We checked into the Read House Monday night and stepped back in time. A majestic old grand hotel, it had been occupied by Union forces during the Battle of Chattanooga and used as a hospital. The walls were covered with civil war paintings. If the artist was accurate, the Yanks were much better equipped than the Rebs. The blue uniforms outshined the grays.

On Wednesday morning, our second day to visit the Chattanooga Independent Living Center known as TRAC, we had breakfast at 8 and got there at 9. By 11 AM, I was very weak and dizzy. After taking a break and feeling no better, Sam suggested I go back to the hotel. I got in the van but didn't have the energy to drive. I waited about 15 minutes before beginning the ten mile drive downtown. Before reaching the interstate, again I became very weak and I pulled onto a parking area. While sitting there praying strength would return to my body, a well-dress man came out of the establishment and approached the van. I asked for directions downtown so I'd have an excuse for being there. He told me and then asked where I was from. He was very talkative but I did not have the strength to talk. As I drove away I saw the name on the building. It was a funeral home. Did I look dead to him? Was he prospecting?

I drove on to the hotel using every iota of concentration I had to negotiate the heavy traffic. I parked in the garage looking for the attendant. A woman with hotel sales that I'd met earlier walked up and said that she would give the keys to the attendant. Not recognizing her, I hesitated giving her the keys. She laughed saying she would not steal my van.

By the time I got to the room I was so sick and dizzy I thought I was dying. It was very hard on Mazie trying to care for me the next 24 hours. She was my Florence Nightingale. I had not one ounce of strength. Then came the nausea and diarrhea. I lay in bed looking out the window at the sky turning from blue to gray as rain clouds moved over Lookout Mountain. Again the Read House was a hospital for a tired old soldier. But which uniform was I wearing? My shirt was gray and my pants were blue. Knowing what I know now, I would have probably been on Lincoln's side. But then I wouldn't have known shit and probably been a rebel.

Thursday morning I sat in my chair trying to force myself to feel better when the worse muscle spasm I've ever had hit me like a cannon ball. It seemed every muscle in my body was pulling in different directions at the same time. As my body jerked uncontrollably I slid out of my chair to the floor. I laid there and relaxed until the spasm subsided. I told Mazie to call the desk and tell them I needed two strong men to help me up. Two big Hispanics came up. Luckily, one spoke English. They picked me up and put me on the bed. I stared out the window wondering how I'd get home. I didn't have the energy to get to a doctor.

Friday morning I felt better. The sky was blue. The Union and I had survived. I called Sam and told him I was still in Chattanooga. He said he needed me to go back to TRAC and get some documents. We put that third on our agenda behind visiting the aquarium and the Chattanooga Choo Choo. The one on TRAC 29.

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