Memories of the Class of 1956!

Written by Howard Brancel

October 26, 2010

Fooling the Duke!

We "baited" Duke one night by telling Desk Sgt. Bill Kleinsasser of the Pierre Police Department that we were going down Hwy. 34 towards Rousseau "jack lighting". We waited about 30 minutes and headed east with a spotlight and a broomstick. Duke was waiting a mile or so past the Farm Island cut off. When we passed him he began to follow with his lights off. In about 5 minutes we turned on the spotlight and spotted a rabbit. We stopped and I stuck the broomstick out the window. On came Duke’s lights and away we went with him in pursuit. As Duke got closer, I threw the broomstick out the window into the snow covered ditch. We drove on as Duke got closer and pulled us over. He said he was taking us in for shooting with a spotlight. I said it was all a big joke; that we didn't even have a gun in the car. He said that he watched me throw the gun out the window and he would recover it. I said that it really was a joke and we just threw a broomstick out the window. You know his response to that! His attitude changed abruptly as he later recovered our broomstick from the snowy ditch.

He laughingly released us from his custody... Duke was a really good, good game warden .

Howard

September 25, 2010

It was a spectacular night! The kind of night sky that is seldom seen anymore. A sky in which millions of stars twinkle and glow and the Milky Way appears as a glimmering blanket over the deep bed of snow which covers the gently rolling South Dakota prairie. A night so cold and clear that you could watch the meandering searchings of a jack rabbit or a raccoon as it moves from one grassy snow covered mound of tall prairie grass to another in search of food, hundreds of yards in the distance across the Dakota plains.

It was on a night similar to this, at a few minutes before midnight in late December of 1954, that I recount this experience. As a high school age boy I spent almost all of my free time hunting, fishing, trapping and catching bait to be sold in my grandfathers sport shop at 410 East Missouri Avenue in Pierre, South Dakota. As was the norm for many boys my age, when late fall and winter hit the prairies, so did we...especially after dark. The colder the better, most especially when the cold night air coincided with a full moon and a light (or heavy) cover of new-fallen snow lies on the ground.

We needed the moonlight to find the prey in our gun sights as the use of spotlights (jacklighting) was highly illegal and E.R. (Duke) Lampster spent a disproportionate amount of his career as Game Warden in the enforcing of that particular law. Jack rabbits, coyotes, skunks and raccoons were our targets for bounty or pelts.

I had just two partners in this pursuit but only hunted with one of them at a time. One of us drove the vehicle and scouted the terrain while the other scouted the terrain and acted as "triggerman" when a target was sighted. We always alternated duties so each of us had a chance to do some of the shooting. It was a good system. I shall not share the names of my two classmate friends as neither are available to defend their honor.

On this particular late December evening, I was riding as "triggerman" and we were traveling NE on the Missouri river road toward Sully County, near Scotty Robinsons family place, above what is now the location of the Oahe Dam and reservoir system and presently lies beneath some hundred or so feet of water. It was a perfect evening, maybe 20-25 degrees below zero, crystal clear skies and a full moon. I was wearing long johns, two pairs of jeans, heavy woolen socks under a pair of insulated hunting boots with stitched on knife scabbard and 6" hunting blade, two cotton flannel long-sleeve shirts and topped off with a WWII military sheepskin/wool fleece bombardier flight coat. The latter is of significant importance in this tale.

To be productive in our endeavor, we had to travel with the windows open, often with 15-20 mile per hour winds (there was no such thing as "wind chill factor" in those days) and a similar road speed so warm clothing was a must in a 1951 Studebaker pick-up truck with a very poor heater system. By this time you are all saying "get on with the story, we have all been there" , so I will.

As I surveyed the slowly passing ditches, roadsides, fence lines, clumps of brush and dead sunflower stalks; the low branches of the berry bushes and grapevines covered with snow and the upper branches of the barren cottonwood and elm trees, I caught a glimpse of reflected light from a pair of eyes in the upper branches of a large cottonwood tree some distance from the road. We stopped and I located what appeared to be a large raccoon looking around the trees huge trunk some, 20-30 feet up the tree. I left my rifle in the truck, grabbed my flashlight and my 22 cal. Colt Woodsman pistol and headed for the tree. I plowed through the deep, crusted snow in the ditch, over the barbed wire fence, through a bunch of wild rose bushes and snow 18-20 inches deep for about a hundred yards or so to the base of the large cottonwood tree. I tucked the pistol in my deep pocket, got out my flashlight and searched the tree branches overhead, catching glimpses of the raccoon several time as it played hide-and-seek with me from high over head. I could not get a shot at it and so pocketed the flashlight and began climbing the tree, stopping to check the animals location with the flashlight. All the while it played peek-a-boo with my light.

