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Behind Nazi Lines
My Father's Heroic Quest to Save 149 World War II POWs
Author Andrew Gerow Hodges Jr., Denise George
Penguin Adult HC/TR	| Dutton Caliber
On sale Dec 07, 2021 | 368 Pages | 978-0-593-18480-6
History > Global Conflicts > World War II
History > Topical History > Military History
History > U.S. History > U.S. Military History
Now in paperback at a special value price, the true story of World War II American Red Cross volunteer Andrew Hodges, who traveled behind enemy lines to negotiate the release of 149 Allied prisoners of war.
In 1944, hundreds of Allied soldiers were trapped in POW camps in occupied France. The odds of their survival were long. The odds of escaping, even longer. But one man had the courage to fight the odds...
An elite British S.A.S. operative on an assassination mission gone wrong. A Jewish New Yorker injured in a Nazi ambush. An eighteen-year-old Gary Cooper lookalike from Mobile, Alabama. These men and hundreds of other soldiers found themselves in the prisoner-of-war camps off the Atlantic coast of occupied France, fighting brutal conditions and unsympathetic captors. But, miraculously, local villagers were able to smuggle out a message from the camp, one that reached the Allies and sparked a remarkable quest by an unlikely—and truly inspiring—hero. Andy Hodges had been excluded from military service due to a lingering shoulder injury from his college-football days. Devastated but determined, Andy refused to sit at home while his fellow Americans risked their lives, so he joined the Red Cross, volunteering for the toughest assignments on the most dangerous battlefields.
In the fall of 1944, Andy was tapped for what sounded like a suicide mission: a desperate attempt to aid the Allied POWs in occupied France—alone and unarmed, matching his wits against the Nazi war machine. But, despite the likelihood of failure, Andy did far more than deliver much-needed supplies. By the end of the year, he had negotiated the release of an unprecedented 149 prisoners—leaving no one behind. This is the true story of one man's selflessness, ingenuity, and victory in the face of impossible adversity.
The story's dialogue came from statements made by Andrew Gerow Hodges, Michael R. D. Foot, and the POWs that attended the Samford Reunion on January 25, 2002. These were video-recorded and included in the award-winning documentary For One English Officer. Other dialogue came from POW diaries, newspaper articles, military records, recorded statements, letters, telegrams, correspondence, and conversations with living participants and family members of participants. Some of the dialogue was created in a logical sequence to match documented stories and events.
All stories and events in this book happened just as they are described and can be documented by records, newsreels, military information/records, etc. All characters in this book are real, and appear in the story as they did in the real life events. The names of Schmitt's nephew, Walter, and sister, Greta, were created. Schmitt had a sister and a nephew, but their names could not be found. The German sentry in Lorient, Klaus, was a created name/person.
The names Léon Spanin (his birth name) and Léon Rollin (his pseudonym) are used interchangeably throughout the book. He is also referred to by his nickname, Leo.
THE FIRST EXCHANGE
There was one man . . . on the Allied side, armed only with his wits and a Red Cross badge.
—HARLAN HOBART GROOMS, JR., COLONEL, U.S. MARINE CORPS RESERVE (RETIRED), PAST PRESIDENT OF THE BIRMINGHAM BAR ASSOCIATION, BIRMINGHAM, ALABAMA, USA
A CROSS, A FLAG, AND A DANGEROUS JOURNEY
Thursday, 23 November 1944, Thanksgiving Day, 94th Infantry Division Headquarters, Châteaubriant, France
Andy Hodges had been handed a job no one else dared to accept—a direct order from Major General Harry J. Malony, commander of the 94th Infantry Division, headquartered in Châteaubriant, France.
"It's a suicide mission," Malony's chief of staff, Colonel Earl Bergquist, had told him. But Andy had his orders, even if he'd most likely become the target of a German bullet.
However dangerous the assignment, deep down Hodges welcomed the opportunity to serve his country. He thought about the lives that were depending on him—men with families in America, France, and Britain—mothers, fathers, wives, and siblings who waited for a word of hope about their loved ones recently declared missing in action. He hoped he could save the POWs held in the St. Nazaire prison camp. The prisoners were cold, hungry, and becoming deathly ill. They needed help, and quickly.
On that dismal predawn morning in late November, a cold rain spattered the sleeping French countryside. Andy placed a white flag in the jeep's front holder, climbed inside, and began his trek toward enemy lines. Probably, no one expected his arrival on this day. In his hand, he carried a copy of a letter, dated November 21, 1944, typed in German on American Red Cross stationery. It was addressed to the camp's Kommandant—whoever he was.
"An den Deutschen Kommandanten, St. Nazaire," it said. That's all. No specific name.
I hope the Kommandant has already received the original letter I sent beforehand. But I have no way to know.
The letter he held was his protection, his only defense, if he were stopped, questioned, and searched. But he knew it would provide little security against so brutal an enemy.
In seven or eight hours, back home in Geneva, South Alabama, Thanksgiving Day would dawn. He wanted to be there, sitting in his chair around the big family table, with his new bride and toddler son, his parents, brothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, and longtime friends. He could almost smell and taste the traditional oven-baked turkey and cornbread dressing, marshmallow-crowned sweet potato casserole, last summer's homegrown canned tomatoes, and pumpkin pies his family would feast on that day. But the whole world was at war, and he had his orders.
Dinners at home will have to wait—till next year, or the year after that. I sure hope I get to sit at my family's Thanksgiving table again one day.
As he drove slowly down the narrow path from Châteaubriant, he shined his flashlight on the old, crinkled map of France, the only one he could find. When he reached Chauve, he stopped and checked the tangle of thread-like roads that branched out like a spider's web from the small Allied-occupied village southeast of St. Nazaire on the western coast of central France.
Only about four miles to Saint-Père-en-Retz. That is, if I take the right road.
He picked up a pen and carefully marked the route he had been advised to take. It was in the French language and was confusing.
Northwest along Les Epinettes. Les Epinettes becomes Le Bourg. Stay left along the Rue de Nantes.
Andy's sense of direction wasn't so bad, but, except for a few words, he knew no French.
Maybe if I'd played less football and studied more languages in college, I'd be better equipped for this mission. At least I could read this map.
He worried about the accuracy of the faded map for the Vannes-Angers region of France, and how much the area had probably changed during the years of war. He ran his hand through his thick brown hair and sighed.
Must trust the map. No other choice.
Alone in the foggy, wet darkness, the twenty-six-year-old, tall, slender Alabamian continued his journey toward enemy territory. As he drove, his stomach knotted and burned. Bile rose and stuck in his throat. He swallowed hard but couldn't dislodge it. He clutched the steering wheel tighter with each mile he traveled.
As he inched forward toward St. Père-en-Retz, he moved farther away from the Allied-controlled countryside, and closer toward the barbed wire blockade that ushered him into the German-occupied seaport pocket of France. He was thankful for the jeep's canvas top that protected him from the rain—a perk granted to him by Malony. He shivered as the west winds blew in from the Atlantic and made the eerie fog twist in surreal shapes across the still dark countryside.
The German lines can't be much farther.
Andy's heart beat faster. He wondered how a German sentry would react to a lone American, wearing Red Cross insignias, driving a jeep sporting a large white flag, appearing ghost-like and unexpected at the opening in the concertina wire fence separating the combatants.
He'll shoot me. That's how he'll respond.
Before he was ready, he was there. He saw the wire barrier within a few yards of him. He stopped the jeep and sat still, quiet, his eyes closed. In his mind, Andy envisioned the faces of the people he loved, as they would gather later that day around the family's table. He saw his young bride, Mary Louise Shirley, the popular campus beauty who had fallen in love with him—Andrew Gerow Hodges, Howard College's rising football star. Number 15.
Mary Louise Shirley—beautiful, brilliant, educated, from a good family—how did I, a poor country boy from South Alabama, ever get such a fine girl?!
Andy shook his head, smiled, and thought about the baby boy born to them a year after they married—Andrew Gerow Hodges, Jr. "Little Gerry" was almost two years old the summer Andy left Alabama to join the war effort in France.
The faces of Andy's father and mother appeared next in his mind. He felt unusually thankful for his dad at that moment, a poor horse trader with little or no education, but a loving father who had taught his three sons great lessons in moral ethics, wisdom, honest hard work, and good common horse sense. He thought about his mother, kind, selfless, loving, and dedicated to her boys.
Poor Mom. I wonder if she'll be able to handle emotionally receiving the missing-in-action telegram—or something worse—that might come before Christmas—if I don't make it back from this mission.
For a brief second, a feeling of helplessness overwhelmed him. He'd never felt so alone and so far away from those he loved, from those who had always offered him unconditional love and support.
I had a choice. I could've stayed home. I chose to come and serve.
Andy rubbed his left shoulder. The old college football injury still caused him pain. A teammate's violent blow had ruptured his biceps tendon. But the suffering caused by a damaged deltoid didn't hurt nearly as much as the military's 4-F classification that came as a result of it. Andy was in excellent physical shape—a well-built, trim, muscular college athlete. But when the army medics had examined his left shoulder, they declared him unfit for military service. The news was unexpected, shocking, and caused Andy deep grief. He watched his buddies eagerly march off to war, and he agonized over his humiliating 4-F status. Finally he could bear it no longer. He knew the physical injury could keep him out of the United States military, but it could not keep him out of the American Red Cross. If the U.S. Army forbade him to come in the front door with his college friends and other recruits—well then, he could just join the American Red Cross and come in through the back door. And that's exactly what he did.
He had chosen to come, leaving a wife and son, and a good-paying job, so that he could serve alongside his comrades, and help win this war against Hitler. The 94th Army Infantry Division, stationed in France, was glad to have him, gave him the rank of captain, and made him their ARC senior field director. Andy's dedication to duty, dependability, and courage in difficult situations quickly earned the confidence and respect of Malony as well as Bergquist. The commanding officer had given him critical missions he'd entrust to no one else. Andy was doing his part, even if a small one, and inside he felt real good about it.
As Andy faced the wire barrier, he pondered how to proceed. He had witnessed firsthand the depth of German cruelty toward Allied soldiers. He felt the urge to turn the jeep around and go back to headquarters—back to the safety of Châteaubriant and the 94th Division. But he knew he couldn't. If he'd learned anything from his father, it was determination and duty, not backing down when the going gets tough, and doing the best job you can do—even if it kills you.
And this trip might do just that.
Checking the security of his ARC collar pins and the Red Cross badge on his left shoulder, he licked his lips, took a deep breath, and somehow found the courage needed to move forward. He had no weapon, no protection—other than his wits, a letter, a white flag, and the Red Cross insignias.
I hope it's enough.
