by Irene Daniel
One week from today, September 16, 2017, will be an historic day for my hometown of Florence, AZ; the Cowboy Cradle of the Southwest. For on this day, we will honor one of the, now very few, living survivors of the USS Indianapolis, who was born and raised right here in Florence. I am speaking, of course, of our very own hometown hero, Adolfo "Harpo" Celaya. The dedication ceremony renaming our post office after him will take place at 8:30 a.m. on Main Street in front of the post office.
My last post spoke of the roller-coaster ride of my friend, Harpo, in dealing with the news of finding the wreckage of this storied ship, which was Harpo's home for many months; months of turbulent seas and historic battles. Iwo Jima, Okinawa (which included a kamikaze hit), the secret mission to Tinien to deliver a mysterious package that would become the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima, and of course the torpedos of I-58, a Japanese submarine, that sunk this vessel in the waning days of World War II in the Pacific, are all deeply embedded memories in the soul of my neighbor and friend.
This event was planned long before the wreckage was found. In fact, the legislation, sponsored by Congressman Gosar, mandating this name-change was passed overwhelmingly by Congress last December. It is a tremendous honor, in many ways. Most post offices aren't named after anybody. For those that are, this honor is almost always bestowed posthumously. I'm so glad that Harpo doesn't need to be dead to be admired.
Those of us who know the Harp well, and are privileged to call him family, friend or neighbor, know that we are not the only ones who enjoy a special and unique intimacy with the man. There's his immediate family, his extended family (which is huge in these here parts), his teammates, his colleagues, biographers and many friends he has picked up along the way; even some strays like me.
We are all members of "Team Harpo," as I like to call it. He gets cards, letters, calls and all manner of greetings from all over the country. He also has a number of Canadian friends, especially Kevin and Lorraine. All of us know that we have to share him with each other; but we all relish those one-on-one moments when we can have him all to ourselves. His vivaciousness is terminally infectious and he is a very entertaining storyteller. C'mon, who doesn't love a good story?
Growing up here in Florence, Harpo was our own Mexican-American Tom Sawyer. There's the haircut story when he cut his cousin's hair, there's the climbing the water tower story with another cousin (like I said, the extended family is quite large), there's the dime in the collection plate story, as well as the "Harpo" nickname story, to name but a few.
And there are the tales of cowboyin' and dancing the Orange Blossom Special with his sister-in-law, MaryAnn. When he was a boy, he nursed a foal whose mother had died of one of our famous Arizona droughts; who he named Chaflan. He has lots of stories about Chaflan. When he was a professional cowboy he had a horse named Jelly Bean -- part Tennessee Walker. He was a good cutting horse, Harp says. So many delicious stories. If you want to know more, come on over and visit. It is well worth the trip, no matter how far the journey.
Harpo has been a trouble-maker, a sailor, an all-star Athlete, a coach, a cowboy, a small business owner, a husband, a father, doting uncle and loyal friend to so many of us. And he is also a true champion -- not only in basketball, and a survivor -- and not only of the USS Indianapolis. He will be the first to tell you that he has never been a perfect man. He's made a lifetime of memories, interspersed with a lot of mistakes and foolish choices. He is human, after all.
Harpo is in his sunset years. He knows that. Even though he is in pretty good health for a 90 year old man who has used his brawn to make a living his entire life; not to mention the drinking and smoking and carousing years that took their toll. And that is why he knows that now he has to make every day count.
September 16, 2017, will be one of those days that count the most. I hope that all of you members of Team Harpo, will mark this historic day with us here. If you can't make it, we totally get it; you can't be everywhere. September 16 is also the anniversary of Mexico's independence from Spain, and a huge national holiday in Mexico, where many of the Harp's ancestors came from over 150 years ago. And before that, his ancestors came from Spain. Another extraordinary coincidence in the life of Harpo.
Wherever you are, whatever your fancy, I hope you will find a minute to celebrate this historic day with us whether in person or in spirit; we desert rats, residents of historic Florence, AZ, and home of the mighty Gophers!
We are about to make history once again. It's what we do.
