Like I said in the one blog post on here, dumpster diving is honest work. And when you dumpster dive you deserve everything you can get from doing it; including the eternal good karma kinda’ stuff for being good to Momma Earth—I mean c’mon now, when it’s all said and done, and you become a great big snack shack for the conqueror worm, if the sum total of your life actually is tallied up and weighed out for good verses bad, to judge where your soul will spend eternity, then d-diving with its attendant saving of natural resources from being wasted has to count for something in a dumpster diver’s favor.

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I have the word duckin’ in the title of this blog simply because most of the homes in my area have their weekly trash pickups made behind the homes and not out front, as is done in many other areas. Hence, what I call duckin’ down alleys is also known as curb crawling.

I usually go duckin’ or curb crawlin’ right around sunset time. That gives the homeowners along my route all day to set items out for trash pickup the next morning. After it gets completely dark, it is not good to be seen moving slowly behind peoples’ homes and looking towards their backyards, or to be seen moving slowly in front of homes and looking towards the fronts of peoples’ properties. No one wants to see that kind of suspicious activity going on in their neighborhood.

Several times during my life, I have been going down the road feeling fine while casually motoring between some Sunday afternoon destinations with other things on my mind other than looking for piles of good stuff being thrown out when low and behold I spot a pile of good, usable items set out in front of a home.

Whether I am duckin’ down alleys or curb crawling or while I’m just out for a Sunday drive, and I stop to check out an opportunity to score some good items from a pile of stuff placed in front of or behind someone’s house where it is definitely there for the regular trash pickup, I feel slightly anxious while doing it.

When I am looking through the stuff for good items to take, I am always a bit fearful of being spotted by someone who sure as hell don’t want no one digging through their personal trash. I also don’t want to make eye contact with anyone looking out from inside a house, as this can break an invisible barrier that may be keeping them from hollering out at me. I only look down at what is in the pile of stuff, never at the houses around me. I check through it all very quickly, take what I want real fast, and make sure that the pile is left as neat as or neater than I found it.

The trickiest and scariest shit comes when I see pieces of aluminum or other recyclable metals or good fishing rods or something else that looks good sticking up out of garbage cans full of personal trash that may contain discarded mail, bank statements, S+M or other odd ball type porno or sexual devices, evidence of illegal activities, etc. in there that the home owner does not want anyone to see. They certainly don’t want me to be pulling out any embarrassing porno type items or evidence of illegal activities from where it had been hidden down in amongst other trash and secured inside of tightly closed trash bags or taped up cardboard boxes. Especially out there where any of their family members, neighbors, or any passersby could see it.

But when it is big, bulk type stuff that came from a spring cleanout or a home cleanout after a death in the family or after the house had just been sold then as long as you are not sloppy about it you should be all right. I have hit on two or three of these piles of goodies right after non-long-time-pro-dumpster-diving type individuals, who had just happened to drive by then stop when they had seen an easy obvious opportunity, had torn open trash bags and emptied out boxes, taken what they wanted then left the mess right out there next to a busy road on a sunny afternoon. I cleaned it all up and piled it back up neatly before I left.

When you are treasure hunting through trash and junk left out in front of or behind a home, you face the possibilities of having to deal with either the family members who live in the home, their friends who may happen to pull up to the scene as you are looking for good stuff, or neighbors who will sometimes check you out and ask what you are doing. They will probly be shocked to see you there and a bit pissed off about it—this is 99% guaranteed. When confronted by anyone at all, always smile sincerely and warmly, be ready to quickly return to your vehicle, act humble and grateful to find what you may have found, try to mention something about your dedication to reduce-reuse-recycling ideals, and if possible somehow throw some tid-bit about your solid status as a long time resident of the community into the conversation.

Just remembering the stress that I experience at times while going through piles of discarded items near homes and now writing about it is makin’ my chest feel a little tight and twanged inside. Doing this type of gatherin’ up of goodies is scary at times, but it is the right thing to do when you are politely saving something from a landfill and adding to your personal wealth.

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Here’s the story about really cool lamp that I found in a dumpster, when I was walking to and from the grocery store one day.

