Robert J. Mitchell Mitchell:  

"Classmates" website requests submitters to, "Remind them who you are and where you've been". So howdy. No one really cares about this information, but it will give me something to compile at work. Recalling personal information and the history related to it lets me take a bird walk back in time. This will not be the usual reply, more like an quasi-autobiography based on flash-back memories. I can't claim perfect chronology like a resume, but will give it a shot. Considering where I work, I do not use any social media for obvious reasons, so this is it. It's been a very long time since graduating from NMHS with lots of water under the bridge. I believe most of us will admit to that. One of these days soon all we'll have to look forward are memories. I've collected many. Excluding brief incarcerations in Panama (1990), Norfolk (1973), and Dunoon, Scotland (1972), most memories are good ones! First, I'm blessed with an absolutely wonderful wife, Kathy (Hess), and we've been married since 1972. We have three beautiful daughters with ages about two years apart. We moved the family to Washington, DC when they were young, and they never left, and never will. Kathy retired as a med tech from KaiserPermanente (HMO) several years ago. She worked in the medical field her entire life, mostly at hospitals where I was stationed. She is truly a perfect person in every way. I clearly married over my head. After high school I engaged the usual and wasteful (summer) local employment pursuits at lever-pulling industry jobs such as Sheller-Globe, Corning Glass, and finally Dayton Reliable Tool as an apprentice toolmaker manufacturing pull-top beer can dies. I moved to Dayton and put in an insane period at Dayton Tech in a program that was endlessly funny in every aspect. I am not certain that the statute of limitations has expired, so some great stories must remain untold. Dayton Tech compares to cosmetology training, whereby, most participants just learn how to do their hair better. Focus on that visual imagery and comparison. On the positive side, I got the opportunity to rebuild my 1955 T-Boid convertible, and that was worth the shop fees. The tuition was a total waste. A couple of us (names withheld to protect the guilty) still re-tell stories today that are gut busters and unsurpassed. The stories make me hiss my pants, both sides, every time. Tears flow. The old Century Bar, Dayton, where we congregated down the street from Patterson Co-Op is still operating, but we were barred from there for life. If the walls could talk .... returning to an English class full of cheap Falstaff draft beer was challenging. We were crazy. In a nutshell, with malice of forethought I entered the Navy Nuclear Submarine Service in 1969 for six years with duty in Spain, Scotland, and many places throughout the Mediterranean, mostly under the water. What the heck was I thinking? Notwithstanding washing dishes, polishing crappers, guarding dumpsters, and other cerebral chores, nuclear power was a buzz for me. A former girlfriend drove me to it (my alibi). She was the reason that G&d made tube tops and hands. For the record, I made five, three-month submerged missile submarine patrols before heading for more training at Norfolk Naval Shipyard, aka, Virginia Beach. Endless rough duty. I also had a brief assignment on the USS Skipjack, a fast-attack (hunter-killer) sub, but a gunshot wound intervened, and I was not able to go back to sea on that boat. Darn. I credit Doug F. for getting me started on the Navy saga. Doug may expand on the "great times" we experienced at frigid Great Lakes Naval Training Center, as in notta. Back in that period, Doug and I made numerous high-speed trips back and forth from GLNTC to Darkest County to gulp Stroh's Fire Brewed Bohemian Style Beer at the Tri-Angle Inn and patronize other notable gin joints. There are lots of really decent bars in Chicago, but of course we didn't want any of that. More rough duty, but necessary. We killed a lot of brain cells in those days. I awoke many times smelling burning hair and heard screaming women. Money can't buy things like that. Based upon my outstanding HS academic standing (we're talking truly outstanding with a 2.14 GPA) and superb athletic accomplishments (drunken activities and dismissals omitted), I graduated from Miami University, BS, Industrial Technology, cum loudly, with a minor in Indian (with a dot, not a feather) philosophy. Oxford was a fun town many years ago. I "tried" to divide my time equally between the King Library, science labs, and the bars uptown. In contrast, New Madison is where fun goes to die. Drinking a $9.00 warm Dr. Pepper while sitting in a stripper club that you can only see three feet is comparable. After that four year, on-campus hay-day I misguidedly taught high school for three years, and served as the NHS advisor and girl's track coach (fools gave me those jobs). I need to mention that the school system wouldn't "release me" from my third year contract to accept a better position closer to home. <Here's a good place to pause and consider repercussions for actions like that against me.