#San Juan Hill

[newyorkthegoldenage]

These buildings in the San Juan Hill area of the Upper West Side, seen in 1939, were torn down to build Lincoln Center.

Photo: Lee Sievan via MCNY/.entrelineas.org

[gingerbredman1989]

3D CGI illustration of Teddy Roosevelt charging up San Juan Hill in Cuba in 1898, but riding a dinosaur.

NightCafe AI

[newyorkthegoldenage]

This may have been taken in San Juan Hill, a neighborhood of mostly Puerto Ricans and Blacks that was razed to build Lincoln Center.

Herb Snitzer      West 71st St, Upper West Side, Manhattan, New York City    1959

[cdchyld]

Just added to Etsy!

~ "San Juan Hill" by Will Henry (1962)

[darthskinnius]

"Persigo la felicidad. Y la montaña responde a mi búsqueda." -Chantal Mauduit

“I pursue happiness, and the mountain answers my search.” 

📍Southern Coast, Puerto Rico Canon R6 Mark II

[locallibrarylover]

being knowledgeable about presidential assassinations is very rewarding sometimes (got candy for knowing how to pronounce leon czolgosz's name)

[thorsenmark]

I’m Letting the Bisti Memories Start Here by Mark Stevens

[rabbitcruiser]

Abstract Painting; Or Not?

What do you think about my pic?      

[lightdancer1]

And that of course leads to the irony that TR's most famous battle was not, in fact, fought over San Juan Hill:

And that is specifically that while TR took another hill, the Buffalo Soldiers of General Pershing, the future commander of the WWI AEF, were the ones that actually captured San Juan Hill in an act that to his credit at the time TR admitted wasn't done by him even if he didn't contest it in the same ways afterward. The actual capture itself very much was a heroic act in attacking uphill against a prepared defensive position and steamrolling it, and the Spanish were a thousand times more butthurt to lose it to Black soldiers, in a preview of how the Central Powers would react during the First World War to facing French colonial troops.

[kcrblogs]

Tips For Choosing The Right Kitchen Cabinet San Juan Capistrano

You may be looking for the right kitchen cabinet San Juan Capistrano to buy if you are in the middle of designing a new kitchen.  There are many cabinet options on the market, which is a good thing because you can find exactly what you need. On the other hand, this can make your choice so difficult because you wouldn’t know which cabinet to consider and which one to skip.

As you look for the right kitchen cabinet Laguna Hills to buy, you should aim to maximize your storage (especially in a small kitchen). If you are the kind of person who does a lot of cooking, you probably have a lot of utensils, appliances, white goods, and foodstuffs to be storing away. If you are in a smaller house or apartment, chances are you struggle to find places to store everything in your kitchen. As such, you need to look for ways to maximize the space in your kitchen cabinetry. For instance, kitchen drawers are becoming more commonplace in contemporary designs since they improve organization and enable you to store more things in a stacked vertical manner.

For example, a standard cabinet in the kitchen which is three feet high might be neglecting lots of potential storage, especially if there is lots of empty space at the top. If you install practical drawers, it can turn this into several levels of storage, maximizing the vertical and the horizontal space. Another good thing with this setup is that you will not need to mess around with the doors. That said, wall cabinets are a wonderful way to take advantage of additional storage without limiting your countertop area.

For more tips on how to buy the right kitchen cabinet San Juan Capistrano, visit our website at https://kitchencabinetrefacing.com/

[xxx-calibur]

"Well I'm convinced. I'm feelin ambitious today too. Think I can get some 'overtime'?"

"Clock in, cowpoke."

[newyorkthegoldenage]

On May 14, 1959, ground was broken in the demolished neighborhood of San Juan Hill for Lincoln Center.

Photo: Lincoln Center/Gothamist

[chronically-ghosted]

between the earth and sky (lover, share your road - prologue) series masterlist | AO3 Link | part i

chapter rating: T (series: E)

word count: 1.1K

chapter summary: how Joel Miller's forefathers came to settle the southern plains

chapter warnings/tags: references to genocide (human and animal), racism

a/n: Miller County was a real place!

Vincente Ramón Morelos with his wife María Guadalupe Rodríguez Saldaña went in search of a better life in 1848.

Exhausted from the bloody revolution against Spain, then the devastating loss at the hands of white “rebels”, the childless couple leave the southern hill country by the San Antonio river to go north, to find peace, in a place that the Anglos have never touched — so promised Señor De La Cruz, a former comandante like Vincente, who shared his dream of wide, open spaces, and a sky that stretches into infinite possibilities.

This land they marched across, with its barren trees and flat golden spreads, is nothing like anything they’ve ever seen before. The wagon chain the Morelos follow whispered in hushed, awed tones. María reached out the side of the wagon, letting her hand brush against brown thistles, watching how the reed springs under her fingers, how it tickles her palm. She never knew the earth could be so soft – teasing her with some great secret it’s eager to share. She looked to her husband and he glowed beneath the rich blue sky and bronze sun. Maybe this was God showing her how to fall in love with a new home.

Towns became few and far between. In a transitory cattle town, Vincente listens to two vaqueros tell stories over a loose game of poker about a briefly-disputed patch of land, five hundred miles east, one that exchanged ownership three times before disappearing into obscurity. But a single name settled permanently, before its township ever could: Miller County. Vincente quietly related to that blurring of identity, a loss of a permanent place to be known and loved, so when going through towns of white Texan Anglos that distrusted his olive skin and aquiline nose, he told them his name was Vincent Miller and he was, like all others, looking for a place to call home. He found it north of what would become Amarillo, and south of what would be Dalhart, between the Canadian and Red River, rivers that never seemed as endless and deep as the Gulf from his childhood. 