Driving slowly to the wire, Hodges stopped abruptly when he saw a surprised German sentry running from the woods, pointing his automatic weapon and screaming: "Achtung! Halt! Achtung!" ["Look out! Stop! Your attention!"]
Here it comes. This ballgame may be over.
24 August 1944, St. Nazaire Sector, Brittany, France
Captain Michael R. D. Foot had proved himself a skilled assassin. As a member of Britain's Special Air Service (SAS), whom Hitler called the "terror troops," he had participated in many demanding and dangerous missions. This one, however, would be his first foray into German-occupied France. In the summer of '44, Britain's SAS commander ordered the young Foot to infiltrate the St. Nazaire sector of Brittany to hunt down a particular vicious German officer.
"A certain German, by the name of Oberleutnant Bonner, in the Sicherheitsdienst [SD], is causing us much trouble. He has been especially cruel to our POWs. Find him. Capture him if you can. If you can't, then kill him," the commander ordered Foot.1
Michael knew about the Sicherheitsdienst—the Nazi Party's intelligence and security body, created by Heinrich Himmler in 1931. He'd personally seen the results of their unlimited power—given to them by Hitler himself—to deal with all opposition to the Nazi government. Foot eagerly accepted the assignment, and parachuted into Normandy, ready and eager to begin his secret mission. On August 22, he secured a jeep, hired a French SAS driver named Caplan, and together they wormed their way along narrow roads and set out to infiltrate enemy lines.
"Make haste, Caplan," Foot ordered his driver. "We don't have much time. Let's get this job done and get out of here."
Foot and Caplan spoke little as they sped down dirt roads toward St. Nazaire. As Foot saw the countryside pass by, he thought about the long list of military heroes sprinkled throughout his prominent British family—his great-great-uncle, the Royal Navy's first sea lord, Jackie Fisher; his paternal grandfather, who had achieved the rank of major general; his father, Brigadier General Richard C. Foot, head of London's air defenses; and himself, an SAS captain. He held his head a little higher. He felt proud—of his family, of his father, and of himself. He knew he had a legacy to uphold, and that he could never fail. He'd rather die than face embarrassing his distinguished father, or disgracing his celebrated British ancestors. Military failure was not an option for Michael Foot.
Foot watched closely for German machine gun nests hiding along the roadsides. He had been warned about Jerries crouching and hiding beneath and behind the thick hedgerows that grew in this part of France. He knew the Germans feared the SAS, the elite United Kingdom forces, one of the toughest in the military worldwide. He had heard of the unfortunate fates of SAS members when captured by the enemy, and the fact that few SAS men had ever seen the inside of a German POW prison camp. Most had been shot on sight, no questions asked.
As Caplan drove in the area near Savenay, the English officer thought about the recently failed Operation Bulbasket—a military disaster.2 He remembered that just the month before, a group of SAS members had been captured near Poitiers, France.
That was a bloody mess, a really bad show. Those mucking Jerries. They should all be shot for what they did to those SAS members.
Foot instinctively winced when he envisioned how thirty of these SAS men had been savagely tortured and executed by a German firing squad. He scanned the area around him, feeling an uncharacteristic moment of fear.
If I'm captured, I'm dead.
Suddenly, without warning, Caplan slammed on the brakes. The jeep's wheels skidded to a stop at the edge of a steep drop-off in the middle of the road.
With his right hand, Foot grabbed hold of the windshield to keep from falling out.
"Caplan! What the blazing . . . !"
"The bridge! Sir, the bridge across the canal is gone!" Caplan shouted. "We're lucky we didn't go over!"
"Go around another way, mate!" Foot ordered, straightening himself in his seat and checking his wristwatch.
"Sir, there is no other way. We'll have to go back. I'll turn the jeep around. It might take a moment."
"Do what you must!" Foot scowled. "Just chivvy on and hurry it up!"
Foot climbed out and stretched his long legs. It took several tries for Caplan to reposition the jeep between the tight hedgerows bordering the road. Foot checked his watch again and began to pace.
Hurry up, Caplan! Turn the sodding jeep around!
While he waited, Foot thought about his grandfather, a commanding officer in the Territorial Army Hartfordshire Artillery Regiment, who, in 1912, had told Michael's father, Richard, it looked as if a war was going to occur. He suggested that young Richard enlist. Of course, he did. He fought throughout World War I, and made his father proud.
And that's exactly the same thing that Richard, my father, told me in the winter of 1938–39, while I was still in university.
Michael had taken his father's advice, enlisted, and was assigned to a searchlight battalion in an anti-aircraft command. He spent eighteen months in North Africa and Sicily, and was promoted to major in January 1944. He, too, made his father proud.
And I will make him even prouder as an intelligence officer with the esteemed SAS. I don't dare make a muck out of this assignment.
Michael had requested the mission. He wanted to get closer to the enemy.
I've spent only six months with the SAS. They assured me I would get much closer to the daft Germans, and they were certainly right!
Back and forth, back and forth, Foot paced, waiting for his driver to turn around. Then he heard a terrifying shout.
"Halt! Hände hoch! Halt! Hände hoch!" ["Stop! Put your hands up!"] a harsh, deep voice shouted from behind him.
Foot felt his heart race. He stopped and raised his arms high. Then he turned around slowly, and looked straight into the barrels of machine guns. The camouflaged blouses and pot-shaped helmets instantly identified the enemies as German paratroopers. The weapons were no surprise, the deadly, rapid-firing MG42s. They proved a nasty combination. He held his breath and waited for a paratrooper to fire.
Go ahead. Shoot me. Get it over with. I am not afraid to die. But I had hoped for a more spectacular demise!
Foot, well bred, brilliant, and wealthy, felt he deserved a more sensational end to his mission, to his life.
His head held high and his face showing no expression, he mentally prepared himself to be shot.
One bullet to the head and it's over. Finished. A life lived well, but cut short.
Michael Foot should prove a prized catch, one the Germans could brag about for a very long time. A handsome young intelligence officer, he had been well schooled before his military career, studying at England's foremost universities, including Winchester College and Oxford University. His father had boasted of his son's distinguished involvement in North Africa's Operation Torch and Sicily's Operation Husky.
"My boy also helped plan certain phases of the D-Day landings," Michael had heard his father tell important friends.
My father will be disappointed; I've mucked up and let him down. He expected more from me.
The Germans kept their weapons focused on him. For the first time, he wanted to make the prestigious SAS insignia on his sleeve disappear. It was no longer a symbol of pride and honor, but a death sentence. Not only did it identify him as a member of the British Army's most renowned special forces unit, but it proudly boasted the SAS's pompous motto: "Who Dares Wins."
They'll see the insignia, and I'm dead. My new motto? "I dared. I lost." I hope Father knows I did my best.
Foot kept his eyes on the machine guns. In the distance, he heard the gunning sound of the jeep's motor, and the squeal of spinning tires, as his driver escaped down the road.
Good for Caplan! He's nobody's fool. At least one of us has been saved.3
The captain let out the breath he had been holding, exhaling a bit more loudly than he meant to.
A German lieutenant approached Foot, speaking in English.
"You are with the SAS? Impressive!" the lieutenant said, noticing the insignia on the captain's left shoulder. A rare find. Not too many of you men left."
Foot remained silent, ignoring the remark.
"You remember, of course, last month's Poitiers incident?" the lieutenant asked Foot.
Upon hearing the name "Poitiers," the surrounding soldiers nodded and some grinned.
Foot clenched his jaw, narrowed his eyes, and focused on the woods far in the distance.
Yes. I remember. Some of those mates were my friends.
The officer, who then introduced himself as Lieutenant Bernstein, walked up close to Foot's face and pulled a penknife from his pocket, the sharp blade extended. Foot didn't flinch, as he expected to be stabbed or his throat to be cut. With one swift, unexpected move, Bernstein sliced at the SAS insignia on the captain's shoulder. When two threads held the badge in place, the lieutenant ripped the insignia off with his fingers. With a smirk, he stuffed it into his pocket.
"For my son! He'll appreciate it one day. Thanks for the nice souvenir," he told Foot.
The captain could hardly believe his stroke of luck—on two counts.
I'm still alive! And you just saved my life, old Jerry! Without knowing it, you removed the one visible piece of evidence linking me to the SAS. Now, if you don't see the SAS cheque book in my pocket . . . Foot struggled to hold back a smile of relief.
Bernstein then added: "I have decided to let you live. For the moment."
Just like I thought—all mouth and no trousers! Well, Bernstein, you've lengthened my life much longer than you know! And thank you for not checking my clothes. Had you searched me, you'd have found my compass and MI 9 hacksaw. Now you think you can imprison me? I've got news for you, mate. I'll escape! The SAS has taught me well!
The Germans hauled Foot to their POW prison camp, Camp Franco, a former French Air Force facility in the Fortress St. Nazaire. Michael told no one of his membership in the SAS. To the Germans at the prison camp, the young captain was no one special, just another captured Tommy.
Brigadier Foot received the SAS's telegram one evening in early September 1944, advising him that his son, Michael, had been reported "missing in action, and believed killed." He fell back into a chair and read the telegram again.
Missing in action? Maybe. But I refuse to believe my son is dead.
Brigadier Foot stood, walked to his dresser, and picked up the framed photograph of his son. A friend had snapped the shot the spring before, as Michael stood in full uniform in the brigadier's garden in Hampstead. Young, tall, dignified, his hands clasped together in front of him, Michael fit like the perfect puzzle piece into the long line of military heroes that had so elegantly graced the Foot family tree.
I hope this won't be the last snapshot of Michael I will ever see.
Even though the hour was late, Foot telephoned the SAS commander. Positioning his stiff-upper-lip military British posture, in a well-controlled voice he explained the telegram, and after a while ended the conversation:
"I know Michael is alive. I don't care what it takes, find my son."
The commander informed Foot of Michael's last mission and the delicate war situation in France.
"Brigadier Foot, we believe Michael was captured by the Germans on 24 August on a mission in France—in the St. Nazaire sector. As you know, the enemy still holds a total of eight hundred square miles there—the Atlantic coastal ports: Fortress St. Nazaire and Fortress Lorient. The Americans have sealed more than sixty-six thousand Germans within those ports. The enemy is highly trained and well equipped. The Allies are frequent targets of their ambushes around those areas."
"Do you have any evidence Michael could possibly be imprisoned in the St. Nazaire area, in a German POW camp?" Foot asked.
"We have no way to confirm that." The commander paused. "Let me be frank with you, sir. After the incident at Poitiers, we must expect and prepare for the worst. You and I both know the Germans do not imprison SAS members. They usually . . ."
