A tough evening in a smoke filled room

Growing up with bad asthma: Chapter 2

In 1980 most people didn't think twice about smoking in front of others, let alone what harmful effects it might have on kids. My family was no different.

Grandpa was sitting on the day bed of his sitting room, a cigarette dangling between two fingers. I watched as the smoke swirled above his hand, polluting the air. In a way I enjoyed the smell of cigarette smoke, but my lungs hated it. My throat burned. My head ached. My chest was tight.

Someone flatuated, and grandpa laughed. I watched as his body bobbed up and down as he did so, and then he put the cigarette to his lips, inhaled, and blew his smoke across the room where it lingered in the stale air. No one seemed to notice this but me.

I heard a smack, and I turned and saw that Uncle Ted, who was sitting on a bench by the window with his baby girl on his lap, was cringing away from his wife, who sat next to him. She was blushing. He was laughing. I assumed she smacked him.

Uncle Tommy was sitting in a faded leather chair facing oposite me, and all I could see of him was his foot as it dangled over the thick arm of the chair . I could hear his laughing over the laughter of the others.

I was standing in the doorway trying to breathe air from the hallway that was barely fresher than that in the room. My shoulders were high. I was calm. I was breathing slowly, but with difficulty. I did not want anyone to know I was in distress. I was ten-years-old.

Aunt Mable, who had been curled on the floor near her brother Ted, stumbled across the room and darted past me into the hallway, laughing the whole way. I could hear her laughing all the way down the stairs, only to cease with the slamming of a distant door.

My Great Aunt Dolly, who was sitting on the tile in front of the crackling fire in the fireplace, was rolling side to side with laughter. Aunt Torri was sitting on the floor between the leather chair her brother Tommy was slouching in and the TV, was laughing so hard she fell over onto her side.

My dad and mom were sitting on the bed to the right and left of grandpa. Mom had a smile on her face, but she wasn't laughing. I was hoping she had had enough of the foolishness of dad's siblings and would want to go home, but she made no effort to move. She looked comfortable wrapped in one of grandma's afaghans, and more than likely was in no hurry to go back out into the blizzard that was raging outside.

I wanted her to look at me at least and notice I was miserable, but she didn't do that either. I was on my own. I certainly wasn't going to ruin the evening by telling them I wanted to go home.
After the laughter boiled down there was silence in the room a moment, then my dad said, "You should have seen dad in action today," he was smiling cheek to cheek, peering at his dad, who chuckled, and puffed on his cigarette.

I heard a bang from down the hall, and turned and saw my brother Devin rush from a room. "Come on, Rick. We're gonna play hide and seek downstairs."

"I can't." I whispered, hoping no adult heard me. The last thing I want to do is explain why I don't want to play. I turned back around, and saw that none of the adults I could see were paying attention to me anyway. They were all looking at dad. Good.

"So anyway," dad said, "It was the God Damned ugliest car you'd ever seen." He cowered as mom reached around grandpa and made to slap him. Grandpa, it seemed anyway, pretended not to notice.

"Watch your mouth, Brett!" She meant business. There was no swearing when mom was around.

"It was a Gremlin," dad continued, " if that's not the dumbest name for a car to begin with, and it was light green with this ugly orange stripe down the side."

I watched as grandpa dumped the butt of his cigarette in his beer can, and I felt a moment of joy because, I assumed, the air would be fresh now for a while. Then I heard the flicker of a match, and smoke billowed into the air where Aunt Torri was sitting. She blew out the match and a new cloud of smoke wafted up to mingle with the cigarette smoke. For a brief moment the sulfurous incense of the match seemed to mask that of the cigarette smoke.

She set the wasted match into an ashtray and tossed the match book to Aunt Dolly, who proceeded to pluck a Marlborro from a basket, and then she handed the same match book to my dad, who burried it in his grasp. I took a difficult breath of hallway air, but couldn't prevent myself from breathing in some of the smoke that was now lingering thick and fog-like in the room.

Dad said, "And dad said, 'Son, ain't that the the God damned ugliest car you'd ever seen?' and I laughed because that's exactly what I was just thinking. And here it we had just parked it in the middle of the showroom." He plucked a cigarette from a pack in his breast pocket, and stuffed it into his mouth.