By the spring of 1852, Mary (formerly María) and Vincent, established on their acre of land, had welcomed two girls and were expecting a third child, who ended up being a boy. This boy was given the name John (though his mother called him Juan at home) Tomás Miller, after Mary’s grandfather. As a boy, John learned from his father Vincent to listen and trust the Kiowa, the Comanche, the Gods of the Grass Sea, who were said to have been born with a heart of a buffalo. Who walked with prairie chickens and raced the pronghorn antelopes. Recognizing a kinship with nomadic blood of the Millers – once Morelos – the Comanche taught them what it meant to use the land as one uses a brother for support. Use in kind, but treat just as kindly. Avoiding what the Anglos referred to as “dry farming” because it was only the Anglos who believed, by sheer force of will, they could make rain come down from the sky. The Comanche were shocked by their arrogance. As he grew older and stronger beneath that heavy sunshine that had endeared his mother to these foreign lands, John maintained his father’s relationship with The First People, even aiding them in keeping the encroaching Anglo homesteaders off the lands of the buffalo and the blue grama grass. 

When John married in the summer of 1885 a woman whose skin burnt easy in the sun, but had hands rougher than a sailor’s, Vincent was surprisingly happy for his son, because Jennie Sarah Hansen was quick-witted, brave, and possessed a rare quality when it came to the regards of the Tejanos and The First People – compassion. Disowned by her own family for such a trait, Jennie came to live with John, his father Vincent, his mother Mary, with letters from John’s two sisters and their families coming from down south every month. 

Joel Ramón Miller was born in the late fall of 1891, followed shortly there by his brother, Tom – Tommy, because Tom was too serious for a boy with a smile like that – and the lineage of working under blue skies in endless dunes of buffalo grass was passed down, third generation of Vincent, who lived to see his oldest grandson turn five before quietly, with dignity, leaving this world in his sleep. 

Tommy Miller continued to look towards the sun and, as a young man, followed it west. But Joel, like his father, like his grandfather, like the land itself, kept watch over the ones he loved from the porch of that a-frame house, the one his father built for his mother. For a time that included a woman with dark skin and darker eyes out of Alabama. And then it was just the baby who came from her, who came from him. Sarah, named after his mother who was as fierce and resilient as the buffalo grass and as beautiful as the endless sky. 

As far as Joel Miller was concerned that was enough. The two of them – him and his babygirl, with the plums and the maize, and the secrets of this wide wilderness handed down in partnership from the Comanche and the Kiowa, because the Millers knew what to keep and what wasn’t theirs, or anyone’s, to own.

Until the day came when the buffalo were slaughtered by the thousands, and the once great Gods of the Grass Sea were felled, both driven to extinction by a force that held no compassion or concern for the lands it swallowed. 

The cowboys over in the XIT, runners of cattle in the land that used to tremble beneath the hooves of thousands of buffalo, started to complain first. Rumbled that no good was to come of any of it; the American government gave too freely; real estate agents and land developers promised too much. Those arriving in the prairie came only for the green that the wheat boom offered, and had misjudged the quietness of the plains for emptiness.

Joel Miller watched as towns bloomed overnight, model E’s rumbled off the new railway lines, and nesters and sodbusters burrowed into their dugouts like wolf-spiders — at the cost of the beautiful, bellowing sea of grass. The bison were long dead, the Kiowa and Comanche now ghosts between the stalks of blue grama, and a wind was coming in from the north. 

It whispered to those who could still listen and would heed its warnings. 

And Joel Miller, with his only daughter, listened and waited and didn’t like what he heard. First, the drought came. Lasted ten years. Then the economic freefall that blew out entire financial systems on a global scale. 

And then, like a ghoulish nightmare, a specter of death that came from the ill-resting spirits of the bison, came the dust storms. 

The air crackled with electricity, car radios clicked off, overwhelmed by the static. Ignitions shorted out. Waves of sand swept over the roads. Children were lost and found thirty feet from their back doors, dead, suffocated on dust. Five thousand feet tall, wider than entire cities, this was blind vengeance, a reckoning well-deserved.

And for the first time in his life, Joel Miller was afraid.

series masterlist | part i

[manessha545]

Playa Cabo San Juan del Guía, Tayrona National Park, Colombia: it is the most requested beach by tourists who come to know Tayrona Park, recognized worldwide for a famous photograph that every publication of Tayrona must carry, where you can see a hill in the middle of the sea and at its top a kiosk where people can stay in hammocks or rooms with beds. Wikipedia

[rockyp77mk3]

"A Day of Honor",   by Don Stivers.

10TH US Cavalry

It was the Battle of Las Guasimas, San Juan Hill, Cuba, June 24th, 1898.  The commanding officer, Maj. Bell, was down. The fire was so intense that in a fifty feet square of earth 16 men had either been killed or wounded. Along with the wounded Cpt. Ayers, Pvt. Augustus Walley was able to drag the Major to safety. "For conspicuous gallantry under fire", Private Walley was nominated for his second medal of honor.

[darthskinnius]

“Heaven is not a place, and it is not a time. Heaven is being perfect.” - Richard Bach, from Jonathan Livingston Seagull

“El cielo no es un lugar ni un tiempo. El cielo es ser perfecto”.

📍Scenic Route, Puerto Rico Canon R6 Mark II