A new video by mystery author Eric Wilder.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Shrimp Arnaud - a recipe
I have found New Orleans Recipes, a great old cookbook by Mary Moore Bremer. The book I have is the Tenth Edition published in 1944. Unlike most modern cookbooks, this one presents its recipes in a simple way that encourages intuitive cooking. Here is Bremer’s recipe for Shrimp Arnaud.
Six tablespoons of olive oil, two tablespoons of vinegar and one tablespoon of paprika, one half teaspoon of white pepper, one half teaspoon of salt, four tablespoons of Creole mustard, on half heart of celery, chopped fine, one half white onion, chopped fine, and a little chopped parsley.
Mix well. Chill; Serve on cold boiled shrimp, about twelve to a serving.
Enthrone on crisp, chopped lettuce.
Eric's Website
Six tablespoons of olive oil, two tablespoons of vinegar and one tablespoon of paprika, one half teaspoon of white pepper, one half teaspoon of salt, four tablespoons of Creole mustard, on half heart of celery, chopped fine, one half white onion, chopped fine, and a little chopped parsley.
Mix well. Chill; Serve on cold boiled shrimp, about twelve to a serving.
Enthrone on crisp, chopped lettuce.
Eric's Website
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Holdin' Five Aces
In Oklahoma, there is no rule for naming an oil well. Many companies use the name of the mineral owner but there is no law that says you have to. Because of this, the well name is whatever the operator wants to give it and this has resulted in some whimsical monikers through the years.
Toward the end of the last oil boom there was a Kansas operator named Wild Boys Land Cattle and Oil Company, and they were often more whimsical than most companies when it came to naming their wells. Here are some of their well’s names:
Face the Fire #2
Rock Salt Blues #1
Nose to the Wind #1
Slapping Leather #1
Muddy Streets and Dollar Baths #1
Against a Crooked Sky #1
Rawhide #1
Out on Bail #1
It’s Just Crude #1
Saddle Sores #1
Shotgun Rider #1
Fistful of Dollars #1
Shootout in Lake City #2
Having a Few Beers #1
On the Rocks #8-C
Riding Thunder #1
Whiskey Hills #1
Snake Bite #1
Riding into Hell and Back Again #1
Hell Ain’t Ready for Us Yet 2-2
Eatin’ Dust and Drinkin’ Whiskey #1
And my own personal favorite:
Holdin’ Five Aces #1
Oil drillers are generally a superstitious lot and some say it is bad luck to use any name other than the mineral owner. There may be some truth to this superstition as many of the above wells were completed as dry holes.
Maybe, but what I’ve always heard and believe to be true is never, ever name a well after your wife, your mother, your daughter or your girlfriend. Why? I haven’t a clue.
Wilder's Website
Toward the end of the last oil boom there was a Kansas operator named Wild Boys Land Cattle and Oil Company, and they were often more whimsical than most companies when it came to naming their wells. Here are some of their well’s names:
Face the Fire #2
Rock Salt Blues #1
Nose to the Wind #1
Slapping Leather #1
Muddy Streets and Dollar Baths #1
Against a Crooked Sky #1
Rawhide #1
Out on Bail #1
It’s Just Crude #1
Saddle Sores #1
Shotgun Rider #1
Fistful of Dollars #1
Shootout in Lake City #2
Having a Few Beers #1
On the Rocks #8-C
Riding Thunder #1
Whiskey Hills #1
Snake Bite #1
Riding into Hell and Back Again #1
Hell Ain’t Ready for Us Yet 2-2
Eatin’ Dust and Drinkin’ Whiskey #1
And my own personal favorite:
Holdin’ Five Aces #1
Oil drillers are generally a superstitious lot and some say it is bad luck to use any name other than the mineral owner. There may be some truth to this superstition as many of the above wells were completed as dry holes.
Maybe, but what I’ve always heard and believe to be true is never, ever name a well after your wife, your mother, your daughter or your girlfriend. Why? I haven’t a clue.
Wilder's Website
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Cyndi, Sandy and Elvis
I recently wrote about Dave, my friend from whom I bought my first motorcycle. He read the story and emailed me. Dave, now living near Baton Rouge, was my best friend when I worked at Texas Oil and Gas. The rock and roll world of the last oil boom was hell on marriages, including mine and Dave's. Both freshly divorced, we became running buddies and Dave's email reminded me of one of our adventures.
Between us, Dave and I knew practically every female that worked in downtown Oklahoma City. One night, we were talked into escorting six gorgeous oil and gas secretaries to see an Elvis impersonator. Three of the ladies were crazy about the recently departed Elvis. The band, backup singers and Elvis impersonator sounded exactly like Elvis - well, if you'd had a few drinks and were sexually excited because of being the center of attention of six adoring ladies.
The concert was entertaining, further enhanced when one young lady in particular began hitting on me, another on Dave. When we returned to my apartment, Dave and five of the ladies departed while Cyndi (not her real name) came inside with me for a nightcap. Hell, it was two in the morning! We both had our intentions and for the moment I assumed that they were the same.