I often go up to the grocery store one way and come back home another way, so’s I can check a variety of dumpsters along the way. I walked through the ball field across the street from me and then through the small, local park that borders the village main street type shopping center where the grocery store is. I checked some shopping center dumpsters on my way into the store, and then I came back out and walked through the alleys in the shopping center, and then walked down the alley on the other side of my apartment complex and checked the dumpsters all along the way there. It was mid week and mid day.

Best d-dives on that route are on Sundays. The weekends are when apartments of older folks, who have gone to nursing homes or to the Great Beyond, are cleaned out by their heirs, and also younger people who work all week move on weekends, or garages along the apartment complex alley are cleaned out and stuff gets chucked. Mid day mid week meant that the apartment maintenance crew was around and on duty somewhere in the complex; a few of them were hangin’ out by their garage/workshop on that alley, and I walked by them while casually, discreetly d-divin.

So I’m just a scootin’ along down the alley and casually peekin’ over into the dumpsters. All of a sudden I see this cool looking lamp. I did not even stop moving along cause here comes two maintenance guys on a golf cart tooling up the alley towards their workshop. I was surrounded by ‘um; and that’s too many witnesses for one of them not to be expected to tell me not to d-dive if they all see me. I swooped up the lamp, held it close to me body so’s the ones back up the alley couldn’t see it, grinned at the guys on the cart, they slowed down for a second and glanced at the lamp, gave each other who gives a frig looks and kept going, and I happily begun walking faster.

If the whole crew out there in the alley had all seen me grab that lamp then the highest ranking one would have been forced to do their job by telling me not to take stuff out of dumpsters, that I only have a right to put stuff in—I am a resident. The rental office is right up there near the workshop, so if they had all seen me take that lamp then somebody woulda’ hadda’ said something to me as their big boss may’ve been around there.

As I walked on down the alley with my lamp held in front of me, the first thing I think is that the switch must be bad, but I can replace it. When I got home, I discovered that it works fine.

The lamp is a good looking chrome, swing arm number that fits nicely by my computer and is real cool cause it has a dimmer switch that is great for adjusting the light just right while working here.

Two or three months later, I’m watching an antiques appraisal show on TV, and they did a segment on upcoming values in collectable lamps. They showed one from the 1950s, one from the 1960s, and one from the 1970s, and by jeeeeze mine is the 1960s one. It appraised at $250, and it is going up in value every year. The appraiser said the name of the famous 1960s era designer who had created the lamp, but I could not understand what he said.

I love this lamp, it fits my tastes fine. In fact, it is friggin aye perfect for where it is.

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Beware of employees of stores or businesses who are taking smoke breaks where they can see you dumpster diving in their employer’s dumpsters.

They are either:
the management personnel who are responsible for keeping the good stuff that the store chucks into dumpsters in the dumpsters and on its way to be destroyed in landfill;
or they may be mouthy butt kissers who’d love to score some ‘brownie points’ by ratting you out to management;
or they could be dismal malcontents at their jobs and would enjoy taking out their workplace frustrations on you by rattin’ you out, because they hope that it gets them a free front row ticket to a live action show if their boss goes out there and throws an unnecessary, power-tripping type fit all over some unfortunate dumpster diver (or maybe some malcontent would be hoping to see their boss get the tar whomped outa’ him/her by some d-diver—most people do believe we’re crazy);
or they are mild mannered tobacco addicted employees who just couldn’t care less and won’t say a thing.

Several times, I have had a few of the couldn’t-care-less-type-lookin’ employees come out the backdoor of a store to take a tobacky’ break when I was back there d-divin. When they noticed me there and realized what I was doing, their faces showed a little fear, then mild disgust, followed by a tangy bit of contempt. Can’t blame them for the fear at all; it mattered not that I was only d-divin and minding my own business, and that I am a nearly normal, long time, fairly well known local citizen, because they didn’t know me. And I was a large man standing in or walking through an area where usually only a few delivery driver type people or store employees ever go. Consequently, I was a kind, considerate gentleman and got the heck outa’ there real fast.

