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The Matador

November 14th, 2017

The Matador

THE MATADOR

I have pondered words in The Elegy for Jock
And feel the familiar chill of Guenther’s loss
But it was James “my trainer” who bid for a similar fate
The hand of death his own

As we continue down the path of life
And reflect on the minds we enjoyed
It’s easy to resurrect the smiles they gave
But often difficult to cap the sadness

Each time I take a measurement of land
The Matador’s words of guidance echo my mind
The simplest lessons learned
From a master of my craft

While working at the edge of the Andaman
He gave a call, to ask “my” advice
10,000 miles I could not reach
Alas, only a “click” of the black device

As we remember the Elegies for Matadors passed
May we hold fast a brotherhood of glue?
Life is sweet, laughter cures and caps
The saddest times, may they be few

d. glorso – 2017
Colorado PLS 16109

LAND SURVEYORS CAN MAKE A DIFFERENCE FOR VIETNAM WAR HEROES By, Dean Glorso

November 14th, 2017

Long after General Winfield Scott�s Army of reinforcements headed southwesterly from Chicago, to help defend the Illinois settlers from the Sauk Indian Leader, named Blackhawk. And long after the American Civil War. And long after my grandfather, Oscar Jackson fought in the trenches during the First World War. And not too long after my Father, Samuel S. Glorso returned from fighting in the Second World War. And only a few years after I saw Korean War soldiers bivouacked along the highways on the way into The City of Chicago. But before my childhood friend Richie Mullin joined the United States Marine Corps. And before many from this little Town of Keeneyville, Illinois served in Vietnam; and before Andy Warhol painted 32 portraits of Campbell�s soup cans; and before Arlo Guthrie sang about the Illinois Central trains �Rolling along, past houses farms and fields�; and before I started putting survey monuments across this land; as a boy in my hometown of Keeneyville, I peered across a Campbell�s Soup tomato farm through a surveyor�s �Dumpy Level� for the first time in my life. It was a memorable moment for me, as it was the beginning of my fascination with my surroundings, and the technology that I would soon use in a Land Surveying career spanning more than 45 years. It is a career where I would make a difference by literally putting a mark upon the world.
The Dumpy Level, with optics I had never witnessed, was set up by surveyors laying-out the new construction of Case Foundation Company�s industrial machine shop, only 30 feet or so East of our tiny home along U.S. Highway 20, about 25 miles West of Chicago, Illinois. This was the start of big changes for the little Town of Keeneyville, and it would also be the start of my adult life where I would begin thinking about the future, and taking note of construction techniques, procedures, and technology that would make all these changes to Keeneyville possible. This moment in my life was also the beginning of a transition from being a child happy to spend summer days swinging on a rope tied high from a cottonwood tree at the place we called �The Laughing Place�, to being an adult.
In adult life, I would find myself yearning for the days I spent with my friends there, and use the changing technology to my advantage, by starting a �Facebook� group page, called �Keeneyville Swamp Rats� to reconnect with people from my hometown. The naming of the Facebook page was easy, as it represented �Baby Boomers� from this little town of lowlands and ponds. A name given to us by the more affluent children of Lake Park High School established some miles away from our town, but just across the street from a very posh, well known country club and golf course called �Medinah�. The condescending name Keeneyville Swamp Rats stuck with us, and today it is a name we wear with pride, and it reminds us of the wonderful little town that was long ago swallowed up by the expanding metropolis of Chicago-land.
One Swamp Rat that I reconnected with is Doug Ehorn. Doug also a writer and veteran, had written a book called, �Keeneyville Kids�. Doug�s book reminded me of the many wonderful people I grew up with, and he also recently started a list on Facebook of Military Veterans who served from our home town. The name of Richie Mullin was put at the top of the list of Marines who served. As Richie was the only one of us from Keeneyville who was killed during the Vietnam War. I remember Richie well, as he was a fellow Swamp Rat who lived closest to the old Laughing Place, a place now converted into a wonderful DuPage County Forest Preserve, called Mallard Lake. With Doug being, an Air Force Vet, retired Environmentalist, and fellow Swamp Rat who wanted to have a memorial service meeting at Mallard Lake for Richie on this Veteran�s Day, I came up with a land surveying idea for our fallen Veteran Hero.
I�ve used this idea before, and wrote about it in Colorado�s Professional Land Surveyor�s magazine, Side Shots Volume 33, Number 2, May Journal 2002 in an article called �One of Colorado�s Prides�. In the article I described placing a survey monument at Red Rocks Amphitheatre, in Denver, Colorado. I named the survey control monument �Tony Shiya�, after a young surveyor employee who was killed in a car accident, during the Red Rocks renovation, and new visitor center construction project. This is an idea that I presented to Doug Ehorn and we decided to use it for our friend Richie Mullin, by placing the monument this Veterans Day as pictured here. Doug will place it at or near the place we called The Laughing Place. Later a licensed land surveyor, registered in Illinois will establish GPS coordinates for the position and record the �control� monument with the appropriate agency. The 3-1/4 inch bronze monument reads: �RICHIE MULLIN USMC, WELCOME HOME, THE LAUGHING PLACE, KEENEYVILLE SWAMP RATS�.
Most everyone in the Baby Boomer Generation has someone they know who was killed in the Vietnam War. It is my hope that other Land Surveyor/Veterans will take the time to look up at least one of the 58,272 names on this web site www.vvmf.org and prepare a monument named in the veteran�s honor. Placement is up to the Land Surveyor, but I believe hometown parks are a wonderful place to Welcome Home our Vietnam War Heroes. The memorial monument set flush with the ground takes up no more space than a sprinkler head. Besides, every land surveyor knows, the more control points and benchmarks we have the better we like it.
Semper Fidelis,
Dean F. Glorso, Veteran USMC Vietnam 1968 � 1969
Colorado Professional Land Surveyor PLS# 16109 (Active)