"Sir," Foot interrupted: "My son has been shot at, parachuted over enemy lines, helped plan raids, taken part in air operations and in sea commando attacks, and organized daring escapes. I cannot believe he is dead. He's too smart to get himself killed!"
"I am sorry for your loss, Brigadier Foot. Michael was one of our best. He will be greatly missed."
Richard Foot coldly and formally expressed his gratitude for any offered help from the SAS commander, and said a proper British goodbye. But inside his gut, a volcano rumbled and threatened to erupt.
I'm sorry for your loss?! Michael WAS one of our best? He will be missed?! That idiot talks as if Michael is dead! Did he not hear a word I said?! It certainly sounds like I can expect little or no help from the SAS to find and rescue my son!
The brigadier poured himself a drink from his small sterling silver flask, plunked down in his chair, and tapped his right foot hard on the floor. Late that night, three whiskeys later, Foot lay in bed and thought about his son. He envisioned the sparkle in his eyes; his love for learning, for education; the intense way he conversed with others about stimulating ideas; his remarkable fund of anecdotes, his quick wit; his dreams of great things he hoped to accomplish in life. But he forbade himself to shed a tear. Proper British military fathers did not cry when an heir fell on some distant battlefield—no matter how loved. They understood the risks of duty, of serving one's beloved country. They knew the many generations of blood sacrifices that had been paid—and would yet be required—by Britain's native sons.
Michael had such a promising future. And . . . and now this tragedy. My only son. So young. Such great potential lost. Lost . . . forever.
Foot stared at the bedroom ceiling for the rest of the night. He dared not admit it, not even to himself, but his old, tough warrior heart was broken.
A WARM SEPTEMBER MORNING
13 September 1944, St. Nazaire Sector, France
Sergeant Harold Thompson and his twelve-man patrol were returning from an intelligence mission behind German lines in Festung St. Nazaire. Thompson, the young Gary Cooper look-alike from Alabama, and his comrades laughed and joked as they enjoyed the warm September morning. Thompson wished the girls back home could see him now—handsomely uniformed, solely responsible for the lives of a dozen men, and, at the early age of eighteen, already leading an important, dangerous mission.
Suddenly the quiet moments were rent by the zipper-like sounds of enemy machine guns. Thompson gasped as he watched his men drop like ninepins, their bodies ripped apart. He heard their cries and calls for help, and saw German soldiers take them prisoners. Then Thompson caught a glimpse of one of his most courageous men, Corporal Onald Nelson, throwing down his rifle and quickly raising his arms.
In the midst of the melee, Thompson, and one of his infantrymen, scampered to an old rotting woodshed nearby.
"We'll hide here till dark," Thompson whispered to his frightened comrade. "Then we'll sneak back to Allied lines."
Huddling down behind a stack of long-forgotten firewood, Thompson closed his eyes and shook with fear. Failure! Failure! Failure! As hard as he tried, he couldn't shut out the devilish voices that condemned him for his lack of caution, and for the deaths and capture of his men.
You just couldn't wait until you turned eighteen to join the army! You think this is a game? It's not! It's war and it's serious. You think you're a man? Ha! Don't fool yourself! You're still a boy—and a murderer. Those men are dead because of you!
Thompson thought about the day he arrived in Normandy, less than two months before—on July 4, 1944. He was filled with excitement, and ready for battle. He had hoped the war wouldn't end before he could join up, see some front line action, and make his mark as a war hero. Not much happened back home in Mobile, Alabama, and at eighteen, he was ready for some real adventure.
Assigned to the 31st Regiment, 83rd Infantry Division, Thompson wasn't satisfied to be one GI among many infantrymen stationed in France. He yearned for a front row seat in the European theater of war. So when his CO asked for volunteers to lead a dangerous information-gathering assignment at enemy front lines near the St. Nazaire pocket, Thompson's hand shot up first. Only a few other hands followed.
"Thompson," his commander told him, "this is a dangerous and extremely important mission. Be on your constant guard. You and your men try to find out what kind of soldiers and artillery the Germans have in the St. Nazaire sector, whether the bridges and roads are mined, and anything else you can bring back."
"Yes sir," Thompson said and saluted.
The CO continued: "Try to locate the U-boats at the Keroman sub base. We think they have thirteen or fourteen U-boats. We've bombed St. Nazaire to bits, but we haven't been able to touch those subs they've hidden beneath twenty feet of reinforced concrete. See if you can find a way we can get at them in their pens—assuming you can get that close. That's all, Sergeant, give it your best shot."
That morning Thompson's patrol sneaked single file through the quiet French countryside. The temperature reached a pleasant seventy degrees as they stayed close to the woods, trying to avoid hidden and ever-watching enemy eyes.
Thompson and his men had gathered some useful data, and had somehow gone unseen. But as they headed back to base, the Germans spotted them and attacked. Now half his men were dead or captured, and the sergeant and his comrade were hunkered down in hiding, waiting for dusk, and hoping to escape with their lives.
Thompson heard a slight noise outside the woodshed.
Footsteps?
He sucked in his breath and grasped his rifle tighter. The footsteps were followed by men's whispers.
The enemy! They know we're in here.
Before Thompson could decide whether to fight or flee, he heard a deafening blast, felt a searing hot pain in his shoulders, and saw black.
When the young sergeant regained consciousness, he painfully opened his bloated eyes. His comrade was gone. Standing on all sides of him he saw gray-clad helmeted Germans pointing rifles with bayonets. He tasted blood and saw torn flesh on his chest. Pain overwhelmed him as he was loaded onto a litter and taken to a makeshift first aid station. After German medics removed some of the largest pieces of shrapnel from his face, neck, shoulders, and chest, they trucked him to the St. Nazaire POW camp. At first glance, Thompson thought it looked like an abandoned aircraft factory.
One of his captured men, Corporal Nelson, saw Thompson arrive at the camp.
"Sergeant, we didn't know if you had survived or not," Nelson said. "They killed six of our men. I am one of the four men from our mission they captured and imprisoned here."
"What is this place?" Thompson asked.
"It's a compound with about a dozen Americans and several British prisoners," Nelson said. "I'm told it's completely surrounded by barbed wire and located between a large swamp and the Loire River. The water here is undrinkable, and they say the chow's pretty bad, too. So far we've had some soup, black bread, a bit of cheese, and ersatz coffee—that's about the size of it."
"Any way to escape from this place?" Thompson asked.
"Must be," Nelson said. "I heard someone got away about a week ago."
Late that night, Thompson lay flat on his back, trying to sleep, writhing in pain. He put his hands to his face. No longer did his fingers feel the smooth youthful skin of a teenager. The finely tuned features that had once turned girls' heads and made him the most sought after guy in Mobile, had swollen to a monstrous size.
After several days of limited food, Thompson noticed his weight dropping. He found some scraps of paper and wrote in his makeshift diary:
"A typical day's rationing: weak coffee for breakfast, a cup of thin clear liquid soup—filled with sawdust—for lunch, and a piece of black bread, about the size of a small paperback book, that had to be divided by five men.
"The camp: a narrow building that includes bunk beds with bug-infested straw mattresses and a thin blanket.
"The latrine: a shared bucket."
Thompson put down his pencil, hid the diary under the straw mattress, and thought about the men killed on the mission he had led. And, for the first time in his young life, his heart's feverish yearning for adventure and action seemed to lose its tight grip, arousing little, if any, stirring in his soul.
Ground flak hit the Massachusetts-born pilot's P-51 Mustang over Paimboeuf, some five thousand feet above northwest France on the Loire River. From the cockpit, Second Lieutenant James L. Silva saw coolant spewing from the plane's tail. The ear-deafening engine overheated, sputtered, then stalled. Smoke filled the cockpit, so thick that Silva could no longer see the instrument panel. Caught in a high-speed stall, he tried unsuccessfully to turn the plane around. He was falling, losing altitude. Fast.
The twenty-year-old Northeastern University freshman held his breath. His first solo mission, he'd never bailed out of a plane before. Not even a practice jump. He struggled to remember the proper procedures.
Shot down. Gotta cross over. Upper left for a turn down the coast. Like thrown rod. No other flak. Ugh, rough. Less throttle. I'm okay. Increase a little. OKAY. White smoke. Other flak low and right. Climb and turn. Stall. Dark brown smoke. Gotta turn, stall and . . . whoa . . . half spin. Something's broke. Smitty cross bow. Here we go. Turn north. Stall. Broke. See nothing. Gotta bail. Now.
He had had nightmares about this situation—alone in a plane, an inexperienced pilot, shot down, having to parachute out for the first time ever.
Silva jerked back the canopy of his cockpit and prepared to bail out. But . . . he couldn't move. He was leashed to the panel. Stuck! Brilliant! He had forgotten to disconnect his head-and-throat radio set. Still losing altitude, he tried frantically to free himself from the tangle of cords. Finally free! Just as he started to exit, his knee hit a pin—the pin that held back the canopy. It closed as Silva, halfway in and halfway out, got caught in the middle and tried not to panic.
Climb half out. Canopy closed. Free cords. Squeeze out little more.
The ground came closer.
Too close. Seconds count now. Too late! Less than one thousand feet from ground. Too close to bail out. Going down with plane.
In a second of renewed strength, he forced back the canopy and jumped out.
Dive. Slipstream dragged out. Plane lower left in eye. Rip cord.
He began the 350-mile-an-hour dive, and not a second too soon. Pulling his rip cord, he waited for the expected jerk he'd been told would happen when his parachute opened.
At least, I hope my chute will open.
Jerk. Chute opens. OKAY. Look up. Beautiful canopy. Strange, quiet, heavenly sensation.
Silva exhaled a breath of relief when the chute opened and slowed his dive. I'm still alive! As he drifted down, he looked at the ground. Oh no! The burning plane lay just beneath him. Plane burning center of field. To his horror, he saw he was positioned to land right on top of it.
He watched the burning plane as it, and the ground, raced closer and closer to him.
No! No! No! I'll burn alive. Not death by fire!
Seconds before he landed on the burning wreckage, he felt a slight wind blow in from the Atlantic. It blew him a few yards off course, and beyond the flames. He missed the burning plane, hit the ground hard, rolled over, and stood up.
OKAY! Safe. Don't believe it! Alive! Unhurt!
The sound of gunfire blasted nearby. He turned his head to figure out its location.
German fire?
He ducked and looked around.
No Krauts within sight. Who's shooting at me? Pucker factor very high!
He glanced at the nearby burning plane.
For crying out loud! It's the ammunition exploding in my own plane!
He wiped the sweat from his face.
Now take off chute. Carry canopy and drag shrouds.