I heard a another bang behind me, turned, and watched as my brothers rushed from a room, down the stairs. "Come on, Rick!" The shout of one of my brothers reverberated through the house.

"Anyway, it wasn't five minutes later," dad continued, talking with the unlit cigarette dangling from from his lips, "and this costumer came in. Dad," he paused, seemed to snicker off a laugh, and lit a match. "Dad walked this guy over to that ugly Gremlin and said, 'Now, aint that the most beautiful car you'd ever seen."

Slow breath in through the mouth and out the mouth. It was very thick air, so it seemed. My chest burned as I inhaled.

Laughter filled the room.

Dad cooly chuckled as he lit his cigarette, took in a deep breath, and blew smoke across the room. He chuckled again, then added, "He sold that car less than an hour later." Even mom joined in the laughter this time. But not dad and grandpa; they were too cool to laugh. They both smiled as they puffed on their respective cigarettes.

Time passed. Listening to the stories of the adults made me forget my conundrum, if not for a short while. Then it all came back to me as I heard mom's voice.

"Do you want to sit up here," mom said to Aunt Dolly, who sat Indian style on the floor. Yes, get up mom, and come over by me

"No," Aunt Dolly said, "I'm doing just fine here on the floor. Besides, it feels good by the fire." Oh, she just wants to sit by the fire. Come on mom! Look over here! I felt a sting through my arm as I hit the door frame with my fist.

I heard grandma's voice from the part of the room I couldn't see from where I stood, and then watched as she walked around the leather chair, past me and down the hall. I heard a door shut.

I felt a breeze as Devin rushed into the room. He had a fresh beer for grandpa. Kr-chick went the beer tap. Grandpa tossed a quarter into the air and it plopped onto the floor. Devin bent to pick it up. Grandpa took a swig of his beer. Moments later my older brother Bear popped into the room with more beers, and handed them out to the men in exchange for quarters.

"No running!" I heard grandma say from behind me as Devin rushed past me again and down the stairs. Grandma came into the room with a box. She sat on the floor and set the box next to her and removed the lid. She started handing out pictures.

Oh, come one, I thought as mom took a pile of pictures and slowly flipped through them, I just want to go home. Come on! Can we just go! COME ON!

Once she was done handing out pictures, grandma came and stood by me. "Why aren't you playing with your brothers?" Then, as though she had come up with an answer to her own question, she said, "Come with me."

I followed her through the room, over legs and around chairs, to a connecting room where her bed was. My cousins Tommy Jr and Tocca were playing with something on the other side of the bed, giggling all the while. On this side of the bed were cousins Jewels and Jan lying on the floor coloring in a Bugs Bunny coloring book.

Grandma walked me around the bed, and moved a few things around the top of an antique dresser. She was looking for something, and now she found it. She picked up the object and proffered it to me: it was a wooden puzzle. “I picked this up at a yard sale the other day," she said, "I was thinking of you.”

She told me I could sit on her bed and play with it. However, she had already told all the other kids they were not allowed on the bed. That was her rule.

You're letting me on your bed because you feel sorry for me, I thought, and opted to not get on the bed.

"Go ahead, Rick, it's a fun puzzle."

Knowing I had no other options, I hopped onto the bed and pretended to play with the puzzle. It was hard to feign at this point that I was not short-of-breath, but I managed.

As soon as grandma was back in the other part of the room I heard a boom, a rush of laughter, and noticed Uncle Tom was rolling around the floor wresting with Torri. At first I thought they were really fighting, but then I realized they were both holding their guts. They were laughing.

I started playing with the puzzle, but stopped as my brothers rushed into the room in a loud furry and jumped onto the bed.

“You can’t be on here,” I said. They didn’t listen. A moment later all the boys were on the bed, and I was sitting on the floor. My chest was now itchy tight, and I could feel the wheezes. I really had to work at making them not audible. I sat leaning against the wall behind the leather chair.

I could smell the smoke over the smell of antiques, and I could feel my throat burning. I made to wipe snot away from my nose, wiping it on my sleeve, eyeing grandma as I did so, knowing she'd say something if she noticed. My nose burned.

I poked my head around the leather chair hoping no one would notice me, and listened to the lighthearted conversations and the laughter. I didn't care about that stuff, what I was interested in most was my mom. I knew she usually would get to the point she'd want to leave and would hint to dad it was time. Usually she would do this and nobody else would want to go.

