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ALMOST A MAN
Fool, you�ve done it to yourself again
You watched the program about Vietnam

Why do you watch what you can�t forget?
Why is no-one concerned except the Vet?

So now you can�t sleep, because your mind won�t stop
Where were you in �68�? It was college you dropped

The bus station, California, the bus backed out
Up the alley down the side street, then about

Six figures moved from the station, to the sidewalk out front
You pass you hand to the window, with a quiet grunt

Is that your family? The voice is soft
Yes, the lump in your throat makes you cough

Your three sisters, your Dad, your brother, and Mom
All waving, yet one stands out - you try to stay calm

Your Mother, the figure of love, and hope
Your country, your family, the war, and the dope

You must be in the service, again the voice spoke
I�ll bet the Air Force, the voice didn�t grope

No�. you say not wanting to speak
I�m in the Marines. Your eyes want to leak

For the Marines were the ones who were dying the most
You were drafted, you�re not one to boast
Leaving for Vietnam in a day or two
You hope for DaNang, or maybe Pleiku

The voice is quiet the rest of the trip
You stare out the window, teeth to your lip

Kind of shy, you have yet to score
Almost a man you go off to war

STOLEN PASSION
Two wheels and youth, built brothers and more
Race and ride, never a bore
Comrades develop strong and tight
Marines it made, willing to fight

After Nam, rode till the �Wed�
Paused the passion, family instead
Lovers change, found a new miss
The bond resumed, the travel of bliss

Toured this country, with devil dogs true
Rolled with colors; red, white, and blue
Guarded the funerals, of our countries best
Fish-camped rivers, across the ungoverned west

In the saddle, fifteen hours a day
Rode across country with fields a graze
Toured passed oceans, and tree covered lands
Tripped through lush valleys, and dry arid sands

Motorcycle passion, injects youth in the old
It clears the mind, and calms the soul
Gold and cash, a passion can�t capture
Oblivious driver, ended the rapture

A fire chief used, his car like a dart
Stolen Passion - Ransacked Heart

A BED OF ROSES

Life is a bed of roses, petals and stems
Not a wooly blanket with rosy silk hem

Rosy pink flowers arranged as sheets
Thorns in the shadows prick the feet

Life is a bed of roses, how dare they mean sweet
Life has its bitters and rocky hard streets

Be patient with non-sense, friend the power
Sleep with your head on a pillow of flowers

Life is a bed of roses, a partner you need
Enjoy the fragrance, look out for the greed

Stem the corners, watch over your shoulder
A sweet heart partner keeps out the colder

