John Delach

My one and only Octoberfest experience took place in 1994 when the Munich Re Insurance Company hosted a meeting with our firm and our client Exxon. The meeting was planned for the first week in October, the same week that this annual beer festival began.

Curiously, on the Saturday morning, September 29^th, before I began my journey, my AM radio was tuned to WCBS-880, and this news station actually reported that Octoberfest was to begin tomorrow, Sunday, September 30th.

“Some coincidence,” I thought, “I’m about to make a trip to Munich with Exxon’s Treasurer, who doesn’t understand that insurance underwriters don‘t view Exxon the same way as their money managers does. Underwriters don’t worship having Exxon’s business. For them, you present the danger of loss whereas investors recognize Exxon as a safe place to put their money. Money managers didn’t have to deal with the Exxon Valdez!

“Oh well, this is what I am paid to do. Munich, here we come.”

I arrived in Munich early Sunday morning, gave the taxi driver the name of my hotel that turned out to be in downtown Munich along the route of the Octoberfest Parade. The driver had his radio on a station playing songs dedicated to today’s event. One song  grabbed my attention. It was a musical version of the beer commercial that I knew as:

My beer in Reingold, the dry beer. Think of Rheingold whenever you buy beer. It’s not bitter; not sweet; it’s the dry flavored treat. Won’t you try extra dry Rheingold beer.

I thought about this musical version of the Rheingold jingle and realized that this must be a classic piece that the beer company’s advertisers adopted for their brand.

This thought bounced around in my head until it eventually faded into my memory’s background.

The trip went well and the Octoberfest was a hoot. The fest takes place in a series of pre-fabricated structures packed with picnic tables that they call tents. We had twelve people in our group and our hosts did the ordering. Naturally, beer came first and our server brought us twelve steins of beer. My first reaction upon seeing my stein was, “Where’s my glass to pour this pitcher into?”

Finally, I realized that pitcher was my glass and the Octoberfest brew was outstanding.

 Supper was definitely German fare, pretzels for appetizers, various brats, and frankfurters for the main course with potato salads for sides.

The trip went well allowing me to establish a better relationship between my client and our team.

One German oddity about Octoberfest. The rest rooms are not free  and the user must buy a token from vendors to enter!  

Fast Forward

Far removed from 1994, earlier this November, Mary Ann and I were watching one of the last episodes from the series, Golden Girls, when the script led these stars to all sing, My beer is Rheingold, the dry beer, Think of Rheingold whenever you buy beer…both of usjoined the cast in singing the lyrics as well as we could.

It reminded me of my experience listening to the song in that cab, 29-years ago.

A simple hunt on the internet revealed that the music for this piece was written as a waltz by Emile Waldteufel: 1837-1915. His waltz was originally six- minutes long.

Can you imagine a six-minute beer commercial? Neither can I!

Finally, after sixty-three years of existence, the Texas Rangers won the World Series earlier this fall. Congratulations!

Over the years, I have attended several games at their home stadiums. Most of my memories are mundane, but there was one incident that my cousin, Bill and I witnessed that’s worth remembering.

I had flown from LaGuardia to DFW (Dallas-Fort Worth Airport) on a business trip visiting Exxon-Mobil’s home office in Las Calinas. Bill picked me up from my hotel after those meeting ended so I could stay at his home in Plano after we attended a Rangers game that night and returned to New York the next day.

We ate at the stadium’s buffet dining room before heading to our reserved seats in the upper deck behind home plate.

After the traditional playing of our National Anthem, the action on the field began while the crowd took their seats. Occupying several seats two rows below us was a home-town family of five Born-again Christians. I understood their message of devotion from their tee shirts that advertised Jesus, finding Jesus and/or being born again.

Ordinarily, this discovery would have been no more than a footnote

to my experience that night at the ballpark. But then, their daughter, a cute teenager about 16-years- old returned from the concession stand and announced to her father: ”Daddy, a man down below us told me that I have a pretty ass.”

“Well, darling, you do have pretty eyes.”

“No daddy, he said I have a pretty ass.”

