Recollections & reminiscences with PFC Harry Pritchett, 104 Cav Recon SG, 1943-1945
by Lyman Spencer
Actually, despite the disparity of age and life experiences, we shared a commonality— a dauntless, resolute outlook. Thwarting our frustrations brought out the superior qualities in our individual characters, and newfound freedoms were accommodated when pursuing youthful memories, as well as, surmounting obstacles, rewarding satisfaction was attained when conquering our dreams.
Preface: If you queried your copy of Merriam & Webster for the synonyms of what I have given the title words “philosophy & folly,” it would bring forth a litany of nouns. Leading candidates for philosophy are thinking, thought, reasoning, wisdom, and knowledge. While folly renders a much more verbose tally, including, foolishness, foolhardiness, lack of sense, imprudence, lack of foresight, etc., etc. Although the guiding basis for human behavior plays an essential role in every story, this essay would have to fall more heavily on the side of folly.
Without a doubt, Harry and I shared a lot of these characteristics in stock, and even though forty years of separated us in age, we possessed a meshing of minds as if we had been buddies from childhood. Without guidance, simple children who lack the power of forward-thinking, inevitably find themselves in “hot water.” Frequently that hot water is sufficient to shape future escapades and reform the ways; however, it seems some wayward children are bound to find trouble if the trouble can be found. Or if you would, if it rains and only one mud puddle can be found in the whole outdoors, that body of muddy water must be investigated with both feet– splashing vigorously!
This principle is best illustrated with an incident that occurred during the hot summer of 2010. If one recalls the summer weather in those years had been sweltering with no rain for months, the wells, rivers, and lakes were running dry. In those where scarce water remained, fish were dying for the lack of oxygen. Lawns and crops were scorched under the unrelenting sun. These conditions were the opportune perfect time in eternity for the mud-puddle theory to play out. What ensued was a depiction of pure folly, but couldn’t have been pulled off more correctly if the participants in it had not lacked a healthy dose of inherent blind-faith gullibility.
A Tail of the Trail
Any day when the weather was agreeable, the two of us could be found exploring various local points of interest with our power chairs. This particular day we were joined by our all but blind neighbor Lloyd. We set out on what was in our minds a grand adventure, but to our disdain was to be forever associated with local folklore. Having outlived the other participants in this escapade, I feel a duty to set the facts for the verdict of posterity. Anyway, getting on with my story. Serving as navigator of the day, I led the way to an inviting wood chip path known as the Sand Creek Trail. This enticed us as it appeared to be a trustworthy, full straightaway leading into a deep, dark green wilderness environment. In hindsight, you might say we were lured into a trap we were fortunate to escape from. But things are always easier to decipher looking back on. We had progressed down this forest pathway, wondering at the marvelous scenery, flora, and fauna, that the surrounding environment abounded with. Nothing could have been better, right! It was until the trail neared the creek, and the twists and turns became sharper, and the decent became more precipitous. The sheer drop-off of the path slowed forward progress became. Indeed, taking a nosedive, as was the case, even staying seated, added an extra degree of difficulty to our journey. At this point, we were heartened to see that as we descended to the plain of the creek bed, the trail leveled somewhat as it turned and followed the downhill flow of the watercourse.
Having now realized there was no possibility in reversing our course because our machines were simply not designed or equipped to maneuver, nor did they possess sufficient power to climb the slope just descended. So following the creed of the fearless, the intrepid explorers pressed on.
After that our course began to present a new problem though. When we entered the trailhead, the way was wide enough to enable passage of two-way traffic when oncoming hikers were encountered. Our Pathway was now being restricted to one-way traffic, but I began to sense that something else was amiss since we hadn’t encountered nary a soul since our descent to the creek. Lest my courageous leadership qualities be questioned, I didn’t feel it prudent at that point to let on my apprehension. However, I knew that I was the blind man leading the blinded, but being unsuspicious, my comrades still expressed supreme confidence in my leadership. However, in retrospect, I must confess my gullibility in valor. We really had no choice, though, so we pressed on since there was no intrepidity in defeat nor victory in retreat.
At this point in my tale, I must put in the record for the reader’s sake a representation of our little caravan as it resolutely plunged on. If you had been there, along with the other hikers and had taken part in a survey, the consensus of opinion would probably not been favorable in our credit. Indeed, if we had been conscious of the fact, notoriety was both preceding us up and down the trail, and following in our wake, faster than the speed of our plodding progress could escape from it. To our everlasting infamy! It’s a wonder someone didn’t call the authorities. If you can picture, I, in the lead, tried to portray an image of total confidence and trustworthy experience of all hazards encountered off-road. My chair was possibly the one best equipped for the terrain, but I doubt I convinced anyone of the validity of my purpose in the procession. As we’ll see, this will all play out as the course of events unfold.
Harry came behind in his chair that was really underpowered from the very start. That, too, will play a factor. Harry was quite the character, always whistling a tune wherever he went on that chair. He evidently had a lifelong reverence of being behind the wheel, and found release in being in command of his course, as do I. I can still recount his tales of grading the county roads of Chase county. Especially vivid in my mind is his recollections of plowing roads of isolated areas of the Flint Hills following historically significant blizzards. For many years, he also drove a beer truck making deliveries over a large area of the Flint Hills, and before that, drove a jeep on the battlefields of Europe, from England, France to Germany, and back. Loyd was special a case in point, being all but blind didn’t deter him one iota from joining our merry caravan. His momentum was always an issue, though. If Harry’s chair was underpowered, Loyd’s machine was doubly unsuited for the terrain!
Basically, a three-wheeled, one-man golf cart complete with storage for golfing equipment. That characterization, along with its small wheels, made it a constant threat to get mired in loose dirt or sand, which was in abundance. Shallow ground clearance made it especially prone to becoming high-centered. And most comically was the odd center of balance that would cause the front wheel to go airborne when steep terrain hindered the way- again, these were numerous. Poor Loyd! When this happened, all hilarity would break out in our ranks. Perhaps the key ingredient to our impending doom was that with Loyd’s lack of vision, it was questionable whether or not he had fully recognized the meter on his power pack, leading to being marooned. The totality of these liabilities will come into fruition of the perfect storm.
𝚨nything for A Quiet LifeΩ 