Silva wrestled with his chute. It tangled up in the thick bushes beside him. He struggled to free the chute, and then quickly balled it up, knelt down, and hid it under some branches.
Chute under leaves. Well hidden. Good. Now, where am I?
As Silva stood up, German soldiers sprang from the hedgerows, surrounded him, and aimed their rifles at his chest. Suddenly the young pilot was living the second part of his nightmare: capture by the enemy. Silva raised his hands high in surrender.
German guards placed him in a car and drove to a nearby anti-aircraft station in the St. Nazaire sector. On the way, as he traveled through small villages, Silva saw French citizens walking down the roads, farmers working in fields, and women shopping in outdoor markets. Each time French civilians saw the handsome young Yank, and recognized his American uniform, they held up their hands and, with two fingers, secretly flashed the "V" sign, as if encouraging him to victory. Silva, somewhat surprised at their friendly gestures, gave them a nod. To the pretty young French girls, who swooned at his movie star looks, he gave a wink and an Elvis half smile.
Silva wanted to shout out loud to the French citizens: We're winning this war! It's just a matter of time!
But instead he kept his words hidden in his heart and his gaze glued on the girls.
When he arrived at the station, Silva noticed a huge-bellied German corporal wearing a decorative pin on the left upper pocket of his uniform—an oval-shaped silver wreath of oak leaves, crowned by a flying eagle clutching a swastika. Beneath it an 8.8 cm anti-aircraft gun pointed skyward, its barrel breaking through the top right of the wreath. Silva had never before seen such a pin.
Impressive! I wonder what it means!
Noticing Silva's admiration of his badge, the well-fed corporal approached him, pointed to the pin, and boasted in limited English: "It . . . the Luftwaffen Kampfabz. I am . . . the one . . . that shoot you . . . down." The German smiled and, with his meaty fingers, patted the silver wreath pinned to his pocket.
Silva acknowledged the corporal with a nod. Enjoy your fancy pin now, Kraut. It won't mean much after Germany loses the war.
German guards delivered Silva to an old stone warehouse near the St. Nazaire submarine pens.
I joined up for some adventure! I think I'm getting it now!
Guards searched him thoroughly. Somehow they overlooked the French one-hundred-franc-bill he had hidden deep in his pants' secret pocket. They took him to an English-speaking Hauptmann for interrogation. Silva towered over the short, slight German, and even offered him a smile. The German ignored him.
Silva gave his name, rank, and serial number. Nothing else.
"I can take you out and shoot you if I want to," the Hauptmann told Silva, and tapped a gun hard on the table.
This guy's not kidding around. He's little, but he's deadly.
"I know you can," the pilot responded, erasing his smile and swallowing hard. My award-winning smile doesn't work with short, mean Krauts. Silva refused to give the German any additional information.
The first week Silva stayed at the warehouse in solitary confinement. He slept on a pile of straw in one corner of the cell. Rats gnawed nearby. He lay awake at night watching the rodents, making sure they kept their distance.
Rather rats than Krauts. Rats are safer.
He heard taps coming from the other side of the wall and assumed they were POWs like himself trying to communicate with him. But he wasn't sure.
Might be a trick.
He decided not to respond. In the morning, someone shoved his breakfast through a small opening in the door—a bowl of thin soup mixed with straw, and a slice of dark, coarse bread.
Not exactly Boston's Parker House. What I'd give for a bite of their Boston cream pie right now.
Day after dreary day passed in solitary confinement. Silva began to lose weight. His once strong, muscular frame became weaker and thinner. After one lengthy interrogation, he gave the German officer his parents' names and home address. He saw no harm in it. It seemed to satisfy the interrogator. In appreciation, the German released him from solitary confinement. In his new quarters, he met other allied POWs, including Harold Thompson, a mysterious English captain named Foot, and a reclusive prisoner who introduced himself as Frenchman Lieutenant Léon Rollin. Within Silva's first few days there, he heard Spanin speak several different languages, all with flawless accents: English, German, French, and Russian.
Thompson seems normal enough. But a weird accent. Southern, I think. Can't understand half of what he says. Seems kind of sad. Face swollen; black and blue, but healing. Hard to believe he's only eighteen. Seems much older.
But Foot and Spanin? Foot's English. Seems educated. Arrogant bird. Proud, too. Looks lots like nobility. Blue blood, for sure. No doubt from a long line of redcoats—probably fought my ancestors during the Siege of Boston.
Spanin? Not sure where he's from. He's strange. Punchy. Distrusting. Dangerous? Maybe. Think I'll keep my distance.
Silva noticed that Foot and Spanin spent a lot of time conversing together secretly. They spoke in whispers, discussed nothing with anyone else, and remained distant, private, and aloof. Once Silva thought he overheard Foot say the word "escape." But he couldn't be sure. And he dared not ask.
2 October 1944, Lorient Sector, France
Second Lieutenant David Devonald briefed K Company's Third Platoon on their assignment that day.
"Pack some rifles and cartridge belts," he said. "No need to take mortars, machine guns, steel helmets, or combat boots. We have orders to go to a meadow in the Lorient vicinity, near German lines, pick up some deserting German soldiers that want to surrender, and bring them back to headquarters. We expect no enemy resistance."
Devonald led the fifty-four men as they marched toward the French village.
"Harden, Brady, Trachtenberg!" he called. "Stay alert! Watch for snipers behind these bushes."
Devonald had warned his men many times about the dangers posed by the hedgerows that lined both sides of the roads.
"Great for farmers," he had told them. "Protect their animals, mark their property lines, keep their farm soil from eroding. But," he cautioned, "deadly for allied patrols. Give the enemy ideal cover for surprise ambushes."
Privates First Class Kermit Harden, George Brady, and David Trachtenberg trained their eyes on the tangled branches and watched for the slightest movement. Private First Class Thomas Richards walked ahead, scouting the area a few yards in front of the others.
"I'm glad this mission will be uneventful," Sergeant Roy Connatser said to Devonald. "And I hope this will be one of my last assignments."
"The war can't last much longer, Roy," Devonald said. "Surely we'll all be home by Christmas."
"I've seen about as much action as I can take," Connatser continued. "Two-and-a-half years of constant combat with General Patton, and I'm ready for it to end!"
Devonald wasn't too keen on marching into the no-man's-land—the border between Allied and Axis boundaries near the German-manned Fortress Lorient. He knew how well Hitler had equipped the seaport: twenty-five thousand German troops and some five hundred pieces of artillery.
En route, Devonald turned to radio operator Private Harry Glixon. He liked Glixon, the quiet, respectful young man who left a good-paying job at New York's Brooklyn Navy Yard to join the army. He appreciated the way Glixon took orders, got along with others, and never made waves.
"Harry," he said. "I haven't seen a single French civilian on the streets since we started out. I find that highly unusual."
"Yes, sir," Glixon said. "That is kinda spooky. They're usually on the roads and in the villages this time of day. I don't understand it either."
About noon, when they reached a high plateau, Devonald told several men to walk ahead and scout out the meadow below them, the designated meeting place for the surrendering Germans.
"Richards, Rader, Boyd, Shulman, Stewart," he ordered. "Check out the meadow. We'll come along behind you."
Privates First Class Richards, Rader, and Boyd, along with Privates Shulman and Stewart, walked down the plateau. They arrived at the bottom and looked around the large, open meadow.
"Sir! There's no one down here," Richards shouted.
"Glixon, set up the radio, call headquarters, tell them our situation, and ask for instructions," Devonald said.
"Yes, sir." Glixon set down the forty-pound field radio, raised the antenna high, put the receiver to his ear, and talked to Colonel Hagerty, the regimental commander. After a few minutes of conversation, Glixon reported the conversation to Devonald.
"Sir," Glixon said, "Colonel Hagerty ordered us to keep going until we find the surrendering Germans."
"That's all?" Devonald asked. "Just 'keep going'?"
"Yes, sir, that's all he said."
Devonald ordered the men to walk deeper into the meadow.
"Something's just not right here," he told Glixon at 1255, after his men had spent several more minutes inspecting the area. "Something's going on. I don't like—"
Devonald heard the first shot. He saw Richards crumple to the ground, blood flowing from the hole in the center of his forehead.
"Take cover!" Devonald shouted. The soldiers hit the ground and scrambled into the twisted hedgerow branches for protection from flying bullets. The Germans opened up their machine guns.
"We've been tricked!" Devonald screamed. In the distance, he saw hundreds of German soldiers dressed in full combat gear, firing as they advanced toward them.
Bullets tore into three more K Company men.
"We're outnumbered!" Devonald shouted. "We're not prepared to fight them! Let's go back! There's no place to go but back!"
The patrol turned around at their leader's command. But Devonald and the men saw that they couldn't retreat. The Germans had surrounded them, firing from all sides. They scurried back into the bushes and returned fire.
Seeing they were surrounded, Devonald shouted to Glixon: "Radio headquarters. Ask for reinforcements!"
Devonald waited for Glixon's report as he dodged bullets and counted the passing minutes. Men are dead and wounded. Ammunition is running low. If we don't get help, and fast, we're all dead!
"Glixon!" he shouted. "What's the dope?! Are they sending reinforcements?!"
"They said they've sent them, sir!" Glixon shouted back.
Devonald looked east, west, north, and south. He saw no reinforcements.
"Then where are they?" he shouted.
"Wait, sir!" Glixon called out. "They are telling me the reinforcements can't get through German lines! That we are completely surrounded!"
Devonald watched his men drop all around him, victims of German bullets. Trachtenberg was hit. He saw George Boyd, backed deep into a tangled hedgerow, trying to dodge the bullets that bounced off the ground around his lanky legs.
"The Kraut's gonna cut off my legs!" he heard Boyd scream out.
He watched the steady barrage of mortars, grenades, and bullets bombard his men. He heard explosions, mixed with shouts and screams of pain—the deafening noise of combat he knew so well.
"Sir!" Brady shouted from a nearby hiding spot deep in the bushes. "We have four men down: Rowe, Button, Dyer, and Richards."
Devonald looked around him and saw the four dead, as well as dozens of his men unconscious and wounded, sprawled on the ground. He also watched hundreds of fresh, strong reinforcements join the German troops as his men tried in vain to hold their small circle of ground.
Time to make a decision. Hagerty won't like it. We've got to surrender. We have no choice.
He glanced at young Glixon, still manning the radio and squatting behind a thin tree now fewer than one hundred yards from the advancing enemy.
"Glixon!" he shouted. "Call Hagerty! Tell him—"
Devonald felt a sharp intense pain in his forehead.
A mortar explosion. I'm hit. Hurt. Hurt bad.
He felt his knees weaken and bend. Desperately trying to hold on to consciousness, he slowly sank to the ground. He saw Glixon leave the radio and run to his side.