Copyright 2017, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Saturday, September 9, 2017
Sunday, August 27, 2017
They Found the Indy!
by Irene Daniel
It's been a week since the 72 year old wreckage of the USS Indianapolis was located by an expedition financed by Paul Allen, co-founder of Microsoft. And what a week it has been for Adolfo "Harpo" Celaya, one the 19 survivors of the worst naval disaster in U.S. history, who is still alive today.
Harpo is my neighbor and friend and I have the privilege of working for him, serving as his personal assistant, i.e., driver, cook, caretaker and unofficial consigliere. We've been busy.
On the afternoon of Saturday, August 19, 2017, I ambled over to Harpo's house with my dog, Maggie (who adores him because he shares his bacon with her every morning). He wasn't watching golf, which is what he usually does on week-end afternoons. I found him resting and asked him what was up with his golf-less state. He said he wasn't feeling too well and then he said, "They found the Indianapolis."
His tone was neither excited, nor morose, but still a bit heavy. I really couldn't believe it, but when he told me that he had received calls not only from his daughter, Dee Dee, but from Mrs. Gwyn, widow of the pilot, the angel, who found them in the Pacific Ocean, I knew it had to be true. And I knew that my friend had just boarded an emotional roller-coaster, the likes of which I can never know. What could I do to help him in this moment?
We decided that movies would provide a good escape pod, so I went to the library to check out some silly movies to chase away the bitter-sweet memories. It only took over 4 hours to watch one because his phone was ringing almost non-stop. Family and friends from all over the US and Canada were reaching out to him. Also, Sara Vladic, director of the internationally critically acclaimed documentary, USS Indianapolis: The Legacy, as well as one of her producers called. Sara told us that she had been trying to get through to him for hours, but he was always on the phone.
By Saturday afternoon we had Phoenix affiliate ABC 15 at his door. Mike Pelton and his producer Karan Deardorff could not have been more effusive. Their enthusiasm for the story and the honor of meeting Harpo lifted the energy of the room, as well as Harpo's spirits. Kudos to them on their scoop and wonderful piece. In case you missed it, here is a link: http://www.abc15.com/news/national/researchers-find-wreckage-of-wwii-era-uss-indianapolis.
The next day we went out to breakfast and when we entered McDonald's, a man who was exiting saw his Indianapolis survivor cap and was immediately hit with a speechless awe. "Thank you for service," he said. That afternoon we had a crew from The Today Show. They were there for almost 3 hours. The next day the solar eclipse provided us with a much needed break in the action. On Tuesday we drove to the VA in Tucson for an appointment with his podiatrist. Some of the staff and people in the waiting were so very aware and appreciative, and some came up to shake his hand and to chat.
Wednesday brought another interview with Paul Loeffler, voice of the Fresno State Bulldogs and host of the radio program, Hometown Heroes. He had interviewed Harpo many years ago and wanted an update on where Harpo was all of this news of the Indy wreckage.
On Thursday, we drove to Tucson again; this time at the invitation of Don Dickinson, history teacher extraordinaire at TUSD University High School, to speak to one of his classes. The Harp, as I call him, was greeted with a much deserved hero's welcome, which included lots and lots of Tucson media. They all wanted him to answer, "just a couple of questions," which always turned into much more than that, but Harpo was glad to accommodate all of them. We didn't leave until they had all the quotes and footage they needed, a gracious generosity for a 90 year old man in triple digit heat. This after an hour in Mr. Dickinson's classroom talking about the ordeal. The students were most respectful and attentive. I saw the awe inspiring wonder in their eyes.
By Friday, we were both physically and emotionally drained. But it was a good tired, one steeped in the satisfaction of putting it out there and doing one's best. And all of these events were interspersed with the mundane chores of daily living: grocery shopping, keeping the house picked up in the event of more visitors, doctor's appointments, running errands, watching the college championship on Jeopardy and walking the dog. The A/C in his truck conked out mid-week and we had to deal with that too.
And now we prepare for the next onslaught of publicity as our little town prepares to rename our post office after him; an honor usually bestowed posthumously. Family and friends from other places are making travel arrangements and all the media outlets will be here again. And the house will swell with the laughter of those who have the privilege to know the Harp.