Now let me tell you something! It is not easy to climb 30 feet up a cottonwood tree dressed the way I was at the temperature that it was and handle a flashlight at the same time. All this time, maybe 15 minutes, I knew that raccoon was above me and holding his ground, more or less. When I arrived near where I was sure the raccoon was, I established a good footing on two large limbs and got out my flashlight to check the surrounding area while grasping a large limb with my free hand for balance, figuring all the time that the animal had probably moved away from the trunk and out onto one of the larger limbs, a safer distance from my approaching presence. WRONG! As the light came on, so did my raccoon! Except it was not a raccoon. It was a very large and very angry bobcat.

My reaction was too slow as he hit me square in the chest with his front paws grasping my shoulders and his powerful jaws securely locked over my left collar bone and his twisting, jerking, tugging head trying to tear my collarbone from my body. His hind legs repeatedly came up almost to my throat, his claws would bite into the thick leather of my sheepskin coat and then tear downward to the bottom of the coat only to tear free and again explode upward to my chest. This was all happening almost instantly 30 feet above the ground. Somewhere in the first few seconds of the encounter, I dropped my flashlight but was able to remove my hunting knife from its sheath on my right boot top after being unable to get at my pistol which was safely pocketed beneath my coat. During this same, very short amount of time, I lost my grip on the tree and the cat and I were airborne, crashing down through the dry branches of the tree toward the ground. With the cat refusing to release my shoulder from its jaws and its claws shredding my coat. We hit the ground with me on top and my knife buried in his rib cage. We both laid there clutching one another, the cat breathing its last breath and me with my wind knocked out, trying to breath my next. Then it was over!

My partner arrived about the time I began breathing again with no idea of what had just happened except that I had fallen out of the tree. Imagine his surprise as I got up off a large bobcat, pulled my knife from his chest, straighten my shredded coat, and picked up my flashlight. My flight coat was so thick and wooly, none of the cats teeth had penetrated my shoulder and none of his claws had dug through my coat any deeper than my long johns. I had not even one open wound to proclaim my valiant struggle against a very fearsome critter on that cold, clear, Dakota winters night. The nights hunt had ended with more smiles and laughs than you can imagine as I recounted, blow-for-blow, my hand to hand, treetop combat with a large bobcat on our way back to town. This bobcat turned out to be the largest bobcat ever recorded and "bountied out", to that date, in Hughes County at 42+ pounds. I skinned it and sent the hide to a taxidermist in Denver who squared it out into a blanket which hung on my wall until I entered the navy two years later at which time I gave it to my aunt and uncle to display on the wall of their log cabin in Lusby, Maryland where it was destroyed when their home was destroyed in a fire in 1964.

How's that for a "Teen Thriller"? Howard

June 18, 2010

As y'all have probably noticed, I really do enjoy writing myself and reminding me what I have done from time to time. I figure that if I keep doing this, someone is going to get tired of reading just my stuff and maybe "get off the pot" or "do something"! I am beginning to think that this is just a waste of my time, no matter how much I enjoy sharing with others.

I used to get my feelings hurt when people didn't take the time to answer my letters...from the time I joined the navy to the present. Then I adopted the philosophy that if they didn't answer my letters then I would not write to them again. I sure lost track of a lot of nice people that way but I figured that if they didn't want to share with me then I was probably just bothering them by writing to them but it didn't mean that I didn't like them anymore.

Anywaaaaay ... we have been busy since my last missive with lots of church oriented activities, landscaping projects, home repair and maintenance projects and just enjoying the heck out of life in general. Way busier than we thought we would be at this stage of our lives when we compare it with others we have known when they were our ages.

I have been blessed with great physical and mental health (the latter may depend on who you talk to), sufficient income to meet all of our needs and a bit more. We have been having great weather with some nice rain to keep things blossoming and producing berries, etc. I overhauled several combination ceiling fans and light fixtures, trimmed out and painted an outside door from the master bedroom to the upper deck/walkway, mowed the lower 1/2 acre yard area and worked a bit on the upper drive.

