As I’ve done many times in the past, I did a presentation to a group of elementary school students last week about hot air ballooning. I usually did a demonstration with my balloon on the school playground, but since I no longer have a balloon and stopped flying about four years ago, this presentation was just in the classroom.

The students were third graders at White Mountain Elementary in Ruidoso, where you may remember that I’ve done work with the Trout Unlimited “Trout in the Classroom” program. One of the teachers at White Mountain Elementary remembered that I was a hot air balloon pilot and asked me if I’d talk to her class about that. I was honored that she had asked and agreed to do a presentation to about 140 third graders since I had to travel to Ruidoso last week for another event.

The presentation by PowerPoint went well enough, I thought, based on the attentiveness of most of the eight- or nine-year-olds and the questions they asked. They usually want to know things like how far I fly, how high above the earth can I go, where I can fly and whether I get scared when I’m in the air.

I tried to be sure to answer questions randomly around the group of students gathered in the school cafeteria. Toward the end of my time, there was an especially attentive young girl who kept poking her hand up every time I paused for a new question. I decided to call on her and her question was this:

“Why would you fly in a balloon when you could just walk?” she asked.

I have to admit I was perplexed with that question.

I attempted to answer by rambling on about why we should be curious about discovering new things, like flying, and saying that the view from above would be much more interesting than just walking the three or four miles traveled in a typical balloon flight.

But she did have a bit of a point, except that you usually don’t travel in a hot air balloon just to get somewhere. In fact, most of the time I flew balloons, I never knew exactly where I was going to end up, given the variables of winds at different altitudes. I think that’s one of the things that makes ballooning interesting — it’s an adventure, not just a boring destination-specific exercise.

And to add a bit of historical background, some early ballooning did have destinations in mind, such as in the Siege of Paris in 1870-1871 when the Prussian Army surrounded the French city. Unmanned hot air balloons — no doubt following the discoveries by the Montgolfier brothers — flew mail and communications from the inside the city to sympathizers in the surrounding countryside to help with breaking the siege.

But I was really more curious about why this young girl didn’t see the value in pursuing the unknown — like giving humans an opportunity to fly above the earth.

As I pondered her question the rest of the day, I could think of other examples. What if we hadn’t pursued inventing a phone that we could communicate with anyone else on the earth. What if we just continued to use smoke signals to communicate with nearby friends and neighbors? What if we hadn’t invented a phone that we could take with us anywhere?

What if we hadn’t invented things like comfortable homes, plumbing, electricity, heating and cooling so we didn’t have to live in dark, cold caves the rest of our lives.

What if we hadn’t become interested in fire and figured out a way to harness it to cook our meals and heat our homes.

In the end, I’m not sure I ever understood the core of her question. But she was right. Flying in a balloon just to get from point A to point B is a pretty dumb way of doing things, involving a lot of work that good two feet could do more efficiently.

This blog started off in my mind to determine if there were any cobblestone streets in New Mexico like the ones we encountered on our recent trip to San Miguel, Mexico, where virtually all streets in the historic downtown area are paved in rounded rocks.

I was fairly certain that we’d find none of those in New Mexico, despite Spanish and other European influences in our state’s early history. What was prevalent in most of New Mexico towns were basically just adobe streets that were dusty during the dry times and muddy bogs during the monsoon or winter seasons.

I did, however, suspect that the next closest thing to cobblestone streets would be streets paved with bricks, most likely in cities in eastern New Mexico. Many towns in west Texas that I’m familiar with had brick paved streets, particularly in the downtown areas. Lubbock and Amarillo specifically come to mind. Some brick streets in Lubbock were partially built by the Works Progress Administration, an effort by Franklin D. Roosevelt’s “New Deal” program to pull America out of the Great Depression. None of Amarillo’s streets appear to have been constructed by the WPA.

(An interesting side note I found online said that Lubbock decided it wanted to make itself look better with fancy brick streets when a decision was made to locate what is now Texas Tech University in that city rather than competing northern neighbor Amarillo.)