As I reflect on the week, two themes stay with me. First, I think of those students and where they will be in a decade. And I wonder about all the students who have been blessed with a visit from this extraordinary man. Harp's been doing this kind of thing for over a decade and has been to many, many classrooms like this one. Many of those students are now adults, perhaps with children of their own. Perhaps, when they heard the news, they exclaimed, "Hey, I know that guy! He came to my class!" And maybe they're telling their kids, their students, their friends, their employees and employers about this story that we cannot afford to forget. And I think of all the other survivors who have been doing the same and I hope that it will create a great ripple effect; one that is forged in their grit, and honors their unspeakable sacrifice.
But even more than that, one imprint stays with me, and always will. Every time I watch people respond to Harpo -- and I mean every single time -- it does something to me inside; something happens in the very core of my soul. It is always inspiring and usually leaves me with a lump in my throat; one that stays there until I can come back to my own home in my own space and just cry. I cry tears of sorrow and loss, but I also cry tears of joy and inspiration.
I am lucky to be an American! I am lucky have Harpo in my life! And our hometown of Florence, AZ is lucky to have the privilege of boasting of our very own hometown hero!
Copyright 2017, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
It's been a week since the 72 year old wreckage of the USS Indianapolis was located by an expedition financed by Paul Allen, co-founder of Microsoft. And what a week it has been for Adolfo "Harpo" Celaya, one the 19 survivors of the worst naval disaster in U.S. history, who is still alive today.
Harpo is my neighbor and friend and I have the privilege of working for him, serving as his personal assistant, i.e., driver, cook, caretaker and unofficial consigliere. We've been busy.
On the afternoon of Saturday, August 19, 2017, I ambled over to Harpo's house with my dog, Maggie (who adores him because he shares his bacon with her every morning). He wasn't watching golf, which is what he usually does on week-end afternoons. I found him resting and asked him what was up with his golf-less state. He said he wasn't feeling too well and then he said, "They found the Indianapolis."
His tone was neither excited, nor morose, but still a bit heavy. I really couldn't believe it, but when he told me that he had received calls not only from his daughter, Dee Dee, but from Mrs. Gwyn, widow of the pilot, the angel, who found them in the Pacific Ocean, I knew it had to be true. And I knew that my friend had just boarded an emotional roller-coaster, the likes of which I can never know. What could I do to help him in this moment?
We decided that movies would provide a good escape pod, so I went to the library to check out some silly movies to chase away the bitter-sweet memories. It only took over 4 hours to watch one because his phone was ringing almost non-stop. Family and friends from all over the US and Canada were reaching out to him. Also, Sara Vladic, director of the internationally critically acclaimed documentary, USS Indianapolis: The Legacy, as well as one of her producers called. Sara told us that she had been trying to get through to him for hours, but he was always on the phone.
By Saturday afternoon we had Phoenix affiliate ABC 15 at his door. Mike Pelton and his producer Karan Deardorff could not have been more effusive. Their enthusiasm for the story and the honor of meeting Harpo lifted the energy of the room, as well as Harpo's spirits. Kudos to them on their scoop and wonderful piece. In case you missed it, here is a link: http://www.abc15.com/news/national/researchers-find-wreckage-of-wwii-era-uss-indianapolis.
The next day we went out to breakfast and when we entered McDonald's, a man who was exiting saw his Indianapolis survivor cap and was immediately hit with a speechless awe. "Thank you for service," he said. That afternoon we had a crew from The Today Show. They were there for almost 3 hours. The next day the solar eclipse provided us with a much needed break in the action. On Tuesday we drove to the VA in Tucson for an appointment with his podiatrist. Some of the staff and people in the waiting were so very aware and appreciative, and some came up to shake his hand and to chat.
Wednesday brought another interview with Paul Loeffler, voice of the Fresno State Bulldogs and host of the radio program, Hometown Heroes. He had interviewed Harpo many years ago and wanted an update on where Harpo was all of this news of the Indy wreckage.
