My Ancestral Line (Geneology) The Walks

I am a 9th generation American. My first ancestor came here in 1728 aboard the James Goodwill, out of Württemberg Germany.

His Name was Hans Martin Walk. Born about February 28, 1707 [uncertain] in Baden-Wuerttemberg, Heiliges Römisches Reich. Died before February 8, 1785 before about age 77 in Rowan County, North Carolina, USA. He may well have looked like this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

His son (in my line) was Martin Walk II. Born 2 Apr 1737 in Culpeper, Virginia. Died 18 Oct 1791 at age 54 in Friedberg, Rowan, North Carolina, United States. He may have looked something like this:

 

His son (in my line) was Martin Walk III. Born 13 Apr 1777 in Friedberg, Rowan, North Carolina, United States. Died 1820 at about age 42 in Hillsville, Carroll, Virginia, United State. He may have looked something like this:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

His son was Elisha Bolling Walk. Born 1809 in Davidson County, NC. Died 1880 at age 70 or 71 in Putnam County West Virginia, USA. He may have looked something like this:

His son was Amos Anthony Walk. Born circa 1834 in Carroll County, VA, United States. Died 1915 (76-85) in Gratton, Tazewell County, Virginia, United States. He could have looked like this:

His son was John Van Buren Walk. Born on April 4, 1872, and died at age 70 years old on July 23, 1942. Below is his actual picture.

 

 

 

 

 

His son was William Arnold Walk. born on 26 January 1897, in Tazewell, Virginia, United States. Died on 17 September 1964, in Fort Sam Houston, San Antonio, Bexar, Texas, United States, at the age of 67. Below is his actual picture.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 His son was John Samuel Walk. Born on April 30, 1936 in San Antonio, TX. Died on November 25, 2022 in San Antonio, TX. at age 86. Here is his picture:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

John Samuel Walk was my father.

My name is Michael Vance Walk. Here is my picture:

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My Dad's father (my Grandfather) was William Arnold Walk (He had a brother named Stewart Price Walk, and 2 sisters named Ira [Ara Belle] Walk, and Della Walk)
His father was John Van Buren Walk
His father was Amos Anthony Walk
His father was Elisha Bolling Walk
His father was Martin Walk (3rd)
His father was Martin Walk (2nd)
His Father Was Hans Martin Walk (the Immigrant) who came from Germany.

The father of Hans Martin Walk (c. 1707-1785), the immigrant to America, is generally listed as unknown in genealogical records, despite some confusion with a possible relative or name variation; he arrived in Pennsylvania in 1728 and later settled in North Carolina, leaving a legacy through his children.

Key Details:
Name: Hans Martin Walk (often went by Martin).
Birth: Around 1707 in the Baden-Württemberg region of Germany.
Immigration: Sailed from Rotterdam, landed in Philadelphia, September 1728 (aboard the "James Goodwill").
Family: Married Catherine Clore (c. 1715-1744) and later Catherine Gerhardt (c. 1737-?).
Children: Had several children, including Martin Walk II (Jr.).
Parents: His parents' names are not definitively known in most records.
Conflicting Information:
One source lists a Hans Peter Walk as the father of a Hans Martin Walk born in 1705, but this appears to be a different individual or a confusion with a different generation/family line than the prominent immigrant, as records confirm the immigrant's father is unknown.

Dad's football card

 As a joke I made this too...

 

Dad's infamous Leg Injury

 

 

Little Sammy Walk (Dad) got his leg run over. It was bad. Rather than amputate his leg, they used a revolutionary procedure. Pins and a plate. Attached to the outside of the leg. Dad made a full recovery. 

 

He explained to me that he was chasing his brother Billy (Uncle Bill) around and Billy ran across the street. Sammy was closing in. Next thing he knew he saw a car in his peripheral vision, and felt an impact on his leg. When he tried to take a step his leg just collapsed under him. He said the knee went down to the ground and blood came out. He passed out. Apparently the man who had run over his leg carried him up to Grandmother's door and presented his unconscious body saying "Ma'am I think I just killed your boy." (Dad must have been told that part of the story by Grandmother.) Anyway, they rushed him to the doctor which then referred him to a specialist. The doctors decided to try this experimental procedure which had been used successfully on horses. Dad had the scars on his leg for the rest of his life. A line of circular scars where the screws were. He said his left leg was a bit shorter than the right one after this accident. Not enough to really notice. The above photo appeared in a medical journal. I wish I could find a copy of that.