> Being disgruntled with their obstinacy I submitted my resignation on the FIRST day of school beginning my third year, along with some expletives, a heartfelt kiss my &ss, and where they could put that Johnny Paycheck job with anatomical specificity as I walked out -- forever ending my altruistic nature. It just wasn't my thing. The new principal, Roger Pankake, a real name, was definitely jolted. The look on his face was priceless. Lon Cheney and Bela Lugosi would have taken notice of that look. Go ahead, top that?! The job wasn't a bird nest on the ground or enjoyable at all, so I lost nothing. Then I worked for the Ohio Operating Engineers et al at AK Steel relining furnaces, built numerous I675 bridges, helped construct the Corn Nuts factory in Urbana, erected a robotic-controlled automotive inventory warehouse in Moraine, and engaged other swell places and environments. I also slaved in 1980 at the then new Miller Brewery in Trenton, OH emplacing concrete via a concrete pump, not manually. A "hard" job. Working in filth, being covered with filth, and eating filth off gut trucks/roach wagons every morning and at lunch added to the ambiance. On the good side I was paid about four times more than I was worth. Actually, when reminded of events during that period it makes me want to wince and vomit. Then, the skies opened, life changed. I was commissioned in the Army as an Engineer officer for approximately 24 years, accomplished jumping out of things that fly, running like an Indian (with a feather, not a dot), and attended many schools. My dad told me not to go into the Army, but do I listen well? One of my earliest active duty Army assignments such as platoon leader, company commander, battalion maintenance officer, was working as a Committee Chief at the Professional Education Center with additional duty as a course writer. I joined American Society of Training Developers (ASTD) and the National Society for Performance-Oriented Training (NSPI) which led to several lucrative consulting positions down the road. Two years later I graduated from UALR, MS, Operations Management and later Webster University, MA, In-flight Missile Repair, super cum loudly. My favorite thesis was, "Why Training Fails Between The Classroom and The Job", subtitled, "Indirect Task Selection In A Subject-Matter World", focused on the antiquated and ineffective "platform lizard" approach to doling out public education and establishing curriculums. It is very applicable, somewhat retaliatory, and related to first-hand experiences, most I have succeeded in forgetting in the absence of therapy. Ending on the military education side, I completed the Engineer Officer Advanced Course (EOAC), Combined Arms & Staff Service School (CAS3), and Marine Corps Command & Staff College (USMC C&SC). I was positioned to become a distinguished graduate at C&SC, but there was this incident in Quantico (Q-Town) .... Reporting to the base commander, a mean three-star Marine wearing a Navy Cross and a bazillion other combat awards, to explain our misconduct (drunkenness, assault, destruction of public property, public indecency, resisting arrest, and conduct unbecoming an officer) was p-r-e-t-t-y darn painful. Those type charges get reported on the daily blotter. The general covered our fly-bys at the Command Post Lounge quite adequately, and he was d&mn good at it. It tighten our butts like a snare drum. It is one of those "you had to be there" things. Basically, we were told that "if we ever" .... then we were literally thrown out of his office by some big, nasty MPs with clubs. We fortunately escaped total wrath without more than a b&tt chewing, but our conference group leader, a Marine Lt.Col., a nice guy, was relieved for "not creating an atmosphere conducive to learning, maintaining good discipline, and leading by example". Sounds like NMHS, doesn't it? He is probably making ships in bottles today in The Keys. The USMC is a petty, vindictive organization possessing little humor (my opinion). That 1990 Q-Town bar incident reminded me throughout about the time an outraged, bug-eyed, shouting Tony Rago, NMHS Principal, pulled me into his office after I and a friend <wink, wink> took as many apples from the cafeteria as we could carry and splattered them against the boys' locker room walls, shower, floor, and commode. I could throw a mean fast ball back in those days. The bursting apples made three-foot+ circles when they exploded. The custodian was not nearly as impressed as we were. What in the h&ll were we thinking? An ugly day for us, but more so for the locker room. The place smelled like Downing's Fruit Farm for over a month. We ...Expand for more