"Glixon," Devonald whispered. "Before I lose consciousness . . . tell Harrington to take over. Give him my permission to surrender if he thinks the situation calls for it. . . ."
Devonald felt his body go limp. He closed his eyes, and his world went dark.
Sergeant Ames Harrington, upon receiving Glixon's message from Devonald, assumed immediate charge of the patrol.
"Glixon," Harrington said. "Go ahead like Devonald advised and radio Hagerty. Tell him we must surrender."
Glixon obeyed orders and ran back to the radio. A minute later, he shouted back: "Sergeant! Hagerty said NO! NO surrender! Keep fighting!"
Harrington watched German soldiers advance forward, coming closer and trying to tighten and choke off the circle around K Company's men. He saw a mortar shell hit the ground beside Bernie Rader, a short distance away. Rader fell backward and lay bleeding, faceup in the dirt. Another shell followed, hitting George Boyd, who fell down beside Rader.
Harrington turned to Corporal John Atkinson, who crouched down beside him.
"Atkinson! Take a message to Glixon. Have him radio Hagerty again. Make sure Glixon tells Hagerty we have no choice but to surrender, we've got four men dead, a dozen or more wounded, we're running out of ammo, and we're surrounded by the enemy! Tell Glixon not to take no for an answer!"
"Yes, sir," Atkinson responded. He spread-eagled his body on the ground and crawled to Glixon, who was now fewer than fifty feet from the advancing enemy.
From the distance, Harrington watched Atkinson give Glixon the message, and then saw Glixon shouting into the radio, an angry frown on his face.
What's taking so long? Is Glixon arguing with Hagerty? Mild-mannered Glixon? Is the colonel refusing to allow us to surrender?
Harrington saw a frantic expression appear on Glixon's face, and a hurried attempt to reconnect the radio call.
Oh no! The radio went dead! I hope Hagerty said "surrender" before . . .
Harrington saw Atkinson signal back to him the hand sign "okay to surrender." Harrington motioned for Atkinson to raise the white flag.
Atkinson pulled a white bandage from his first aid pack. Harrington took a deep breath of relief when he saw the young corporal attach the large bandage to the tip of his bayonet, stand up, and wave it high in the air.
Now maybe I can get the rest of these men out of here alive and back to their families.
For a split second, Harrington envisioned the face of his wife at their home in Wisconsin.
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Andrew G. Hodges, M.D., is the firstborn son of World War II hero Andrew Gerow Hodges. He is a board-certified psychiatrist in private practice and has served as assistant clinical professor of psychiatry at the University of Alabama at Birmingham School of Medicine. Dr. Hodges has helped pioneer a breakthrough to the brilliant unconscious mind, which he explained in his groundbreaking book, The Deeper Intelligence. Criminal investigators and journalists have sought Dr. Hodges' expertise in cases ranging from the murder of JonBenet Ramsey to the disappearance of Natalee Holloway. He lives in Birmingham, Alabama, with his family.	Learn more about Andrew Gerow Hodges Jr.
Denise George is an author, teacher, and speaker. She has written or co-written twenty-seven books, including The Secret Holocaust Diaries: The Untold Story of Nonna Bannister; While the World Watched: A Birmingham Bombing Survivor Comes of Age During the Civil Rights Movement; and The Gentle Giant of Dynamite Hill: The Untold Story of Arthur Shores and His Family's Fight for Civil Rights. Her work has been published in numerous magazines, journals, and newspapers. She is married to author Dr. Timothy George and lives in Birmingham, Alabama.	Learn more about Denise George
Andrew Gerow Hodges Jr., Denise George
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The Lost Eleven
The Forgotten Story of Black American Soldiers Brutally Massacred in World War II
Denise George, Robert Child
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The Story of Bronislaw Huberman, the Israel Philharmonic, and the One Thousand Jews He Saved from Nazi Horrors
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Anyone that has to deliver large-scale projects will be aware of the importance of managing stakeholders, and the pain, delays and ultimately project failure that can be caused when this key aspect isn't dealt with appropriately from the outset.
It's important to analyse your stakeholder requirements at the start of any project. This can be done with the whole team, as it is helpful for everyone to understand the nuances and relationships with key stakeholders for that project. A useful tool I have used with my teams in the past is the Power/Interest Grid. Just list all of your stakeholders (these could be groups as well as individuals), and then plot where they sit on the Grid. Their relative power/interest will determine the nature of the communication/contact you need to have and at what stage, and this will enable you to create a communications plan with accompanying timeline and build this in to your overall project plan, as well as flagging up potential challengers that need to be engaged with early.
I then rehearsed the pitch on my colleagues until I was confident I could present without reading or referring to my notes. The next time I presented the proposal I was delighted when one of the panel said, 'great pitch', and the ensuing discussion was a positive one rather than a laborious trawl through the detail of the report.
Meeting with key stakeholders ahead of a formal committee or panel to individually pitch and present is a useful tactic. That way you can focus on their own individual needs and concerns and go into more detail than is often possible in a more formal setting. Your stakeholders will appreciate that you have taken the time to seek them out individually to consult with them and listen to their views. Going into a meeting to present your proposal knowing that you have key players already onside will help you, as you are less likely to have any surprise questions or challenges, and you are more likely to have tacit approval from those you have already met with.
Some projects have a life of their own and it may be unclear to stakeholders in the early stages what the outcomes are likely to be. Early, then regular consultation is needed to ensure that expectations are managed. Shifting stakeholder views will need to be managed carefully throughout the project. Stakeholders can also change their mind during the project lifecycle and even forget what they initially agreed. So, maintaining a path of regular contact with most, if not all stakeholders, is essential. Generic email updates are fine if they are customised to the audience and using project team members to update key stakeholders is ok also, but nothing beats personal contact from the project lead either by phone or face to face to make sure key messages are getting through and to ward off any mismatched expectations that may occur.
The Association for Project Management say that developing relationships results in increased trust. And where there is trust, people work together more easily and effectively. Building relationships is a natural human instinct that often 'opens doors' or influences outcomes that cannot always be achieved by following plans and processes alone. These 'shoulder to shoulder' working practices and alliances help reduce barriers, build rapport, instill confidence and fuel progress.
A useful exercise is to map your own social network of contacts in your workplace, where do you have these relationships of trust? If you find they all appear within your own team or department then that is a good wake-up call that you need to invest some time in developing trust-based relationships further afield.
Interested in training or learning solutions on this topic? Get in touch, we'd love to hear from you!


Dunedin is beautiful. I was struck by the city, magnificent landscape and the feel of this part of New Zealand. Keep reading for my tips on how to spend the perfect long weekend in Dunedin, so you make the most of what the city has to offer.
It's been more than a month now since I took the trip and spent the long weekend in this area. The memories are still quite fresh. I was able to fill the time with many activities and adventures and almost ran out of days to do and see it all.
Being in Dunedin reminded me how beautiful New Zealand's South Island was. People, nature, wildlife, general vibe. You might also want to check out and read about my encounter with the incredible wildlife that is within the boundaries of the Dunedin District (here).
Visiting Tunnel Beach is a must when in Dunedin. It's located just a short 15-minute drive south of the city. This is the rocky part of Otago's coastline with some high sea-carved cliffs and arches. I was catching the late evening sun setting down behind the high beach cliffs and was unable to capture the full beauty of this place with my camera. The views here are amazing. You can become mesmerized just by gazing out to those crashing waves that break in from the Pacific Ocean.
It's a perfect spot to visit not only for stretching your legs (a walk back up to the car park is a bit of a workout). It's also ideal for exploring the huge sandstone boulders, cliffs and the secluded beach that you can reach through the short tunnel. I recommend checking the tides before heading here. With the evening high tide, I wasn't that lucky myself this time and couldn't explore the beach.
New Zealand is by world standards still quite young in its overall architectural expression. When I first arrived in Dunedin it certainly felt like coming home in a way because of the grandiose Victorian and Edwardian buildings scattered throughout the city. Europeans (mostly Scottish people) settled in Dunedin during the Victorian era which was consequently reflected in their stone and brick buildings. It's hard to overlook the monumental Edwardian Dunedin Railway Station when taking the stroll across the city centre. It is said to be New Zealand's most photographed building.
You can easily be impressed with the Gothic-style University of Otago, First Presbyterian Church or St Paul's Cathedral located on the octagon. Even though I didn't spend a lot of time in the city during this travel, I could still sense how the historic buildings and architecture reflect Dunedin's Victorian heritage in a way that is unique to New Zealand and this part of the world. If you have more time on your hand or prefer architecture to landscapes, then you'll certainly have lots to explore.
Moeraki Boulders were something I looked forward to seeing the most before traveling to Dunedin. These spherical boulders were formed over millions of years on the sea floor by a cementation of the Paleocene mudstone through a layering process. They later became exposed and scattered across Koekohe Beach by the constant coastal erosion. They measure as much as 2.2 m in diameter and become fully exposed on a low tide. Boulders are wonderful to see and are truly a great photographic motif to explore with your camera as well.
Pyramids of Otago Peninsula are formations that I accidentally discovered while being on a search for sea lions and other animals of the Otago Peninsula. They are located in Okia Reserve, on the way to Victory Beach. You'll need around 15-20 minutes to reach them from a car park. Geometric basalt columns give the distinctive appearance to these pyramids that were volcanically formed.
A short climb to the small pyramid gives an amazing 360 view of the coastline, surrounding wetland and grasslands. A walk further to the beach is a bit longer than I expected. Come prepared and set some time aside for this, and you might just spot some sea lions, penguins and seals.
The other similar jointed basalt formation is Organ Pipes. Organ Pipes are located in Mount Cargill Scenic Reserve, just a short drive north of Dunedin. This is a short walk, somewhere half the way to the summit of Mount Cargill. Interesting hexagonal shaped rocks first started showing up on the side of the walking path as I was making my way up through the forest. But I was soon able to see them fully, with high rock columns rising straight up in front of me. They were just majestic.
From close they truly seem like man-made and it's hard to believe that through the volcanic activities and natural processes in this area they obtained almost perfect hexagonal shape. Unfortunately, rain suddenly came in, stopping me from going for that top view. Slippery rocks just didn't seem safe enough to pursue that. I certainly hope to return here again in the future.
Afternoon flight back to Auckland gave me the chance to fill the morning with one more activity I wanted to squeeze in before leaving Dunedin. Nugget Point is located around 100 km south from Dunedin and sits at the northern end of the Catlins coast. With the lighthouse sitting at the tip of the headland, it's one of New Zealand's iconic landforms. It's surrounded by approximately 20 rocky islets (The Nuggets) that can be best seen from the viewing platform at the lighthouse.