At any rate, the only old brick streets I could find in eastern New Mexico were in Clovis, apparently not built by the WPA. (I suspect there are others, and if you have knowledge about them, let me know. There are currently brick streets around the Mesilla Plaza, the Albuquerque Old Town Plaza and the Santa Fe Plaza, but those are relatively new, added to give character to these historic locations.)

I found an article in the 2018 edition of the Eastern New Mexico news that brick streets in Clovis were being refurbished. Articles I have found only date the brick streets to “the early 1900s.” The area of the brick streets is now a focal point in downtown clovis, including the refurbished “Hotel Clovis” which was claimed by developers to be the tallest building between Dallas and Albuquerque when it was built in 1931.

When doing research on WPA projects to identify possible brick street construction, I discovered that there had been more than 360 construction projects in New Mexico conducted through that program, several here in Las Cruces and in my home town of Ruidoso.

There were several buildings on the New Mexico State University campus that were constructed or expanded by the WPA, including Goddard Hall, Milton Hall, Dove Hall and Kent Hall. Artwork by artist Tom Lee was produced through the WPA program for the Branson Library.

Both the old Court Junior High School Building and the old Dona Ana County Courthouse were partially constructed with WPA program money and there is artwork in the old Branigan library that was funded through the WPA.

In Ruidoso where I grew up, there is an old gymnasium built by the WPA where I once played my only game as a member of the junior high school basketball team. I recall that I forgot which goal was ours and began running toward the wrong one when the coach’s loud yell quickly corrected my lack of directional acuity. That building still stands today as well as an old metal lookout tower in the middle of town where I frequently climbed to take in the views.

One of the most memorable structures near Ruidoso that was done by the WPA was the Mon Jeau lookout tower, a few miles north of the city on the top of a 9,603 foot high ridge. Beautifully constructed of rock in the late 1936 and then updated in 1940, the tower overlooked the northern part of the Lincoln National Forest. It was seriously damaged during the Little Bear 2012 forest fire which raged through area. It was always one of my favorite places to go when I was growing up in Ruidoso.

We are still reminiscing about our memorable trip to San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, two weeks ago when we stayed with long-time friends who have a home there and will likely soon move there permanently.

I wanted to share with you some of our favorite photos from the trip with a little bit of explanation for each and some background about San Miguel, the city of about 170,000 (including 20,000 American ex-pats and about 3,000 Canadians).

San Miguel de Allende is probably not known to a lot of Americans, although it has deep ties to the United States. Following World War II, two Americans established an art institute on the then outskirts of the town and attracted many young men who had served in the war to come and study art there. The Americans who established the art program somehow managed to arrange for the GI Bill to cover the tuition costs for the returning American servicemen who were interested in establishing a career in art. Here’s a link about the Instituto Allende if you want to learn more.

https://www.thenotsoinnocentsabroad.com/blog/instituto-allende-the-influential-arts-school-that-shaped-san-miguel-de-allende

In addition, San Miguel de Allende has a prominent place in the history of the Mexican war for independence, which separated the country from the rule of Spain. San Miguel was the first city in present-day Mexico to have been liberated from Spain. Two prominent figures in the history San Miguel were Miguel Hidalgo, a Catholic priest, and Ignacio Jose de Allende y Unzaga, a Spanish army officer who became sympathetic to the quest for Mexican independence. Hidalgo, whose full name was Don Miguel Gregorio Antonio Ignacio Hidalgo y Costilla Gallaga Mandarte y Villaseñor is considered the father of the Mexico and was also known as “El Zorro” of “The Fox” because of his cleverness. He was recruited to the cause of Mexican independence by Allende, who was born in San Miguel. Allende’s name is now permanently attached to the town in central Mexico.

Here’s a Wikipedia link if you want to learn more about Mexico’s successful struggle for independence:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mexican_War_of_Independence

Because of its unique nature, it was also named as a UNESCO World Heritage site in 2008. Here’s a link about the city:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/San_Miguel_de_Allende

Enough about the history. Here are some photos with a brief explanation of each:

My wife and I returned last Wednesday from a week-long adventure to San Miguel de Allende in central Mexico. It was a wonderful experience (except for an unpleasant incident at the border when we crossed back into the United States.)