Had I stayed and continued checking the dumpsters back there for goodies, those employees could have became so scared or bravely disgusted that they would loose their couldn’t care less attitude and yell back in through the door or go back inside and say something to their boss about what they had incorrectly begun to believe was a no-good, low down, dirty, stinky, scary, dangerous, worthless, ‘boil on the butt of society’ who should be lanced by the law and removed to be safely secured in a prison cell by a judge, where I wouldn’t be a danger to normal citizens anymore. But because I had immediately moved on, they just lit up their cigs and maybe casually watched to make sure that I kept movin’ on.

Whenever I am d-divin and see any employees of any businesses out there taking smoke breaks, no matter what I may perceive that their attitudes towards dumpster divers are, I nix the d-divin and move on.

Even women dumpster divers should never let any employees witness them d-divin. Ya’ know how some women enjoy being rude, mean beatches’ to other women? An employee like that might just get their jollies by verbally kickin’ one of you reduce-reuse-recycle dedicated gals around. And then because some men get off on abusing women, you ladies do not want to give some scrotum scratchin’ screwball any opportunities to practice his power-trippin’ on you.

Whether you are a male or a female dumpster diver, do your best to never be seen d-diving by any employees of the business which leases the dumpsters you want to dive. It simply isn’t worth the risk.

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While dumpster diving, I have torn up a dozen or so check books, even though the accounts were probly already emptied. It often happens when I find old family photo albums and losta’ stuff that came from an elderly person who had probly died and their heirs had cleaned out the dead persons stuff and chucked most of it. Other check books were in the dumpster with a bunch of cheap, worn out crap that showed me the person who had the checks was not doing so well financially. Their stuff had probably been chucked out by an ex-roommate or lover whom the check owner had been living with until they had screwed up too many times on paying their half of the rent and/or had gotten themselves put in jail or run outa’ town by drug dealers they owed money to. It’s just that way in my area; hard core, actively using alcohol and drug addicts walk by my front door everyday and are living in apartments here. They are not the majority, but are very visible because they walk round lookin for hustles and highs.

When the long time owner of the old shoe repair shop in my town passed away, the shop was closed forever. The shoe shop man was a nice guy. My family had been customers of his for decades. I had walked past that shop 100s of times, and when the door was open during warm weather he and I had often exchanged genteel greetings. When the shop was being cleaned out, a dumpster in the alley behind it got filled with all kinds of shoe repair tools, small equipment, and supplies; and I made out good d-divin it. In that load, I found the recently deceased shop owner’s Army discharge papers and social security info. I knew that his sister was still taking care of selling off the big equipment in there, so I took the shoe shop man’s pertinent personal records and went over and found her there; she was ecstatic that I returned the paperwork; she needed it to be compensated for her brother’s funeral expenses etc.. (Dumpster diver to the rescue!)

She asked me what size shoe I wear and offered me a nice pair of cowboy boots that had not been picked up by the customer who owned them; the boots were in a bag full of good repaired footwear that had been left in the shop for many months, and she offered me any of them that I might want. I looked but said none in there for me, but the weekly soup kitchen is on in the church basement across the street, and they can use ‘um. She said to go ahead and take them, because they had all been left in the shop well past 90 days and it was her last day to ever be in there. It felt good to return that paperwork than make a donation to the down and outers. And I did real well in the dumpster too.

Although most people freak out when they see dumpster divers at work and think that we are a menace to society, we d-divers are basically honest fellow citizens in this society. Anytime that we can return any personal papers which were obviously thrown out by accident, we should. If we can, we should destroy any personal or business papers that would cause another person problems. Who ever threw the paperwork out did not realize that a dumpster diver would find it. And we normal d-divers know that some scumbag d-diver may come along later and take that paperwork for all the wrong reasons.

I have never found any wallets or pocket books in dumpsters that had ID cards in them along with all the other regular stuff that a person carries with them everyday. But other d-divers have, and they have sometimes turned the items into the owner or the police. If it looks like a criminal had stolen the items then taken out the cash, or that it had been placed in the dumpster by accident, a d-diver is pretty well obligated to go outa’ their way to turn it in.

Sometimes people, especially elderly individuals, can accidentally scoop up their wallet or pocketbook with the trash in their car or their home and throw it out. If that happens, don’t take out any cash that may be in there, just be honest.

