Basics

All things contain a "basic unit". Sometimes this embryonic component assumes physical form, and growth results in a complex structure of impressive proportions. Other times intricacy and beauty of infinitesimal smallness rewards the observer.

Basic units are sometimes ideas or beliefs whose evolution shape a spirit of love and trust among people. This intangible unit is not restricted by finiteness of matter and form, but has limitless potential for development. The human being furnished; the only medium for such expression.

Humanness may be manifest in many ways but ultimate fruition is achieved through love for fellow humans and appreciation for the natural community.

The human family can furnish environmental requirements for development of this unique intangible, and in doing so become the basic unit in a conquest for world harmony and peace.

Singleness is contrary to the laws of Nature--union of single cells produce the largest and most complex forms of life. A drop of water does not remain alone but is joined by others to ultimately form oceans. Yet singleness of purpose must be the goal of human society if order is to be restored in our chaotic world.

The evolution of family begins with the union of man and woman in bonds of mutual love and respect. Basic units are doubled, but oneness of purpose is maintained. Progeny resulting from this union further increase numbers, but oneness is synergistically strengthened.

A basic unit, the family, now exists and may be combined with all other such units to create a single world family. Proliferation of the basic unit may still be one. The basic unit? God's love!

The Mule Adventure

About a week later, mother said she was out of cornmeal and that we needed to take some "ear corn" to the mill for grinding. As the oldest, I thought I could ride the mule with the sacks of ear corn in front of me. I hadn't tried this before, so I had to work out another plan. The first step in my plan was to get on the mule's back. She was much too tall to reach without something to stand on. My brothers got the ladder for me. I wanted to climb up onto the back of the mule to straddle the mule, but I couldn't get the mule to stand still: I would start climbing up the ladder, she would start moving and I fell off several times. Finally my brothers held Pore John & got
on her back.

There was another problem, the mule's back was narrow and pointed like the roof of a house. When I sat down, boy it hurt! It hurt even worse when she started to move. Poor John ran around the barn three times with me bouncing up and down and
shouting; "WHOAH MULE STOP, STOP!" Luckily Pore John ran under a tree branch, which knocks me off her back. My mother hearing all of this commotion came out of the house and said, "Fred I think you better take the wagon!" So we hitched Pore John to the wagon, loaded the ear corn, and started toward the store and the "grist mill."

The trip was ok. We reached the mill and took the corn to the Miller. We watched as the miller ground the corn into cornmeal. I still remember the warm smell of the fresh meal. The miller would let us catch and taste some at the end of a spout, and it was so good. We picked up some food items from the store next door and headed home. On our way home, we looked for other interesting things to do, so that out rip would not be boring. Little boys do not like to be bored, so we would get off the wagon while Pore John plodded along. We would pick plums, blackberries, etc. along sides of the road. The mule noticed that there was no one on the wagon, so she headed for the barn at the house. So she took off in a little trot, and we couldn't catch her. We thought about taking a shortcut, but the way the wagon bumped along, things started falling off. We had to follow the wagon to pick up groceries. So we followed the old mule all the way home. When we got closer to home, we saw the old mule, in the front yard with the wagon wrapped around a big post in the yard, broken in half. I knew when dad got home that night I was going to have to explain all this to him.

I know that that old mule was just rolling over on the ground laughing to herself. Mother cooked good hot cornbread for supper, but I couldn't sit down to enjoy it. It took about a week for me to sit down.

The next day I decided it was time to have a serious talk with Pore John. I decided it was time to change my approach. I went out to the barn yard with apples in my pocket. I gave her an apple and said I am sorry we tickled you and got you hung up on the fence post. Lets be friends! From then on we had a good work animal and I had new friend.

Old Pore John has been gone for many years. I hope she is in "mule heaven" and I hope she has three little boys to keep her life interesting.

PoreJohn

I grew up a little barefoot boy in central Georgia and lived on a very small farm. Then one day dad brought home a new mule. Do you know what a mule is? It's a creature who has a broad back, very strong long ears and stubborn. Well, I had two brothers and two sisters. My two brothers and me were a solid team and went out to meet the new mule. And she looked at us and shook her head, and I think she said, “I don't know whether I'm going to be okay on this farm.”

The first job we had with the old mule was to go down in the back pasture and cut some wood for the fireplace and the kitchen stove, which we cooked on. Everything went very well until we took out our cross cut saw and picked out the right tree and began cutting. Oh by the way, a cross cut saw, is a heavy saw with handles on both ends and you pull the saw back and forth until the tree falls.