 

Anyway, that's how I remember him telling the story.

 

 

 

A Story about Dad

[From a correspondence between me and John, my brother, some time ago.] 

 You mentioned the truck incident. Well, I was there when Dad got that sucker out of the mud. I saw the whole thing. We spent a significant amount of time trying to get the truck out of the mud using driftwood, rocks, and other stuff. No good. It was a case of Dad want to "try out" the 4 wheel drive. I'm sure he "tried out" your GTO. He "tried out" my Yamaha 400, and unfortunately wrecked it. Anyway, he was out there with Randy and me and the "lock outs" didn't work. So it wasn't 4 wheel drive. Just rear wheel. We tried and tried. No good. We decided to have Randy hitchhike back to town for a tow truck. Randy disappeared. Dad and me still worked on it. No good. Finally, Dad got more-or-less enraged, jumped in and put it in reverse and floored the gas pedal and that thing was throwing rooster tails of mud like out at the mud drags. (Unfortunately the passenger side door was open and became blanketed on the inside with thick gooey mud) Those tires spun for a while. Nevertheless the thing slowly began to move and then suddenly it just roared up out of the hole. Dad stopped. Put it in drive and said "Let's go!". Just like that. No fanfare. Get-er-done! You probably know the rest of the story. How we met up with Randy on the highway. He had procured a tow truck. We picked him up went into town, into a car wash and washed the truck inside and out. I say we, it was mostly Dad. Back then Dad was a kind of "take charge" and "get it done" type of a guy. Incidentally, as far as I know that was the last time that truck was washed at a car wash.

This incident remains one of my favorite Dad stories.

I like the stories that make Dad out to be a no nonsense, take the bull by the horns, take care of business, blustery, tough, rampaging, wrath of God, father type! The part of his personality that is snipey, silly, and condescending, or hyper-critical is not my favorite version of him. I will always remember him as the guy who cut his own cast off his leg, hit home runs in softball at age 42, backed that truck out of the mud, coached teams, rescued you from the current at the coast, and survived heat stroke, and pneumonia a couple times and a motorcycle wreck at age 76. He was always loving, fair, and honest with us. His anger was (mostly) justified, and he had to rise up above the energy of three crazy boys and a daughter.

Ol' Pop! A hundred years of him acting like a grumpy old man, could never erase the legacy of THIS guy...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Looked sort of like this...

 

Dad's emails - recollections

 

 [Dad wrote the following in an email to me]

Along with a nice birthday card, Betty sent me a couple of photos.  In the first photo...I figure I'm about eleven or twelve years old.  Grandaddy Smith gave me my first .22 cal. rifle for Christmas.  As you can see I was delighted.  Just what I wanted.  (Mike saw the photo and said, "I sure can see the a resemblance of you and Randy). The photo was taken with my brand new Sears Tower camera which I also got for Christmas that year.  I'm standing at the front porch.  Somewhere around there are some more photos that I took of the family that same Christmas.  Betty might have them put away somewhere.   

Me and that rifle spent a lot of time down on the Bosque River and on top of Bee Rock.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Obviously, a photo of me, Betty and Billy, dressed up for church (1952). You can tell our mother took the photo. She always had lots of empty space at the top and usually cut off the feet. he he

 

Just thought you'd enjoy seeing these.  Love, Dad

 

THE END

 

 

Dad's Stories: Memories of the Bosque

 

 [from an email written to me by Dad back in 2011, I think]

My idea of having fun was to talk my brother and a couple of friends into going up on Bee Rock and climb around.  I spent a lot of time down on the Bosque river.  I would hunt, fish and sometimes just go down to the river and shoot my .22 rifle.  The same one that hangs on the wall in my bedroom.  There have been times when I thought about having to grow up in a city.  I probably would have gone nuts.  I loved to pack a couple of sandwiches, chips, Bruce's apple pie, a canteen of water and spend the day on the river and climbing around on Bee Rock.  I'm sure I covered just about every square inch of the top, front and a most of the back (which seemed a little snaky).  Some of the things I did up there are legend and very dangerous.  I hope all the photos come out okay.  Love, Dad

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo of Bosque river...taken December 1951.