Life is a bed of roses, pink yellow and red
Beware the dangerous golden thread

Shimmering temptation, objects in life
The rose is a flower, the stem is a knife

ARTHUR W. HIPP, USMC By: Dean F. Glorso, PLS 16109
It has been almost seven years since founding editor, long time PLSC treasurer, and Side Shots originator Art Hipp passed away. Most every Professional Land Surveyor in the Rocky Mountain Region knows the land surveying legacy Art�s name commands. But for the newer members of our profession, I would like to point out some of the sacrifices Art made--and the courage he was able to muster--as a young 19 year old United States Marine in 1945.
I first met Art Hipp at Metropolitan State College in 1976. He was teaching Boundary Law and Land Surveying Principles two or three nights a week. I felt honored to be learning from such an unassuming and eloquent man. He made every point of the complex Land Law crystal clear. Art patiently helped many of us young baby boomers become well informed Professional Land Surveyors by channeling all of his experience and knowledge into simple classroom discussion. He also provided wonderful typewritten hand-outs that we used as a study guide to prepare for the LS test. During this time as one of his students, I learned Art was also in the United States Marine Corps and served in WWII. Having also served in the Marines, in a different war, I gained a dual admiration for Art Hipp.
When Art passed away, like many land surveyors, I attended Art�s funeral in September 2007. At the service I noticed several men with USMC lapel pins and struck up a conversation with them. One of the Marines I met that day was Robert L. Fischer, Colonel USMC (Retired).
Art belonged to an Arvada, Colorado Marine Veteran�s Group called Cooper�s Troopers. When I told Art�s Marine buddies I also was in the Marines and had served in Vietnam, Bob Fischer graciously invited me to attend their monthly meetings. To phrase Bob�s exact words, he said, �Please come to our luncheon meetings, Dean, I also served in Nam. At Cooper�s Troopers, these World War II guys actually tolerate us Vietnam Vets.� Bob Fischer�s words really appealed to me, and I�ve been enjoying the luncheon meetings with Art�s peers ever since.
At the Cooper�s Troopers meetings, I learned that Bob Fischer took it upon himself to interview all the willing WWII Marine Veterans of the luncheon group, and put his findings in a book, Voices of the Corps. In his book is a one page bio on Art Hipp. I now feel compelled to write what I�ve learned about Art�s Honorable Service in the United States Marine Corps.
OKINAWA - APRIL FOOL�S DAY/EASTER SUNDAY, 1945
Art was standing on decks, waiting to disembark in Higgins landing boats with hundreds of his Marine brothers around him. Art was in awe, watching the pounding guns of the USS New Mexico battleship and hundreds of other ships and airplanes, softening up the beachhead and surrounding volcanic mountains. One of the more seasoned Marines in the group might have said to him, �In January of this year the kamikaze attacks destroyed her bridge, and killed the Captain of the New Mexico, in the Battle for Luzon, Philippines.� All the Marines must have been happy to see the battleship back from Pearl Harbor, where repairs to her bridge were made. Little did Art know then, but in a little over a month, he will personally witness more kamikaze attacks on the New Mexico, and this time devastating strikes will kill 58 and wound 119 of her crew.
On this particular April Fool�s Day, Art is part of the largest island battle of World War II. The amphibious landing currently in progress involves 182,000 Army and 81,000 combat ready Marines. Imagine this force of Army and Marines filling six National Football League stadiums, then letting them all out at once, with each person carrying a 60 pound pack and weapon. With jeeps, trucks, tanks, accompanied with a month�s provisions of ammo, food, and fuel. To assist this contingent known as the 10th U.S. Army, all these materials were being unloaded from hundreds of ships and placed on a beach about 7 miles in breadth.
Art�s unit, �E� Company, of the 2nd Battalion, of the 29th Marine Regiment, was part of the newly formed 6th Marine Division. The 6th Marine Division (6th MAR DIV) made up about 10% of the total force being deployment on this Easter Sunday Morning. The 6th MAR DIV, Commanded by Major General Lemuel Shephard � USMC, was a mixture of combat seasoned Marines, and green Marines like Art.
The Pentagon decided to form and train the new 6th Marine Division in Guadalcanal over the previous five months to aid in the taking of Okinawa. With more Women Marines taking on the clerical and non-combat jobs back in the States, it freed up more able bodied men for overseas combat duties. Young Art Hipp was one of these men. As all Marines are first and primarily Riflemen, Art was also trained in Ordinance, and coupled with his infantry training, schooled in 60mm mortars. Upon being attached to the 6th MAR DIV, Art was designated Company Clerk and Company Runner for E Company.
The Battle of Okinawa has been called the largest sea-land-air battle in history. It is also the last battle of the Pacific War. Three months of desperate combat leave Okinawa a "vast field of mud, lead, decay, and maggots." More than 100,000 Okinawan civilians perish, with over 72,000 American and 100,000 Japanese casualties. 2
The Pentagon�s further plans for the 6th MAR DIV was for it to be part of the force in the final ground invasion into the Japanese mainland. Many historians believe it was this horrific battle (with over � million casualties) that convinced U.S. leaders to force Japan�s surrender with a nuclear strike, rather than invade its main island. Therefore the 6th was the only Division in Marine Corps History to be formed and disbanded overseas, as after the Atomic Bombs, the mainland invasion was no longer necessary.

