Aaryn Gries

www.AarynGries.us

Key West and Gib Peters

For a number of years my pal Troy and I would try and make a trip to Key West to hide out before school started - usually at the end of August. Troy was teaching at UT - weather and climate. I was teaching at Texas State - photography. I was also a Policeman in Texas as well.

Mike Peters was an acquaintance of ours from Austin, Texas who happened to be home to Key West while we were there. We stayed at the La Concha. Mike stayed with his family and father Gib Peters. Mr. Peters was a local banker and wrote for the local Key West paper.

Troy and I had cop friends there too. Kurt Stephens, now retired was a great guy and good for Key West. The other cop we knew ended up in prison for selling cocaine. Oh so Conchish.

Part of this trip was going to be a trek out on the water on Gib Peter's Dutchman - I think - a trawler none the less. At reasonably early hours, and the day before we were scheduled to fly back home, we met at the dock with our days supplies and headed out to sea. We were going to go Lobstering.

In short order, we were past the flats and on the reef. I was the only certified diver and hobbled on a tank and fins. Everyone else was wearing snorkels. We found our spot and anchored. After a quick lesson on how to use a tickle stick, down I went. Holy Crap, I was pulling up lobster after lobster, one after the other - and big ones too. I imagined the forthcoming barbecue. When I'd get a few in my bag, I'd come up and throw them in the boat.

The sea isn't silent and I heard the sound of a boat screw closer than all the rest. When I looked up, there was a cigarette boat pulled along side ours. When I surfaced to take a looksee, it was a pair of Game Wardens and they were tossing my lobsters overboard. We all sheepishly climbed back on the boat. It seems we had anchored inside of a newly designated wildlife refuge where anchoring and fishing were not allowed. 

I heard Gib arguing with the Wardens about the maps and the buoys and like all Game Wardens, they weren't having any of it and proceeded to issue Captain Gib a $750 ticket. He turned to me - the only cop on board and said. "well say something", like I might be able to sway their judgement. He was, after all, trying to show us a good time. 

Well when they left, we did too, running toward the mud flats, a place we could dive and where we might see dolphins. It was a beautiful warm day, and despite our run in with the law - the day crept to its end. 

With the sun hanging on the horizon and beneath the clouds, we raced toward home. From the deck I spied the sun, and then to its left a water spout. I, also a photographer, and right here before my eyes I had a waterspout backlit by the sun - wow - I needed my camera. I'd put it below and so I hurriedly stepped into the galley space to get it - and as I stepped down, the boat skidded to a stop. My first step was about twelve feet long and I ended up in the bow, along with everything else that wasn't tied down. I was unhurt, and found my camera, and rose to the deck only to find us stranded in the sand - a boat length outside the channel. We were good and stuck too - and when the sun goes down, it goes down fast.

Before long and after a few chats with the harbor master - we sort of decided that getting towed out wasn't going to work - and that we would sit it out until the tide returned at 4am. 

Ok, this was cool. It was an adventure after all. Troy, bless his heart tried as he could and tried has me might - but couldn't help Mike and I try and salvage our boat - and there we were, beneath the stars, the Gulf Stream storms popping their lighting in the distance. 

It was peaceful, quiet, and fun - although we had eagerly anticipated a crazy night of drunken debauchery on Duval - which this night would elude us. And then we ran out of beer - too early - and food as well. Dammit.

But in what must continue to be the most fantastic pizza delivery of all time, we called Pizza Hut by cell phone from seven miles out at sea, and ordered two giant pepperoni pizzas. Yes - it's true - and the pizza boy did deliver using the harbor taxi, showing up by boat and leaving with a handsome tip. He probably told that story to his friends at the High School the following Monday morning.

It was Gulfstream storms in the distance, clear starry skies, calm warm water - like a bath. And shallow enough to step right off the boat and walk a hundred yards shin deep. Alas - no beer. 

And as God and the heavens predicted the sea began to rise - and in due time freed us from the sand. 

At 4AM, we turned the screw and headed for home. Oh wait - and we'd bent the propeller shaft too. It was slow going - not unlike watching your washing machine dance on the floor when a pile of towels bunches up on one side. And with one loud outburst from Gib - "God Dammit" - we were home.

It was all good fun.