The concrete patchwork on the driveway was a great success by the way. I now must put on my waders and begin cleaning out the ponds and stream as well as clear and cut some deadfall timber in the valley. A good 3-4 weeks work there and all of it unfriendly toward my advancing years. Need to spend more time outside on chores like this than setting here at the computer.

Take care all and remember that your Heavenly Father loves you and is there for all of us.

Howard and Sandy

December 10, 2009

Part II The Life and Times of Howard Brancel

Why the navy one may ask? For me, there was no choice. All my interests acted like a big boot in the rump in that direction.

In 1951 (I was the tender age of 14) my Uncle Red invited me to visit him at the Philadelphia Naval Ship Yard. He was a master salvage (hardhat) diver and stationed there as an instructor in "underwater cutting and welding". The second day there, he had me at the bottom of a 40 foot deep tower designed as an underwater escape trunk to teach submariners how to make an emergency free ascent from a downed submarine using the "blow and go" technique of surfacing. I was down there trying to assemble 5 pieces of 1"x6"x6" wood into a box using a conventional hammer and nails.

Holding 5 pieces of very buoyant wood while holding a handful of nails and hammering them in with a hammer is hard to do on dry land much less under 40 feet of water breathing air through a modified gas mask (Jack Brown Rig) hooked by hose to an air compressor...this on top of being 14 years old... was quite an exciting experience. I remember it as if it were yesterday. Couple that with devouring the novel "Pig Boats", a novel by a retired WWII submariner and you are on your way.

That same summer, my uncle by marriage to my blood aunt (he was a Major in the United States Air Force stationed at Bolling Air Force Base and Andrews Air Force Base just outside of Washington D.C.), on that same trip east, introduced me to a 2nd. class petty officer attending Explosive Ordnance Disposal training at Indian Head Munitions Propellant Plant at Indian Head, Maryland. This enlisted man became a life-long friend as he advanced from Enlisted Petty Officer to Officer Candidacy School, received his commission as a Naval Officer attaining the rank of full Captain; commanding both surface combat vessels, amphibious vessels, and Commanding Officer of Underwater Demolition Team 21 and during Viet Nam, Commander in charge of all Naval Special Warfare Units deployed during the Viet Nam War followed by his retirement after 30+ years. His name was Captain David Schaible. He visited me in Pierre twice to go hunting and fishing while I was serving on the Pierre Police Department.

I learned a lot about the Frogmen or Underwater Demolition Team personnel from both David and my Uncle Red so after being sworn in to the navy in Omaha, Nebraska and a short train ride to San Diego, California where I attended "Boot Camp" followed by Machinery Repairman Class "A" School, I was ready to be a "Frogman" or "Underwater Warrior" as they were called.

MORE LATER IF ENCOURAGED...

"Windy" Brancel

October 17, 2009

Hi Gang... Well, let's see if the "powers that be" are interested in sharing any of this with any of you. I am going to share with you, at least in part, some of "The Life and Times" of Howard Brancel since we last shared a class room or gymnasium. I will submit the first draft, see if it is published and if so, if it generates or stimulates any sort of response which might prompt me into submitting a second section. When time permits, I love to write.

AN INTRODUCTION

As some may recall, I was not active in team sports. I liked ice hockey and swimming for sports and most of my recreational time took place at the municipal pool or the ice sakting rink. I was raised, with my brother Bob, by my grandparents from the time I was 4 months old (Bob was 18 months my senior).

I worked for my grandfather at his sport shop all of my high school days seining minnows, catching crayfish and frogs and digging worms for him to sell as bait during the warmer months and trapping furs and predators during the winter for pelts and bounty...this is by way of an explanation for my compelling interest in wildlife and the great out-of-doors. Suffice it to say that I spent most of my time hunting, fishing, guiding and trapping. Back then, most of us hunted and fished for table meat more than sport.

By the time I had graduated from high school I had already purchased a better-than-average 35mm camera and was photographing more game, etc. than I was shooting for table fare.

Almost immediately after graduating from high school I was accepted on a forestry major program at the University of Montana at Missoula. I moved to Great Falls to work for the summer and at time to enroll, I was notified that they had over-accepted for their out-of-state student quota and I had to make an immediate transfer to So.Dak. State at Brookings on a pre-forestry program.

When I ran out of my own money and my family could not afford 2 boys in college at the same time, I dropped out after the second quarter and joined the U. S. Navy. Perhaps to be continued...