We cut the tree into lengths that would fit on our wagons. The mule pulled the wagon very well until we reached a small stream. She crossed the stream but when the wagon rolled into the stream and she felt the extra weight she refused to go any further. Now, this presented a problem. How will we get her to move and go up the hill to the house? Now, I had heard that mule's stomach is very ticklish, so I sent one of my brothers to find a good tickle stick, which would reach and scratch the mules’ stomach. We did this, and the mule started laughing and ran out of the stream.

Rita, Rita, My Rita

This picture is of Rita on our first trip to Georgia. She met my family, and among many things that we did, we took a swim in the country club pool. I caught her in this pose. She was not too pleased about it, but it reminds me of the wonderful feelings and experiences of introducing her to my family.

Shore Leave in Algiers, North Africa 1943

We were on shore leave in Algiers, North Africa in 1943, and were sightseeing around Algiers. We ran into these three soldiers and decided that we would like to have our likeness preserved for posterity. In the picture, going from left to right, is a sailor from my ship, and 4 unknown soldiers.

A Journey Back

I have passed you many times standing stark and alone in the field. Today I feel drawn to you and the secrets hidden within your aged and weathered walls. Over the stone post barbwire fence and across the field of wheat stubble, until, like a wounded warrior, your battle scars are revealed.

Now I see your chimney rock, loose and some already on the ground. Heat and cold alternating over decades have drawn the square nails from their holes and boards move in the wind. Your north wall rest against a large cottonwood brace -- leaning, supported as an old man by his cane.

Forging my way through the fireweeds grown shoulder high to reach the sagging steps and stop. Dare I cross your threshold -- do I have the right? The present owner would not care.
I have his word on that -- but what of your former tenants, those who laid your foundation and fastened your, then bright, freshly sawed boards with the square nails? There was a time when they shared their hospitality. I think they would wish it so even now.

I accept this belated invitation. Gathering my resolve, I step slowly and somewhat hesitantly across the threshold and the years.

Once inside the room I pause my eyes to adjust to the dim light and for my psyche to apologize for the intrusion. While I stand pensively -- a current resident shows his displeasure through the sound of scampering feet across loose attic boards overhead. His passing is marked by dust particles dancing on beams of sunlight streaming thru a broken window. Silence descends with a new layer of dust particles, blanketing all save the mournful whisper of prairie wind as it tugs relentlessly at tattered remnants of window curtains.

I feel as a privileged spectator allowed behind the stage of an historic drama. How did the actors play the earlier scenes? What took place on the stage? Oh, would that I could read the script, for I have been cast for a role in the next act!

Journeying slowly back to the present and my own awareness, I move thru the silent rooms surveying your artifacts -- bridge timbers to span rivers of time. Vainly I search for key, evidence that will lead to understanding. Perhaps a faded letter, the scrap of a document, or the receipt of the bill finally paid -- but these are too personal, too precious, too revealing for the eyes of a stranger from another time. The marrying, the birthing, the living and dying with all the accompanying happiness and sorrow will not be revealed -- and that is as it should be.
We must each write our own signature to the contract of life.

I returned to the room I first entered and stop once more to contemplate the prairie horizon thru the broken window. What did your builder see when this window, new, framed his visions? Would he be disappointed with the picture if he returned again to your window? Would my horizons be broader, more distinct, more realistic and attainable if I could have shared his view thru the new window?

With reluctance and regret I turn toward the door, leaving your artifacts intact, but taking with me a much greater gift -- a new resolve. Making a new path thru the fireweed I stumble over an old, half buried, wagon wheel as I hurry toward my car.

Atchison Boys

I'm the oldest of three brothers and two sisters. Shortly after this photograph was taken, Bernard on the left, contracted polio and resulted in we boys being sent to live with relatives. The relatives lived in a nearby town, called Milledgeville, Georgia. We stayed there several months until he was no longer contagious.

