In Sync

From: James Algiers

Subject: In Sync

Date: April 25, 2012 at 2:05:43 PM CDT

To:  Louie

In Sync

Hi Louie,  

On this wet, cold afternoon, not all is bad.  In fact, I have just finished a project which has vexed me for the past two weeks.  I have been attempting to install the revised Sync program for Dorothy's Ford. 

The electronic sync program of the newer Fords was a botched job, and the program was revised after many complaints.  The new program was sent to the buyers with instructions for installation.  Sending electronic instructions to anyone over the age of 75 is nonsense, as the neurons for these gadgets were only installed in fetuses after 1970; before that, any conceptions were without a wiring diagram, and these new gadgets are not helpful, only a wart on the psyche of us older folk. 

Anyhow I became so P----, and that's another source of agitation-- that p____ word is an outrage to anyone who thinks and tries for expression of thoughts, words, and actions.  

Well, I finally went on the search engine, read a few directives, and succeeded in the installation after three tries. Surprisingly, the new edition is simpler, more direct, and much easier to impact.  For the first time, Ford has improved.

I had written a scathing letter suggesting that of all the new features on the 2011 Ford, the Sync feature was the lousiest feature foisted upon the purchaser;  by Gosh, they read it and had written back that a new program would be released during March. 

 It was, and I am now pleased.

It reminds me of the initial introduction to my "office" on Attu. I was there from '44 to 45; and had an "office" where I was in charge of the coding machines and repair thereof.  It so happened that the guy I replaced took the combination to the safe with him when he left for Philadelphia. For the next six weeks, I wrote to many Naval agencies, wrote to him, and searched the office for the combination.  

Most fortunately, the war was near over, Attu was no longer a threat to anyone, and coding when ordering meat, groceries, and sunshine was unnecessary.  I searched for the combination and spent hours running codes, recording codes run, and finally gave up. Eventually, I was able to open the safe when I placed four 1's in a row and found that the safe had never been encoded; just a piece of furniture, looking important and getting dusty, something like the 2500 other human pieces of furniture on the island.

There was a hill on the island, a road up the precipice, and a dump into the precipice, where scrapped planes, trucks, and junk were dumped. Tons of war junk was dumped into what was known as "War Bond Hill'. 

Whenever we were down, we searched, like rats, into the piles of junk and then spent some time bitching about the "waste of war."  

Frustration grew, snow fell, and we searched for a "find" in the junk, or more importantly, a "reason" for us to be there.  

Never found it either.

And now, when I think of those poor bastards who have spent one or more tours of duty in Afghanistan or Iraq, I think how much more the pile of war bond hills must be, but never have they found the "reason" for existence on duty in those remote featureless countries, those reservoirs of "war bond" hills of this century.  

The bombs get bigger, the noise louder, and the costs higher, but still, the blood runs red, and the politicians function with more righteous proclamations, more political flatus, and more empty pant legs of the returning paraders.  I recently read of the numbers of amputees and was sickened by the number and the thoughts of so many empty years ahead for so many young folks who would and could figure out the "Sync programs" of Ford - much easier than my age group, and I will ever be able.

A warm, bright morning like yesterday never provokes thoughts such as the above, and the frustrations are only with a missed putt and an eight on a par five hole.

It is all about being "In Sync."

Keep the faith my friend,

Jim