What goes around comes around, and bad karma can get ya’ when you least expect.

If we find whole wallets or pocket books full of all a person’s IDs etc., anywhere at all, then we honestly have no other choice but to turn it in to the owner or the cops.

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Sometimes employees stash something in or near a dumpster that they have stolen from their employer’s business, and they come back and finish stealing it later.

I have heard or read about several instances where d-divers were accused by the police of taking items from dumpsters that the cops believed had been placed in there by a thieving employee and that the d-diver either was that employee or was in cahoots with the thief. There is so much great stuff thrown into dumpsters that is so unbelievably good and plentiful that most people would never believe that it had actually been chucked in there to be taken away for burying in a landfill. Consequently, it is easy for d-divers who are seen taking some of that great stuff outa’ dumpsters to be mistaken as being involved in an employee theft situation. This is a must know factor when dumpster diving.

Never touch any items that are obviously in or near dumpsters due to employee theft. The only problem is, I don’t what clues to tell you to look for, just be aware and hope you make the right decision at the time.

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One Sunday, while out working my long time, regular dumpster diving route, I found a cardboard box sitting on top of a shopping center’s dumpster that had good, barely used toys in it. The toys are for a 5 to 8 year old boy; I help to raise my grandnephew, so he now gets to play with the toys here in my home.

The box had obviously been placed there where it would be found by someone, so that the toys could be reused if any finders wanted them. The person who placed the box there had probably thought that either some store employee chuckin’ out trash may find it, anyone walking by there could have found it, or most likely they thought that the trash truck workers who emptied the dumpster would have to see the toys in the box when the driver or their helper got out to place the box into the dumpster, with the trash in there, so that the dumpster could be lifted up and emptied into the truck. It was very considerate of the toy buyer not to place the box inside of the dumpster, but they probly had no idea that a dumpster diver checks that dumpster for good stuff every Sunday.

As soon as I saw the excellent, barely used condition of the toys and the particular variety of them, I figured that the person who had purchased the toys had recently ended a short but very close relationship with the single parent of a small boy, whom the toy purchaser was not a parent of. There was just the right amount and selection of nice, not cheap but not expensive, toys for a child to be very happily occupied with during long and/or overnight visits to someone else’s home.

I believe that the toys were discarded after the little boy’s parent had broken off a romantic relationship with the person who had purchased the toys for the boy. Then, the boy’s mother’s or father’s broken hearted ex-lover had discarded the toys after it was clear that neither his/her ex-lover nor the boy would ever be returning to the toy buyer’s home. The toy buyer either had no one close to him/her who could use the toys, or she/he did not want to ever, ever see the toys again and thusly be reminded of the painful breakup every time that he/she would visit the relative or friend or neighbor whom the toys may have been given to.

So that toy buyer had done the next best thing and placed the toys in a clean cardboard box then had placed that box on top of a dumpster where anyone walking near the dumpster could see it and possibly take it so that some other child could have the toys to play with.

I took the box of toys home and set it down on my living room floor. Even though they were definitely real clean, I was going to disinfect them with Lysol spray anyway.

A half-hour later a friend of mine comes over. He knows all about my d-divin but has only done it himself when he throws his own trash out at his apartment complex. His best find was a great little, new looking toolbox full of small sized, top of the line hobby tools that he sold later. So as he is walkin’ in my front door, I say, “Hey man, check out what’s in that box there that I found sitting out on top of the ‘wrong raid’ dumpster.” He glances down into the box and says, “Looks like a good relationship gone bad to me.”

It was that obvious.

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One time I found a toolbox full of tools turned upside down and dumped into a Bad Willy dumpster. I got the box out and filled it back up with most of the tools–some had slipped down too far in the junk there, but the box got heavy fast cause I got plenty of them. They were old well worn doubles of wrenches and things I already have, but I kept the stuff for over a year then gave it to my nephew–all except one good pocket knife. That knife is an Old Teeemer brand (brand names of d-dived goodies are usually changed for Internet postings) American made good grade tool. It is a one-blade knife; the blade is 3 1/4 inches long with a brass liner lock. The handles are in perfect shape and are made of good 1950s era type plastic.

