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The New American Digest

For Followers of Gerard Van der Leun's Fine Work

  • About American Digest
  • About New American Digest
  • “The Name In The Stone”
  • Remembering Gerard Van der Leun
    • from the website: Through the Looking Glass
    • from the website: Barnhardt
    • from the website: Neo’s Blog
  • Articles
    • The Overland Stage
      • The Holladay Overland Stage: 1 – The Central Route
      • The Overland Stage – 2 Company Operations
      • The Overland Stage – 3 Exploring The Route – An Overview
      • The Overland Stage: 4 – South Platte/Julesburg/Ft Sedgwick
        • Jack Slade
      • The Overland Stage: 5 – Julesburg to Junction Station (aka Ft Morgan)
      • The Overland Stage: 6 – Junction Station to Latham
      • The Overland Stage: 7 – Latham Crossing to Fort Collins
      • The Overland Stage: 8 – LaPorte to Virginia Dale
      • The Overland Stage: 9 – Virginia Dale to Cooper Creek
      • The Overland Stage: 10 – Cooper Creek to Pass Creek
        • Fletcher Family
      • The Overland Stage: 11 – Pass Creek to Bridger Station
      • The Overland Stage: 12 – Bridger Pass to Duck Lake
      • The Overland Stage: 13 – Duck Lake to LaClede
      • The Overland Stage: 14 – LaClede to Almond
      • The Overland Stage: 15 – Almond to Rock Springs
      • The Overland Stage: 16 – Rock Springs to Fort Bridger
      • The Overland Stage: 17 – Fort Bridger to Weber Station

I find I don’t wish to explore new lands, but to explore again those I have already passed through, trying to see what I’d missed in the first hectic rush … Gerard Van der Leun

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The ghost Returns … For A Moment

The New American Digest Posted on October 2, 2026 by DTOctober 2, 2026

submitted by ghostsniper – a repeat of an American Digest post – via Comments

In reply to AZ’s previous comment, pulled “raw” from the archives.
=====================
(and of course I had a feisty comment under it)

azlibertarian July 24, 2018, 4:40 PM
I figure the statute of limitations is up on this story, so while I’ve told it verbally a number of times, for the first time ever, I’ll commit it to pixels…..

Back in the day, I was an Air Force C-130 pilot stationed at Clark AB in the Philippines. I was assigned this trip which had the purpose of supporting two very small units on Yap Island…a Coast Guard unit who ran a LORAN station (which is an old-school navigational aid), and a Navy SeaBee unit which was building roads, bridges, whatever for the Yapese. They each had about a dozen guys each (maybe). Every two weeks, we’d fly out to Guam, spend the night, and then the next day we’d fly to Yap to bring these guys any supplies, mail, or food that they needed.

Two things about being in the Air Force on a crewed airplane….
• There are “O’s” and there are “E’s”, where O’s=Officers and E’s=Enlisted. We each respect each other’s roles, but at the end of the day, there is a difference between the two groups.
• And within each group, and each crewmember’s role, there are the guys who are good at their jobs and those who aren’t.

The thing you have to understand about E’s on trips which pay per-diem, is that you probably couldn’t pile up enough dynamite to blow them off the trip if you tried. For an enlisted guy, a trip with per-diem was like gold. His wife knew how much he earned because that paycheck was deposited into their account twice a month. The per-diem claim was made at the end of the trip, and it was paid in cash.

∞
 azlibertarian July 24, 2018, 4:45 PM
**dammit** Pushed the “Submit” button before I’d finished my story.

Story continues below….

∞
 azlibertarian July 24, 2018, 5:05 PM
So that per-diem was an E’s beer money. Momma didn’t need to know about how much he’d earned on that trip, so there were very few things in life that would keep him from going.

And my flight engineer on the trip in question was one of the weaker guys in the squadron. I’d flown with him before, and knew to watch him on his best day, but on this trip, he wasn’t having a good trip. He had a raging cold, and was coughing and hacking the whole time.