We were sitting on the floor in front of a fire that I had hastily built in the fireplace and we were groping around on the rug like a couple of boa constrictors in heat when the phone rang. I have waited to say that Cyndi was the girlfriend of a close friend of mine, Mike (not his real name). Mike was married, Cyndi only his girlfriend, and it is safe to say that he had no intentions of ever marrying her. Cyndi and I were both single.
"Have you seen Cyndi?" he asked, she's not at her apartment.
"Maybe," I said, our legs encircled and my hand under her blouse, still clamped on her right breast.
I began to smell a setup when he asked, "Is she at your place?" Cyndi, I suddenly sensed, had used me to make Mike jealous. Still very much engulfed in the throes of extreme passion, I said, "She was here but she just left. I think she’s on her way back to her apartment. You need to go home," I told her after hanging up the phone and zipping up my pants."
"Are you sure about this?" she asked, standing and adjusting her own clothing.
"There's nothing I would like better than spending the night with you but I think we would both regret it."
Cyndi must have agreed because she was gone in less than fifteen minutes, leaving me to contemplate my unexpected predicament. After all these years Mike is still my friend, as is Cyndi, although their relationship ended years ago. I never made it with Cyndi but later I had a little fling with Sandy, one of the other girls that Dave and I took to the concert. How did Dave do that night? I never asked and he never volunteered the story.
http://www.EricWilder.com
Between us, Dave and I knew practically every female that worked in downtown Oklahoma City. One night, we were talked into escorting six gorgeous oil and gas secretaries to see an Elvis impersonator. Three of the ladies were crazy about the recently departed Elvis. The band, backup singers and Elvis impersonator sounded exactly like Elvis - well, if you'd had a few drinks and were sexually excited because of being the center of attention of six adoring ladies.
The concert was entertaining, further enhanced when one young lady in particular began hitting on me, another on Dave. When we returned to my apartment, Dave and five of the ladies departed while Cyndi (not her real name) came inside with me for a nightcap. Hell, it was two in the morning! We both had our intentions and for the moment I assumed that they were the same.
We were sitting on the floor in front of a fire that I had hastily built in the fireplace and we were groping around on the rug like a couple of boa constrictors in heat when the phone rang. I have waited to say that Cyndi was the girlfriend of a close friend of mine, Mike (not his real name). Mike was married, Cyndi only his girlfriend, and it is safe to say that he had no intentions of ever marrying her. Cyndi and I were both single.
"Have you seen Cyndi?" he asked, she's not at her apartment.
"Maybe," I said, our legs encircled and my hand under her blouse, still clamped on her right breast.
I began to smell a setup when he asked, "Is she at your place?" Cyndi, I suddenly sensed, had used me to make Mike jealous. Still very much engulfed in the throes of extreme passion, I said, "She was here but she just left. I think she’s on her way back to her apartment. You need to go home," I told her after hanging up the phone and zipping up my pants."
"Are you sure about this?" she asked, standing and adjusting her own clothing.
"There's nothing I would like better than spending the night with you but I think we would both regret it."
Cyndi must have agreed because she was gone in less than fifteen minutes, leaving me to contemplate my unexpected predicament. After all these years Mike is still my friend, as is Cyndi, although their relationship ended years ago. I never made it with Cyndi but later I had a little fling with Sandy, one of the other girls that Dave and I took to the concert. How did Dave do that night? I never asked and he never volunteered the story.
http://www.EricWilder.com
Friday, June 06, 2008
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Finding value in unexpected places
One of the places that I've always wanted to visit is Spain. Check out this article if you are the same as me.
http://www.marketwatch.com/news/story/best-values-spain-wine-shoes/story.aspx?guid={8957918A-834C-46F2-96EB-F8A390782CCB}&siteid=yahoomy
http://www.ericwilder.com
http://www.marketwatch.com/news/story/best-values-spain-wine-shoes/story.aspx?guid={8957918A-834C-46F2-96EB-F8A390782CCB}&siteid=yahoomy
http://www.ericwilder.com
Friday, May 23, 2008
A Night at the Triple X
I’ve heard it said that the biggest sex organ in the body is the brain. Years ago, I had reason to confirm this statement.
Miss C and I were a number but we were beginning to get on each other’s nerves. She was smart and confident but also good looking and blonde. I was simply young and dumb. Even though we worked in the same industry, the biggest attraction we had for each other was sex, pure and simple.
Six months had passed in our relationship and the attraction had begun to wane. Both of us, it seemed, were searching for a way to let the other down easy. My buddy J was in town from Colorado and staying at my house. I was divorced but my ex and I had not yet sold our house. We were taking turns staying there until we found a buyer.
Miss C’s friend Miss A took J with her to one of our favorite bars and Miss C and I were supposed to join them. It was Friday night, Miss C a lease broker who had just returned to town from a week of checking records in Roger Mills County, had been doing her thing during that time, and I mine.