A Longstanding Profession, By Dean Glorso

November 14th, 2017

A Longstanding Profession, By Dean Glorso

A LONGSTANDING PROFESSION - By: Dean Glorso, Colorado PLS #16109
�I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life. And see if I could not learn what it had to teach. And not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived� - Henry David Thoreau 1817-1862.
Thoreau is mostly known for his writings while living in a cabin at Walden Pond in Concord, Massachusetts. He traveled often to Maine and worked as a Land Surveyor for about 9 years of his short 44 years of life. As with most �famous� people of our profession, Thoreau didn�t become famous for his particular work as a surveyor, but for his accomplishments of a passion most dear to his heart.
As an artist, I want to illustrate a history of our profession in a �picture�. After all, they say a picture is worth a thousand words. J. B. Guyton, Editor of Side Shots graciously allowed my painting, �A Longstanding Profession�, to be displayed on the cover of this wonderful publication.
In thinking about an art project, I first Googled: �Land Surveyor Artists.� One name that came up was G. K. �Ken� Allred, a past president of the Alberta Land Surveyor Association, Canada. Ken published a remarkable article, �Survey Art � An Interesting Subject�. (I encourage you all to surf the web and read it.) As I read Ken�s article, and did more searching of �Land Surveyor Art� images, I realized no-one had made a painting telling the longstanding history of our profession, thus my reason for doing so. I hope you all enjoy my painting, and read into it, what you wish.
The famous surveyors and surveying objects depicted on the cover of this issue of Side Shots are: Beginning at the top right of the painting, Captain James Cook (1728-1776) standing on his chart of the Newfoundland Coast; Thence continuing left, boustrophedonically (as fields are plowed); to Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862); Thence to the Egyptian Rope Stretchers (2700 B.C.); Thence Edmund Gunter�s Chain (1620); Thence the Surveyor�s Plane Table (prior to 1830); Thence the 30/60 Degree Triangle; Thence George Washington (1732-1799); Thence David Rittenhouse�s Compass (1732-1796); Thence Abraham Lincoln (1809-1864); Thence the Plumb Bob Target; Thence Charles Mason (1728-1786) & Jeremiah Dixon (1733-1779) Line; Thence A GPS Satellite (1st Launch 1978); Thence Meriwether Lewis (1774-1809) & William Clark (1770-1838); Thence Thomas Jefferson (1743-1826) on the US Nickel; Thence Charles Trimble�s Robotic Total Station (2000); Thence Andrew Ellicott (1754-1820), the surveyor who completed the Mason / Dixon Line to the West; Thence The Roman & Greek Surveyors (about 300 A.D.) ; Thence Benjamin Banneker (1732-1796), the surveyor appointed by Washington to layout Washington D.C.; Thence the Brass Plumb Bob (about which a poem I wrote and was published in Side Shots many years ago by Art Hipp), and Thence Terminating at Author Hipp (1925-2007) a Colorado Land Surveying Giant, and Founding Editor of Side Shots Magazine.
The placement of this collage has significance to me as a surveyor/artist. Example: Lincoln is placed North of the Mason / Dixon line in Pennsylvania where he made a very famous speech. Everyone has their own interpretation of a piece of Art. I challenge you, the Surveying viewer to write less than a thousand words to describe your interpretation of this art. Then send your thoughts to Side Shots for possible publication. The surveying community would be interested to know what you think.