This day, when I really wanted to leave, she didn't say anything. She just continued looking at her pictures.

"You want to look at these?" I looked to my right and saw Torri was holding the stack of pictures to me.

"No thanks," I half grunted. I wanted to, boy did I want to look at pictures, but I wanted to go home even more. I thought if I were home I'd be able to breathe fine.

I was wrong.

(For part III click here)

Living with Asthma and Anxiety: A Journey of Growth

I started blogging about my asthma back in 2007. It didn’t take long before I met other people with asthma who were also blogging. We formed a tight-knit group, all sharing our struggles and triumphs. One day, I wrote about a severe asthma attack I had when I was 10, "A Tough Evening In A Smoke Filled Room." I didn’t tell my parents right away, even though I was scared and struggling to breathe. Eventually, I woke them up, and my dad rushed me to the emergency room.

One of my fellow bloggers asked, “Why didn’t you tell your parents sooner?” At the time, I wasn’t sure why. It seems like the obvious thing to do when you’re sick, right? But for me, I didn’t. I replied to my friend, “I don’t know. Sadly, it happened a lot when I was a kid.”

Looking back, it’s a little sad. It’s hard to admit that I had to deal with asthma alone sometimes. Even harder to admit that I was afraid to wake my parents. But looking back, I can also see how much I’ve grown and how much we can learn from experiences like these.

In 1985, I was admitted to an asthma hospital in Denver, Colorado. They treated me for asthma but also recognized something else: anxiety. They told me that my anxiety was making it harder for me to manage my asthma. And that’s when everything started to make sense.

I talked to counselors, psychologists, and even a psychiatrist. The psychologist diagnosed me, and the psychiatrist prescribed me some medication to help with my anxiety. At just 15, I was open to all of it. I wanted to get better, and I wanted to learn how to live my life without fear.

Having both asthma and anxiety wasn’t easy, but over time, I’ve learned how to manage both. Yes, it takes work, but I’ve proven that it’s possible to live a full, healthy life with both conditions. Here’s the thing: managing asthma and managing anxiety go hand in hand. When you focus on controlling one, you’re also helping the other. But it’s not always simple—admitting you need help with anxiety can be a big challenge, especially when it feels irrational.

I was fortunate to be diagnosed and treated early. Not everyone is so lucky. Many people with anxiety never get an official diagnosis, and many don’t seek help. But treatment is possible, whether through relaxation techniques, therapy, or medication. It’s not always easy, but it’s worth it.

What Is Anxiety?

I’m not a doctor, so I’ll share what anxiety feels like from my own experience. To me, anxiety is about fear, worry, and nervousness. It’s a constant sense of dread, like a weight on your chest. You feel uneasy, even in situations that shouldn’t cause fear.

Two Types of Asthma Anxiety

There are two kinds of anxiety that I’ve personally experienced, and I think they’re both important to recognize.

1. Anxiety Caused by Asthma: This one’s pretty straightforward. When you can’t breathe, you get scared. Everyone with asthma has probably felt this. It’s the panic that sets in when an asthma attack hits, and it’s hard to control the fear of it getting worse. But,  this anxiety can be helpful. It reminds you to get the help you need, whether it’s reaching for your inhaler or calling for help.

2. Anxiety That’s Always There (Not Caused by Asthma): This kind of anxiety is more subtle and harder to recognize. It’s the anxiety you feel all the time, whether or not you’re experiencing an asthma attack. It can be fear of what others think or worrying that you’re bothering someone (like I was afraid of bothering my parents). It’s irrational, and yet, it’s there. This kind of anxiety can be hard to pinpoint, and many people go through life without realizing they have it. But it’s real. And it can be managed.

Finding Strength in Anxiety

The good news is, anxiety doesn’t have to control your life. It’s natural to feel anxious when you’re having trouble breathing, but it doesn’t have to prevent you from seeking help. If you’re a child, you wake up your parents. If you’re an adult, you call your doctor or head to the emergency room. Anxiety can drive you to take action, to do what you need to do to get better.

But anxiety can also be harmful when it stops you from asking for help. When asthma and anxiety combine, it can create a barrier to getting the care you need. That’s why it’s so important to address both asthma and anxiety. Once you acknowledge both, you can start to take control of your health and your life.

