American Made: An Autobiography

By Ken Bumpus

After publishing his first two fact/fiction novels about the adventures of Navy combat photographers in the Vietnam conflict, the author was urged by friends and relations to tell his own life story, which, in itself, is one of many adventures of travel around the world as a photojournalist for the Navy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Oct 2, 2013
• ISBN: 9781466993730

Ken Bumpus

After serving twenty-six years in the US Navy, Ken Bumpus, master chief photojournalist, retired and turned to writing six books: —Two fact/fiction novels of navy combat photographers in Vietnam —His autobiography —A fictional, post–civil war horse wrangler story —A fiction novel about a private investigator —And this sixth book, which is a sequel to the above PI story His work as a navy combat photojournalist documenting action of the Navy, Marines, SEALs and SeaBees has been published worldwide, for which he received the Navy Combat Action Ribbon, the Navy Achievement Medal, the Navy Unit Commendation Medal, the Vietnam Cross of Gallantry, and numerous other campaign ribbons.

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Copyright 2013 Ken Bumpus.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

This is an Autobiography and therefore, all places and incidents are true as far as the author can remember. The names of many of the persons depicted have been changed, in some cases for privacy, and in others because of the author’s lack of recall.

Any similarity to persons, living or dead is intentional and no disrespect is intended toward them, their relations, or their character. The truth is the truth.

The Author

ISBN: 978-1-4669-9374-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4669-9373-0 (e)

Trafford rev. 08/12/2013

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North America & international

toll-free: 1 888 232 4444 (USA & Canada)

fax: [phone]

CONTENTS

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

Also by KEN BUMPUS

* Those Crazy Camera Guys

ISBN 978-1-4669-0623-5 (sc)

ISBN 978-1-4669-0623-8 (e)

and

* Navy Photographers in Vietnam

ISBN 978-1-4669-3006-3 (sc)

ISBN 978-1-4669-3005-6 (e)

Published By

Trafford Publishing

www.trafford.com

888-232-4444

Available on-line at Barnes & Noble, Amazon and

also at your favorite book store (on order)

All photos contained in this book

© 2012 by KEN BUMPUS

Dedication

This story is dedicated to ALL my family,

my friends and the many acquaintances

who contributed to making my life so fulfilling and wonderful.

May everyone of you enjoy a life as GRAND and EXCITING as mine has been!

NOTE: Please accept my apologies for the excessive use of "I" and ME. But, after-all, this IS an AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

For the sake of privacy and to protect the innocent (which few of us were), I’ve changed a few names. However, the tales are true and the incidents really happened—to the best of my recollections. Where I have forgotten some names, I have substituted ficticious ones.

KEN

ONE

BEFORE I BEGIN my story I first need to tell you of my origin—

My parents were mid-western farm people. My father was born in 1892 in Clarion, Iowa, and my mother in 1894 in Jefferson, Iowa. In 1911 their families emigrated by wagon to Mitchell, South Dakota—in the central part of the state. My parents were married October 1912 in a small cross-roads town named Betts, South Dakota (near Mitchell). They homesteaded and farmed around Mt. Vernon, S.D. until moving to Mitchell in about 1918.

During WW I my father was a member of the ‘Home Guard’. For health reasons he did not qualify for regular military service, but opted to serve on the home front.

In May 1922, They had a baby girl whom they named Doris Eileen. However she died prematurely one week later.

Following the loss of their daughter, my mother was informed by her doctor that she was unable to have any more children. That led to their decision to adopt a baby girl they named Neva Faye—born February 6, 1920.

In 1924 they moved to Rapid City, S. D. in the far western end of the state—

The Gateway to The Black Hills.

On February 8th, 1927, I, Kenneth Eugene Bumpus came along,

The child that wasn’t supposed to be!

SURPRISE! SURPRISE!

Thus began my adventures—

Being of a very young age, I don’t remember my birth or the first couple of years following it. I was content to be fed, sleep when I felt like it, have my diaper changed often and get a hug, now and then.

My first vague recollection is of swallowing 3 or 4 pennies at about the age of 18 months or 2 years! (I guess, when the market crashed my first thought was to hide my meager savings!) The most vivid memory of that incident was my Mother’s extreme agitation! MY very vivid memory was the awful taste of the castor-oil she forced me to drink to lubricate and expedite the ‘recovery’ of those pennies.—to this day, anything that has even the faintest taste or smell of castor oil or copper, makes me retch!

My Dad drove a gas truck for Standard Oil for a couple years, then a delivery truck for Fish & Hunter Lumber Company. I recall going along with him up into the hills on one of his Lumber Company, deliveries. The scenery in the Black Hills is fabulous and I was really enjoying the ride—that is, until I learned his cargo was dynamite for the Homestake Gold Mine in Lead, SD.

The Homestake Mine is the largest gold mine in America, and until it’s closing in 2002, was the oldest and deepest, in the western hemisphere reaching 8,000 feet. Gold was first discovered in the Black Hills in 1874. The land was a part of the Dakota Territory and declared by treaty, to be Sioux Indian Sacred Ground. The gold rush broke that treaty!

At the peak of the rush, mining magnate George Hearst purchased a plot of land 50 X 100 feet for $70,000. He developed this property into the richest claim in the Hills and christened it ‘The Homestake Mine’. George was the father of the publisher William Randolph Hearst, who, having no interest in gold mining, took over his father’s publishing business instead and turned it into a multi-million dollar empire.

The tale of the discovery of gold is interesting—if true—:

It goes—A young cowboy, riding up one of the canyons in the Black Hills, stopped by a small stream to fill his canteen and water his horse. He found some wild grapes along the stream and picked a few in his hat to snack on. When he dipped his hat into the water to rinse out the twigs and leaves and was replacing it on his head, he noted something glittering in the crown. On closer examination IT WAS GOLD! The sand in the bottom of the stream was like a Christmas tree! When the news got out it created ‘The Rush of 1876’ which was almost as great as California’s gold rush of 1849.

Since that day, all genuine Black Hills Gold jewelry has been designed with grapes and grape leaves in the pattern.—true or not, it’s one helluva story.

After that ‘dynamite run’ was over I made up my mind—no more delivery rides with my Dad unless I knew what was on board.

I can guarantee you, every bump in those rough mountain roads had me leaving my fingerprints deeply imbedded in the dashboard!

That was not the last ride I made with my Dad on the back roads of the Black Hills, though. But it was the last ‘dynamite run’ for me!

Dad made several more dynamite deliveries, mostly to Keystone, South Dakota, for use in blasting out the mountain which was to become ‘Mount Rushmore’. I declined going along on any of those explosive laden runs.

I did get to visit Mount Rushmore frequently during it’s construction, though. But only on pleasure trips with my folks every 2-3 weeks, to see the progress. The sculpting took from 1927 to 1941 to complete. During the first phases I was allowed to enter the studio of the sculptor, Gutzon Borglum, to see the huge 15+ foot model of what it would become. I got to meet and talk with Mr. Borglum, though my questions were not very enlightening, due to the fact I had only begun to talk.

The heads of each of the figures on the mountain are as tall as a six-story building and, if their entire figures were depicted, they would tower 465 Feet!

Borglum was 60-years-old when he began the project and died in 1941 just weeks short of seeing the dedication in March 1941.

Four Hundred TONS of granite were blasted off the monument. It took thousands of sticks of dynamite!—part of which my Dad had delivered.

I love the Hills and I always will! To me those granite rocks and spires and the blue-green pines are the nearest thing to Paradise as there is on earth—and I’ve covered almost ALL of that!

Across the street from our house on Fairbanks Ave. was the home of the Pat Dawkins family, friends of my folks. They had a little girl my same age—give or take a couple weeks—and even at the age or 3-4 years we had a thing! I was heart-broken when I had to say goodbye to her though. When I was 4 or 5, we moved three miles out of the city.

It was winter, and South Dakota winters are cold. Although not so much in Rapid City as in central SD. (The Black Hills have been called the ‘Banana-belt’ of the Midwest because it is protected somewhat by the mountains.).

Ray Cox, a friend, loaned us the use of his double-garage to live in while my Dad and some friends built us a house (?) on an acre of land my folks had managed to buy. It was just a couple of thousand yards from Rapid Creek and the main Rapid City water supply-line ran from the spring/reservoir up the canyon, right under our property. With permission from the city, we tapped into it and had cool, fresh spring water in our house.

I think my Dad bought the land for somewhere around $300-$400. It was a tiny house, probably about 2000 to 4000 sq/ft.—two rooms downstairs—kitchen and living room/bedroom—and two unfinished rooms upstairs where my sister, Neva, and I slept. Thank God for heavy quilts and comforters which my Mother and Grandmother had sewn. Only by wrapping up to our eyebrows were we able to keep cozy and warm.

Our living accommodations in our friend’s garage were primitive, to say the least. It was un-insulated and we cooked and kept warm (?) by a small wood-burning cook stove. Neva and I slept in the loft over the garage We spent most of our time bundled up in coats and blankets. Day and night!

It was spring before Dad finished the house and we could move in. What a relief! At least, by the time winter moved in, again, Dad would be able to have our new house sealed against the cold—somewhat!

The ‘Depression’ had set in. People were in bread-lines in the cities. Mom was a natural gardener and we got by on what she could grow and a few items of Government subsidy goods—flour, rice, cheese, etc. We always had a good crop of beans and they were the staple of most of our meals. The ‘gas bombs’ as we kids called them, provided sustenance for us, and entertainment for us kids! HAH! The folks also got a few chickens, three or four rabbits (which rapidly increased to a dozen or so), and a couple of goats. We had ourselves a miniature farm, by golly!

The only drawback to that was—I inherited the task of