Art�s unit landed on Green Beach 2 with the first wave of Marines. There was light and sporadic enemy fire, as was the plan of Japan�s General Mitsuru Ushijima. But the following summary gives us a deeper perspective:
More mental health issues arose from the Battle of Okinawa than any other battle in the Pacific during World War II. The constant bombardment from artillery and mortars coupled with the high casualty rates led to a great deal of men coming down with combat fatigue. Additionally the rains caused mud that prevented tanks from moving and trucks from pulling out the dead, forcing Marines (who pride themselves on burying their dead in a proper and honorable manner) to leave their comrades where they lay. This, coupled with thousands of bodies both friend and foe littering the entire island, created a scent you could nearly taste. Morale was dangerously low by the month of May and the state of discipline on a moral basis had a new low barometer for acceptable behavior. The ruthless atrocities by the Japanese throughout the war had already brought on an altered behavior (deemed so by traditional standards) by many Americans resulting in the desecration of Japanese remains, but the Japanese tactic of using the Okinawan people as human shields brought about a new aspect of terror and torment to the psychological capacity of the Americans.
Art was assigned as Company Clerk and Runner for E Company on Okinawa. I asked one of Art�s Cooper�s Troopers peers, Jim Blane, who had the same job description as Art during the battle of Iwo Jima. What were some of the jobs Art had to perform on Okinawa as Company Clerk & Runner? I asked. Jim replied, �Any stupid, nasty job that had to be done, Art would have to do it. From hauling ammo and medical supplies to fellow Marines pinned down, to retrieving bodies and body parts from the sea, in battle Marine Clerks filled in wherever necessary. Art would have to go any place where elements of his company needed him. His duties would change from day to day and from place to place.�
The map of Art�s movements (Figure 1), across Okinawa is my best guess based on information I have gathered from various sources. Corporal Hugh C. Lipsius, USMC, father of Cynthia Lipsius of Buffalo, NY, was in the 3rd Platoon, E Company, 2nd Battalion, 29th Marine Regiment, 6th Marine Division, (Same Company as Art). Cynthia assembled very detailed writings of her father�s movements during the battle. The following is a portion of a letter Cynthia provided written by her father Hugh Lipsius dated July 4, 1945:
I will give a brief resume of my stay here. We landed about 12:30 on April 1, 1945. On April 3rd we moved West of Yontan Airfield. On about the 6th of April we started to move North. We walked 30 miles in two days (whew). We had our first fight on the 12th. On the 15th we had the worst one of the Northern Campaign. The morning of the 16th our squad was sent on patrol. We were hit with mortar fire and returned to our C. P. (command post). We were sent out on another patrol and almost got trapped but managed to get out O.K. Our next battle was �Sugar Loaf Hill�. I can�t put into words to describe it, but most of the men in the cemetery were from that battle and also the hospitals. In the next one, I was hit and got back in time to come in on the Oroku Peninsula. Five days later, I was back in the hospital and got back here (to Okinawa) for the last 2 days (of the battle for Okinawa).
Art was wounded at Oroku Village on June 14th and evacuated, therefore he would have been involved in the second unprecedented shore to shore amphibious landing on June 4th. This was done to avoid the Japanese stronghold on the high ground dividing the southern portion of the island. The shore to shore landing surprised the Japanese and is credited with saving American lives. About a week after Art was wounded the Battle for Okinawa was all but won: Japanese General Ushijima refused a personal plea from the American General Simon Buckner to surrender. Instead, hearing the sounds of the systematic destruction of positions nearby on Hill 89, Ushijima and General Cho committed ritual suicide, each disemboweling himself with a short sword followed by his beheading by his principal aide.
For his combat performance Art received the following commendation from his division commander: For gallantry in action and extraordinary achievement during operations against the enemy on Okinawa Shima from April 1st to June 21st, 1945, your courage was a constant source of inspiration to your associates, and your conduct throughout was in keeping with the highest traditions of the Naval Service�. LEMUEL SHEPHARD, MAJGEN � USMC. (Commanding General 6th Marine Division,, Major General Shephard, was a veteran of the First World War, and would go on to become the 20th �Commandant of the Marine Corps � 4 star general �Top Marine� during the Korean War ).
The words by Lemuel Shepherd are evidence of Art�s high ethical standards, and his superior dedication to The Professional Land Surveyors of Colorado and probably all his lifetime duties and accomplishments. Semper Fidelis . To Art Hipp, a mentor and Marine of the Greatest Generation.