The area around the Nugget Point is rich in wildlife. You might be able to spot sea lions, New Zealand fur seals, yellow-eyed penguins, gannets and other seabirds. This place is a popular photographic spot. Early mornings and late evenings bring out the best opportunities to capture the dramatic coastal landscape. Nevertheless, night sky with illuminated lighthouse would still be my favourite view of this popular spot.
The oldest: Dunedin is a students city with New Zealand's oldest university (founded in 1869). It's known as a city of culture and education.
The steepest: Baldwin Street (North East Valley) is considered the world's steepest residential street with the incline of 35% (19°) at its maximum.
The only: Larnach Castle was built in 1871 and is the only castle in New Zealand. It's located on the hills of Otago Peninsula and surrounded by beautifully maintained gardens and also offers great panoramic views.
TRAVEL TIP: Do rent a car if you have the chance. Dunedin as a city is quite beautiful and there are many attractions that can be explored by foot or by local transport. However, being truly mobile will make such a difference in the whole experience. You'll be able to explore the beautiful landscape, wildlife and hidden gems that can only be found past the strict city limits.


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Posts Tagged 'Dr. Dre'
#ThrowAwayBeatTape is Available Exclusively At: VerseAll.com
Posted: September 29, 2014 in BEat Inspired, Beat Maker, BPM, Crate Diggers, Drum & Bass, Dubstep, Headphones, Hip-Hop, Loops and Samples, New Release, Producers, Sample Flippers, Uncategorized
Tags: 9th Wonder, Alchemist, Beat Inspired, Beat Maker, BPM, Damu The Fudge Monk, DITC, Dj Premier, Dj Statik Selektah, Dr. Dre, Dungeon Family, Erik Sermon, Hhip-Hop, Instrumology, J. Dilla, Jake One, Kanye West, Lex Luger, Pete Rock, Pharell, Premiere, RJD2, Roc Wilder, RZA, SwizzBeatz, Tempo, VerseAll
Available Only at VerseAll.com
VerseAll has put together a 10 track instrumental beat tape entitled "#TheThrowAwayBeatTape" set to be released tomorow, 9/29/2014, exclusively through VerseAll.com. The purpose for this project is to introduce recording artist and music lovers to the VerseAll sound. This project is also free to download at verseall.com and all recording artist have permission to use these tracks for their future projects. Also be on the lookout for "Crossing Borders" set to be released later in the year. Checkout the two tracks below off of the #ThrowAwayBeatTape and also go to VerseAll.com to download the entire 10 track project.
Beat Inspired: Black Milk
Posted: November 19, 2013 in Crate Diggers, Drum & Bass, Headphones, Hip-Hop, Loops and Samples, Producers, Uncategorized
Tags: 9th Wonder, Alchemist, Beat Inspired, Beat Maker, Beats Per Minute, BlackMilk, Danny Brown, Detroit, DITC, Dj Premier, Dj Statik Selektah, Dr. Dre, J. Dilla, JDilla, Pete Rock, Pharoahe Monch, Sean Price, Slum Village, Sound Of The City, VerseAll
Producer/ Lyricist Black Milk
Black Milk is a producer/lyricist from the mid-west. He has worked with many artist in the music industry including Slum Village, Pharoahe Monch, Fat Kat, ElZhi, Danny Brown, Sean Price, and many more. He has put out solo albums as an lyricist and instrumentalist. One of the dopest producers to date.
Peep the video below as Black Milk makes a beat on the spot. and remember to always "Beat Inspired"!
Beat Inspired! Ms. Instrumental
Posted: October 26, 2013 in BPM, Crate Diggers, Drum & Bass, Dubstep, Headphones, Hip-Hop, Loops and Samples, Producers, Uncategorized
Tags: Alchemist, Beat Battles, Beat Inspired, Beat Maker, Boi Wonder, BPM, Culture, Damu The Fudge Monk, Dj Statik Selektah, Dr. Dre, Electronic press kit, Erik Sermon, Hhip-Hop, Hip-Hop, Instrumology, Ms. Instrumental, Samples, SwizzBeatz, VerseAll
Beat Inspired! Ms. Instrumental.
Posted: October 26, 2013 in Beat Maker, BPM, Crate Diggers, Drum & Bass, Dubstep, Headphones, Hip-Hop, Uncategorized
Tags: 9th Wonder, Alchemist, Beat Battles, Beat Inspired, Beat Maker, Beat Makers, Beats Per Minute, Boi Wonder, Culture, Damu The Fudge Monk, Dj Statik Selektah, Dr. Dre, Dubstep, Electronic press kit, Erik Sermon, Hhip-Hop, Instrumology, Just Blaze, Ms. Instrumental, VerseAll
This young lady has skills!
Remember to always Beat Inspired!
Today's Producers Spotlight Shines On: Rez TheSilverback
Posted: October 20, 2013 in Beat Maker, BPM, Crate Diggers, Drum & Bass, Dubstep, Headphones, Hip-Hop, Loops and Samples, Producers, Uncategorized
Tags: 9th Wonder, Alchemist, Beat Battles, Beat Maker, Beat Makers, Beats Per Minute, Boi Wonder, BPM, Culture, Damu The Fudge Monk, DITC, Dj Premier, Dj Statik Selektah, Dr. Dre, Dungeon Family, Electronic press kit, Erik Sermon, Hhip-Hop, J. Dilla, Jake One, Lester EazyBeats Angeles, Lex Luger, Pete Rock, Rez The Silverback, RZA, Trance, VerseAll
INST: Let the world know who you are and where you're from?
REZ: My name is Randy "Rez TheSilverback" Nizer.
I'm an 18 year old Mc/beat maker from Manchester, New Hampshire and
I just love the hip hop culture! P.S., I say beat maker since I don't PRODUCE other genres.
I'm strictly hip hop as of now.
INST: Who have you worked with & how long have been beat making or producing?
REZ: I have worked with a bunch of people; Artist like 7oddz from the Chi, Resolute & J-Merk, Coal,
Taboo & Grim from NY's Dead Rabbits. Currently working on building with Godilla & Burke The Jurke.
And believe it or not I have only been making beats for about a year. Maybe a little less.
INST: How did you get started beatmaking-producing?
REZ: I have always loved hip hop from every aspect, DJing, Rapping, and Producing.
But I mainly started because I have always had a visions Of my unique sound but
being able to keep it Boom Bap & Gritty. Another reason was because
I never had enough money to buy beats. So I went after it myself.
INST: Of all of the artists that you've worked with, do you have a favorite
artist that you work well with?
REZ: Like I said before, I have only been doing this for about a year.
So to say a favorite artist as of right now, I cant say.
But everyone I work with slay tracks, so they are all my favorite!
INST: What equipment and or software are you using?
REZ: Fruity Loops, vinyl & a turntable. That's it!
INST: Do you use or prefer sampling over playing live instruments?
REZ: I love to sample and sample anything I get my hands on,
but I would love to use live instruments or work with someone who does!
INST: Who influenced your style?
REZ: Just my peers and love for the music. I always hear beats I really
dig and never know who the producer is.
Names don't really impress me. Its what kind of product you are putting out.
But Alchemist is definitely (1) of my top influences
along with the obvious Premier.
Domingo is also another legend I look up to and have the honor of building
with him!
INST: Do you ever see yourself quitting or retiring from beat making?
REZ: Only when my hands fall off or if I go deaf. Or both.
INST: Do you feel that there a difference between being a
producer and being a beat maker?
REZ: Yes, there is a very big difference. For instance,
Domingo is a PRODUCER.
He can go from Hip Hop to R&B to probably Folk if he really wanted
to [Haha].
I am a beat maker, I just make beats.
But that is where I do best at until I feel the need to grow
into other genres & try new things. Nothing wrong with being a beat maker though.
INST: Any tips, tricks, or advice that you'd like to share?
REZ: Only advice I really have, Is be true to YOU & do what you feel is right.
If you truly believe in your soul what you are doing is right.
Then that's all there is to it. Cliche I know but its the truth.
INST: Where can we hear your work?
REZ: You can find my work just about anywhere.
You can google me or find me on these sites.
Soundcloud.com/rezinhiphop Youtube.com/rezin603 RezTheSilverback.bandcamp.com
Today's Producer Spotlight Shines On: Optiks
Posted: July 28, 2013 in Beat Maker, BPM, Crate Diggers, Drum & Bass, Dubstep, Headphones, Hip-Hop, Loops and Samples, Producers
Tags: 9th Wonder, Alchemist, Beat Battles, Beat Maker, Beat Makers, Beats Per Minute, Boi Wonder, BPM, Culture, Damu The Fudge Monk, DITC, Dj Premier, Dj Statik Selektah, Dr. Dre, Dubstep, Dungeon Family, Electronic press kit, Hhip-Hop, Hip-Hop, Hosting, J. Dilla, Kanye West, Optiks, Pete Rock, Pri The Honeydark, Producer, RZA, Samples, SwizzBeatz, VerseAll, YouTube
Optiks is a producer who has worked with a nice roster of lyricist that are well known. His beats are full of all types of intruments ranging from flutes to horns, then samples and strings etc. When I listen to Optiks production style, it gives me a feel good vibe, almost like everyday is a celebration. I was pleased to be contacted by Optiks, who reached out to me via twitter and was interested in the requirements of my blog.
After doing my research on Optiks, I was amazed by his sound and wanted to interview him immediately. Optiks is the type of producer that make other producers go back in the lab and try to out do what he has done. Thanks Optiks for allowing me to interview you. Ladies and gentlemen, introducing out Producer Spotlight of the week, Optiks!
INST: Let the world know who you are and where you're from?
Opt: I'm Optiks, producer/engineer for Jon Connor, Blitz the Ambassador, Psalm One, and Kap Kallous. I'm born and raised in Cincinnati, a product of the Ozone (Orlando, FL), and settled in Sunset Park, Brooklyn. I've been in a lot of places and it all helped make me the artist that I am today.
Opt: Man, I've worked with a lot of people over the years. The main ones are Jon Connor, Blitz the Ambassador, Kap Kallous, and Psalm One, who I have an album on the way with. It's crazy! I've also worked with Talib Kweli, Maffew Ragazino, Freeway, Styles P, Heltah Skeltah, Saigon, Les Nubians, and a bunch more. You can hear some of those at http://www.soundcloud.com/optiks and if its not there its probably at http://optiks.bandcamp.com.
I've been making beats about 12+ years now, since 16, and really producing since then as well. I used to come up with the song concepts and write some of the rhymes for my homie that I was in a group with, and we would sell the cd's in our high school. We got a lot of love and sold every copy we pressed up so I felt encouraged to keep doing it.