But for now, we remember the trip as something memorable and educational, thanks to two very good friends who invited us to visit that colorful and artistic city that many Americans may never have heard about. I’ll provide more comment with pictures about our adventure there in future blogs.

Getting there and getting around San Miguel involved “Planes, Shuttle Buses (no Trains) and Automobiles,” all of which gave me a unique insight into how different transportation is there vs. here in the U.S.

We flew out of the airport in Juarez, Mexico, because it was cheaper and it had a direct flight to the city nearest city with a commercial airport to San Miguel . Rather than drive ourselves to the airport in Juarez, we hired a young woman who has a side business of shuttling people to and from Las Cruces to the airport. Unless you’re proficient with the tangle of roads and traffic in Juarez, I’d recommend that you not try to the get to the airport yourself and leave the job to a recommended expert.

We got to the airport on time, then because we were flying on Viva AeroBus, the Mexican equivalent of Southwest Airlines, we had to board the plane with portable steep stairstep ramps. Planes flown by the more expensive airlines (Aero-Mexico) got the full jetway treatment and passengers didn’t have to stand outside in in the hot sun.

On board the aircraft, it looked like any other Airbus 320, except the seats were a bit cheaper and uncomfortable and we were not offered any in-flight beverages or snacks since we had not signed up to get them. We were able to communicate fairly easily with the flight attendants, who knew enough English to get by.

Our flight was to take us to Leon, but when we pulled up to the ramp at the airport where we landed, the terminal was emblazoned with a sign welcoming us to “Guanajuato,” which it turns out is the state in which Leon and San Miguel are located. We were a bit panicked for a few minutes, worrying that we had boarded the wrong plane, but were able to quickly figure it out.

Our next adventure was on a shuttle bus, which arrived about 15 minutes late because of a driving thunderstorm that had flooded roads and the airport’s parking lot (and luckily hit only moments after we had landed.) The shuttle bus took us through the urban areas of Leon (including passing by the huge General Motors plant where my GMC pickup was made), then headed out to a winding country road. On the way, our driver seemed to pay no attention to speed limits, lane markings or the physics of hurtling a large clumsy van along a winding road that would be best suited for a Porsche at speed. It was a bit of a white knuckle ride.

Our next adventure involved local cab and Uber trips. The streets in San MIguel are mostly paved with middle-age cobblestones and any ride on them is a jarring experience. I have no idea how vehicles can hold together after even a few months of traveling these roads, but one taxi driver told me that most cabs (usually Nissan Sentras painted bright green and white) can last for about 10 years.

The other issue you face are immense speed bumps, not only on local streets, but on rural roads. Some of these speed humps are more like “speed mountains,” daring you to test the limits of your vehicle’s ground clearance.

All of our drivers in cabs, Uber and vans were very friendly and helpful and knew enough English (along with my fractured Spanish) to get us where we needed to go. Our best trip was when a young driver had his three or four year old son with him on a ride back to where we were staying. He was very cute, engaged with his dad and at the end of the ride gave me a thumbs up and said “bye bye” in English.

Our van trip back to the airport was fine (except that I asked at one point if we were going the right direction). Our flight back was on time and uneventful, in another Airbus 320 that we had to board through steep portable stairs.

The flight reminded me of a trip to Mexico my family and I took back when I was in elementary school. The local airport operator in Ruidoso owed my father some money for advertising in our family-owned newspaper, and as a trade-out, the airport operator agree to fly our family of four in his Cessna 180 directly to Guaymas, on the Gulf of California. The trip down was uneventful. When we got to the airport — basically just a dirt landing strip — we took a cab to our beach hotel. The next day, that same cab driver came to the hotel and announced that one of tires had gone flat and offered to help our pilot fix it. Our pilot rode with him to the dirt airstrip, pumped up the tire with air and injected some kind of “Fix-A-Flat” goo into the tire, which then seemed to hold air. I later figured out that the taxi driver had staged a scam to get a big tip by merely letting air out of the airplane tire, then warning us about the problem and earning a second cab fare.