I had that knife for almost a year, then I found a smaller version of it in a dumpster that was out in front of a house over across the baseball fields from the house I grew up in. An old guy who had died had lived there, and I had spoken to the man on several occasions, but did not know him. A Realtor had bought the house to fix it up for resale, and had paid workmen to clean it out. I got a well-worn portable drill that works and other stuff, but the little knife is the coolest thing from that load. It has a 1 3/4 inch liner lock blade and its handles look exactly like the one on the bigger knife. As a pair, knives like these sell in an antique store or flea market for, oh, $8 to $15 for both of them. Nothin special to any knife collector, but they are good American made knives that I like having. One is for my front pants pocket and the other for my jacket pocket when I go to places where I don’t want to wear me good ole Bu#k Kanife on me belt.

And dig this; I just measured the knife blades using an old wooden meter/inches stick that was made prior to the 1960s. It has a great antique patina. It’s from:

Sch@@r & Company
Laboratory Apparatus and Chemicals
Chicago Illinois

I find yard sticks, 12 inch rulers and tape measures so often that I only have to keep the ones made in the USA for myself and give the cheap China made crap away.

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I have wanted to write stuff about dumpster diving and post it on the World Wide Web ever since the first time that I ever went on the Internet.

In 1999, when I was first learning how to use a computer, I attended a free Internet beginner’s class at a local library. After the first 1/2 hour of introductive instruction, the instructor said to type some words into the Internet search box that relate to something which you are very interested in. I used to live in Maine, so I put in Patten Maine; and wow was I surprised at all the hits I got and how there are web sites showing all about the places where I lived and worked up there. I had expected to see that all web sites were all just plain text and general info kinda’ deals. The Maine web sites are beautiful, and I was sitting there feeling absolutely amazed and pleased that I had finally found out just what the Internet actually is, when all of a sudden, from across that library room full of computers and other people, I heard a loud voice say, “DUMPSTER DIVING! DUMPSTER DIVING? IS DUMPSTER DIVING A SPORT?” In a room full of that many people naturally one of them had to type in “sports” as their first main interest for web searching.

My second Internet search was for dumpster diving. I had been a serious and successful d-diver for around 7-8 years previous to that day at the library, and when I saw what was posted on the web by other d-divers, well I tell ya, it was exciting. Then I read a web page where it was open for all dumpster divers to post their best finds. Hallelujah! Praise the Lord and Dive That Dumpster! Ole Dave done found a mighty fine thing!

Ever since that first five minutes on the WWW, I have been waiting to get myself and my writing skills together enough to write about dumpster diving and share my d-divin skills and adventures with the whole freakin’ world.

Keep yur’ eyes open, yur’ nose closed, and DIVE! DIVE! DIVE!

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I got a dumpster diving safety tip for ya all.

Raccoons and other furry critters eat in dumpsters.

In all my years of dumpster diving, I was only surprised by one Raccoon in a dumpster one time, and luckily it did not run outa the dumpster over top of me. That little sucka only ran about 30 feet away though and turned around to see if I was chasin it cause it thought that I was a huge predator comin after it to make it my yummy little prey. But when it saw me just standin there lookin at it, that crazy critter musta figured we was both after chucked out food and was competitors. The dumpster was behind a small office building, so the only food ever in it was from unfinished lunches. Local homeowners doing home and garage cleanouts and chuckin the stuff in there illegaly was my best source of good reusable items found in that dumpster, and I wasn’t gonna leave till I checked it.

I stomped at zeee Raccoooon, but it stood firm, stared hard at me, and angrily hissssed. It wouldn’t back down. I could not safely turn my attention from it and dumpster dive.

It was like The Furious Fur Ball’s Mexican Standoff In Dumpster Land.

Zee hungry crittaah stood its grouwwnd firmly and tried its most natural best to back me down and scare me away from its snack shack. There was just enough light shining down from an overhead streetlamp for me to see that thee Raccoooon’s itty-bitty dark eyeballs were psychically sending out near-vicious vibes that were meant to convey this message, “Back down yerself ya tall dumb critter, I got strong, sharp teeth and wicked fast switchblade claws and know how ta use um.”

