5 Years Ago

As hoped (and prayed - Thank You, Lord!) I did come across Dad's story. Be sure to read it in a masculine voice with a southern accent. Here is how this story came to be.

Well, hello! Good of you to stop by. My name is John Casper Rogers. I'm dealing with dementia and throat cancer or I'd be pleased to shake your hand and visit a spell. We could talk about lots of things.

I spent over 20 years in the military once I convinced my folks to let me join at 17. They wanted me to use my full football scholarship to UT but I hated school. I married my high school sweetheart after basic training then spent four years in the Army at Ft. Gordon in GA and in W. Germany where my girl was born (She has 4 kids & lives in FL now). I took some time off in my native TN where my son was born (He and his daughter don't live too far from my house now). Then I spent over 16 years in the Air Force. I served a tour in Vietnam, and was stationed at Gunter and Maxwell; at Warren in Cheyenne, WY; and at Lackland in San Antonio, TX. I was one of only 17 gunsmiths for the Air Force. Part of my job included designing tools and working on weapons for the CIA, FBI and the USA Olympic Team. I couldn't shoot in the Olympics because I was a "professional". I retired at age 40 as a Master Sergeant.

I was a professional wrestler while stationed in Montgomery. Remember booing the masked Mr. X in the early 70s? That was me!

I have always loved the outdoors; camping, hunting, fishing, canoeing, frog gigging, collecting the Indian rocks and other stuff I found laying around. I've had all sorts of pets including a skunk and baby possums. Always had dogs & cats. I started doing taxidermy work when I was in high school. I fooled around with that professionally and otherwise for over 20 years. I built my own home in the country after retiring in '85. I helped friends with their houses too. I've designed and built furniture, gun stocks and knives. I had a side business selling things I designed and built: one-handed clocks, bird feeders and houses, and adjustable quilting frames. I was part owner of a hunting guide co-op. I worked as a jailer in Lee and Tallapoosa Counties for about four years. I taught the weapons portion of the hunters safety course.

If we had gotten together a few years ago I could have helped you with any gun problem or sharpened your knives. You'd have to be careful or you might get caught in one of my practical jokes. You wouldn't catch me though! You might could have attended one of my fish fries (no, you may not have my recipe!) or wiener roasts. You would have heard stories, I know. I could have told you about the day I caught a 10, 11 and 12 lb. bass within 10 minutes or the day I shot an angry bull elk in WY using a bullet that had misfired in a friend's gun. You'd've met my wife of 41 years, "the hatchet" (she's not big enough to be a battle axe) and listened to me sing with my good dog, Toad. You might have laughed at how I strung-out my son-in-law by playing with a .45 while he was trying to ask to marry my daughter. You could have tried my deer jerky - now the hot is REALLY HOT. We would've fed the fish in the pond and walked up to the barn or down to the creek.

But this is now. Thanks for taking the time to read and for stopping by.

I had to track down & scan some photos. They were not put away for safe keeping. They were put away to keep from reminding me what a horrible job I'm doing keeping track of family momentoes. I'm not a scrapbooker, just a shutterbug pack rat. I love digital!

The pictures look much better in person but maybe you'll enjoy them anyhow, or you can come see them & have a little visit with me while you're at it. If awful looking photos give you the heebie jeebies, RUN! Or quickly click to another page.

1964 My parents and their sweet little bundle of joy: ME!
Mom said that I cried a lot. Sorry.
She also told me that well before I was born, Dad had chosen my name, Patricia Ann & said that I would not have a nickname. Guess who shortened it? Yeppers, it was him.
Hm. Sure glad I grew some hair. :-)



This is a military photo taken just before he shipped off to Vietnam. As you can see, he was not at all happy about it.
It was life changing for him both for the memories (I heard some of the horrible stories) and the agent orange effects> probably the reason Alzheimer's hit so early. Mom said he came back a different person.

This was taken much later, early 80s I would guess.
What do you get the person who has EVERYTHING when you have a very limited budget? Banjo strings - just what he needed. That plus some creative packaging put that smile on his face. :-)

BTW, the banjo was easier to make than it was to wrap!


1982 World's Fair in Knoxville, TN
Notice my graduation hair has grown a little. When I met Stan just a few months later, my hair was shorter than his. :-)


This is one of my favorite family photos. Stan is in the picture now so I'm guessing '84. This is in front of my parent's home in TX.





The faces look blurry to me, but I'm the one in the white dress. Carrying the flowers. On the left.

Right before we walked through the door Dad said, "If you want to run (away), I'll go with you." What a trooper.
I had stressed so much before the wedding that I lost weight & had to pin my garters. As I felt them slipping down my legs I whispered to Dad that they were falling down.
He whispered back, "That's okay. My pants are falling down."


He left the day after my wedding to start building a retirement home in Alabama. These were taken there.











This is either his office or den. He is sitting at the desk. Trust me, he's there. On the wall are his taxidermied animals including the elk from WY and the 3 large largemouth bass. He added an 8 pounder and always hoped to get a 9 lb. for an inside straight.

In the fall of 1985 I took a trip to AL & TN so the family could see I was really alive after my horrible car accident. Dad was still working-on the house while I was in the hospital & asked if he should come to TX. I said no. He went to the only store for miles, bought one of every get-well card they had & sent me one every day. He later said that he didn't want to come but that truck of his sure wanted to.

I included this photo because he told me, "Here, hold these (sugar cane) a minute," then walked away down the road. What a joker.

Dad with Jacob, his oldest grandchild in 1988/89.







Dad with Rachel, his youngest grandchild. In case you can't tell, she is brushing his beard. He was already having Alzheimer's issues in 1999. He was 54.