My Friend Gary Olson, A Keeneyville Swamp Rat - By Dean Glorso

November 14th, 2017

My Friend Gary Olson, A Keeneyville Swamp Rat - By Dean Glorso

Had Gary Olson lived into adulthood he might have been a popular actor. There are a few of humorous stories I�d like to tell, to make my point:
WAITING FOR THE TRAIN IN ELGIN.
One summer day in the early 1960�s six or seven of us young swamp rat boys decided to take the train into Elgin to spend the day. We used most of our time wisely by hanging out in the pool hall downtown, learning some new trick shots. Toward the late afternoon after we finished our �shopping� we made our way back to the train station to catch the train home.
Getting boarded waiting on the platform, several of the boys decided to explore the railroad yard, while Gary and I remained on the platform, kind of as �look-outs�. The fellas were just doing some loud horse play behind the parked train cars. Gary turned to me and said, watch this. In the deepest, loudest, adult voice Gary could muster he said, �HEY YOU KIDS, WHAT ARE YOU DOING BACK THERE!� Gary�s voice was like a megaphone and was enough to scare any kid straight. He and I laughed so hard watching those lads come flying out from behind the train cars meek as church mice in their politest voices, describing a litany of excuses for their behavior. Their faces were in shock when they saw only Gary and me. They couldn�t believe it was Gary�s voice and kept asking and looking for the �official� who yelled at them. I couldn�t believe the voice was Gary�s either, and I was standing right next to him when he used it.
ON THE BUS HOME FROM SCHOOL.
One winter on the school bus home from Lake Park, the driver was making the left turn off Lake Street on to Wheaton Road where it would stop for most of us to get off, at Kupps. A good number of us were standing in the isle of the bus waiting to make our exit. The driver had to make the turn kind of fast in order to get through the stacked up snow on the shoulder of the highway. The pile of snow and ice must have been pretty packed down and frozen as when door portion of the bus hit the pile of ice, there was a large bump and CRASH sound, as the bus rocked from left to right. Before anyone knew what was happening, there was dead silence. Gary again quickly used his loud deep voice in dramatic style. He said, �OH MY GOD, SOMETHING�S HAPPENED�! After, the bus stopped and the driver was able to open the door, everyone laughed hysterically at Gary�s quick wit.
ON THE TEAM � BABE RUTH LEAGUE.
I believe it was the summer we were about 15. Gary Olson, played 3rd base, Terry Kupp pitched, and I played Center Field on the Keeneyville Babe Ruth League Team. The ball diamond was next to the swamp at Foster Road just East of Virginia Road. The three of us especially had fun, and maybe didn�t take the game quite as serious as the coaches wanted us to, especially during our practice games. At the end of each practice the team was given the duty to make a lap around the field starting at home plate. From there, we�d run down first base line, out to right field, and continue around in a counter clockwise direction, until each of us came in from the outfield on the 3rd base side and touched home plate again.
Just for laughs, Gary and I started run side by side using our �gazelle� step in unison. Soon the three of us were leaping as high as possible on every third step. We kept in step throughout as we rounded center field. Our moves usually got a good number of laughs from the parents and bystanders waiting for practice to be over with. Even the coach seemed amused, but many times he would make the three of us take a second lap. I still like to think he admired our moves so much, he just wanted to see it again.
Growing up in Keeneyville was great, especially with my good friend Gary Olson keeping all things interesting.