“Can you point him out?”

She did and her daddy signaled to his oldest son who I guessed to be fifteen to join him. They made their way down to the perpetrator who met them standing, having a good time, clueless of his fate. Seconds later, Daddy, administered his daughter’s revenge as he punched her offender in the nose. Texas style justice had been administered.

Security arrived. Her daddy made his case. The perpetrator was removed from the ball park while daddy returned to his family.

Bill and I had taken in the drama from the safety of our seats. But, as daddy returned to his seat, I turned to Bill to ask him: “Bill, what do you say to $50? I’ll give you $50 if you tell her daddy that she does have a pretty ass?

He declined as I thought he would,   

When the order for the second torpedo attack was received, Admiral Sprague excused the destroyer escorts since they carried only three torpedoes. Never-the-less, the Samuel B. Roberts skipper, Lieutenant Commander R.W. Copeland, decided to follow the destroyers becoming the fourth ship in the attack column.

The Japanese concentrated on the three destroyers allowing the Roberts to remain undetected until it was less than 4,000 yards from the heavy cruisers. Roberts let loose her three torpedoes that ran, “hot straight and normal,” blowing the bow off of the heavy cruiser Chokai.”

The time was 0755.

By now the destroyer Heerman was dead in the water and sinking, but the two other destroyers, Hoel and the badly damaged Johnston along with the Roberts scurried back to form a screen around the carrier, Fanshaw Bay,  to make smoke and fire their five-inch guns at will. Their target, the cruiser, Tone, answered back with its main battery of eight-inch guns and around 0850, “Roberts took her first hit below the waterline followed by additional hits in rapid succession.”

At about 0900, Skipper Copeland reported that “…a tremendous explosion took place on his ship that he believed to have been caused by two or three 14-inch shells,” that only a battleship could fire. They tore a great, jagged hole 30 to 40 feet long and 7 to 10 high on the port side. The damage was so severe that all power was lost and the ship was reduced from stack to stern to ‘an inert mass of battered metal.”

Despite the complete loss of power, the crew of No. 2 gun managed to get off six salvos by hand. Unfortunately, a seventh attempt failed, killing the three members of the gun crew. Abandon Ship was ordered at 0910 but not completed until 0935 because the skipper insisted that the wounded be given first aid and placed on rafts.

Roberts lay over about 80 degrees then gave a twist and slowly sank by the stern at 1005.  

Copeland concluded his post action report by repeating what he informed the crew what they should expect over loudspeaker system:

“This will be a fight against overwhelming odds from which survival could not be expected, during which time we would do what damage we could.’ In the face of this knowledge, the men zealously manned their stations wherever they might be and fought and worked with such calmness, courage and efficiency that no higher honor could be conceived than to command such a group of men.”

Of the compliment of 215 men, 90 went down with the ship or succumbed to injuries received or exposure during the 50 hours spent on rafts or in the water before they were rescued.

The American Navy lost two escort carriers, Fanshaw Bay and St. Lo, two destroyers, Hoel and Johnston, and the destroyer escort, Samuel B. Roberts.  

Admiral Kurita was never quite sure if he was fighting a lowly squadron of jeep carriers and their screening ships or Halsey’s powerful Third Fleet, but the little escorts and the flyers of Taffy 3 did enough damage to send the Japanese force back to their home port in Java. Most of these ships never went to sea again.

The little ships and their aviators saved the day, and Halsey’s legacy would always be  questioned by his decision to desert supporting these little ships in favor of chasing the former decoy Japanese carriers.

As in any battle, once the engagement began, fate became the hunter.

In June of 2023, an international oceanic exploration group led by Victor Vescovo located the remains of the USS Samuel B. Roberts This destroyer escort came to rest 22,600 feet below where it sank during the naval battle of Leyte to free the Philippines and made the Roberts the deepest combat casualty ever located.

The Roberts was one of the smallest warships in size and armament to regularly serve as part of the Navy’s main fleets. Usually, these little ships were relegated to escorting larger warships, or hunting for enemy submarines.