SOMETIMES IT HAPPENS
A tale of a Colorado Land Surveyor
By: Dean F. Glorso, PLS 16109
In the last couple of months I�ve been happy to have a slight backlog of land survey work. This week I had the opportunity to survey in some of the greatest surroundings anywhere. A cattle rancher at the edge of the San Louis Valley asked me to come down to survey one of his stock ponds. He wanted to document alterations, the water courts ordered him to make for the surface area of the pond. The work being a 4 or 5 hour drive from my home in Brighton, Colorado, I hit the road just before 5 AM.
With the winter sun not rising until after 7 AM, I had a couple hours of mountain driving in the dark of night. As Colorado drivers know, the morning and evening hours are when deer crossing the highway are a big hazard. I had been reminded of that fact early in my trip, with a narrow miss. Lucky the deer stopped in its tracks when I laid on my horn. After passing by with its nose only inches from my passenger side mirror, I paid closer attention to my speed and the roadway in front of me. A few more miles down the road I witnessed a driver with a smashed front end stopped, talking to a police officer. His accident was obviously the result of a deer crossing the highway in front of him. Sometimes it happens, I thought.
Later I saw a recently killed calf in the middle of the highway, and still later I was delayed by a rolled over semi-truck blocking almost both lanes of the narrow roadway. As I drove slowly by the greasy side of the long 18 wheeler, I estimated the winds to be about 40 mile per hour. Sometimes it happens, the truck was probably deadheading empty and the gust of wind caught the driver by surprise, tipping his truck completely over.
With the unexpected delays, I was surprised to complete the 230 mile trip and meet my client at the ranch house at pretty much my expected arrival time. Larry and Ken, the contractors were in the kitchen finishing coffee with my client. Gregg, offered to brew a fresh pot of coffee for me before I went out to assess the day�s work. At first I declined, but remembered my Thermos was just about empty, and a hot cup of coffee would be a nice thing to warm up to after working near the foot of the cold, windy mountain range.
Gregg started the coffee while I went to get my Thermos. As I handed him the empty bottle, I offered to get started by setting up the GPS base station. He said he�d drive out later and just put the Thermos of coffee on the seat of my truck for me to enjoy later. We both anticipated a short work day, as I had surveyed his ranch previously. We met up again, walked around the stock pond together and he pointed out key elements that needed to be shown on the survey. Then gave me the history of his water rights dispute and pointed out the creek access verses the natural spring access of water filling the pond.
The wind was still howling as I finished surveying the pond perimeter then decided to hike several hundred yards and locate some fence lines, a section corner and ranch roads, in order to give my drawing a better point of reference. I was walking near the area Gregg previously pointed out as being the spring fed water source. Most of the ground was slightly frozen and wind-swept with some minor snow cover. Having some 40 years experience surveying in the elements, I always knew how to dress for Colorado winters. One minute you can be freezing your butt off in conditions like this, and the next minute you can be basking in the bright wonderful Colorado sunshine.
I was dressed in my usual layers of clothing, with top layers tucked into alternate bottom layers to block the wind from creping in. My long underwear is a polyester type so when working up a sweat, the under garment allows moisture to pass away from the skin, to the next layer. This method of dress keeps the skin warm and dry when the temperature changes radically, as is often the case in the Colorado Mountains. For the outer-most layer, I wore The North Face windbreaker that I�ve used in these conditions for some 20 years, zipped up tight with the Velcro sleeves latched tight in conjunction with the Velcro on my gloved hands. On my feet I wore waterproof Asolo Fugitive boots with two pair of socks, the polyester ones under and wool socks over to keep my feet warm and dry in most every Colorado condition.
My GPS system is old by electronic-gear standards with cables running from my 25 pound back-pack to a 2 meter tall carbon-fiber antenna pole with a dinner plate size GPS antenna-dish is carried in my left hand. Also attached to the pole is a TDS-Ranger electronic data collection device that some refer to as a Pocket-PC (personal computer). A two foot long whip antenna protrudes from the top of the back-pack in order to receive radio signals from the base station which sits on a control point next to my parked pick-up truck, some distance away.
Walking along with head down against the stiff wind, I only looked up occasionally to keep a bearing on the distant fence line that I desired to survey. At a point when I took my eye off the ground to check my walking-line to the fence, my right foot went down through ice into a deep void. Still gripping the carbon fiber pole in my left hand, it too fell with my body to the ever deepening right side. As I went down to the right; back liquid-mud splashed my face and the right side of my body was under water, in mud up to my arm pit. As the pole crashed over to the right, the GPS antenna dish slammed down on high ground to the right of the void. Still gripping the pole in my left hand, I flung my left elbow over the now horizontal pole and rested my left arm pit on it. The pole was the only support I had to keep me from completely going under the dark colored goo. The smell was awful!
My first thought was, that I just fell into a �man size� range box. Any surveyor, who has cleaned black mud out of a fist-size range box, in order to read the survey monument cap under 6 or 8 inches of smelly mud, knows the smell I�m talking about. It is often the smell you might encounter on a cattle ranch around a stock pond. But wait a minute; I am on a cattle ranch! As Forest Gump said in his movie after stepping in dog Do-Do, �Sometimes �--IT� happens�!
Dazed, wet and smelly, I crawled from the hole, dragging the equipment and cables behind me. As I stood, I first checked to see if my ankles were still in working order, they were. Startled, cold and smelling disgusting, I made my way in the wind to my truck only some 200 yards away. It was about that time that I took a glance at the TDS data collector still attached to the carbon fiber pole. It had so much black goo caked on to it, at first I thought I must be looking at the back side of the device. The keyboard of the collector looked like an open box of neatly packed chocolates. I avoided touching it, not because I was on a diet, but because I didn�t want to press any of the wet looking �chocolate� further into the key pad. The collector must have been fully submerged in the black liquid goo, while the GPS antenna dish and cable was completely broken from the fall against the rocks on the far side of the hole. My only thought was for the data stored in the collector. I was plenty cold and wet but found that the caked-on �chocolate� seemed to insulate me somewhat from the strong 40 mile per hour wind.
Once back to the truck, I wiped down my legs and arms with my gloved hands to remove the biggest chunks of black-wet goo, and shook the large chunks of slim from my still gloved hands. Once I removed the wet crappy gloves I grabbed a bottle of drinking water and gently rinsed off the data collector the best I could. The screen was still turned on, so the data must be intact, I hoped.
I spent the next few minutes trying to remember if I had a change of clothing somewhere in the truck. Finally I remember my motorcycle rain gear behind the driver�s seat. Next I removed The North Face windbreaker to pleasantly find that it kept most of my upper body layers free from the dark �chocolate�. The denim jeans were another story, my lower body was wet through and through. The dry motorcycle rain suit was my only option, for even thinking about finishing this job today.
Although the heater in my truck would have felt good, I did not get in as the smelly cow dung would not be nice to have blended into the fabric seats for months to come. Quickly evaluating my options; I remember a block of wood I had behind the passenger seat. It worked perfect for me to stand on after I removed my black muck caked boots in the lightly snow blown surroundings. Once standing on the wood platform, I was able to remove my jeans without further damage to my almost clean, but very wet wool socks.
Finally out of the wet, dung drenched clothing; I stood on the wood pedestal in only my fast drying polyester long johns. The dry, cold, stiff wind would dehydrate them in no time, I thought. As I waited to be air dried by nature, I picked up the Thermos of hot coffee Gregg had left for me and drank cup after cup to ward off hypothermia. As I stood there counting my blessings of having the right gear, and being close to the truck when �- - IT� happened, I remembered the �Forest Gump type� logic of my father: �Some people can work hard all their lives and never get ahead. Other people can fall in �- - IT�, and come out smelling like a rose�.