Living with asthma and anxiety may be a challenge, but it’s not a life sentence. You can learn to manage both. I’m living proof of that. Through therapy, medication, and learning to manage my asthma, I’ve been able to live a fulfilling life. It takes work, but it’s worth it.

So, if you’re struggling with asthma and anxiety, know that you’re not alone. There’s hope. With the right support, the right tools, and a willingness to ask for help, you can manage both and live your life to the fullest. It’s not always easy, but it’s always possible.

1871: The Great Fire

Built in 1888, the Manistee fire station is the oldest continuously operated
fire station in the state of Michigan.  The station opens daily for visitors.

In honor of National Fire and Prevention week, I thought it would be neat to look into a few stories of what inspired the occasion.  It all began in a hot and dry October back in 1871.

If you look at the old, and still used, fire station in downtown Manistee, Michigan, you will see that it is equipped with a tower. While it barely sees any action today except for an array of sleeping bats, once upon a time a watch-man was hired to sit up there and watch for fires.  When he saw smoke, it was his job to ring the bell that notified the force of volunteer fire-fighters, or the full time force sleeping in their upstairs quarters, that their labor was needed.

The fire station must have been built with a clear understanding that a fire ravaged through the city in the summer of 1871, the same year that fires ravaged through other cities, including Holland and Chicago. It was a dry year, and once the first started, it burned fast, using the dry material of old homes as kindling.

The men slept upstairs in an array of beds set up against the white plastered walls. The men slept with their clothes on and their boots alongside their beds so they could easily slip into them and rush into action.  They would, one at a time, safely slide down a poll that put them in a room where the fire engine stood, waiting for its call to action.  Helmets were set in the areas of the vehicles where each man was trained to work, and they were quickly strapped on, along with other safety gear, as the garage door was being opened.  The horses were outside, and in only a few short minutes the horses, too, were ready for action.

So once the smoke was spotted, and the alarm sounded, and the men were set into action, every effort was made to put out the fire. Men who owned businesses and homes near the fire could be spotted on their roofs pouring bucket of water onto it in order to prevent the fire from destroying them. More often than not, such efforts were futile, for that was the day a large portion of the city burned to the ground, burdening the city with over $1 million in damages.

The following is was published in 1882 by H.R. Page and Company, in Chicago.

The city of Manistee was one of the victims of the great fire period of the month of October, 1871. Its partial destruction was simultaneous with that of Chicago, Holland, Peshtigo, and several other towns. The total loss of property burned in Manistee was about $1,000,000.

Immediately after the fire, Gen. B. M. Cutcheon visited Grand Rapids for the purpose of securing relief for the homeless and destitute, and prepared a very accurate and most graphic description of the fire for the columns of the Grand Rapids Eagle, which was widely copied at the time. We copy so much of that article as was purely descriptive of the fire, as follows:

Origin, Progress and Extent of the Conflagration.

First, to describe the locus in quo. Manistee Lake is a body of water nearly five miles long, and from one-fourth to three-fourths of a mile wide, lying nearly parallel with, and about a mile or two miles from Lake Michigan. Near the northern extremity it is connected with the latter lake by the Manistee River, a large navigable stream, from 75 to 125 yards in width. On the north side of this river, between the two lakes, lay the First Ward of the city, and on the south side of the river, and adjacent to it, divided nearly equally by Maple Street, on which was the swing bridge, lay the Third Ward, next the Manistee Lake, and the Second Ward to the west, next to the 'big lake.' To the southeast, bordering on the 'little' lake, was the Fourth Ward. The Third Ward was the most populous and embraced the greater part of the foreign and poor population. The Second Ward was the best built part of the town, especially that part between Oak and Maple Streets.

Within the city limits, and directly south of the space embraced between the latter-named streets, was a tract of about twenty acres of dead hemlock forest; the trees partly standing and partly lying upon the ground, but the whole as dry as tinder and as combustible as gun-powder.

On the fatal Sunday, October 8, the fire alarm sounded at about 9 a.m., and the fire department hastened with the steamer to the vicinity of Gifford and Ruddock's mills in the Fourth Ward, where an old chopping was burning furiously, and threatening destruction to that part of the town. By the most unwearied efforts, continued all day, the fire was subdued and that part of the town was saved.