Today at church, Bro. Scott read an Operation Christmas Child letter he'd received from a girl in India who lives in an orphanage because her dad died when she was three. I'm thankful that I had a dad around until I was 39. Thank you, Father in Heaven, for the blessings of good memories.

Somber Anniversary

I've been wanting to enter the Guideposts Author Workshop contest for years but just never seemed to get around to writing for it. This year, I took the time to write about some things close to my heart then had pc issues so once again, didn't get anything in. I thought I'd share it with you.

My father sat in what looked like a large school desk, his hospital blue shirt piled - as if laying where tossed - on the floor in front of him. His blue eyes stared intently and unwaveringly down the corridor at something only he could see, oblivious to the bustle that was normal for the VA hospital, oblivious even to the approach of my mother and myself on Labor Day weekend in 2003.

My husband & I, sometimes with our four children, had been making the seven hour trip to my parent's home in Alabama from our home in Florida as often as we could to help my mom with my dad ever since Dad's health began to deteriorate just a few months before. This was my first visit to see him in the VA. After 4 years of early-onset Alzheimer's then the cancer, his care had become more than my mother could handle alone. His behavior erratic. His communication ability almost non-existent. His ability to function dramatically degenerating.

I could see that he had continued to shrink physically. He looked much older than his 58 years. His hair had been cropped short. It hurt to look at him; he had changed so much in so short a time. I pressed down my tears.

Mom gently touched his arm. Finding it cool, she asked a nurse if it was okay to put Dad's shirt back on. As he passed by, the nurse replied that Dad would just take if off again in a few minutes. He sounded exasperated with the repetitions of the shirt: Pick it up. Put it on. Take it off. Throw it on the floor. Pick it up.

Still Dad stared fixedly down the hall. Lifting a finger, he pointed down the corridor at... nothing.

The "desk" kept him out of his room; out as he wanted to be, yet in sight of the nursing staff, unable to wander around and maybe get into trouble. I watched the employees busily doing their work. Efficient. No one else even seemed to look his way. He was just another patient and by the looks of things more difficult than most.

Mom picked up the shirt and re-dressed Dad. He grabbed the "desk" top and shook it with all the strength still in his arms but it was locked down, effectively containing him. Mom calmed him down. I hugged and kissed him and he responded in kind as well as he could. Mom told him that my family was visiting for the weekend then began reading to him from the Gospel of John. He nodded his head in time to her words and stared down the hall, lifting a finger to point.

Hospital staff walked by, speaking quietly, now and then glancing in our direction. I paced the hall as Mom read, still determined not to give into the tears lumping in my throat. Dad looked so old, so frail. So unlike himself.

I wondered about his caregivers. Could they even imagine Dad as I pictured him? To me he was still a multi-talented craftsman with a full life whose creative mind was continually pondering about how to improve something old or invent something new, who was always busy working his land or tinkering in his workshop, seeing a need and meeting it, or coming up with a clever practical joke. Did they see in him a husband, a father and grandfather, a friend?

The answer, of course, was no. How could they? How could they possibly see who was no longer there? They could not turn back time. All they could see was someone who needed their help to make it through each day. Bones wrapped in skin, staring and pointing and pulling off his shirt again, rattling the "desk" top. It bothered me almost as much as Dad's condition, this knowing that none of those caring for him, however skillfully and gently, truly knew him. They were caring for the wasted man, not the whole man.
I wanted to shout, "This is not who he really is!"

As we drove back to Mom's, troubled by feelings of helplessness about his current situation, I thought about my father's life. Was there anything I could do? Was it possible to make difference when we didn't even live in the area? I prayed for direction & comfort.

Back at the house, I sat down at Mom's computer, overwhelmed with feelings of loss and filled with memories. I began to write Dad's life story as if he were telling it. I asked Mom for help with some of the details from Dad's early life: Where was he stationed first? What was the order of changes and moves in his military career and their marriage? When finished, I read over the highlights of Dad's life condensed to one sheet of paper.
One conversation.
I could hear his voice in the words.

Now my question was, would his caretakers? Would they have any interest in knowing him? Were they curious enough to take the time to find out about this man sitting in the hall?

I printed-out the mini-biography and asked my mother to post it by Dad's bed the next time she visited him. The next day, Stan, the kids and I went back to Florida.

Mom told me that she put a couple of copies of Dad's story beside his bed. They disappeared. She printed, copied and posted a few more in a plastic sleeve, making them available for whoever wanted them. Hospital staff asked her if she would bring some more because not everyone had a copy yet and some family members of some of the other patients also wanted one. They wanted to know him!

It was incredible to realize that I had been able to show my father to them. I was able to make a difference. The pouring out of my heart onto paper that was a healing catharsis for me also became a blessing for others. How amazing was that? What a gift from the Lord!

Dad turned 59 on October 6 then passed away on October 19 after several days in a coma-like state. His story was read at his memorial service in Alabama as well as at his funeral in Tennessee. Mom had copies available for those in attendance. Friends and family shook their heads and grinned at the memories then told me some Dad stories that I hadn't heard before.
"He was quite a character."
"We got into some great messes together."
"He was the best friend I ever had."

It was almost like Dad was there. In my mind, I could hear him laughing.

I expect that Guideposts would have rejected this anyhow since they are all about positive thoughts and feeling good. I'm still glad I wrote it. Maybe it will be a blessing for you.

Dad's story?
I put it away for safe-keeping and let me tell you, it is very safe. If I relocate that safe place while cleaning today, I plan to post it tomorrow.