“I just want to go home and go to bed,” she said.
“What about J and Miss C?” I asked.
“They don’t need us,” Miss C said.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s drive over anyway. J can ride back with me and Miss A can take you home.”
“Fine,” she said, “But I’m not staying.”
On the way to the club I caught a whiff of her perfume and suddenly remembered why I liked her so much. We were on 10th street, an area in Oklahoma City populated with strip bars and seedy hole-in-the-walls. About that time we passed a stand-alone x-rated movie theatre.
“Have you ever seen a porn movie?” I asked.
“I’m not ten,” she said.
On a whim I pulled into the parking lot. “Let’s go in.”
Miss C grinned. She was trying to dump me but she had just enough kink left in her to at least consider my offer.
“Come on,” I cajoled. “You don’t have a hair on your ass unless you come with me.”
“Okay, perv,” she said. “You’ll say uncle before me.”
The XXX Theatre was a single-storied building with a very dark lobby. We purchased two tickets from the disinterested ticket puncher that had likely seen it all. The theater was small and dark and smelled like urine. A naked man and an equally clad woman were going at it on the screen.
There were probably ten patrons in the theater and they weren’t people you’d want to call your best friends. Miss C and I found an empty aisle and settled in to watch the movie. The couple on screen was performing every sex act imaginable, complete with grunts, groans, moans and even a few screams.
As I began getting into the flick, I put my hand between Miss C’s legs, groping her most private parts, fully expecting to get slapped. Instead, she began licking my neck. Before long, we both had our jeans pulled down almost to the floor, helplessly locked in the throws of hot, mindless sex, right there in the middle of an x-rated theater, surrounded by perverts with their own pants down. We were suddenly shocked back to reality by a raspy voice.
“You two need to take it outside,” the man from the ticket booth told us. “This is a theater, not a bedroom.”
I don’t know who turned us in but duly chastised, we headed up the dark aisle, buttoning our britches as we went. We were both still hot – hell, I mean my head was cooking off! I was all over Miss C as soon as the doors of my car were shut. She was as hot as me and I’m not sure who was all over whom. We continued, the windows steamed like a sauna when someone tapped on the front window. It was a cop and he was smiling.
“This is no place for what you two are doing. Take it to the house, and I mean now.”
Our ardor had not waned by the time we made it back home and we spent the rest of the night locked in hot passion the like of which I haven’t experienced since. J interrupted our ardor, knocking on the door around two in the morning. I let him in and quickly returned to the bedroom without bothering to listen to the story he was trying to tell me.
Miss C and I broke up shortly after our night of red hot passion. My lust had dissolved, my brain again able to ad two and two and not come up with an answer of five.
http://www.ericwilder.com
Miss C and I were a number but we were beginning to get on each other’s nerves. She was smart and confident but also good looking and blonde. I was simply young and dumb. Even though we worked in the same industry, the biggest attraction we had for each other was sex, pure and simple.
Six months had passed in our relationship and the attraction had begun to wane. Both of us, it seemed, were searching for a way to let the other down easy. My buddy J was in town from Colorado and staying at my house. I was divorced but my ex and I had not yet sold our house. We were taking turns staying there until we found a buyer.
Miss C’s friend Miss A took J with her to one of our favorite bars and Miss C and I were supposed to join them. It was Friday night, Miss C a lease broker who had just returned to town from a week of checking records in Roger Mills County, had been doing her thing during that time, and I mine.
“I just want to go home and go to bed,” she said.
“What about J and Miss C?” I asked.
“They don’t need us,” Miss C said.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s drive over anyway. J can ride back with me and Miss A can take you home.”
“Fine,” she said, “But I’m not staying.”
On the way to the club I caught a whiff of her perfume and suddenly remembered why I liked her so much. We were on 10th street, an area in Oklahoma City populated with strip bars and seedy hole-in-the-walls. About that time we passed a stand-alone x-rated movie theatre.
“Have you ever seen a porn movie?” I asked.
“I’m not ten,” she said.
On a whim I pulled into the parking lot. “Let’s go in.”
Miss C grinned. She was trying to dump me but she had just enough kink left in her to at least consider my offer.
“Come on,” I cajoled. “You don’t have a hair on your ass unless you come with me.”
“Okay, perv,” she said. “You’ll say uncle before me.”
The XXX Theatre was a single-storied building with a very dark lobby. We purchased two tickets from the disinterested ticket puncher that had likely seen it all. The theater was small and dark and smelled like urine. A naked man and an equally clad woman were going at it on the screen.
There were probably ten patrons in the theater and they weren’t people you’d want to call your best friends. Miss C and I found an empty aisle and settled in to watch the movie. The couple on screen was performing every sex act imaginable, complete with grunts, groans, moans and even a few screams.
