Stubby was a little stray bull terrier found by J. Robert Conroy and smuggled into the 102nd Infantry during WWI. Sgt. Stubby was originally intended to just be a mascot (he could do a little salute!), but soon proved far more useful. After suffering a mustard gas attack, Stubby became ultra-sensitive to its odor and was able to run through the trenches, barking and biting soldiers awake before an attack. The dog could locate wounded Americans on the battlefield by listening for the specific sounds of English amid the fracas. He’d stay and bark until the medics came, or lead the soldiers back to the trench.
Once, when a new soldier in the trench called to him, Stubby’s ears went flat and he charged. The man ran, and Stubby bit him on the leg, causing him to fall. Stubby kept attacking until soldiers came. The man he bit had been a German spy who was mapping out the trenches. Eventually, Stubby was injured and unable to return to the front line. He spent the rest of the war on duty in the hospital, improving the morale of the wounded men. By the end of WWI he’d been in 17 battles. Sgt. Stubby lived out the rest of his life comfortably with his master, Conroy.

Stubby was a little stray bull terrier found by J. Robert Conroy and smuggled into the 102nd Infantry during WWI. Sgt. Stubby was originally intended to just be a mascot (he could do a little salute!), but soon proved far more useful. After suffering a mustard gas attack, Stubby became ultra-sensitive to its odor and was able to run through the trenches, barking and biting soldiers awake before an attack. The dog could locate wounded Americans on the battlefield by listening for the specific sounds of English amid the fracas. He’d stay and bark until the medics came, or lead the soldiers back to the trench.

Once, when a new soldier in the trench called to him, Stubby’s ears went flat and he charged. The man ran, and Stubby bit him on the leg, causing him to fall. Stubby kept attacking until soldiers came. The man he bit had been a German spy who was mapping out the trenches. Eventually, Stubby was injured and unable to return to the front line. He spent the rest of the war on duty in the hospital, improving the morale of the wounded men. By the end of WWI he’d been in 17 battles. Sgt. Stubby lived out the rest of his life comfortably with his master, Conroy.

  • Phillips: It's easy when you play with rejects and a fat kid, Rodriguez.
  • Benny: Shut your mouth, Phillips!
  • Ham Porter: What'd you say, crap face?
  • Phillips: You shouldn't be allowed to touch a baseball. Except for Rodriguez, you're all an insult to the game.
  • Ham Porter: Come on! We'll take you on, right here! Right now! Come on!
  • Phillips: We play on a real diamond, Porter. You ain't good enough to lick the dirt off our cleats.
  • Ham Porter: Watch it, jerk!
  • Phillips: Shut up, idiot!
  • Ham Porter: Moron!
  • Phillips: Scab eater!
  • Ham Porter: Butt sniffer!
  • Phillips: Pus licker!
  • Ham Porter: Fart smeller!
  • Bertram: [sniffs] Ahh.
  • Phillips: You eat dog crap for breakfast, geek!
  • Ham Porter: You mix your Wheaties with your mama's toe jam!
  • Sandlot Kids: Yeah!
  • Phillips: You bob for apples in the toilet! And you like it!
  • Ham Porter: You play ball like a giiirrrrrrrrl!
  • Phillips: What did you say?
  • Ham Porter: You heard me.
  • Phillips: Tomorrow. Noon, at our field. Be there, buffalo-butt breath.
  • Ham Porter: Count on it, pee-drinking crap-face!

Reblogged from rivet-head with 264 notes

fuckyeahmickeymunoz:

Mickey Muñoz, North Shore - 1957

fuckyeahmickeymunoz:

Mickey Muñoz, North Shore - 1957

Reblogged from fuckyeahmickeymunoz with 6 notes

"Creating a life that reflects your values and satisfies your soul is a rare achievement. In a culture that relentlessly promotes avarice and excess as the good life, a person happy doing his own work is usually considered an eccentric, if not a subversive. Ambition is only understood if it’s to rise to the top of some imaginary ladder of success… To invent your own life’s meaning is not easy, but it’s still allowed, and I think you’ll be happier for the trouble."

Bill Watterson  (via tetatet)

Reblogged from awakened-warrior with 1,546 notes

(Source: oldschoolgarage)

Reblogged from mountainsandbuffalo with 828 notes

theniftyfifties:

Sophia Loren

theniftyfifties:

Sophia Loren

Reblogged from theniftyfifties with 666 notes

stokesurfboards:

Greg Noll, Makaha December 4th, 1969. 
Just his board (primitive by today’s standard), trunks (no performance/stretch/rash-less fabrics), some junk wax, and BALLS.
Photo: Alby Falzon

stokesurfboards:

Greg Noll, Makaha December 4th, 1969.

Just his board (primitive by today’s standard), trunks (no performance/stretch/rash-less fabrics), some junk wax, and BALLS.

Photo: Alby Falzon

Reblogged from stokesurfboards with 79 notes

strannngebird:

Mike Hynson, Haleiwa,1962.

strannngebird:

Mike Hynson, Haleiwa,1962.

Reblogged from wehavemanysurfboards with 213 notes

blackmagnoliaclub:

Up to a point a person’s life is shaped by environment, heredity, and changes in the world about them. Then there comes a time when it lies within their grasp to shape the clay of their life into the sort of thing they wish it to be. Only the weak blame parents, their race, their times, lack of good fortune or the quirks of fate. Everyone has the power to say, “This I am today. That I shall be tomorrow.”
L.L.

blackmagnoliaclub:

Up to a point a person’s life is shaped by environment, heredity, and changes in the world about them. Then there comes a time when it lies within their grasp to shape the clay of their life into the sort of thing they wish it to be. Only the weak blame parents, their race, their times, lack of good fortune or the quirks of fate. Everyone has the power to say, “This I am today. That I shall be tomorrow.”

L.L.

(Source: peanutbuttercoast)

Reblogged from surfline-hi with 833 notes

(Source: wentsurfing)

Reblogged from oldschoolsurfandskate with 2,631 notes

Reblogged from presco with 142 notes

unhistorical:

Winslow Homer (February 24, 1836 - September 29, 1910)

In dark, cold solitude of winter months… I thank the Lord for this opportunity for reflection.

Reblogged from unhistorical with 1,705 notes

"Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.
So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.
Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.
Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.
Listen to carrion - put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?
Go with your love to the fields.
Lie easy in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn’t go. Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection."

Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front, Wendell Berry (via ropeandsaw)

Reblogged from awelltraveledwoman with 493 notes