Opt: When I was younger I took piano lessons and I convinced my mom to put me in an electronic music class. It was me and one other kid in it and I learned how to arrange my own songs and a little bit about synthesizers and how midi worked. Shoutout Mr. Jolley! I don't think anybody else ever took that class, haha, but it was my first exposure to writing my own music. When I went to college at Kent State in Ohio is when I started to get more serious because I met Blitz the Ambassador and produced for songs on his album, Double Consciousness, when he just went by Blitz and was one of the dopest and most critically heralded artists coming out of the Cleveland/NE Ohio area. I got a little bit of local recognition for that and that was it for me, I knew that I wanted to pursue music full-time.
INST: Of all of the artist that you've worked with, do you have a favorite artist that you work well with?
Opt: Aaaaah, this is tough. I don't know if I can give a straight answer, haha. I've had special, magical moments, with every artist that I work closely with. Blitz the Ambassador really pushes me to create a vibe with every beat. We work really closely together and co-produce almost all our records. If I come with a beat, he'll come with a hornline, or I might come with some ill drums for something that he makes.
I feel like me and Psalm One's album is some of my best work. We have some really dope records, like, gritty, pop/dance type joints…not sure how to describe it but our album's crazy. Not a lot of samples, its more of a collage of sounds influenced by every genre from prog-rock to funk, to bass music. I can't wait to put that shit out!
Last time I was in the studio with Kap Kallous was dope, too, we made some ridiculous, big, trunk rattling, 808 heavy type joints, but incorporated a musical element that a lot of that type of shit doesn't have. And Jon Connor is just a beast, so I'm always excited when we do records because he'll take the simplest shit and make a classic out of it. I'm also doing a project with my homie, cRitical, from Critical Madness, and that's been a really fun project. The dope thing about working with him is he's a serious movie buff so we're always pulling these crazy pieces of dialogue and creating a cinematic vibe from the samples.
Opt: My setup is super minimal. I have a turntable, Microkorg keyboard, Fruity Loops (an old-ass version), and Pro Tools. Got a bunch of records, too, and a mic setup in a storage closet. I'll be up in there with jars of rice and couscous, or banging on pots & pans, laying down live percussion haha.
Opt: I got into hip-hop because of sampling. I've built by name up by always finding ill samples that other producers don't touch. But…right now, I'm more interested in working with live musicians. I do my little thing on the keyboard, but I'm no real player. Fortunately I've been blessed to know some great musicians. I can pretty much get any instrument I want from working with Blitz the Ambassador, and I co-produce a lot of material with my homies Seandammit from Orlando, and Boatlaunch from Flint, MI. I'm always gonna sample, though, I'm just enjoying the live aspect more right now.
Opt: Everybody. I was really into electronic music and trip-hop as well as hip-hop when I was younger, so groups like The Prodigy, Morcheeba, and Portishead have always been a big influence on me. I could list producers for ever but some favorites are: Dilla, Dr. Dre, Hi-Tek, Q-Tip, Earthtone III (Outkast), DJ Quik, Mike Dean, and El-P.
Opt: Naw. If I ever stopped feeling inspired I would hang it up, but I've been thru a lot that would've led others to quit and I'm still going strong and feel happy about making music.
INST: Do you feel that there a difference between being a producer and being a beat maker?
Opt: Yes. A beat maker just sends out beats and hopes someone will rap to it. They don't wanna work with an artist and let a record grow organically. Or maybe they just don't know how. I just know I always hear about "producers" not wanting to make changes to beats for an artist and that shit bugs me out because the beat is just the start. Its just a demo or idea. I can't even finish most beats until I hear a song over it, then I'll come in and add new parts, drops, additional instruments, etc.
INST: Any tips, tricks, or advice that you'd like to share?
Opt: Listen to as much music as you can, and study as many other artists and producers as you can. I learn more from other genres than anything else. A lot of people get stuck because they fall in love with their own sound and only listen to themselves and people they know. You need to keep an open mind to keep yourself fresh and inspired.
Also, don't use other producers drumkits. That shit is wack. Over the years I've had people ask me whose drums I use, and they'll offer to trade Timbaland and Just Blaze kits for whatever kits I have. I HAVE NEVER USED ANOTHER PRODUCERS DRUMKIT FOLDER OFF THE INTERNET. That shit defeats the purpose. Be original. Put in work and find sounds the same way your favorite producers did.
Opt: http://www.soundcloud.com/optiks
http://optiks.bandcamp.com
You can also hear my work if you pick up any Jon Connor, Kap Kallous, or Blitz the Ambassador albums. You might hear me if you turn on your tv and tune in to MTV or ESPN. I'm under the radar, but I'm everywhere.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


text:
OZARKS
Pokin Around: Ed Fox, 98 year-old Marine, volunteers to show nothing to fear about vaccine
Steve Pokin
Edgar Fox on Monday, Jan. 18, once again volunteered to serve the nation he loves.
The longtime Marine tells me he had heard so much skepticism from his buddies at the American Legion that he asked his doctor to let Mercy Hospital Springfield know he was ready and willing to be first in line to get the COVID-19 vaccine for those 65 and older.
Fox is 98.
He tells me his friends and fellow veterans were saying: "I am not going to do that."
Or: "I am going to wait a while."
Fox, who served at both Midway and Iwo Jima during World War II, got his wish Monday. He rolled up his left sleeve and was the first person vaccinated at Mercy in the 1B-2 category of those to be vaccinated.
That category is for those 65 and older — as well as any adult with underlying health problems such as cancer, severe obesity, chronic kidney disease, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, heart conditions, a weakened immune system due to an organ transplant, pregnancy, sickle cell disease, type 2 diabetes mellitus or individuals with intellectual and/or developmental disabilities such as Down syndrome.
'It was just a typical shot'
I ask over the phone: How did the shot feel?
"I did not feel a thing. It was just a typical shot. Not even an achy arm. I felt pampered."
I had met Fox before. It was about a year ago when I went to the Springfield National Cemetery at South Glenstone Avenue and East Seminole Street for a story about the Christmas wreaths placed on veterans' headstones.
On Monday I remembered what great shape he seemed to be in for a man of 97.
You're still in good shape, right?
"I don't chase the girls anymore," he says. "I let them chase me."
Fox wanted the shot for a second reason. Once he gets the follow-up booster, he would like to travel so he can make his annual Honor Flight to Midway.
The Battle of Midway was a major naval battle in the Pacific Theater of World War II that took place June 4-7, 1942, six months after Japan's attack on Pearl Harbor.
Fox is the last known Marine survivor of the Battle of Midway. He tells me there are likely a few others out there who cannot be reached or are not on social media.
Fox still drives and does his own shopping. His hearing is sharp; he could easily converse with me on the phone.
He lives alone, independently, in a Springfield apartment.
His wife of 60 years, Edna C. (Holman) Fox, died in October in a nursing home. She taught at Jarrett Middle School for 27 years. She did not die of COVID-19.
Fox also was in combat at the battle of Iwo Jima in World War II and he served in Japan as part of the U.S. occupying force when the war ended, soon after a second atomic bomb was dropped.
The first bomb was dropped on Aug. 6, 1945, on Hiroshima. The second was on Aug. 9 on Nagasaki. Fox served in Nagasaki.
"I was with a group of people who were interviewing the victims," he says. "That was probably the worst part of my service. We knew that none of them were going to make it."
Fox volunteered to serve in Korea. All in all, he served his country from 1939 to 1966.
And he served his nation again at Mercy Hospital Springfield, I tell him.
"I try," he says.
These are the views of News-Leader columnist Steve Pokin, who has been at the paper for almost nine years, and over his career has covered everything from courts and cops to features and fitness. He can be reached at 417-836-1253, spokin@gannett.com, on Twitter @stevepokinNL or by mail at 651 Boonville Ave., Springfield, MO 65806.


Please join me Sunday night on Jazz Unlimited from nine to midnight for "The Career of Kenny Burrell." Detroit born guitarist and teacher Kenny Burrell has had a 64 year as a performer and teacher. An active studio musician, he performed in over 600 record sessions. Burrell has 70 albums as a leader. In 1996, he became a professor and Director of Jazz Studies at the UCLA Herb Alpert School of Music. He teaches an annual course on Duke Ellington called "Ellingtonia." Kenny Burrell will be heard with Dizzy Gillespie, John Coltrane, Hank Jones, Billie Holiday, Ray Charles, Milt Jackson, the Gil Evans Orchestra, Donald Byrd, Gene Harris and the Phillip Morris All-Stars, Jimmy Smith, Red Garland, Aretha Franklin, Stanley Turrentine, Sonny Clark and his own groups on this show.
The Archive for this show will be available until the Morning og May 12, 2014.
Here is a video of Jimmy Smith (org) Stanley Turrentine (ts) Kenny Burrell (g) and Grady Tate (d) playing "The Jumpin' Blues" at Town Hall in New York in 1985.
The Jazz Unlimited show for January 6 will begin a series on listening to musicians who were born or nurtured in specific urban centers. This is the first of two parts on Detroit and its environs. On tonight's show the featured musicians include guitarist Kenny Burrell.
The April 6 edition of Jazz Unlimited will be "The Career of Paul Chambers." In his career from 1954-1969, bassist Paul Chambers participated in over 360 recording sessions. His big sound and great time made him an invaluable player. He was unusual because he would use the bow in some of his solos. He is best known for his long tenure with Miles Davis, the Red Garland Trio and the Wynton Kelly Trio. In this show, Chambers will also be heard with J.J.


We provide liability Insurance for drainage and irrigation contractors across Ontario, Canada. This type of insurance protects the contractor company form lawsuits in the event they make mistakes or cause any party bodily or financial losses as a result of their work operations. Our rates for Drainage and irrigation general liability insurance starts at $495/Year for $2,000,000 in coverage. Speak to a broker today by calling 1.888.480.7677 or apply by clicking below!
If you are a drainage system, irrigation contractor who operates within the Canadian border in a city like Toronto, you probably already know that Toronto contractor general liability insurance is an essential part of doing business. You and your employees are exposed to tons of physical and unforeseen hazards everyday on the job. And, without this coverage you could be open to some major complications or lawsuits. With that being said, you might be surprised to learn that the premiums of drainage and irrigation liability insurance costs have increased more than 50 percent of the past five years. For most small contractors this is extremely troubling, but general liability insurance for irrigation contractors is something that you just can't do without, so what are you left to do?
