My benchmark by which BBQ is measured remains in ancient memory, the gatherings of the local unit of 36th Division, Texas National Guard, at the old YMCA camp outside valley Mills, TX. There, BG Wiley Stem (passed but not forgotten), survivors of the desperate attempt to cross the Rapido, as bloody as Antietam and Gettysburg, Hell in a small place, the 36th's flanders Fields, and younger Guardsmen, hauled in the sacred pits, and converted brisket and shoulder clods (few "fixins" beyond light bread, onions and pickles, no beer) into ambrosia with which to feed dignataries, local and state pols, and a few boys being groomed to fill the ranks.

Sic Transit Gloria Mundi!