So while the runway at Yap was nice, it really had no services. No tower, no nothing. We’d just show up, eyeball the runway and land. We always treated it like a remote field, and to do that, while we were on short final (maybe 3 miles out from landing), the flight engineer would look up at his panel, check the aircraft’s battery voltage, and start the APU (Auxillary Power Unit, which is essentially a small jet engine which powers a generator). We’d land, park, and then shut down the engines, using the APU to provide electric and hydraulic power for the plane while we were parked. Once we were done with all that, we’d shut down the APU and leave the airplane dark.

I’d been there before, but no-one else on the crew had been to Yap before, and given that we had a couple of hours to see things, we went to see the sights. Yap is an interesting place. They have what they call “stone money”….
https://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/01/2b/89/12/stone-money-bank.jpg
….which are these stone wheels carved from rocks that the Yapese found on some distant island. The “value” of the money supposedly is derived from how many people died while bringing them back.

Like you can find on a number of South Pacific islands, Yap also has these old rusting Japanese gun emplacements and other war debris still there from WWII. As I said, it was interesting.

Anyway, after we had seen all of that, we got back to the airplane for our trip back to Guam. I was met by a retired Army guy and his wife who had been on Yap missioning the Yapese and wanted a ride back in the direction of the U.S. As I was chatting with the two of them, my copilot and the flight engineer climbed up into the plane to get us ready to go.

About two seconds later, my copilot came flying out of the cockpit. The cardinal sin for a flight engineer was to walk away from a plane with the battery meter trying to read battery voltage, and that is exactly what this weak flight engineer did. You see, it took battery voltage to read battery voltage, and with no other power on the plane, all you did was deplete your battery (the equivalent of walking away from your car with the lights on).

The battery to the plane was (effectively) dead. I couldn’t start the APU to start the airplane’s engines. I couldn’t start the APU to power the HF radio to call someone to send us a new battery.

I was stuck.

More follows…..

∞
 azlibertarian July 24, 2018, 5:25 PM
I’m not at all proud of this, but I immediately lost my cool and started stomping around cursing like a sailor. The Army missionary and his wife just sort of disappeared. I wondered “How the eff was I going to get this airplane out of Yap?”

And that was when my copilot saved the day.

You see, the way we unloaded our cargo was that the Seabees brought out a fork lift and a dump truck. We pushed the pallets out of the plane and onto the fork lift, and he loaded them into the dump truck for the trip to wherever it was that the Seabees lived. And the guy driving the dump truck was told to wait until we left before he went back to their “camp” (or whatever they called it).

My copilot looked at this 19 year old kid (whose service in the Navy [at least at that moment] consisted of driving a dump truck on Yap Island) and asked “That’s a diesel dump truck, right?”

Seabee: Yep.

Copilot: You’ve got two 12 volt batteries on that thing, right?

Seabee: Yep.

Copilot: Do you have jumper cables?

Seabee: Ummmh, yeah.

And that was when my copilot reached into his flight suit pocket and pulled out the first Leatherman I’d ever seen. I’d seen them advertised in magazines, but up until then, I’d never laid eyes on one.

An aircraft battery is connected to a plane by this aircraft-specific mount. We used that Leatherman to take that whole mount apart to get it down to two cables, and then we jump-started the APU to a C-130 from a dump-truck’s battery.

In the Air Force, for me to have done this legally would have required me to have been under fire, and then wake up the 4-star back in Illinois. I knew that was never going to happen….some colonel in the chain of command was going to refuse to wake up the next guy higher than him, so I did it anyway. The (peacetime) AF would have preferred that that airplane would be stuck on Yap Island for those 2 weeks until the next mission came through there.

There endeth the story. If anyone tracks me down over it, I deny it all.