We flew from Guaymas to Hermosillo, Mexico, the next day and I was terrified as we began our landing sequence that the tire would have gone flat once we touched the runway. I envisioned us flipping over, crashing and bursting in to a ball of flame. But fortunately there was no drama on our landing.

After landing, we had to refuel before continuing on to Ruidoso. While waiting for the fuel, we observed a blue and black Mexicana DC6 airliner getting ready to depart the airport. The pilot had managed to start three of its four engines, but one was being stubborn and would not fire up after several minutes of cranking. Finally, an airport attendant walked out with a 10 or 12-foot 2×4 piece of lumber and began pounding mercilessly on the cowling of the recalcitrant engine. The pilot began the start-up procedure again, and the Pratt & Whitney radial engine sputtered to life, belching both black and white smoke before it finally achieving a regular rhythm of a spinning propeller. I suspect there was a stuck float in the engine’s fuel delivery system, but I’ll never know.

The plane then taxied to the end of the runway and turned to take off. Its four working engines roared as it gained enough airspeed to escape the bonds of gravity and flew off to some other location in Mexico.

Fortunately when we were getting ready to leave Leon, no one had to bang on the cowling of our Airbus 320 to get one of its two turbofan engines started. And the fact that a nun was sitting in our row of seats made us feel even more confident that we would make it home okay.

Now before you jump to conclusions and assume there was a secret Japanese or German bombing attack in New Mexico that you had never heard about before, read on.

I recently wrote about a town in New Mexico I’d never heard of before — Omega — whose location appeared on a national television show earlier this summer because of potential flooding. Well now I’ve come across another New Mexico town I’d never heard about before — Tolar.

Tolar was a stop on the Santa Fe Railway in eastern New Mexico west of Clovis. It had the misfortune of being literally blasted out of existence on Nov. 30, 1944 — not from a Nazi or Japanese bomber, but by a Santa Fe Railway train loaded with munitions, fuel oil, aircraft engines and other supplies for the American war effort in the Pacific. And fortunately, there was only one death reported in the blast.

The explosion was triggered by an overheated bearing (called a hot box) on the axle of a tank car carrying fuel oil. When the axle broke, 37 of the train’s cars derailed and a resulting fire from the hot box ignited the fuel oil. The burning fuel oil then spread to other cars on the train, including ones carrying 160 500-pound bombs (enough to load four B-29 bombers). The burning fuel triggered the bombs’ fuses.

The resulting explosion was immense. It could be heard as far away as Clovis and 60 miles away at Muleshoe in the Texas panhandle.

An axle from one of the cars smashed through the roof of the town’s only general store. A complete aircraft engine was found one mile away from the site of the explosion. Virtually all buildings in Tolar, including homes, the post office and depot, were leveled by the blast and multiple vehicles were destroyed. The one casualty, Jess Brown, was killed when a piece of shrapnel struck him in the head. His wife later received a financial settlement from the Santa Fe Railway for his accidental death. Many of the people who lived in the small town were likely saved that day because they had traveled out of the community of various errands.

A story about the blast was recently posted on You Tube by a person identifying himself as Lance Geiger, “The History Guy,” and suggested Tolar was “the only town in American to have been destroyed because of World War II.”

In my opinion, that statement is a bit of a stretch. However, an article by writer Alabam Sumner in the Dec. 1, 1944 edition of the Clovis News-Journal was a bit more reflective of the event.

“Indirectly bringing the war into our own front yards … the explosion on the Santa Fe tracks at Tolar Thursday gave folks a small idea of what the majority of the world’s nations are now undergoing as an outcome of this, the second world war,” Sumner wrote.

So concerned were military authorities that a couple of P-40 fighter planes from a nearby airfield in Fort Sumner were dispatched for a fly-over to investigate. A subsequent investigation by the FBI concluded that there was no sabotage to the train that caused the explosion, and that it was basically just an “industrial accident.”