Have you heard big box stores claim, "The more you buy, the more your save?" This is not always the case, because you end up buying tons of extra things that you did not need in the first place. However, this is not always the case when it comes to shopping for irrigation and drainage contractors general liability insurance. When you shop and buy from the same insurance provider, you can bundle your packages such as commercial auto insurance, tools and equipment, and standard CGL coverage all together, which will actually save you some money.
In fact, there are even a lot of providers that offer special packages to low-risk profile companies. A lot of these packages comes pre-bundled and offer a variety of different coverage at a discounted rate. These packages are oftentimes referred to as Business Owner Policies, so be sure to ask about these policies when shopping around with different providers.
Throughout your quest for general liability insurance, you will find that premiums can be paid in monthly or annual installments. Most contractors make the mistake of going for the smaller payments each month because this option seems more enticing and affordable. However, if you sit down and do the calculations, you will find that paying the annual payment up front in one lump sum will actually save you some money in the long run. In addition to this, a lot of insurance companies will offer discounts and special rates to contractors that are willing to make the full payment upfront.
Plus, this will be another bill that you don't have to juggle from month to month and worry about forgetting.
With the convenience of the Internet, the whole process of buying insurance is easier. For example, shopping for general liability insurance for Brampton contractors in the GTA region has truly become a piece of cake. You will find that you can easily and quickly get tons of different quotes from several providers within just a matter of minutes when you search online. Saying that, be sure to shop around with at least three or four different companies, before making a final decision. Keep in mind that the cheapest provider isn't always the best option. After all, there is a reason that they are cheaper than the other providers. Maybe they are not offering as much coverage, or maybe they do not specialize in the type of risks that your company is exposed to.
Whatever the situation may be, these are all things that you need to consider, when searching for brokerage or insurance company.
When you have more employees, you can truly get more work done. Unfortunately, when it comes to general liability insurance the more employees you have, the higher your rates are going to be. Insurance providers consider more employees to be a higher risk. There is a greater chance that one of them could error in the future. If you are a busy company, there might not be a chance that you can lower your employment, but if you are experiencing some slow periods, it might be a good idea to call your broker to review what your contractors insurance policy covers and to possibly also get rid of a few employees to lower your general liability premiums.
It might not seem like a fair practice, but the more money your company handles, the higher your general liability insurance for irrigation and drainage systems company premiums are going to be. Unfortunately, if you are making lots of money, you probably do not want to loose this asset. So, there really is not going to be anything that you can do about this. However, you could consider charging a little less for each job, which would show up as less of a risk to provider, but it would unfortunately mean that you will not be making as much as a profit either.
If you are ready to look into purchasing insurance, you can request a quote by filling the form below or get a better understanding of how you can apply for contractors insurance.
Apply for Drainage and Irrigation Contractors General Liability Insurance Quote Now!


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You are here: Home / Events / [8/23] Preview: Marcos Orozco at Dance Across Texas
[8/23] Preview: Marcos Orozco at Dance Across Texas
August 22, 2015 by Piper LeMoine
Sunday August 23, Dance Across Texas welcomes award-winning Tejano superstar Marcos Orozco, along with his top-notch backing band, Grupo Rebelde. The group will bring their special brand of romantic cumbias, and rancheras featuring one of the most beautiful voices in Tejano music to the new club, which continues to bring some of the biggest acts in Tejano music.
The multi-talented singer, songwriter, producer, arranger and musician began his career in the 1980s with groups Blackjack, Powerhouse, and the legendary Fabulosos 4, but it was his time as the lead singer for David Lee Garza y Los Musicales that propelled him to Tejano music mega popularity. His unmistakable voice is on the megahits "Tonta," "Una Noche Mas," "Tu Boca Roja," and more, which are still on heavy rotation at Tejano music stations and on DJ playlists everywhere.
After his time with the Musicales, Orozco embarked on a successful solo career with his own group. Tracks from his solo efforts include "Baila Morena," "Costumbres," "Una Historia de Amor," and "Como Un Tigre." His most recent album, Buenos Dias, is available now, with the single "Buenos Dias Amor" on Tejano stations from coast to coast.
Long story short: With one of the most unique voices in Tejano music history belting out some of his classics and latest hits, the dancefloor will be packed with shiny boots, sparkling belt buckles, and twirling cowboy hats.
Dance Across Texas is located at 2201 East Ben White Blvd just east of I-35 in south Austin. Doors open at 6 p.m. Tickets are $12 presale and $15 at the door. 18+ welcome. For more information, contact Dance Across Texas at 512-910-4000.
Piper LeMoine
Piper LeMoine manages all things technical, promotional, and creative at Austin's own Rancho Alegre Radio, a 501(c)(3) non-profit organization dedicated to preserving and promoting Tejano and Conjunto music. She also co-hosts Rancho Alegre, playing Tejano and Conjunto music every Monday from 9-10 a.m. on KOOP 91.7 FM in Austin and online at koop.org.
More Posts - Website - Twitter - Facebook
Filed Under: Events, Music Tagged With: dance across texas, marcos orozco, previews, tejano


Homeowners across the Okanagan have looked to Centra for over 28 years as a local replacement window manufacturer. Offering services in windows, doors, and siding, Centra is your complete renovation partner! We offer the best warranty in the business and stand behind our guarantee.
The Okanagan experiences seasonal weather year round and as a result, homeowners often find their homes' temperature costly to maintain. Centra manufactures a line of high performance replacement windows to keep your home cooler in the summer and warmer in the winter. Our representatives live in your area and understand the local climate as well as the housing market, and can help you choose a window package that works for your home while suiting your personal style!
If you are looking at replacing your old drafty windows with high performance vinyl windows, stop by our showroom and meet one of our energy efficiency specialists or call our office at 250-765-4402. We look forward to hearing from you soon!


text:
After deploying Ceph, you will want to create the OSD pools like so:

```
kubectl exec -n ceph -it ceph-mon-0 ceph osd pool create volumes 25
kubectl exec -n ceph -it ceph-mon-0 ceph osd pool create images 15
```

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaGithub


It is! & Welcome to Meguiar's Online Discussion Forum! If you haven't checked out our Welcome Message thread, there is some good info to reference! Feel free to contact me with any questions.
DIY Ultimate Waterless Wash and Wax?


The online world is our world. Websites have reduced the need for print and many other media as a key marketing tool for any company, product or campaign. CVC has been developing company websites, eCommerce sites, training sites, contest sites and video-based sites since the very beginning of the internet. Our SEO capabilities ensure the latest techniques are used in generating traffic and then analyzing those metrics for website refinements and better performance.
From major global websites to cost effective microsites, CVC's Digital Media Studio will meet your objectives and budget.
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IQ manages a full range of business events from large-scale conferences and multi-tiered incentive trips, to executive retreats and intimate customer events.
Hard at Work Inc. has become a leader in high-end estate homes and renovations. They are dedicated to providing the expertise, guidance and quality craftsmanship.
Famous PEOPLE Players - Glow in the dark Dine & Dream Dinner Theatre. From Broadway, to Radio City Music Hall and around the World – FPP is Where Special Happens!
Become a Forensic Water Expert! Become a Certified Dealer today & we'll give you all the tools you need to make the most out of the growing water treatment market!
A communications/e-learning portal for a multibrand francise company. All their commincations and learning needs found at one location.


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Story Contracting
Story Scotland
Works commence on new Sparling Bridge
Story Contracting is pleased to announce it has been appointed by Dumfries and Galloway Council to construct a new combined cycle/footbridge in Newton Stewart, Dumfries and Galloway.
Sitting over the River Cree, the old Sparling Bridge was removed in November 2016 following severe flooding caused by Storm Frank. Following community engagement, it was agreed that a new bridge be located 100m downstream and rather than re-install the old narrow bridge, a new and improved structure be designed.
The new bridge will be accessible to all pedestrians and cyclists and will allow the Council to restore the crossing over the River to reconnect communities separated by the flood.
The project is jointly funded by Dumfries and Galloway Council and the Scottish Government through Sustrans Scotland's Places for Everyone programme. Sweco are the Principal Designers for the project.
Archie Dryburgh , Chair of Dumfries and Galloway Council's Economy, Environment and Infrastruture said: "I am delighted to confirm that a programme of works has now been agreed and that construction of a replacement bridge will soon commence. Once complete the new Sparling Bridge will help reconnect the community in Newton Stewart and I'd like to thank them in advance for their patience and understanding throughout this project. I'd also like to thank the engineers and officers from both the Council, Sustrans, Sweco and Story for their hard work– their skills and knowledge have been vital to finalising the design and construction programme for the new bridge."
Whilst the works are underway there are plans in place to protect the local environment; including protecting the fish species in the river, foliage around the site, and identifying and disposing areas of the invasive Japanese Knotweed.
Work on site will begin at the end of May 2019 and completion is anticipated in late Autumn 2019.
Second Gold award for Plant team
Story businesses help transform vital youth housing facility
Enter your email address to download our latest corporate brochure
Story Contracting Limited,
Burgh Road Industrial Estate,
Carlisle, Cumbria,
CA2 7NA
feedback@storycontracting.com
© 2020 Story Contracting | Site by Union Room


What happens when you simulate, does the correct GL account appear?
If so, then I would suggest someone has a BTE or substitution active in your system.
MY business user is encountering a issue when they are doing the MIRO entry, and giving the Tax code for VAT, the amount for tax is going in wrong g.l. while the system is calculting the correct amount for VAT.
1-- The g.l. which assigned in tax code is correct.
2-- When we are taking the another tax code with the same account key, and same g.l. but different tax percentage, the amount is going in correct g.l.
Now please suggest me what should I check? Should I check this error with MM side like PO, MIRO, material or anything else. If yes from where system can pick the wrong g.l. P;ease suggest.


The Walking Bus runs each morning.
The Walking Bus is a fantastic resource that allows parents and carers to walk each other's children to school in the morning. Volunteer parents meet in the Bull car park each day at 8.20am ready to accompany the children to school in time for the bell.
This environmentally friendly resource is great exercise for both the children and adults and the children arrive at school alert and ready for the day ahead. The children also learn vital road safety awareness and can benefit educationally from experiencing the changing seasons week by week.
There is no requirement for you to always walk with your children, so if you are able to commit to walking on one or more days we can also help you by walking your children on other days when perhaps an extra half an hour in the morning might be helpful to you.
There are strict ratios set by the local council which dictate the exact number of infant and junior children that can be accompanied per adult so you can rest assured there is always someone looking out for your little one. You will also be surprised, I'm sure, just how capable the children are of walking up to school each day given the option.
If you would like to volunteer for the walking bus we would be delighted for you to join us (volunteers will need to have a DBS check, formerly CRB, to be able to walk with us).