Joan of Smart, A poem by Dean Glorso

November 14th, 2017

Joan of Smart, A poem by Dean Glorso

JOAN OF SMART by: Dean Glorso
Even in tired clothing, Mum always looked stately to me
Born modest in Wisconsin, her father survive the Great War
A West Allis drafter, he married a college girl
But cancer snatched his love

Joan was left motherless at the young age of seven
The death brought her duty too young
She prized a sister age four, and a brother age two
Exiled to Todd County, she lived with her Auntie

The South Dakota Mission taught her faith to survive
The plight of the Natives, taught her love
Her wits were honed keen in the Sand Hills of Nebraska
The Nuns taught her poise and dignity, Saint Mary�s, O�Neill

Hope came to her at the place where Crazy Horse died
An Italian-American warrior sang in the cafe�
Words grabbed her heart, the union began
Then off to war he�d ride

Feeling the need to bond with Italian family
She moved to Chicago, pregnant with child
In the foreign city of in-laws and out-laws
Communications failed

Exiled again, she and her babe found shelter
In the Army of Salvation
While the Army of War fought on
The aid of strangers shaped friends

The struggle continued when her hero returned
The song in his voice scratched by War
The bloodless wounds that trauma can bring
Changed the man she loved

Four more children blessed the couple�s life
The Greatest Generation passes on
The knowledge and smarts of Mother�s like Joan
Filters on to us now

Learn more. Love more from women of the past
May the grace of God let unions last
Keep smart thoughts at the surface of your mind
For life is filled with change, and wars bring out the wrath of man

How Much Change, A poem by Dean Glorso

November 14th, 2017

How Much Change, A poem by Dean Glorso

HOW MUCH CHANGE?
How much change can one person in the world make?
Would the world be the same, if the good didn�t die young?
But lived on to surpass the years of the oldest humans alive today.
And what if the old people alive on this planet now, didn�t live a ripe old age?
How much difference would it make had Jefferson not lived past 22?
Or if Hitler died a corporal in the First War.
How many Jewish Doctors would have lived to see age 90?
Would we have a cure for cancer today?
These questions can only be pondered � no one can ever know.
For every human there is a purpose.
Even the babe who only lives one hour, may inspire a parent to thrive
Or it may discourage, we�ll never know
But these questions I must ask myself, having outlived both parents now
At age 68, will I make them proud?
Show my gratitude for their sacrifices, and continue to work hard?
Or sit on my laurels and watch the world pass me by?
I love to produce, but also like praise.
Can I live a life pure? And produce without the praise I crave?
Yes I can! This one�s for you Mom, and for you Dad.
May it raise you to a higher status in the universe, your spirit lives in me
Your example is the finest thing that gets me through this life
I hope to do the same for my children forever.
Your faithful son � Always,