According to a source on Wikipedia, news about the huge blast apparently influenced leaders working on the Manhattan Project, which developed the first atomic bomb at Los Alamos. The authorities concluded they could fool the public about the real reason for the huge explosion on July 16, 1945 in south central New Mexico by claiming it was an accidental detonation at a munitions dump near the Alamogordo air base.

In November of 2014, the New Mexico Department of Transportation erected a roadside sign at mile marker 244 on U.S. 60 commemorating the explosion. The location is about two miles east of what was the town of Tolar.

The final nail in the coffin of Tolar occurred in 1946 when its post office (apparently reconstructed after the original one was leveled in the blast) was closed.

Darting around a 55-gallon aquarium in an elementary school classroom in Silver City are 31 healthy juvenile Gila trout, awaiting their release into the waters of southwestern New Mexico sometime this fall.

It’s the first time this variety of fish — once and endangered species — have been raised through Trout Unlimited’s “Trout In the Classroom” program to help students learn about the importance of clean, cold fisheries and protecting the environment. It’s also hoped it will stimulate kids’ interest in fishing.

Fifth and Sixth grade teacher Keith Rogers has been spearheading the program in Silver City, with the assistance of Trout Unlimited staffer Eric Head, some U.S. Forest Service volunteers and to some small degree, myself.

The fertilized Gila trout eggs from a U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service hatchery in northern New Mexico were delivered last spring and hatched soon thereafter in Rogers’ classroom. Unlike some other programs I’ve been involved with, this program has been a great success so far. The fish have been thriving and will be released into Lake Roberts or a tributary to the Gila River in early October. Even though school was out for the summer, Rogers and other volunteers kept a regular watch over the trout this summer, making sure they were fed, water chemistry was correct and the tank was cleaned regularly.

Attached is a video taken by Rogers of the fish swimming around the tank a week or two ago during feeding time:

The fish have grown to about two inches in size, with the largest almost three inches. They are also getting more colorful, showing off their basic golden hue with tiny dark spots on their body and white trim on some of their fins.

With the disappointments we had at Ruidoso during the last two years, this is good news. The first batch of fish raised in a Trout in the Classroom program at White Mountain Elementary were released days before the first of many floods ravaged the town and the Rio Ruidoso. The second group acquired last fall all perished for some still unknown reason. Fortunately, the Mescalero Apache Fish Hatchery saved the day by providing three juvenile adult trout for the students to observe in the classroom during the spring 2025 semester and were released at the Inn of the Mountain Gods lake.

But a sad note to that story was the widespread damage and destruction of the Mescalero hatchery this summer when torrential rains flooded that facility. The hatchery lost about 50,000 fish of various sizes — almost 80 percent of the population. It will take at least a year before the hatchery, which provides trout to various tribal waters throughout the Southwest, will be back to full operation.

I’ll keep everyone posted as we get closer to the time the Silver City Gila trout will be released into the wild.

Six years ago on this date, I had my heart valve replacement. I have written a post each year on the anniversary of the event, which I’m sure is repetitive and not that interesting any more to my few readers.

The bottom line is that everything still keeps working okay, at least from the information I get from my cardiologist who I only see a couple of times a year. I was born with a heart murmur that never seemed to slow me down until about seven years ago. Thankfully, doctors who did the procedure to replace the defective valve found nothing else wrong with my heart or nearby plumbing (no stints or other replacement equipment were necessary). I do seem to take a few more naps these days — which I feel guilty about — but I guess it’s not that unusual, given my tenure on the planet.

I learned last year from my cardiologist that my replacement valve came not from a pig — as I had long been led to believe — but from a cow. I’m not sure how I feel about that, one way or the other. Pigs are supposedly smarter, but I guess that coming from a much larger animal, a cow valve might be stronger.

I looked up “pigs vs. cows” and found that cows seem to be a bit more sociable with larger groups (think herds) and gentle natured in their behavior. On the other hand, pigs prefer smaller groups and are also known for their curiosity and playfulness. However, having an organ from either one of these animals certainly does not imply that I got any of those characteristics from the procedure.