Beins I’s an old ex-Maine Guide and knows that ya gotta stay clear of rabid Racoooons, I looked at the critter’s hisssin, sorta snarrrlin, sharp toothed little mouth and its overall general appearance and watched its movements very closely for any of the signs of that mind and body ravaging disease named Rabies. Nope, no foaming at the mouth or anything, it did not aggressively move in towards me, it was just an ornery critter. So I stomped at it step by step and over a fence that lined the alley there and up a tree on the other side of the fence it went. What a tough sum beechy that Coon was.

Now look, I wasn’t being unfair to a fellow dumpster diver. It was after dark and about 10PM, and I had to get the d-diving done before it was time for the reasonably more suspicious night shift cops to come on duty. I wanted to get home before 11. The Raccoon was just beginning its natural nocturnal wandering’s, so it had plenty of time to come back and eat. There wasn’t ever much food scraps in there anyway, it just smelled sooo interesting in there to the Coon, and I wasn’t taking what the critter wanted and vice-a-versy. Plus, there is an apartment building right there over that fence that the Raccoon climbed over and there were plenty of dumpsters full of sloppy, juicy kitchen waste there and therefore much better d-divin ops for the Coon.

Watch out for them furry critters when dumpster diving at night. Beware of Raccoons, and definitely Opossums too. Possums have long, nasty, pointy-sharp teeth for tearing flesh, and they will, at rare times, turn on you and hissss angrily too. Foxes are all over cities and suburbs now, and Coyotes also. These critters have all been seen and photographed digging in trashcans, so that means they all probably hit dumpsters too. And you should see how a Fox pops way up and over a backyard fence, like it is bouncing on an Electric Pogo Stick; that means that they can get into some dumpsters. Heh, heh, hey, oh jeeze, now come to think of it, there’s a big ruckus on in New Jersey between some local politicians and citizens about whether certain small town, suburban type municipalities should begin paying for and distributing bear proof trash cans and dumpsters. Whooweee! Watch out for them bears!!

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Photograph byEddie Adams

There is also film footage of this famous execution. There is a documentary film about the still photographer who took this photo, and there is also a documentary about the TV news cameraman who filmed this infamous scene. I saw each of those documentaries on PBS TV about ten years ago.

In the year 2000, I had a photography instructor, Pat Perry, who had been an MP in Vietnam. At the exact moment when this world famous photo was taken, Pat was about ¼ mile away from the scene, and he was very busily fighting for his life. This was during the Tet Offensive, on February 1, 1968, when the communist Vietnamese were attacking many targets all over South Vietnam from all directions, and those fighters had just about overrun the country.

It may very well be that the South Vietnamese Army officer, General Nguyen Ngoc Loan, who is seen in the photo shooting a Viet Cong Guerrilla through his skull was justified in doing so. The general had just been given the terrible news that some VC attackers had just cut the throats of three children whom he cared very much about. The person being shot through his head had just been captured right near where the children had been murdered.

The general’s men tell him the kids were murdered; he is standing there stunned and trying to process the emotionally devastating info; several other of his men walk up to him with a prisoner in tow and say exactly where they captured the VC; the officer immediately realizes these facts:

1. The VC could very well have been one of the ones who had cut the children’s throats.

2. If that very VC did not have his hands on the kids as they were murdered, he was still part of the humongous group of Communist attackers who were there to kill as many, many South Vietnamese and Americans as they could. That VC had definitely provided some kinda’ military support to aid the throat slitters in their brutal task.

3. General Nguyen’s whole gahddamned fuckin country was being overrun by his enemies at that point in time.

4. The general had no friggin way of knowing how long he had to live; he was being effectively attacked from all sides; his prospective remaining time on earth musta seemed to be awfully short to him; so there was no way that he could have figured that there would be any future opportunity to give the VC a fair trial.

5. And the general and his men had enough to deal with from that VC’s vicious comrades, it was no time to be screwing around with a prisoner.

The three children’s parents had been murdered at the same time the kids had been. And the way that them VC usually did things was to tie their captives up, cut the children’s throats as the bound and gagged, horrified, parents helplessly were forced to watch, then the parents were killed.