Shop Photography Exhibit by Carl Deal

Red Hook, New York

WATCHING THE RAIN

We left the City in Friday afternoon traffic and followed the parkways along the Hudson River North. The tall buildings fell farther and farther away in the landscape, replaced by taller growing trees, wildflowers, grassy meadows and the depths of forest darkness. So too did wide roads gently narrow into the winding country side.

On top of a hill, past a crooked mailbox and row of tall pines we arrived at the vintage cottage for which this trip was intended. Built from 18th century timber this 1930’s era stone cottage overlooks the Hudson Valley and the distant Catskills beyond. The apple hedge lines the driveway with giant spruce, ferns, and tiger lilies throughout the large groomed landscape.

The gray skies were looming as the view vanished to the approaching rain. We opened a bottle of wine and waited. The first drops fell slowly, dotting the teak wood deck and immediately soaking in. As I looked across the yard, I could see the entire rain event as the drops became larger and fatter – first in the distance and then falling before me on the now soaked porch. Lightning and thunder and heavy rain, the gutters spilling over –drains blocked by fallen needles – and ripples as if in a pond on the flooded deck with each new juicy drop of rain. With a flash of lighting, the thunder followed – the lights flickered and the alarm sounded. We’d arrived in America’s Loire Valley for the weekend.

IN THE NIGHT:

The wild turkeys ran on the lawn. Water droplets sparkled like diamonds and covered the shaded plants. The dusk turned blue. We drove into the one town near hear – the back yard of BARD College of Liberal Arts. On their campus stands the new $64 million stainless steel Frank Gehry designed theatre arts building. It is the second most expensive private liberal arts school in the country with exceptional schools in both film and photography.

It is a strangely odd place – between the Hudson River and points beyond – a land grant, protected indefinitely from development – destined for eternity by the Getty fortune. Dark and deep forests abound – intertwined by multi-million dollar estates – the names of which include Liebowitz, Cornel, Clermont, Wilderstien, Livingston, Brokby and Gould.

I had a Mexican fusion pork tacos for dinner – and a couple of the best margaritas ever. I could not be in New York.

IN THE MORNING.

The skies were still threatening and plans to fly by private plane to Lake Placid are put on hold. With my first cup of coffee, I showered outdoors on the deck at the side of the shed – overlooking the forest and meadow and barn and pond below. It rained lightly throughout. There is a small road just past the barn – but unfortunately no one drove by.

With antique auction in the town square this morning and a circus performing at BARD and Tea tonight at Edgewood – the eighth oldest country club in the country, founded by the Livingston’s when King George was in charge here – we have a lot to see. Tomorrow I will gather my gear and shoot the house and grounds.

An Old Writing from the Island of Navarino

My pants are sagging but I’m not wearing boxers.

It has been a long haul and you’d think after the flight from Puerto Williams I would have figured out this Chilean airport thing. Here I am, only an hour early and I’m still 30 minutes earlier than anyone else. As the sun rose across the Tierra Del Fuego, I recalled for a moment of my worry in Puerto Williams that I might miss my flight. No one else seemed concerned. The airline office had one desk and a wood burning stove, a cord or two of stacked wood and they sold school supplies as well. The twin Otter sat on the runway not 40 feet from the security area. Check-in was not performed in the traditional sense. You just handed over your ticket and then walked with your things around the magnetometer – which was turned off - and then outdoors onto the runway, putting everything you carried on a cart by the loading door of the plane and then quickly hopped on board – No ID required. My new Chilean friends Andres and Rodrigo were the last to board, arriving three minutes before takeoff. We were off the ground in about 100 feet, with the co-pilot looking back from time to time to be sure everything was buckled down. We headed North – for from here, there is nearly nowhere South to go. Five minutes before take-off is enough here. It’s about fifteen minutes for a real jet.

Perhaps Ferdinand Magellan was blessed by such a sunrise when he named this place the land of fire, the sun just cresting the Eastern landscape and lighting the dense shroud of clouds over the calm morning straights.

As I look now down the aisle on the plane and see the many passengers loading their things in the overhead cabins, smiling to familiar faces – it seems everyone knows everyone here - the flight attendant carrying a stack of newspapers, Chilean hugs and kisses among the flight crew – including the mechanics and baggage handlers, and the flamenco guitar playing overhead, I too am saddened about leaving.

What a great adventure this has been, with Brian and Christopher along for a good bit of it. I could ask for little more in travel companions. My computer is filled with new images, my imagination runs wild in excitement with the possibilities - new friends and new places .  I am heading home. And waiting at my door will be my loyal peroita negra Kodak– who will have sat anxiously at the foot of the door since the day I left. I will again be allergic to everything, will have a gym to workout in, will have students to talk to, a fraternity to advise, rent to collect and responsibilities abounding.