As I began getting into the flick, I put my hand between Miss C’s legs, groping her most private parts, fully expecting to get slapped. Instead, she began licking my neck. Before long, we both had our jeans pulled down almost to the floor, helplessly locked in the throws of hot, mindless sex, right there in the middle of an x-rated theater, surrounded by perverts with their own pants down. We were suddenly shocked back to reality by a raspy voice.
“You two need to take it outside,” the man from the ticket booth told us. “This is a theater, not a bedroom.”
I don’t know who turned us in but duly chastised, we headed up the dark aisle, buttoning our britches as we went. We were both still hot – hell, I mean my head was cooking off! I was all over Miss C as soon as the doors of my car were shut. She was as hot as me and I’m not sure who was all over whom. We continued, the windows steamed like a sauna when someone tapped on the front window. It was a cop and he was smiling.
“This is no place for what you two are doing. Take it to the house, and I mean now.”
Our ardor had not waned by the time we made it back home and we spent the rest of the night locked in hot passion the like of which I haven’t experienced since. J interrupted our ardor, knocking on the door around two in the morning. I let him in and quickly returned to the bedroom without bothering to listen to the story he was trying to tell me.
Miss C and I broke up shortly after our night of red hot passion. My lust had dissolved, my brain again able to ad two and two and not come up with an answer of five.
http://www.ericwilder.com
Monday, May 19, 2008
Edmond Storm Hawk
Here is a pic of an Oklahoma hawk, flying at night in the wake of an impending storm.
The Same Mistake Twice
The domestic oil industry is populated by many types of people, both male and female, but it is safe to say that none of them could ever remotely be considered saints. During my tenure in the business, I have met many of its denizens but the most colorful of all was a person named Harold (not his real name). Harold, an OJT geophysist that had found a billion (I'm not exaggerating!) barrel oil field in Nigeria for Mobil Oil. He was quite seriously, one of smartest persons I have ever met. Unfortunately, he had a larcenous side.
Anne and I had a company in bankruptcy when Harold showed up on our doorstep, his own oil Company and 1600 acre Texas ranch in foreclosure. He parked his old Mercury (the only vehicle he had left) in our driveway and proceeded to move into our spare bedroom where he stayed for about two months.
During the time that he lived with us, Harold drank every drop of liquor in the house, became engaged to a woman he somehow met in the interim, and talked to our creditor's committee, telling them we were incompetent and needed to be removed as debtors-in-possession. When I heard what he had done, I hung him out the second story window by his heel, threatening to let go.
"I don't really care how you treat people that you don't know, but Anne and I are your friends. You shouldn't treat us like marks."
My actions must have had an effect because Harold never again treated me, or Anne, like a mark. He did talk the owner of an OKC mud company into starting an oil company and hiring him as president. The long-time mud company owner died a pauper after Harold had sucked off every penny he had.
Anyway, I got to thinking about Harold after my story about the Carousel Lounge in Shreveport. Harold, Anne and I had an adventure at the Carousel Lounge in New Orleans, at the Monteleone Hotel - an adventure instigated by Harold. Never drink at a rotating bar, is a rule that I had lived by for years, only to violate it some twenty years later.
http://www.ericwilder.com
Anne and I had a company in bankruptcy when Harold showed up on our doorstep, his own oil Company and 1600 acre Texas ranch in foreclosure. He parked his old Mercury (the only vehicle he had left) in our driveway and proceeded to move into our spare bedroom where he stayed for about two months.
During the time that he lived with us, Harold drank every drop of liquor in the house, became engaged to a woman he somehow met in the interim, and talked to our creditor's committee, telling them we were incompetent and needed to be removed as debtors-in-possession. When I heard what he had done, I hung him out the second story window by his heel, threatening to let go.
"I don't really care how you treat people that you don't know, but Anne and I are your friends. You shouldn't treat us like marks."
My actions must have had an effect because Harold never again treated me, or Anne, like a mark. He did talk the owner of an OKC mud company into starting an oil company and hiring him as president. The long-time mud company owner died a pauper after Harold had sucked off every penny he had.
Anyway, I got to thinking about Harold after my story about the Carousel Lounge in Shreveport. Harold, Anne and I had an adventure at the Carousel Lounge in New Orleans, at the Monteleone Hotel - an adventure instigated by Harold. Never drink at a rotating bar, is a rule that I had lived by for years, only to violate it some twenty years later.
http://www.ericwilder.com
Sunday, April 06, 2008
Friday, March 07, 2008
Only the Good Die Young
I still remember my first trip to New Orleans. It was with my Dad's sister, Aunt Carmol. Carmol was a school teacher in New Orleans and she was quite a woman. When WWII broke out, she joined the Marines and served with them throughout the war. She was a liberated woman, even during a very un-liberated time in Louisiana. When New Orleans first integrated, it was at her school and she walked the children into the building every morning to insure their safety.
When I was eleven and my brother Jack thirteen, she took us to New Orleans for a visit, and a grand tour of everything cultural in the venerable old city. We stayed with her and her husband Tack. We didn't go alone. She also brought two very young north Louisiana school teachers. I can't remember their names but I will call them Sandra and Dolly.