And as far as cows, I found this old Gary Larsen cartoon suggesting that cows indeed may have a bit of playfulness.

Otherwise, my health has been good since the heart procedure. My only hiccup was an unfortunate fall while fishing in the Gila Wilderness a couple of years ago which resulted in seven or eight broken ribs. But it turned out to be fortunate because an X-ray of my broken ribs also revealed the presence a previously unknown large kidney stone which required two surgeries to remove. I was glad to have it extricated from my body, although it was a painful process and an annoying recovery.

Going back to my search about pigs vs. cows, I stumbled across this interesting article by author Jennifer Shindman in a publication by the Albert Ellis Institute of Rational Emotive Behavior.

Shindman writes about an incident in which a man was driving his car on a winding country road and meets another car driven by a woman.

“It was a warm summer day and the motorists had their windows open. He started around the bend and another car came from the opposite direction. A woman leaned out of the window of her car and shouted, “Pig!” In a fleeting second he felt angry that he was unjustly accused of being a chauvinist. He wasn’t even “hogging” the road, and so felt this accusation was unwarranted. Being angry at this name calling, he returned the perceived insult by shouting “Cow!” Then, as he came around his part of the bend, he ran over a pig in the middle of the road. How easy it is to misinterpret others’ behavior and give it a meaning they did not intend.“

Shindman concludes:

“The lesson of the day: SLOW DOWN! Pay attention to your thoughts and notice when you are coloring a situation by evaluating it. Instead, try just describing the events as they happened. This way, you will avoid feeling unhealthy negative emotions…. And killing innocent pigs.”

As you can tell, I’ve gone completely off the rails from my original subject, my heart valve replacement. But it proves what I’ve learned about writing this blog — you might never know what interesting thing you might find if you just keep looking around. Or you might save a pig.

I did a bit of a double take this week while driving down University Avenue when I spotted a service van on the road next to me. Emblazoned on the side of the blue van were the words “Organs Cleaning.”

If you poke around on internet search engines, you can find lots of other signs that were not well thought out when they were displayed.

Anyway, if the blue van showed up at the hospital surgery wing before I had a procedure, I’d be a bit worried if it involved one or more of my organs — especially since there was a ladder on top of the vehicle.

But wait, maybe they only clean church organs. Or maybe they multi-task and do both. I’ll hold onto that thought. At least, as it says on the side of the vehicle, they are “bonded and insured.”

There’s a line in one of my favorite Lyle Lovett songs entitled “White Frieghtliner Blues,” that goes like this:

“Well New Mexico ain’t bad, people there, they treat you kind.”

The song was written by Townes van Zandt, a Texas native who Bob Dylan once called the greatest singer of his generation. Van Zandt was a tortured soul, suffering from schizophrenia and subjected to shock and insulin treatments. His songs have been performed by many artists over the years, but I always thought Lovett’s version of White Freightliner Blues was the best. It’s a fast-paced version of the song and it will definitely get you pumped up.

Van Zandt also wrote the song “Pancho and Lefty,” made famous by Willie Nelson, and also a favorite of mine. It’s about a complicated relationship between two outlaws, Pancho who is killed by the Federales in Mexico and Lefty, his friend who betrayed him. Lefty then moves to Ohio where he is haunted by his regrets of letting Pancho die at the hands of Mexican federal agents.

But I digress. I’m not sure why van Zandt said that “New Mexico ain’t bad” and that the people here were “kind.”

I mention this because I stumbled across something on “Buzzfeed” on the internet the other day which ranked New Mexico as the third friendliest state in the United States. I’m not sure how scientific the survey was and how the author of the article came up with the rankings, but with all the other low rankings New Mexico gets in other categories, we’ll take this one.

The top ranked state was Wyoming, and the survey said that was because “there are no people there.” Fair enough, I guess.

Second was Alaska, again mentioned because of its low population, and then for New Mexico at No. 3, there was this comment:

“I have lived in Illinois, Colorado, and now New Mexico. Whenever family comes to visit us in New Mexico, they talk about how absolutely nice and welcoming everyone is here and how you do not see that back home (in Illinois, for example). So, I will say New Mexico.”