Drought

Dust devils ride across the prairie wide

Hot dry winds are burning

Red anxious eyes search the prairie skies

For rain they are yearning

Chorus:
There will come a day when dust clouds roll away

And rain will fall again upon the scene

An offering from above for the prairie that we love

And life will be renewed in lovely shades of green

Beef cattle thin drift with the August wind

In search of grass a-lowing

Sharp hooves have trod thin prairie sod

And set dust clouds blowing

Sun-parched fields promise scanty yields

The mortgage alone is growing

Human spirits bend before the hungry wind

That gleans the fruits of man's sowing

Farm ponds dry neath a cloudless sky

Wheat prospects are decreasing

The windsong sings of better things

But the drought remains unceasing

Fred Atchison Sr. (Fall 1977)

Lest I Forget

One morning, as I was getting ready for a trip away from home. I sat down with my boys to give them instructions work that I wanted them to do while I was away. They started whinning and complaining - and I lost my cool. Later, I regreted the things that I had said to them, and felt compelled to write an apology letter.
This is what I wrote:

Help me to remember my youth and the awkward trial and error approach to maturity. Please renew in my mind the joys and disappointments associated with this turbulent time of growth and change. Remind me that this was a period of search for meaning, for relevance, for identity -- a period of strong frequently mixed, and sometimes frightening emotions -- a time for criticizing status quo and for challenging authority.

May I be reminded that outwardly I knew everything and secretly was afraid that I knew nothing. I would remember the importance of approval, the eagerness with which I sought to please, and the frequency of my failures. I also need to remember the patience and understanding of people who accepted me for what I was, and invested in my future with their kindness. I need to be constantly aware of the strong significance of these investments and the important role they have played throughout my adult life.

Most of all I need to be aware and thankful that these young people are sharing this beautiful period of their lives with me. Please grant me the wisdom to make the proper investments!

USS Thomas Stone

Before I met Rita, my first tour in the Navy was aboard the USS Thomas Stone. We practiced maneuvers with the British Army troops, early November 1942. We set out to make the invasion of North Africa.

As we entered the Straits of Gibraltar, we were torpedoed by an aerial attack. I saw the plane as it circled the convoy. Evasive action was taken by the ship, and the torpedo almost missed us. However, it did hit and exploded, ripping a large hole, which destroyed the propeller and navigational system.

To learn more about the attack read the Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships account.

The Woman of My Dreams

In the meantime, I've finished my minority hitch of four years in the Navy. I was discharged and went back home and worked with my uncle and was in the town of Brunswick, Georgia for a short time.
I decided that I needed more education, and I thought another hitch in the Navy would offer that. So I rejoined the Navy, and was stationed Norfolk Naval Shipyard. I called Rita and asked her if she could come down to see me. Much to my surprise, she responded in the affirmative, and we spent a beautiful time together touring the old city of Norfolk, riding the ferry and getting to know one another.
When the time came that she had to leave, I told her that I did not want her to go. She told me that she couldn't stay, but could come back again. So with that thought in mind, I began preparing for what I hoped to be our wedding. I rented a little house in Alexandra Park on the Portsmouth side of the river and started fixing it up. Stocking it with food and other necessities that I could think of and waited impatiently to hear from Rita.
She did return, and agreed to marry me. The wedding took place in Navy shipyard chapel. I can remember we had a wedding supper of sardines and crackers and it seemed as though we were having fillet mignon. We had guests from the wedding, who apparently wanted to spend the night, Rita seemed agreeable. I did not. So finally, we were left to ourselves to well you know.....

The Beginning of a Beautiful Relationship

I returned to the United States for reassignment in 1945. I went to Providence, R.I., to meet with recruits who had just completed boot camp. From there, me and the other recruits went on a shakedown cruise to test the performance of the ship down the Gulf Coast and stayed for a few nights in Galveston, Texas.

"We were sitting there in the Galvez Hotel coffee shop when Johnnie Beis nudged me and said, 'Look, Atch!,"' he said. "And there were two beautiful women coming down the stairway."

I immediately hit it off with one of the women, her name was Loreta (Rita) Sheppard. Loreta had never seen the ocean and was on vacation with a friend. She was from Kansas City, Kansas in Wyandotte County. We spent the day together and agreed that I would continue writing her while I was at sea. About a year passed before I saw Loreta again.

Saved by the Navy

I always wanted to join the navy, but they weren't too interested in me, because I was only 16 at the time. So things begain to develop that would change my future. I moved to Macon, Georgia, and worked at a service station. I was servicing an automobile, and had it up on the rack and let it down with all the old drained out of it. I was called out to the front to service customers. When I came back the car was gone, the owner having been use to getting special service took the car without even telling the people.
He drove about 14 miles to a little town of Gray, before he noticed anything out of the ordinary. He was a valuable customer and I was expendable, but I was going to be able to keep my job if I paid five dollars a week until a replacement engine was paid for. I'm been thinking about joining the Navy again, so I did.