thedrifter
05-13-07, 08:38 AM
The Week That Was
By Martin J. Kidston - IR Staff Writer - 05/13/07
Helena moving, shaking
When the explosive ordnance guys detonated an artillery shell in Grizzly Gulch last weekend, the blast rattled my windows and sent my cats leaping into the air.
Boom! Sweet Jesus, Joseph and Mary, what in the world was that? Are we under attack? Did a meteor hit? Did a transformer explode?
You wait for the next sound but it doesn’t come. The night goes on as deep and quiet as any night can.
Should I call the paper? No, just relax — never mind the cats. It’s almost 10 p.m. and it’s too late to write anything, besides. The next day I forget all about it. The day after that, someone else has written the story.
I knew several guys on the Explosive Ordnance Disposal team in the Marines. They were a tough crowd and a bunch of jokers who lived by the motto, “You’re a rookie until you lose a finger.”
Whatever their motto was Saturday night, the concussion echoed across the city. “That was some kind of boom” was the talk on the street. “Did you hear it? How could you not hear it?”
Fascinated with explosives as kids, my friends and I often tried to create our own bombs by using gunpowder, gasoline and rocket engines. It’s a wonder we never lost a finger. I’d rather be a rookie with 10 fingers than a time-tested ordnance man with nine.
Just when things settled down, the earthquake hit. A real reminder that we have bigger problems — the Earth is alive and it may not like us.
The 4.6 magnitude temblor rattled southwestern Montana, including Helena. The quake rolled through the city like the St. Patrick’s Day Parade — it was that short.
The phones at the IR rang off the hook. I’m on the other line but I can hear the tempo building in the newsroom. “There’s been an earthquake,” someone says.
“A what?”
“An earthquake.”
“An earthquake?”
“Yes, an earthquake.”
A big one. Everyone’s calling. Can’t you hear the phones ringing?
“Yes, ma’am,” one editor says on the phone. “Yes, I’m an editor. Yes, there was an earthquake. Yes, they said it was down by Sheridan.”
Explaining the location of Sheridan is like picking out a star on a starry summer night, then trying to get a friend to see the same point of light.
“Sheridan?” the editor explains. “Yes, ma’am, it’s 38 miles southeast of Butte and 12 miles northwest of Virginia City. Virginia City? Yes, ma’am, it’s about 12 miles southeast of Sheridan.”
Ellie
By Martin J. Kidston - IR Staff Writer - 05/13/07
Helena moving, shaking
When the explosive ordnance guys detonated an artillery shell in Grizzly Gulch last weekend, the blast rattled my windows and sent my cats leaping into the air.
Boom! Sweet Jesus, Joseph and Mary, what in the world was that? Are we under attack? Did a meteor hit? Did a transformer explode?
You wait for the next sound but it doesn’t come. The night goes on as deep and quiet as any night can.
Should I call the paper? No, just relax — never mind the cats. It’s almost 10 p.m. and it’s too late to write anything, besides. The next day I forget all about it. The day after that, someone else has written the story.
I knew several guys on the Explosive Ordnance Disposal team in the Marines. They were a tough crowd and a bunch of jokers who lived by the motto, “You’re a rookie until you lose a finger.”
Whatever their motto was Saturday night, the concussion echoed across the city. “That was some kind of boom” was the talk on the street. “Did you hear it? How could you not hear it?”
Fascinated with explosives as kids, my friends and I often tried to create our own bombs by using gunpowder, gasoline and rocket engines. It’s a wonder we never lost a finger. I’d rather be a rookie with 10 fingers than a time-tested ordnance man with nine.
Just when things settled down, the earthquake hit. A real reminder that we have bigger problems — the Earth is alive and it may not like us.
The 4.6 magnitude temblor rattled southwestern Montana, including Helena. The quake rolled through the city like the St. Patrick’s Day Parade — it was that short.
The phones at the IR rang off the hook. I’m on the other line but I can hear the tempo building in the newsroom. “There’s been an earthquake,” someone says.
“A what?”
“An earthquake.”
“An earthquake?”
“Yes, an earthquake.”
A big one. Everyone’s calling. Can’t you hear the phones ringing?
“Yes, ma’am,” one editor says on the phone. “Yes, I’m an editor. Yes, there was an earthquake. Yes, they said it was down by Sheridan.”
Explaining the location of Sheridan is like picking out a star on a starry summer night, then trying to get a friend to see the same point of light.
“Sheridan?” the editor explains. “Yes, ma’am, it’s 38 miles southeast of Butte and 12 miles northwest of Virginia City. Virginia City? Yes, ma’am, it’s about 12 miles southeast of Sheridan.”
Ellie