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In Vietnam, I was a clerk for an Advisory Team , which was boring. Every chance I got, I'd volunteer for jobs that were dangerous. I was twenty years old, stupid, but I got to see some interesting shit. These are photos taken with SSG Thorsen, when he was advising troops from the 821st ARVN Ordinance . ARVN stands for Army Republic of Viet Nam. After a nightly attack, we would go out and look at the mortar tail fins, and burst patterns, and figure out where the attack came from. Sometimes, the Viet Cong would forget to pull out the safety pin on the mortar round, and the round would launch, impact, then dig itself far into the earth, unexploded. We would dig these out, and destroy them. This was EOD: Explosive Ordinance Disposal . We would also destroy damp and outdated explosives, and captured explosives. We would often put it all together, in a big pile, usually in a bomb crater, if one was available. We would place blocks of C-4, a high explosive, in strategic places on ...

That's Paul Riding My Old Ironhead With The Fifteen Dollar Piston Blasting over the mountain, I was giving her the gas,  full throttle, right against the stop, passing all the cars. That's when I heard the bang. BANG . Sounded like a 12 gauge , and the Ironhead starts losing power. Cars that I passed, start to pass me. And I notice that she’s smoking some. Well, something ain’t right; I’m turning around, I'm heading for home… And by the time I get home…I’m limping, mostly running on one cylinder. FUCK! I think that was the word out of my mouth. And I’m laying down serious smoke . The trouble was the front jug. Front one is easy to take off, so I pull off the head, and loosen the cylinder, start to slide her up over the piston. And here, is where I actually showed a lick of sense: Before I pull the jug all the way over the piston, I put a clean rag around the connecting rod, under the piston, to prevent broken metal from falling off the piston, into the crankcas...

Apparently, the leaders of Connecticut wanted to establish a new town , and  they negotiated with Chief Squantz, but Chief Squantz moved to the north end of Squantz Pond, and refused to sell. They returned in the Spring of 1725, and found that Chief Squantz had died during the winter. His four sons and heirs refused to sign the deeds, so it was four years later that the white men finally got the drawn marks of several other native people (who may not have had authority to sell the land), and they "purchased" Sherman and New Fairfield, for the equivalent of about 300 dollars. The name means "water flowing from the hills". Naromiyocknowhusunkatankshunk

Popp's in Wallkill sponsored a poker run, but the party at the end, in New Paltz, New York, was a lot of fun. This was 1985. I brought my Nikon and a roll of film. I drank a lot of beer, and went home to develop my film. My darkroom was set up next to the oil burner; I had to have total darkness to develop my film. I blocked all the light sources. If I turned on the light, I would ruin the pictures . And maybe I was a little drunk, and I wound up dropping the roll of unprocessed negatives into the cat box, in total darkness, I was searching on my knees, I felt around in the cat litter. Something cylindrical, whoops…no, not that. But I eventually found the film and developed the pictures. And here's a couple of shots from the cat box.