Me on Bee Rock.  One of my favorite haunts.

Photo taken December 1951.

 

R.L. Clark sitting on the rock.  Left to right, Billy, Jimmy Lomax and

Sammy.  To say I felt comfortable on Bee Rock was an

understatement.  Look at me leaning out.  That's a 300 foot drop

to the trees below.  November, 1951.  

 

 

 

This photo show another of our buddies.  Right behind me is

Leon Strickland.  He lived with his Grandparents and moved

out of town when he was a junior in high school. There was a total

of five of us on the "rock" that day. 

 

That's it for now.....

 

Dad's email telling some family history

 

[Sent to me by Dad on May 25, 2010]

 Here's a couple of photos I discovered while throwing things away and rummaging through old envelops.  These were in an envelope that John Jr sent me some years back.  I have no idea where John got them.  I've been looking for them.  I'm proud of my heritage. The young soldier is who my mother first fell in love with.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This photo doesn't have a date.  But it's got to be from the twenties.  On the back someone wrote, "Corporal W.A. Walk, 2nd Tank Company, Ft. Sam Houston, TX.  Daddy went to France to fight in WWII, but the war was over before he got to the front and the fighting.  Thank God!   Notice the Indianhead patch on his shoulder (2nd Infantry Division).  The medal he has on is for good markmanship.  He qualified with the old Springfield rifle. 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Left to right.  Daddy, his sister (can't recall her name) and brother Stewart.  Stewart had a rough time of it. He was, as you can see, taller than daddy, but later experienced bad health and abject poverty.  Once again this has got to be in the 1920's or earlier than that.  Note:  My mother was ashamed of this photograph which shows daddy as a mountain man and coal miner.  I'm not...I'm proud that my heritage is from humble, hard working folks.  That's one reason I grin in disbelief when someone says...you have no idea what it's like to not have things.  Oh, how I wish daddy had of told me more stories about his younger years.  These were fine people and daddy did very well in life for someone who was taken out of grade school to work help his family.  He join the army for three years and then went back to his relatives in West Virginia.  After another short stint in the coal mines...Nat, his brother-in-law told him, "Arnold get out of these mines and get back in the army.  If you don't you're going to spend your life digging coal."  Daddy did exactly that.   Love, Dad

 

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Interesting family History email exchange with Dad

Dad sent this on May 31, 2008:

Here's something Betty sent me.  It's my daddy's registration card for WW!.  I'll also forward her email.  Mike, You might want to try and see where Jr. (Wayne's older brother) dug this stuff up.  Maybe you know already.  Love, Dad

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Then I sent this:

That is awesome!! It says "Arnold" worked at Mathieson Alkali Works in Saltville VA. (You guessed it... salt mines) Here is a link to more info about that place... Wow... More than interesting!

 

Google search : Museum of the Appalachias, Company Town for more info. 

 

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Then he sent this:

Thanks Michael.  It almost brought tears to my eyes looking at the location of those salt mines and thinking that my daddy actually worked in them.  I regret not having the sense to question him more on such subjects.  He spoke briefly of his work there, but through a flawed memory I thought he'd said "soda" - in retrospect, he probably said alkali mines. 

 

I do remember him saying that it turned the hair, on head and body orange.  There's a good chance that it was this, not cigarettes that caused his lung cancer.  Can you imagine in the very early nineteen hundreds - people digging salt out of a mountain tunnel...breathing the salt dust all day and having it caked on them from head to toe?  Dagummit...I'm even more proud of what he  accomplishment now than before. 