The children’s father had been a deputy police chief under General Nguyen’s command, and the two men were very close friends. The father was in some capacity a long-time, armed fighter and enemy of the VC. The general told the photographer who took the photo that he understood that the kid’s father was an enemy in a war against the VC, that war is war and he would have let the VC live if it was just the father killed, but killing the kids was too much for him to bear. I can understand his point of view as best a non-victim of similar circumstances can.

My memories of the documentaries are that one of the photographers said in the film about himself that the slain father was the general’s best friend and that the children were his Godchildren. Pat said that the kids were the general’s niece and nephews. It does not matter who had the exact facts right, the officer loved those children and their family dearly.

The scene is always described as, “General Nguyen pulled out his revolver and calmly executed the prisoner with a single shot to the right temple.”

I do not believe that the general was “calm”.

I believe that General Nguyen was numb from emotional shock, and that his insides felt like they were beginning to stew inside of him. But he was a trained soldier, a lifelong warrior, a veteran of many years of fighting hard for what he believed in, and he was an Asian gentleman, men who are taught from their youths to maintain control over their emotions and not loose their grip on themselves in a bad situation. General Nguyen was not calm at all during that frozen flash in time when the photo was taken; he was simply doing his best to keep from loosing his grip. He was beginning to broil with justifiable anger beyond what most people can relate to. He was in control of his emotions enough not to break down and loose control of what he needed to do to defeat his attacking enemies.

General Nguyen shot that shit through the head, and then the general moved on to lead his men in helping to win the horrific battle that massive numbers of fiercely fighting American GIs were also engaged in. Any “calm” feelings that the general was experiencing, during the infamous moment when he drew his pistol and dispatched that murdering VC to go greet his ancestors, were necessary for the general”s survival.

General Nguyen Ngoc Loan once owned a restaurant in Virginia, unfortunately, he was driven out of business by harassing Americans who had their priorities screwed up. He passed away on July 14, 1998. I wanted to go meet him when he was alive, to shake his hand and tell him that I believe he did the right thing at the time.

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vietnam
viet cong

Here is a set of emails discussing one of my stories about my times as bear hunting guide at Katahdin Lodge and Camps in Patten Maine. My Uncle Finley owned that lodge back when I worked there. The story is titled An Italian Nice Guy, and is published here on Magic City News under D.R. Crews. I wanted to share these following emails with all of my readers, because this is a fantastic thing that has happened for me.

First Email Received:

From: “VINCENT CAPOZZI”
emailwithheld@msn.com
To: ursusdave@hotmail.com
Subject: Italian hunter
Date: Tue, 27 Feb 2007 19:29:24 -0500

I know that story all too well as it was told many times at Holidays at my and my Uncle’s house. We all miss Tony as he passed away 15 years ago. My Father was one of those on that trip Arthur(my father), my Uncle Fulvio (Phil) and Tony who was my uncles father-inlaw. Sill makes us laugh hearing how Tony bent his trigger trying to fire his gun. My Cousin and I were only babies when it happened but we heard it growing up when we started shooting. I’m going to pass your webpage on to my uncle so he can read this story and laugh his ass off again hearing someone else tell it.

Vincent Capozzi

My First Email Reply:

From: David Crews
ursusdave@hotmail.com
To: emailwithheld@msn.com
Sent: Wednesday, February 28, 2007 2:51 PM
Subject: RE: Italian hunter

Holy cow my heart is pounding! I can’t wait to forward this email to my editors. But look, ya gotta realize that it is half fictionalized about Tony and his family because I was going on what a nice guy he was and his wife would probly be like. The big worry is about her working in the business–but she had to be a great partner in his life. That part about her not cooking worth a crap might make her be a waitin there in heaven to give me a piece of her mind — that is in there to say that she wasn’t perfect but Tony loved her  unconditionally. I can see there ain’t no anger from ya but I have always had concerns about not making it clear by somehow categorizing the story as fictionalized. I wouldn’t mind it if someone in your family could write a bit about what they were actually like. But then it may not matter — it’s all about telling a good story — I mean shoot man it’s a hunting story and that leaves room for real tall tales. I’m a struggling writer and don’t know all that is right to do here. I used the fiction to paint a picture of how Tony and his hunting partners were the finest kinda folks and to show how well hunting guides sometimes get to know their clients and how well we hunters and guides get along when we all have common sense and good attitudes. As you can see by the story, they were great to spend a week with. That part about the chipmunk is 100% true, and as a 19 year old kid turning into a mature young man it was a wonderful thing to witness. The whole crew at the lodge felt the same way. This story is not in its final edit, it will be rewritten when I get some more writing experience and hopefully publish a book on my adventures in Maine.
Two important questions:

How did you find the story?