A PAINTING STILL
On pallet the blend of love begins
But I�ll never bring you back to life
The beautiful face I remember well
Eyes cast down with a rose in hand
A reflecting glass duplicates your dignity
Your complexion too fair for words to express
So I blend and fuss to try it true
Let the color rest as I ponder more
The beautiful niece I miss so much
I defend this act of love
On a canvas that has no life
Your being violated by a man of hate
But your beauty still lingers in our minds
An attempt to fetch your life, I add more tone
The true highlight, detail, and blush
Brighten you for my sister � your Mom
And to your kin, from your uncle with love
I dedicate you, a painting still
D. Glorso

FREEDOM OF THOUGHT

Reflections of chrome I paint for the joy
Automobiles of my youth on a highway called Lake
With my brother we sang a game
As the prides of our age floated by

The smell of exhaust filled our nostrils with life
From a tiny house we named each model and year
Hold on to the joys we experienced those days
A gray Cadillac lived on both sides

In the garages of people of age
They toiled hard for the privilege to possess
A new sculpture of the 1950's machine
The boats of land lumbered on pavements

With suspensions generous in glide
As they sailed along the highways of progress
Past farm fields of beauty and care
Sing with me now the song of the steel

And glass so shiny and new
A song of a dream
A people believed
In the recoveries of two World Wars

Sleep with me now
And let us still dream
In a land where people work for a cause
Our children might grow with trust

As we were shown in our youth
Freedom of thought
Would always surpass
All envy and greed

D. Glorso