Sailor Bill's Memoir

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0><script> (function(i,s,o,g,r,a,m){i['GoogleAnalyticsObject']=r;i[r]=i[r]||function(){ (i[r].q=i[r].q||[]).push(arguments)},i[r].l=1*new Date();a=s.createElement(o), m=s.getElementsByTagName(o)[0];a.async=1;a.src=g;m.parentNode.insertBefore(a,m) })(window,document,'script','//www.google-analytics.com/analytics.js','ga'); ga('create', 'UA-47423994-1', 'fortunecity.ws'); ga('send', 'pageview'); </script> <center> <br> <div> <script language="javascript" type="text/javascript" src="http://ad.broadcaststation.net/ads/show_ad.php?width=728&height=90"></script> </div> </center> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" colspan=2 height=120 BGCOLOR="#FFCCFF" TEXT="#080000" bgproperties="fixed" background="0443f781egdyul.gif"> <div> <B>Bill's Memoir</B></div> <div>                               <embed src="HTMLobj-92/welcome.wav" autostart="true" hidden="true">  </div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" width=190 BGCOLOR="#CCFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <bR> <bR> <div>   <script type="text/javascript" language="JavaScript"> sw="none";sd="none";ref=""+escape(document.referrer); </script> <script type="text/javascript" language="JavaScript1.2"> sw=screen.width;nav=navigator.appName; sc=(nav!="Netscape")?screen.colorDepth:screen.pixelDepth; </script> <script type="text/javascript" language="JavaScript"> function doit(str) {document.writeln(str);} qs="&sw="+sw+"&sc="+sc+"&ref="+ref; url='http://counter21.bravenet.com/index.php?'; url += 'id=339879&usernum=1771540044&cpv=1'; curl='http://counter21.bravenet.com/counter.php?id=339879&usernum=1771540044'; doit('<a href="'+url+'" target="_top"><img border="0" src="'+curl+qs+'" /></a>') </script> <noscript> <a href="http://counter21.bravenet.com/index.php?id=339879&usernum=1771540044&cpv=1" target="_top"><img src="http://counter21.bravenet.com/counter.php?id=339879&usernum=1771540044" alt="Bravenet.com" border="0" /></a> </noscript>  </div> <div> <A HREF="mailto:billscott@gbronline.com" TARGET="_top" TITLE="mailto:billscott@gbronline.com"><U><B><IMG SRC="05d643e0.gif" border=0 width="100" height="62" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></B></U></A></div> <div> <B>Contact Me</B></div> <bR> <bR> </td> <td valign="top" height=360 BGCOLOR="#CCFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <bR> <bR> <div> <B><IMG SRC="059c8240.gif" border=0 width="200" height="36" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></B></div> <div> <B>Welcome to Sailor Bill's Memoir web site.</B></div> <bR> <div> <IMG SRC="04d51ec0.jpg" border=0 width="337" height="236" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></div> <bR> <div> <B>I Didn't Do It Alone </B></div> <div> <B>copyright, 2001, by William K. Scott</B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>Forward</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>"My life may not be great to others, but to me it has been one of steady progression, never dull, often exciting, often hungry, tired, and lonely, but always learning.  Somewhere back down the years I decided, or my nature decided for me, that I would be a teller of stories."</B></div> <div> <B>Louis L'Amour in his memoir, "Education of a Wandering Man" -------  </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>I am now in my twilight years.  Carolyn and I celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary on the 16th of June 2001.  As far as I know, nobody in the family has written a memoir.  I’ve had a great, exciting life, and will tell as much as I can remember.  </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>Whatever I accomplished in life, I didn't do alone.  My Mom and Dad were a great inspiration to me.  My sister encouraged and helped me through my youth.  Brother Jack set the pace.  I always tried to be as good or better than he was, but I never really succeeded.  Many Navy leaders helped me throughout my career.  To name them would more than fill a roll of toilet paper.  Many will be named throughout my memoir.  And heading the list was my wonderful wife who stuck by me when the chips were down.  She always encouraged me to better my career even when it meant long separations of nine months or a year at a time.  I am extremely grateful to all.</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>My father, Orsa Osborne Scott, was born 2 July 1890 and died 7 January 1982.  Mother, Bessie Melvina Worthington, was born 7 September 1893 and died 3 August 1993.  Mom was relatively short at 4 foot 11 inches and Dad stood at 5 Foot 10 inches.  Dad was the type of guy who never let a problem get the best of him or at least he never let it show.  