Are there any photos from that 1969 hunting trip that could be copied? Good grief Vince, I’m sorta shakin inside.

You contacted me when I really needed this. THANK YOU.

Vince’s Second Email To Me:

From: “VINCENT CAPOZZI”
emailwithheld@msn.com
To: “David Crews”
ursusdave@hotmail.com
Subject: Re: Italian hunter
Date: Wed, 28 Feb 2007 16:14:42 -0500

My father and I were watching a hunting show on ESPN and got to talking about that trip and how your Uncle drove those roads up there. He remembered one night they were out in his Rover and broke a rear spring in it, Finley pulled over and had them all get out and help him find all the pieces. The broken spring didn’t slow him down on the road one bit. My father and uncle thought that was hilarous. So I told him that I’d look online and see if the camp or Finley was mentioned anyplace, as for photos I’ll ask my uncle if he has any. Its possible he does he always takes photos where ever he goes. I’ll let you know. Vinnie.

My Second Email Reply:

From: David Crews
ursusdave@hotmail.com
To: emailwithheld@msn.com
Sent: Wednesday, March 07, 2007 1:56 PM
Subject: Re: Italian hunter

When you get together with any of Tony’s closest family members please don’t forget that I am open for correction on anything I have written about him and that I was only doing my best to show what kind of a nice guy he was and how his family must had been very loving. I have always felt great trepidation saying that his wife couldn’t cook, I grew up in a family of good cookin women and know how well most Italian women cook, so it has to be understood that this was put in there to show that I believed Tony and his wife were great partners in life and shared unconditional love. If there are any of Tony’s children, grandkids or cousins or anyone who can write a little about him I’d enjoy hearing from them. And always wear hearing protection when you go shooting, my friggin’ ears are ringin’ loud today and that’s from life long exposure to loud noises like target shooting without earguards. Thanks.

Vince’s Third Email To Me:

From: “VINCENT CAPOZZI”
emailwithheld@msn.com
To: “David Crews”
ursusdave@hotmail.com
Subject: Re: Italian hunter
Date: Sun, 11 Mar 2007 19:49:22 -0400

How’s it going Dave, sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner. My Uncle was here this weekend and got a chance to read your story about Tony, he enjoyed it a lot and it was a lot closer to the truth than anyone wants to admit especially about Tony’s wife (truth be told she could never cook but he would never say it to her face). I’m going to send it to my Cousin in California, I’m sure he would like reading about his Grandpa. Dave don’t worry about offending anyone on this end, the story is mostly true anyway and we think its fitting way to remember him.

My final thoughts to you on this set of emails:

It is easy to see how much these emails mean to me as a writer and a person with some fond memories of living in Maine.

Now and then, over the past three decades, I have had and still get this vague image of me sitting at the long wooden table in Katahdin Lodge’s dining room, and there are several bear hunters sitting there around me talking and laughing with me; Tony is walking out the door after just leaving from laughing it up with our little group of happy guys sitting at the table; Tony and one of his hunting buddies had just had a bit of a comical verbal sparing match about the good and maybe not so good personal traits of Tony’s wife, whom the hunting buddy was maybe related to in some way; the hunting buddy leans sideways in his chair and closer in towards me, kinda clandestine like, grins, and says to me, “Don’t tell Tony I said this, but his wife can’t cook worth a damn.” Then laughter re-erupts again. But Tony never heard the remark or knew why he had heard the laughter erupt again back behind him inside of the Lodge’s dining room, so he was never hurt by the remark about his wife’s cooking. I just can’t remember it clearly enough to say that it definitely did happen, but judging by the last email from Vinnie, it probably did.

david robert crews
ursusdave
patten maine
bear hunting