Lt. Col. John A. Linnemann, USMC (retired) – 2018 Palm Springs “The Shameless Selfie Tour”, Part III


As we coast into our final day, the town of Palm Springs begins to change. Leading into Friday, the weekend travelers from L.A. and other coastal towns migrate to the desert for a couple of days away. Typically centered around R&R, this weekend will prove different with two major events happening simultaneously: The White Party, a gay dance festival, and Stagecoach, the country-western version of the Coachella Music Festival both have the local hotels booked solid and the sidewalk cafes bursting at the seams. The drink will flow and the music will play on into the night, and while great for them, my father and I will stay well away from the fray.

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Lt. Col. John A. Linnemann, USMC (retired) – 2018 Palm Springs “The Shameless Selfie Tour”, Part II


Palm Springs is a very beautiful place with not much to do unless you want to golf, hike, jog, ride bikes, swim, shop, visit the air museum, art galleries, tour the San Andreas Fault, play poker, eat amazing food, or just lay around the pool and sip cocktails. The “springs” part stems from groundwater that surfaces from the aquifer due to fissures caused by the San Andreas Fault, which runs just north of I-10. The area’s first (known) inhabitants were the Cahuilla Indian tribes (Agua Caliente, Morongo, and other branches), a very peaceful group that flourished in this area until railroads and disease-ridden blankets were introduced. Finally, in the mid-1800’s, the tribe was able to come to peaceful terms with early America and the area that is now Palm Springs, Palm Desert, Indio, and other beautiful towns were divided up like a checkerboard, with one square mile for the native tribes and one for the U.S. Government.

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Lt. Col. John A. Linnemann, USMC (retired)- Palm Springs 2018 "The Shameless Selfie Tour", Part I


So my dad is an interesting cat. Born Hans Albert Linnemann to German immigrants, he didn’t start learning English until he was 5 years old. As he started school around 1940 in New Jersey, the Principal advised my grandparents to change his name to “John”, presumably to avoid getting his ass beat every day.

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