On Thursday, we drove to Tucson again; this time at the invitation of Don Dickinson, history teacher extraordinaire at TUSD University High School, to speak to one of his classes. The Harp, as I call him, was greeted with a much deserved hero's welcome, which included lots and lots of Tucson media. They all wanted him to answer, "just a couple of questions," which always turned into much more than that, but Harpo was glad to accommodate all of them. We didn't leave until they had all the quotes and footage they needed, a gracious generosity for a 90 year old man in triple digit heat. This after an hour in Mr. Dickinson's classroom talking about the ordeal. The students were most respectful and attentive. I saw the awe inspiring wonder in their eyes.
By Friday, we were both physically and emotionally drained. But it was a good tired, one steeped in the satisfaction of putting it out there and doing one's best. And all of these events were interspersed with the mundane chores of daily living: grocery shopping, keeping the house picked up in the event of more visitors, doctor's appointments, running errands, watching the college championship on Jeopardy and walking the dog. The A/C in his truck conked out mid-week and we had to deal with that too.
And now we prepare for the next onslaught of publicity as our little town prepares to rename our post office after him; an honor usually bestowed posthumously. Family and friends from other places are making travel arrangements and all the media outlets will be here again. And the house will swell with the laughter of those who have the privilege to know the Harp.
As I reflect on the week, two themes stay with me. First, I think of those students and where they will be in a decade. And I wonder about all the students who have been blessed with a visit from this extraordinary man. Harp's been doing this kind of thing for over a decade and has been to many, many classrooms like this one. Many of those students are now adults, perhaps with children of their own. Perhaps, when they heard the news, they exclaimed, "Hey, I know that guy! He came to my class!" And maybe they're telling their kids, their students, their friends, their employees and employers about this story that we cannot afford to forget. And I think of all the other survivors who have been doing the same and I hope that it will create a great ripple effect; one that is forged in their grit, and honors their unspeakable sacrifice.
But even more than that, one imprint stays with me, and always will. Every time I watch people respond to Harpo -- and I mean every single time -- it does something to me inside; something happens in the very core of my soul. It is always inspiring and usually leaves me with a lump in my throat; one that stays there until I can come back to my own home in my own space and just cry. I cry tears of sorrow and loss, but I also cry tears of joy and inspiration.
I am lucky to be an American! I am lucky have Harpo in my life! And our hometown of Florence, AZ is lucky to have the privilege of boasting of our very own hometown hero!
Copyright 2017, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Thursday, July 14, 2016
The id Post: This Is Already Worse Than 1968
The id Post: This Is Already Worse Than 1968: by Irene Daniel I remember waking up on the morning of June 5, 1968 to the sounds of my mother sobbing into a bath towel. Robert Kennedy h...
This Is Already Worse Than 1968
by Irene Daniel
I remember waking up on the morning of June 5, 1968 to the sounds of my mother sobbing into a bath towel. Robert Kennedy had been shot in Los Angeles after winning the California Democratic Primary just the night before. A few months prior to this event, we had all witnessed the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr., in Atlanta.
And there were riots all spring and summer long, in this year of violence kicked off by the TET offensive in the Vietnamese war; which led of course to more protests and civil unrest of all kinds, all across the country. It was a year of many horrors for us.
Many writers and pundits have remarked upon the many similarities between the election year of 1968 and this one. The violence, racial tensions, economic inequality and lack of meaningful opportunities for Americans of all stripes, all seemingly coming to a crashing crescendo at convention time. Frankly, and not to minimize the shock of multiple assassinations and riots, I think this Year of the Monkey is even worse than that of 48 years ago.
It's worse because we should know better by now.
The vivid memory of that morning in June in 1968 stands out for me because of the extraordinary shock felt all over the nation and around the world. This was something that didn't happen very often. We can't say that anymore. Turning on the TV and witnessing some out-of-this-world insane violence is, woefully, no longer uncommon. Sometimes there are multiple such events in one week, as we have recently experienced in Louisiana, Michigan and Texas. Are we getting too used to this?
I don't want to get into the weeds of statistics of measured violence; I am just expressing what it feels like to me as an American. The frequency of these horror-filled events, as well as the variety and diversity of their targets and victims, just seems scarier and more immediate to me. I'm glad I don't live in a big city anymore.
It happens to people who are black, Muslim, Mexican and other people of color who are disproportionately targeted by police. It happens to people in churches. It happens to people at the movies, at the grocery store, at work, at school, and on and on. It seems that any one of us at any time could be taken out by a bullet. Life is cheap, and cheaper for some than others.
