to provide precise pointing of the structure while bearing 16,000,000 pounds of moving weight!

Used for scientific research into the wonders of our colossal universe, the isolated site was first used in the 1950's by a Dr. Frank Donald Drake to look for little green men.


Dr. Frank Donald Drake (born May 28, 1930, Chicago) is an American astronomer and astrophysicist. He is most famous for founding Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence (SETI) and creating the Drake equation and Arecibo (located in Puerto Rico) Message. The Arecibo Message was a "greeting card" beamed out into space asking for alien life to get in contact with us "lonely" humans. As far as anyone knows, no alien has ever gotten the message.

The Drake equation (sometimes called the Green Bank equation) is an equation used to estimate the potential number of extraterrestrial civilizations in our own galaxy, the Milky Way. It is used in the fields of exobiology and the search for extraterrestrial intelligence (SETI). The equation was devised by Frank Drake in 1962.

The Drake equation states that:


where:

N = the number of civilizations in our galaxy with which communication might be possible;

and

R* = the average rate of star formation per year in our galaxy
fp = the fraction of those stars that have planets
ne = the average number of planets that can potentially support life per star that has planets
fℓ = the fraction of the above that actually go on to develop life at some point
fi = the fraction of the above that actually go on to develop intelligent life
fc = the fraction of civilizations that develop a technology that releases detectable signs of their existence into space
L = the length of time such civilizations release detectable signals into space

Values based on "current" best estimates,

R* = 7/year, fp = 0.5, ne = 2, fl = 0.33, fi = 0.01, fc = 0.01, and L = 10000 years
result in

N = 7 × 0.5 × 2 × 0.33 × 0.01 × 0.01 × 10000 = (only) 2.31 civilizations.

Which isn't very many given the billions of stars in the Milky Way. Many hours of effort have been expended searching for ET and as yet, no sign of any has ever been found.

What would happen if we did find such life?

humankind's radio, and later television, broadcasts have been beaming into the deep voids of space for nearly 100 years now, any ET would likely will learn of us humans by hearing and seeing such shows as news reports of violent war and silly shows like Howdy Doody, I love Lucy, Get Smart, and Gomer Pyle, USMC. I wonder what do sort of opinion of us humans might an ET form?

I personally hope there is other (putting aside the question of intelligence) life out there. I have not thought through the ramifications of what such life might mean, should we discover it (or it discovers us). I'm certain our world's religions would be greatly shaken, if not stirred.