My Nebraska farm girl wife was annoyed that her home state, which ranked 8th, was not listed higher. I have to agree with her since I’ve always felt that Nebraska was friendly place.

But getting back to New Mexico, I wondered if a sign I saw last week along Interstate 10 in Las Cruces might make people rethink how friendly or welcoming our state is.

Yes, the sign says $8.88 per gallon for regular gasoline But actually, it’s misleading. The sign was apparently being tested after installation at a new “Maverik” travel center at the corner of I-10 and Avenida de Mesilla. I’m sure the price listed on the giant sign will be reduced significantly when the station opens.

But for someone whizzing along I-10 and not understanding what was happening, I’m sure their reaction was to keep heading west to Arizona or east to Texas and hope they didn’t run out of gas before they got to that state and found more reasonable prices.

Last week, I hosted an annual party for a Boy Scout (now known as Scouting America) troop at our neighborhood swimming pool. I am an adult member of the group, Troop 66, which was originally founded at our church almost 125 years ago by the legendary southern New Mexico Missionary Hunter “Preacher” Lewis.

I joined because a good friend had asked me a few years ago if the troop could have a party at the pool during the summer months. As pool members, we are allowed to have a couple of parties each year at the facility. Having been a Boy Scout myself years ago when growing up in Ruidoso, I thought it would a nice payback for me memorials as a scout and it would be more “official” if I was a member of the group that was using the pool.

Many of the adult troop leaders wear the official Boy Scout uniform shirts at these events, so I thought it would be appropriate for me to have one as well. I purchased one at the official scouting store and my wife quickly festooned it by sewing on a myriad of official patches, including one identifying our troop number, council membership and my role as a member of the ambiguously named ” Troop Committee.” (Full confession — I’ve never actually attended a meeting of that committee.)

And by the way, my wife says I look good in a uniform.

I wore my shirt to the pool event Thursday, discovering that I was the only person wearing one there. I stood out like a sore thumb, but I carried on and did whatever I could to make sure the event ran smoothly.

After the event, I had volunteered to pick up the two large bags of trash that had been generated and drop them off at our church’s lightly used dumpster. When I arrived at the church, there was white sedan with California plates in the parking lot with its hazard lights flashing and its motor running.

Curious, I went up to the car and saw a person partially slumped over behind the steering wheel. There were two yapping Chihuahua dogs in the seat next to the person and the back seat was crammed with what looked like luggage, blankets and pillows. I knocked loudly on the window of the vehicle, but got no response from the person inside. Assuming the worst, I called 911 and they dispatched a fire truck with EMTs to help determine if the guy was just sleeping, passed out or possibly dead.

The EMTs were more persistent than me and after several louder raps on the window, the man inside awakened in a stupor while both Chihuahuas yapped away furiously. One EMT determined that the door of the vehicle was unlocked so he opened it and began asking the driver questions.

The driver first mumbled that he was waiting for his wife to come back from somewhere unspecified. The EMT then asked him if he had been drinking, to which he replied “no” in an unconvincing manner.

After discussing it with the EMTs, who inquired about who owned the property, we decided to let him sleep off his drunken stupor in the parking lot, hoping he would stay off the road and not endanger others until he sobered up. I figured he was on a cross-country trip and began drinking and finally had enough sense to stop and sober up before continuing.

It was at that point that I remember that I was walking around in my Boy Scout shirt, looking for all the world like the nerd I was at that moment. I’m sure the EMTs thought I was some kind of wacko who got his thrills from wearing a uniform and looking for opportunities where I could look official and try to save people. I’m lucky they didn’t field test me for drinking or arrest me for trying to impersonate an officer or a 12-year-old Boy Scout.

Since then, I’ve been wondering how their conversation about me went when they drove back to the fire station. I’m sure it wasn’t flattering.

And I’ve also been thinking that I’ll be a bit more discreet in the future when I wear my official scout shirt.