About dark the engine returned to its quarters. It was scarcely housed when the wind, which had been blowing highly all day, rose to a perfect gale.

At about 2 o'clock p.m., while the fire in the Fourth Ward was raging, an alarm whistle was heard from the east side of Manistee Lake, and through the thick smoke it was discovered that the large steam mill of Magill & Canfield, on Blackbird Island, was in flames. In an incredibly short space of time, mill, boarding house, stables, shops, docks and lumber were consumed.

As soon as darkness began to close in, a lurid light appeared in the southwest on the shore of Lake Michigan, showing that the pine woods, that line the shore, were on fire. About 9:30 p.m., just as people were returning from evening services, the fire alarm again sounded, and every one now was on the alert, for the wind was blowing a fierce gale. Instantly a red, angry glare lighted up the western sky near the mouth of the river. The fire department rushed to the rescue. At the mouth were located the large mill and tug interests of John Canfield, with boarding house and about twenty-five or thirty dwellings. On the beach several acres were covered with pine saw dust, highly inflammable. Along the river, near the piers, were piled several hundred cords of dry pine slabs - fuel for tugs.

Down from the circling hills on the lake shore pounced the devouring monster. The burning sawdust, whirled by the gale in fiery clouds, filled the air. Hundreds of dry, pitchy slabs sent up great columns of red flame, that swayed in the air like mighty banners of fire, swept across Manistee, two hundred feet wide, and almost instantly, like great fiery tongues, licked up the government lighthouse, built at a cost of nearly $10,000, and situated a hundred and fifty feet from the north bank of the river.

A large fleet of vessels, wind-bound, lay opposite Canfield's mill, with four tugs, including the tree large barges of tyson & Robinson and the great steam tug 'Bismarck.' Now commenced a furious effort to remove the vessels and barges. The wild puffing and screaming of tugs, the hoarse hallooing of the sailors, the loud roaring and crackling of the flames, the awe-stricken faces of the gathered multitude, luridly lighted, made up a scene never to be forgotten or adequately described. The efforts of the firemen were in vain - the engine became disabled - and the flames came sweeping all before them. But now 

A New Source of Terror arose. A bright light came up out of the south, directly in rear of the town, and the fierce gale bearing it on directly toward the doomed city. Those who resided in that part of town, including the writer, rushed to the new scene of danger, the full extent of which few comprehended. The fire had originated two miles south of the city, on the lake shore. It first came upon the farm of L.G. Smith, Esq., which it devoured. Eighty rods north the extensive farm and dairy of E.W. Secor shared the same fate, with all his barns and forage. Another quarter of a mile, and the large farm buildings of Mayor R.G. Peters were quickly annihilated. Here the column of fire divided, the left hand branch keeping to the lake shore hills, and coming in at the mouth; the other taking a northeasterly course and coming in directly south of the town, as before described. Here a small band of determined men, fighting with the energy of despair to protect their homes, kept it at bay till past midnight. But all was vain - at 12:30 o'clock the gale became a tornado, hurling great clouds of sparks cinders, burning bark and rotten wood through the air in

A Terrific, Fiery Storm. "Every man now fled to his own house. The fire now came roaring through the dead hemlocks south of the blocks included between Maple and Oak Streets, in the Second Ward. The flames leaped to the summits of the great hemlocks, seventy, eighty or ninety feet high, and threw out great flags of fire against the lurid heavens. The scene was grand and terrible beyond description. To us, whose homes and dear ones and all were in the track of the fire, it was heart-rending. Then came

A Deluge of Fire like that rained on the cities of the plains. The wooden town, the saw-dust streets, the stumpy vacant lots, the pine clad hills north of the river, all burst into a sea of flame, made furious by the most fearful gale of wind I have ever experienced.

On toward the river and the Manistee Lake, spread the tempest of fire. Men, women, and children, in night clothes, half clothed, or fully clothed - some bareheaded, on foot, in wagons, on horseback, fled for their lives. It was

Pandemonium On Earth. Families were separated - husbands and wives, parents and children. The writer, when he gave over to the unequal contest south of the town, rushed to his residence to find it deserted, and for nine hours he could get no word whether his family were dead or alive. They had fled before the tempest of fire across the bridge, which burned behind them, only to be surrounded and almost perished in the smoke and fire on the north side.

Everything Went Down before the storm - dwellings with their home-treasurers, mills with their machinery, stores and their stocks, warehouses and their contents, the fine swing-bridge at the foot of Maple Street, vessels and their cargoes.

All Mingled In Common Ruin. From Fifth Street, half of a mile south of the river, to Cushman & Calkins' mill, half a mile north of the bridge, and from the foot of Oak Street eastward to Tyson & Robinson's mill, at the outlet of Manistee Lake, three-fourths of a mile, was one surging sea of fire. The steam fire engine burned in the street where it stood, the men and horses barely escaping with their lives. About three o'clock the wind abated, but the work of ruin was complete. When Monday morning's sun glared red and lurid through the heavy masses of smoke, where had stood Manistee, it beheld

A Scene of Desolation scarcely to be described. In the First Ward three buildings remained - the Catholic Church, the Ward Schoolhouse, and a small dwelling - and I should add some small fishing shanties near the mouth of the river. The Third Ward was swept clean except a few buildings near Manistee Lake. In the Second Ward the six platted blocks lying between Oak and Maple Streets, and about thirty buildings near the mouth, were swept away. The Fourth Ward escaped nearly untouched, the fine residences of J.L. Taylor, banker, formerly the residence of M. Engelmann, situated in the very corner of the ward, being the only one burned. His loss was great and almost total.

The Fire Made Thorough Work. The buildings were built mostly on wooden foundations, and their very site was scarcely distinguishable. Buildings, foundations, fences, sidewalks, trees, shrubbery - everything - were mowed close to the surface of the earth, and grass burned out by the roots.

A Thousand People Homeless.  A thousand men, women and children, houseless, homeless, and many of them penniless, wandered sad and blinded in the black and smoking streets, or had taken refuge on vessels, tugs, boats and barges, to escape the devouring element.

Nothing but the cleared fields of Messrs. Canfield and Peters, south of the western part of the Second Ward, saved that part of the town from utter annihilation, and hundreds from perishing in the tempest of fire.

The After Scenes. The writer of this, at 10 o'clock the next morning, found his family three miles northeast of the desolated city, having barely escaped with their lives, with scanty clothing snatched in the moment of flight. The night before surrounded with the comforts of a beautiful and happy home, at dawn we found ourselves, blinded with heat and smoke, without home, or so much as a change of raiment - but thankful for life, strength and unconquerable hope and courage.

Then was seen a spectacle to gladden the heart! Every house that remained was opened to receive the sufferers. Hearts and hands were as open as the homes. We almost felt it worth while to suffer for the sake of witnessing how much of generosity was latent in human nature.
"Monday everyone staggered with the blow. Tuesday men were strong, cheerful and hopeful, and set their faces to the future with brave hearts. Wednesday night came the terrible tidings from Chicago, almost crushing out all hope, for we felt that our insurance was gone. But from this our people are rallying.

On Tuesday we organized for the serious work before us. Good men are in charge to alleviate the necessities of the sufferers; at receive aid from abroad and distribute to the needy.

What Of The Future? Manistee will rise from her ashes. The work of rebuilding is already commenced. We have hope, energy, faith in the future, and some capital.

We have a splendid natural situation, at the mouth of a beautiful navigable stream penetrating the interior through pine forests 300 miles, on whose banks stand 4,500,000,000 feet of good pine, most of which must be manufactured at, and shipped from Manistee.

Help us through this Winter, and the future, though dimmed, is safe. In the name of the suffering and destitute of Manistee, I thank the noble and generous-hearted men and women of Grand Rapids for their prompt and noble response to our call. May God bless them, and keep them from like calamity.

I have written this in great haste, and I fear incoherently. It is the first time that I have had the heart to take the pen in hand since the disaster, and I only hope it may avail to help the needy and suffering.
- Byron M. Cutcheon.

The calamity was very great and the needs of the people very pressing. Manistee was remote, in a northern wilderness, eighty miles from any railroad, without telegraphic communication, reached only by way of the lake, and a five months Winter of deep snow and cold just ahead, and the weather upon this bleak shore already inclement.

It is such trials that test the recuperative power of a people, but it is usually true that they are equal to the emergency, and the citizens of Manistee were not an exception. Amid the ruin and disaster there were some consoling features. There had been no loss of life, and no very serious accidents. Friends were left, and a generous world outside was ready to furnish aid.

The appeals for relief were met with ready response. Nearly $5,000 were received and distributed, besides commodities of all kinds in great abundance. With true Western energy, the sufferers applied themselves to the task of rebuilding and repairing their losses. Brick took the place of wood to a large extent in the work of rebuilding, and a substantial and beautiful city gradually rose from the ashes of the conflagration.

Another neat thing to note is that, while Manistee is now a small town of about 8,000 residents, at the time of the fire Manistee had more millionaires per capita than any other city in the state of Michigan.  This was a result of the logging era, of which there were many great pines in Manistee to cut down.  Of course nothing was replanted, so when all the trees were gone by the turn of the 21st century, so too went the lumbering industry.

According to the National Fire and Prevention Association:

Fire Prevention Week was established to commemorate the Great Chicago Fire, the tragic 1871 conflagration that killed more than 250 people, left 100,000 homeless, destroyed more than 17,400 structures and burned more than 2,000 acres. The fire began on October 8, but continued into and did most of its damage on October 9, 1871.

According to popular legend, the fire broke out after a cow - belonging to Mrs. Catherine O'Leary - kicked over a lamp, setting first the barn, then the whole city on fire. Chances are you've heard some version of this story yourself; people have been blaming the Great Chicago Fire on the cow and Mrs. O'Leary, for more than 130 years. But recent research by Chicago historian Robert Cromie has helped to debunk this version of events.

Now we know that there was more than one city that burned during that hot and dry October back in 1971.  A lesson was learned from these fires, however, and now we many efforts to prevent such fires, thus making life safer for all of us.  National Fire and Safety Week is October 5-11, 2014.

My Hardluck Asthma Story

My Hardluck Asthma Story:
Your humble RT Cave blogger is also a lifelong asthmatic.

I used to be a hardluck asthmatic.  Thanks to modern asthma wisdom, better asthma medicine,  and careful avoidance of asthma triggers, living a "relatively normal life with asthma" is now possible.  However, as every asthmatics must never forget, asthma is a disease that pretends to go away, only to re-appear when least expected.

The Asthma Hospital:

In 1985 I was admitted to National Jewish Hospital/ National Asthma Center (Now National Jewish Health). Here are some of my medical records from this asthma hospital:

• Letters from my allergist to my pediatrician (1981-82)
• My acceptance to NJH/NAC
• A list of meds as of Jan 9, 1985
• I was on 7-Goodman from Jan. 9, 1985 to April 12, 1985
• I was on 2-May from April 12, 1985, to July 12, 1985 (Nah, I think I'll hold this one)
• Here are my pulmonary function tests (PFT 101 format)
• My Discharge from National Jewish
• Letter from from my doctor

The 6 Month Stay at the Asthma Hospital:
My humble and, albeit, incomplete and pathetic attempt at telling my story

• Asthma Patients: I've been there, done that
• Ronald McDonald's Teacher
• A tough evening in a smoke filled room
• A long agonizing, miserable night with asthma
• Susphrine: The asthma wonder drug of old
• An unorthodox hospital experience for me
• My personal experience with RTs
• Asthma versus the bully 
• The Asthma Beast struck me down
• My journey to the Asthma Hospital
• Pediatric Specialist Center
• Tons of new meds at the Asthma Hospital
• The flow of 7-Goodman
• The first field trip (coming soon)
• Mom's visit
• My Introduction to Albuterol
• The long walk of death
• Sneaking away from the asthma hospital (6/26/11)
• Group
• Dr. said: steroids will stunt your growth
• Looking forward to discharge
• Having fun in Denver
• Dad's visit
• The horror that was 2-May (part 1)
• The horror that was 2-May (part 2)
• The horror that was 2-may (part 3)
• The horror that was 2-May (part 4)
• The horror that was 2-May (part 5) or My drug addict room mate
• The horror that was 2-May (part 6)
• Julie
• The 2-May Pshchologist Jerk
• The counselors
• Warm weather means baseball
• Making the best of it
• Zane all alone
• The call to dad
• A bittersweet end

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My hardluck asthma blog