∞
 azlibertarian July 24, 2018, 6:03 PM
And speaking of C130s, this is pretty cool.
https://twitter.com/colingolds/status/1020442597930696705

ghostsniper July 23, 2018, 8:39 PM
New Woodpile!
http://www.woodpilereport.com/

I must confess, the toolbox in your pocket idea captured my attention when I first heard about it, for about 30 seconds. Do I really need a pliers in my pocket 24/7, and cheezy ones at that? Or a socket set? Or a can opener? Or any of the other nonsensical drivel on those overpriced underqualified glittery unicorn turds?

No. My Gerber Quickdraw, and I use it multiple times almost every day, is on my belt and all other proper tools are in their proper places ready to go to work instantly. My Blazer has a robust bin with all the essentials necessary for minor incidental repairs and winter time survival.

The first tool is inside your head and the next 2 are on the end of your arms, all the rest are in their places where they should be.

FWIW, many years ago I saw the Xerox dood strip the shit out of a $95 threaded part on my copy machine using a shitty all-in-one dood-dad.

This link wouldn’t embed

c130

DT:
The C130 and C5 were both built by Lockheed in Marietta GA. I once did a TDY assignment at the factory. Both planes are amazing; they are both planes I would have liked to have flown (along with the B2 and B52) if “pilot” had been in my life’s journey.

Posted in Uncategorized | 4 Replies

Black Vulture

The New American Digest Posted on October 2, 2026 by DTSeptember 29, 2026

Sounds like a rock band or inner-city gang.

Sunning themselves somewhere on the Virginia peninsula,

Posted in Uncategorized | 3 Replies

Climate Change

The New American Digest Posted on October 1, 2026 by DTSeptember 29, 2026

October already …
It’s getting on that time of year … it may be warm out – in the afternoon – but the leaves are changing and snow will fly soon.

An obscure corner of the upper Front Range.

Posted in Uncategorized | 9 Replies

Who?

The New American Digest Posted on September 30, 2026 by DTSeptember 30, 2026

Stabbed Indian Pilot Foils Crash Plot By Crazed Omani Co-Pilot As Jet Plunged 18,000 Feet

The hijacker (and co-pilot) on board FZ1073 stabbed Cpt Smit Machchhar, an Indian national during the flight, but the Captain heroically managed to open the cockpit door before collapsing.

Both the pilot and co-pilot were injured in the incident on the flight which was traveling to Tel Aviv but forced to make an emergency landing in Saudi Arabia

Following situation assessments and passenger testimonies, Israel is treating the incident as a full-fledged terrorist attack. It appears that the co-pilot repeatedly stabbed the captain. Once the attack began, several crew members and passengers managed to break through the cockpit door and subdue the attacker.

Video shows the stabbed pilot on the floor … crew and passengers restrained the attacker.

So who landed the plane?

Posted in Uncategorized | 9 Replies

Needs A Soundtrack

The New American Digest Posted on September 30, 2026 by DTSeptember 27, 2026

I sit and stare at this photo and swear I can hear the sound of rushing water and chirping birds, a slight breeze following the water downhill to wherever water and wind go. I stand and stare into infinity for a while, take a photo, and move on.

Probably somewhere along Blue Ridge Parkway.

Posted in Uncategorized | 4 Replies

Tunesday: Rod Stewart – Maggie May

The New American Digest Posted on September 29, 2026 by DTSeptember 13, 2026

A sample of some obscure – and maybe not obscure – tunes from my strange and off-the-wall collection.

Today’s selection: Rod Stewart – “Maggie May” 1971

Rod Stewart’s first hit in Oct 1971 and still the song most identified with him. Based on a personal experience but the woman’s name was not Maggie May. Originally the B-side to “Reason To Believe”, the song quickly became the A-side …

Posted in tunes, Uncategorized | 1 Reply

And It Never Moved Again

The New American Digest Posted on September 28, 2026 by DTSeptember 27, 2026

Out in the middle of a field someplace I don’t recall. I suppose even scrap value wasn’t worth the trouble to bring it in.