It has been a long haul down here in Chile. My feet, my ankles and my back are sore. I am completely out of clean clothes. My bag is as dusty as the Chilean road. I paid as much from my overweight bag as I did my ticket. My pants are sagging but I’m not wearing boxers and I’m on my way home.

Carlito

Virginia Zerfass Deal

My mom is 90 now and still sharp as a tack - although she is not so good with valences. A few years ago, she was the guest speaker at the American Chemical Society meeting at the University of Texas. She was a hoot, telling stories from back in the day about washing her hands with benzene and the creek behind the lab occasionally spontaneously combusting. Best to my mom - for without her good Chemistry, I would not be nearly the concoction that I turned out to be....

Career Synopsis for Virginia Z. Deal

Virginia Zerfass Deal (Mrs. Carl Hosea Deal, Jr.) “Ginney”

Born Sept. 20, 1922, Dansville, New York (up-state near Rochester in farm country)

Education:  Dansville Schools, Duke University (BS Chemistry)

U.C. Berkeley, Diablo Valley College, Mills College.

Children:  Julia Z. (1956)

Carl H. (1958)

Milton Z. (1959)

Nicolaas R. (1964)

Hobby:  breeding Burmese cats

Ancestor Johann Adam Zerfass was born in Pennsylvania in 1742.

The family came to New York State in 1813 in a covered wagon for the rich farmland.

Virginia played in that same wagon, still in the Zerfass barn, as a child.

As a child, Virginia was interested in science, music and doing pen and ink sketches.  Her parents bought her a requested chemistry set and a wonderful $3 microscope.  After a few unplanned explosions, Virginia’s chemistry was moved to the concrete basement of their home on Zerfass Road.

Her family raised fruit trees and shrubs for the wholesale trade, and fared relatively well during the depression years.  At least, on the farm there was food to eat.

She was graduated from High School in 1939 and continued on there one more year as was allowed, because of the economic depression.  Her last summer there was spent working gratis in a hospital assisting at autopsies and other laboratory work.

She was accepted at Duke University in North Carolina and entered with the help of a government loan available to science students.  During this time she held a part-time job involving analytical problems with an analysis for fluorine on an NDRC project (The National Defense Research Committee was formed in 1940 to fund scientific research toward the war effort).  She was Art Editor of the “Archive” (a Duke literary magazine), president of the Pegram Chemistry Club, Staff Artist for the Zoology Dept. and was also a member of the Phi Mu fraternity (“sorority”).

While at Duke she met her future husband, Carl Deal, who was a North Carolinian in chemistry graduate school.  She was the only one in his “Quant and Qual” class who asked questions, he said.  Her lab notebooks were full of “why’s.”  They were given permission to “date” by Prof. Paul Gross (“Pappy”), head of the Chemistry Department.

On April 15, 1944 they were married in the Duke Chapel.  They accepted jobs with Shell Development Co, the research labs for Shell Oil in the San Francisco Bay area of California (sometimes referred to as “Petroleum U.”).

By now the U.S. was in WWII.  Shell was in a hurry for the new chemists to arrive.  When Virginia went to CA to start work, Carl was still in graduate school in the East.  Ginney went by train from Raleigh NC, changed in New Orleans, changed in LA and again changed trains in San Francisco.  She was met at the train in Oakland CA by the personnel manager of Shell, Mrs. Elizabeth Ainsworth, who was holding up Ginney’s wedding picture.  Mrs. Ainsworth took Virginia to her own home in Berkeley, as she thought it improper to put a young lady in the same hotel where they put the “men” hirees.  Mrs. Ainsworth became a long-time friend and was also the sister of John Steinbeck.

Working in chemistry was very different in those days.  In 1949 Virginia’s annual salary was $4,632 with $595.20 withheld federal taxes.  Carl’s annual salary was $6,036 with $813.60 federal tax withheld.  Even so, their combined salaries were more than the salary of the company’s president.  This was very different from today, when CEO’s now may take 1000x or more of the salary of an average worker.

Virginia’s official job as a chemist was analytical research in the fields of viscosity, molecular weights, polarography, potentiometry and the development of test methods.  She had 4-5 lab assistants whose work she supervised.  They were doing the first potentiometric titrations.