Sandra and Dolly were as excited about their first visit to the Big Easy as Jack and I. They were both young and pretty and they flirted with Jack and me all the way to New Orleans. As best as I can remember, it was the first time that I fell (no, tumbled head over heals!) in love.
Aunt Carmol showed us the French Quarter, the zoo and the museums and we saw little of Sandra and Dolly during our visit. Before we left, however, we all took a night time excursion to the Lake Pontchartrain Amusement Park, Sandra was Jack's date, Dolly mine. The memory of riding through the Tunnel of Love with Dolly still remains as one of the all time highlights of my life.
Aunt Carmol died in her forties of a kidney disease that could have easily been cured today. I miss her but I feel that she is still somehow with me. Her early passing goes along with my theory that only the good die young, in which case I expect to live until a hundred-twenty, or so.
http://www.ericwilder.com
When I was eleven and my brother Jack thirteen, she took us to New Orleans for a visit, and a grand tour of everything cultural in the venerable old city. We stayed with her and her husband Tack. We didn't go alone. She also brought two very young north Louisiana school teachers. I can't remember their names but I will call them Sandra and Dolly.
Sandra and Dolly were as excited about their first visit to the Big Easy as Jack and I. They were both young and pretty and they flirted with Jack and me all the way to New Orleans. As best as I can remember, it was the first time that I fell (no, tumbled head over heals!) in love.
Aunt Carmol showed us the French Quarter, the zoo and the museums and we saw little of Sandra and Dolly during our visit. Before we left, however, we all took a night time excursion to the Lake Pontchartrain Amusement Park, Sandra was Jack's date, Dolly mine. The memory of riding through the Tunnel of Love with Dolly still remains as one of the all time highlights of my life.
Aunt Carmol died in her forties of a kidney disease that could have easily been cured today. I miss her but I feel that she is still somehow with me. Her early passing goes along with my theory that only the good die young, in which case I expect to live until a hundred-twenty, or so.
http://www.ericwilder.com
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
Buck McDivit Revisited
The protagonist of my first novel, Ghost of a Chance, was Oklahoma cowboy detective Buck McDivit. A mysterious lake in east Texas was the backdrop for the novel that highlighted lost Confederate gold, Indian artifacts, the ghost of a girl, and murder. I’m presently working on a sequel to Ghost of a Chance, this time with the action occurring in Oklahoma.
The working title of my new book is Panther Stalking and the story involves modern-day cattle rustling, a compound populated by female pagans, and of course, murder. I’m about twenty thousand words into the novel.
Before starting on Panther Stalking I wrote a Buck McDivit short story to reintroduce myself to a character that I haven’t visited in almost three years. Prairie Thunder plants McDivit back in his home turf of central Oklahoma. Moonlighting as an assistant medical examiner, McDivit helps investigate the death of an American Indian artist. The story leads him to Oklahoma City’s historic Paseo District.
Anyone who read Ghost of a Chance and is interested in reconnecting with Buck McDivit is invited to visit my website http://www.ericwilder.com . Sign my list and I will email you the short story in PDF format.
Monday, February 11, 2008
No Better Place on Earth
I served in Vietnam from July, 1970 until September, 1971. As a draftee, it was not a place I chose to be but I met many wonderful people during my tour. It is also impossible to spend fourteen months of total hell. There were moments of total hell but most of the time was almost normal, some moments even fun. Tonight I was remembering an event I still can't believe, even after all these years. To say that I had fun is a lie because my rear end was puckered the entire time. The event took place almost four decades ago, at the non-com club in Bien Hoa.
I spent the first six months of my tour in the boonies as an infantry foot soldier. I've told the story of getting poked in the eye with a bamboo limb. Recuperating in Song Be - relative civilization compared to where I had been - I played chess and became close friends with the company clerk of Headquarters Company. When a position as a clerk-typist came open, I was offered the job. I didn't have to be asked twice if I was interested.
A time came when I was asked to fill in as Battalion Courier for a soldier on R & R. Long before the days of personal computers, the courier physically transported a satchel of papers and documents from our outpost in Song Be to the main headquarters in Bien Hoa. I was a spec 4, the equivalent of a corporal but not considered a NCO. A friend that I will call Sergeant Brown was going to Bien Hoa at the same time and wanted me to accompany him to the NCO club later that night.
"A hell of a place," he told me, "With the best steaks, beer and whiskey in Nam."
"But I'm not an NCO. I'll get in trouble."
"No one knows you in Bien Hoa. I got sergeant's stripes for you. Tonight you're going to be an E-5 sergeant."