Posted in Uncategorized | 4 Replies

Road Cut

The New American Digest Posted on September 27, 2026 by DTSeptember 24, 2026

Climbing Douglas Pass along CO139 between Loma and Rangley in western Colorado.
Road cuts can expose secrets of the earth not regularly visible – a draw point for those interested in rocks.
And a subject matter for photos …

Posted in Uncategorized | 3 Replies

Mockingbird In Holly

The New American Digest Posted on September 26, 2026 by DTSeptember 26, 2026

Williamsburg, VA

Posted in Uncategorized | 7 Replies

“Consider The Hummingbird”

The New American Digest Posted on September 25, 2026 by DTSeptember 25, 2026

from a comment by jd

Since this short essay by Brian Doyle was published in the Scholar 15 years ago, it has been read hundreds of thousands of times on our website and often borrowed for classroom use. It is the lead piece in a just-published collection of Brian’s essays called One Long River of Sound: Notes on Wonder. Brian died at the age of 60 in 2017.

JOYAS VOLADORAS

Consider the hummingbird for a long moment. A hummingbird’s heart beats ten times a second. A hummingbird’s heart is the size of a pencil eraser. A hummingbird’s heart is a lot of the hummingbird. Joyas voladoras, flying jewels, the first white explorers in the Americas called them, and the white men had never seen such creatures, for hummingbirds came into the world only in the Americas, nowhere else in the universe, more than three hundred species of them whirring and zooming and nectaring in hummer time zones nine times removed from ours, their hearts hammering faster than we could clearly hear if we pressed our elephantine ears to their infinitesimal chests.

Each one visits a thousand flowers a day. They can dive at sixty miles an hour. They can fly backwards. They can fly more than five hundred miles without pausing to rest. But when they rest they come close to death: on frigid nights, or when they are starving, they retreat into torpor, their metabolic rate slowing to a fifteenth of their normal sleep rate, their hearts sludging nearly to a halt, barely beating, and if they are not soon warmed, if they do not soon find that which is sweet, their hearts grow cold, and they cease to be. Consider for a moment those hummingbirds who did not open their eyes again today, this very day, in the Americas: bearded helmet-crests and booted racket-tails, violet-tailed sylphs and violet-capped woodnymphs, crimson topazes and purple-crowned fairies, red-tailed comets and amethyst woodstars, rainbow-bearded thornbills and glittering-bellied emeralds, velvet-purple coronets and golden-bellied star-frontlets, fiery-tailed awlbills and Andean hillstars, spatuletails and pufflegs, each the most amazing thing you have never seen, each thunderous wild heart the size of an infant’s fingernail, each mad heart silent, a brilliant music stilled.

Hummingbirds, like all flying birds but more so, have incredible enormous immense ferocious metabolisms. To drive those metabolisms they have race-car hearts that eat oxygen at an eye-popping rate. Their hearts are built of thinner, leaner fibers than ours. Their arteries are stiffer and more taut. They have more mitochondria in their heart muscles—anything to gulp more oxygen. Their hearts are stripped to the skin for the war against gravity and inertia, the mad search for food, the insane idea of flight. The price of their ambition is a life closer to death; they suffer more heart attacks and aneurysms and ruptures than any other living creature. It’s expensive to fly. You burn out. You fry the machine. You melt the engine. Every creature on earth has approximately two billion heartbeats to spend in a lifetime. You can spend them slowly, like a tortoise and live to be two hundred years old, or you can spend them fast, like a hummingbird, and live to be two years old.

The biggest heart in the world is inside the blue whale. It weighs more than seven tons. It’s as big as a room. It is a room, with four chambers. A child could walk around it, head high, bending only to step through the valves. The valves are as big as the swinging doors in a saloon. This house of a heart drives a creature a hundred feet long. When this creature is born it is twenty feet long and weighs four tons. It is waaaaay bigger than your car. It drinks a hundred gallons of milk from its mama every day and gains two hundred pounds a day, and when it is seven or eight years old it endures an unimaginable puberty and then it essentially disappears from human ken, for next to nothing is known of the the mating habits, travel patterns, diet, social life, language, social structure, diseases, spirituality, wars, stories, despairs and arts of the blue whale. There are perhaps ten thousand blue whales in the world, living in every ocean on earth, and of the largest animal who ever lived we know nearly nothing. But we know this: the animals with the largest hearts in the world generally travel in pairs, and their penetrating moaning cries, their piercing yearning tongue, can be heard underwater for miles and miles.