 

I recall when he completed his work for a high school equivalency diploma (via a correspondence course.   He took his tests through the Meridian school system).  He did that while I was attending Meridian high school.  He held the rank of master sergeant through the last fifteen years of his army career.  That's as high as an enlisted man can go in the army.  In at least two instances he was company first sergeant...which is one probably the very best rank in the army. 

 

Just think, my daddy dropped out of school when he was ten years old to work in the "step mines" (harvesting coal) as a water boy.  Then went on to achieve the highest enlisted man's grade in the army.  A favorite story he'd tell while working as a "water boy," was how the workers would yell for a drink and he'd have to climb up to where they were working...give them the metal dipper and wait while they dipped water from bucket.  Then, he'd hear someone else cry out, "Water boy!"  He would have to determine the location of the person and immediately go to that spot.  I remember asking him how many men were working in the area he had to serve and he said, "Oh, I don't remember exactly, maybe 50 to 75."  He said he'd be so tired when he got off - he could hardly walk. 

 

Mike, just imagine....he would have been the same age of the students you teach in school.  Remember this story the next time you hear a kid complain, "I can't get this computer to work right,"  while sitting in an air conditioned house and not doing a single thing they don't want to. Or even this, "Why can't we get a new car, I'm ashamed of this one."  While they're sitting in a relatively new conveyance. Hell bells, remember kids don't change...parent's do.    

 

Daddy's hard and difficult work history was what probably motivated him to walk outside and tell a friend of mine, Barry Robinson, "Sammy won't be working with you any more," when they came by at six in the morning to pick me up to work. That was one summer when I worked with three other boys picking up and hauling grain and hay from the area farms. I had walked into the kitchen to eat breakfast, that daddy has prepared for me, and he took one look at my face and said, "Boy!  That job is going to make you sick!" 

 

I'll always be disappointed that my mother was proud of the "slave owners" on my maternal grandaddy's side, but hopelessly ashamed of the humble beginnings of her husband's family.  I'm not...

 

I was and still am proud of my daddy, my hero.   Love, daddy

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

While holding the rank of sergeant, 7th rank, (or Master Sergeant) daddy taught military science (R.O.T.C) at two colleges. Tarleton State College (now, Tarleton State University), in Stephenville, TX. -  and Oklahoma A&M (now OSU, Oklahoma State University), in Stillwater, Ok.     

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We visited my daddy one summer while he was stationed at Fort Gordon, near Augusta, GA...at that particular time he was the company first sergeant.  Along with that grade...came a lot of authority and power.  When Billy and myself visited daddy at work...we could just about go or do anything we wanted to.  I recall they'd call him "top!"   Example:  "Good morning "top" you have a couple of fine looking boys there."

 

 

 

 

Staff Meetings (Yuck!)

 

Staff Meetings: A Bold Experiment in Seeing How Long Humans Can Sit Without Screaming

By Someone Who Has Attended Far Too Many

Staff meetings are a cornerstone of modern civilization. They are how organizations ensure that important information is conveyed, morale is steadily eroded, and no one escapes with a sense of accomplishment.

A staff meeting typically begins with the phrase, “Let’s give everyone a few minutes to join,” which translates to: We will now sit in silence while staring at our phones, pretending to read emails we are definitely not reading. This period can last anywhere from three minutes to the remainder of your natural life.

Once everyone has arrived—except for Steve, who “had an emergency”, or Sally who had "Tech issues" despite owning $4,000 worth of equipment—the meeting officially starts. There is usually an "ice breaker" activity which literally NO ONE wants to do. It usually involves everyone breaking into their pre-arranged cliques and talking about ANYTHING on Earth, other than the expected topic. 

The leader will eventually say, “This meeting shouldn't take long,” a phrase historians now recognize as a ritual incantation meant to ward off time itself. It never works. It's also a lie. Because there will always be questions. You know the old saying "there are no such thing as dumb questions"? Well whoever made up that phrase never sat in a staff meeting. Because, GEEZ, people dream up some egregiously stupid questions. So stupid you wonder how they can even feed themselves. 