I won't take this space to blame and shame or to pretend that I have a solution. I don't. None of us can find a solution by blaming and shaming our fellow Americans. I think we're getting a little too used to that merry-go-round too.
The frequency of violence, lack of civility combined with the intensity of vitriolic rhetoric -- 50 years post Civil Rights Movement mind you, make this year feel much worse, much scarier than 1968, in my opinion. And we haven't even begun the conventions yet!
On this Bastille Day, a testament to French Liberty and an international dateline of demarcation, I hope that celebrating freedom comes to mean more than the right to hate whomever you choose.
And as I write this, I learn of another disaster of violence in Nice, France, as they celebrated Bastille Day.
Please, let's not get used to hearing this kind of news.
Copyright 2016, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
I remember waking up on the morning of June 5, 1968 to the sounds of my mother sobbing into a bath towel. Robert Kennedy had been shot in Los Angeles after winning the California Democratic Primary just the night before. A few months prior to this event, we had all witnessed the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr., in Atlanta.
And there were riots all spring and summer long, in this year of violence kicked off by the TET offensive in the Vietnamese war; which led of course to more protests and civil unrest of all kinds, all across the country. It was a year of many horrors for us.
Many writers and pundits have remarked upon the many similarities between the election year of 1968 and this one. The violence, racial tensions, economic inequality and lack of meaningful opportunities for Americans of all stripes, all seemingly coming to a crashing crescendo at convention time. Frankly, and not to minimize the shock of multiple assassinations and riots, I think this Year of the Monkey is even worse than that of 48 years ago.
It's worse because we should know better by now.
The vivid memory of that morning in June in 1968 stands out for me because of the extraordinary shock felt all over the nation and around the world. This was something that didn't happen very often. We can't say that anymore. Turning on the TV and witnessing some out-of-this-world insane violence is, woefully, no longer uncommon. Sometimes there are multiple such events in one week, as we have recently experienced in Louisiana, Michigan and Texas. Are we getting too used to this?
I don't want to get into the weeds of statistics of measured violence; I am just expressing what it feels like to me as an American. The frequency of these horror-filled events, as well as the variety and diversity of their targets and victims, just seems scarier and more immediate to me. I'm glad I don't live in a big city anymore.
It happens to people who are black, Muslim, Mexican and other people of color who are disproportionately targeted by police. It happens to people in churches. It happens to people at the movies, at the grocery store, at work, at school, and on and on. It seems that any one of us at any time could be taken out by a bullet. Life is cheap, and cheaper for some than others.
I won't take this space to blame and shame or to pretend that I have a solution. I don't. None of us can find a solution by blaming and shaming our fellow Americans. I think we're getting a little too used to that merry-go-round too.
The frequency of violence, lack of civility combined with the intensity of vitriolic rhetoric -- 50 years post Civil Rights Movement mind you, make this year feel much worse, much scarier than 1968, in my opinion. And we haven't even begun the conventions yet!
On this Bastille Day, a testament to French Liberty and an international dateline of demarcation, I hope that celebrating freedom comes to mean more than the right to hate whomever you choose.
And as I write this, I learn of another disaster of violence in Nice, France, as they celebrated Bastille Day.
Please, let's not get used to hearing this kind of news.
Copyright 2016, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Saturday, July 9, 2016
The id Post: Piercing Revolution and Peaceful Evolution
The id Post: Piercing Revolution and Peaceful Evolution: by Irene Daniel Born of violence revisited from time to time war gives way to weariness and longing for the sublime Then building and...
Thursday, June 30, 2016
The id Post: Where Are We Going? A New Age of Enlightenment? Or...
The id Post: Where Are We Going? A New Age of Enlightenment? Or...: by Irene Daniel This week we have seen the Confederate flag, a symbol of "southern pride" come down in South Carolina. This is s...
Thursday, May 19, 2016
The id Post: Thriving in the Chaos of 21st Century America
The id Post: Thriving in the Chaos of 21st Century America: by Irene Daniel I had a funny feeling a while back that this election year would be one for the books. In the Chinese Zodiac it is the Year...
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