On the morning of October 22, 1944, the crew of the USS Samuel B. Roberts entered into harm’s way to

endure a remarkable yet brief combat experience. Nicknamed, “The Sammy B.” the Roberts was sunk by multiple hits from large caliber shells fired from Japanese battleships, cruisers and other major warships. How did this welterweight of a warship find itself in the middle of a heavyweight fight?

The naval battle that accompanied the invasion of Leyte was, by far, the largest of the Pacific War. The Japanese chose to engage the US Fleet in a winner-take-all showdown. Since the Battle of Midway in 1942, their fleet had suffered losses they couldn’t replace to their aircraft carriers and aviators that they couldn’t replace while the size and strength of the American navy kept growing by leaps and bounds. Such losses were especially terrible at the Battle of the Philippine Sea that proceeded the battle for Leyte. History still calls that air battle  “The Marianas Turkey Shoot.” The American fleet lost 115 aircraft while the Japanese lost more than 600.

At Leyte, the Japanese High Command divided their assets into three fleets, the Central Fleet consisting of almost all of their heavily armored and armed surface warships, the Southern Fleet consisting of obsolete battleships and the Northern Fleet, made up of their remaining aircraft carriers, now reduced to floating targets acting as a diversionary ruse.

The Southern Fleet was wiped out in a single night. Their Central Fleet took several major casualties early on from attacks by US naval aircraft and submarines. Our intelligence reported that their Central Fleet had reverse course and retreated.

Admiral William (Bull) Halsey, CEO of the Third Fleet, the primary American war fleet was obsessed with the whereabouts of the enemy’s carrier fleet. When he was informed incorrectly that the Central Fleet had reversed course, he dispatched this powerful armada to destroy it. With Halsey’s departure, the sole American presence protecting the landing beaches off of the island of Samar was reduced to  four escort carriers, also called baby carriers or jeep carriers. The purpose of their Marine aircrews was to protect and support the Marines fighting on Leyte using pre-war  Wildcat fighters.

Each carrier group  was assigned an escort of three destroyers and four destroyer escorts.

On the morning of October 25, 1944, the three carrier groups had completed their nightly patrol duties and were re-deploying to begin their ground support flight operations. At 0645, strange things began to happen unexpected anti-aircraft fire, unidentified surface contacts and Japanese chatter. At 0658, the Japanese opened fire.

One minute later, colored splashes from the batteries of Japanese ships began rising astern of the ships of this small fleet. Admiral Kurita, the admiral in charge of the Japanese Central Fleet became equally shocked and confused to see American aircraft carriers ahead of his fleet. He didn’t realize they were only jeep carriers ordered “General Attack,” against what he thought was Admial Halsey’s main fleet. Chaos soon ensued. By 7:00 all aircraft from the three carrier groups had been launched, but the Japanese shell splashes progressed closer and closer to the escort carriers.

At 0716, Admiral Clifton Sprague, the local commander ordered his three destroyers to attack. Unbeknown to Sprague, Commander Ernest E. Evans, skipper of the USS Johnston had already ordered his crew to general quarters, lit all boilers and passed the word “prepare to attack a major portion of the Japanese fleet.” When Evans received orders from Sprague to deliver a torpedo attack with Hoel and Hermann, the other two destroyers. He closed the Johnston at 25 knots to within 10,000 yards of a heavy cruiser and fired her ten torpedoes, whipped around and retired behind her own smoke.

At about 7:30, three 14-inch shells slammed into the Johnston followed by three 6-inch shells thirty seconds later. “It was like a puppy being smacked by a truck.” But speed was maintained at 17 knots and all gun stations remained on line.

Next in was USS Hoel together with the USS Hermann that

commenced their duels with the enemy battleships and heavy cruisers. As they formed up for a second torpedo attack, Lieutenant R. W. Copeland, skipper of the Samuel B. Roberts, decided to tag along with the big boys contrary to his orders.

 (TO BE CONTINUED…)                    

“Call me Buster.”