The next phase is the AGENDA, a mysterious document sent in advance and not read by anyone, including the person who wrote it. The agenda contains bullet points such as “Updates,” “Discussion,” and “Next Steps,” which are staff-meeting terms meaning “rambling,” “uncontrolled rambling,” and “we will circle back.”

At some point, someone will say, “Get with me after the meeting,” which is meeting-language for we will absolutely never speak of this again. Another participant will suggest, “We should put a pin in that,” which is not a real solution and has never involved an actual pin, despite what the phrase implies.

Every staff meeting includes at least one person who says they have a question, says nothing for 47 minutes and the question requires everyone to revisit everything from the beginning. This person is not doing this on purpose. They are fulfilling an ancient role described in corporate mythology as “The Waster of Time.”

There is also the Optimist, who refers to the meeting as a "conversation.” This is never true. It is, at best, "conversation adjacent". The Optimist is usually followed by The Historian, who begins a sentence with, “Back in 2014, when we tried something similar…” and proceeds to recite a detailed oral history that no one requested and everyone regrets.

Modern staff meetings often rely on PowerPoint presentations, which are slideshows designed to prove that reading words off a screen out loud makes them more impactful. These slides are carefully crafted using fonts that appear friendly but are somehow aggressive. Every slide contains too much text except the one that says “Questions?” which appears despite the universal agreement that there should be none.

Then there is the Action Items portion of the meeting, during which tasks are assigned in a way that ensures no one is quite sure who is responsible for what. The phrase “Let’s all take ownership of this” is used, meaning no one owns this and it will drift into the void.

Finally, the meeting ends 15 minutes late, at which point the leader says, “Thanks, everyone,” and participants respond by immediately bolting for the door, like startled deer, leaving behind only the echo of productivity and a calendar notification for the follow-up meeting.

Every single thing the meeting covered could have been handled in an email. They know it. We know it. Yet we all participate in the charade so the leaders can feel all leader-y.

In conclusion, staff meetings are vital (they tell us). Without them, how would we know what we are already doing, why we are behind on it, and that we will “revisit this next quarter”? They are the glue that holds organizations together, primarily because they prevent anyone from escaping long enough to do actual work. Also it gives the higher ups a chance to look like they are important, instead of walking around bored all day, pretending to actually work, instead of just obsessing on where they will eat lunch on that particular day.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have another meeting starting in two minutes that could have been an email, and an email starting in two minutes that could have been nothing at all.

Idiot Moon Landing Deniers

 

The Moon Landing Was Faked, Probably by the Same People Who Hide Your Socks

By Someone Who Has Watched the Internet

There is a group of people—let us call them “moon landing deniers,” because that is what they are—who believe that the Apollo missions were staged. Not “mistaken,” not “exaggerated,” but staged, like a middle-school production of Oklahoma! except with more rockets and fewer confused parents asking why Curly McLain is wearing sneakers.

According to this theory, the United States government, in 1969, decided to pretend to land humans on the Moon. This required... 

(1) convincing hundreds of thousands of engineers, scientists, astronauts, technicians, and politicians to keep a secret for more than fifty years; 

(2) doing so flawlessly; and 

(3) doing it with technology roughly equivalent to a microwave that could barely pop corn without burning half of it.

The deniers’ primary evidence includes evidentiary statements such as: “The flag waved.” This is true. The flag did wave. But this is because it was mounted on a pole with a horizontal stabilizer rod at the top, which caused it to ripple when the astronauts twisted it into the lunar soil. But the deniers respond, “Aha! WIND!” They say this as though NASA forgot to notice the presence of wind on the Moon, which, according to most scientists, has no atmosphere. This is the Moon’s most famous feature, other than being round and causing werewolves on Earth to become naughty.

