Dickie Reilly, perhaps my best friend from the 9th grade through high school, head faked me and scored the first bucket in our ongoing battle for Top Dog in the neighborhood. Dickie and I were typically team captains on the basketball court and in those backyard games of tackle football in Columbia, TN.
After the bucket, he asked me why the FBI was asking him questions about yours truly. I wasn't aware that a background check was being conducted; it was my application for an Army ROTC scholarship that triggered this routine check.
A Manly Man, Dickie Reilly was the man of the house, as it were. His father had abandoned him and his two siblings years ago. Dickie's little brother was a special needs child, the youngest of the three children.
Dickie and I were like most southern boys: love your family and your dogs. I can distinctly remember his freckled face, blond hair and misty blue eyes as I recounted my 'Old Yeller' experience with my sweet dog, Lucky. In those days, immunizations were primarily for rabies, with appropriate medications also for parasitic gastrointestinal critters.
Lucky was not protected from Morbillivirus canis.
Lucky's mother, Li'l Bit, was killed on a busy thoroughfare locally known as 'Carsmack Blvd.' (actually Carmack Blvd...) a couple of miles from home. Lucky became even more of a family fixture in the ensuing months.
Tragically, distemper ravaged this sweet 8 pound beagle mix; my father, recognizing the gravity of the situation, gently: "Son, you know what you have to do...".
I look forward to that Rainbow Bridge veterinarians have described. (Not Rainbow in any other context, as the left has hijacked the English language...)
Dickie and I often discussed the challenges he faced in support of his family. One day, he informed me he was going to quit high school and join the United States Army.
A great student and athlete, his sole reason to deny himself that high school diploma was to better support his family. The Army waived a diploma requirement, as his grades were excellent and he performed well on the ASVAB test.
I have thought of Private First Class Dickie Reilly many, many times. I will never forget the zeal in Dickie's eyes as he asked me to guess where he was going to be assigned after basic training. As an Army brat, he knew this would be welcome news to me, but before I could render a guess, Dickie blurted "...the 101st Airborne Division at Fort Campbell, Ky!".
Well, Dickie left Columbia as a junior at Central High School, did basic training and AIT at Fort Knox, and did, in fact, become a soldier with some of the most elite warriors on the planet. I hadn't seen Dickie in months and was looking forward to his coming home for leave. Johnny Kilgore, one of the gang, and I were planning some football and basketball with PFC Reilly.
One morning at Central High, some hours after the daily announcements, I recall hearing the intercom being cued. I suspected this was an impromptu fire drill, not an uncommon occurrence. No, I was stunned at the announcement:
Dickie Reilly was killed in a car accident.
Scant details were available; lack of use of the seatbelt was contributory. His sister later related to us that Dickie was reclined a bit in his passenger seat, with his arm resting on his open window, when they were struck by another vehicle.
Just a few miles from home, anxious to see his family on his first leave, God took another warrior for His army. PFC Reilly's mother and siblings had no chance to say goodbye...
God Bless you, Dickie Reilly, as well as your family. I will always be thankful for your friendship. You inspired everyone around you.
Thank you for your service. The Screaming Eagles lost a great warrior that day in 1972.
Unlike anyone in the Biden administration, Kara was being vetted for a position in the Regions Bank system. Kara has a remarkable mind, excellent in math and reasoning skills, and is already authorized to submit large sums of money from the US to Mexico, as part of her management of a retail facility in Alabama.
This has been a lengthy process, but one that will serve her well in the coming economic crisis.
Recently married, Kara and her Manly Man Kevin, recently promoted to a high level position in his company, responsible for the provision of components for electrical substations, reside outside of Birmingham. Kevin is a hard worker and a firm believer in the Second Amendment.
It concerned me my precious little girl excused herself from the monthly drills her brother, Dylan, and I conducted - what are your actions when someone kicks in the door?.
Dylan instinctively chambered a round, leaving the safety engaged, and assumed a defensive stance.
Crime is so rampant, I thank God Kevin is taking care of my little girl; he is an excellent marksman.
Congratulations from a proud daddy; yeah, it's Banty Rooster time again.
Lisa knew Miss Kara was special right out of the womb. Note the birthmark on her nose....
I have two beautiful sisters, but no brothers.
God has blessed our family with multiple Manly Man additions over the years. And, man, am I proud and fortunate to have five brothers-in-law!
All are Manly Men.
I looked forward to meeting my stunningly beautiful girlfriend's family. Although Lisa loved all three of her brothers, she recounted numerous stories, sometimes with tears of laughter, involving her brother Ricky.
Lisa's brother, Randy, was serving his nation in the United States Army. Thanks for your service, Randy.
Lisa's third brother, Wayne, was married. And, by the way, to a beautiful lady, Cathy.
So Rick took up the slack. Lisa's mother, Dot, really appreciated all the effort and love her sons put forth with her newly adopted baby girl.
Imagine taking your baby sister, who clamored for your presence, always ensuring the Umbrella of Protection for a 10 year old girl was in place.
Before entering a room of friends, forewarning is given.
A young lady is present.
Perhaps not so amusing at the time, an incident that occurred, despite big brother Ricky's pretty effective Umbrella of Protection, produced rib-tickling laughter when Lisa shared it with me.
One afternoon, the bubbly baby girl of Dot was so excited to share with her mother an afternoon outing with her big brother. Lisa clearly had the gift of gab early in life. This colorful reflection on her time spent with brother Rick was commonplace.
Dot enjoyed the one-on-one conversations with her young daughter.
One of those unfolding stories, recounted after fun with Ricky, found Dot, folding laundry, listening to the blow-by-blow account of her time with her brother. As Lisa matter-of-factly expounded on the fun she had, she uttered a noun that caused Dot to drop the dish towel she was folding.
"What did you say, young lady?", a slack-jawed mother inquired.
Lisa calmly replied:
"Mother Fu#*er...".
Again, one of those 'fly on the wall' moments:
Waiting for Dot's response to Lisa's query:
What is a "Mother Fu#*er..."?
A Manly Man can size up another man pretty quickly. The bar is pretty high in the South and the scarcity of those who stand for
God, Country and Family concerned me. My guess, as garnered from the first months of our relationship, was that her big brother's Manly Man status was unquestioned.
My first encounter with, perhaps, my future brother-in-law, confirmed that, and a lot more.
Admiring his beautiful Camaro in the driveway as Lisa and I walked up the sidewalk to the front porch, I recalled my years owning a 1972 Mach I (thanks, Mom and Dad...).
It only got better: Alluding to Southern values earlier, there was a big beautiful dog! Barney was a big, beautiful and friendly brute. And he loved those who took the time to pat his head.
Rick and Geneva, sporting big smiles, welcomed us to their home. A gorgeous lady, Geneva was justifiably proud of her family, including a future Manly Man, Jason. Rounding out the family was a delightful young lady, Jennifer. I believe she was about three years old and provided a memorable audible session reflecting true love and patience God has placed in mothers.
Yes, Martha, patience worthy of Job's approval.
As the day was waning, Geneva told
Jennifer it was bath time.
Miss Jennifer would have none of that; her Aunt Lisa was here.
Geneva, always with a smile and those beautiful eyes which she passed on to her kids, understood Jennifer was growing fast and her time with Aunt Lisa was cherished.
After a half hour or so, Geneva, wanting to get supper started, a bit more assertively, "OK, Jennifer, let's go get that bath, young lady.". Jennifer begrudgingly accompanied her mother to the bathroom. I recall her snarling a bit...
With Jennifer away, Jason now had his Aunt Lisa's sole focus. Lisa was proud to introduce me to Jason, almost the same age of Kris, my firstborn. Her love for her nephew was reciprocal in Jason. The beautiful quiet afternoon gave me immeasurable enjoyment, watching my beautiful girlfriend's sparkling eyes, reflecting the love she had for Jason.
It was evident in this discourse between nephew and aunt the bond these two had. With the exception of a singing bird, the tranquil silence and their engaged conversation provided a memory that had Lisa and I chuckling many times over the years.
Just a few minutes after Geneva and Jennifer's departure, that tranquility was shattered.
Apparently, Miss Jennifer, manifesting early signs of her strength of will and assertiveness, declined the opportunity for a bath. The clatter and the voluminous vocal admonition of what was taking place was countered with the calm of a mother's voice.
I can still recall Lisa abruptly swinging her head to the right, focusing on the cacophony from the bathroom window, immediately behind me.
Only a brief few minutes was needed for this remarkable mother to accomplish the mission as well as tempering her feisty young daughter's outrage. "Is Aunt Lisa still here?" before Geneva could dry her hair...
Bath time for Jennifer was a sharp contrast from what I envisioned such mother-daughter activity to be, being a brother of two sisters.
Nope. My vision of a mother giving her child a bath is pictured on the left. The right, well, it says it all...
I have shown my beautiful niece's Kindergarten graduation picture to numerous patients over the years.
Her mother's eyes and a cap and gown. That tassel added import... Love my niece...
Not only did Rick have that Camaro, but could work on it himself, a trait an unmanly man would not possess.
And I mean 'work on it himself', as Rick is a master mechanic. I recall seeing him in action with his cherry picker as he was placing a new engine in is Camaro, no easy task.
I was happy to be able to install a four barrel intake and carburetor on my Mach I, as soon as the warranty expired. My father wanted me to live enough to receive my commission; subsequently, the Army would provide further skills toward that endeavor.
In lieu of the Boss 351 version of this beauty, with 15 inch wheels and those gorgeous dual exhausts incorporated into the rear valence, the Sergeant Major selected the 302 CI Windsor, 2 barrel, single exhaust version. In retrospect, I am thankful for his justifiably cautionary restriction on this beast. In fact, the 1971 Boss 429 CI Mach I was, at that time, the fastest production car ever produced in Detroit.
Again, after warranty expiration, the 2 barrel became a 4 barrel; dual exhaust was established with exhaust manifolds and Hooker Headers.
Yes, Martha, I won't forget those Thrush Sidewinders....
14 inch wheels to 15 inch, including a 50 series on front and L60's on the rear, requiring Hijacker air shocks installation.
Smokin' hot, I thought. I still smile when my girlfriend at the time, after hearing my plans for the Mach I, expressed her opinion that this gorgeous blue Mustang needed nothing done to it.
She was right, but I eschewed that advice and enhanced the inherent fierceness of appearance in a mainstay of Ford for more than a half century.
At any rate, the automotive mechanical ability I learned from my father paled to
Rick's skills. Jason is a manager of a Maxi Muffler shop today because of the generational passage of skills from the father to the son.
And, like his father, Jason is quite talented.
Rick and Jason Doss
Son and grandson of a United States Navy veteran, they are God loving patriots.
(As a consequence, we gotta watch out for the aforementioned FBI...)
This beauty started it all.
God bless you, Mr. Iacocca, for pursuing this brilliant project.
Thanks, also, for the salvation of Chrysler. As a long time fan of Richard Petty, I breathed a sigh of relief easier after your intervention.
As my father used to say to me "Son, you could break an anvil...", Ford almost lost the Mustang in the 1990's. Yet again, your highly respected advice not to discontinue the mighty Mustang prevented Ford from shooting themselves in the foot.
Rest in peace, Manly Man.
As my V-6 1965 Corvair had a blown engine, I needed a ride to Fort Campbell, Ky, from Columbia. I was notified by the Army for an interview, as I had been selected as a finalist in the quest for an Army ROTC scholarship.
A friend who lived behind me in Columbia offered a ride in his recently purchased Mustang. I relished the idea.
I will never forget the power in this little beast. Powered by the HiPo 289 with a 3 speed in the floor, the Mustang could put you firmly back in the nicely contoured bucket seats with its acceleration.
Thank you, Steve, for the transportation. He and I had never seen so many helicopters in our life...
The interview, face-to-face, with 5 senior Army officers was a bit daunting. My father's training as a young lad guided me to look them in the eye and state my responses clearly and confidently.
As this half hour interview unfolded, my comfort level increased when they asked me to confirm I was an Army brat.
Trying to keep the Banty Rooster at bay, I pointed out that my father was not just any soldier. Knowing full well these officers had my documents and those from the FBI, I continued with pointing out my father's selection for astronaut training, as well as his combat experience after becoming a Drill Sergeant.
The panel recognized the passion I had for my father's accomplishments. Those accomplishments gave me the edge to acquire this highly coveted scholarship.
Thanks, Sergeant Major
My awesome parents took a trip to Fort Campbell, also. There, they received delivery of a brand spanking new Mustang.
Originally asking my father, who was in his second combat tour in Vietnam, if the Corvair could be replaced with a 1966 SS 396 Chevelle posted for sale by Steve's next door neighbor.
Especially since my Corvair had been sold to a local racer who was going to replace the V-6 from the rear-engine Corvair with a big block Chevy engine. I remember reading an article in Hot Rod Magazine about this project, utilizing Mickey Thompson's approach.
He was successful, as my beautiful Corvair, crippled with the crappy aluminum block engine Chevrolet had provided, screamed down the drag strip with over 400 horses PUSHING (remember, rear engine...).
This was a head turner.
My father, however, had something else in mind. He mailed me a brochure - a really nice trifold one, the size of a notebook - about the Mach I. It quickly became dog-eared...
I was in disbelief that my wonderful parents would do this for me...
A few weeks later, Sergeant First Class Daw returned from combat for the second and last time, thanks to God's grace.
That sparkle in my mother's eyes I remembered so well from those military parades, as my father's troops marched in front of us during their Pass-In-Review formations, had returned. Her warrior had endured two combat tours and was now home, destined for a return tour of duty at Fort Knox.
Back to training young men in the art of combat.
I will never forget the evening my mother and father returned from Fort Campbell, delivering this gorgeous blue work of art to their anxious son, flipping burgers at Shoney's.
I recall everything seemed to be moving in slow motion as I anxiously awaited the moment I would strap in to one of the hottest cars on the market.
Thanks, again, to my incredible parents.
Believe it or not, a chip shortage is responsible for the demise of this proud American iconic automobile.
Manufacturers have to prioritize their dwindling stock of chips, thanks to President Biden. His supply chain destruction, from infant formula to pharmaceuticals and medical equipment, includes even more dependence on our mortal enemy, China.
Despite the
Raised as the daughter of a Navy medical officer, this Fox beauty is an incredible warrior for God.
Unashamedly conservative, despite her California years, Ms. Compagno is a reflection of the values of her naval officer family, much like my military family.
When the Navy and the Army were the best.
We need President Trump to restore that greatness. China is devouring us..
Two beauties...
This lady is such an inspiration and helps veterans in so many ways.
1/2
My circle of friends was quite small, primarily my immediate family and stud friend,
Doctor John Bastian, from dental school .
Yes, Martha, the same Dr. Bastian I recommended for his neighbor Riley Gaines' personal security when she is in enemy territory.
Analogous to the innermost of the concentric circles above, my interactions were primarily with family and staffing at various dental facilities in Chattanooga.
As an undergraduate at UTC, I took a racquetball course at the brand-new facility on campus. I fell in love with the game. More than a decade later, I enjoyed challenging my brothers-in-law and whizzing that little blue ball more than 150 MPH past their ear. My son Kris', Uncle Wayne, was a gifted athlete on the diamond and was a good racquetball player. We frequently played at the MERC (McKee Employee Recreation Center) with Wayne's fellow employee at Century Wrecker, Lee Coker.
My initial impression was this guy would fit in nicely with the Second Infantry Division.
A broad smile and engaging personality, Lee was a welcome addition to my circle of friends. This was an impressive Manly Man, as he could play any sport well, with a cannon arm on the diamond. He just picked up racquetball when I met him; he became competitive in only a couple of outings. Lee's acquisition of skills was quite remarkable.
Cut-throat or one-on-one, Lee was formidable on the racquetball court.
Mr. Coker subsequently purchased a quick bike himself; I will always remember our ride to Talladega.
Lee-man, as his friends called him, was strong as an ox and built like big fullback. He was fast on his feet and quickly adapted to any sport.
I can recall the two of us noting tennis courts in the Chattanooga area during our motorcycle rides. He played tennis well; he was, after all, a Southern boy. We love any sport where hitting, throwing, catching or kicking is involved...
Every hurricane season, I recall a tennis match on courts at Central High School in Harrison one beautiful sunny afternoon.
The best part of that match was the accompanying of our girlfriends. I cannot imagine a more stunningly beautiful pair of young ladies, patiently watching us.
As a consequence, and without admitting so, Lee and I were trying more to impress them more than winning the match.
This sun-drenched afternoon was quite breezy. And that's putting it mildly. Those tennis balls seemed to shift their trajectory, much as a T.O.W. missile in flight...
Well, blame it on Hurricane Hugo in September 1989. Buffeting winds generated hundreds of miles away...
As I recall further, rain moved in...
One thing was certain:
Lee and I had excellent taste...
Miller Industries | Heavy-Duty Towing, Wreckers, Carriers
In those days, it was Century Wreckers. These men were Manly Men. And Lee was the proverbial 'man among men'.
As a consequence of Century's engineering and standards protocols, NASCAR utilized only Century wreckers and recovery equipment.
A stellar move, in my view, was the fact the company rewarded those responsible for their success by offering each employee free tickets to any NASCAR race.
Yes, Martha, I said free tickets to any NASCAR race.
I was honored that Lee asked me if I would like to go to a NASCAR race with him. Of course, as a Southern boy, NASCAR was an influential part of my childhood.
I have previously alluded to my cousin Jerry and his patented 'slingshot' move on a nice oval asphalt race track that we utilized for our bicycle (prior to the motorcycle days...) racing.
The 'slingshot' was a classic Richard Petty move. King Richard dominated NASCAR for years and is an absolute living legend. I watched his various MOPAR beasts wreak havoc on the NASCAR circuit over the years.
Remember the Superbird in 'Joe Dirt'?
Oh, did I mention those NASCAR tickets included Pit Passes?
God had woven quite the tapestry. A beautiful motorcycle ride from
Chattanooga south to Alabama, and, by the way, taking in the legendary Talladega race on the fastest speedway in the world.
Springtime in the South at a truly Southern tradition. Marvelling at the sights, sounds and especially the smells provided an experience unlike any before.
Thousands of fans, courteous and orderly, surrounded this blistering fast superspeedway in a remarkable display of Southern values. Families tailgated as far as the eye could see.
Pit Road was a destination in and of itself.
Wow! The precision of these pit crews reminded me of the UTC ROTC Drill Team. Team work as reflected in a field artillery fire team - something to behold.
Each pit seemed to have a gorgeous long-legged lady perched in the canopied tower. That's the kind of ambience Southern men appreciate...
Those few hours in the pits are memories that will never leave me. Among a plethora of incredible moments I experienced in my moving from one pit area to another, akin to an 'Alice in Wonderland' sensory bombardment, two stand out.
The significance of an impending Talladega adventure required more photodocumentation than an Instamatic accorded. Another Manly Man brother-in-law provided his expensive Nikon 35 mm camera to capture some life-long memories.
Dennis, a gifted pediatrician, appreciates excellent photography. He can also grow some beautiful orchids...
I used several rolls of film, covering every square inch of Pit Road.
Leaving Dale Earnhardt's pit area and headed to the other end of Pit Road, my head was on a swivel, trying not miss any action.
The leaders were passing on my right as I tried to determine who was in front. My gaze scanned the length of the racers bunched together when I spotted a gentleman, seated on a concrete bench and sporting a black cowboy hat. He had a stopwatch in his hand.
I ventured closer to confirm who this person was. Sure enough, this tall and lanky man sporting that awesome cowboy hat and nice sunglasses was intently following one racer, timing him.
Seated by himself, no throngs surrounding him as is usually the case, was none other than The King.
Yes, Martha, Richard Petty.
This large flat concrete bench held plenty of room for me to sit next to The King. Although I yearned to pop my butt down and babble on about my admiration for a fellow Tarheel, I thought better and just silently admired his intensity.
The pride he felt for his son, Kyle, was justifiable...
An impending tragedy will test the Petty family's faith as well as provide an affirmation of God's love for us all...
12 May 2000
Richard Petty's grandson and Kyle's first-born killed...
Adam, a 19 year old third generation Petty racer, ascended to Heaven leaving a level of grief that no family should suffer.
God knows our suffering and showed the Petty family in 2022 a measure of His grace with the birth of Adam's niece, Ellington Montgomery Petty.
It was not a coincidence this precious gift from God was given on the twelfth day of the month of May.
22 year anniversary of her uncle's death...
Truly, a gift from God in so many ways...
Anticipating a pit stop en masse, I decided to position myself at the entry to the pits; that's where most of the professional photographers were gathered.
And lots of them. Talladega attracts a lot of press with worldwide viewers.
These folks had high end telephoto lenses and tripods; Dr. Estep would be envious of this equipment.
As subsequent events unfolded, I am glad the Valley Times-News' Chief Photographer,
David Kadlubowski, was there. He graciously mailed me a few frames of what he captured.
Thanks, Mr. Kadlubowski
And where there's smoke, there's fire.
Rick Wilson was trying to get to the pits post haste; his cabin was engulfed in acrid, choking smoke.
And he was on fire.
I cast a quick glance to my left to see how many fire suppression crews were coming.
Much to my surprise, there were none!
There wasn't a NASCAR emergency team anywhere to be seen. My Spidey sense was now fully activated.
Nonetheless, I was confident this was an all-too-common occurrence for NASCAR drivers and all would be well. Safety advancements over the years allowed a quicker exit from a burning vehicle; there was an on-board fire extinguisher as well.
Well, that was true in most cases.
This wasn't most cases.
No sooner had the Kodak car crossed the line marking the entrance to Pit Road when an explosion occurred, sending the AP, UPI,
ESPN and other photographers scattering.
I can still vividly recall them hurriedly gathering their equipment, fearing a larger explosion.
That was precisely my fear - a fuel cell explosion.
My mind was racing with still-fresh images of burned aviators, only torsos remaining. I prayed for God to intervene.
I crowded the retaining wall as I judged how the driver's extrication was going with the seconds ticking by. I was encouraged when he was able to detach his netting, but the oxygen deprivation caused by the incredible smoke pouring from the stricken vehicle resulted in motions that were not purposeful.
I feared for this man's life.
Maybe he will get out OK, but what if he doesn't?
Knowing Lee was nearby, last seen flirting with the pretty ESPN ladies among the photographers, I jumped over the retaining wall and risked being removed from the race track.
Rick Wilson had his upper torso out of the netting but the effort to do so was rapidly draining his oxygen. I lent an assist, quickly joined by another good Southern Manly Man in the effort to get this man out of harm's way.
And, as we approached the retaining wall, there was Lee-man to assist getting this good-sized driver over the wall.
Dozens of photographers and fans had evacuated in seconds, leaving a few Manly Men holding the fort.
I was glad Dr. Estep had an excellent protective case for the Nikon, as I had just unceremoniously dropped it on the asphalt.
Both the camera and the driver, transported to the medical facility, were OK.
God is always there.
Lee Coker and I did not get thrown out of the Alabama International Motor Speedway.
Five minutes of fame with a quick ESPN interview followed by an invitation for the two of us to board a very nice RV in the paddock area.
The owner wined and dined Lee and me for about an hour before we headed back to Chattanooga.
Actually, nonalcoholic beverages, as we always ensured our situational awareness and focus were optimal while on motorcycles.
Especially when they were superbikes.
Thank you for so much inspiration during my youth. My cousin Jerry and I just could not master that 'slingshot' move...
May God bless your newest angel. Adam's niece each day will provide that connection between her and her uncle, God's warrior.
And the whole Petty family...
A corrupt FBI, once a paragon of trust and respect by the American public, has exerted their massive influence in a vast and coordinated effort in order to destroy those American values.
For decades.
This full out assault on Talladega by more than a dozen FBI agents was to prove the White Supremacist was alive and well.
And insulted the whole state of Alabama, as well as the South.
I am only a casual fan of NASCAR these days because of their very obvious distancing themselves from their core base.
Banning the Stars and Bars - that'll show those toothless rednecks.
Including this POS who thinks a dirty Stars and Stripes mask will camouflage his hatred of this country.
Especially the South.
This racist, lying Demoncrat was imagining ways to bring dishonor to Talladega.
Good old Bubba must be a conservative patriot, with a name like that. So when this NASCAR racer asserts something, he must be believed.
What better time to dig that knife in the backs of patriots who love NASCAR and welcomed his addition to the NASCAR family?
This Demoncrat didn't believe this garage door rope was actually a noose.
Just like former scumbag FBI director Comey:
How can this be identified as a noose, when it has been there for months?
Any excuse for the FBI to unleash their media lapdogs, as Comey did with the Russa Hoax.
"I just put it out there..." the traitor and scumbag Comey bragged as President Trump was attacked daily.
God is watching.
FBI Director Wray asserted he know nothing of Catholics being investigated as domestic terrorists.
And knew nothing of the Hunter Biden investigation.
WTF?
How comfortable they must have been when they dispatched fifteen FBI agents in order harm the South and insult Talladega.
DEI...
.
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