Dean Glorso, Corporal USMC - DaNang Vietnam 1968-1969

The Majors Mail Call

November 14th, 2017

The Majors Mail Call

THE MAJOR�S MAIL CALL

Like Santa Claus, I drop the sack
Letters from the �World�, I sort and stack

Some familiar some new, as I flip through the mass
Some special for Marines, missing or killed in the act

Vietnam, my job, the mail takes care
Then I see the letter, scent fills the air

The handwriting so perfect, the black ink so clear
The blue-green envelope smells sweet and dear

She doesn�t yet know, the word just around
The Major�s mission, must have met ground

He�s the XO, I look up to, all give him respect
I stare long and hard at the letter, and cock my neck

And reflect on the times, I handed him the stack
Blue-green on top, in his chair he�d lean back

His feet found their way, to the crate called his desk
With a grin he�d thank me, I�d deliver the rest

Leaving him to read the letter, scented so sweet
Now I wonder how many years, she will weep

Not knowing the fate, of her man so dear
Missing in Action, must be every love�s fear

The cross on the wall, not yet removed
The Major�s Mail Call, death not proved




My Gleaming Machine, Poem by Dean Glorso

November 14th, 2017

My Gleaming Machine, Poem by Dean Glorso

MY GLEAMING MACHINE
My gleaming machine packed for the road
How I loved the freedom and biker code
Painstakingly crammed for weather, drastic and fair
Complex nonetheless simple, I rode it with care

Senses heighten on the road, beneath blue sky
In my mind and my memory the air rushes by
A teeming world reduces a freeway to alley
Autonomy on two wheels is a minds true ally

A few gamble, some venture on crowded Dark Street
Cars speed down the Parker, in full summer heat
I embark on a journey through mountain and tree
Beyond wheat fields and homes, I roll past the sea

Encircled by nature, my county my home
I stop unaccompanied, fish-camp alone
These days of travel are some of the best
Solitude � no stress, freedoms crest

I�m dependent on my own free will
I look for beauty in flat-land or hill
No one to tell me when to ride
One soul pleases, only one pride

Some talk thunder and trailer the bike
Many dress the part but settle for trike
Movement and sunshine together in one
Heal on pavement, armed with a gun

Two wheels near four, need rules and code
Fight for position in a jam clustered road
Watch the good driver, for soon they turn bad
Cars, trucks and buses will make the wits mad

Invisible I rode in the rush of the day
My flesh protects metal, some will say
A donor of organs, my card should read
Ancestors of morons, on bikers they feed

How dare they confiscate my liberty and will
They don�t know I helped support Freedom Hill
In a place called the Nam with the U.S.M.C.
Then built a golf course by the Andaman Sea

In Asia a biker has even more peril
Run down like dogs or cats trot feral
A vision of crash must always be with thee
Mind set and leather is much of what saves

Hero

November 14th, 2017

Hero

HERO�S

You�re a military hero, home at last
Will you be known as time goes past?

What made you do it why were you brave?
Your buddies didn�t ask, but still you gave

More than your share of effort for the cause
You made the ultimate, while others pause

If called could I react as you, die for another�s freedom?
What would go through my mind could the moment come

Could I too volunteer my life, for the few?
Brother Marines the Corps is proud of you

2017 Eastern Colorado Creative Arts Competition

November 14th, 2017

2017 Eastern Colorado Creative Arts Competition

RESOLVE
By Cpl. Dean F. Glorso, Mail Clerk
USMC �Draftee� - Vietnam Veteran 68-68

In youth it takes time to develop direction
As I floundered through the adolescent years
Giving no mind to purpose or consequence
I rely on luck

Waiting for something to grab me
Something to hold me tight
As I wave in the breeze of life
A godsend disguised as war

Forced my lazy hand to act
Struggle heightens my senses
The men around me are my heroes
Marine Aviators with wits of steel

My eyes focus
My ears perk up
My mouth stays shut
I observe, listen, and do my job

Only now I realize
How important this time was for me
The Corps, and the Corps, and the Corps
Near the seventh decade of my life � I live with resolve

 

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