Another popular argument is: “Why are there no stars in the photos?” This is because the photos were taken with short exposure times to capture bright objects, such as astronauts and the Sun-lit lunar surface. Stars are dim. They did not show up. This is how cameras work. If you take a picture of your friend standing in front of a bonfire at night, you will not capture the Andromeda Galaxy either, unless your friend is the Andromeda Galaxy, in which case you should probably stop being friends because that is unsettling. Also, on a clear blue sky day, how many stars do you see in the sky? Exactly. Same reason. The daylight is what scientists call "very very bright". Stars, not so much. Well, the Astronauts were roaming around on the DAYLIGHT side of the Moon. Get it?

But logic is no match for the deniers, who counter with their most devastating point: “It just doesn’t look real.”

This is a powerful argument, often delivered by someone who has watched a documentary on the History Channel at 2:30 a.m. hosted by a man with aggressively confident eyebrows. Compared to that, thousands of hours of telemetry data, Moon rocks analyzed by scientists worldwide, and the fact that you can still bounce lasers off reflectors left on the Moon by astronauts are obviously suspicious.

(About those reflectors: Deniers say they could have been placed there by robots. Which is interesting, because if we had robots capable of autonomously landing on the Moon in 1969, that would actually be more impressive than sending humans, and would raise the question of why we were still struggling to make a toaster that didn’t incinerate Pop-Tarts.)

The deniers also claim Stanley Kubrick filmed the landings. This is unfair to Kubrick, who was a perfectionist. If he had filmed the Moon landing, it would have been four hours long, deeply symbolic, and the astronauts would have spent 45 minutes staring silently at a space helmet while ominous music played. Also, Kubrick insisted on realism, which means he would have filmed it on location. On the Moon.

Perhaps my favorite argument is that the Van Allen radiation belts would have killed the astronauts instantly. This argument is usually made by people who are deeply concerned about radiation but remain unconcerned about consuming energy drinks whose ingredients appear to have been scraped off the floor of a chemistry lab.

In reality, the astronauts passed through the belts quickly, received a dose of radiation comparable to a few medical scans, and went on to live long lives—many of them long enough to become grandparents, which is not something ghosts typically do.

But the core problem for moon landing deniers is this: if the government faked the Moon landing, it would be the only government project in history that went perfectly, on schedule, under budget, and without a whistleblower writing a tell-all book titled I Faked the Moon and All I Got Was This Lousy NDA.

So yes, it is healthy to be skeptical. Question authority. Think critically. But at some point, you have to accept that humans really did strap themselves into a glorified tin can, ride a controlled explosion into space, and walk on the Moon.

Which, frankly, is already crazy enough without adding a conspiracy involving sound stages, fake astronauts, and a flag with alleged wind powers.

Besides, if ANYONE would want to discredit the Moon landings it would have been the Soviets. They were our main competition in the "Space-Race", which they were pretty much winning until we pulled off this beauty. Even THEY admitted we did it.

You want more? Okay. We sent up an orbital satellite around the moon that took photos of every moon landing site. You want more? Okay. The Indians sent up an orbital satellite around the moon that took photos of every moon landing site. Literally EVERYONE except these tin-foil hat, crystal-fondling numbskulls know we succeeded in landing 6 missions to (12 men on) the moon. Not one mission. SIX.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go investigate the far more plausible conspiracy that my dryer is secretly eating socks and selling them on the dark web.

A Good Blonde Joke

 

A blonde gal goes into a shop and asks if she can buy the TV that is in the window.  The shopkeeper tells her "Sorry! We don't serve blondes."  

So she goes home and dyes her hair brown. She returns to the shop the next day and asks to buy the TV in the window. Again she is greeted with the same reply. "No sorry, as I told you, we don't serve blondes."

Thinking maybe her roots had given her away or she had missed a spot with the dye, she returns to the shop the next day wearing a wig, a pair of sunglasses and a large hat.  She asks the shop keeper if she can buy the TV in the window and again he says "No sorry we don't serve blondes."  

Now the blonde is beginning to get very angry and frustrated. "How did you know I was blonde after all I did to my hair?" She shrieked manically. "Easy..." replied the shopkeeper.  "That's not a TV... It's a microwave."

The Gorilla In The Tree (joke)

 

Mr. Parker got a phone call from his wife, who was in a state of panic.

"George!" she sobbed. "There's a gorilla in the apple tree in the front garden!"

"A gorilla?" Mr. Parker echoed. "Nonsense, woman. Have you been at the gin again?"

"No, George," she replied. "It's a real gorilla - it must have escaped from the zoo or a circus or something. It's sitting in the apple tree growling at everyone who walks past. It's just thrown an apple at Mrs. Bell from No. 23!"

"Did it hit her?" Mr. Parker asked, then said, "No, never mind that. I'll come home straight away."

He drove home and, sure enough, as he pulled into the driveway, he saw a huge, fierce gorilla in the apple tree. It spotted him and growled, then threw an apple at him - he just ducked in time.

He went into the house, where his wife was nervously looking out the window from behind the net curtain. "George, what are we going to do?" she asked.

Mr. Parker picked up the Yellow Pages. "It's simple, Miriam - there are bound to be professional people who can deal with this sort of thing."

He looked up 'Gorilla Catchers' but there was only one firm listed. He dialed the number and after a few rings the phone was answered. "Bloggs and Wilson, Gorilla Catchers. Bloggs speaking!"

"Good afternoon - my name is Parker. There is a gorilla in the apple tree in my garden, and I need you to come and catch it!"

"I'm very sorry, sir," replied Bloggs. "I'm afraid Wilson is off sick at the moment, so we're unable to take on any jobs."

"But this is urgent!" said Mr. Parker. "It's in the tree, causing a ruckus - I'm sure the property values are reducing even as we speak! There must be something you can do!"

"Well..." said Bloggs. "Catching a gorilla is a two-man job, but if you're willing to fill Wilson's role then we should be able to pull it off."

"I'll do whatever it takes, " promised Mr. Parker, and gave Bloggs his address.

Twenty minutes later a battered old van bearing the sign "BLOGGS AND WILSON - GORILLA CATCHERS" pulled up outside. The driver got out and went round to the back of the van, opened the doors, and brought out a large rifle, a set of manacles, and a vicious-looking Rottweiler dog which barked and snarled. The man came up to the front door and rang the bell.

"Good afternoon, sir. I'm Bloggs," said the man when Mr. Parker answered. "I can see the gorilla in your tree - he's a big 'un, isn't he? We'd best get started right away."

"That's fine," said Mr. Parker. "What do I have to do?"

"Well," replied Bloggs. "You stand there with the manacles while I climb the tree. I will wrestle with the gorilla and push him out of the tree. The instant he hits the ground; the dog is trained to leap forward and bite the gorilla's testicles. This will distract him long enough for you to put the manacles on him. Then I can load him into the back of the van and take him away."

"Ok," said Mr. Parker. "But what is the rifle for?"

"That is actually the most important part of the whole operation," replied Bloggs. "If by any chance the gorilla should happen to push me out of the tree, shoot the dog!"

The Goat and The Huge Hole (joke)

Two rednecks are out hunting, and as they're walking along they come upon a huge hole in the ground. They approach it and are amazed by the sheer size of it. The first hunter says, "Wow, that's some hole. I can't even see the bottom. I wonder how deep it is?" The second hunter says," I don't know, let's throw something down and listen and see how long it takes to hit bottom." 

The first hunter scans the immediate area and says "There's an old gearbox over there, give me a hand and we'll throw it in and see". 

So they pick it up and carry it over, and count one, and two and three, and heave it into the hole. They are standing there listening and looking over the edge and they hear a rustling in the brush behind them.

 As they turn around they see, of all things, a goat come crashing through the brush, it runs up to the hole with no hesitation, and dives in headfirst. 

While they are standing there looking at each other for a while, stunned, and gazing into the hole, trying to figure out what that was all about, an old farmer walks up. "Say there", says the farmer, "You fellers didn't happen to see my goat around here anywhere, did you?" 

The first hunter says "As a matter of fact we did, we were just standing here a minute ago and a goat came running out of the bushes doin' about a hundred miles an hour and jumped headfirst into this hole here!" 

The old farmer says "Why that's impossible, I had him roped to an old gearbox!"