We made it to the club that night. It was dark, smoky and loud, a Vietnamese rock band playing on stage. We ate our steaks and we're well into our second whiskey when who was to suddenly appear but my worst nightmare. It was E-8 Sergeant Roper (I will call him). Sergeant Roper was big, easily three-hundred pounds, and he was black - a little scary for a southern boy that had never known many blacks, much less ones in authority. I had never seen him smile. Totally frightened of the man, I once witnessed him take away a live grenade from a drugged sky trooper that was threatening to blow up an officer's hooch. To say that my heart was in my throat was an understatement and I fully expected to spend the rest of my tour locked in the infamous Long Binh Jail.
I waited for the other shoe to fall. Instead, he asked, "How are you tonight Sergeant Wilder?"
When I noticed the man standing behind him, I realized why I wasn't already in handcuffs. It was our company commander, Captain Ahab (I will call him). Officers, like enlisted men, are also unwelcome in an NCO club. Captain Ahab, white like me, was wearing sergeant stripes - he was an E5. That night I was his equal, Sergeant Brown his superior.
Sergeants Roper and Ahab joined us and we all proceeded to drink, listen to the band and even exchange a few pleasantries along the way. I fully expected to be court martialed the following day, as I'm sure did Sergeant Brown. Instead, nothing was ever said of the incident and we never again acknowledged even a passing hint that we may have consorted illicitly.
Years have passed and I still wonder about the incident. Why had I taken the chance of being court martialed to visit a place where I shouldn't be? Moreover, why had a Captain, the company commander, taken the same chance? The answer surely has to be that there is a deeply buried need in all of us to visit that one place, at least just once, from which we are forbidden to enter. It's a location where everyone is equal. Most of us never visit but there is surely no better place on earth.
http://www.ericwilder.com
I spent the first six months of my tour in the boonies as an infantry foot soldier. I've told the story of getting poked in the eye with a bamboo limb. Recuperating in Song Be - relative civilization compared to where I had been - I played chess and became close friends with the company clerk of Headquarters Company. When a position as a clerk-typist came open, I was offered the job. I didn't have to be asked twice if I was interested.
A time came when I was asked to fill in as Battalion Courier for a soldier on R & R. Long before the days of personal computers, the courier physically transported a satchel of papers and documents from our outpost in Song Be to the main headquarters in Bien Hoa. I was a spec 4, the equivalent of a corporal but not considered a NCO. A friend that I will call Sergeant Brown was going to Bien Hoa at the same time and wanted me to accompany him to the NCO club later that night.
"A hell of a place," he told me, "With the best steaks, beer and whiskey in Nam."
"But I'm not an NCO. I'll get in trouble."
"No one knows you in Bien Hoa. I got sergeant's stripes for you. Tonight you're going to be an E-5 sergeant."
We made it to the club that night. It was dark, smoky and loud, a Vietnamese rock band playing on stage. We ate our steaks and we're well into our second whiskey when who was to suddenly appear but my worst nightmare. It was E-8 Sergeant Roper (I will call him). Sergeant Roper was big, easily three-hundred pounds, and he was black - a little scary for a southern boy that had never known many blacks, much less ones in authority. I had never seen him smile. Totally frightened of the man, I once witnessed him take away a live grenade from a drugged sky trooper that was threatening to blow up an officer's hooch. To say that my heart was in my throat was an understatement and I fully expected to spend the rest of my tour locked in the infamous Long Binh Jail.
I waited for the other shoe to fall. Instead, he asked, "How are you tonight Sergeant Wilder?"
When I noticed the man standing behind him, I realized why I wasn't already in handcuffs. It was our company commander, Captain Ahab (I will call him). Officers, like enlisted men, are also unwelcome in an NCO club. Captain Ahab, white like me, was wearing sergeant stripes - he was an E5. That night I was his equal, Sergeant Brown his superior.
Sergeants Roper and Ahab joined us and we all proceeded to drink, listen to the band and even exchange a few pleasantries along the way. I fully expected to be court martialed the following day, as I'm sure did Sergeant Brown. Instead, nothing was ever said of the incident and we never again acknowledged even a passing hint that we may have consorted illicitly.
Years have passed and I still wonder about the incident. Why had I taken the chance of being court martialed to visit a place where I shouldn't be? Moreover, why had a Captain, the company commander, taken the same chance? The answer surely has to be that there is a deeply buried need in all of us to visit that one place, at least just once, from which we are forbidden to enter. It's a location where everyone is equal. Most of us never visit but there is surely no better place on earth.
http://www.ericwilder.com
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Fun Junkies
Happy Super Tuesday to all you political junkies and happy Fat Tuesday to all of you fun junkies. Politics affects all of our lives and I watch what's happening with the same interest as any other concerned citizen. Still, when it comes to being a junkie I fall into the latter category more than the former.
Many other cities celebrate the pre-Lenten season with both festivities and frivolities. Most prominent, other than the Big Easy is Rio de Janeiro in Brazil. Much of the year's income for many of Rio’s inhabitants is the direct result of Carnival Season. Fat Tuesday is always the day before Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent. Because this date, like Easter, is governed by the moon's cycles, it occurs on a different date every year. This year, it is on February 5th, the earliest it has been in twenty years.