He was always helpful and encouraged me in all that I tried to do.  </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>Mom had a temper, but always showed love.  She also was a great cook.  I can still taste her roast beef dinner that we had each Sunday. </B></div> <div> <B> It is in memory of them that I dedicate this memoir.</B></div> <div> <B>Bill Scott</B></div> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <B>The early years   </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania 9 June 1949</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>“OK men, drop your skivvies,” came a shout from the end of the line.  I looked over at a man who was going back into the Navy. They called him Boats.   He dropped his shorts down to his ankles.  He had several tattoos on his arms and legs, but I was surprised to see more on his rear end.  On each cheek was the letter M.  I dropped my shorts and looked up and down the line.  I never had to strip naked in public before.  Boats looked over at me with an expression on his face that seemed to say, “What the hell is this man’s Navy coming to?”  At age 17,  I was thin, five feet ten and a half inches tall, and weighed 128 pounds.  I don’t believe I was quite the specimen that Boats wanted to serve with.  The doctor and corpsman started down the line feeling each man’s groin, and having him cough.  “The next time I tell you to cough, turn your damn head.  What do you think I am, a handkerchief?”  Wow, was I learning fast.  I just finished high school, and was now trying to enlist in the U.S. Navy.  In fact this was my third trip to Pittsburgh.  I was turned down twice for flat feet, but on this day, my feet seemed to develop a satisfactory arch.  I squeezed my toes in, and it worked.  I passed the physical, and was told to report to the third floor.  It wasn’t long till I raised my right hand.  I was in the Navy.  </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>One of my best buddies, Tom Meli, tried to enlist with me.  He was later tuned down for hypertension.  Tom was short and on the heavy side.  I was sad indeed when I found out that Tom would not be traveling with me to Boot Camp at the Great Lakes, Illinois.  The year before, Tom and I traveled to New York to join the Merchant Marine.  We were 16 at the time.  Tom’s father was reluctant to let Tom go, but Dad convinced him that we were feeling our oats, and would return home. We caught a bus to New York, and were met by my cousin, Tom Bivin.  He was an attorney and Vice President of the Great Atlantic Insurance Company.  He lived on Long Island in an exclusive neighborhood in Plaindome.  When we got off the bus, he had no trouble finding us.  We had bell bottom dungarees and tee shirts on, and smelled to high heaven with Mennon aftershave. </B></div> <bR> <div> <B> A few doors down from the Bivin’s was a large stone home with a circular drive.  It belonged to the president of Cunard Lines.  A couple of girls invited us down.  We were met at the door by a butler.  I told the girls that my father was the highest paid man in the Pittsburgh Steel Company.  Dad was a crane man so I didn’t lie.  Nobody in the plant worked higher up than he did, so Dad was the highest paid employee.  The girls were not impressed.  After a short visit with the Bivins, Tom and I went to the Merchant Seamen Union Hall.  There was a line of old seamen looking for work.  It wasn’t long till we were told to go home, and come back in a couple of years.  Dad was right.  We caught the next bus home.  Adventure was in our blood.  It was then decided that we would join the Navy after high school.  </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>I was born in the Charleroi - Monessen Hospital early in the morning on the 2</B><B>nd</B><B> of January 1932. A few hours earlier, and I would have been a New Year’s baby.  Mom would have gotten a bunch of freebies.  When they smacked my butt, I was named William Keith Scott. The name Keith was given to me in honor of Keith True a crippled man who was a close friend of Mom and Dad.  At    </B></div> <div> <B>this time, Dad worked for the A&P Stores as district manager.  We lived in Maple View, a community just south of Charleroi, a town of 7,000, thirty-five miles south of Pittsburgh.   It was here that I learned to like animals - dogs in particular.  One day, I rounded up all the dogs in the neighborhood and put them in the cellar.  It wasn’t long till all the neighbors were calling Mom to see if she saw their dogs.  Mom didn’t know they were all in the basement until later that day, when she heard barking.  She opened the cellar door, and eight or nine dogs came flying out.  