 I am a seven-year-old mixed breed part Chow / part Border Collie with brown and black hair I have pointy ears that I can turn 180 degrees that would make me a lousy poker player as how I set my ears gives away my mood. Let me tell you about my first trip to Florida.

Before we left, I had my hair cut. This was not my idea as January was cold and wet. When they did this to me. I thought that Mary Ann and John, the people I live with, were trying to kill me, but the next day we set out in their truck on a road trip that would take us to a special place, called Florida, where the weather is nice and warm in January.

I didn’t always live with them. A girl named Jodie, who I adored, adopted me from the North Shore Animal’s League’s shelter. She took me home to Connecticut. Later, she married their son, Michael. It was not a bad life until they had this kid. Didn’t like him, but food became more plentiful once he arrived. Then he became mobile and interested in me. A couple of bites later, it was goodbye Fairfield, and hello Port Washington, Long Island.

My life in this new home would have been much better if they didn’t already have Maggie living with them too. She arrived a year before I did, in 1999, another reject.

 She was thrown out of her home because she was a crazy ten-month-old Golden Retriever. Now five, she’s still nuts, and she’s a pain in my ass. Stupid Golden Retrievers think they are so special and this one thinks she is “The Supreme Being.” The fools I live with, especially, John, treat her that way.

You don’t believe me? She uses toys as props, rubber footballs, a rubber ring, a rope and especially tennis balls. She obsesses over her toys and God forbid, I borrow one, the bitch takes it away. Now toys are not a big deal for me, but fair is fair.

She also hogs the window in the back seat. She stands there waiting for them to open it, so she can put her stupid head out. And when they do, God forbid, I go over to it. She growls and snarls at me. It can get so bad on this trip that I said the hell with it and found a spot in the back of the truck. Mary Ann was nice enough to find a mat for me to lie on while “her majesty” had the entire soft seat to herself.

Spending eight hours in a truck every day for three days is not as bad as you think. It isn’t as though I had other things to do and we stopped often enough to stretch and relieve ourselves. Sleeping in those little boxy rooms was another matter altogether. There are too many strangers, each one a potential assassin. I was ready to stay up all night and let them know I was on alert, but John stupidly closed the curtains.

When we arrived at the house in Florida, I had to learn a few things the hard way. Glass sliding doors are not always open and what happens when I walk across the plastic cover on top of the swimming pool. My only pleasure was watching her majesty do the same thing.

Each morning we hopped in the truck for a short ride to the beach. As soon as we began to move, Maggie began to act up. Her ears flailed back making her look like a bolting horse. Her eyes blinked rapidly as her tongue moved in and out of her mouth at the same speed. She whimpered and cried. When she saw the water, the Loony Tune’s barking and crying became so high-pitched that it went right through me. It was all I could do not to bite her so she’d shut up. This cacophony ended only after John let her out of the truck. And this happened every morning!

The beach was great. Not many people, a few new dogs to meet and greet. Most of the time we ran free and I had a grand time cataloging new and different smells, rolling on dead creatures and playing in the surf. On the other hand, “nutsy Fagin” had to have something to chase and carry in her big mouth. Each morning, John found a different coconut that he would throw into the water. Maggie mindlessly chased them.

Her nuttiness gave me the idea that if I chased them too, that might drive her off the deep end. After I grabbed the coconut first a couple of times, she freaked out and started ripping it out of my mouth. After that I decided to back off and let her have it.

 John threw the coconut like a football, but its weight and the wind made some throws fall short. It was my fondest hope that sooner or later one would hit her on the head and kill her. (Imagine John having to call his kids to tell them what happened.)

Don’t get in an uproar, it didn’t happen. Actually, it was an excellent vacation with no mishaps after the first day. Neither of us went swimming in the bayou behind the house because the bottom was too muddy, and our instincts sensed danger. Good thing too because we found out alligators liked to swim there.

 We also avoided fleas and I had to smile because last year Maggie acquired fleas on the trip I missed.

So, you can put me down to recommending Florida as a good place to go to leave winter behind, but it would be much better to go there as an Only Dog.