An official in Rio wants the date for Carnival to be on the same day every year. This is because the earlier the event occurs, the less revenue it generates. My close friend and fellow author r. r. Bryan, himself a devout Catholic, assures me that this will never happen. r. r. wrote All the Angels and Saints, a novel about a Catholic missionary in Guatemala.
While a devout Catholic, r. r. is also a fun junkie who lived in and around New Orleans for many years. His son Matt (whose birthday is today, incidentally - he as waited for this day all his life!) didn't believe it when we told him that crowds were often packed so tightly on Bourbon Street during times past that you could literally raise your feet off the pavement and remain suspended in the air.
I find it hard to believe that today is the third Fat Tuesday celebration in New Orleans since the devastation brought by the monster hurricane season of 2005. While far from full recovery, NO is moving in the right direction. It was 84 degrees in the French Quarter today and I sit in front of the TV watching the early voting returns, I am wishing I was there instead of here.
http://www.ericwilder.com
Many other cities celebrate the pre-Lenten season with both festivities and frivolities. Most prominent, other than the Big Easy is Rio de Janeiro in Brazil. Much of the year's income for many of Rio’s inhabitants is the direct result of Carnival Season. Fat Tuesday is always the day before Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent. Because this date, like Easter, is governed by the moon's cycles, it occurs on a different date every year. This year, it is on February 5th, the earliest it has been in twenty years.
An official in Rio wants the date for Carnival to be on the same day every year. This is because the earlier the event occurs, the less revenue it generates. My close friend and fellow author r. r. Bryan, himself a devout Catholic, assures me that this will never happen. r. r. wrote All the Angels and Saints, a novel about a Catholic missionary in Guatemala.
While a devout Catholic, r. r. is also a fun junkie who lived in and around New Orleans for many years. His son Matt (whose birthday is today, incidentally - he as waited for this day all his life!) didn't believe it when we told him that crowds were often packed so tightly on Bourbon Street during times past that you could literally raise your feet off the pavement and remain suspended in the air.
I find it hard to believe that today is the third Fat Tuesday celebration in New Orleans since the devastation brought by the monster hurricane season of 2005. While far from full recovery, NO is moving in the right direction. It was 84 degrees in the French Quarter today and I sit in front of the TV watching the early voting returns, I am wishing I was there instead of here.
http://www.ericwilder.com
Monday, February 04, 2008
Night Stalker
I took this picture two days ago with a wildlife camera mounted on the flagpole in my front yard. I had a strange feeling when I downloaded my pics that I was going to have captured the image of a werewolf, or a bigfoot. Instead, I had this pic of a gorgeous fox. My wildlife camera also managed to snap pics of a couple of possums, a raccoon and, of course my cats. I'll keep you posted if I manage to discover a bigfoot, werewolf, or some really weird person. Meanwhile, I'm contacting Stephen King with an idea for an absolutely frightening story.
http://www.ericwilder.com
Hey, my connection is slow and I can't get the picture to upload. I'll try again later. Until then, imagine a beautiful red fox, in the snow, checking out the food in my cat's food bowls. - Eric
http://www.ericwilder.com
Hey, my connection is slow and I can't get the picture to upload. I'll try again later. Until then, imagine a beautiful red fox, in the snow, checking out the food in my cat's food bowls. - Eric
Saturday, February 02, 2008
Peppers, Football and Sex
Last night on Nightline there was a segment on the world's hottest pepper. The pepper comes from a remote part of India and one restaurant in Chicago uses it to make what they advertise as the world's hottest chicken wings. A Nightline reporter interviewed the chef who informed him they made their customers sign a waiver before serving them their specialty hot wings. This is because the Indian pepper is 2000 times hotter than a jalapeno on the SHU scale, a scale for measuring the caipusun content (the chemical that makes it hot) in a pepper.
The Nightline reporter mentioned that humans are the only creatures that will eat a pepper. Supposedly, not even a rat can be trained to eat one. Why then are hot, spicy foods so ingrained in the diets of many cultures, Americans as well?
A psychologist interviewed by Nightline said that hot wings prepared with the super-hot pepper was probably consumed mostly by young men, often as a challenge and often during a televised sporting event such as Sunday's Super Bowl. Hot spicy foods do have at least one benefit. They cause the release of endorphins and provide the effect of something similar to a runner's high. When couples consume the spicy fare together, they are often more sexually attracted to each other. This, I guess, should make hot wings and other hot, spicy foods the date food of choice.
The report got me to thinking what else that humans do that other creatures don't. For one, only humans run marathons and play team sports, such as football. There is an important connection here that I haven't yet grasped but one thing is sure - Americans, Nightline reports, will consume 90 million pounds of hot wings during the Super Bowl. That's right, 90 million pounds!
