Author: Jon Gauger

The words came through but didn’t quite register. At exactly 1:47 on Tuesday afternoon an email arrived announcing that my father had died—”please pray for the family.”  But before I ever saw the email, my son Tim called and asked if I’d heard the “news.”  Something wasn’t adding up, so I placed a quick call to the email source (a wonderful family friend) and learned that they had made an error in identifying the deceased.  The lost loved one in question was actually my aunt.   A follow up email was immediately sent out to correct the error. Obviously, we are…

Everyone has heard of Anne Frank, the Jewish girl who died in a Nazi concentration camp.  Fewer have heard of Gena Goldfinger, the girl who nursed 15-year old Anne as she lay dying. Before Gena's journey to the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp, she spent time at Auschwitz, where an apparent malfunction in a gas chamber spared her life.  But a brother was shot by the Nazi SS.  One of Gena's sisters was gunned down trying to smuggle food into the camp.  Another sister died a horrible death after being injected with gasoline by Dr. Mengele.   But little Gena—not even ten years…

How many balloons would it take to lift you off the ground? I’ve wondered about this question since I was a kid. Staring at the Pixar movie, Up, did nothing but stoke my imagination.  Maybe you’re curious, too.  Adventurist Tom Morgan was determined to find the answer to this question. He and some friends jetted to Botswana in southern Africa, having determined the wide open planes and plateaus were a perfect fit for their crazy experiment.  Strapped into a chair, Tom’s team attached 86 very large (think five-feet in diameter) helium-filled balloons.  And then he lifted off, higher and higher. …

Have you ever felt the blast of a bear exhaling on your hand?   Happened to me a few days ago. We were visiting a small town Wisconsin zoo and I found myself frustrated trying to take pictures of Bugaboo and Berryboo—a pair of Black Bears.  In addition to the very sturdy chain link fence that kept the bears where they belonged, there was a secondary fence that kept us back even further.  So taking pictures of the bears was more like taking pictures of the fence. In talking with one of the animal trainers I explained my dilemma, suggesting…

"This whole flap about fake news makes me laugh,” said my friend and armchair philosopher Jack. “What’s funny about fake news?” I queried. “The very name.  No such thing as fake news,” he insisted, removing his Chicago Cubs hat for a moment and scratching the side of his head.  “There’s truth and lies.  But in a culture that has cut ties with truth, the whole fake news brouhaha is hardly surprising.” “What do you mean we’ve ‘cut ties with the truth?” I fired back. “That’s a pretty harsh statement.” “Agreed. But when you dismiss the very idea of absolute truth,…

The train conductor has just punched my ticket.  Mike is his name.  He looks all snappy in his creased white shirt with the brass buttons, sporting a hat that bears the “Metra” rail logo.  A jangle of keys and the squawk of his radio define the man I’ve tried to get know a bit more than just “that conductor on the train.” I greet Mike by name—and he knows mine as well.  Lost in thought, I stumble a moment when he asks how I’ve been doing.  The delay is just long enough that the conductor does the talking for me. …

Choking smoke, a shattered canopy and the eerie sound of wind against wings: pilot David Thomas Dinan was in trouble.  A Soviet MiG fighter had shredded his F-105 fighter over the jungles of Laos. When not riddled with bullets, an F-105—heavily used during the Vietnam War—could fly at Mach 2 and carry sixteen 750 pound bombs. As the swept wing jet pancaked out of control there was no question it was time to bail. By all accounts, David T. Dinan successfully ejected from his aircraft.  Yet he died upon landing and his body was not recovered. Leyland Sorensen, who served…

As she peered out the hospital window, angry skies warned Dory it was time to leave her husband with the doctors and head home.  Not easily done. He’d had a heart attack five days earlier. Climbing into her four-door Chevy, she cruised down to the ferry that would float her across the lake from Mountain Home to Gamaliel—hopefully before the worst of the Arkansas storm hit. At about 6:30, she turned into her driveway, hurried inside and changed into her nightgown, and then put a piece of meat in the frying pan and set it on the stove.  At 6:55pm,…

Had some thoughts last night that startled me out of that half-asleep stage.   Get this—I was shopping at a store—in heaven. The clerk was friendly enough.  But nevertheless, I was puzzled by the experience. “What can we get you, sir?”  asked the guy behind the counter. “A box of Kleenex” I replied.   “A what?” “Box of Kleenex.  You know, tissues.” “Whatever for?” “What for?” I stammered incredulously.  “For blowing my nose when I get a cold.” “Not gonna happen. Didn’t you read the Book?  There’s no sickness up here.  No suffering.”  “Well what if I…you know….cry at something sad. Not…

There are two kinds of grandparents.  There are those who live by the “show up, sugar them up and send them home” philosophy.   Then there are others—like me—who find every parting sad.  I'm never glad to see the grandkids go.  Never.  Does that make me sappy?  Probably.  So there we were, putting on our shoes and getting ready to leave after a nice visit with four of our little buddies.  That familiar wave of melancholy was washing over.  Yet the silver lining was the fact that later in the week, we’d be watching the grandkids while their parents traveled out…