Most of her “bench work” was applied research, working with all sorts of concoctions that only an oil chemist could cook up; finding a method of analysis for some compound which might be so transitory that no one had ever had it in hand and, if necessary, designing an instrument to aid in its analysis.

There were many semi-official tasks which added variety.  One was an assignment outside the analytical department to compile and illustrate a manual on the preparation and presentation of technical information.  It was called “The Report Manual” and was 3” thick when finished.  It was for the staff to use in writing their various kinds of reports and in giving verbal presentations.

She and her husband designed and constructed an ACS (American Chemical Society) exhibit for the California State Fair (Subject:  Chemistry in Agriculture) which was awarded a gold plaque as the outstanding educational exhibit.

She was requested to design pages for a Shell “Safety Calendar” in which each month showed many safety violations – game: find the violations.

She made many cartoon posters to facilitate the sale of War Bonds during WWII.

She illustrated many a farewell card for departing friends and decorated service anniversary cakes.

When she first came to Shell, the Physical Chemistry Department was making penicillin in the “The High Lab” (this was a multi-story room for accommodating very tall distillation columns).  Cutter Laboratories were just around the corner, and Shell was doing the first pilot plant development for mass penicillin production.  That was one of the first things Virginia worked on.

The only other women in her department were lab assistants and office help.  There was only one other female chemist in the whole company, Eleanor Mitts, in the Organic Department.

Virginia was featured in the “Women at Work” section of the Petroleum Engineer Magazine in 1954.  She was a California nominee for “Oil Woman of the Year” (Desk & Derrick Club) and she was the first woman to give a paper before the API (American Petroleum Institute) in the West – and only the second in all API history.

Virginia enjoyed her association with the ACS, especially the California Section, which always met at U.C. Berkeley.  She once sat beside Linus Pauling at a dinner meeting where he was to be the speaker.  There were many interesting people and names around in those days that made marks in history.  The Deals would often picnic in the Berkeley hills with George Pimentel and his wife in the ‘40’s.  Carl knew Robert Oppenheimer, and was friends with Dave Packard, before his name became forever hitched to Bill Hewlett.  Carl’s first “office mate” was Al Nixon, who later became President of the ACS.  There was a Shell Research Club which was an affiliate of Sigma Xi: this group had regular meetings with splendid speakers.

When the war ended, Virginia had several PhD’s as underlings (back from the war).  They worked together very well, and were good friends.  It was thirty years later before Ginney learned how much these men resented coming back from war to work for a “woman.”

Some of the (now) funny things that happened in the lab those days were:  people using the lab ovens (meant for lab samples) to bake potatoes, lab assistants snuffing out cigarettes in acetone, sinks equipped with benzene for washing hands and people not often wearing goggles or gloves.

At the sink in the analytical lab was a big vat of hot chromic acid for cleaning glassware, and stored beside it the glass cover.  Next to this were three cans of solvents: acetone, MEK and benzene.  These had a pinch clamp on a spout of tubing which dribbled into the sink and out into Emeryville Creek and into the Bay.  Every 2-3 weeks the creek would catch fire and one time it burned down the railroad trestle!

When Virginia was about two months from giving birth to her first child she was “released” to give birth and to return whenever she wanted.  Well, she did in fact return at the age of 66 to the relocated Westhollow Research Center in Houston.  But times had changed.  They refused to hire her as an employee, but used her as a “temp” through Kelly temporary services.  In this way they avoided any benefits and prevented her the few remaining years of service needed to earn her pension.  When her husband Carl died three years later, she lost all pension benefits.

This is another big difference today in that big companies no longer “care” much about employees.  There was a time when people had real loyalty to their company, and the company would take care of its people – but seldom any more.

Late in life Virginia went back to work at the Westhollow Research labs library in Houston.  She did things for them which usually never got done, because they needed a chemical background, some technical know how and computer skills.  She put their 1500 periodicals into a very fancy database, set up the library CD-ROM system, and provided instructions for the library staff and chemists for how to use it.