That brings me to the Super Bowl tomorrow. The most watched television event of the year has little to do with whether the Patriots or the Giants are the best football team. It's really all about peppers, team sports and sex, and you can bet there won't be a single rat watching the event.http://www.ericwilder.com/
The Nightline reporter mentioned that humans are the only creatures that will eat a pepper. Supposedly, not even a rat can be trained to eat one. Why then are hot, spicy foods so ingrained in the diets of many cultures, Americans as well?
A psychologist interviewed by Nightline said that hot wings prepared with the super-hot pepper was probably consumed mostly by young men, often as a challenge and often during a televised sporting event such as Sunday's Super Bowl. Hot spicy foods do have at least one benefit. They cause the release of endorphins and provide the effect of something similar to a runner's high. When couples consume the spicy fare together, they are often more sexually attracted to each other. This, I guess, should make hot wings and other hot, spicy foods the date food of choice.
The report got me to thinking what else that humans do that other creatures don't. For one, only humans run marathons and play team sports, such as football. There is an important connection here that I haven't yet grasped but one thing is sure - Americans, Nightline reports, will consume 90 million pounds of hot wings during the Super Bowl. That's right, 90 million pounds!
That brings me to the Super Bowl tomorrow. The most watched television event of the year has little to do with whether the Patriots or the Giants are the best football team. It's really all about peppers, team sports and sex, and you can bet there won't be a single rat watching the event.http://www.ericwilder.com/
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Eric, John and the Cheerleader
Here’s a pic taken a few years back at a motorcycle race in Houston at the Astrodome. Pictured are Eric Wilder, friend John Callaway, and a gorgeous model (I believe she is a Denver Bronchos cheerleader). http://www.ericwilder.com/
Monday, January 07, 2008
Heroes
I'm watching the LSU - Ohio State championship football game. As I watch, I think of two things: the game is in the Superdome of New Orleans. My thoughts return to 2005, the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. Geraldo Rivera is reporting from outside the Superdome. The building resembles a giant sarcophagus, the gray people in the background little more than eerie wraiths all but devoid of life.
My second thought goes further back, to the fifties. When I was a boy, my family and I would listen to the LSU games on the radio, enraptured by the running of Billy Cannon. He always somehow found a way to pull victory from the jaws of defeat. Listenting to our scratchy old radio, I always felt that Billy would break a tackle, put his shoulder down and run for a touchdown. I was never disappointed.
Seeing the two grand teams playing tonight in the Superdome, I get the same feeling about the people of New Orleans.
http://www.ericwilder.com
My second thought goes further back, to the fifties. When I was a boy, my family and I would listen to the LSU games on the radio, enraptured by the running of Billy Cannon. He always somehow found a way to pull victory from the jaws of defeat. Listenting to our scratchy old radio, I always felt that Billy would break a tackle, put his shoulder down and run for a touchdown. I was never disappointed.
Seeing the two grand teams playing tonight in the Superdome, I get the same feeling about the people of New Orleans.
http://www.ericwilder.com
Sunday, January 06, 2008
Oranges a la Louisiane
2 navel oranges, peeled
1/4 cup sugar
1/8 cup water
1/8 cup warm water
Mix sugar and 1/8 cup water in a heavy saucepan and heat very slowly until dissolved. Do not stir. Continue to cook to a rich caramel color. The water will evaporate and the color will change quickly after about 30 to 45 minutes. Remove from heat and quickly and carefully (there will be a lot of steam) pour in warm water. Return to heat and bring mixture back to a boil, stirring until caramel is completely dissolved. Cool.
Slice each orange crosswise into 4 to 6 parts and reshape, using toothpicks to fasten the slices back together. Pour caramel syrup on top and chill.For an extra special touch, pare thin strips of orange peel, cook for 5 minutes in boiling water, drain, dry and sprinkle over oranges.
Recipe courtesy of Judy M. Heyman from Louisiana Entertains, a complete menu cookbook.
http://www.ericwilder.com
1/4 cup sugar
1/8 cup water
1/8 cup warm water
Mix sugar and 1/8 cup water in a heavy saucepan and heat very slowly until dissolved. Do not stir. Continue to cook to a rich caramel color. The water will evaporate and the color will change quickly after about 30 to 45 minutes. Remove from heat and quickly and carefully (there will be a lot of steam) pour in warm water. Return to heat and bring mixture back to a boil, stirring until caramel is completely dissolved. Cool.
Slice each orange crosswise into 4 to 6 parts and reshape, using toothpicks to fasten the slices back together. Pour caramel syrup on top and chill.For an extra special touch, pare thin strips of orange peel, cook for 5 minutes in boiling water, drain, dry and sprinkle over oranges.
Recipe courtesy of Judy M. Heyman from Louisiana Entertains, a complete menu cookbook.
http://www.ericwilder.com
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
Shops on Chartre Street, New Orleans
Marilyn and I visited New Orleans six months after Hurricane Katrina and parts of the visit are chronicled in my book Murder Etouffe. I came across this picture today while looking at some of the photo files on my computer. It was taken on a street in the French Quarter, Chartre Street I believe, although I’m not sure.
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