I’m sure the neighbors wondered where their dogs spent the day.   </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>On one occasion Mom fixed supper and cooked creamed beets.  They didn't watch me very close, and I really ate the beets.  They were great tasting.  That evening Mom went to the bath room and looked in the commode.  Everything was red.  Mom came running down stairs crying and told brother Jack that I was going to die.  He reminded her that I ate quite a few beets.  Mom then started to laugh.  I pulled through the beet situation in good shape but Mom checked the commode for the next two days.  </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>Mom and Dad made it through the depression OK, but shortly after, Dad slipped and fell in the store on a banana peel hurting his back.  The store released him, and made no compensation.  In those days that’s the way you were treated, and companies got away with it.  Things were tough after that. We moved to a small mill town about 5 miles up the Monongahela River.  Dad got a job as a  crane man with the Pittsburgh Steel Company.  I was six years old and going into the second grade.  Dad rented a house on Main Street - Highway 88 that ran through town.  The house was a twin house that had a small fire place in each room, no bath room, just a commode in the basement. I took a bath in a wash tub as did the rest of the family.  Dad eventually built a shower in the basement.  I’ll never forget how great it was. </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>Mom had a Maytag washer that had a ringer that swivelled.  She would ring the clothes into a wash tub of clean water, then ring them out again before taking them outside to dry. When a Pennsylvania Railroad steam engine puffed smoke as it went through town, it would turn Dad’s white shirts a bit gray.  Sometimes Mom would hand wash the shirts again.  Mom soon learned the train schedule and washed around it.</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>The school in Allenport was two stories with four large class rooms.  It was just four blocks up the street.  Grades 1,2,3 and 8 were in this building. Grades 4,5,6 and 7 were in another building in Vesta, two miles away. We went through to the 8</B><B>th</B><B> grade, then rode the street car to Charleroi to attend high school.  Pete Garnic was the 8</B><B>th</B><B> grade teacher, and also the principal.  I remember one Halloween that I didn’t participate in messing up the town.  Usually, I was involved but this Halloween, I was at my relatives in Monessen, about 6 miles away.  The next day  As I was leaving after school, Mr. Garnic kicked me in the rear end thinking I must have been one of the trick or treaters.  When I told Dad, he went over to have a  talk with Pete.  Pete apologized.  Years later, Pete and I had a good laugh over the incident.  </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>When I was twelve, we moved over to New Town.  It was a nicer section of town next to the river.  Dad bought the house.  On one side, about two blocks away,  was the rail road, and the river on the other side of the house  At night, I could hear the river boats whistle as they passed one another, and if it was foggy, they would sound their horns as they slowly made their way.  Many times the trains would sound off as they came through town.  Those big steam engines would huff and puff.  I can still hear the sounds as I laid in bed.  Oh, how wonderful it was.  I would dream of far off places as I fell asleep.  </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>I really liked to go to the garden with Dad..  His garden was on a hill side that was owned by the steel mill.  A tall thin elm tree, 30 to 40 feet, was inside the woods not far from the garden.  Elm trees were the best to climb.  The limbs would bend, but never break.  When I reached the top, I could see one end of town to the other.  Smoke was pouring out of the stacks at the mill.  The huge River Willows on the river side of town were beginning to leaf.  It was a sure sign of Spring.  The air was crisp.  It was April.  A trolley car was making its way through town on tracks that ran </B></div> <div> <B> in the middle of the street.  Several paddle wheel boats were making their way down the river with barges of coal.  The steel mills near Pittsburgh depended on these boats and their cargo.  The ferry boat was on the other side of the river waiting for the paddle wheelers to pass.  Men were walking toward the mill with metal lunch boxes in hand.  A few cars were heading for the mill.</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>Dad just finished planting the beans.  