Two of the papers Virginia co-authored were:

            Determination of Basic Nitrogen in Oils

            V.Z.Deal, F.T.Weiss and Theodore T. White

            Analytical Chemistry 25 426 (March 1953)

            Potentiometric Titration of Very Weak Acids

            Virginia Z. Deal and Garrard E.A. Wyld

            Analytical Chemistry 27 47 (January 1955)

Virginia’s career in science came at an extraordinary time and place.  The post-war years carried the momentum of war-driven efforts toward peace-time objectives.  The San Francisco bay area was a western crucible for science, with U.C. Berkeley, Stanford University, the Lawrence labs and a host of emerging industries closely aligned.  The atmosphere was positive and ambitious, and R&D efforts looked forward beyond the horizon.  Shell Development Co. had the culture of an extended family, and the president of the company knew the face of every employee.  Social gatherings and company outings were common, and there was a real sense of camaraderie in the workplace.

Her interest in science began with a chemistry set, a microscope, and some unplanned explosions.  She pursued this interest through college, and launched into her career as a woman, by filling the void of absent soldiers.  Her first project was the penicillin pilot plant in support of those soldiers, some of whom later made it home to work under her at Shell.  Today there aren’t those barriers to “women in science” which Ginney launched through long ago, but there are still chemistry sets and microscopes.  

Jauntje - Short But Precious Times

After eight years of not being able to travel anywhere outside my small country called Holland. A complete stranger that I met during my work in Amsterdam, offered me to come and visit him in the United States of America.

I was overwhelmed by this gesture of hospitality. At that same time I was happy to hear that there are still people in this bitter world that are like that. Some people in my surroundings where skeptical about this gesture. They thought that such a gesture could not be without that person gaining something out of it! In my sometimes naïve thinking, I was convinced that this was not the case and was happy to take a chance and go on an adventure like this.

My mom always wanted me to go out and see the world while I can. Because I might not get a second chance. She never had the opportunity to see the world when she was younger. She never had that chance.

Not having any spare money to afford a journey like this. I had to postpone the journey for two years.

The stranger in this story is in fact Carl H. (Huge) Deal III. During those two years we stayed in touch through e-mail, friends that came to Amsterdam and an additional visit by Carl to Amsterdam.

Then finally on the 18^th of December 2000 I finally packed my bags and headed out to San Marcos Texas. Never to have flown in my entire life the adventure started right there in the Amsterdam airport “Schiphol”. Here it was that I left my crying girlfriend and mother to go on my (according to my mom) Well Earned Journey.

When boarding that plane for the first time I felt like a small child going out of his neighborhood for the first time. When the flight attendants explained the whole safety protocol, I felt like I was the only one paying attention. I probably was the only. Even looking on the provided books on safety protocols. After that the plane was ready to take off. I felt ready and happy about my trip. On the plane I was sitting next to an American family of which the father worked in Amsterdam for a year in a company exchange program. They where returning to the US, to spend time with their family during the holidays. Which reminded me of Carl who had been in a similar situation in his youth.

Because of all the beautiful sights outside the plane and the thrill of just flying prevented me from sleeping. Which I wanted to do because this would speedup the long trip ahead of me.

Finally arriving in Newark I had to change from International flights to National flights. And having to check in my luggage with US Customs this took quite a while. Once I found my luggage I went to the bathroom. From there I went to US Customs. They saw that I was coming from a different direction than the rest of the people of my flight. So they decided to check who I was and what my purpose in the US was. After mentioning the word police and having answered a couple of questions about police work I was allowed to continue. Without people checking any of my bags.

The next flight was soon to leave so I made my way to the next gate. This plane was much more comfortable. There was more leg space. Next to me sat a girl that was about my age. She just came from Spain where she learned how to dance Flamenco. Dancing was the thing she lived for! We talked about music and dancing. She lived in a town near the Mexican border.

Finally I arrived in Houston. This is where Carl and his friend Troy were waiting for me. They welcomed me in the US. There was not much time to talk because the next flight to Austin was waiting. They had three tickets. One of them was a first-class ticket, which they gave to me. After flying that long trip with just a couple of inches of leg space this was a welcome relief. They told me I could have free drinks. So I order a beer. This was the first time I was confronted with the age drinking limit of 21. The flight attendant asked for my ID-Card. It felt kind of strange having to show your ID just for a beer. But I was in a strange country and had to adept.

This flight was a very short flight to Austin. When we arrived Troy went to his house in Austin. Carl and I went to his (Huge) House in San Marcos. Since meeting Carl in the US everything seemed to be HUGE. I saw the house on videotape that Carl mailed me before. But in real life that house seemed twice as big. I was finally there. We sat down on the couch and drank some drinks with Taggerd, a roommate of Carl. After that we went to sleep.

The next day: