One needs to remind oneself that a collection of words, facts or figures, whether they be spoken or written, cannot begin to catch all the nuances, the thoughts, feelings and the emotions of a person caught-up in a moment of existence, of experiencing.

Once again this was proven as I descended, Mt. Kilimanjaro. When a young man on his way up asked; "how was it at the top? " My reply was "you will know only when you get there".

To name something, does not explain it. Anymore than we are able to interpret, to capture or reduce the spirit, the very core, the "Thus-ness" of anything by classifying, categorizing or cataloguing it.

Whatever our senses or mental processes might offer up to us at any given moment. Are but mere re-presentations which we have filtered and diminished, in and through the realities, we have personally structured for ourselves. Or that we have allowed to be structured for us. And if not structured for us. They; someone or something has undoubtedly affected our windows of perception.

We may; assume, surmise, assess, evaluate, interpret and analyze another's' thoughts, feelings, emotions, reactions or pro-actions. And then say "it seems like..., it looks like..., it could or might be". But in reality we may never really know the intrinsic spirit of another person. And in a way, this is sad and what makes this knowing about someone even more difficult is that we as individuals have a sketchy picture of who and what we are as ourselves, the world and the things of the world are all about. .

We each have a note to play. If one chooses not to become and be their note. Their music dies with them, never to be heard. How sad ! We are the music while it lasts. So we need to join the symphony of life. And maybe add a new note to the arrangement.

Let The Self- Remembering Begin:

Born on August 28th, 1927, a seven month old preemie; "Life and Death" were caught in a struggle... But a "Providential" smile prevailed and Harry Lee Mc Ginnis kept the breath of life. That day of days, a survivor said; "Hello, World, I am here." The "Will" touched two lives that day, mother and son.

The young child's' early battle with death and winning, set the stage for all his future difficulties and obstacles. The "Will" to overcome, to survive come what may. Which we will see later on.

Life was far from being the proverbial "bowl of cherries" for the young survivor. Nor was it; for many of the other children of the "Great Depression" era in America during the the early thirties. Jobs were scarce and food at times even more so.

Unemployment and scarcity does strange things to the mind, body and spirit. It seems to magnify the weaknesses and the proclivities of human nature. Making us less than we are in most cases. Although for others, it seems to have a reverse effect. It strengthens instead of weakening, challenges instead of defeating; giving birth to a fighter, one who will survive. "Come hell or high water".

During the formative years of this young warrior, there were the good and the not so good role models. For unfortunately, Martha's (the mother) track record for choosing potential husbands and fathers left much to be desired. Between the first one and the fifth one; one might say her bittersweet relationships were a "comedy of errors".

Drunkenness and its' side-kick abusiveness both verbal and physical, along with jealousy and possessiveness. Each raged with a constant barrage of language that would make even a sailor blush. Surely this is not what any child needs. I could never understand as I watched and listened; how two people who professed to love each other could destroy one another mentally, physically and spiritually.

For the last part of my formative years; I saw the devastation, listened to the pathetic repetitive apologies and promises, the recriminations, accusations, the lying, the broken commitments, the ceaseless arguments, disrespect along with the constant de-humanizing. All; which created for me an ever present portrait of human indignities and frailties that just hung there; like a dead albatross around my neck. Staring up with its deadness and despair.

But up out of these ashes like the Phoenix, grew a child, a young man, an adult who believed that life was more, much more than the old portrait that portrayed all the opposites. And that there existed outside the chaos, beyond the walls of discord and tears; a hope, another life. A life that gave life, instead of one that buried it,

It was 1939. On Hawk's 12 th. birthday, a small book was placed in his hand. Given to him by a basketball coach (Bill Puckett) of a YMCA team which Hawk was playing on. The Title of the book was As A Man Thinketh by James Allen. Out of the "seed thoughts" from that small book came many blossoms and fruits which gave Hawk the beginnings for all his future seeking and searching.

The words that found root and became nurtured; said to the effect; "we can either allow weeds to grow in our garden. Or we can choose and plant those seeds which gives us flowers". Choice is the name of the game. "CHOICE" what a gift!. These words started "The Quest" for the young Hawk. The Way back; a return to his earliest beginnings, before "time and space" was and now is.

This boy-man quit High School in his Junior year and ran off to the big {W.W. II}, to fight in a foreign land far across the sea. Against an enemy he had never seen or knew. He was trained to kill or be killed. He knew but in a way he didn't know or quite understand the reason for killing someone he had never met. But he learned and learned it well; the needed discipline and the "esprit de corp". of the Military. As to what he had to do and how to do it. The metamorphosis took place a boy became a man. But surely, there is a more humane way.

On April 21, 1947, Hawk was discharged at Oakland, California, after landing in San Francisco Bay. He had sailed from Okinawa, then to the Philippines where he was first stationed overseas, and then home.

From Oakland, Hawk made his way back to Albany, New York. His re-union was short and sweet, a drunk was in the house; husband number five. Hawk moved out. During the rest of 1947 up to December of 1949, Hawk worked two jobs, one in the morning and one in the evening. He sang with a Combo at the Ten Eyck Hotel in Albany and also at the Henderson Hotel in Troy. During the day he sold shoes at A.S. Beck shoe store for ladies. At times driving taxis, selling magazines for Crowell Collier, Wearever Cookware, Britannica Encyclopedias and the Great Books, door to door.

On January of 1950, Hawk said good-bye to his mother and his friends and struck out for Los Angeles, California, with the expectations of going to India. His readings of Overstreet, Besant, Bruton, Leadbetter,Yogananda, Ouspensky and Gurdijeff. Along with the five volume set of The Teachings Of The Masters by Baird Spaulding fueled the fires of his searching. He felt that the answers to some of the many questions, that were always with him, might be found in the mysteries of India and Tibet. He and a friend, he had met while selling, by the name of Ralph Bernesser left Albany, New York in the dead of winter for the sunny shores of California. "Young men, go west."

They carried an appropriate sign: "California or Bust", not original but effective. After about five months of hitch-hiking and knocking around across the country. The two road worn veterans pulled into Los Angeles, California, flat broke, not even two Abraham Lincolns' to rub together. They had enough presence of mind to ship two footlockers ahead, prepaid. Within two days, Ralph had gotten a job slinging hash at Walgreens on Broadway and a day later Hawk landed a job at Clifftons' Cafeteria washing pots and pans and making coffee, ""chop, chop". Salary, a big whopping, twenty dollars a week plus two meals a day. He worked from three in the morning till noon.

To hurry the events along, Ralph and Hawk never experienced the sunset over the Ganges or the Taj Mahal, let alone the peaks of the Himalayas. Ralph made a marriage decision that took place somewhere south of the belt buckle, that's according to wither you are standing up or lying down. But what is new about that? The road warriors finally lost contact. Hawk left the cafeteria after answering an intriguing advertisement about a job offer that read: "Wanted a photographers' assistant, must be well groomed and well spoken, strong and reliable, a social person able to mix and adjust to the hours and the schedule. All expenses paid, plus a salary . Own private quarters. If interested, please call for an appointment."

Which He did and landed the job.

The pay was $100 per week, plus expenses, plus quarters. Bert and his mother lived in the main part of the house and what a house! I had only seen a house like this in the magazines I used to sell. It had a swimming pool; one of those kidney shaped kind, a couple of cabanas, and a bar the whole nine yards. There was a chef, maid, a houseboy, a pool maintenance man and a gardener - a tough life!!!

Bert Kopperl Jr. was a real live Hollywood Photographer. At one time, before the War he worked for Life Magazine under Margaret Burke White. But during the Second World War, while he was stationed in the Philippines, he became ill with Polio. It left him paralyzed from head to toe. He was told at the time, that he would never take another photograph again. But once Bert reached stateside, he was determined to prove the doctors wrong. He set about doing a routine of exercises mixed with intense stretching sessions. Within six months, Bert was moving his upper torso then came movement in his arms and hands. He built on each small success. Before, he could not even hold or control a pencil. Every movement took a great effort of focusing. I believed then and I still believe that Bert willed the movements and his recovery. He endured the tremendous pain of having all his tendons stretched daily, but it paid off. Bert improved each and every day. Bert was the personification of "Emile Coue' famous words; "Every day in every way, I am getting better and better".

A special wheelchair was designed for Bert, so a tripod could be attached to one of the legs and arms of the wheelchair for mounting a "Portrait Camera". With practice, Bert finally was able to take pictures again. His skills at writing and eating, were also improving. Bert was a lesson in self-determination and the "Power of a directed "Will". He had refused to accept defeat in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds.

My job was to get Bert into his wheelchair and out of it, into a car. Plus setting up the lights for the photo shoot, Once we arrived on the scene and Bert was in his chair, he took over. He did not want to be wheeled around, he would do it himself.

Bert had developed a process called "Canvagraph" After the taking of a black and white photograph; he would take the negative of that photograph and transfer it to a sheet of sensitized canvas, then it was painted in oils. So now we have a photograph that becomes an oil painting, with the texture and the look of a real oil painting. Not an interpretation of some artist, but a true image of the person.

I was like a country bumpkin at a County Fair. I had always been a great Movie fan all my life, and here I was "right mack dab" in the middle of "all the glitz and glamour". I was speaking to the "Rich and Famous". I used to say to Bert, "I must dreaming and if not, do not wake me up".

Bert also did a lot of the still shots on the set for the Studios and for the many movie magazines that were in vogue at the time. one of Bert's 'black and whites' was instrumental in getting a young man a screen test for a movie called; 'This Gun For Hire' starring Veronica Lake. The young man's name was Alan Ladd.

The job, the environment and watching the raw courage and the determination displayed on a daily basis by Bert in overcoming the impossible. Left its' impression. Living and working among the "Hollywood" famous gave me an education that one does not get in the classroom.

I met some great people in Hollywood, the list is to long to enumerate. But one name, one person who made a great impression on me. In the way he treated people, along with his humility mixed with his Stardom. Made me a lifetime fan. Bert and I went out to his home in San Fernando Valley, one day to meet both his wife and children, for a picture shoot. After the photographs were taken, we were shown around the house. Then he took us to his Trophy and Awards' room. I could have spent the whole day just looking and asking a million questions. His name, if you have not guessed by now, was Mr. Robert (Bob) Hope, a gentleman in the truest sense of the word. "Thank you."

There were many other show types that would not give you the time of day, unless you were somebody who could benefit their career, or that certain "someone" to be seen with for the rag columns. So many of these did not have the talent or the staying power. They were quickly: "what's his/her name?"

Bert learned one afternoon, pool side at the "Racquet Club" from Henry King, the famous Band leader of the "Henry King Orchestra" which was at that time playing an engagement at the Shamrock Hotel in Houston, Texas. Mr King told Bert that Houston was the placed to be; where the money was flowing like the "Texas Crude". So Bert the smart business man and the opportunist that he was, decided it was time to visit the "wide open spaces" of Texas . So off to Texas we went, Bert, his mother flew and I drove the Buick convertible to Texas

Upon arriving at the Shamrock Hotel, the owner himself of this "Glitz and Glitter" Hotel met us and offered a suite of rooms, near his Penthouse. The "man" was Glenn McCarthy, ex-wild catter who struck it rich, and married into the prominent "Lee" Family. But the River Oaks' high society never quite "cottoned" {that's Texan for "who he?"}. Glenn, remained an outsider. So Mr. McCarthy, ups and builds the Shamrock Hotel, the "Talk of the Town".

For the Gala Opening, Glenn flew in several plane loads of Movie Stars and other notables. Around this same time; Edna Ferber, had written a Novel entitled " The Giant", which became a Movie starring; Elizabeth Taylor, Rock Hudson, James Dean and Mercedes McBride. The character that James Dean played was a characture of Glenn Mc Carthy. To say that the oil aristocracy was a little miffed at Ferber and her broad strokes of the Oil World of Texas would be putting it mildly.

But back to the story; when Bert was photographing the stars in Hollywood and selling his Canvagraph portraits, he always made a duplicate of the photographs and or the portraits. When we decided to make the jump to Texas, Bert crated up all his works and sent them on ahead. The Management gave Bert all the space he needed throughout the Hotel to hang his photographs and portraits. Of course the first order of business was to do a portrait of the Man himself Mr.Glenn McCarthy and have it hung in a prominent place in the Lobby. The majority of the Stars portraits were hung in "The Gift Shop" which had to be passed on the way into the Private Cork Club, the "Watering Hole" for the moneyed people of Texas. As you went by the Gift Shop , you could see the portraits and pictures of Gary Grant, Ginger Rogers, Allan Ladd, Rita Hayworth, Jane Russell, Spencer Tracy, Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall and the list goes on.

Well, you can guess the rest of the Story. Everyone had to have their picture taken by Bert Kopperl, the famous Hollywood Photographer, who shot the stars. An appointment was harder to get than the "liquid gold" out of the ground of Texas. We were flooded with appointments. Bert's prices went from 500 dollars a portrait, to a thousand or more. Black and whites started at 500 dollars. I worked six months without a day off. I seldom saw anything beyond the grounds of the Shamrock. Besides the pace of the day and the night; the invitations, the dinners, the big parties thrown by Glenn Mc Carthy in the Emerald Room, the endless nights in the Cork Club; the side trips to the Casinos in Galveston, all of this took its' toll. I finally told Bert after we had moved out of the Shamrock and were living in the suburbs. That I would help train someone to take my place. But I needed out, my health was more important. Words were exchanged, but I held firm. I left the job and a great employer and a friend. But I had to get another life. My love life had become 'what the little boy shot at and missed'. It was almost non-existent, almost.

After leaving a most incredible job, I landed a job that I was familiar with and good at; selling ladies shoes at "Chandlers". Also there was a hidden agenda in my choice...Ladies, lots and lots of ladies, in and out the doors. But as, all past alumni of shoe salesmen know, there are those moments of insanity connected to the business. Where you have those ladies, who would try on almost every shoe in the store and then walk out. Only to come back about closing time and say; "would you please show me that pair shoes I like so much this morning." As if they were the only person you had waited on the entire day. And they would get downright indignant if you didn't remember them. Or you had those who would say: "I like the Baby doll toe on number 240, the heel on 024 and the sling on 400. Do you have anything like that. Finally out of desperation after pulling out every shoe in the stockroom. I would get a pencil and paper and ask: "If you will draw it, I will order it from the factory." And then there were those, who after measuring their foot would insist that you had made a mistake in measuring the shoe size. They worn a size 5AA, so you would get the 5AA. And they would try to squeeze a 6 1/2 Benny foot into the 5 AA. Then say; wrap it up. Before the store would open the following morning, that same lady who insisted on wearing the 5 AA. Was standing outside on crutches, waiting to tell you that you had sold her "shoes that were to small for her." Such is the life of a ladies' shoe salesman. But it had its' perks, only an ex-shoe salesman "knows" what I do say!

Working in the same store, was a dark-eyed beauty with that "southern comfort look". Her name was Barbara, it was just one of those things. That kind of feeling that just walks right up and says; What are you doing tonight and a few hundred more nights after that? Barbara and I became an item, with no strings attached. It was a five; "June, moon", croon type of months. I wrote the note, to say goodbye, it was getting to serious. I needed some breathing space.

After a couple of months, maybe three, I answered an employment ad. And an interview was set up. I got the job, better pay, base salary and commission. It was selling advertisement for a new TV Digest called Televiews which was owned by a Larry Peavy. Travis McKinney was the then Managing Editor. And Jeff Osborne was the Circulation Manager. In those days, Houston had but one Television Station. Larry Boesh, Bill Newkirk and Dick Gottleib of the TV Station were contributing columnists to the magazine.

About a month after starting the job, the Circulation Manager left, I asked for the job and got it. I learned early in life, even before entering the Army. That there are certain things that are essential if you want to advance in a job. Do the job better than your predecessor and do more than what is required. Plus, learn and help in all the different phases of the operation. Pick everybody's brain by asking questions, more questions and watching how different operations are done. And if you really want another position in the company, research everything pertaining to the job you are after. These were essential for me, for I was always in competition with those, who either had the experience or the academic credentials, or both.

When a job opening came up, that I particularly wanted, I would go to the owner if possible, and asked for the chance to prove that I was capable of performing the task in question, Based on my present work record and output. And that I would do the new job at my present salary. And that upon proving my worth, I wanted an equitable salary in line with the new position. I would always asked for a specific time trial. That is how I got the jobs I had, without a High School or a College diploma.

Travis eventually left the Managing Editors position. he had received an offer from a large International oil company to oversee the companies in-house publications. I dialed up my system and asked for a months' trial as Managing Editor. I said; if the magazine didn't improve in appearance and in circulation, I would stand down. I became the Managing Editor.

KPRC-TV was still the only station in Town. All of us on the magazine was hoping for another TV Station. There had been rumors for months that another Station was in the hopper, but that was all, they were only rumors.

Within this same time frame; Bert contacted me and asked what would it take for me to return and drive he and his mother to Las Vegas, Nevada? He had decided to extract some of the coin from the big Club Owners. And also do some portraits of the Headliners that were entertaining at the Casinos. I asked if I could write the terms of the contract; with the understanding that after the shoot was over. I would be released from the contract. Bert agreed to the terms and the release clause. I conferred with Larry Peavy and found out that he had been thinking of selling the Magazine. And that he was going to ask if I would stay after the sale. I said, no. We parted friends and I accepted Bert's offer. Vive,Las Vegas!

Bert had contacted a friend, Bryon Foy; a Hollywood Producer, one of the seven Foy brothers Who was the owner of the Bar- W Guest Ranch, just outside of Vegas. Twelve miles from the Flamingo Club, the first Casino to be built in Las Vegas.

We arrived in Vegas around January of 1952. Bert immediately went about lining up the Club owners. But like before, the lifestyle and the hours became to much. I was more than ready when Bert announced that he and his mother were heading back to Los Angeles. He asked if I wanted to accompany he and his mother. I reminded him of the release clause and declined. I stayed on at the Guest Ranch, as a guest.

After getting bored out of my mind, with the same routine night in and night out. And going to the Casinos during the day and a little golf at the newly opened Wilbur Clark's Desert Inn Casino. I asked Bob Ryan the Resident Manager, if there was something I could do or help out around the Ranch. Well, he said; we are going to do some renovating and build some new cottages. I said; fine, l will help in the remodeling. He remarked that Bryon wouldn't be to happy, your a paying guest. I waved his remarks and started in helping in the renovating. Two weeks later, Bryon and Carter the CPA showed up. And Bryon asked Is that Mc Ginnie out there working? Why is he working? Bob said; you'll have to ask him. Byron came out and asked; if you want a job, help Bob , you can be his assistant. He going to be leaving on vacation. If you can learn what has to be done by the time he leaves, you can run the Ranch while he is gone. Okay!

In three months, I took over as Resident Manager. I had picked Ryan's brain. I had talked to Jakie Freeman, the owner of the newly built "Sands Hotel" and Casino". I had met him when I had worked for Bert. He had owned the " Balinese Casino" between Houston and Galveston,Texas. Mr Freeman introduced me to his Food and Bar Manager, I asked as many question as he would allow; took notes as fast as I could. I did this with several Clubs on the Strip.

Let's backtrack a little bit, when Ryan went on Vacation, Mr Carter, Bryon's CPA found a few discrepancies in the books. It was at this point, I asked for the position and a trial period.

After becoming Manager, I turned the Guest Ranch into a retreat for divorcees, who were seeking a six week residency requirement for their Vegas divorce. We filled the Guest Ranch. The Bar -W became a popular eating place and bar, for the single men of Vegas. A "Rounders" paradise; forty acres, of green grass and trees, swimming pool, tennis courts, rustic cottages and a Lodge. No gambling, not even one slot machine. We had reserved some of the cottages for permanent residents who worked on the Strip. One of the Ranches' charms was its' location. We were twelve miles out away from the clinging and clanging of the one armed bandits. It was a perfect hideaway. We were open Twenty-four hours a day.

While at the Guest Ranch, in the earlier months, I had been corresponding with a young lady, I had met and dated while in Houston. She had returned back to Atlanta, Georgia, where her parents were living. I had never met the family. I had only met one of the aunts in Houston when I would go to pick her up. I proposed by letter and phone and asked her to join me in Las Vegas. So we could get married.

continue to Part II...