He liked pole beans, and would place a pole by each hill to form a pyramid.  When the beans climbed the poles, it looked like a teepee.  His favorite bean was the Kentucky Wonder, a long tender bean that had a sweet juicy taste when eaten raw.  It was too early to plant the tomatoes.  Dad’s favorite was the Beef Steak tomato.  This large pink fruit was very tasty.  I ate many right out of the garden and Dad would laugh as the tomato juice run off my chin.  In the garden, Dad would answer my endless line of questions.  Then when he gave me an answer, I would, more often than not, come back with," How come?”  The time spent in the garden was as near Heaven on earth as any other time of my life.  It seemed like everybody had a garden. Mr. Rossi worked a big one just above Dad’s, and Tucker’s granddad, Mr. Celaski, had one just down away.  He also had a grape arbor.  When the grapes were just right, he would have us boys wash our feet, step in a large wooden tub, and walk on the grapes. This, he made into wine.  It took about a month to get the purple stain off my feet.  One day, Tucker took me down to his cellar, and we drew off a small amount of granddad’s wine.  It was strong and bitter.  We never got into the wine barrel after that.  Granddad Celaski could have the rest of it for all we cared.</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>The little town of Allenport was a great place to grow up in the forties.  The Allenport gang was always close. Several of my buddies passed on.  Contact with the few that remain is usually at our high school class reunion.  There were Tom Meli, Bill Colditz, Tucker Celaski, Joey Brown, Frank Chuccudi, Renny Lender and a few others that were older: Lefty Livingston, Paggetti Haywood, Ray Ermlich, and Monk Myrtle to name a few.  Renny was the first of the gang to join the service.  He went in the Navy in 1948.  The town was a melting pot.  The Lycos were Greek, the Meli and Celaski families Italian, the Millers were Jews, and the Colditz were German.  There was only one church in town, a small Methodist Church.  We all met in the basement of the church to play ping pong.  On Sunday many of the gang showed up even though most were not Methodist.  Heck, some of them were not even Protestant.   Everything good and bad, we learned from the older guys.  For some reason, the girls payed little attention to us.  They treated us more like brothers.  We looked at the girls from another town as the girls did the boys</B><FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#009900" FACE="Arial" >.  </FONT></div> <bR> <div> <B>My first job was at the Allenport Pontiac Garage.  Mr. Hamilton had me sand the paint and rust off a big truck before it was painted.  Mr. Hamilton was married and had a pretty daughter.   One day I went to the rest room.  Mr. Hamilton came in and it was then that I found out he had an attraction for young guys.   After I told him that I wasn’t interested, I quit.   In fact, I don’t remember ever getting paid from the SOB.</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>The Monongahela River was wide and deep.  We would swim at the butts.  We had a name for our swimming beach.  We called it the A-B-A-B. (Allenport Bare Ass Beach)    Mr. Downer was the captain of the Sailor, one of the largest boats on the river.  He lived in Allenport, and a small boat would bring him ashore when he had time off.  When the Sailor came up river, Captain Downer had the boat swing in to let us get in the waves made from the huge paddle wheel at the stern.  The waves would get up to four or five feet high.  The river was really contaminated from the Noel Chemical Plant up the river, and the waste water from the steel mills and coal mines.  All the towns ran their raw sewage  into the river.  Many times we would see feces floating past us.  The guys would holler, “Look out here comes a turd!"  Then we would slide our arms in front to make sure we didn’t get slapped in the face with the poop.  World War Two was in full swing.  There was little or no thought about cleaning up the river.  Polio was common in those days, but no one from Allenport contacted the disease.  Our exposure in the river made us immune. Heck, this exposure was probably as good as the Salk vaccine that came out later.</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>My first gun was an old wore out B-B gun.  I was about 7 or 8 at the time.  The back alley was covered with slag from the mill.  I put some of it in the barrel and shot it.  One day I saw a sparrow sitting on a limb not far away.  I shot and killed it.  When I found the bird, I almost cried. I don’t know what ever happened to the gun, but I never messed with it again.  I found out early in life that guns kill.</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>I was ten when World War Two started.  Dad was listening to the old Emerson radio as President Roosevelt told of The Jap attack on Pearl Harbor.  Mom started to cry.   That was the first time I ever heard Mom cry. Dad just stared at the radio.  He lost a brother, Uncle Arthur, in World War One.  Brother Jack and sister Martha were going to California State Teachers Collage in California, a town about ten miles away.  Mom and Dad knew that Jack would be called into service</B>. </div> <bR> <div> <B> It wasn’t long after the war started that there was a lot of activity.  The mills worked overtime, the railroads had freight trains running on a continuous basis.  I remember the famous 400 coming through town.  The engine had 20 drive wheels that were at least 8 foot high.  Behind was about 200 coal cars loaded.  Each town put up an honor roll with the names of all the people in the service.  A gold star was placed next to one who was killed. Our next door neighbors was the Reeds.  Their son Tom was in the Army Air Corps.  He was a navigator in a B-17 bomber and was killed.  I will never forget when a gold star was placed on the honor roll and in the Reeds window.  War didn’t seem so exciting anymore.  Our gang collected milk weed for the government.  It was used in life jackets to replace kapok that the Gaps had control of.  In school, we knitted socks and scarfs for the soldiers. There was a sea plane type of aircraft that would take people on a short flying trip for a couple of dollars.  It wasn’t long until they found him to be a spy taking pictures of the mills and other plants from Pittsburgh to Morgantown, West Virginia.  He was executed.  That’s the way they did spies in those days.  Jack went in the Navy and was the Communications Officer on the cruiser USS Philadelphia.  When he was in Post Graduate School at the Naval Academy, Mom and I traveled by train to see him.  That’s the last I seen him till he returned after the war.    </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>I remember my first real job.  I worked at a bowling alley in Charleroi.  I set pins.  There was no such thing as automatic pin setters in those days.  I would sit behind the pit that the pins would fly into, take the dead wood off the alley, and reset the pins after the last ball came crashing down.  If I did a good job, the bowlers would roll a quarter down the gutter for a tip.  That was a good tip.  Soda pop was five cents.  I liked Pepsi.  You got 12 ounces for that hard earned nickel.  I would take about $4.50 to $5.00 home each night after working from four in the evening till midnight.  I felt like I was somebody.</B><FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#009900" FACE="Arial" > .    </FONT></div> <bR> <div> <B>Mrs. Beasel was my 7</B><B>th</B><B> Grade teacher.  Of all my teachers, she was the one I thought the least of.  She said I wouldn’t amount to much, and she may have been right.  I will never forget the time we were studying Stephen Foster.  There was a recital, and all the parents were invited to hear their kids sing.  She assigned me to sing, Old Dog Tray.  I told her I wouldn’t do it, but the old biddy forced me into it.  When I got up to sing my part, I thought the end of the world had arrived.  Damn, I was scared and Mr. Foster probably turned over in his grave as I sang, “Old dog tray ever faithful, grief cannot keep him away ------.”  I finally made it through the 7</B><B>th</B><B> grade by the skin of my teeth.  It always helped to have your father on the school board.  I had many trying times in my life, but another year with Mrs. Beasel would have topped the list.</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>When I started high school, I met Buckey Henry.  He was a boxer and invited me to work out with him.  They met above a garage in Vesta - not too far from home.  Swats Adamson was the trainer. Swats was in his 60s and had been a professional boxer.  He was short in stature.  His ears were completely closed off.  You couldn’t even put the head of a pin in them.  His nose was flat to his face and his eyes were beady.  His hands had a hard callous between his thumb and forefinger caused by breaking clinches.  He boxed Harry Grebb, one of the top boxers in his day.  Swats beat him. It was said that Swats killed another boxer in the ring, and never fought again.  Even so, Swats was a real likable man.</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>When I first got in the ring with Buckey, I took after him like I was in a street fight. That was a mistake.  Buckey jabbed me till my face was a bloody mess.  It wasn’t long till Swats had me ready for my first fight in the town of Fairhope.  I don’t know how much experience this guy had, but I worked him all over the ring.  Swats finally told me to go easy on him.  We had an exhibition in a bar in Monessen.  Buckey and I were to put on a little show for the boozers in the bar.  In the second round, I tagged Buckey with a solid left and he went down.  Swats was upset as he was trying to expose Buckey to a few promoters.  I had fun with this till I joined the Navy.  </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>I took a college course in high school.  I picked Latin as my foreign language course.  Old Miss Bradley was the teacher.  She would point her boney finger at me and start talking in Latin.  I didn’t learn much in her class, and I don’t know nor do I give a hoot anything about Latin.  Mr. Iams was the science teacher.  When he was upset, he would say, “There’s gonna be music but your not going to hear it.”  He lived on a farm, and most days his shoes were covered with mud. Now to take the cake, I had Buckey Snyder for history.  He served in World War One and that’s all he talked about.  That was the only history he knew anything about.  So you can see, I had a well rounded education in bull crap.  During this time I became interested in girls. My buddy Tom was dating Edna.  One day I decided to give her a call and to my surprise, she invited me up to her house.  I started dating her, and I dated her till I joined the Navy.  </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>Edna lived in Stockdale, a town about 4 miles up the river.  I would catch the street car to visit her.  I will never forget Halloween night in 1948.  I went up to visit with her.  About 9:30 in the evening, I started out of the house.  It was so foggy that I couldn’t see my shoes.  It was almost like being blind.  I was invited to spend the night, but decided to walk home.  The street cars stopped running.  I finally made it to the highway.  It took me about four hours to get home.  The next day word came that several people died in Donora from the smog.  This was the first time that the term smog was used.  Donora, a steel mill town, was located about eight miles down river.  </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>The "Donora Death Fog</B></div> <div> <B>Horror visited the US Steel company-town of Donora on Halloween night, 1948, when a temperature inversion descended on the town. Fumes from US Steel's smelting plants blanketed the town for four days, and crept murderously into the citizens' homes. </B></div> <div> <B>If the smog had lasted another evening "the casualty list would have been 1,000 instead of 20," said local doctor William Rongaus at the time. Later investigations by Rongaus and others indicated that one-third of the town's 14,000 residents were affected by the smog. Hundreds of residents were evacuated or hospitalized. A decade later, Donora's mortality rate remained significantly higher than neighboring areas.  Thank goodness, we didn’t have the smog in Allenport.  The fog was bad enough.</B></div> <div>     </div> <div> <A HREF="id17.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="page 2"><U><B><IMG SRC="06022250.gif" border=0 width="34" height="37" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></B></U></A><B>  </B><FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#111111" FACE="Arial" ><B>Memoir Part 2</B></FONT></div> <div> <A HREF="id18.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Page 3"><U><B><IMG SRC="06022250.gif" border=0 width="34" height="37" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></B></U></A><B>  Memoir Part 3</B></div> <div> <A HREF="id19.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Page 4"><U><B><IMG SRC="06022250.gif" border=0 width="34" height="37" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></B></U></A><B> Memoir Part 4</B></div> <div> <A HREF="id20.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Page 5"><U><B><IMG SRC="06722250.gif" border=0 width="34" height="37" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></B></U></A><B>  Memoir Part 5</B></div> <div> <A HREF="id23.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Page 7"><U><B><IMG SRC="06022250.gif" border=0 width="34" height="37" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></B></U></A><B>  Here and there  (PHOTOs)</B></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>                    </B></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>    </B></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#111111" FACE="Arial" ><B>           </B></FONT> <A NAME="bm_1_"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>