Mammals and birds have hearts with four chambers. Reptiles and turtles have hearts with three chambers. Fish have hearts with two chambers. Insects and mollusks have hearts with one chamber. Worms have hearts with one chamber, although they may have as many as eleven single-chambered hearts. Unicellular bacteria have no hearts at all; but even they have fluid eternally in motion, washing from one side of the cell to the other, swirling and whirling. No living being is without interior liquid motion. We all churn inside.

So much held in a heart in a lifetime. So much held in a heart in a day, an hour, a moment. We are utterly open with no one in the end—not mother and father, not wife or husband, not lover, not child, not friend. We open windows to each but we live alone in the house of the heart. Perhaps we must. Perhaps we could not bear to be so naked, for fear of a constantly harrowed heart. When young we think there will come one person who will savor and sustain us always; when we are older we know this is the dream of a child, that all hearts finally are bruised and scarred, scored and torn, repaired by time and will, patched by force of character, yet fragile and rickety forevermore, no matter how ferocious the defense and how many bricks you bring to the wall. You can brick up your heart as stout and tight and hard and cold and impregnable as you possibly can and down it comes in an instant, felled by a woman’s second glance, a child’s apple breath, the shatter of glass in the road, the words I have something to tell you, a cat with a broken spine dragging itself into the forest to die, the brush of your mother’s papery ancient hand in the thicket of your hair, the memory of your father’s voice early in the morning echoing from the kitchen where he is making pancakes for his children.

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Contact: dt@newamericandigest.org

Gerard Van der Leun
12/26/45 - 1/27/23

“This is the day which the Lord hath made, let us rejoice and be glad in it”
Psalm 118:24


Gerard's Last Post
(posthumous): Feb 4, 2023
"So Long. See You All a Little Further Down the Road"

When my body won’t hold me anymore
And it finally lets me free
Where will I go?
Will the trade winds take me south through Georgia grain?
Or tropical rain?
Or snow from the heavens?
Will I join with the ocean blue?
Or run into a savior true?
And shake hands laughing
And walk through the night, straight to the light
Holding the love I’ve known in my life
And no hard feelings

Avett Brothers - No Hard Feelings

The following was posted along with the announcement of Gerard's passing.
Leonard Cohen - Going Home

For a 2005 interview with Gerard


October 2026
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Most Recent Comments

  1. SK on The ghost Returns … For A MomentOctober 2, 2026

    Pleased to know Ghost is lurking

  2. GrayDog on The ghost Returns … For A MomentOctober 2, 2026

    Yes it does!

  3. Snakepit on The ghost Returns … For A MomentOctober 2, 2026

    This makes a great day!!!

  4. DT on Black VultureOctober 2, 2026

    Posted

  5. DT on The ghost Returns … For A MomentOctober 2, 2026

    Hi ghost. Hope all's going well.


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The New Neo
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The Feral Irishman

Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man,
play a song for me
I'm not sleepy
and there ain't no place I'm goin' to

Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man,
play a song for me
In the jingle jangle morning,
I'll come followin' you

Take me for a trip upon
your magic swirling ship
All my senses have been stripped
And my hands can't feel to grip
And my toes too numb to step
Wait only for my boot heels to be wanderin'

I'm ready to go anywhere,
I'm ready for to fade
Unto my own parade
Cast your dancing spell my way
I promise to go under it


Men who saw night coming down about them could somehow act as if they stood at the edge of dawn.


From Gerard's site. The picture always caught my eye.

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